#like i get it . we get it!!!! old tablet . i understand but please… my pictures

[cheaploafs]

i’m doing my part! (sobbing)

[gggreengoblin]

3.1 K words. It is 3rd part of my Girl!Daniel fic. Part 1 | Part 2

Summary :: During an argument, Daniel said something she shouldn't have said to Max. She had to navigate the consequences of her rash action.

She was seated in the passenger seat of a rental car and couldn't stop herself from jigging her legs along the beats of the rap song. She had been away from a circuit for too long. Excitement was fueling her body. Once again, her system was flooded by adrenaline, making her feel alive.

"Please stop, Daniel. You are making me anxious." The driver said. Well, he was, technically, not a driver. Just a Red Bull crew who picked her up from the airport.

Daniel warped her hands around her jeans-cladded knees. "Ah, sorry. I am just excited. I've been stuck in England for weeks. It's nice to be able to travel again."

"I heard about that," he said. "I think it is a bad idea, really. If I could afford to live in Monaco, I would leave London in a heartbeat. And for you, to do the opposite is-" he made a hand gesture with his right hand while the other holding the steering wheel.

"Nuts, right? It only took me two weeks to realize it was a bad idea." She laughed at her own stupidity.

It was silly of her to think moving would solve her problem. It was a mistake– a big one. Turns out London was too lonely, too cold, and bleak for Daniel's taste. And nothing could help her feel better there.

The only thing she could think about was her old normal. She missed traveling, sunny days, and a friend who would visit her whenever he could. So when Red Bull told her to prepare herself to do some testing during the Fp1, she was overjoyed. She packed her bags and suitcases, shoving her racing gears, which were still inside an unopened cardboard box.

They wanted her to arrive at the media day morning. So she boarded the plane, put her Red Bull polo on once she arrived at the airport, and went straight to the circuit.

When they arrived, the paddock was bustling, full of journalists and crews. They interviewed and took pictures of the drivers like they could get enough of them. Some of them said hello to her. The PR team snapped some pictures of her while she was dragging her suitcase and bags through that overcrowded place.

"Hi, guys!" She waved at the camera. And they waved back.

She unpacked her suitcase in her driver's room. She took out her racing gears and hung them in the small closet. For a moment, she let herself admire her racing suit. Oh, how she loved its color, but she loved it more because it had her name and flag printed on its waist.

And then she went to the garage. She met with her newly found engineer friends, the ones she bugged whenever she felt the need to do something during her weeks-long exile in England. They were already working; paper, pens, and tablets were scattered around the long table. She stood among them, trying to mimic her surroundings.

Heavy technical talk bore her, so Daniel wandered and walked around the garage. She ran her hand on every surface there, just a ghost of touch, not moving things or pushing any buttons. She wanted to burn this experience into her core memory because it might be her last time being inside an F1 garage as a driver, even just as a test driver.

When the engineers had finished their discussion, she approached one of them, who was standing in front of the monitor, reading his notes. She greeted him. She knew that man, Theo. He was a friendly Englishman.

"I didn't know we would use Max's garage. So cool," she said.

He just smiled and showed her his black binders. "Look at this." He explained to her what they would do the next day. "I think it would be great to finally test it out with a real car because the sim test data is immaculate. Thanks to you, we have more than enough data from the sim."

"Yeah. I can't wait." Honestly, Daniel didn't understand half of the things Theo said, but she got the picture. It was okay, she would get a detailed explanation during the briefing anyway.

"I feel like building a rocket ship, not a car."

She understood what he meant. These cars were beasts. Fast and reliable. Some people had already called them rocket ships.

A big hand squeezed her left shoulder lightly. Max was standing beside her. "I heard you were here," he said, a little breathless. Clearly, he was running away from his media duty and sneaked to the garage.

Like everyone in this garage, he was clad from head to toe with their merch. There was something different about him that she could not put a finger on yet. But she noticed his new cologne. It was sweeter than usual, with maybe a little bit of a chocolate undertone in it.

"What's up, Maxy? Do you miss me already?" She offered him her biggest smile.

"Do you miss me?"

"I asked first." There was a hope in her heart that he would say he missed her. She had limited their texting for the last few weeks. It would be impossible for her to move on if they were still texting every single day.

"I do miss your cookies."

"Only my cookies?" she teased. "Too bad, I didn't bring any."

"I need to talk to you about something. Can we move to somewhere more private?" Max said, out of the blue.

Daniel looked at Theo who just gave them a knowing glance. "I need to go back to work." He gathered his papers and put them back inside his binder. "See you later, Daniel. Bye, Max."

"Can we go to your driver's room?" Max said after Theo left. It was an unusual request. They didn't hang out in their driver's rooms.

"Yeah." Curiosity got the best of her sometimes. "What's going on?"

Max led her into the narrow hallway, exiting the garage. "Who is he?"

"Our engineer. A friend. Why?"

"Great. So you still like your mysterious guy?"

"I guess."

"When will you have time to visit Monaco?"

She opened her door and let them in. "Sorry, it's a mess." She pushed her suitcase and bags that were lying around on the floor to the corner of the room. "I can visit you during winter break, maybe before Christmas. Why?"

"Daniil just broke up with his girlfriend. If you want, Kelly and I can arrange dinner for you."

She froze. "Dinner with Daniil?" She turned around and faced Max, who had a blank look on his face. "Wow! What? Did I- did I miss something?"

"You like him, right? I want you to be happy, Daniel. If he can do that, I will do anything to make it happen."

"Oh my god, I can't believe it! You two are so cruel!" The thought of Max and Kelly discussing her dating life made her blood boil. And for them playing matchmaker, arranging Daniel a date with Kelly’s ex not the least, was unbelievably evil.

"You said you like him!"

"I never said that!" she said, raising her voice. "You made your own conclusion. Just leave it alone, yeah. Why do you have to always bring it up? Every single conversation we have had has always ended with you bringing this topic up." She wished she never opened her mouth and blabbed her feelings to Max. If she knew Max would be obsessed with this, then she would have buried this secret even deeper.

"I just want to help, Daniel."

"But your help only makes things worse."

"Then tell me what I can do!"

"Just let it go, yeah. It would be better for us if you just left it alone."

"No. I know you are miserable. Let me do something. Tell me. Just tell me who it is, Daniel. I promise I will shut up after this."

"It's you, alright," she said.

The room became quiet. Max just stood there, looking directly at her, not blinking. She could hear her heartbeats in her ears. She felt her palms become wet and cold. She wished she could disintegrate and become a pile of dust, gone, blown away by the wind.

She cleared her dry throat, trying to find her voice. "Can we move on, now?"

"What do you mean?" He finally said something after a minute of silence.

"Max, I'm sorry. Please forget it, okay? I don't mean to say that. My feelings will pass, and everything will go back to normal. I don't want to ruin everything. Shit." She opened the door and gently pushed him out of her driver's room. But he was larger and stronger. He didn't even budge.

"I love you too."

"No, you don't." She tried again, pulling on his bare front arm, trying to drag him out of her private room. She just wanted to be alone and hide in her room, God damn. "Don't make fun of me like this."

There was no point in trying to make a grown man move when he didn't want to. So she left him there. She ran back to the garage while doing her breathing exercises to calm herself down. She knew Max was trailing behind her. She could feel his gaze behind her head.

She found Theo's notebook lying on the table, unattended. She opened that binder with her shaking and sweaty hand, pretending to read. She was trying to look busy, so no one talked to her.

"I was not making fun of you," Max said with a hushed voice. He was standing close to her, too close, so no one could hear what he said.

Daniel scanned the garage. She was grateful there was no camera pointed at them. It would be a nightmare if people knew. Sure, Netflix would put their conversation in the documentary if they caught them in a video. "Not now, Max. I need to focus on tomorrow's testing." She took a step away from him.

"Daniel, there you are!" said a crew member from across the garage. She walked closer to them. "I was checking your room to make sure you got everything you needed, and I noticed you didn't have your balaclava. They said that you bring your own gear now."

"Sweet, I might have left them in my bedroom," Daniel said bitterly.

"It's okay, we'll find one."

.....

After she was done with the day, she packed her things from her driver's room and went to the hotel. She took a quick shower and changed her clothes. She was grateful to see that the black silk blouse she brought was not totally crumpled. She put a little makeup on her face- just a hint of color on her tired face. The humid air of the city made her curls difficult to manage, so she straightened them and tied them into a ponytail. She put a bandage on her bleeding thumb and then left the hotel.

She let out a sigh of relief when he got into the taxi the hotel had ordered for her. She asked the driver to take her to the shopping district of the city.

She opened her phone, which had been vibrating every few minutes for the last hour. She received several messages and missed calls from Max. She turned her phone off and kept it in the small sling bag she carried.

Daniel visited several unique shops on the street but didn't buy anything. Occasionally, she met fans who recognized her. They greeted her and some asked for selfies with her. She didn't mind.

She ends up visiting a cafe. She stopped by because she smelled the freshly baked pastry from inside of the cafe. She ordered some pastries and a cup of fancy latte to brighten her mood.

She sat in the corner, far from the big front windows. She didn't want to be disturbed. She wanted to dwell on her thoughts in peace for a bit. She didn't want to touch on what happened a couple of hours earlier. She wanted to put the memory in an imagination box and lock it, but she couldn't. It kept appearing in her consciousness even when she kept pushing it away.

Daniel wanted to blame it on Max. Because he had pushed her into confessing her feelings to him. But, can she? Maybe it was because of the nature of emotion. You can only suppress it for a certain period of time; after that, it will bleed. Like pushing a bubble of air inside water, the bubble would always surface.

It was already said. She couldn’t take it back. The only thing she could do now was navigate the disastrous aftermath. Maybe this was the end of their friendship. Was it a friendship if she had not thought of Max as “only a friend” for years?

She ate the cake and sipped her latte slowly. She savored them until she felt like several hours had passed. She asked the waiter what time it was; it was 8 o'clock. A good time to go back to her hotel. She needed a good night's sleep for tomorrow anyway.

When Daniel returned to her hotel, she found Max pacing in the hallway of her room. He played with his phone while putting one of his hands on his hip. When he saw Daniel, he immediately pocketed his phone and walked towards Daniel's door.

"Where have you been? I've been waiting in front of your door for almost an hour." He cranked his head to talk to her. With her heels on, she was a couple of inches taller than him.

"Jeez, everyone has their own thing going on, Max. Besides, you didn't tell me you would be here, right?"

Max observed Daniel's appearance from head to toe, lingering on her neck, where she put her dainty silver neck chain on. "Dinner?" he said.

"No, thanks. I'm good."

"I mean, did you just come back from dinner?"

"No, I was just walking around. Window shopping. What do you want?"

"Can we talk about earlier?"

"Do we really need to talk about it? Listen, I'm sorry. It was so selfish of me. I shouldn't have said anything."

"Can we talk inside your room? I— I need to explain everything to you."

"I don't think that's a good idea, Max."

"So you want to talk here? Okay," he said nonchalantly with a shrug.

Daniel looked around. There were only them in the hallway, but who could guarantee that no one would eavesdrop on their conversation? She took the key card from her bag, opened the door, and let them in.

"Please, be quick. What do you want to explain?" Daniel put her bag on the nightstand and took off the high heels while sitting on the edge of her bed. She massaged the soles of her feet. They were sore from her long walk.

Max stood there, four feet in front of her. She can still smell the circuit's aroma that clings to his skin and clothes. He took off his cap and ran his right-hand fingers through his hair. "I want you to know that I have been loving you for years."

Dumbfounded, she stared at him. She said nothing because her brain was overwhelmed by his confession.

"You don't believe me, do you?" Max said.

She shook her head. She felt her heart stop beating. She gripped the bedsheets. Trying to remember her grounding exercise. Who would believe him, though? When a guy who was in a long-term relationship with another woman told you that, it sounded like a lie, right?

"I broke up with her right after our conversation in the garage. Daniel, I was with her because I thought you only saw me as a friend."

She still couldn't process what she had just heard.

"Say something, Daniel."

"Ah, yeah– I–" she tried to form a sentence. She cleared her constricting throat and took a deep breath. "Max, that's so wrong."

"I want to be with you."

It took her back to a couple of years earlier. Daniel remembered what had happened to her at that time. Rumors had circulated that she was the reason one of her friends broke up with his girlfriend. It made her head spin, and she tasted a bitter sensation in her tongue.

"We can't! You just broke up like hours ago! I want to retire. I want to enjoy my last months of racing in peace, Max. The last thing I need is to be followed by drama everywhere I go. If people find out—if she tells the media why the two of you broke up—they will hunt me down." She still remembered how every interview she did always discussed that gossip. How they monitored and analyzed Daniel's interactions with her male friends. She wished she would never have to go through that again. 

Max took her clammy hands, enveloping them in his bigger ones. His hands were freezing too. Maybe she was not the only one who felt lost, they were in the same sinking boat after all. "We are not celebrities," he said, "nothing will happen."

"Oh, you don't remember. They will find out and paint me as the bad guy. It did happen years ago, even when I had nothing to do with that breakup. I don't want to be put in that situation again."

''I didn't tell her anything about you. I will be okay, Daniel."

"She will know, Max. You broke up after we saw each other for the first time in weeks." Kelly was a smart woman. She surely would put two and two together. And if she were a cunning person, she would make this public to gain more attention, clicks, and followers. She could turn her misery into money.

"If something happens, I will take care of it. I promise. I will tell the PR in the morning." He held her hands tighter. “Give us a chance."

"We can't be together now, at least not yet. We will screw things up if we rush into this. We are not thinking clearly." She pulled her hands from his hold and stood up. There was a need to put some distance between them. This closeness felt too much, suffocating.

"We just found out about each other's feelings this morning. And I think you are downplaying your feelings for her, too. You're not a heartless monster, Max. If you feel nothing, you won't spend years in a relationship with her. Let's wait."

“How long do we have to wait?” He looked at her with his doe, pleading eyes.

“I don’t know.”

[kimageddon]

Sins of the Father 4:2

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Maul x Nightsister OC (Zaiya Valessa) - Modern/Crime AU -

Word count: Approx 2600 Contains/Warnings: Being in danger, being chased, looming danger. Chapter Summary: Zaiya infiltrates The General's abode. Notes: (at the end!)

Possessed With Power

“Useless!” the old man cried, and the young aide almost flew across the room and sprawled on the floor. The newspaper sat open on the Mayor’s desk, turned to a page where Nute Gunray’s picture was plastered all over it. Some article regarding suspicious goings on and accusations of violence against working girls. Worst of all, it read Gunray had information on the bombing!

“I-I’m sorry sir!” the aide whimpered from the floor. “I didn’t know!” 

“It is your job to know!” Palpatine hissed viciously. He made a gesture and the large security guard picked the aide up by his tie. The old man wouldn’t dare sully himself by laying his own hands on such a peon of course.

“Gunray’s secretive! He-he keeps telling me to leave, if I press anymore, he’ll get suspicious!” the young man pleaded.

“Then what is the point of you? I told you to report his dealings to me and you fail on the one task you were assigned?” Palpatine massaged his temples and let out a heavy sigh. He needed to get ahead of this, he needed to ensure there was nothing to tie Gunray back to him. He would have to figure something out. His attention directed to the guard. “Contact Ruodo, have him deal with this one.” Another wave of the hand and the guard began to drag the man out. 

“No! Sir please! I can do this! Give me another chance! I can do it! I swear--!” the door closed and thankfully muffled the idiot’s screeching. 

Palpatine pulled out his phone, and called the next person on his shit list. 

“Hello, sir.” Dooku’s baritone asked from the other end. 

“I assume you have seen the article about Gunray?” Palpatine sneered. 

“Yes sir, I was just formulating a plan now. We could cut him loose rather easily.”

“No, not yet, he is still effective in his position. Besides, there is no truth to these horrid accusations.” It was a lie and they both knew it, but Palpatine had always cautioned him about what to say over the phone. 

“I… understand, sir.” Dooku replied after a moment. “I am sure the accusers will recant if a proper investigation is conducted.” Palpatine could almost hear the smirk in his tone. 

“Exactly,” he said smugly. “I am sure you will see to it, keep me updated.” 

“Of course.” 

Palpatine hung up, and turned his attention to another report on his tablet. He would soon know more about the situation with Gunray so his attention was better focused elsewhere. 

There was little new information about Maul here… though one thing that was mildly interesting, was the mention of a woman. Some white-haired girl that dressed like a freak. It meant nothing to him, but if Maul was interested in her… Well. According to what Palpatine was reading, she was seen at that bar of his a great deal. It might be worth looking into her. 

“How interesting…” Palpatine muttered to himself. He tapped the intercom on his desk phone. 

“Yes sir?” Thrawn Ruodo’s voice asked smoothly.

“After you have dealt with that fool, I have someone I want you to investigate.” There was a pause. 

“Of course sir,” he replied. “Please send me all the information you have and I will look into it immediately.” 

“Good.” 

Soon, he would know everything about this strange white-haired woman. He had to protect his son, after all. 

══════════════════

How she’d managed it, she was still unsure. Zaiya was careful as she approached the location. It had taken so many bribes and sweet-talking to get to this point. Fives had been able to help, though in the end they’d been given two locations, Fives went to one, and Zaiya was here, in some rundown apartment in the industrial district of the city. Her first clue was that symbol on the bombs -- it was here as well, painted on the damn wall like some kind of taunt. She had to wonder if it was a warning. 

Everyone she’d spoken to about this General guy seemed terrified to even talk about him. It was usually an indicator she was on the right track though. 

There was a fire escape on the side of the building, and Zaiya figured it was the best bet. From what she could tell, there was no movement inside and she’d not seen anyone coming or going at all in the last hour. 

Carefully, the young P.I. made her way up the ladder as quickly and quietly as she could, the ladder protesting with whining creaks and scraping metal, despite her care. Everything metal was rusted, the entire area was in a state of decay. Everything was tired and worn under several layers of graffiti and dirt. 

As she peered into the windows as she passed them, most of the rooms within appeared empty and run down… but one, at the very top, had signs of life, there was furniture, and very little dust. Things seemed organised and not at all the level of squalor one might expect for the area. 

From his actions she had thought he would be organised and patient. She reached out and thankfully, the window was unlatched. Many people didn’t regard windows as access points, though she suspected the lock was either busted or perhaps he had it ready in case of a quick exit. 

Zaiya slipped inside, her hair tied in a low bun under her hood and she was dressed down in dark clothing to avoid being noticed. She had her camera ready, and snapped a few pictures as she moved through the apartment. 

The place was neat. Military neat. Perhaps he was a veteran as Fives had suggested. 

She moved silently, keeping herself alert in case someone decided now was the time to come home. The living space had very little to it, neither did the kitchen. Down the hall there was a bedroom with a very neatly made bed, the room, she noticed, was sparsely decorated. In fact there was only one personal item that she could see. A photograph behind an old frame. Both the photo and frame were worn at the edges as though it had been picked up and held many times. 

In the picture was a woman, dark skinned and her hair in braids. She appeared to be in some kind of uniform and holding a gun, in an almost jungle-like location. There was no indication of who she was, and Zaiya could only suspect from the age of the woman and the wear on the frame that she was probably someone this General, or whoever he was, greatly cared about -- a wife maybe? Judging from the age of the photo he’d not had a chance to get anything more recent, she likely wasn’t around anymore. 

There was no sign of anyone else here and if this guy was a serial bomber she couldn’t picture him playing happy families… She snapped a picture of it in case it could help them figure out who this guy was.

There was no other information she could glean from the surroundings in here, so she moved to the rooms further into the apartment. The bathroom gave her a few more clues; pill bottles in the cabinet, mostly empty. She was careful to take pictures of all the labels and return the bottles to just where they had been. Something that was not easy to do quickly, but she knew better than to leave any sign she’d been there. 

Further down the hall however, gave her far more to go on. A doorway led out and down a set of stairs. It connected to another section of the warehouse, this area was not converted into a living space, and plenty of industrial machines and a big steel bench laid out in the centre. This had to be his workshop. 

Zaiya saw tools and pipes and wires, not as neat as the apartment, but there was certainly more life here. This area gave her a sense of personality, and she even spotted a couch that appeared to have been slept on. Clearly this guy was devoted to his work. 

Zaiya took photo after photo, not sure what could be used, but she had to document everything. There was a smaller desk, near the couch and Zaiya realised there was an old clunky phone on the far side, sticking out under a piece of paper. Who used landline phones anymore? It seemed weird to her, but then, if he carried burner phones, there always had to be a number for people to call. 

What’s more, she spotted a flashing light on the front. There was a missed call and a voicemail left on the machine. This was a conundrum. What if the message was helpful? But if she listened to it… then it would no longer be an unread message and it might tip the General off that someone was snooping around. Should she listen…?

After a moment of debating, she pulled out her phone to record and tapped the ‘play message’ button on the front. 

[You have… one… new message.] The voice was an automated female-sounding voice. There was a loud beep and Zaiya winced. 

[This is Dooku,] came a booming voice through the little speaker. [I need some information about your latest contract. Someone has been talking and we need to get ahead of the situation. You know how to contact me.]

Jackpot. 

There was now a solid connection between this guy and Dooku, though he didn’t say anything incriminating. 

BEEEP 

[End of messages.]

Zaiya wondered if she was able to make the phone appear to have an unread message again, when she heard noises. 

There was a clatter then a rhythmic beat… music? No, they were footsteps! Heavy footsteps! 

“Shit…!” Zaiya whispered to herself and shrank against the wall, ducking under the table to try and push herself towards the exit without being seen. There was no way she’d be able to head back upstairs. There was no tellingl how close he was and if she ran, she’d definitely be heard. She had to hope her own steps were quiet enough and whoever it was hadn’t heard the machine.

The far door creaked open, heavy footsteps grew closer until she saw a figure clad in military style boots, dark cargo pants and what looked like a hoodie come into view. His steps were so heavy and his boots seemed massive, a tall, yet hunched and imposing fellow. As he drew closer, all she could see was his legs as he moved around the space.  A prickle began on the back of her neck, as though there was electricity in the air. 

No wonder people feared him. He had an energy, like he wore a cloak of doom around his shoulders instead of that worn hoodie. Zaiya was going to have to make a break for it at some point… she would have to be silent. Wait for him to go upstairs… if he did; from the look of the couch in the corner, she was certain he slept down in the workshop. 

The General stomped past her spot under the table. She was hunkered behind a box and carefully and silently manoeuvred past an unsteady stack of magazines. If she knocked anything over now… well, she was in serious trouble. This guy was a soldier and possibly a terrorist so there was a high likelihood he was armed and would kill her given the chance.

She had to make a choice: cross the wide mostly empty workshop and go for the exposed staircase and the way she knew she could escape… or head to the door he’d just entered from, which was easier to access and hope it didn’t creak and that she could find her way to the exit, with a route unknown. 

There were sirens in the distance and they were growing louder. The sound distraction was one she would have to take. She may not get another chance. 

The sirens got louder… she had to go now. 

As the sound grew ever closer, Zaiya crept quickly and quietly along the floor as the General tended to something on his workbench. She couldn’t quite see it but daren’t risk taking a picture. She had to go.

As the noise from what sounded like an ambulance raced by, she took advantage of the loudness and slid open the door, darting through it and closing it quietly behind her. She paused at the door as the sounds quickly faded. Had he heard? 

She decided not to risk it and moved fast and careful, taking the outer part of the stairs as she descended, hoping that limited the chance of the stair creaking. She’d reached the bottom of the first set, knowing there were three more to go --when she heard the heavy footsteps again. Had he heard her? Surely not from down here…? She glanced around. 

Fuck. 

He was probably paranoid, what if he had hidden cameras? There were no monitors in the workshop, but she hadn’t had the time to look properly. 

There was no time. Zaiya increased her pace, trying to maintain stealth -- until she heard the door creak loudly as it was wrenched open and thundering footfalls booming after her. 

“I know you’re here mousey!” the taunting voice of the General called.

Fuck! 

No longer caring for silence, she bolted, taking the steps two at a time but she knew his legs were longer -- she still had two flights to go! 

Towards the bottom she leapt over the railing and onto the next landing, the entire stairwell echoing with the sounds of doom and death fast approaching. 

“I will gut you little mouse!” 

The last set was coming close but he was closer. Suddenly she heard racking coughs, and the footsteps paused in their tracks. Thank whatever God was looking out for her as Zaiya cleared the last half-flight in a leap. A heavy landing knocked the air from her lungs and it was all she could do to keep the momentum and throw her shoulder into the final door. Pain shooting up her arm but it gave with a crash. 

It was much darker, and her vision was unclear but -- there! Lights indicated a nearby alley and Zaiya took off sprinting.  She must get as obscured as possible from those windows! She didn’t know enough about him. He could be a sharpshooter for all she knew. 

It was at least three blocks until she stopped running, even then, she ducked into a nearby store. She took a moment to take off her hoodie, just in case he’d seen her. To be extra cautious, Zaiya  slipped out the back. 

The train station was nearby, so she slowed her pace to a fast walk and tried to catch her breath. She needed to get the next train asap and get back to her bike. She knew she’d have to be mindful of a tail, but first she had to get her racing heart under control. 

══════════════════

It took her an hour to get back, with all the turns and misdirections she took, and she was certain that she had not been followed. Now she had to call Fives, and hope the General didn’t pack up his operation and flee. If he was smart he would. She had to hope that his pride was a greater influence. 

It was paranoia-inducing.

She looked over her shoulder the entire trip back. For the next few days, sleep was light and she found herself far more irritable than usual. Further to add to her stresses, when she was awoken by loud insistent knocking on her door. 

Should she reach for a weapon? 

No, if this truly was the General coming for her, she’d more than likely encounter a bomb on her bike or when she exited the apartment… With a shiver, she slipped from her bed and moved slowly and silently to the door. Peering through the peephole was something of a relief. Yet confusing. 

It was Maul. 

Notes:

Hello!

Well that was stressful! But she's safe now…. right? 😬

…Right? Lord… what is Maul gonna do?

We shall have to find out next time, won't we? Hopefully Maul is able to have a totally calm and civil conversation about this. Yeah that sounds accurate. He'd totally do that.

Well, I have been working away on other projects as well as this one, and I am hoping to be able to post more regarding my art about these stories and behind the scenes stuff. If you're interested in that maybe check out my Linktree: linkt.ree/kimageddon and some of the links might be interesting. Anyway, I hope you are all doing well and I remind you that I love love comments and feedback and I appreciate every comment left on my work. If you have the time, I would appreciate it greatly!

Until next time!

----

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[purple-babygirl]

First of all… who told you that you could toy with my heart over your latest work: SamBucky and the injuries Little. Talk about the angst but fluff. Just mwah!

But will all that angst especially with Sam and Bucky—they are just a perfect combo, btw. I now am needy for angst to fluff (oops…). All I can think about is an insecure little who think that her daddies don’t love her after a misunderstanding, so she pack up her things and runs away. (But a happy ending is ensured) when Sam and Bucky are able to find her

Love you.

Pairing: SamBucky x little!f!reader

Word Count: 2,796

Warnings: polyamory, ddlg dynamics, a dash of angst, and a pinch of fluff

A/N: Hello, Nonnie! Thank you for reading, and thank you for sharing this idea with me and allowing me to toy with your heart over it!💜💜 I was a puddle writing this one. I'm really sorry if this took me too long; I hope it's to your liking and I love you too *ghost kisses*💜 please enjoy xx

~~

unwanted

“That's enough. Go to your room.” Sam demanded angrily, looking down at the cheerios covering the kitchen floor that he now would have to clean up.

“Papa-”

“All you do is cause trouble and I'm done! To your room, now!”

She's been bad again. It was the third time this week. She has been disobedient and impatient. Whenever Papa and Daddy told her to do anything she somehow managed to mess it up. Sam had told her not to touch anything but she wanted to help nevertheless. She couldn’t reach the cupboard though and ended up spilling the box of cereal all over the place.

Her gaze dropped and she walked to her room without another word and a few minutes later, Bucky came to give her lunch and collect her phone and tablet, taking away her screen time for the day.

“But daddy-”

“No, doll. I'm taking them away. You never listen anymore and it needs to stop.”

Papa and Daddy are mad at you. They don't love you no more. They're sick of you. You never listen and you're always bad. They could be so much happier and calmer if it wasn't for you always riling them up. They were done. It needed to stop. They don't love you no more. They don't want you no more. They don't love you. They don't want you.

She sat wallowing in her room, tears gathering in her eyes as her own mind attacked her. Maybe it was all true. All she does is cause trouble.

So maybe if she left…

She got up and got her big girl backpack out of the closet.

Maybe if she left Papa and Daddy would be better off without her.

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she gathered and pushed items into her bag.

Maybe if she was gone they would be less angry.

She zipped the bag up before sloppily slipping her socks on and picking up her stuffed friend.

Maybe if she escaped the house she could escape her thoughts too; leave them all in her room and go.

She wiped her cheeks, tiptoed out of her room, found her shoes by the front door and quietly got into them. She could hear Daddy and Papa lowly laughing together while they got things done in the backyard. Leaving really was the right decision then; they were happier without her.

Taking one, last, tear-blurred look at the house, she stepped outside and quietly closed the door behind her. She held her small white bunny to her chest and sniffed before taking off, walking to the only place that would bring her comfort.

~

“She's going to be so happy. I can't wait to see her face.” Sam smiled proudly, hands on his waist as he took one last look at the swing he and Bucky have put together for their baby girl in the backyard.

“I really hope she likes it.” Bucky smiled back in agreement before opening the door for Sam and walking inside behind him.

They felt they were too hard on her that morning and she was usually a good girl, only intending to do good for her Daddy and Papa. So they decided to build the swing earlier than they’d previously planned to lighten things up again.

“Is it just me or is it awfully quiet in here?” Bucky murmured, bringing the water bottle down from his mouth and looking around the living room in slight suspicion.

“I mean, she is in a timeout and you did take away her phone,” Sam reminded him, trying not to let himself panic as he got himself a water bottle from the fridge.

But it wasn’t that. Bucky could still hear her presence no matter how quiet. He could hear her crayons gliding on paper when she would sit down to color. He could hear her hum as she organized her toys around the table for tea parties. This quietness wasn’t normal.

Bucky jogged up the stairs to her room and just as he feared, she wasn't in there. Her sandwich was untouched. Her closet was open and her backpack and favourite blankie were missing.

“Sam!” He called for his husband, taking long strides to their bedroom to find she wasn't there either.

Sam ran up the stairs at Bucky's freaked tone and saw him pacing through the hallway.

“She's not here.”

“What?” Sam’s heart sank into his stomach.

“I can't find her.” Bucky shook his head at Sam, running his fingers through his hair in growing panic.

“Hey, calm down. We're gonna find her.” Sam rubbed a hand down Bucky's back, trying to hide his own fright for Bucky's sake as his mind ran to every single place she knew how to get to on her own.

“How? How are we gonna find her? We don't even know where she went or if she's okay-”

Sam put a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, the other cupping his cheek.

“Hey, breathe,” Sam instructed, slowly breathing so Bucky could copy him, trying to send away the panic attack ready to take over him. Bucky nuzzled his palm, his breath coming out shaky.

“That's it, Buck. In and out.” He moved his hands to Bucky’s.

“But she was so little when we sent her to her room and she probably doesn't even have any ID or money with her-”

“Bucky,” Sam squeezed his husband’s hands.

“We can't lose her, Sam. I can't- I took her phone away- if she's in trouble, she won't be able to-”

“Bucky, baby, we're gonna find her and she's gonna be okay. I promise.” Sam reassured him with words he himself wasn't sure would turn out to be true, his large palm stroking up and down the tense muscles of Bucky’s back, “I need you to keep breathing for me.”

Bucky tried to manage his breathing, slightly calming down to the thought of getting to hold her again.

“She couldn't have gotten that far, so we're gonna look around and I'm gonna call Steve, okay?” Bucky nodded at Sam's words, glossy eyes closing as Sam planted a kiss to the side of his forehead, “okay, baby. Let's go.”

~

Sam took the car, driving slowly, roaming the neighborhood to see if she was anywhere around the area. He was asking anyone and everyone who passed by his car if they've seen her. But apparently, no one has. Not even the old couple at the end of the street with the dog she loved to pet so much.

Bucky chose to go on foot as he walked in the other direction, preferring to depend on his enhanced senses instead of talking to other people. Even if he did talk to them for help, no one would understand that while her picture looked like that of a grown lady, she was a mere baby. They would never understand their panic.

Sam rubbed his forehead in frustration, leaning it against the wheel. He’d just hung up with Steve. He said she didn't come to his place; didn't even stop by. In fact, he hasn’t heard from her at all and got worried when Sam called. He took an uneven breath, trying to maintain his cool before he lifted his head up and started the car again.

~

Leaning back on the big tree, she wrapped her soft blankie tighter around her frame. It was getting kind of chilly and she was starting to regret leaving now that it wasn't that sunny anymore. The tears drying on her cheeks made her shiver even more and she sniffled, kissing her bunny's head and tugging the stuffed animal under her chin. She hoped Daddy and Papa were feeling better now that she was no longer there with them.

“Doll?” She heard Bucky's voice and before she could wonder if she'd imagined it, she was pressed to a hard chest.

“Oh, thank god,” Bucky sighed, kissing the side of her head over and over again, his hands tight around her back, holding her and her bunny close to his frantically beating heart.

“Baby, why'd you leave like that? We were so worried! We looked everywhere, we called everyone.” Bucky kissed her forehead a bunch before “-oh right!”

He got his phone out of his pocket with one arm, the other still firmly holding her to his chest. She kept holding onto her bunny, not really getting what was happening. Was she in trouble for leaving unannounced or not? Why would Daddy and Papa want to find her? She was nothing but trouble.

“Sam, I found her! We're in our secret place in the park.”

At Bucky's call, Sam took a sharp turn, stepping on the gas to get to the park as fast as he could.

“Are you okay, doll? Are you hurt anywhere?” Bucky asked her after hanging up, anxiously checking her head, face, arms and legs for injuries.

She shook her head silently, fresh, hot tears burning at the brims of her eyes.

“Thank god.” Bucky hugged her to his chest again, “we were so scared, doll. We were so scared.”

He kissed her damp cheeks and chin as she kept biting her lip, quietly sniveling.

She'd scared them. She'd worried them. Why was it always that she did something wrong while trying to do anything right? She was no good.

“It’s okay, love. I found you. I’m right here.” Bucky kissed her eyelids, then her nose, thinking she was crying because she was lost alone.

He pulled her on his lap and adjusted himself in her place, his back to the tree trunk as he held her close, fearing she’d disappear if he were to loosen his grip around her.

“Sugar!” Sam’s voice echoed through the empty part of the park when he saw her burrito-wrapped body in Bucky’s lap.

“Papa’s here, doll. It’s okay.” Bucky whispered to her when she didn’t stop crying.

She turned around and her eyes met Sam’s watery, brown ones.

“Hey, sugar,” Sam greeted softly, getting down on his knees before her.

Her lower lip jutted out further as new tears soaked her pretty face. It hasn’t even been a whole day and she’s missed Papa and Daddy so much. How was she ever planning on running away from them or being without them?

“Aww, no, no, baby, it’s okay,” Sam cooed, bringing her to his chest and engulfing her in a protective hug.

Her blanket fell in Bucky’s lap and she dropped her bunny to cling to Sam, barely quieting her sobs.

Not able to hold himself together any longer, a tear escaped Sam’s eye his gaze met Bucky’s. He buried his nose in her hair and squeezed her closer to him, sighing in relief that they’ve found her. His mind kept torturing him with scenarios of her getting hurt and not getting help. He didn’t know what he would’ve done if they’d actually lost her.

“You’re okay, sugar. Papa’s here with you. I’m sorry it took us so long, baby. We were looking in a lot of places.” Sam sniffled, pulling back to pepper featherlike kisses all over her face.

“You wanted to find me?” Her small, brittle voice asked, doe eyes staring up sadly.

“What? Of course we wanted to find you, baby! Why would you think otherwise?!”

“But I was bad. You w-were done. It needed to stop,” she repeated his and Bucky’s words on him and Sam felt shame cover him from head to toe, Bucky not any different as he bit down to stop his tears.

“Doll,” Bucky went to hold her hands only to find they were freezing.

“Shit! She’s too cold,” he told Sam, who immediately started taking off his jacket.

“Dada, bad word,” she softly reminded Bucky, covering her mouth with her hand before Sam got out of his jacket.

Sam slipped his warm jacket on her and pulled the zipper up, her small hands disappearing inside the long sleeves.

“Good girl, sugar. It is a bad word.” He rolled the sleeves back just enough to get her palms out so she could still hold her bunny.

“But you don’t see me asking daddy to leave because he was bad, do you?” Sam asked tenderly and she shook her head no.

“Exactly, I’m not. You know why?” Sam pressed kisses to both of her hands multiple times, rubbing them between his palms to warm her up.

“Why, papa?” she asked as he carried her in his arms; Bucky gathering the rest of her stuff.

“Because I love him so much." Sam wiped her tears. "And both me and daddy love you so so so much, sugar.” He pressed a firm kiss to her temple.

Bucky handed her the small bunny back after patting any dust or leaves out of it.

“We never want you to go, doll.” Bucky pressed a kiss to her shoulder.

“Even when I’m really really bad?”

“Even if you’re really really bad,” Sam guaranteed, kissing her temple again.

“But- I thought papa and daddy would be happier and not so angry no more if I left,” she mumbled innocently as Sam started walking to the car with her in his arms.

“That could never be true, doll. We’re only happy as long as we have you,” Bucky reassured her, opening the backseat door so Papa could slip in with her on his lap.

“And you still love me?” Her pout, teary puppy eyes and words were just killing both men inside.

“Of course we love you, doll! We will always love you. We can never afford to lose you,” Bucky told her, his eyes searching hers to offer them comfort.

“Baby, we love you so much it’s uncountable, remember?” Sam ran his thumb over the knuckles of her stuffie-holding hands.

She nodded, her eyes teary but her smile comforted and reassured. “I love you too, Papa,” she mumbled, grabbing onto Sam’s thumb, her eyelids barely staying open.

“I’m sorry I left,” she sniffled.

“It’s alright, baby. We’re all together now and we're going home.” Sam kissed her forehead once more, wanting her to forget all about it and know everything was okay again.

“Told you we’d find her,” Sam said, drawing Bucky inside the car by the cheek and brushing his lips against his.

“You did.” Bucky nodded, pressing his forehead to Sam’s and kissing him again.

Bucky pulled back and smiled adoringly at her sleepy eyes fighting to stay open as she leaned onto Sam's chest before getting in the driver’s seat to take them home. Sam was caressing her hair and before she knew it her eyes were fluttering closed.

All the crying all day had drained her and her body could finally give up and relax now that she was in Papa’s hold; she was out like a light.

“You’re so important to me and daddy, sugar. Never ever forget that,” Sam whispered against her forehead before pressing a slow kiss to her skin.

She might've had no idea how adored and cherished she actually was, but that was okay. Sam and Bucky had a lifetime ahead of them where they could show her again and again that they loved and needed her just as much as she did them.

~

“Dada! Papa! Wake up! We have a swing!”

She’d fallen asleep pretty early in the car last night and neither Sam nor Bucky had the heart to wake her up when they got home. So they took her shoes and socks off and tucked her in in their bed.

Now they had to deal with her waking up way too early. She’d gone to the bathroom on her own like a good girl before her stomach hungrily grumbled. And when she got to the kitchen for a cup of water and maybe the plate of fruit in the fridge, her eyes fell on the swing showing outside the small window on the kitchen door.

Bucky rolled over and opened his eyes first, her jumping on her knees on the bed beside him pulling him out of his dreams. Sam, however, didn’t move a muscle. The man slept so soundly that sometimes Bucky was jealous. How heavy of a sleeper could a person be?

“Yes, we do, baby.” Bucky chuckled. “Me and papa built it just for you.” He smiled sleepily at her excited face before annoyingly poking Sam’s back, “Sam, wake up.”

“Tank you, dada.” She settled back on her ankles though still buzzing with joy.

“You like it, sugar?” Bucky opened his arms wide for her.

“Yes, I love it.” She nodded happily before perching herself on his hard chest, cutely kissing his jaw, “and I love you, dada.”

“Sam.” He affectionately punched his sleeping husband’s shoulder, smirking when he heard him groan, “she likes the swing.”

[imaginesfordifferentfandoms]

It's Going To Be You

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Prompt - I knew I did from that first moment we met. It was…not love at first sight exactly, but - familiarity. Like: oh, hello, it’s you. It’s going to be you.

—————————————————–

Spencer Reid knew from the moment he laid eyes on you that you were something else, he could tell from one glance that you would change his life. No words needed to be exchanged for the man to be completely and utterly taken by you. He watched as you walked through the door, though your head was held high, shoulders pushed back giving the impression of complete confidence, he saw the way you fiddled with the strap of your bag with one hand. When he looked at your other hand he could see your forefinger picking at your thumb, clearly a nervous habit. He watched as you looked around the room, watched as Rossi made his way over to you, guiding you over to Hotch’s office with a smile.

“Down, pretty boy.” Derek grinned as Spencer startled, his head snapping around to face Derek just as you entered Hotch’s office. “I’ve never seen that look on your face and you don’t even know her name.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Spencer replied, cringing at how unconvincing he sounded.

He turned away from Derek and tried to focus on his paperwork but he could stop his eyes from straying over to the closed office door every few minutes much to Derek and Rossi’s amusement.

“Who is she anyway?” Derek asked.

“She’s lucky number ten,” Rossi told them, smothering a smile as Spencer looked over, “who knew finding another agent would be so difficult.”

“Wait,” another voice interrupted, “there’s a new person here? Is she nice? Why is that always my first question?” The group laughed as Penelope quizzed Rossi.

“Listen, I know as much as you people.” He said and before anyone else could speak Penelope was being handed a folder causing them all to groan.

-

“Agent Hotchner?” You asked as you were granted access to the office.

Hotch stood as you walked in, moving around his desk to hold a hand out to you.

“Yes and you’re Y/F/N Y/L/N, I presume?” He asked, smiling slightly at you as you nodded, still fiddling with your bag. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, please have a seat.”

“Thank you sir.” You smiled, taking a seat in the offered chair watching as he made his way back behind his desk.

“Your supervisor spoke very highly of you when I spoke with him, your success rate is impressive.” Hotch praised, glancing down at the file in front of him. “Your latest case seemed rather difficult, are you sure you’re ready to be back in the field again?”

“I passed all my psychiatric exams, I was cleared to return.” You told him stiffly.

“I’m aware of your results, I just want to be sure you’re ready. Infiltrating yourself into the life of Douglas Miller couldn’t have been an easy feat.” Hotch watched as a look of satisfaction took over your face.

“I’m ready, sir.” You told him, relaxing slightly. “It was a tough case, I’ll be the first to admit that seeing what I saw had an impact but I can do this.”

Hotch smiled at you before closing the folder.

“I believe you,” he said, “I think you’ll be a valuable addition to this team.”

The words were what you were hoping to hear, you’d wanted a job with the BAU for longer than you could remember but you paused. Surely it wasn’t that easy, right?

“Wait? That’s it?” You asked.

“That’s it.” Hotch confirmed, fighting back a smile at your expression.

“But- but I’ve been here less than five minutes.” You countered back, there were so many emotions going on within you that you felt slightly overwhelmed.

“Y/N, ever since your name was put forward I looked into your work and I was impressed. Your skills at undercover work are far above what I’ve seen in a long time, that alone would be an incredibly useful assest to the team but on top of that your ability to connect and empathise with unsubs, fast thinking and your profiling skills- trust me, you deserve this job and I have complete faith in you.” Hotch’s words had left you speechless, you had no clue how to respond but thankfully you didn’t have to as the door was pushed open and both you and Hotch turned to look at the brightly dressed woman in the doorway.

“I’m sorry to interrupt sir but we have a case.” The woman said and Hotch stood gesturing for you to follow.

“You have a to go bag?” He asked as you both walked out the door.

“Yes sir.” You nodded, still baffled by how well things had gone.

“Good, welcome to the team Y/L/N.”

-

“Everyone, this is SSA Y/F/N Y/L/N. I’m sure proper introductions can be made later.” Hotch said as the two of you entered the room before gesturing to Garcia that she could begin.

“Ok, yes, so, we have five bodies so far found in Wyoming. The first two bodies were hidden amongst some trees close to firehole bay. The ME presumes that the time of death was mostly likely a week ago but we should have full confirmation when you arrive. The victims, who we haven’t been able to identify yet, but I am working on it, were stripped completely and the wounds, that are in your files because I so do not need to see that, show heavy signs of torture. ” Garcia informed you all.

“The next body was a single male, again stripped and tortured and the ME says this death is most likely four to five days old. This body was found a few miles away from Basin Bay Point campsite.”

“Wait a second,” somebody interrupted, causing you to turn your head. There sat a man, younger than the rest of the team, he was…how you had missed him you didn’t know but now you felt like you couldn’t look away. “If I’m not mistaken those places are roughly twenty miles from each other at walking distance.”

“And driving distance?” An older man asked.

“I don’t think there is a way to drive to Basin Bay Point, especially not to where the body was left.” The younger man replied, looking down at the folder he was given with a frown.

“I’ll have a map ready for you on the plane.” Penelope assured him before continuing. “Now, the next two bodies were the most recent, ME says they were killed a day or two ago and these victims we have been able to identify as Taylor Gomez and her boyfriend Jack Gaskarth.” Penelope said as she brought their pictures up. “They were never reported missing because they had told friends and family they were going camping, which checks out because their bodies were found three miles away from Lewis Lake campground. They show the same wounds as the other vics.” Garcia explained.

You grimaced as you looked down at the tablet Hotch had passed you as you saw a young man and woman, naked with slices all across their bodies, as well as deep bruising to the neck.

“What was the CoD, Garcia?” The younger man spoke up again.

“ME still needs to run a full examination but her best bet is that it was asphyxiation.” She told him with a frown.

“That makes sense, there isn’t a lot of blood or scabbing which suggests they were done post mortem.”

“So what,” you spoke up, pausing for a moment when everyone turned to you, “the unsub blitz attacks the victims and kills them before torturing them? What’s the point in that?”

“It could be a number of things actually. Perhaps it’s not about the kills for him but more to do with the fascination of the human body, we’ve seen it before where curiosity leads to this kind of attack. It could also be that he has to kill, he has a compulsion to kill and once he’s given into that compulsion he gets to fulfil other urges. If I had to guess I’d say the victims are victims of opportunity-” The younger man rambled, his hands gesturing in front of him as he spoke causing you to smile.

“Because there is no set pattern, he crosses race and gender lines and there’s no secondary location.” You cut off the other man who looked at you with a grin.

“Exactly, the area is so isolated that he can get away with quick and easy killings but because it doesn’t seem like there’s a secondary location yet we have to presume that the torture is a means to satisfy himself when he can’t hold his victims hostage.”

“It’s a long flight and this unsub doesn’t appear to be slowing down. Wheels up in fifteen.” Hotch said as he stood up, everyone was quick to follow until it was just you and the guy you had spoken to left.

“Hi.” He said, causing you to turn around with a smile.

“Hi.”

“I’m Spencer, Spencer Reid.” He introduced himself.

“Y/F/N Y/L/N, nice to meet you.” You replied, reaching out your hand to shake his, your eyebrows pulling together slightly as he shook his head.

“Sorry, I don’t um,” He said, causing you to drop your hand and nod understandingly, “it’s nothing against you, just…germs.” He trailed off, berating himself in his head.

“No problem.” You smiled again, god that smile. Spencer felt his heart race.

“Congratulations on joining the team.” He praised as the two of you walked out of the round table room.

“Thank you, I’ve wanted this for so long.” He watched as the smile fell from your face before you shook your head slightly.

“Is everything ok?” He asked, understanding the nerves. He couldn’t help but glance down, almost smiling as he saw you picking at your thumb.

“Yeah, I’m just, what if I mess up?” You couldn’t help but ask. After wanting this job for as long as you had, all the hard nights and long days spent training you were finally here and you’d be damned if you screwed everything up.

“You won’t, Hotch wouldn’t have hired you if he didn’t think you were good enough, trust me. I think you’ll be amazing.” He told you, flushing slightly at his own words and the soft smile that replaced the frown on your face.

“Thank you Spencer.” You replied softly and before he could respond the rest of the team was calling for the two of you to head to the air strip.

-

On the plane you were properly introduced to everyone as you took a seat next to Spencer, sitting opposite Hotch and Rossi. On the table in front of you Spencer had both a map of the US and a smaller map of Wyoming. You watched his fingers trace invisible lines as his eyebrows knitted together.

You were trying not to stare, really you were, but there was just something about the man that made you want to get to know him.

Thankfully before anyone noticed your eyes glancing at Spencer every few moments, the man himself spoke.

“Guys, if you map out where the five victims were found,” Spencer began, circling three places on the map as he did, “it looks like the victims might have been hiking the continental divide trail.”

“Pretty boy, isn’t that trail like thousands of miles long?” Morgan asked, watching as Spencer nodded, pushing the little map of Wyoming out of the way for a moment and drawing a line down the map of the US.

“This is the continental divide trail, it’s 3,300 miles long and it’s actually quite difficult to hike. These people had to have been exceptionally fit and healthy which further backs up the theory that these were blitz attacks. You can go days without seeing other people when hiking the trail and most hikers have to give up because of lack of supplies or needing urgent medical care from injuries and illnesses they attract. A part of the Wyoming part of the trail includes a 120 mile stretch of desert with water sources few and far between.” Spencer rambled and you couldn’t help the soft smile, though you did try to hide it behind your hand, glancing away from Rossi when you locked eyes with him and he raised an eyebrow at you.

“So we have a serial killer and 3,300 miles of potential hunting grounds?” JJ asked.

“So far he seems to be focusing on Wyoming, which narrows the geographic profile down to…’ Spencer paused as he pulled the Wyoming map closer to him, “550 miles.”

“I hope you all brought your hiking boots.” Rossi said as groans filled the jet.

“Hello my crime fighters.” Garcia’s voice sounded through the speakers. “Hotch, the families of the latest two victims are at the station waiting for you.”

“Thank you Garcia,” Hotch replied before turning to the team. “JJ, I want you to come with me to the station and help interview the families. We also need to get ahead of the media on this before they start glorifying the unsub. Reid, since the geographic profile is mostly established, I want you to take Y/L/N and head to the latest crime scene. Dave and Morgan, the two of you head to the second crime scene.”

You and Spencer both shared a look at the news you were travelling to a crime scene that couldn’t be driven too. Whilst you managed to pass the FBI’s training and fitness tests you weren’t exactly athletically inclined and seeing from the look Spencer was giving you neither was he.

Judging from the chuckles that filled the plane the others had come to the same conclusion that you and Spencer were not going to recover from this trip.

-

You had driven as close to the crime scene as you could get, which was thankfully closer than the one Morgan and Rossi had to go to. It was still a hell of a hike to get to where the unsub had dumped the bodies.

“Ok, ok,” Spencer panted, cheeks flushed from the heat. “Let’s take a break.”

“Please.” You were quick to agree and the two of you sat down heavily on a fallen tree trunk. You had all been warned that you needed supplies, even for a short hike. So you had both been sent out with backpacks filled with water bottles and food. There were other supplies like maps, compasses and first aid kits that you were hoping you wouldn’t have to use. Thankfully you had been paired with the man with the eidetic memory because you couldn’t read a map to save your life.

After the two of you gulped down some water and caught your breath Spencer spoke up.

“Why the BAU?” He asked suddenly, causing you to look up in confusion.

“Sorry?” You replied.

“You said you had wanted to join the BAU for a long time, why?” He asked again, not pushing you when you paused.

It wasn’t a secret what had happened to your family, Spencer could easily find the information out if he wanted to but you wanted to be the one to tell him. It wasn’t a story you liked sharing with people but something about Spencer made you feel…safe.

“When I was a kid there was a serial killer but he was in the next state over and we were from a small town so nobody thought to worry and after a while things went quiet so everyone just assumed he stopped, you know? Anyway, one day I went to my friend’s house, it was summer and I was always out with my friends. I was there for a few hours but I was always home in time for dinner except for this day, I ended up losing track of time and headed home an hour late. When I got home, my momma was there in the kitchen. She was covered in blood and I just screamed. The rest of my family didn’t make it either. When the police came they said the markings were the same as the victims from the next state over.” You told him, not pausing for breath as you rushed through the story. You watched as his expression fell, his sympathy written on his face.

“I’m so sorry.” He told you and you could hear the sincerity in his tone. You gave him a small smile before continuing.

“I could just never understand why. The thing that kept me up at night was that question: why? Why them? Why did he come here? Why wasn’t I home? Why did I deserve to live? I started researching and somehow came across an article about the BAU, from there I knew I wanted to work there.”

“Most people wouldn’t be able to come back from something like that, especially at such a young age.” Spencer said, causing you to glance over at him. “They’d be so proud of you.”

You couldn’t help but let out what sounded like a chuckle and a sob at those words, causing Spencer’s eyes to widen in fear he had upset you further but then you smile brightly and he couldn’t help but smile back.

“I like to think so.” You said softly. “You ready to continue?” You asked, chuckling as he groaned before standing up.

“I hate Hotch.” Was the grumbled response and the laugh he received in return made every sore bone and the aching feet worth it.

-

“We know that this unsub is a physically fit white male in his mid to late thirties.” Hotch began.

“Looking at the geographical pattern it’s safe to assume that he too is hiking the Continental Divide Trail in search of victims who are isolated from the rest of civilization. He also has no problems taking down two victims.” Spencer continued.

“The period in between kills is lessening so we should expect to find another body soon, have as many officers as possible on the rest of the trail.” You picked up.

“Considering the last kill was two days ago, the average person could walk up to 30 miles a day on normal terrain but we have to consider that the terrain out there is harsh so lets say he walks 20 miles a day that gives up a 40 mile radius he could be in. He is guaranteed to stay on the continental divide trail so stop every male you see.” Spencer told the LEO’s and after some more information was shared everyone headed off in different directions, the BAU members heading into the room they had been given to work in.

“Y/N,” Hotch said, causing everyone to look over at you.

“Yes sir?” You asked, looking up from your laptop.

“You’re probably the most skilled undercover agent in this room,” He said, causing your cheeks to flush and Spencer couldn’t help but smile. “I know this isn’t exactly the type of case you’d usually be assigned but perhaps if we send you out there we have a better chance of catching him. This man is impulsive, if he sees you he won’t be able to control himself.” Hotch explained, ignoring the questioning looks he was getting from most of the team.

You, however, relaxed, thankful that you hadn’t done something wrong. Undercover work was easy, you were comfortable with it, you knew you were good at it. Obviously you weren’t as confident at this part of the job yet, how could you be on your first case, but undercover work? That was your area of expertise.

“Of course sir.” You agreed easily before remembering how fun the small hike to the last crime scene was…your body would not thank you for signing up for a much longer hike.

“Hotch, are you sure that’s a good idea?” Morgan spoke up causing you to frown. Sure they didn’t know you yet but surely your record spoke for itself. “No offence to you,” he said quickly as he turned to you, “it’s just-“

But before he could finish Hotch cut him off, “I have full faith in Y/L/N’s abilities.”

You couldn’t help feeling a swell of pride at Hotch’s words, a man who you looked up to, a man who barely knew you but was trusting you with so much already. You locked eyes with Spencer who smiled at you reassuringly.

“I’m not doubting the kid’s abilities,” Morgan continued, missing the way you rolled your eyes at being called a kid. “I’m just saying maybe don’t send her in on her own on her first case.”

“I’ll go with her.” Spencer spoke up before Hotch could argue back.

Your eyes widened at Spencer’s offer, he did just as well as you did on your first outing and now he was offering to put himself through hours more of that for what?

“Are you ok with that, Y/N?” Hotch asked you.

You didn’t even hesitate to nod, more than happy for the opportunity to spend time with Spencer Reid.

-

“We’ll be close by the whole time,” Hotch told you as he passed you your backpack filled with supplies, “the second we hear something, we’ll be there.” He assured you and you couldn’t help but smile at his concern.

“I’ll be fine, sir. This is actually the part of the job I’m good at.” You laughed, watching as his lip twitched upwards.

“You’ve been a great help in coming up with a profile too.” He assured you and before you could say anything the rest of the team was flooding in.

The plan for you and Spencer to hike up to a specific spot that Spencer had managed to pinpoint the unsub at and set up camp there. From there you would wait and hope for the unsub to appear. The man was impulsive and his need to kill would be overwhelming by now. The two of you were wired up so that if the unsub appeared the rest of the team could step in and help with the arrest.

You and Spencer were dropped off half an hour away from your campsite just so that if the unsub was around he wouldn’t suspect anything.

The walk was mostly silent, both you and Spencer focusing on not breaking an ankle on the uneven terrain when Spencer finally spoke up.

“Morgan didn’t mean anything insulting.” He told you, causing you to pause before shrugging your shoulders and continuing. When you stayed silent Spencer continued, “he’s just protective but sometimes he isn’t really good at showing it and it comes across…”

“It comes across like he thinks I can’t do my job despite this being my forte.” You finished with a huff before sighing. “I’m sorry, I just…you can’t imagine how many times a male colleague has said I can’t do something and then a supervisor has agreed, you don’t understand how hard I have to fight to be given assignments and not have somebody constantly berating me.” You ranted.

“People look at me like I’m a child. When I first joined the BAU nobody would take me seriously, without Gideon I don’t know what would have happened.” Spencer told you quietly, causing you to frown.

“So you can understand why it’s so frustrating that someone who doesn’t know me didn’t even want to give me a chance.” You replied, causing him to nod sadly. ‘I know he probably didn’t mean anything but…”

“You’ve heard that your entire career.” Spencer finished.

“Hotch was the first person to give me a chance without any hesitation.” You told him softly, watching as he smiled at that. “This should be close enough.” You said as you looked around, the place looked similar to the image Spencer had shown the team.

“Please tell me you know how to put a tent up.” You said, watching as his face twisted.

“I know the theory?” The way his response sounded like a question made you smile as you pulled poles and material out of a bag. The two of you staring down at the mess with matching expressions of confusion.

“Now would be a really good time for the unsub to attack.” He muttered, causing you to laugh loudly. Spencer couldn’t help but grin over at you, your cheeks flushing as you caught the expression.

It took longer than either you or Spencer were willing to admit to put the tent up, despite the fact that it wouldn’t get used, you had to make it look like the pair of you were really camping. There was a lot of grumbling, many curse words and a cut or two.

There was also a lot of laughter coming from the comms in your ears causing both you and Spencer to roll your eyes.

Once the tent was up, Spencer lay a blanket down outside of it and sat down, gesturing for you to do the same. Miraculously the two of you got a fire started and as the sun set and the night time air chilled you were thankful for it.

“I don’t camp but I guess I can see the appeal.” Spencer told you as he titled his head back to look up at the stars. You glanced up too, the sky wasn’t totally black yet, more of an inky blue colour and you could see every star on the cloudless night.

It was beautiful and yet you still found your gaze falling back on Spencer.

“Yeah, me too.” You replied softly, your voice quiet so as not to break the peacefulness around you.

Somehow the two of you ended up laying down and looking up at the sky, you had a smile on your face that refused to move as Spencer’s hushed voice told you facts about stars.

“I’m glad you’re on the team.” Spencer whispered after a long pause of silence. It took you a moment to register his words before you turned your head, coming face to face with the man.

“Me too.” You whispered back, meaning the words with your entire being.

Just as Spencer went to say something you heard a rustle in the bushes and locked eyes with Spencer who nodded.

The two of you waited, not waiting to disrupt the operation if it just turned out to be an animal, but as you pushed yourself up on your elbow and discreetly looked around you saw a faint outline of a man. He was hidden behind a tree but he was watching the two of you.

“The hike up here was exactly what we needed.” You told Spencer and through the comms you heard the team moving out.

“You’re right.” He played along, smiling up at you from his reclined position.

Before you knew what was happening Spencer had his gun out and the unsub grabbed you, placing you in front of him as a human shield. If someone asked you, you would never have been able to recall the events that led to you having a knife held to your neck.

You saw the panicked look in Spencer’s eyes but you couldn’t hear his thoughts, they were overwhelming. Thoughts of Maeve passed through his mind as he pleaded with anyone who would listen to let you be ok, he couldn’t lose you too. Hell, he’d only known you a few days and yet he knew you were special, he knew he had to have you in his life. If you died now…

“Just let her go.” Spencer said, keeping his gun trained on the man.

“I let her go, you ship me off to death row.” The man responded, his face close to your face, too close. The smell of his breath had you grimacing.

“I’ll make you a deal,” Spencer responded, not even thinking. He just needed to get you away.

“Spenc, what you doing kid?” He heard Morgan through his ear piece but he just shook his head before shooting you a reassuring smile, trying not to focus on the tears in your eyes or the blood on your neck.

“I’m listenin’.” The unsub replied after a moment of silence, gesturing for Spencer to continue.

“Let her go,” He said, lowering his gun, “I won’t arrest you. You can get a head start before anyone else gets here. Just let her go.” Spencer pleaded.

It was a tense few seconds in which Spencer never took his eyes off you, he hated to see that scared look in your eyes, the fear in them made Spencer ache.

“Let her go.” Spencer said once more and he let out a sigh of relief as you were pushed into his arms.

Just as the unsub ran to leave, you twisted around in Spencer’s arms and drew your own gun, shooting the unsub in the leg. The rest of the team ran in just as the man fell to the ground.

Spencer turned you around so that you were facing him, his hands on your shoulders.

“Are you ok?” He asked, Morgan and Hotch walking over whilst Rossi and JJ dealt with the man.

You didn’t respond with words, instead you wrapped your arms around Spencer. He didn’t hesitate to wrap his own around you, holding you close as you let the tears slid down your face.

You pulled away abruptly, rubbing your eyes as you did.

“Sorry, you don’t like to be touched and here I am-“ You said but Spencer just cut you off.

“It’s fine, really.” He assured you before his attention turned to your neck. The knife hadn’t pierced the skin too badly, there was a small bit of blood where the knife had nicked you when the unsub pressed a bit too hard.

“Are you ok?” He asked again, fingers on your jaw so that he could tilt your face and get a better look.

“Spencer, I’m fine.” You assured him but that didn’t stop him from getting you medical attention the moment you were back in the town.

Spencer watched as you squirmed away from the nurse seeing to you with a soft smile.

There was something about you that made him feel so free, like he could be himself and the thought of losing you…he didn’t want to think about it again.

“You like her.” Derek said as he came to stand next to the younger man.

“That’s ridiculous, I’ve known her for a few days.” Spencer shot back but he knew his friend was right.

“If she’s the right girl, a few days is all you need.” Was Derek’s reply before he walked away, leaving Spencer looking at you with a thoughtful look on his face.

-

The plane ride home was uneventful.

You took the seat next to Spencer again and watched him pull a book out. You couldn’t help but glance down at it, your eyebrows knitting together in confusion as you didn’t recognise the language.

“It’s Russian.” He told you quietly, not wanting to disturb anyone as they settled in for a long flight.

“You read Russian?” You asked just as quietly, watching as he smiled bashfully and shrugged before nodding. You glanced down at the pages again before letting out a small yawn. “Can you read to me?” You asked him, smiling as he nodded again.

“Of course,” He said and with that it wasn’t long before you fell asleep to the soothing sound of Spencer Reid.

-

“Ask her, man.” Morgan said as both he and Spencer watched you leave the office after finishing your paperwork. Spencer too was done and Morgan assured him he’d make sure Hotch received it.

There was only a brief moment of hesitation before Spencer snatched his satchel up and ran to the elevators, getting there just before they shut on you.

“Hey.” He greeted as he stepped in.

“Hi.” You smiled, brushing a piece of hair out of your face.

“I was wondering, I mean if you wanted to, of course you don’t have to, I was only suggesting but I’d really like it if you would,” Spencer rambled before cutting himself out with a groaning causing you to giggle.

“Are you asking me out?” You asked, cheeks flushing as you asked.

“I’m trying to,” he told you, “but I’m not very good at this.”

“Just ask.” You told him softly.

“Would you like to go out with me?” He asked after taking a deep and calming breath.

“I’d love to.” You grinned, thankful that the man had made a move. You wouldn’t have risked asking him on the chance that you were reading him wrong and he didn’t like you but thankfully he had taken it into his own hands.

“Good. Great. That, that’s great.” He repeated, a soft grin spreading across his face causing you to giggle as the doors opened.

The two of you walked out together and there was a moment of awkward silence before Spencer dipped his head down to kiss your cheek, making your blush even more prominent.

You looked so pretty when you blushed, Spencer thought.

“I’ll call you.” He promised.

“I hope so.” You replied before heading towards your car, when you turned around you saw Spencer still stood by the doors with a smile still on his face. You giggled to yourself but couldn’t stop smiling yourself if you tried.

Spencer Reid was something else and you couldn’t wait to learn everything about that wonderful man.

[letarasstuff]

It's where my Demons hide

(A/N): This was requested by an anon and the amount of work I put in... let's just said it's way more than I do for uni

Summary: After a case going south and unfortunate events, Spencer's sister is trying to defend the demons on her own. But she learns that she doesn't have to

Warnings: usual CM stuff, abduction and torture, brief mentions of addictions to drugs/heavy medication, blood, suice mentions, killing, we are meeting and old friend, hurt comfort, heavy angst, please tell me if there is more

Wordcount: 4k

✨Masterlist✨

___________________________________

When Derek met Spencer's sister for the first time, she was an 18 year old teenager with a bachelor degree in sociology and master in criminology while working on her thesis in psychology. This moment he asked himself what they put in Las Vegas' tap water or are the siblings just aliens trying to mimic humanity but failing miserably. To this day he keeps asking himself this question and still doesn't have an answer, even though he works with both siblings side-by-side for quite some time now.

"No Spencer, you totally and always ate all of the granola bars we had at hom-" " My lovely Sweethearts, we got a new case!" Penelope cuts the siblings’ playful fight off, running straight to the roundtable room. Looking at each other, Spencer and (Y/N) communicate about how bad this one will be. They agree it will be a rough one, it’s just a feeling they both share.

Emily, who watched the interaction go down, shakes her head. The bond these two share is too deep and complex for an outsider to understand.

“Alright, this one is so icky, it makes me want to cover our smart girl’s eyes,” Penelope states before starting the slide show, getting a few laughs and smiles from the team, except for (Y/N). She groans, tired off all the teasing. After all, she just had her one year anniversary of being with the BAU, so one might think the team is getting tired of making fun of her age. But no, a 23 years old will not catch a breather in this unit of the FBI.

“Oh, this was fun. But what’s coming unfortunately won’t be. You will fly nowhere, because this case happens to take place in our own backyard. This UnSub is targeting prostitutes as of now. Three were found in different alleys all over Washington D.C. They all died because of blood loss. The UnSub cut through the main arteries on both their wrists.” While talking Garcia goes through the slide show, presenting the pictures to the team.

“Looks like he disposes of them like trash, clearly showing his thinking about women,” Rossi analyzes upon seeing a picture of a disposal site. “Maybe he also thinks of them as dirty? These alleys and dumpsters are not in the best part of the city,” (Y/N) theorizes. Derek nods his head. “But let’s also not forget that he chooses a relatively painful way of killing, feeling yourself bleeding out is another aspect of his torture method.”

Emily thumbs through the reports already given to them on their tablets. “How long is his cool off period?” “Barely three days,” Hotch answers,” and from what we know this can change quickly. JJ and Rossi, I want you to go to the first dumping site and work your way through to the most recent one. Prentiss and Morgan, you go to the ME, find out if there are other wounds except for the cuts on the wrists. Garcia, look the victims up and gather where they were abducted from. Reid-”

“Yes, Sir?” “Hotch?” Both cut Aaron off and turn their head towards him, ready to get a task assigned. It’s still a common mistake, calling one name and having brother and sister answer.

“Spencer,” he corrects himself," I want you to build a geographical profile based on the information you’ll get from Garcia. (Y/N), you come with me to the police station. You will be introduced to the Captain there. Everybody else, dismissed." Quickly the team scrambles to action.

"Did you do something wrong, Sir? If so, please tell me I'll work on it I promise." (Y/N), tries to keep up with her boss’ fast pace, who walks into the direction of the elevator. "Why should I be mad at you? You do an excellent job, there is nothing to complain about." She looks at him confused. "B-but you are benching me. You only do that when someone is in the figuratively speaking dog house." She splutters out.

"(Y/N), no. You didn't do anything wrong. I just want you to meet the Captain we are usually working with when we get cases in D.C." Just like her brother, the young woman isn't someone who easily meets new people. Hotch is sure she will try to stay cramped up in the office for the rest of the day, doing solely any intellectual work she is given.

"Captain Montgomery," Aaron briefly greets the tall umber skinned woman. " SSA Hotchner, why do we always meet when there is an awful crime happening in our city?" She asks, shaking his hand. Before he has a chance to answer with another floskel, (Y/N) explains the reason.

"Given the fact that both of you work in law enforcement, which per definition works when a law is broken or will be broken to guarantee law and order, it's more probable that you meet during an investigation then when being on a simple walk, especially given the number of people living in D.C. and the number working in law enforc-" "I see, you got yourself a new genius. What did you do with the other one? Is he in the repair shop for robots?" Captain Montgomery cuts off the young woman and turns to Hotch. Awkwardly (Y/N) puts her hands in her pockets, realizing she's just geniusplained something pretty trivial.

"This is our newest agent Special Agent (Y/N) Reid. SSA Spencer Reid is still working for us, You don't need to worry about him." The Captain sticks her hand towards the other agent. "Oh, I assume you are married to SSA Spencer Reid? You look pretty young to be married to someone." " Oh no, I'm not married, Spencer is my older brother. Can't imagine marrying that guy. Also, I don't shake hands. The number of pathogens passed through a handshake sometimes keeps me up at night." The older one musters her with a depreciative look. "Now I see the similarity."

Not long after this the team meets up again at the bureau, each sharing their findings.

"The cuts on the first victim were hesitant, but graduating through to the third one he seems to get more confident. Besides that there are only some shallow cuts along the body," Morgan tells the others, looking over his notes to make sure he doesn't forget anything.

"The dumping sides show the exact things we assumed. The UnSub disposes of his victims like trash. He didn't even try to hide it, It's just like throwing trash away for him," JJ explains the observations they made. Now everyone turns to Spencer, who stands in front of a map. Patiently he explains the meanings of the dots and circles he drew.

"The UnSub grabs prostitutes from the same area. Garcia found out that all of them worked in the same part of the city. This means he has a hunting zone he is comfortable in. But the disposal sites are chosen at random, as if he once drove by and just decided on that place." "It seems like," Rossi thinks out loud, "our UnSub somehow is connected to the area he hunts his victims in."

While the team continues to throw some ideas around, (Y/N) can't help but feel like she already has seen some parts of the case somewhere else. But it can't be. She worked with the BAU for a little over a year now and none of the cases they had in that time were anything like that. She continues to mull over where she has seen it before, ignoring what the others are talking about.

No, she hasn't seen it. It is something the young agent was told once. It was like a story. A story told to her.

"I-I gotta go ask Garcia something," she tells the others briefly, exiting the conference room with a quick step. Since she does practically run into the bat cave, (Y/N) is out of breath as she stands right next to everybody's favorite tech genius. "Oh my, girl wonder, are you chased by somebody? Personally, whenever I see a Reid running, I start to run too, because none of them participates in any kind of physical activity voluntarily. There must be a serious reason for one to run."

"Previous cases, dead prostitutes, D.C." The young woman huffs out, trying to form words from the thoughts going faster than light. " Oh, work, I got you girl wonder," While saying that Penelope is already clicking the keys on her board. "And we got a case from 2006. Prostitutes were killed, because the UnSub wanted to clean the city from them. Right, I remember that one. But why are yo- Nathan Harris?! How did you know about this?" Confused, the blonde turns towards her colleague.

"Spencer told me about this a few days after the case happened. He went for a visit in Vegas and took the trip to MIT. He told me about the case and how Nathan Harris tried to take his own life by cutting his wrists. I- Do you think this could be him?" " I'm pretty sure it's him," Penelope gets up from the desk chair, takes her laptop and runs with (Y/N) back to the conference room. They catch the rest of the team up with their findings while Garcia tries to find a current address for him.

"OK, I got three addresses. One at his mother's apartment, a work address and an address for a hut in the woods." Hotch nods at the information. "Emily and Dave go to his work address. Morgan and I take the hut with Spencer. And you, (Y/N) and JJ, will check out the mother's address."

Not long after this the two women arrive at their assigned address. After knocking on the door several times there still isn't an answer. JJ looks at (Y/N) getting a nod from her. "FBI, open up!" Again they are met with silence.

The two agents get into position before JJ kicks the door down. Silently they decide who goes into which direction. The apartment is dark, so they are on high alert. Every little sound makes them jump up.

JJ slowly makes her way through the kitchen until she stumbles over something. Alerted, the blonde looks down taking a few steps back in shock upon seeing over what, or who, she nearly fell. Dead, scared eyes are looking at her. Eyes she has seen the last time five years ago. The rest of the body is nearly unrecognizable. It is covered in blood and stab wounds, the anger of the killer is evident.

"(Y/N)! I found the mother!" Jennifer shouts towards her friend. But there is no answer. Not even when she shouts for a second time. And then a third time. As she goes for fourth, she feels a sharp sting in the back of her head, the whole world going dark suddenly.

"JJ? JJ?! Thank god," A voice says in relief as she opens her eyes. Emily is standing above her, hands holding JJ's head, trying to access the wounds. "(Y/N)" She gulps. "(Y/N) is not here. Nathan Harris, he took her." Prentiss tells her.

After getting checked out by an EMT, JJ goes back to the FBI building with Prentiss to regroup with the rest of the team. As they exit the elevator the blonde spots her best friend. As quickly as she can with an ice pack pressing down her neck she makes her way over to him. Guilt is eating her from the inside out alive. Guilt, because she couldn't save his best friend's sister from getting abducted.

"Spencer, I'm sor-" " You can save it. Rationally I know that this is not your fault. It was a routine investigation with a low level risk. But low risk doesn’t mean zero. Statistically spoken this was not your fault even though the odds were in your favor. Emotionally, I am furious at you. The same thing happened to me once and I can't imagine any of this happening to my sister. Yes I'm relieved you're alive. But I only want my sister back. So please just help me get her back. I need to know that she's OK. I'm-I'm just scared of any of the things I had to live through- I don’t wish that upon my worst enemy. And this is my sister we are t-talking about." At the end his voice cracks and he desperately wipes his eyes. Spencer doesn't even dare to go down the rabbit hole of the what if’s. His feelings already are killing him.

What's really killing (Y/N) right now is the major headache of getting hit from behind. Accessing her situation she's sure that she has at least a mild concussion and some serious bruising going on. After that the young woman starts looking around, taking in the environment and evaluating the situation. This is until a curly haired man around her age enters the room.

"Oh, you are awake. Good. Better than good. Because now you will give me some answers. And every time you refuse to answer me with the truth, the truth only, I will hurt you. Like seriously hurting you." While talking he tauntingly walks his way up and down in front of the young woman flashing a razor blade. "I- Are you sure you wanna do this? I'm not the kind of person you usually seek out to kill." (Y/N) says to irk more information out of their UnSub.

He laughs maniacally. "No, you aren't, still you are the person I'm needing right now, Agent Reid, little sister of the infamous Spencer Reid, but not any less smart. Now tell me: Did your brother know he saved a future murderer five years ago?" Her eyes widen trying to come up with an answer while she tries the ties that bind her to the chair.

"No, all he knew was that he saved a young boy scared of himself. I'm sure even if he could, Spencer still won't change a thing about the decisions he made in that motel that night." Suddenly Nathan turns around facing the scared girl.

Because that's the only thing she is right now. Not a genius, girl wonder, sister, colleague or tough agent. Just a scared girl hoping to see her family again.

"He told you about it. Spencer told you what happened. What I did. So would you have acted differently from him?" His eyes are never leaving hers, even though he still moves in front of her. His jitters are from clear excitement, which disgusts and scares (Y/N) more.

For a second, only one second, she hesitates to answer. But Nathan still notices it "N-" "DON'T BULLSHIT ME!" With that he begins to slice her clothes and skin, letting out the anger he is holding inside of himself. Satisfying his needs by seeing another human being in pain once again.

By the time the team finally bursts through the doors of the moldy basement (Y/N) has lost a lot of blood and begins to feel woozy.

"I-is that you, Spencer? Am I hallucinating again?" Spencer looks at his sister with worried eyes. "Yes. Yes, it's me. I'm here physically and mentally. I will not leave you." After tying her loose he shouts for medics, which quickly come and do their work.

The whole stay in the hospital, which consists of three and a half days, the young woman is not alone for a single second. Her brother hovers over or besides her the whole time, telling the doctors and nurses which tests to run and which medications to give. Spencer even uses the FBI- and I-got-a-doctor-title-card to stay with her at night.

Those short hours, in which he is away to get clothes and a quick shower at home, somebody from the team is there to keep their youngest member company. The first time JJ sits with her, showing pictures of Henry and Will on their latest trip together.

"(Y/N), I'm sorry,” she suddenly cuts herself off from the pictures and looks at her with a guilty look. Tears are starting to stream down her face. “It's my fault you lay on this bed with blood infusions and beeping machines around. All of this is my fault. If I just were more aware on what's-" (Y/N) cuts her ramblings off. "No, this could have happened to anyone. Hotch, Morgan, Emily, Rossi, anyone. Don't, please I beg you, don't feel guilty over something that's completely not your fault. I'm OK, I will be fine. I live and that's all that matters." After that JJ feels much better, needing to hear those words by (Y/N) herself.

The next one sitting with her is Penelope, who brought a bunch of plushies, candy, a laptop and movies. "Girl wonder, I swear if you do something like this again I will die because of too much stress and worry. And now eat the candy boy wonder is not allowed to know about and hush. The movie is starting." Penelope tries to play down the cracks in her voice, just being relieved that they found the second resident genius in time.

Rossi comes by quite a few times telling stories about his own injuries, but assuring (Y/N) that she takes it much better than he did.

Hotch orders her in his tough Unit Chief voice to stay away from the office until the day she is cleared by a doctor and not an hour sooner. But his face tells the gist of how at ease he is now, knowing how she is doing.

Emily and Derek stay with (Y/N) at the same time, distracting her by playing different card games. By the end of their visit Morgan claims he let her win all the time, too proud to admit to being beaten by someone who is several years his junior.

All this company is nice, but she still is happy to be back at her own apartment, able to catch a time of quiet and silence uninterrupted. “Are you sure you are ready to be alone again? I totally don't mind sleeping here on the couch or taking you to my apartment." Spencer asks his sister, still worrying about her. "Yes, I still am sure. Thank you for the offer, Spence. But I need a bit of alone time to comprehend that all, you know?" He nods, having felt the same way many times before.

So he leaves. Finally (Y/N) can catch her breath. Still she tries to keep herself busy by doing laundry, cleaning the apartment, cooking dinner and reading a book or three. When it's finally time to go to bed there's not a peaceful minute that night for her. Or the following one. The one after that. In fact even in the daytime (Y/N) is not able to sit down calmly.

She becomes restless. Behind every door she feels like someone is watching her, waiting for her, only to knock out and abduct her again. Nights are even rough. Her ears wait to pick up a noise, any noise. It keeps her up all night. And even when she falls asleep the nightmares come to haunt her. A figure slicing her skin, putting salt into the wounds and laughing maniacally. It's the same every time and makes her wish for the heavy medication she got at the hospital.

Eventually (Y/N) gets her physical clearance to get back into the field. The psychological one? Let's say it pays being one of the people who wrote the questions for that. She thinks getting back to work will help her comprehend what happened. Helping people will make it better. That's not the case. The young agent grows even more restless. After one case is solved there are at least 50 more, no end in sight.

She starts to get snappy, getting off at the smallest things or comments. Once she even butts heads with Hotch, something nobody ever considered to be possible.

It all comes to a showdown in a small town with a small motel. The team has to double up because they are not enough rooms so Spencer takes one with his sister

He lies awake, waiting for her to fall asleep at night. But even when the clock strikes three, her tossing, turning and sighing hasn't stopped. Finally giving up on trying, (Y/N) gets up.

"Where are you going?" Her brother asks, making her jump, since he caught her off guard. "I just need some fresh air. It's a tough case so my mind won't stop thinking. Maybe fresh air can help me." (Y/N) tries to shake it off and puts a sweatshirt over her sleepwear. Spencer is not having it.

"It seems like every case is a tough one for you." Immediately she jumps up to defend herself. "What are you talking about?! Are you saying I'm not able to do my job right because I feel empathy for the victims?"

He also gets up, looking at his sister and answering calmly. “I'm not saying such things. It's important and good that you're feeling for the victims. After all, we, and you, are still human. It would be worse if you don't feel anything at all. But right now you're feeling not empathy. It's sympathy. Because you are also victim yours-"

"Stop. No, I'm not a victim. I'm doing fine, I'm good. What happened is part of the job and if I can't take this I'm not fit for the job." (Y/N) words come out as rambles sounding like something she had told herself several times over and over again.

"(Y/N)" Spencer says softly, taking his little sister, the person he has sworn to protect to the best of his ability, in for a hug. "You have seen and will see horrible things on this job. We all have and they still haunt us, these experiences. Especially what you went through. The kidnapping and torture is not something you will work through alone and not in one day. You need help. But you will not get better if you don't admit it to yourself and others. Just because you need help doesn't mean you're not fit for the job. We all need it from time to time.

"After Tobias had kidnapped me, nobody was able to help me with my demons and addiction, because I was not ready. I had to come to the conclusion myself that I have a problem. When you are ready to let us help you, the whole team, and especially I, are here to catch you falling into our arms. Together we are strong enough to catch you, to care for you, to work through all the things that happened to you, to fight your demons with you and to get you all the kinds of help you need."

The kiss he presses onto the side of her head is enough to make (Y/N) collapse into Spencer's arms, finally allowing herself to cry and mourn the part of herself she left in that rotten basement for the first time since she was saved.

As promised the whole team is there to help their youngest. If one of them is hurting, everybody feels their pain. Even though it's a difficult path of overcoming and adapting to the trauma, she's always met with nothing but full support from the whole team. May it be time off work, temporarily moving in with someone else to not feel lonely or just a shoulder to cry on, or a pillow to let the anger out. With the BAU as your family you are not alone to take onto the world and your own demons.

After that conversation with her brother (Y/N) sees a light, a light that she fights to get to, because it’s the part she is missing for too long. The peacefulness she once possessed.

Taglist:

All works:

@dindjarinsspouse @big-galaxy-chaos @jswessie187 @kneelforloki

Criminal Minds:

@averyhotchner @mggsprettygirl @herecomesthewriterwitch @ash19871962 @ellyhotchner

[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)

[dancing-in-a-yellow-dress]

Trapped Little Angel (part 1)

Welcome to the first part of the first fanfic on this account.

Child!reader x the Avengers

Word count: 2900

Trigger warning: Imprisonment, nightmares, non graphic descriptions of violence and injuries, possible trigger for eating disorders

--

You were a 14-year-old orphan living alone in New York, since your family had died in the explosion that gave you your powers. Your powers were similar to Wanda’s (telekinesis and all that jazz). You got them when you were 7, but for whatever reason they hadn’t been active before that day.

It was a basic September day with all of its rain and fog and clouds. You were walking on the street when suddenly you blacked out and your powers exploded out of you destroying property and hurting people everywhere around you. The Avengers were called to action and they evacuated the block and when you’d cooled off a little they took you into custody and to the Avengers tower.

You had passed out and they didn`t really know what to do with you, so they laid you down on the couch and began a debate about the subject.

Tony believed firmly that you were dangerous to the team and the best thing for everyone would be to lock you up isolated and unstimulated to avoid new outbursts until a better option would be available. Steve backed Tony up to an extent, although he did believe the isolation to be unnecessary. Bruce didn’t really voice his opinion on confinement that much, instead focusing on the medical aspect of the situation.

Clint doesn’t really say much during the argument, before Tony raises the possibility of indefinite imprisonment in isolation. That is what finally gets to him, since you are just a kid and remind him of his own daughter. Wanda argues firmly against any form of forced imprisonment. In her opinion you needed medical attention, after which instead of locking you up the team should be focused on helping you control and develop your powers in a beneficial way.

Natasha is uncharacteristically quiet for the whole debate. Something about you had got to her and she found it hard to think of the situation objectively without a massive bias. Peter was on ‘your side’ for sure. To him you were a troubled kid who just happened to need some help. In a way he saw himself in you.

You start to regain consciousness about halfway through the argument. The Avengers are taken back at first, but when you are very confused and scared, Nat and Clint (who are the most ‘neutral’ participants) tell you what happened. When you have gotten the big picture you ask shakily: “How many people did I hurt? What’s the damage?” The others are hesitant to tell you, but Tony is highly pissed at you, so he takes his tablet and shows you some pics of the place where the accident happened. Wanda shoots him a death glare, but he continues and reads the statistics to you: “At this exact moment there are 9 people dead, 27 in critical condition and 56 with milder injuries. All because of your little stunt.” At this point you have pulled your knees to your chest and are struggling to breathe. Steve and Clint look at Tony like he has lost his mind and Nat tries to calm you down. You are repeating the same things over and over again: “I didn’t mean to- It’s all my fault… I don’t know how- What- I didn’t mean to…” Nat was approaching you, her hand reached out ready to stroke your back and pull you into a hug. She says: “We know. Everything will be alright, it’ll be alright. It wasn’t your fault, we’ll sort this out. It’s okay, you’re okay. We don’t blame you, but right now you need to calm down.” You flinch away from her, panic shining in your eyes: “No! Don’t touch me! I don’t want to hurt you. I can’t control it… I don’t understand- I didn’t mean to…” Suddenly you look desperately at Tony “You have to lock me up. I’m dangerous. I can’t be trusted. I have to be put away. Please”, you beg, surprising all of the other people in the room. Peter is about to say something, but Tony cuts him off.

You stand up and Clint shows you the way to a quite big cell. You step in and he shuts the door behind you. You sit on the floor in the corner and pull your knees to your chest. You just blankly stare at the wall. You noticed that there was a camera in corner of the room near the roof as you stepped inside, but you didn’t care. What did it matter. As you stayed on the floor the team was reheating the discussion whilst keeping an eye on the monitor that showed footage from your cell.

Wanda and Peter were shouting at Tony for locking you up in an isolation cell. Natasha and Clint were a bit calmer, but they were backing Wanda and Peter up. At some point Tony says: “You heard the kid. She wanted to be locked up. Even she thought it would be the best option”. And that sets Natasha off: “Yeah, after you had scared the poor thing on the verge of a panic attack. That wasn’t fair play. You drove her to that decision and you know it.” Then Peter fires: “Besides the whole ‘she decided herself’ excuse is bullshit. She’s a kid. SHE’S 14. I’m 17 and you don’t trust me to do anything yet, so how again is she any different?” That shuts Tony up.

In the end the team comes to the conclusion, that they will be monitoring you strictly and willing people will be allowed to go talk to you. All except Peter (just for the first few days) who is infuriated to no end by the decision.

The first person to come talk to you is Wanda. She comes and talks for a while, but you can’t make any sense of what she’s saying. After a while she leaves shutting the door behind her. Steve also comes to question you, and even though this time you understand what he is saying you can’t find the energy to answer him in you. Clint brings you something to eat and drink, but you don’t move a muscle to acknowledge the act. Time sort of looses its meaning to you as you sit on the floor and stare into nothing, alone with your thoughts, the same thoughts over and over and over again.

Nevertheless, you know some time has passed when Natasha comes through the door with another tray filled with food. She places it carefully on her untouched bed and sighs deeply before speaking: “You should really start eating on your own. It’s been two whole days and you haven’t taken a bite. I get that its hard, but you’ve got to try. Otherwise we’ll have no choice but to put a feeding tube down your throat and trust me kid, that does not feel good.” She gives you another look, then turns around and walks out. Slowly you straighten your legs on the floor.

You hadn’t really noticed how much your muscles were hurting for being in the same position for so long before someone pointed it out. You stretched your legs first and then stood up slowly. You went through your body, stretching every muscle one at a time and then sat down beside the bed to eat. You weren’t really hungry, but the threat of getting a feeding tube stuffed down your throat was enough to get you eating.

After you were done with the meal you went back to your corner and sat back down, leaving your legs laying on the floor instead of curling up to a tight bundle. After a few minutes there was a knock at the door and Wanda walked in. She picked the tray up and looked down at you, clearly assessing the situation before finally saying: ”Hey, I was wondering if you needed to use the bathroom.” You didn’t answer her but stood up and stepped timidly few steps forward so that she knew you’d be coming along. She guided you through the hallways and into a bathroom. “There is a towel on the counter and shampoo on a shelf in the shower. Take as long as you need. I’ll pick up some clean clothes for you and bring them here. Okay?” You didn’t say a word but nodded and opened the door to the bathroom. After half an hour you were back in your cell but feeling significantly cleaner and comfier.

Instead of sitting back in the corner on the floor you sat on your bed and crossed your legs. You didn’t know why, but you felt like it, so you started singing, first just humming quietly, then adding the words to the song. It was an old lullaby your mom had sang to you more than once. Some things just had a way of sticking with you.

`Hyvin hiljaa, hyvin hiljaa

nyt kuuluu keijujen äänet

Ne tanssivat taas koko yön laulaen

koko yön laulaen.

Hyvin hiljaa, hyvin hiljaa

taas syttyy tähtöset pienet

Ne oottavat taas läpi yön loistaen

läpi yön loistaen.

Hyvin hiljaa, hyvin hiljaa

nyt sammuu keijujen äänet

Ne liitävät taas ylös luo tähtien

ylös luo tähtien`

Then you sang it over again, this time in English

If your quiet, very quiet,

you can hear sound of the fairies

They’re dancing again through the night until day

through the night until day

Very quiet, almost silent

the stars are lighting the sky

they’re waiting again till the night fades away

till the night fades away

If you’re quiet, very quiet

you can hear sound the fairies

they race through the sky so they’ll be near the stars

so they’ll be near the stars

You sang the song a couple times over and finally you got to the last part you had made up on your own. You always ended it there, since you could never continue singing after that.

Hyvin hiljaa, hyvin hiljaa

ei kuulu keijujen äänet

Ne lähtivät taas minut yksin jättäen

minut yksin jättäen

Even if you’re very quiet

you won’t hear sound of the fairies

they flew up the sky leaving me alone behind

leaving me alone behind.

You broke down sobbing. Clint was sitting at the monitor, and he thought it’d be best not to disturb you, so you were left alone as you start humming another melody your mom taught you.

Joka ilta kun lamppu sammuu ja saapuu oikea yö Niin Nukku-Matti nousee ja ovehen hiljaa lyö On sillä uniset tossut ja niillä se sipsuttaa Se hiipii ovesta sisään ja hyppää kaapin taa

”I didn’t know she was finnish” Nastasha said to clint as she sat next to him with two cups of tea. “Finnish?” Clint asked as they listened to the beautiful melody coming from the lonely cell. Nat was quiet for a while before saying “Yeah. The language is absolutely bizarre.” They sat in silence for another while, until Clint said: “She sounds miserable” “Yeah, but who wouldn’t. I’m guessing she has no family, since no one has come asking for her.”

Ja pieni sateenvarjo on aivan kallellaan Ja sinistä unien kirjaa se kantaa kainalossaan Ja unien sinimaahan se lapset autolla vie Surrur, surrur ja sinne on sininen, uninen tie

Ja siellä on kultainen metsä, ja metsässä kultainen puu Ja unien sinilintu ja linnulla kultainen suu Ja se unien sinilintu se lapsia tuudittaa Se laulaa unisen laulun joka mielen uneen saa

Your mum never taught you that song in English. You had tried translating it, but it always turned out so peculiar you had eventually given up.

When you felt like you had cried enough you stopped with the finnish and started going through songs you had heard somewhere else, altering the lyrics as you went.

You hadn’t sung anything in weeks and now you just couldn’t stop. It felt good. You went over your favorites altering lyrics and making up new verses, not wanting the song to end. As you sang you thought about mum and home. In the outside world they were forbidden things, because they made it hard to focus on surviving. But here she had all the time in the world to think. After hours and hours she finally laid down on the mattress and drifted to sleep

Tony had just started his shift watching you through the monitor and you were having a nightmare. You were curled up in a ball and whimpered and muttered quietly, as tears ran down your face. You dug your nails into your back and started scratching leaving bloody red marks behind. Then you started screaming. The sound echoed through the halls, but Tony didn’t know what to do, so he ended up doing nothing, just staring at the screen paralyzed. It went on for a while, until you finally flinched so violently you woke up.

You were in a state of panic, but as you realized where you were it started to wear off. Little by little you started to feel the pain from the bloody scratch marks on your back and arms. You examined your injuries to the best of your abilities and then looked at the floor while talking sheepishly at the camera in the corner of the room: “If you don’t mind I’d like to have something to wrap these cuts with. I might also need some help with the ones in my back. Its not a big deal, but I don’t want them to get infected.”

The screaming had woken up Natasha and Steve who were now standing behind Tony, looking at the screen over his shoulders. Tony cleared his throat before turning around in his chair and facing the other two. They both had their arms crossed on their chest. Steve looked surprised as hell, but Natasha was quick to recover. She threw Tony an icy stare before saying: “Should we think the imprisonment over again, or is she still too dangerous for you to handle?” Tony raised his hands before saying: “Let’s think that over in the morning, when the whole team is up. Now, would you mind going to help her with the injuries?” Natasha threw Tony another dirty look, before grabbing the first aid kit and heading to your cell.

Nat came, and you laid on the bed on your stomach. She lifted your shirt, poured antiseptic solution on a cloth and warned you: “I’m sorry, but this is gonna hurt like a bitch.” She pressed the cloth gently on your back and you shrug. “It’s not that bad. You get used to pain as a homeless kid. Once I had to remove a bullet from my own shoulder.” There Nat saw an opportunity get little bit more information of you and continued the conversation: “Must be tough. I suppose you don’t have any family left?” “Yeah, mum and dad and Tom died… in an accident” you tensed up visibly. Nat continued unbothered but didn’t bring up the deaths again. “I heard you sing the other day. Didn’t know you were finnish.” “Oh, I’m not. My mom was.” “So, can you speak finnish or what?” “Nah, not anymore anyways. I used to, but I haven’t used it in a long time. Some things just stuck with me, like the songs, or silly pet names mum used to call us.” For some reason you felt really safe with Natasha. Her touch reminded you of home as she worked to clean your wounds and then wrap them with clean gauze. You knew it was silly, but it just felt so good to finally talk to someone, so you kept answering her as she continued asking questions. “Pet names, huh. What did she call you?” “She used to call me Lumikki. It’s the finnish for snow white. It’s cheesy as hell, I know but we lived in a little cottage in the woods, and I was obsessed with Disney.” Natasha smiled at you. “Do you remember anything else about your mum.” “She had the most beautiful voice I’ve ever heard. She sounded like an angel. Sometimes I hear her in the wind.” You pause for a minute “And she was a dancer. She used to be a ballerina, but then she had us and her career ended. She never quit dancing though. Once in a while she’d put on her slippers and go through some old routine, like she had never stopped. She even taught me some basics.” Natasha was quiet for a moment. Then she cleared her throat and continued: “Did you have any siblings?” “Yeah”, you were quiet for a moment, not rushing to continue “One brother. His name was Tuomas, but we all called him Tom. Three years older than me. He was my best friend.” A tear fell down your cheek. Natasha was almost done with wrapping your back so she asked one more question. “How about your dad” You shrugged. “He was a hunter. Spent most of his time with Tom out in the forest when I stayed in with mum.” Nat packed the medical supplies back to the first aid kit and pulled your shirt down so that it covered your back. Then she helped you sit up and said: “I can’t promise anything yet, but we’re having another meeting with the team about your… condition and I believe you might get out of here.” She saw the unsure look you gave her. “Don’t worry” she said as she took your hand “Everything will be alright. I promise”

--

Sorry, I have absolutely no idea what is going on with the spacing, tried to fix it but it wont budge... Anyway, hope you enjoyed the chapter!

[ragingbookdragon]

Finding Love In The Louvre

A Bruce Wayne x Reader One-Shot

Word Count: 2.2K Warnings: None

Author's Note: An old story I edited! Enjoy the fluff! -Thorne

The day started as it usually did, her standing by the elevator, waiting for the doors to open so she could hand him his coffee and explain his schedule. Sure enough, the doors opened at eight A.M. on the dot, and he stepped out, briefcase in one hand, phone in the other. He shoved his phone in his pocket, accepting the outstretched coffee she held. He moved quickly, but she kept pace.

“Good morning Mr. Wayne.” He hummed in return, taking a sip of the coffee; she paid no mind, continuing with, “So today you have a board meeting in room one-forty-two,” His mouth opened to complain, but she held up a hand, silencing him, “I can’t put it off any longer, I’ve already tried.” He grumbled in return, causing her to smile lightly as she kept speaking.

“That starts in an hour, and it should end at eleven. I recommend after that you go and check with Lucius about the gala coming up while I order lunch. I should have that ready by twelve-fifteen, then the rest of the day is paperwork and the occasional friendly visit with the office workers.”

By the time she was done, he was taking a seat at his desk, shifting papers around. She stood with her tablet in one hand, the other propped on her hip. “Anything you need me to do before I go sit down?”

He handed her a sheet while he looked at the monitor, waiting for the retina scanner to start. “Fax that to Gotham Academy, if you would.”

She took it, looking it over before asking, “This for Damian’s field trip to the Louvre?” He nodded, and she murmured, “I still can’t believe you managed to talk the headmaster into letting you fly his class to France for a couple days.” She eyed him over the top of the paper. “You know you’re going to have to go, right? You got the trip allowed. It’d look bad on your part if you didn’t go.”

He finally looked over at her, a curious sparkle in his eyes. “Have you ever been to France, (Y/N)?”

She tipped her head side to side. “If you count a plane ride over France while on the way to Holland, then yes. But have I been to France? No.”

Bruce leaned back in his seat, hands curling around the arm rests of his seat. “Do you want to go?”

(Y/N) raised an eyebrow. “And keep an eye on a group of rambunctious teenagers? Uh…no. I already have enough trouble keeping your group in check.” Bruce gave a laugh at her words, but she followed with, “But if you need me to go with Damian, I can work it into the schedule.” He nodded, and she tapped at her screen. “Alright, I’ll fax the paperwork with our information for travel.” She turned, making her way to her desk when his voice reached her.

“Wait! Our inform—I’m going too?”

She simply threw a thumbs up, sitting at her desk.

***

She settled into the cushioned seat, a sigh of relief slipping through her lips.

An amused voice sounded beside her, “Getting comfortable (Y/N)?”

She hummed, pushing the button to recline her seat. “Eight hours in first class? Are you kidding me? Of course, I’m getting comfortable.” Bruce grinned, settling into his seat the same as her. She watched him groan as he lifted his legs, stretching them out.

A knowing tone came up and she said, “I told you not to wear hard-bottomed shoes. You should’ve gone with sneakers.”

“Why do you enjoy torturing me, (Y/N)?”

She laughed at his words, looking over at him. “I tell you not to do things and you do them anyway. It’s not hard to find the chastising humor in it.” Bruce opened his mouth to reply, but it was cut off by a small huff, and they both looked over, seeing his youngest son collapsing into a seat beside them. (Y/N) reached over, gently caressing the top of his head. “Don’t want to hang around with the simpletons anymore, Damian?”

He nodded and closed his eyes, curling up in the seat. “I have never met a group of kids more idiotic than my class.” His eyes flew open, and he leaned across the arm rest, a sneer on his face. “Just last week, that troglodyte Trevor made a comment so ridiculous, even his reasoning was absurd.”

(Y/N) nodded and asked, “What’d he say?”

Damian scoffed and replied, “He said that he wanted to be like Achilles because he looked cool.” She waved a hand for him to continue. “So, I said, ‘Really, you want to be a man that throws a tantrum when he doesn’t get his way?’ And this fool had the audacity to look at me like I had just asked him-”

His rant was cut off by Bruce, who said, “Damian, enough.”

Damian rolled his eyes whispering, “I cannot stand how stupid they are.”

(Y/N) snorted, leaning close and telling him, “Give them a chance, Damian.” The look he gave her made her wish she’d had a camera, and she continued with, “You have to remember, these people haven’t been schooled like you have. You’re more advanced than the average thirteen-year-old. They’re still learning how to switch classes without a teacher escorting them.”

Damian leaned back, a look of thought on his face, then he retorted, “They are still stupid.”

(Y/N) reached over, handing him a book. “Here kiddo. Keep yourself occupied.”

He took the book, flipping it over. “What is this, ‘Hell Divers’ about?” (Y/N) popped a cracker in her mouth, pointing to the back. He read it silently, then made a motion to hand it back. “Doesn’t look interesting.”

(Y/N) swallowed and put another cracker in her mouth, shifting it to the side of her cheek with her tongue as she pushed the book back. “I brought the whole series.” She grinned at him, holding up the set. “I bet you can’t read the entire thing by the time we land.”

Damian scowled, snatching the books from her, and opening the first one. She gave a satisfied smile and turned back to the front when she felt eyes on her. (Y/N) looked over, seeing Bruce staring at her, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

She raised an eyebrow questioning, “What?”

He tipped his chin towards Damian. “How’d you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Get him to read something he didn’t find interesting?”

(Y/N) reached over and condescendingly patted his arm. “The same way I get you to buy new suits every gala.”

Bruce looked at her in confusion. “And that way is?”

(Y/N) reclined in her seat, pulling her blanket up to her chin and pulling the eye mask down her eyes. “I tell you that someone there might be able to out dress you, and that spurs you to make sure you look the best.”

She couldn’t see him, but she could picture his face and arms as he pouted, “So you manipulate me?”

“With all the care and affection you need Mr. Wayne.” And that was all she said before rolling over and curling up and drifting off.

***

“And stay with your guides at all times! Chaperones, if you get lost or separated from your guide, you have Mr. Wayne and my cellphone numbers, please call, do not stay lost!” (Y/N) looked at the chaperones and guides. “Does everyone understand?” Cheers and nods came from all sides, and she waved them off. “Then be free! Curfew is at nine P.M.! Be there before nine, please! And be careful!” Her words fell on deaf ears as the groups dispersed, and she groaned lightly, rubbing her temples.

A hand rested on her lower back and she looked up, seeing Bruce smiling at her. “Don’t worry so much, (Y/N). Everyone will be fine.” She nodded, trusting his words, then he tipped his head to the side. “Damian’s hailed a cab. Let’s go hit the Louvre, then we’ll go to lunch.” She followed him to where Damian was holding the car door and slid inside.

***

The drive didn’t take long, and soon they were walking around the museum. Damian had wandered off, waving his hand, and saying, “I can handle myself.”

She and Bruce simply nodded, watching him go before they set off themselves. They walked around, observing the pieces, until (Y/N) saw a particular one. Her feet sunk into the ground and she stopped, staring at it in admiration.

Bruce glanced between them. “Nike?”

She nodded, telling him, “I remember learning about her in Humanities back in community college, but I never actually imagined ever seeing her.” (Y/N) paused, a calm look coming across her face. “Pictures don’t do her justice. She’s more impressive than I thought. And bigger.”

Bruce listened to her, then asked quietly, “Do you like art, (Y/N)?”

She tipped her head side to side. “Here and there. I like pieces that catch my eye or look interesting.” She glanced at him. “I really enjoy history and science museums.” (Y/N) reached over, nudging him in the side. “Maybe for the next fieldtrip, you can fly us to D.C., and we can hit the Smithsonian.” (Y/N) stepped away and nodded to the next room. “C’mon, let’s go to the next exhibit.”

He fell into step beside her and as they observed the next piece he murmured, “Would you like to go to the Smithsonian, (Y/N)?”

She half focused on his words, absentmindedly replying, “Whenever the next field trip comes up, sure.”

A gentle grip took her hand and she looked over, seeing a serene look in his eyes, and he asked, “No…would you like to go to the Smithsonian…with me?”

(Y/N) blinked, then gestured clumsily between them. “Like…just us?” He nodded and she clarified, “Me and you…together?” He nodded again, a smile accompanying it, and she couldn’t help but ensure, “No one else? Just…us?”

Bruce huffed a laugh, gently squeezing her hand. “Just us.”

(Y/N) felt her cheeks warm, and she looked down, mumbling, “Oh…I…I don’t know if the schedule is clear…”

Another squeeze followed by, “As the boss, I can clear any and all plans made.”

Her heart fluttered at his words, but she pushed it aside, glancing back at him, her eyes firm. “Are you being serious with me right now? You’re not pulling joke?”

Bruce’s eyebrows furrowed and he admitted, “I don’t actually know if I should be offended that you think I’m playing a joke or not, but to answer your question, no, I’m not pulling a joke.” He let go of her hand, trailing his fingers up her forearm, the other arm curling around her. “I’m being one-hundred percent serious.”

He gave her a smile, blue eyes shining. “I would like it if you spent the weekend with me in D.C.” He paused, lips pulling downwards as he added, “Or just spent the weekend with me. We don’t have to go anywhere…if we’re together, that’s all that matters to me. I just really want you—”

(Y/N) cut him off, pressing her lips to his cheek. He grinned at her, watching as she murmured, “I would love to go to D.C. with you, Bruce.” She pulled away, slipping out of his grip, and wandering off towards the next room. He stared at her back, heart thumping in his chest when a voice sounded below him.

“Took you long enough.” His mood soured, and he looked down, seeing Damian standing there, arms crossed over his chest.

“When did you get here?” He asked.

Damian glanced up at him and muttered, “Since the start of your embarrassing courting.” Bruce reached over and ruffled his hair, laughing at how Damian slapped his hand, a glare in his eyes.

“It wasn’t embarrassing.”

“Not to you. But the others were considering throwing up.”

Bruce’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Others?”

Damian simply held up his phone, and Bruce looked into the eyes of his other sons who were returning his gaze, albeit smugly.

“So, (Y/N)’s finally gonna join the fray? Cool!”

A hand shoved Dick’s head aside, and Jason looked into the camera. “I’m seriously surprised it took you this long, old man. I mean, how long has she been your secretary? When Dick got there?”

A new voice picked up from the side, and Tim’s head squeezed into view. “Actually, (Y/N) was there before Dick got there. She was there when Bruce started working at W.E.”

Dick’s head shoved Jason’s aside, and his snarky grin appeared. “But the point is, nice going, Bruce! It’s only taken you like seventeen years to get her to go out with you! You must be one weird guy for it to take so long. Maybe it’s because—”

At this point, Bruce had grunted, turning on his heel and marching off after (Y/N). Dick sputtered through the camera, “Damian! Go after him! I haven’t finished explaining his problems!”

“There’s not enough time in the world to explain all the old man’s problems.”

“You’re one to talk, Jason.”

“I dare you to say that to my face replacement.”

Damian rolled his eyes, shutting off the phone and walking after his father, a smug smirk playing at his lips.

[britishassistant]

I wonder what the supervillains (the dorm leaders) would do if they get switched with their other self in Twisted Wonderland.

They'll meet a younger Yuu calls them senpai and probably get shivers when they hear someone shout Prefect but then realize its Yuu's role in that world.

Bonus would be if Yuuken's there too, sharing the dorm with Yuu.

Thank you for the ask, dear anon!

I decided to take a little inspo from my Villainous Paranoiac series for this one! Not a whole lot, but the idea of Twisted Wonderland Yuu being put in the infirmary after the events of Chapter Five!

(Also consider it non-canon, since it kinda involves everyone’s identities being exposed!)

Basically imagine that the supervillains find themselves in what looks like a private school infirmary, late at night. The air is buzzing with a strange energy, almost like the powers back in their home world, but...different, somehow.

The room nearly empty, save for one occupant in a cot close to the door.

Poison Queen and King immediately begin bickering over whose fault this mess is, while Royal Flush tries to get them to keep their voices down or else they’ll be detected. Charon is half a minute from going to curl up in a corner, clutching his freeze ray like a lifeline, while Octo Dealer and Snake Charmer are busy inspecting their surroundings for anything of value or that can be requisitioned into a weapon on short notice.

Tsunotaro has wandered over to inspect the sole other living being in the room with them.

He is pleasantly surprised to see what looks like a younger version of the reporter he’s so fond of, fast asleep in the infirmary cot. Their cheeks still retain the last bit of baby fat from childhood, and there’s some acne left that will fade with age. He may give one cheek a gentle poke, just to satisfy his curiosity. The sleepy mumble they let out is a little more high pitched than normal, but that’s the reporter’s voice alright.

He is less pleased to see dark circles under their eyes, or the bandages around their throat that stink of medicinal salves. If this truly is a younger version of his child of man, then why do they look so worried, even in sleep? Why are they injured and sleeping in this place of healing in the first place? They’re a mere child, barely old enough to operate a vehicle or live alone. Their only worries should be trivial things, not whatever is causing this furrow in their brow and hunch in their shoulders.

The other supervillains have begun to migrate over to where Tsunotaro is crouching in silent contemplation. King flips his eyepatch up to get a better look, whistling lowly. Octo Dealer busies himself with refilling their water glass, sneaking glances at them as he places it within easy reach. Snake Charmer pulls their pillow more under their head from where it’s almost slipped off. Poison Queen straightens the arrangement of the very tasteful bouquet on the bedside table, so the flowers’ best angle is shown to the bed’s occupant. Royal Flush carefully tucks their covers in over them.

Charon takes a picture with his tablet.

He forgot to turn off his flash.

Yuu cracks their eyes open...

To see seven adults looming over their bed in masks that resemble the ink from the overblots that haunt the Prefect’s nightmares.

Cue terrified screaming.

Snake Charmer lunges forward instinctively to cover Yuu’s mouth—

It’s only thanks to Poison Queen yanking him back that he doesn’t end up with an arrow in the shoulder.

Several more follow the first one through the window above the prefect’s cot, cold iron sharp and perfectly aimed to seriously maim if the supervillains don’t immediately get away from the screaming teenager. Rook was lax in protecting the Trickster after VDC ended, assuming there was no more danger after Roi du Poison’s overblot was saved. He will not make that mistake again.

The infirmary doors burst open, a younger Yuuken in a sleep-rumpled uniform barging in from where he decided to sleep outside because Ramshackle felt too empty and quiet to bear, but was forbidden from staying in the infirmary himself. He only has a pillow, but he brandishes it at the strange adults, fully willing to defend his dorm mate in whatever way he can.

The vanguard appears in a flurry of bats though, too many to fight off, small and vicious and furious. Their commander materializes in the center if the swarm, hovering over the head of Yuu’s cot, pink eyes brimming with a cold rage that makes his small and cute form look like it’s bursting at the seams holding something much older and angrier back. He opens his mouth, fangs long and glistening—

Only to stop short at the sight of one of the supervillains. “Malleus? Malleus Draconia?”

Tsunotaro nods warily.

“Wh-What in Twisted Wonderland are you wearing??”

Tsunotaro ducks his head like a chastened child. “I could say the same thing.” He mutters sullenly.

From there the lights get turned on, and the seven supervillains are made to explain themselves to the sleep-deprived students and staff who trickle in to see what’s going on. All six dorm leaders and one vice dorm leader vanished from their beds, setting everyone on high alert until news of these...alternate versions spread.

It is very weird for the supervillains to see all their minions as teenagers (again in some cases). It is only surpassed by how weird it is for everyone else to see their dorm heads and vice head all grown up and adult, even if they are dressed weird.

Ortho still wants to shoot them with a beam until they bring back his nii-san. Luckily Charon is able to convince him that Idia should be fine if he’s in Charon’s lair—he’s got plenty of the latest games, manga and tech for him to play with, so that should keep him occupied for a while.

Sebek is in a state of Malleus awe. He has shut down and will not restart. Silver has taken to pinching himself just to make sure this isn’t a Lilia’s cooking induced fever dream, while Lilia himself scolds Tsunotaro that he raised him better than to go around watching people sleep like that! Tsunotaro tries to use the “but I’m a supervillain” excuse, only for Lilia to shoot back “and I’m a war criminal in some nations, what’s your point?”

King is enjoying watching the overgrown lizard get scolded. Now if only the tiny Ruggie would stop asking him what injury the eyepatch is for, and making remarks about how embarrassing it would be if it were totally pointless—King does not pay his adult self so much to put up with this shit. The baby Jack also needs to stop demanding to know if his adult minion self can pull a sled faster than a moose or something...

Jade and Floyd are attempting to wind up the adult Octo Dealer, trying to see how much they can get away with compared with the normal Azul. Octo Dealer is legitimately at a loss as to how this world’s Azul doesn’t keep them in line without letting them turn to a crime or two. Then he learns about Azul’s contract business and feels a pang of commiseration and understanding.

Poison Queen, Royal Flush, and Snake Charmer are unpleasantly shocked when their dorms address them by their respective secret identities in front of their fellow supervillains out of the blue.

Poison Queen has to put up with King’s uncontrolled laughter as he finally understands the full extent of the incident with White Neige so long ago, while Tsunotaro tries to tell him he liked Schoenheit in his role as the evil dragon prince in the GaoGao dramatization. Royal Flush is about two seconds away from throttling Octo Dealer if the bastard doesn’t stop trying to make a deal to guarantee his mother doesn’t learn about her son’s private activities. Snake Charmer’s just glad his civilian identity flies under the radar enough that Charon has to try and look him up to understand who he is (and fails because he’s not on school wifi and his cellular data is bust).

Poison Queen is also getting a headache from Rook rhapsodizing about how his villain form is another, enhanced mode of beauty he is fortunate to lay eyes upon, as if he hadn’t been willing to skewer Poison Queen along with the rest of the supervillains five minutes ago. He’s at least able to amuse himself by letting Epel run away with his speculations about how he’s the buff hyper-masculine muscle for Poison Queen.

Kalim is crying that Jamil had to resort to becoming a villain in his home world! He must be so sad if he has to do that! He’s mildly cheered up when Snake Charmer tells him they work together on schemes, and that Snake Charmer is actually reasonably happy with his chosen vocation—and then he begins panicking that Jamil will like that world so much, he won’t want to come back.

Royal Flush is glad his counterpart at least has good people around to look after him, even if it is odd to have young versions of Trey and Cater trying to mother hen him despite the fact that he’s the older one now. At least Ace and Deuce acting up seems more fitting now considering their age than it ever did on their adult selves.

Ace huffs a sigh and leans on Yuu’s shoulder. “This is a mess, huh Prefect?”

“You said it.” Yuu replies. “I just wanna sleep forever.”

The supervillains go still.

“I’m sorry,” Snake Charmer says carefully. “But isn’t Enma-san the Prefect?”

“No?” Yuuken replies, confused. “Yuu’s the prefect of Ramshackle Dorm. I’m their vice— or would be, if we had any other students apart from them, me, and Grim.”

Octo Dealer laughs, sounding slightly strained. “Ah, apologies, but you see, that isn’t possible. It can’t be. Yuu isn’t—”

“But I am the prefect, Azul-senpai.” Yuu the Prefect says. “I’ve–I’ve always been the prefect.”

There’s a stunned silence.

Royal Flush places his head in his hands. “What the fuck.”

Back in the Supervillain AU universe, Yuu the Reporter sneezes sharply while trying to wrangle five frightened teenagers, one frightened-but-playing-tough twenty year old, and one confused however-old-he-is-but-younger-than-Tsunotaro fae.

They wonder what the chill down their spine is.

[sweetsbfreex]

that’s daddy!

read the first installment here!

last fic of 2020! thank you guys so much for all the love and sweet messages, i’ve only been here for a short time, but you guys have rlly gotten me through being able to post my writing publicly 💕 

Summary: another mix up, but this time it’s 10x more embarrassing

Warnings: lil’ smut but not so smut

Pairings: Husband, Dad!Harry x reader 

You and Harry had woken up five minutes prior. Your mumbles in both your sleepy, raspy voices of good morning and your morning pecks out of the way. Now the two of you were cuddled up in bed. You were lowered in bed, on your side. Your head under Harry’s arm, one arm by your side, while the other was tracing the butterfly on Harry’s chest absentmindedly.

Harry was on his back; one of his arm’s brought down– his fingers caressing the side of your face. 

“Plans for the day?” you ask H, tilting your head back slightly.

He was blissed out and zoned out, his mind running a mile a minute. With that he had hummed, asking you to repeat yourself. 

“Plans for the day, H?” you asked again. 

“Oh, have to head to the set in a few. Are you and B still meeting me there?”

“Why? Do you want us to?” you tease. 

“What do you think” he imitated, pulling on the hand that was once on his stomach to guide you upward and closer to him. 

You smiled knowingly down at him, your body hovering over him. While he winds a hand to the back of your neck pulling you down quickly. 

“Frisky, huh” you joked, pulling away. But you were hastily pulled down– Harry  snakes his arm higher using his bicep now to bring you down all the way– your body now bonded to Harry’s. Your sleeping shirt rubbing against his skin.

Harry kissed you roughly and was rough during the time he rolled the both of you over, so you were encased in him. Your non-stop grinding figure causing the growling he was emitting. And it would’ve gone father if it wasn’t for the pitter-patter of small feet walking past your open door. (You had left open last night for Bia this morning.)

He pulled away, breathless. Looking over his shoulder, using the hand that wasn’t under your neck to hold his body up. Only to see the four-year-old bouncing at the end of the bed, her favorite stuffed animal (an off-white duck) clutched in both her hands in front of her. 

“B, remember what we talked about” Harry reminded her sweetly, laying on his back next to her mother. 

“Sorry daddy” she pouted, her figure still. “Morning!” she squealed, running till she was laying in between you and Harry. It was always so surreal how crazy her emotions had shifted, but not very surprising. 

“Morning bunny” Harry replied, kissing her forehead.

“Morning B” you replied, kissing her cheeks until she was laughed out, begging for mercy. 

“What? don’t like mummy’s kiss?” Harry had asked, tickling her side.

“No!” she quipped, a mischievous, a very Harry look on her face.

You gasped in make-believe at her statement, looking up at Harry a plan in your eyes that he had naturally understood. You were each assigned a cheek of B’s and at once attacked her with kisses.

She broke out into a fit of giggles, each of her tiny hands brought up to clutch onto each of your chins, trying with all her might to push the both of you away. 

“Okay! Okay!” she yelled, but it took her awhile with all the laughing she was doing. 

“You love mummy’s kisses?” you asked her

“Yes!” she screamed, adjusting herself so she was now laying on top of you. Her cheek rested against yours, which she had kissed before settling herself to down– to further persuade you. You wrapped both your arms around her instantly, one of hers coddling the lobe of your ear. 

Harry shuffled closer to the two of you. On his side he used an arm to support his head. 

“Angel, guess what?” he beamed.

“What Daddy?”

“You and mum are gonna be meeting on set today” 

She was confused, and you could tell from the lack of emotion she let out at Harry’s information. She was four, so you couldn’t blame her for not understanding how exciting it would be to see her father live in action. 

“B” you started, gaining her attention. “Me and you are gonna meet daddy at work and watch him act and meet everyone else...like Descendants how everyone is at the isle of the lost” you divulged, trying to make this exciting as possible for her. 

“We’re going to the Isle of the lost?” she interrupted, her head tilting slightly in confusion. 

“No no” you laugh “It’s like– you know what nevermind. Basically, we’re gonna go see daddy at work, but with movies”

“Were going to the movies?” 

“Kind of, but instead we’re gonna watch how movies are made”

“Ohh” she dragged, still a bit confused, but she really only understood that she would be meeting her dad at work. Harry laughed at your attempt, knowing you were shit at explaining things and trying to explain something like this to a toddler was only harder for you. 

“it’s okay B, you’ll see soon” Harry reassured her. “What do the two of you want for breakfast?” 

Peeling off the comforter, he got out of bed stretching his back out. A deep, pleasurable groan leaving his mouth. Causing a giggle between you and Bia. 

“Pancakes and strawberries, please” Bia requested.

“Can I have French toasts pleaseee” you beg.

“You got it” Harry replied, making his way out of the room after grabbing a shirt from his dresser. 

He could hear the whispering between the two of you, most likely scheming against him. But when he had started making his way to the door, he heard a shrill voice filled with cackles.

“Thank you best daddy in the world!” B had recited. Harry had shook his head a great smile on his face, close to tears. He raised his hands high, making a heart with his hands catching the eye of the two of his best girls, that were still laughing, in his bed.

-

Only a few hours earlier you and B had kissed Harry a see you later at the door. Now it was only the two of you in the parking lot of the set, one of the employees from the movie, sent to guide you and B to your location. 

You looked down at your little girl, who’s hand was pancaked with yours, skipping behind you. Her pony tails shifting and her shoes lighting up with each bounce. 

“You excited miss Styles” you ask.

She hummed an answer, toi immerse into the song she was singing.

“I was requested by Harry to bring some goldfish and strawberries for Bia. Is that okay?” she double checks

“That’s perfect. Thank you so much” you smile as she stops abruptly in front of you, tapping away at her tablet.

“No problem, they’ll be inside” she smiled back, looking up “Here’s his trailer, if you need anything I’m once again Ximena” she waved a goodbye to you and Bia. 

You climb up the steps, gently, Bia trailing closely behind you. Opening the door, you walk inside to see the spacious area. 

The first thing you see when walking in is the platter of Cut strawberries and packs of B’s favorite varieties of goldfish on the coffee table, catching her attention instantly as she sprints towards the snacks. Getting herself comfortable on the sectional sofa in front of the tv. 

You can see a counter, an array of cosmetic products settled on top.  One chair sat behind the counter, facing a wall with a large mirror mounted on the wall. You walk farther in the trailer to see on the counter, a framed picture of the three of you on an impromptu picnic, your heart filled as you eyed the picture. 

you loved that day

Lastly, all the way in the back you could see a large bed, probably a queen, which you could tell was laid upon earlier. 

You walked over to Bia, taking a seat next to her, who shoved yet another strawberry into her mouth. You chuckled lowly, grabbing the remote from the coffee table. Putting something on just for her. 

You were getting engrossed in the show when the door to the trailer flung open, Harry walking into his hands on his hips. 

Bia had jetted off the sofa, running towards her dad, who had crouched down to pick her up. Spinning her around as she giggled, twinkling.

You paced towards him, flinging yourself softly onto him, as he was still holding B.

“Hi love, missed you” he said softly, bringing his right hand up to secure the back of your head, bringing you into a kiss. 

“Why are you so out of breath” you asked, laughing. You could see the glimmer of sweat along his hairline. 

“Ran all the way over here. I just finished a scene when they told me you two were here” jostling Bia a bit. 

“You’re so cute” you said with a fond look, welcoming him for a quick peck. “And you look so handsome. Love when your hair is parted like this”

One of the first things that you had noticed was how dapper he had looked in the brown suit.  

You tell him getting a cocky smirk in response. You take your finger and gently move a strand of his hair that hung in between his eyebrows, moving it so it was flowing to the right– as it should be. 

“Thank you lovie, how about I show the two of you around.”

-

You were walking down the lines of trailers, The three of you linked together like monkeys in a barrel, Bia walking in the middle. As you walked down Harry showed her all the equipments, teaching her how things worked, helping her pronounce the tough words, and explaining what they were for.

“They’re shooting something right now. You want to watch?”

“Mhm” 

You crouch to pick up Bia, her short legs slowing the two of you down if you had to be honest. She sat on your hip, now a bit farther away from Harry. He had been quick to drape his arm over his arm over your shoulder, bringing you both closer. 

“Remember you have to be quiet” Harry reminded B, as you both walked closer to a scene that was about to start. 

“I remember” she whispered.

It was only a minute or two that went by, when Bia let out a quiet groan. Frustrated to no end. 

“Daddy” She had groaned again, her hand in a tiny fist. You looked down at her, face scrunched up.

“What is it baby?” he asked, grabbing her fist. Her hand now enclosed over his finger.

“My eyes. S’ too bright”

You and Harry smiled down at her, You watched as Harry opened one of the jackets. Slipping his hand inside one of the pockets, you assumed, pulling out a pair of sunglasses. He perched them gently on her face. So big they had slid down her nose. 

“Better?” you asked, kissing the top of her head

She nodded her head, turning her attention, so she was watching the extras move around and the actors/actresses recite their lines. 

The three of you stood there for another ten minutes, but had to go when Harry looked down at his watch. Smile falling not wanting to leave you both.

“I gotta go lovie, but I’m gonna drop off you both at the trailer first” he says grasping your hand, leading you both away from the ongoing scene.

“What?” you pout “I thought I would’ve been able to see you in action” you tease.

“I know, I know” he sighs, walking in front of you so he can clasp your face between his palms. Which were by now ringless, except for the wedding ring prop. His, from your wedding day, sat next to his journal on his night stand. 

“But I’d not rather kiss another woman in front of B...Plus you’ll make me nervous”

“I make you nervous” you keen

“Don’t act surprised” he quips “Remember the time I spilled my drink all over your lap on our first date?” he asks, you nod in confirmation. “There you go! Now let’s get you two back to the trailer” he ended the conversation swiftly, grappling both your shoulders gently. Squeezing them lovingly as he guided you back to the trailers. 

You and H had been entranced in a conversation when B had squealed letting out excitedly “Puppy!”

The sound of her excitement got both of your attention, looking down to see none other Dodger on a leash held by Chris freaking Evans. 

“Hey Chris!” Harry greeted, putting his hands out for a handshake. Harry had let go of your shoulder as Chris pulled Harry in for what you called ‘manly man shoulder tap’. “You’ve met y/n, this” he pointed to B “Is Bia, my daughter” Harry, properly, introduced the squirming girl in your arm, trying so hard to pet the dog, pinching her cheek. 

“Hi” you greeted Chris, clearing your throat afterwards. 

You met Chris when the cast had got together for a bonding moment at a very fancy restaurant. But god, could you ever get used to the fact that your husband worked with Chris freaking-hot- Jamal Evans and you basically had access to see him whenever? No. Never.

When the news had broke out that Chris would be joining in as a cast member, you were probably more excited than Harry, as you had ran around the room in twirls at the fact that you were going to see two of the most handsomest men in the world in one movie. And you were married to one of them. 

Harry could do nothing that day not wanting to burst your bubble with the slight jealousy he had felt as he laid back on the bed, watching your very familiar crazy behavior. A smile on his face. 

“Almost as if you were the one acting with him baby” he teased you, making his way hastily towards you, throwing you over his shoulder a quick smack to your ass. 

And the dinner was not any easier. Your hand in Harry’s hands, placed over the table. Which you was his way of slight possessiveness, while you sat across from Chris Evans himself, trying so hard not to act like such a fangirl. His eyes were so blue, so bright, it was hard not to get caught in those. 

But you were married and had to calm down. Letting Harry know multiple times if this were Jennifer Aniston he would have all the passes he wanted. 

“Hey how are you y/-” Chris had started, but the sound of an overly excited toddler had took all three of your attention 

“Daddy!” she roared, a smile on her face, pointing towards Chris’ shocked figure. 

It was like time stood, still at the tension–– mostly felt on you and Harry’s end. At the way Chris had dropped his jaw, eyes wide, his finger pointing at himself. 

Harry was nothing but embarrassed, cheeks and ears heating up. His own daughter called someone who wasn’t Harry her father for christs sakes. 

 And you were nothing but the same, as all three of you stood there moths dropped. 

“O- oh my gosh, Chris, I’m so sorry. I have no idea why she-” you started.

“It’s fine really” he chuckled. “I’m actually supposed to be on set in a few, so I’ll catch you guys later.” he waved, smiling, walking away from the three of you. 

“Oh my gosh, Harry! I just embarrassed myself in front of Chris evans” you whined. 

“This is your fault” he laughed “Told you I hated that joke, glad to see karma got you where it hurts”

“I hate you” you whine

Harry pays you no mind, a smug look over taking his face. 

“Where’s daddy going?” Bia asks, her head turning at Chris’ walking figure. 

-

if you enjoyed pls don’t forget to reblog or give feedback if ur up to it <3

[nochi-quinn]

campaign 3 episode 38: dice burning party in the parking lot

let's see if I can stay awake this week! 8D

oh matt's gonna be the death of me

"the moment you've all been waiting for" don't speak for me

"my mutant superpower is not knowing what I'm doing" same

I genuinely cannot judge how good or bad matt's accent is, I don't think I've ever heard a good non-native version

excited to see how much of these costumes survive to the end of the episode

especially the gloves, those aren't lasting (or maybe I have second-hand sensory hell)

pike's voice with the gambit eyes sdlkfjsl

matt u should have oiled ur coat

"I'm pretty good at what I do" baking?

alright "what happens if laudna breaks away from delilah" betting pool get ready

I'm gonna cryyyyy

SAM

she does have a pretty good track record, doesn't she

YUP there went the visor off liam

aaand travis' mask

"you deserve to be more than a footnote in delilah's story"

sam

I would have prefered ashton but here we are

"and you loved imogen" sam with the shipper stick

I'm. not okay with this.

sam's characters have a running thread of mental manipulation and I've been cooling on fcg for a while bc of the Enforced Therapy aspect (I don't love the bonded character mechanic either) and just. hnrgh.

I wrote that before the nat 1, too, I just Dislike

[holds a knife on anyone trying to make a joke about laudna's holes]

yeah, LETTERS

ah hell

klsdjflsk

PERCUSSIVE MAINTENANCE

gonna fight matt in a parking lot

CRIES

bonus content for any jean/rogue shippers

vex: get fenthras'd, idiot

oh poor laudna she doesn't know any of these people :(

skdjfslkd trying to use the tablet with the gloves

chetney: GOD WOOD???

o. oh.

chetney

travis

PIKE

"you were just Dead"

you are not immune to vex'ahlia de rolo

percival

calm your SHIT percy jesus christ

lays in the floor

I see you wiping your face travis

TREE

would laudna have been one of the ones that thought percy abandoned them or was she too young to have Opinions

or would she have like. heard stuff from her parents. I know what I'm trying to say

"fight with obann" wrong campaign matt

"this gets to be real now" lays in the floor harder

she just starts whaling on the tree

crIES

this child for new party member

"there are kids who are never gonna know" I AM ALREADY CRYING YOU CAN STOP NOW

let laudna talk to the tree

THIS WORKS TOO

laudna 🤝 keyleth

tree aesthetic

I'm gonna stuff this man in a locker istg

I love her

A Keyleth Thing

keyleth is canonically their crunchy granola friend

group hug at the sun tree

chetney

sun tree: consent please

DO IT

orym: it's weird, none of us really understand

percy we will make you admit you love your friends if it kills all of us

percy: they're YOUR guests

laura and marisha are killing me

orym is likking me

FEARNE DO NOT PICKPOCKET THE CLERIC

they get chased out of whitestone and have to wait three in-game days to go back

…I just remembered Pike's cousins, this is not new to her

fcg has a flesh nose now

YESSS I was hoping for this

YEAH YEAH HELL YEAH

YEAH YEAH YEAH

permapate

"exposure therapy" dsklfjs

the newly refurbished chamber that was once Briarwood

why do I feel like we just heard part of every pitch meeting travis and sam had with the cartoon

percy shut the fuck up you never liked any of them

DOTYYYYYY

doty my beloved

MAKE LITTLE MISTER A GUN

a 21 HAS to do it

"this is how planet of the apes started"

scattershit

manners my beloved

fond flashbacks to dariax rubbing it on his gums

I just keep being distracted by how fking pretty laura is

where's scanlan, get your ioun ass in here

SAM

the pleather claps sdklfjs

okay look this is a very niche intersection of my interests but I'm picturing percy rolling up to the cerberus assembly like old bruce in batman beyond when he was getting his company back from derek powers

"how are you holding up?" "with a cane."

one shot that's just sam being tary and fcg

no dm only torment

scanlan shows up too

ashton

no one hates percy more than taliesin

"I just feel bad for him"

"thank you never mind go to bed"

chetNEY

oh I'm gonna CRY

I know a full Vox Machina Plot Rundown is impractical but part of me wants them to explain things to laudna

WAIT

IS IT

CRIES FOREVER???

f e a r n e

"get down here" "nO-"

"I start to give him a noogie but it hurts"

I love these fucking dorks so fucking much

they all react to the lights every time, I love it

I just noticed sam has veth's tattoo drawn on

57 things caught fire during break, I just got back

everybody's coats and gloves are off but liam's visor is back on

"we're on the moon, bitch"

wait until they find out what keyleth did UNDER the sun tree

do iiiiit

gay

oh there goes the visor again

Lady Laudna

"are you really doing this"

MCCOUGHNATREE LET'S GO

that voice + matt's getup is. something.

fearne: come here often?

trAVIS

"when they put up a new moon"

sun tree consent CANON

"I mean not the LORD" fuck you sam I was drinking soup

FUCK YOU MATT

LIKE JUST IN GENERAL

quick bring dorian back and install him in eshteross' place

NOT THAT HE'S DEAD

WE DON'T KNOW HE COULD JUST BE A SLOW START IN THE MORNING

"my face can't move!"

sdklfjsl matt flicking a card at sam

HORSE

"if you wind it the wrong way it DOES explode"

whats-his-face de rolo

laura fully distracted by the horse (valid)

OH YEAH rip podcast listeners

GILMORE?

fcg fuck off I want to see gilmore

taliesin's latent percy ego

do I get to hear matt gilmore again???

"I wasn't gonna let this not happen" thank you for your service taliesin

;-;

dangit I thought it was at least the husband

no I want a shopping episode

"shaun or nothin"

there's a WHOLE HOUR left what in hell

not the full name dlkfjsl

MATT

"what if he gets hurt?" "I can bring him back!" "no, don't!"

chetney phases through the door

matt

matthew

why blood odd

something something tf2 dead ringer

I need a tweest

what is the tweest

FINALLY

THIS BITCH

don't squish him!!

"how bad can it be" sunken tomb

"it opens" "and I die"

don't read that man's mail

(I know they're gonna have to read the mail)

;-;

TRAVIS

SIR

taliesin: hide that shit right now

BODEH

I feel like this is the least respectful major NPC death ever

thank you for ignoring the button travis

NOW get dorian

at least TELL dorian

[supercorpkid]

Lena Luthor is your lab partner.

Supercorp, Kara Danvers x Daughter!Reader, Lena Luthor x Daughter!Reader

Word count: 2215.

“Welcome Miss Luthor-Danvers.” Aly, the receptionist of L Corp, gives you a warm welcome.

“Hey, Aly. Can you call upstairs and let my mom know that I’m here?” You smile and she immediately does what you asked.

“She’s going to meet you here.” Aly says and you nod. You play on your phone while you wait. Lena asked you to go to L Corp after school. You don’t know exactly what she wants, but you rescheduled your training session with Nia and went there hoping she would say something about your anti-kryptonite force field prototype. Thankfully, it doesn’t take long for you to see Lena coming your way.

Every time you see your mom at work you get so impressed. She’s so well-dressed and put together. And she looks like a boss bitch with this black dress. She smiles at you and hugs you as soon as she reaches you.

“So glad you came, baby. I have a surprise for you.” Lena says and starts walking, shooting you a look for you to follow her.

“A surprise for me? It isn’t my birthday yet.” You say catching up to her.

“Not that kind of surprise.” You go into the elevator with her and she presses a button to go underground.

“I’ll be very surprised if you say that the prototype worked.” You turn to her expectantly. She promised she would test it for you, but she hasn’t given you any clue if it works yet.

“It will work, I’m sure. With a brain like yours, you can make anything.” What she really meant to say was that it didn’t work. You’re finally understanding the things your moms say between the lines.

Lena opens one door to a lab and you walk in. Everything is so new it smells like it. It’s full of equipment and there is a lot of technology you only dreamt about. It’s amazing, the best thing your eyes have ever seen.

“So?” Lena smiles at you and you look at her. “What d’you think?”

“It’s great!” You look around and everything is so perfectly placed, you can’t find anywhere to put your backpack. You also don’t want to touch anything before her. “Where can I put my bag?”

“Anywhere you’d like. It’s yours.” She says with a hand on your shoulder.

“What?”

“The lab, babygirl. It’s yours.” She repeats and you stand there with no reaction. Wait, huh? “Oh, you’re going to need this.” She gives you an access card. “And this.” And then she gives you a L Corp id, and there’s your picture and your name in it.

“Wait.” You look at your smiling face in the picture and then around. “Do I work here now?”

“No. Well, yes, but only because I needed to hire you to give you your own lab.”

“Are you serious?” She agrees with her head. “Mom, that’s so cool! Am I gonna get paid?”

“Absolutely not.” She says with a smile and you roll your eyes.

You drop your backpack close to the door and you go inside to explore the lab. There’s literally everything that you might need. That means no more going around the house and picking up remote controls and old cameras. You’re absolutely awed by the whole thing, and Lena keeps looking at you and chuckling to herself.

“Wow. Thanks mom! This is the coolest thing you’ve ever given me.” You go back to where she’s standing so you can hold her tight. “It’s the best thing anyone has ever given me.”

“Oh.” She smiles from ear to ear. “I’m glad you liked it. Do you mind telling Kara this? She’s always bragging about the necklace.”

“Well, the necklace is also pretty great.” You hold it in your hand and smile at her. “Even though you tampered it.”

“I did no such thing.” You raise an eyebrow and she shrugs. “It’s a microchip, you can take it off in your sleep if you want to. But please don’t.”

“You know I can just take off the necklace now that I know about it and like, run away, right?”

“Why would you run away?” She asks a little worried and you smile so you can ease her mind.

“I’m kidding mom, I mean, I just got my own lab!” You open your arms with the biggest smile on your face and she smiles back at you, looking genuinely happy. “Shall we get to work?”

“I thought you would never ask.” She says going to the computers to show you the results she got with the kryptonites.

Apparently, the force field held his own with the green kryptonite for a few minutes, but didn’t work with the other ones. You and Lena both work in different computers, you’re running some tests, and perfecting your calculations. At one point, you both look at each other at the same time.

“Maybe…”

“I think…”

“You first.” She points at you and you turn your computer screen so she can see it.

“Maybe the bracelet wasn’t a good idea. I’m looking at the shape and…” You start saying and Lena smiles. “What?”

“The bracelet wasn’t a good idea.” She turns her computer screen at you and it’s your turn to smile. “Guess we had the same idea.”

“Well, I do have your brain, don’t I?” You smile and Lena is also static to confirm this. “So, I was thinking, maybe in the belt?”

“That’s good. It covers more areas. It should work.” You both get up at the same time and go around the room collecting everything that you might need. Lena’s phone rings at the moment, and you pretend you can’t hear the entire conversation, and focus on the things in front of you. She hangs up the phone and looks at you. “Baby, I…”

“Yeah, meeting.” You look at her. “Don’t worry, I’ll start on the prototype and you come back whenever you can, ok?”

“Great.” She kisses your cheek and smiles. “Just don’t leave without me.”

“I won’t.” You smile back and she goes to the door. You go back to the tablet in front of you and start simulating with the new shape. Your hands go insane in it, and you’re not even using your super speed, you’re just really excited. In the corner of your eyes, you see Lena standing by the door with a smile. “Mom, don’t you have a meeting to go to?”

“Sorry, yeah I… Was just looking at my baby working.” She says and you turn your face at her. “Kara was wrong. You look just like me.”

“Ok, you two have to stop competing over this kind of stuff.” You laugh and she joins in. “And we both know I look just like momma when she was young.”

“How dare you.” Lena says with a smile still playing on her lips. She finally opens the door to leave. “You are amazing.”

“Are you saying this because I look just like you while working?”

“Obviously.” She laughs and actually leaves.

You are left all alone and you work on the anti-kryptonite belt. You try to make it look just like the one in Kara’ suit. You’re so entertained with the new project you don’t even realize Lena was gone for three hours. You also almost didn’t notice she had returned either, and you only did because you smelled food and your stomach growled.

“I brought Belly Burgers.” She puts some fries in front of you and you’re instantly filled with happiness.

“Rao, you’re the best lab partner ever!” You shove so many French fries in your mouth it’s hard to chew. Lena frowns at that, but decides to ignore it.

“How are we going?” She looks at the belt in front of you. “Oh, you already finished it?”

“Actually…” You go to the other side of the table and grab a box. “I made a few.”

You then proceed to put another four prototypes on the table. Lena’s mouth drops and she looks absolutely in shock.

“This one’s just like Supergirl’s.” You point at a golden one. “And I made a similar one but in silver for myself.” You point at it. “This one’s for Superboy.” You point to another. “And Superman.” And another.

“Wait, you made five… Who’s the last one for?” She grabs the one closer to her and looks at it. “It looks like the Superboy one.”

“Oh yeah. I’m sure Conner will break his in like, days, so I’m making him another one.” You come back to her. “But you’re back for the most important part. Let’s see if it works with the new shape and with a different calculation. You have to test it.”

“Don’t you want to do that tomorrow? It’s really late.” Lena says and you furrow your brows.

“Please tell me you’re joking. I don’t want to break in here in the middle of the night and test it myself.”

“Ok. First, you don’t have to break in.” She points at your id. “Second, I would never let you expose yourself to kryptonites, so I’m obviously joking.” You roll your eyes. “I wouldn’t be able to sleep either.”

“Ok, go on.” You push her out of your lab, but before leaving she turns back to you.

“Hey, you know it’s a very difficult project, so if it doesn’t work, don’t be discouraged.” She touches your face.

“I know. Just go, please. You’re killing me.” You say and she chuckles, actually leaving this time.

Whilst she tests your prototype, you eat the burgers she brought you. You didn’t realize you were hungry until now. Kara calls you while you wait.

“Hey kid, it’s pretty late. Where are you?”

“At work.”

“What? Kid, stop joking. Where are you?”

“I’m not joking! L Corp hired me, ok? I have my own lab, and an access card.”

“Wait! Are you serious? Your own lab? Can I visit?”

“Sure. You can even eat my leftover fries.”

“Don’t even joke about fries. I’m on my way.”

It doesn’t take long until you hear a knock on the door. It’s obviously not Lena yet, because she has her own card. You open the door and Kara walks in impressed.

“She didn’t actually give you this lab.”

“Oh, but she did.” You give her the biggest smile.

“Dammit Lena, I can’t compete with this.” She mumbles and you laugh. Kara sees her belt at the other side of the table. She doesn’t even ask about it, she just runs to it and picks it up, putting it on.

“What are you doing?” You ask holding her arm when she mentions leaving the lab.

“We have to test it!” She smiles.

“Mom is doing that for me.”

“But Lena’s not Kryptonian. The only way we can be sure is if I try.” Kara resumes walking and you keep pulling her back.

“No way, you’re not going in there! What if it doesn’t work? Momma, please. No!”

“It’s going to work.” Her voice is sure. It leaves no margin for you to think she is not very confident in you and your work. But you’re not.

“It didn’t work the last time.” You hold her tightly. “Please, please. I can’t go through that again. Please.”

“It’s ok, baby.” She holds you back and stops trying to walk. She knows what you’re talking about, so she kisses the top of your head to reassure you. “I won’t go. But I’m sure it will work. You’re the smartest person I know.”

“I heard that!” Lena says coming inside the lab and you and Kara both look at her expectantly. “When did Kara get here?”

“Who cares! What happened? Did it work?” You ask and Lena bites her lips and furrows her brows. Your face drops. “Oh, no. It didn’t.”

“I’m sorry, little one.” Kara holds tightly again, but you let go of her and go back at the table grabbing the tablet.

“It’s ok, I just have to change the capacitor, and like, maybe the solar ce-”

“Baby!” Lena makes you stop talking and you look at her. “Who said it didn’t work?”

“Your face!”

“I was joking.” Lena goes to you and hands you the prototype. “It works! Even with the Harun-El. It held up long enough.”

“It did?” You’re almost jumping when she agrees with a smile. You jump excitedly and Kara does the same. Lena is not really jumping, you don’t think she could even if she wanted, not with those shoes anyways, but she still looks impressed and so proud of you.

“You know what? You are the smartest person I know.” Lena says joining the hug and you feel like you can fly. You can’t believe it worked. You’ll be able to protect Kara, Superboy, your uncle and even yourself! This is the happiest you’ve ever been.

“Honestly, I think I should get paid.” You say after the hug.

“No.”

“Well, you should at least increase my allowance then.”

“It seems fair.” Kara adds and Lena rolls her eyes.

“I’ll consider it.” She says grabbing her things so you all can go home. You follow her to the door and grab your backpack.

“It’s totally happening.” Kara whispers in your ear and you smile. This is, honestly, the best day you had in months.

[hongism]

mists of celeste ➻ twenty-one

➻ pairing: ??? x fem reader ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, smut ➻ word count: 7.2k ➻ rating: M ➻ warnings: language, fighting, smut ➻ summary: Sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you

⇐ previous | next ⇒ | masterlist

act three ➻ part three  ​​

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“I said keep your leg straight!”

“It is straight,” you counter, huffing through your teeth as Yunho smacks the underside of your calf yet again. It’s probably the fourth time he’s done so in the past twenty minutes, and he tells you to straighten your leg each time even though it’s already perfectly straight.

“You need to get your eyes checked, because that is most definitely not straight.” Yunho pulls away from the bed you’re lying back on, and you let your leg fall back to the mattress so you can sit up and glare at the back of his head.

“You’re the doctor here, so why don’t you check them if you think there’s an issue?”

“Your attitude is the issue here.”

“Hey, aren’t you supposed to be nice to me? Is that any way to talk to your patient?”

“If you did your exercises properly, maybe I would be nicer!” Yunho chastises, coming back to the edge of the bed with arms crossed over his chest. You resist the urge to roll your eyes but fall back to the mattress anyway and start doing the exercises again.

“I am doing them properly,” you grumble. Seonghwa laughs from off to the side. He leans up against the wall, arms crossed like Yunho’s, and in all honesty, you had forgotten that he was standing there all this time. You don’t quite understand why he’s on the ship today; the only thing you were told is that it was per Hongjoong’s request. The captain took Yeosang with him to the city instead of Seonghwa, and San went along again as well. Based on Seonghwa and Yunho’s exchanged whispers that ceased when you came into the medbay, it has something to do with you. You want to ask about it, but Yunho interrupts your train of thought by speaking again.

“I wish Hongjoong would let me off the damn ship for one day. Just one.” He glances over at Seonghwa and plops down on his rolling stool that he’s left near your bed. “I haven’t been back here in years.”

“Can I stop yet?” You interject, a slight whine to your words. Yunho pays you no mind though, so you just continue to do the exercises while he speaks to Seonghwa.

“It’s wintertime on Kebos, which means winter festivals! And snow! When do we ever get to see snow?” Yunho slaps his palms against the bed. You jolt a little, whipping your chin to look at him. “Do you remember me telling you about it, Y/N?”

“W-What?”

“The winter festivals on Kebos?”

“I – no, I don’t remember us ever having that conversation.”

Yunho sighs and sits up straight again. He leans forward to tap your knee. For a moment, you think he’s going to tell you to do the exercises properly again, so you prepare to smack him, but he doesn’t.

“That’s enough for today. I can’t wear you out too much before you go spar.”

“Thank goodness,” you mutter, falling back to the mattress with a deep heave.

“Okay, but back to the festival thing – we’re near the capital Reinig. Literally at the town right outside Reinig. I could take a day trip to the city to see the festival! But no, no, no. Not allowed. The healer has to stay on the ship even when there’s no one to heal!” Yunho waves his hand through the air before bringing it to his pale locks. Seonghwa offers a smile that’s filled with fondness. His arms fall away from his chest, and he blinks over at you for a few seconds then turns back to Yunho.

“Maybe Hongjoong can slow down for a day,” Seonghwa suggests. “Let everyone have some time for themselves to do… anything they want to do. That way you could go to the festival. Maybe you could bring Wooyoung along? You’d have to take Yeosang as well, but that might not be so bad.”

“Hm, that would be nice.” Yunho hums and thumbs over his chin as he considers Seonghwa’s offer. “Wooyoung doesn’t get to see many nice or relaxing things, so the festival might be a good opportunity for him to take a step back. Yeosang is just – well, he’s Yeosang. He hates everything.”

Seonghwa releases a loud snort. “You’ve never been more accurate.”

“If we did that, I would want to bring you along, Y/N.” You snap your chin back towards Yunho, eyes narrowing in a second. You don’t want to shoot the idea down, but Yunho is well aware of your desire to stay on the ship where it is safe and sound. Away from the military and the idea of being in such a dangerous sector of the universe. Out the corner of your eye, you spot Seonghwa opening his mouth as well, and he seems ready to refuse the suggestion for you. Yunho lifts a hand to stop him before he can talk. “Listen to what I have to say as the healer of this crew. One way to confront emotional and mental trauma is through trauma-focused cognitive-behavioral therapy. You know what that is?”

You blink away from Yunho, lips parted and expression contorted in a confused manner. Seonghwa is in a similar predicament, and when you lock gazes, he shrugs a little.

“Yeah, of course, we don’t, Yunho. You’re the doctor here.”

“It’s like talking to two brick walls, I swear.”

“Are we at least good-looking brick walls?” You tease with a cheeky grin.

“No comment, you little shit.” Yunho jabs his index finger at your face, so you take that answer as a ‘yes’ and pull yourself into a sitting position with a more pleased smile now. “Anyway, the process involves gradually exposing yourself to feelings and situations that remind you of a trauma and replacing distorted and irrational thoughts about the experience with a more balanced picture. So the idea is to expose you to a place that brings you discomfort and is tied to bad memories. Once exposed, we would try to replace those emotions with good ones and reshape your perception of the place, while breaking down some of the trauma you’ve faced. Overcome trauma, alleviate some of your pain and distress, and have a good time. Make sense now?”

“Aye, aye, Captain.” Seonghwa nods, eyes trailing over your form.

“Okay, so now you see why I want you to come with. As much as I want you to come with though, I want you to make the final decision. If Hongjoong allows it, that is.” Yunho’s gaze returns to Seonghwa, and he looks up at the lieutenant with a hopeful gleam in his dark eyes. Seonghwa shakes his head ever so slightly, but his smile persists even as he pushes away from the wall and walks closer to where Yunho is sitting. He punches the healer’s arm, swing light, and Yunho laughs in response.

“It’s up to Hongjoong and Y/N then.”

“Perfect!” Yunho grins. It quickly dissolves as he begins to make shooing motions towards Seonghwa. “Go wait in the hall for a few minutes now. I gotta ask some private doctor questions that you don’t need to be around for.”

Seonghwa rolls his eyes but steps closer to the door. He stops to look back at you, a slight smile playing at his lips. “Yell if he starts acting weird.”

“Oh, quit it! Get out before I smack you.” Seonghwa has to dodge Yunho’s weakly swung arm, but he doesn’t get away completely unscathed as he runs into the doorframe on his way out, and you have to stifle your laughter along with Yunho until he’s completely gone. “Okay, okay,” Yunho exhales through a chuckle. “Now that we have some privacy let’s talk about how you’ve been mentally and emotionally. How are you sleeping? Flashbacks, nightmares, anything like that?”

“No,” you utter without thinking twice, and Yunho blinks back in surprise. You hesitate before correcting yourself. He’s told you already that you don’t need to be embarrassed about things not working or going well, that it’s part of the process, and there will be slip-ups along the way, but it still feels like you’ve failed in some way. Your old squad from the military – predominantly Jisung – has been haunting your dreams and intruding on your thoughts without rest. Even Yunho’s medications do nothing to cease their presence. Yet whenever one comes along, you can’t push it out or ignore it, which is probably what you should be doing. You just let yourself slip into the memories and be consumed by them. The only relief you get is when you talk to someone because that provides an ample amount of distraction for a while.

“Y/N?” Yunho snaps his fingers in front of your face. You shake your head a little and look him in the eye. “You spaced out on me. All good?”

“Y-Yeah, um, the medications aren’t working,” you admit. Yunho’s lips press into a delicate frown, but he doesn’t seem surprised at all by the information. “I haven’t been sleeping well, and it’s hard to get rest when I do sleep. I just… constantly have nightmares of my time in the military. Some flashbacks during the day as well.” Yunho nods at your words, then he hums to himself for a moment.

“Is that the only thing you’ve been struggling with?” He asks next.

“I mean, talking to San helped clear the air a lot about t-that whole issue. Not completely. Something still feels off and wrong, but thinking about it doesn’t make me as afraid as it used to.”

“That’s really good, Y/N. Even small steps are progress. I’m glad to hear it. As for sleeping issues, I can adjust your dosage and have the new medicine ready by tonight. We can test it out and see how well it works. Not a permanent solution, but something for now.”

“Okay, yeah, we can do that.”

“Now concerning your memories of the military… where do you think that’s coming from? Has it started since we entered Aurum, or is it something else? Is Kebos a source of trauma for you as well?” Yunho has that all too familiar tablet in his hands, and you resist the urge to clam up and panic at the thought of him having all your weaknesses written down in it.

“Um, no, Kebos isn’t.”

“I want to move back to Kebos once I retire from the military.”

You can’t keep the memory from slipping through. Your jaw stutters as you try to recover from the sudden lapse in speech, and if Yunho notices, he doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he settles for patiently waiting for you to continue your thought.

“It’s j-just Aurum. Uh, sorry, it’s Eros. The idea of being near Eros stresses me out. Makes me remember my time in the military and the things I experienced while there.” You look up to the ceiling as to avoid Yunho’s piercing gaze. The heat of his stare lingers on you. Silence envelops the air between you for what feels like hours. Then, Yunho pipes up again with another question.

“What is your earliest memory, Y/N?”

“My – my what?” You stammer. The question is random, the last thing you were expecting for him to ask, but Yunho just repeats himself without seeing the oddness of his inquiry.

“Your earliest memory. As far as you can remember.”

“I, um, I don’t really know,” you trail off, shaking your head a bit as you speak. It’s all honesty on your part for once, because you truly don’t recall much about your childhood or life before the military. Everything is hazy as though there is a film over your vision up until the moment you joined the military. “I remember… voices and, uh, people telling me things while growing up, but I can’t picture it or see it in my mind. I don’t know who the people talking are, I just hear their voices. Occasionally I think I remember an old man from my childhood, but he seems to be more of an extension of my dreams. I only see him there but have no memories of him. The earliest thing I remember is joining the military.”

Yunho’s hand hesitates over the tablet. “How old were you when you joined?”

“Around fourteen.”

“Ah…” Yunho’s voice dies almost immediately, expression crumbling a little. “Fourteen.” You don’t want to look at him, but you can hear what sounds like pity in his voice. “Do you remember anything at all about the first fourteen years of your life?”

“I have vague recollections of water. Flowing water and crashing waves and foggy skies. But I really can’t remember more than that,” you say after a slight pause.

“That’s strange,” Yunho mutters back. “No recollection of the first fourteen years of your life. How old are you again?”

“U-Uh, twenty-one.”

“So, two-thirds of your life are empty memories.”

“I’ve never really thought too much about it. Figured that what I went through in the military was enough to block it out.”

“Hm, I suppose that’s a possibility. Do you any happy or – or fond memories? A person or a place that brings you joy?”

Bright eyes and a round smile come to mind in an instant. It isn’t just Jisung this time though; everyone in your unit makes an appearance at the forefront of your mind. The oldest of your group, Hyunwoo, with his broad shoulders and towering persona that always felt so intimidating despite how harmless he was with you all. Jisung’s closest friend, Juyeon, with his dark blue hair and clear laugh that was always resounding through every room he stepped through. Soojin, the only other girl on the squad, as deadly as she was charming and beautiful. And Ash, barely older than you – maybe only a few weeks older at best – who always looked up to Jisung like he held the universe in his hands. If the universe was your ragtag group of neglected recruits, then perhaps Jisung did hold it in his hands. At one time, each and every single one of them brought you joy and happiness. Made you feel warm, comforted, and wanted.

How did it all end so badly?

You can only feel cold and desolate as you think about them now. Guilt eats away at your gut, and you frantically try to push the memories aside before it consumes you and sends you into a frenzy.

“N-No,” you rush to answer Yunho’s initial question. “No, none at all.”

A frown paints his lips, one that is painful to look at, so again, you avoid his face in favor of looking at the ceiling.

“Well, I want to try to make some happy memories for you then. And maybe show you that you have people here now who can bring you joy and comfort. Hopefully, Hongjoong will let us go down to Reinig for a day in the very least.” A sigh passes through Yunho’s lips, then the sound of him tapping away at his tablet resounds shortly after. “You’re free to go spar with Seonghwa now.”

“Thanks,” you mutter, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed and getting to your feet. Yunho stops you before you move for the door though. He latches a hand around your wrist and blinks up at you all of a sudden.

“You’re doing well with the physical therapy, Y/N. Staying on top of it and putting in effort. I can tell you’re taking it seriously this time, and I’m proud of you for that. Not just as your doctor, but as a friend too. You’re doing well.”

The words shouldn’t hit you as hard as they do. You manage a weak nod and shaky smile, then step around Yunho’s chair to step through the door. His words linger like a bad taste on your tongue. You can’t tell whether they make you feel good or not; there was almost an ulterior meaning to what he said that causes your gut to twist and coil. Pushing out of the medbay, you heave a deep sigh and find Seonghwa standing just outside the door. He’s leaned up against the wall, arms back over his chest, and the second he sees you, he pushes himself into an upright position.

“Are you still up for some sparring?”

“Yeah, let’s do it,” you mutter. Falling into step beside him, you press your hands against your sides, nails digging into your palms. Thinking about the squad was a bad idea, because now you can’t get them out of your mind. Jisung alone was bad enough, but you know where this train of thought is headed, and it’s going to take you straight to those tall brick walls and public execution again. The broad shoulders of the man under a black hood with chains around his wrists.

“You’re getting closer with Jongho and Wooyoung,” Seonghwa cuts through your impeding thoughts with his clear tone, almost sensing your sudden distress and pushing it to the side like it’s nothing. “I’m glad to see it.”

“If this is an attempt at small talk, you’re awful at it,” you tease. Seonghwa huffs a laugh through his nose and shakes his head, but he obviously isn’t too bothered by your comment. “But yes, I am. They don’t ask questions incessantly like some people do.”

“Is that a dig at me?” Seonghwa scoffs, clutching his chest as though offended.

“That’s for you to figure out, pretty boy.”

“It’s also nice to see that you haven’t forgotten your little nickname for me, princess.” Seonghwa rolls his eyes a little, punching at the keypad outside the training room. You smile in response. The memories of Jisung and your old squad are slowly fading away and leaving you with a new sense of peace, at least for the time being. “Do you need to warm up?”

“I’ll just do some stretches,” you answer, moving for the mat while Seonghwa heads for the cabinets to retrieve the tape as he always does. You plop down on the mat, a small oof leaving you. “By the way, how did things go yesterday?”

Seonghwa glances back at you, rifling through the cabinet, and he doesn’t answer right away. You keep your eyes on him while you stretch. His movements are languid even as he wraps the tape around his wrists and hands.

“Everything went well,” he says at last, coming to join you on the mat. He lingers at the edge and tosses the tape onto your lap before starting to stretch a bit himself. “Not much progress yet, but Hongjoong thinks it will take upwards of a week to take care of everything. He has to meet with several other captains of pirate crews while here – discuss business over the inventory in the cargo hold as well as figure out positions of military ships and units, those sorts of things. I’ll be joining him again tomorrow as we have some treaties to negotiate with a couple of crews concerning free travel. It isn’t free to fly around after all. We need to restock some basic necessities too. Food, drink, medical supplies, clothes. Hongjoong will be looking into bringing on some new crew members as well. And of course – Siren hunting.”

You exhale a huff. “He’s a busy man. I’m surprised. I figured he just didn’t give a flying fuck about anything other than Sirens.” Grabbing the tape from your lap, you pull yourself into a sitting position then start to wrap the material around your hands like Seonghwa did. He smiles at your words.

“Hongjoong takes care of many things and manages a lot as the captain. It may not seem like it at times because of his focus on Sirens, but he’s not a captain for nothing.”

You pull yourself up to your feet once you finish wrapping your wrists, not bothering to respond to Seonghwa’s comment, and kick your shoes off the side of the mat.

“Let’s go, pretty boy,” you tease, falling into an offensive stance. Seonghwa’s lips quirk further up as he mimics your position, his own shoes thrown off to the side as well.

“Someone is more confident than usual.”

You answer with a swift kick swung into Seonghwa’s side, and he’s caught off-guard by your haste and power. He rolls out of the way before you can hit him, a quiet laugh leaving his lips as he dodges you. Your moves are more confident and powerful, but only because of Yunho’s incessant urgings that you do your physical therapy and exercises so often. You haven’t sparred with Seonghwa in around a week; Jongho has been taking his place in recent days. Seonghwa would kill you if you said it out loud, but Jongho is a much harder opponent.

“You’re getting your strength back, I see.” Seonghwa catches your next swing, twisting you around, and you have to hook a foot around his ankle to maintain your balance. “Give it a few weeks and you’ll be better than ever.”

“You haven’t seen the half of it yet,” you laugh as you pull your arm out of his tightening grip. You slide back across the mat to put some more distance between the two of you, gaging his movements carefully.

“Oh, then I’d love to see the full thing.”

“Don’t get your hopes up, pretty boy.” He steps left, more weight on his left foot than his right. “You’ll lose your footing if you do.” You lunge forward and throw your right foot into his. The impact, along with his unbalanced weight, causes him to stumble backward. He nearly tumbles to the ground but catches himself at the last second.

“How about we make it a competition then?” He asks through a clear laugh. “Two of three falls. Five seconds down, just like we did during our first spar.”

You stand up straight and tap at your chin. “There’s no incentive for me to win.”

“Maybe I’ll let you pin me down if you win. Last time you tried it was cute.”

You roll your eyes at his cheeky comment. If it’s an effort to get you riled up and agree to the challenge, then it works quite well because now you really want to plant his ass on the mat and win. Thus, you drop your hands to your hips and tilt your head at the man across from you.

“Okay, if I win then… you get to clean up dinner dishes all by yourself. I normally do it with either Jongho or Wooyoung, and we get no help from anyone else. So, you deserve to do it alone for once. For fairness. You should know what it feels like. And it would be awfully amusing to see the Lieutenant of Death doing dishes.”

Seonghwa clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth in response to your terms. “It’s a good thing that I am going to win then.”

“What do you want if you win?” He doesn’t answer right away; instead, he tilts his head from side to side a few times before letting his sharp gaze settle back on you.

“You’ll find out when I win.”

“You’re too cocky.”

Seonghwa takes the aggressive stance you had before, and he barely lets you finish speaking before he’s crossing the mat. You swing your arms up to block the oncoming attack. Despite the intensity in his moves, they are still quite simple and easy to read. You slip out of his way time and time again, but in your haste, you neglect to watch his feet. Seonghwa slides a foot between yours right as he swings a jab at your hip. You try to sidestep to avoid the attack, and your foot catches on his. The impact sends you to the ground, Seonghwa goes down with you, and a second later, you find yourself pinned to the mat. Seonghwa leans over you, a cocky smirk painting his lips. You struggle against his grip, but he’s too strong for you to escape in this awkward position.

“Five seconds. One for me. Zero for you.”

Seonghwa rolls off of you and gets to his feet. You stay down, however, pushing yourself up onto your elbows, and glare up at him. He extends a hand towards you, which you nearly take, but at the last second, you get an idea and shift your weight on the mat. Taking his hand, you wait for him to shift all his weight into his forward leg then yank hard. He stumbles and almost lands on top of you. You duck out of the way just before he hits you. Your grip on his hand persists, and you twist his arm behind his back and swing a leg over his back. Without the use of both arms, you have Seonghwa successfully pinned to the mat, your weight keeping him down with ease. Seonghwa manages to huff out a laugh as you bend at the waist to taunt him.

“That’s five seconds,” you whisper close to the shell of his ear. Releasing his wrists, you sit back and climb off Seonghwa’s body to let him get up properly. Before you have the chance to get to your feet, a sudden force hits you square in the chest, and you fall back to the mat. “Fuck.” Seonghwa’s weight is back on you a moment later. His knees press against your hips so hard that you can’t even try to wiggle out of the hold, and he keeps your wrists planted firmly on the mat.

“You were saying?”

“That’s a cheap trick, Park Seonghwa.”

“You played that card first, princess.”

“I’m at a disadvantage.”

“How so? Because you’re a girl? Weaker than me? No. You aren’t at a disadvantage because we’re equals in the ring and outside the ring. It’s only fair that I treat you as my equal no matter what.”

Your chest heaves as you try to catch your breath. Seonghwa knocked most of the air out of your lungs when he sent you down to the mat again, but you’re also a bit worked up from the exercise. Seonghwa is in a similar predicament; sweat drips down the side of his face, a few stray drops hitting the mat near your head. Your body reacts before your mind does, but you blame the close proximity and intimate fighting for how you’re feeling.

“But anyway… I won, princess.”

“What do you want then?” Seonghwa dips his chin to his chest, a small laugh reverberating before he looks back into your eyes.

“I want no one else to be on the ship right now because I would love to fuck you into the mat.” You choke on your saliva, teeth clattering as you snap your lips together. The boldness of his words is shocking enough, but what he actually said has you getting flustered within a second. “But, I suppose I can settle for a kiss instead.”

“Y-You – you can’t just… say stuff like that,” you stammer, blinking away from his face. His gaze persists though, and even out the corner of your eye, you can see the way his stare lingers on your lips.

“Can I kiss you, Y/N?” The question is whispered, but it sounds so loud in your ears. You bring your chin forward again and look Seonghwa in the eye. He doesn’t move, watching and waiting for a sign of approval or denial from you.

“Please,” you whisper back. Seonghwa closes the already minimal distance between your lips. They’re just as soft as you remember them to be, but there’s a bit more hunger when he kisses you this time. He doesn’t let the touch stay sweet and innocent for long, tongue swiping over your bottom lip. A small whine slips through as you part your lips for him, and his tongue meets yours in a sudden clash for dominance. He hums against you, the grip on your wrists tightening ever so slightly, and you lean into his touch without second thought. His lips leave yours too soon for your liking. “W-We – we shouldn’t do th-this here.”

Seonghwa’s eyes drag over your face as he nods. “My room is closer than yours.” Again he hesitates, waiting for you to give some sort of response, and he alleviates the pressure on your wrists to sit back on his heels.

“Hurry up and take me there then before we get caught.” That’s all the permission Seonghwa needs. His hands dart down to your thighs, pulling them around his waist, and you let him hoist you up. He’s stronger than he looks, you have to give him that because the lithe form and lean muscles do not look like he should be able to lift you and stand up with the added weight with such ease. He manages to do it without batting an eye. “What if someone is in the corridor?” You ask under your breath, bringing a finger up to trace over his rosy lips.

“Do you want me to put you down already?”

“Not really but – but you probably should just to be safe.” Seonghwa’s lips twitch into a smile, and he helps you untangle from around his waist.

“Lead the way then, princess.” His smile is teasing as you turn towards the door. Then, the flat of his hand comes down on your ass, and you gasp, whipping your head back towards him. “You don’t know where my room is though, so I’ll take the lead.”

“I hate you,” you grumble, cheeks burning with embarrassment as he steps past you and leads the way out of the training room.

“Say that after I fuck you into the mattress.” The comment has you choking on your spit again, and you nearly trip over the threshold of the door. The walk to his room is both brief and awkward. He walks a little ways in front of you, and even though you’re trying to avoid looking suspicious, you think that your motives are quite obvious. Especially as you reach his room and he taps at the keypad to open the door. You follow his steps as closely as you can without stepping on his heels. Once you’re both in his room, the air of awkwardness is dispelled. His hand finds the back of your neck, the other traveling to your hip, and he pushes you back against the cool metal door. You meet him halfway, lips crashing together in a mess of skin and teeth.

He kisses you with a bruising force, hands slipping away to press against the door instead. You hum against him and loop your own hands around his back to pull him flush against your body. Both of your movements are frantic and rushed, a stark difference compared to last time’s slow ministrations. You fumble for the hem of his shirt, trying and failing to grab at it. Seonghwa pulls back from your lips and gasps for air. He simultaneously yanks his shirt up and off his body. The only noise you can make in response is a startled moan, then his hands return to your body, grabbing the hem of your shirt. Your hands move by instinct to cover his and stop him from pulling it off of you.

“We can stop if you want,” Seonghwa whispers. His forehead falls against yours, and you could cry at the gentleness of his tone and actions. Instead, you shake your head slowly.

“N-No, I don’t want to stop. I… I want you,” you reply, voice equally as quiet. You know you should talk this through with him first, especially after the first time you had sex, but you’ve already made up your mind about this. Something about Seonghwa makes you trust him, and his visual and sexual appeal is very tangible. Still, you aren’t much of the type to go for one-night stands or quick fucks. With Seonghwa, it feels different from a one night stand, as though there is some sort of connection between the two of you that spurs you to do this. His lips brush against yours as his hands find yours. Your fingers intertwine, the kiss growing deeper and deeper by the second.

Seonghwa doesn’t say anything else; he stumbles back to pull you towards the bed. He falls to the mattress when his knees hit the edge. You bring your legs up to the bed, straddling his lap without breaking the soft kiss. You pull your hands away from his to grab at the edge of your shirt, and Seonghwa sits back to look at you fondly as you peel the material off your sweat-slick skin. There is a sudden shyness to your movements, and Seonghwa picks up on it in an instant. He brings his hands to your bare sides, tracing small circles against the skin as a form of encouragement. You swallow around nothing and reach around your back to peel the band around your chest off as well.

Seonghwa’s gaze never wavers, eyes peering so intently into yours that your breath hitches a little. It’s only when you drop the band to the floor that he moves, and his lips find yours in an instant. The pads of his fingers trail goosebumps along your skin as he drags them upwards. You gasp into his mouth when his thumbs ghost over your perked nipples, and he pinches them lightly. He pinches them again with a bit more force, causing you to throw your head back and release a throaty moan that’s far too loud. Seonghwa takes it as an opportunity to let his lips trail down to your neck. He sucks softly at the skin, and you know that he’s leaving marks as he goes lower and lower, but you can’t find it in you to care.

The bulge in his pants is pressing hard against the inside of his thigh, straining painfully against the fabric around it, and you stretch a hesitant hand down to palm him through his pants. Seonghwa moans around your nipple, lips parting around the skin. The noise spurs you on, and you hasten your movements to press hard against his concealed member. It’s enough to cause Seonghwa to shift, and he suddenly gets to his feet with you still wrapped around him. He twists in and instant and places you flat on your back against the bed as gently as he can.

When he stands up straight, you whine at the loss of contact and warmth, but you understand why a moment later because he fiddles with the button of his pants. You mimic his movements and tug at your own pants. Seonghwa grabs your ankles before you can fully get them off though. His pants are gone and forgotten on the floor, and he focuses all his attention on you, slowly pulling the material off to completely expose you to him. He moves to kneel on the bed, but you extend a hand and press it against his hip, a sudden boldness to your actions.

“C-Can I… can I suck you off?” You ask, tone so quiet you can barely hear yourself over the sound of your racing heart. Seonghwa’s jaw stutters a little, but he nods nonetheless and lets you guide him back into a sitting position on the edge of the bed. He groans as you slip off the mattress and between his legs. One hand trails over your forehead and brushes a few loose strands of hair out of the way. Now that you’re face to face with his member, you’re doubting yourself. You don’t do this often for obvious reasons; in fact, you think this might be only the second or third time to do this. Seonghwa keeps brushing over your skin with such gentle and soft touches that it pushes the insecurities to the side for the time being. You reach up to grip his member at the base then lean in to lick a long stripe up his cock.

A hiss leaves Seonghwa at the contact, and you repeat the motion once more before hesitating over his tip. You quickly blink up at him with fluttering lashes. His cheeks are already flushed, and sweat glistens on his skin. Still, his gaze is gentle on you, and you maintain that sweet eye contact as you begin to take his cock into your mouth. Seonghwa breaks the eye contact as your wet heat sinks down further. He throws his head back with a shaky groan, hand falling away from your head to grip the edge of the mattress tight. You hasten your bobs along his cock. His reaction spurs you along, the pretty string of moans escaping him like music to your ears. His hips twitch and jerk, but you can tell he’s holding back and trying to keep from fucking up into your mouth.

“H-Hold on, hold on, princess,” he stammers out, one hand returning to brush through your hair. You pull off him with a lewd pop and curious eyes. “I don’t wanna cum yet.”

“Oh,” you exhale and let your hand fall away from his hard cock. Seonghwa brings his fingers to your chin. You lean into the soft touch and bring yourself up again, Seonghwa’s hands guiding you to straddle his lap once more. Your lips brush over his, hot breath fanning your face as he exhales.

“Do you need me to prep you?” He whispers.

“I j-just want you to fuck me, please,” you plead and drape your arms over the man’s shoulders. He nods against you then reaches a hand down between your hips. You instinctively tighten your grip on him as he guides his cock to your entrance. Your gut coils a little when he pushes against you, but you do your best to relax your muscles to make it easier for the both of you.

“Relax, princess,” Seonghwa murmurs. His lips ghost over the shell of your ear before traveling lower to nip at the sensitive spot on your neck. He sinks further into you when your body relaxes around him. He bottoms out a moment later, and a breathy whine leaves you. “I’ve got you, princess. You’re okay.”

There’s so much warmth in his tone, the fire of his presence consuming you, and you shift your hips to bring him deeper in you.

“Fuck me, please.”

Seonghwa attaches his lips to your neck again, hands guiding your hips up and down along his cock. You try to help him a bit by bouncing a little on him, but the sensation of him being so deep in you is enough to have you slumping against his body like jelly after a minute. He doesn’t seem to mind one bit though; he just continues to nip and kiss your neck. Every once and a while, he’ll whisper soft praises against your skin. Each word sends shivers down your spine, and you clench around him at the sound of the praise.

You know you won’t last long like this, but Seonghwa doesn’t seem to be in a better predicament as he was already close before fucking you. You reach around the back of his head to tug at his hair. He pulls off your neck at the touch and looks you in the eye, brows furrowed in concentration as he continues to thrust into you. Your words die in your throat when you meet his gaze. Instead of speaking, you just lean in and press your lips to his. The gentle touch and soft prodding of his tongue against yours sends an orgasm crashing over you. You whine into his mouth, and Seonghwa just eats the sound up, thrusting into you only two more times before he cums as well. Your muscles fail you in that moment, but you cling to Seonghwa like he’s the only thing you have and ride out your orgasm with him. His lips are on your ear again, whispering and muttering sweet praises, but you can’t hear them through your pleasure.

You don’t know how long the two of you remain like that, clinging to each other and sucking in deep breaths of air with foreheads pressed together. The haze finally passes though, and you can hear his words clearly again.

“Do you want a shower?” Seonghwa asks, chest heaving from the exertion. You’re too fucked out to think straight, let alone speak, so you can only manage a few nods. “Am I going to need to carry you over there too?”

His teasing remark gives you just enough energy to slap his bicep. He tightens his arms around you and lifts you with ease though, and you settle into his touch as he carries you to the bathroom. You have to reassure him multiple times that’s you’ll be fine showering on your own, but he eventually lets you be and shuts the door to the bathroom to give you a bit of privacy. You don’t take too much time showering, only enough to get the rest of his cum out of you and wash the sweat off your body. Seonghwa left an impressive trail of marks from your collarbone down to your right hip. They vary in shade and color, but are quite visible nonetheless. A slight laugh escapes you as you trail a finger over them, then you shut the water off and step out to grab a towel from the rack. Only once you’ve fully dried off do you realize that he brought in a shirt and pants for you. They’re far too big for you, but it’ll do for the time being or at least until you get back to your own room later.

That might be much later than you anticipated, however, because when you step back into Seonghwa’s bedroom, you’re greeted by a sight that has you so stunned that you choke on air. The man – the supposed Elitist at that – has his back to you, and he’s pulling a shirt over his head when you step out. It gives you just enough time to trail your eyes over his bare back and spot a column of black tattoos lining his spine. Directly between his shoulder blades resides an insignia of flames. Aside from that, each and every tattoo is identical to the ones that decorate your own back.

“Holy fuck, no way–” Your voice fails you at the last second, but it’s loud enough for Seonghwa to hear you. He whips around, tugging the shirt all the way down as he looks back at you with wide eyes. “Y-You’re – you – holy shit, y-you’re–”

Seonghwa cuts you off, which is probably a good thing because you can’t come up with a coherent thought anyway.

“A Siren. Just like you.”

✧✧✧ a/n: okay okay OKAY i did it im 5 minutes late but i DID it jfc i didn’t expect it to be so long ;-; but in any case i hope you guys enjoy let me know what you think of this chapter it isn’t my best work but aslkdfjlkdsjf i tried and it’s crucial to the story ;-; so yeehaw woo i would love to hear your thoughts on this one!

if you would like to, you can take the survey here! you can take it at any point or again if you wanna or you’ve changed your mind, it’s up to you really laskdfjlkdf 

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[after-avenging-hours]

Out of Time [1]: Steve x Reader

Series Masterlist

Summary:  After Steve gets injected with a mysterious substance during a mission gone wrong, you come to find out that the only thing that can save his life is a pure sample of Dr. Erskine’s Super Soldier Serum. Unwilling to let the love of your life die without a fighting chance, you travel through the quantum realm back to 1943. Equipped with little more than your knowledge of past events, you have to figure out just how exactly you’re going to get your hands on that serum. Not only that, but with the infinity stones no longer protecting the reality you’ve come from, there is now a chance that your presence in the past can change the future you’ll return to. Can you succeed without messing things up? And if things go wrong, can you fix it before it’s too late? Or will you run out of time…

Word Count: 5565

Warnings: Canon typical violence, time travel, injury of major characters

You don’t know how it went so wrong. You’d been on a mission with the team. A few former SHIELD scientists that were suspected to have been working under the influence of Hydra had been spotted in the same vicinity, raising several red flags. After a few days of recon, you’d managed to track down the location of their lab. When the team had busted the door in, ready to take them down, they’d already been expecting you.

The place was full of hired mercenaries and ex-members of the SHIELD Strike team. They’d put up quite a fight. Sam, Clint, and Wanda held down the ground floor while you and Steve had made your way to the upper level. Two agents held you off in close combat while six others took on Steve at the same time. Even six to one, they were having a hard time restraining the Super Soldier, but they managed to keep him pinned just long enough to allow one of the scientists to inject him in the neck with some type of black substance.

“No!” you scream, turning absolutely feral. Throwing caution to the wind, you mercilessly take on the two agents fighting you and they soon end up on the floor.

As Steve falls to his knees, the six other agents grab the scientists and leave out the back door. You rush forward and drop down, skidding across the floor to catch Steve by the shoulders before he can faceplant into the floor.

“Steve!” you call desperately. “Steve, look at me!” Your hands grip his face, trying to guide his eyes to yours, but they’ve turned hazy and unfocused. Perspiration has begun to collect on his brow and the veins at the injection site on his neck have started to turn black.

You lift a hand to activate the commlink in your ear. “Requesting immediate evac. The Captain is down. I repeat, Captain America is down.”

The rest of the team rendezvous to your location and it takes all of you to get Steve out of there and onto the Quinjet. You grab a tablet and bring up the life sign readings programmed into his suit. You watch with dread as his heartbeat wildly fluctuates between too high and too low, while his body temperature continually climbs.

As soon as the jet has landed back at the Avengers base, he’s carted off to the infirmary, where Dr. Banner and Dr. Cho are already waiting for him. You pace up and down the hallway, unable to rest or step away for even a moment to change out of your uniform. Your stomach is tied up in knots and you can’t get the image out of your head on how his face just went completely blank as soon as they had injected him.

You halt your movements and look up when the door opens and Bruce steps out. Seeing Bruce’s face on the Hulk’s massive body was still a little unsettling, but you have started to grow used to it.

“How is he? Is he okay?” you rush out.

Bruce’s poker face is terrible as he pulls off his glasses and fails to meet your gaze. “He’s stable for now… but no, he’s not okay.”

You cup a hand to your mouth and release a pained whimper. “What-” your voice breaks and you have to clear your throat before you can try again. “Do you know what they injected him with?”

“From what we can tell, it seems to be some sort of anti-serum venom. It was made to specifically target the Super Soldier serum enhancement in Steve’s cells.”

You feel the dread sink like a weight in your stomach. “What can we do to stop it?”

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out. Wanda grabbed the syringe from the Hydra lab, so we have a small sample of the anti-serum for analysis. But without a pure sample of Steve’s Super Soldier serum, it could take months to synthesize a cure. And he doesn’t have that long.”

The lump in your throat grows and it becomes difficult to swallow. “How long does he have?” you almost don’t want to ask.

You see the answer in his eyes. “This anti-serum… it’s aggressive-”

“Bruce,” you cut him off, urgency in your gaze. “How long?”

“A few days… maybe a week.”

Your whole body blanches and you stumble a few steps until your back hits the wall. The thought alone was inconceivable. Steve… Your Steve… Gone in less than a week? Haven’t you both been through enough? You shake your head fervently, straightening your spine and pushing off the wall. “No,” you deny, allowing your anger and frustration to bolster your strength.

“Hey…” Bruce attempts to reach out to you.

“No!” you coil back. “No, I won’t let that happen.”

“We will do everything we can, but without the original serum-”

“Then I’ll get it for you,” you state with finality to your tone, a plan already forming in your mind.

Bruce looks at you, perplexed. “How?”

Instead of responding, you turn on your heel and march down the hallway. Pulling out your phone, you bring up your contacts and dial the number you need. You’re talking as soon as the line picks up. “Hey Scott, remember that favor you owe me?”

--

It takes a full day of preparation before things are ready. You grow even more anxious with every minute that passes. Every single tick of the clock is one less second Steve has to live.

Seeing him in the infirmary had nearly broken you. Dr. Banner and Dr. Cho were keeping him sedated to help slow the spread of the anti-serum, but the damage was already beginning to take its toll. It was working its way through his body like a poison, starting in the bloodstream, but if left untreated, his organs would begin to fail systematically. Normally, Steve’s Super Soldier serum would help defend his body from something like this, allowing him to metabolize it out before it could do any harm. But, somehow those Hydra scientists found a way to target the original serum first, to weaken his body’s defenses and let the venom take over. It must have taken them years of research to develop something like this and you only had days to reverse it.

You had never seen the Super Soldier look so weak and sickly. He had lost all color, his skin pale and beginning to verge into an ashen grey. He looked thinner like he had been bedridden for weeks, not just a day. His cheeks were gaunt and dark bags had appeared beneath his eyes. When you reached out to touch his hand, it was deathly cold and your heart had skipped a beat. You didn’t understand how this could be happening so fast to the strongest man you had ever known.

You’d pushed the hair off his forehead; no longer a shiny blonde, but more of a dull straw color; and pressed your lips to his skin. “You’ve come to my rescue so many times, Steve. It’s time for me to return the favor. Please, hold on, just a little longer, until I get back.” You then place a gentle kiss to his lips, a single tear dropping from your eye and landing on his cheek. You wipe at the wet trail with your thumb before you step back and release a shaking breath. “I will make it back,” you promise both to him and to yourself.

--

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come?” Bucky asks, helping you in to your quantum suit.

It’s good that most of his memories were back. He was your best source of information for getting the correct dates, times, and places so you could successfully accomplish your task. Not only that, but you had needed a quick and dirty rundown on etiquette, behavior, and style for the time period. It felt like you had enough bobby pins and hair spray to keep your hair as still as a plastic doll. Not to mention the signature red painting your lips.

“You can’t,” Bruce speaks up from where he stands behind the console for the platform. “The infinity stones were the only thing holding our reality together when we time traveled the last time. Those stones no longer exist in this reality. Since she isn’t coming back with them either, there may be repercussions from this. She should go alone because she doesn’t already exist in that timeline.”

“I’ll be okay, Bucky,” you give him a tentative smile, unsure if you’re telling the truth.

Based on the look in his eyes, you know he’s reading you easily. He gives your arm a squeeze in reassurance. “Stay out of trouble. The punk will kill me if anything happens to you.”

You nod and begin to step away, heading for the platform. You shift on your feet, mentally psyching yourself up for the journey. You release a long breath before signaling to Bruce that you’re ready. You meet Bucky’s gaze one last time. “Be right back,” you tell him before your helmet pops into place and you’re flying through the quantum realm.

--

You land in 1943 without much fuss, quickly dissolving out of your quantum suit before anyone catches you in the empty alleyway. You fix any flyaway hairs and straighten your outfit and then walk out onto the main street. It’s a bit of a trip, seeing all the old-fashioned cars driving past and the dated outfits and hairstyles that everyone wears. The movies and pictures that you’ve grown up seeing don’t quite do it justice. However, it does remind you of the sketches Steve sometimes shared with you whenever he was feeling nostalgic.

You give yourself a second to marvel at everything, but the thought of Steve helps to sharpen your focus and bring yourself back on track. You step onto the sidewalk, behind a group of young school children with their mothers in tow. Walking passed a newspaper stand; you take a quick glance at the paper to make sure you’ve landed at the correct time. Monday, June 7th, 1943.

Breathing a breath of relief, you move to the edge of the sidewalk and hail a taxi. Soft, jazzy notes fill the air of the car from the radio, helping to ease the tension in your shoulders. The song is also familiar to you, because of Steve. You give the driver the address to your destination and soon find yourself pulling up in front of Brooklyn Antiques. You pay for the taxi with a set of vintage coins you’d been able to acquire before leaving your time. You shuffle out of the taxi and head into the shop.

The bell above the door dings and you enter the space. An older woman in a soft pink sweater steps out from the backroom to greet you. “Did you hear the ball game last night?”

Your mind races as you try to recall the answer to the code that Bucky had told you about. They would change them daily and randomly rotate through a long list of them. “Yes, but I only wish I had some Cracker Jacks,” you respond.

She nods once before moving behind the cashier desk and presses the secret button beneath. You try to steady your pounding heart as you walk to the back room and stand in front of the bookshelves. After a moment, the shelves begin to move to reveal a set of hidden doors. You roll your shoulders back and walk with confidence into the hidden laboratory.

The energy in this place buzzes like a beehive. The tan military uniform you wear allows you to blend with everyone else. People give you a casual side glance before turning back to what they had previously been doing. As you walk down the hallway toward the main room, the sound of raised voices grabs your attention.

“You’ve had more than enough test runs! Stark’s machine works. Your formula is ready for development. All that’s left is the man.”

Looking to your left, you see that it’s Colonel Phillips and Dr. Erskine that are arguing inside the observation room. Dr. Erskine shakes his head, with an exasperated look on his face. “But it can’t be just any man, it has to be the right man!”

“We’ve been at this for months! Week after week, we run training exercises on a new group at Camp Lehigh, and you’ve denied every single one! Do you realize how much money this has cost us? We have to pay the scouts that send men our way. Gotta pay the buses that bring ‘em to the camp. Lodging, food, uniforms, supplies. Enough is enough. You have one week to find your man for the next round of recruitments. If you can’t find him. Then you’ll have to pick from the rest of the selection. We cannot afford to wait any longer.”

With the final word, Colonel Phillips turns and walks out of the observation room. You make sure to step back and out of his way, ducking your head slightly, so as not to draw attention to yourself. You look back up when you hear Dr. Erskine give a long drawn out sigh. He has removed his glasses and rubs at his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.

You find yourself moving forward and into the room. “Is everything all right, Doctor?” you question with a gentle voice.

He moves his glasses back into place and meets your gaze. “Not quite.” He admits, his accent a little thicker with stress in his voice. “Unless you have an idea on where we might be able to find someone actually worthy of this project.”

Your lips part as you try to come up with a response to that. “Well… Um. I’m sure the World Expo will bring all sorts of new faces in.” You cringe inwardly a little, thinking that may have been too obvious. Bruce’s words of warning echo in your ears. Get in, get out, don’t change the timeline.

Erskine’s eyes light up at that prospect. “The World Exposition? Of course. That is a wonderful idea. Stark mentioned that there was a recruitment center there. Come, let’s go take a look.”

He begins to head for the doorway and gestures for you to step through first. You hesitate. “You want me to come with you?”

He smiles kindly. “Well, it was your idea, was it not?”

So much for 'get in and get out'. Although, this could be a good thing. After all, Erskine was your ticket to the serum. Another second passes, and then you begin to move out of the observation room. You look down at the machine in the main room, knowing that one day soon, it will be used to create a Super Soldier. Erskine follows you out before taking the lead and moving toward the exit. He pulls off his lab coat and stops at a coat rack off to the side. He swaps the lab coat for a beige trench coat and his fedora.

The MP sitting at the desk right next to the secret entrance hits the button to allow you both to exit. Erskine leads you out of the antique shop and over to one of the vehicles parked nearby. The driver is already sitting in the front seat. Erskine opens the back door and gestures once more for you to enter first. You give him your thanks as you sink into the leather seat, then push over to the other side to make room for him to follow you.

Dr. Erskine gives his instructions to the driver to take you to the Expo.

You relax your posture into the cushioned seat and watch 1943 New York pass by the window.

“So, you are new,” Dr. Erskine states casually, also looking out through the window on his side of the car.

Your shoulders stiffen and your heart stops. “I…” you begin to protest before changing tactics. You laugh nervously and glance over at him. “Is it that obvious?”

He continues to look out his window as he responds. “In all the months we have been working on this project, no one has ever asked me how I am doing.” He turns away from the window then and meets your gaze.

Your own gaze softens with sincerity. “That sounds lonely.”

He tilts his head and lifts his shoulders in a slight shrug. “This is the bed that I have made. Great things can happen if my serum is used properly, but many terrible things have already come to pass.”

You know that he is talking about Red Skull. “We will find the man you need, Doctor,” you assure him.

He looks at you curiously. “How is it you sound so sure of that?”

You swallow and try not to look like a deer caught in a headlight. “I have faith,” you manage to get out.

He cracks a small smile. “Faith,” he repeats, before he releases a low chuckle. “I’m afraid as a scientist, I may need a little more than that.”

You find yourself smiling back. “Then perhaps I can try to muster enough faith for the both of us.”

“That would be appreciated,” he responds right as the car pulls to a stop. He steps out of the vehicle first before turning and reaching to take your hand to help you to your feet.

“Oh wow…” you marvel as you take in the sights of the Expo before you.

The giant metal sculpture of the globe looms over everything, casting its shadow over the crowds as people hurry passed in excited groups, eager to see the exhibits. A monorail train curls around the globe and zooms past in a rush of metallic sound.

“You have not yet seen the Exposition?” Dr. Erskine asks curiously.

You find it difficult to pull your eyes away from the sights. “I haven’t had the time,” you speak honestly.

“I heard that several of the soldiers were planning to take the other women to Stark’s show this weekend. I’m sure you could join them.” He speaks casually as he begins to head for the recruitment station.

“Those men don’t interest me.” You follow behind, looking around as you do.

Dr. Erskine grins to himself. “Fair enough.”

The two of you continue on your way. Before you can make it inside the building, though, a voice calls out “Dr. Erskine!”

A man in an expensive-looking suit walks up to you both. He has dark hair, a thin mustache, and a dashing smile. A smile with confidence that you recognize.

“Mr. Stark,” the Doctor greets, shaking his hand.

“What brings you all the way out here? I thought you never left your lab, save for heading out to Camp Lehigh. And who is this?” Howard’s eyes trace down the length of your body, an appreciation settling into his features.

You raise a brow, barely able to contain your amusement between this Stark and the one you’ve known. “She’s not interested,” you reply bluntly.

Erskine laughs while Stark’s lips part in momentary shock. With a shake of his head, he shrugs off the rejection and his lips return to a charming grin. “Where are you and Phillips finding these girls? First Agent Carter, now this one?”

“You were commissioned for the head on your shoulders, Mr. Stark. The females working on this project should be of no concern to you.” The somewhat harsh blow of Erskine’s words is softened by the smile of amusement on his face.

Howard doesn’t take it to heart, laughing as well. “I understand. Well, can I at least show you both around?”

“We are actually here to observe the recruitment station. The Colonel has given us a week to find our man. We were hoping the selection here might provide something new.”

“Ah,” Howard remarks. “Well then, I won’t keep you. Feel free to stop by the Modern Marvel’s Pavilion. Perhaps we can all grab lunch.”

“Thank you, Mr. Stark,” Erskine neither confirms nor denies the invitation and ushers you into the recruitment center.

“He’s certainly a handful,” you comment, no longer able to hold your amusement.

Erskine releases a long sigh. “Sometimes it is a wonder that he can get anything accomplished. His mind is brilliant, but he can be easily distracted. Though, I am starting to wonder… if not even the great Howard Stark can hold your interest, I am fascinated to find out the man that will.”

You can’t help but laugh at that. “Maybe you will meet him one day.”

Dr. Erskine speaks with the head physician of the recruitment office, establishing a protocol for directing prospective enlisters his way for additional questioning. He then gives you instructions on the qualities he is looking for, so you can also help to keep an eye out with him.

You spend the day interviewing enlisters. You pretend to be invested, but know that none of them are going to be the correct one. Steve isn’t supposed to show up to this recruitment center until this weekend after Stark’s big show. You had planned to drop into the timeline several days before his recruitment, in case you needed the extra time to get your hands on a sample of serum. Your first day wasn’t quite going as expected, but it could be worse.

Erskine comes to collect you at the end of the day to see how your interviews have been going. When he offers for you to join him for dinner, you readily agree, only then realizing how hungry you are. The two of you walk away from the crowds of the Expo and back into the city.

You find a small family-owned diner to grab a quick bite to eat. Getting seated at a booth near the windows, you watch the people pass by while you wait for your food to come.

“My apologies for taking so long to ask, but I have come to realize that I do not know your name,” Dr. Erskine pulls your attention back to him.

“Oh,” you start. Realizing that you also had never introduced yourself. “Well, my friends call me Vic.”

“Friends?” he repeats with a raised brow.

You realize your mistake a little too late. As the head scientist of the SSR, he was technically considered your superior. It’s been so long since you’ve worked with a superior that wasn’t your friend. Also, with one that you weren’t sleeping with…

You clear your throat and try again. “What I mean is that I haven’t really gone by my given name in a long time. It almost feels foreign whenever I do hear it.”

Erskine looks at you curiously. “And this Vic name was given to you by your friends?”

“Yes,” you confirm, before growing a little shy. “It’s actually short for Lady Victory,” you explain, your face heating in embarrassment. You’ve never actually had to be the one explaining it to anyone.

“Lady Victory?” he repeats, both brows now raised in intrigue. “And how did you manage to earn that name?”

“Well,” you laugh lightly. “It started after a few successful rounds of poker.” That makes Erskine laugh as well. “But, once I started working in the field, the name stuck. I became a lucky charm of sorts. Everyone would say that there was no way we could fail as long as Lady Victory was on our side. And that held true, at least until…” Your voice falls away and your eyes grow hollow. At least until the last mission.

“You have been to the war front?”

You pull yourself out of your dark thoughts and focus back on the doctor. “No. Not this war, at least. But I have seen war. Up close. It’s never easy.”

Erskine nods in agreement. He sits quietly for a moment, considering your words. “Have you considered submitting yourself as a candidate for Project Rebirth?”

You had reached for your glass of water and taken a sip when he asked his question. You choke upon swallowing the drink. So much for not screwing up the timeline. You’re pretty sure this conversation was never supposed to happen. You set your glass back down and attempt to cough the water out from where it’s trying to reach your lungs.

“I am sorry, I did not mean to startle you. But I must admit, you do have several of the qualities I am looking for in a candidate.”

After you’ve managed to catch your breath, you try to figure out the best way out of this. “The offer is generous, but that’s not my destiny.”

“What happened to faith?” Dr. Erskine smiles cryptically.

“I have faith that we will find the right person. But I know that isn’t me.” You release a breath of relief when the waitress arrives with the food. “Besides, can you imagine the Colonel’s reaction if you were to tell him you had picked a woman for the project?”

Erskine shrugs his shoulder. “He has been making his threats for months, but he knows that I will not make the serum until we have a candidate that I approve of.”

You can actually hear the record scratch sound effect going off in your mind. “Wait, I thought the Colonel said your formula was ready.”

“The formula, yes. I have all the ingredients ready. But the serum itself must be used within hours of preparation or the components will begin to degrade. It is a side effect from some of the ingredients used, but also works as a failsafe, should anyone think that they could steal it.”

You try to keep your face neutral, but internally your heart is sinking. This means that you coming early was a wasted effort and your only shot at getting a sample of the serum would be the day they turn Steve into a Super Soldier. And not only that but if you did manage to get your hands on a sample, it could degrade before being of any use to Dr. Banner.

In an effort to keep the despair off your face, you steer the conversation away and start to dig into the food that you no longer feel hungry for. Dr. Erskine turns out to be fairly good company and enjoys regaling you with tales of his home in Germany. It helps to keep him talking, so you can mentally plan just how you’re going to make it through these next few weeks, stuck in 1943.

Erskine offers to cover the cost of dinner, which you agree to, but only if he will let you pay for the next meal. He seems caught off guard by your proposal but then agrees with a quiet chuckle. As you prepare to leave, he places his fedora back onto his head and folds his coat over his arm. He then holds the door open as you exit the diner.

You both walk down the sidewalk in the direction toward the expo, occasionally needing to move behind one another to make room for people heading in the other direction. A flash of movement catches your attention from across the street. You narrow your gaze at the two men walking in the same direction as you and Erskine. They are both wearing fairly nondescript outfits in dark, neutral tones. Also wearing fedoras that they use to shadow their eyes. You notice one has a camera in his hands.

You quicken your steps to match up with the doctor, then wrap your arm through his. He looks down at you slightly startled, but you don’t pay him any mind. “Darling, that dress is lovely. Why don’t we take a look inside?” You point toward the display of a boutique and quickly usher him into the shop.

“Miss Vic, we really should be heading back to the recruitment center,” Dr. Erskine begins to protest.

You hush him and pull him deeper into the shop. “We were being followed. I noticed those two men loitering outside the bar across the street when we were at the diner. They stayed the whole time and didn’t begin to move until we did.”

“Are you certain?” he questions, looking back, but you’ve already pulled him too far into the shop.

“I am. One of them pulled out a camera and was trying to take pictures of you.”

“Hello, how can I help you?” the shop attendant takes that moment to make herself known.

You put a sweet smile into your face. “Oh, I’m sorry. Do you have a back door? It seems we’ve gotten a little turned around and we’re actually supposed to be on the next street over.”

The woman looks at you curiously, “Oh, we do, but it leads to a back alley, not the main street.”

“That’s all right. I’m sure we’ll find our way. Thank you!” Before she can come up with a response, you’re pulling Erskine after you and out the back. You check to make sure the coast is clear, before dragging him out. You run as fast as you can in your heels down the back alley toward the next street. You stop just short of the alley opening and press your back into the brick wall. Peaking around the corner, you find that the men aren’t anywhere to be seen.

You step out with Erskine and quickly hail a taxi. Not conforming to societal rules, you yank open the back door and shove him into the seat. “Don’t head directly for the expo. Drive aimlessly first, check for any tails. If you don’t see any, stop and switch to a new taxi before heading back.”

“What are you going to do?” he questions, still thrown off by what’s happening.

“I’m going to make sure they won’t follow you.”

You quickly shut the door to the cab and bang on the top to send it off. You then duck back into the alley. You’re almost to the back entrance of the boutique when the two men come stumbling out.

“You boys lost?” you question with an innocent tone to your voice. The two take one look at you before looking around for your charge. “I’m afraid it’s just the three of us.”

“We ain’t got no beef with you, Toots,” one of the men states in a heavy Brooklyn accent.

Your innocent façade drops instantly. Darting forward, you grab the man by the lapel of his coat. You use his surprise against him to swing his whole body around and slam his back into the brick wall. Your movement knocks the wind out of him and you quickly pin your forearm to the base of his neck to keep him from being able to regain his breath. “Who you callin’ Toots?” you question with a deadly tone in your voice.

“Geez, lady!” The man chokes out, raising his hands in surrender.

“Back up, if you don’t want to get hurt!”

You look over your shoulder to find the other one has a pistol aimed at you. Rolling your eyes, you release the first one and step back, your own hands now up in surrender. In a flash, you whip your arm out, grasping the gun and kick your foot out, straight into his knee. His leg buckles from beneath him and he loosens his hold on the gun as he falls.

You take the weapon into your own hands, holding it over him, while he kneels at your feet. “I think you’ll find that it’s actually you who should be worried about getting hurt, Toots,” you tell him, sarcasm dripping from your tone.

You catch the movement of the man’s eyes and turn back toward his partner, just a moment too late. The sound of a gun firing echoes down the alley moments before pain explodes in your side.

You cry out, barely managing to keep your grip on your own gun as you stumble into the brick wall.

“You shot her?!” the one kneeling bellows.

“She had a gun to your head!” The other argues.

“Red Skull’s gonna kill us if he finds out we were caught!”

“Not if we finish her off,” the one that shot you once begins to turn.

Your hand shakes as you try to raise your gun back up to defend yourself.

“Hey! Get away from her!” A new voice enters the fray.

The two men look to see someone else running into the alley. They are coming from your back and you fear if you attempt to look at who it is, you might pass out from the pain.

“Let’s get out of here,” the one that shot you tucks his gun away and helps pull the other to their feet. They take off before the newcomer can reach them.

“Miss, are you alright?”

This gunshot wound must be affecting you more than you thought because you could swear their voice sounds like-

Gentle hands grasp your shoulders as you stumble. You lift your head to meet a worried gaze. Soft blue eyes, framed by thick lashes, and two furrowed brows. It’s a look you’re all too familiar with and it always makes your heart clench.

Seeing it this time also makes your head swoon and your stomach flip. “Steve?” you barely manage to get out before your legs collapse.

Part 2

[wiypt-writes]

Stark Spangled Banner

Ch49: An Old Friend

Intro: After five years of more or less domestic bliss, Katie’s fear that their peace will be one day shattered comes to fruition as a man they long thought dead appears at the compound.

Warnings: Bad Langauge. Smut (NSFW, 18+)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

A/N: And so we begin the Endgame timeline...and as with all the parts, it has it’s own little banner as made by the talented @angrybirdcr​ who’s made another lovely edit for me here!

Chapter 48 Part 2

Stark Spangled Banner Masterlist // Main Masterlist

  May 2023

“Emmy this room is an utter disgrace!” Steve said exasperatedly as he looked around at the various items of clothing scattered around her bedroom. DVDs lay on the floor instead of in the designated rack, the bed was unmade and various school books were tossed onto the rug instead of at her desk.

“Chill Dad.” She mumbled as she sat cross legged, tapping at her tablet, music blaring from her stereo. “Chill?” He shot her a look “Seriously, we spent a fortune doing this room up last month. Get it tidied.” “Yeah, yeah.”

Steve grit his teeth, jaw twitching with annoyance before, after a moment’s deliberation, he crossed the room and turned off her music.

“Hey I was listening to that!”                                  

“Well, now you’re gonna listen to me.” He stood cross armed looking down at her. “I mean it Emily, get this sorted now, or you can forget going to Philadelphia with Brooke.”

“But, it’s all organised, we leave first thing in the morning!” “It can be unorganised.” His threat was simple but it had the desired effect.

“Fine.” She groaned, tossing her tablet to one side. “Thank you.” Steve replied, sarcastically before he left the room, shutting the door behind him. He made his way downstairs to the kitchen where Katie was prepping lunch, Jamie sat in a chair at the table on a booster seat, colouring in an activity book.

“Look, Daddy!” he pointed to his picture. Steve leant over, one arm on the back of the chair and glanced down at the elephant his son had coloured in purple.

“A purple elephant.” He nodded “Creative.”

“Like in Dumbo!”

“Of course.” Steve smiled, Jamie’s Disney film of the moment. It was one Steve could remember seeing at the theatre before he joined the army. It still creeped him out slightly, the scene with all the drunk elephants. So much so he was convinced the animator had been on some kind of mad drug fuelled trip when he drew it. He ruffled his son’s hair and then moved over to where Katie was slicing up a cucumber for the salad, reaching round to steal a piece as he dropped a kiss to her cheek.

“She tidying it?” Katie asked, her eyes not moving from her task.

“Only because I threatened to stop her going to Philly.” he snorted, leaning on the counter, looking at his wife. He reached into the salad bowl to snatch a piece of pepper and Katie slapped his hand. He grinned as she looked at him.

“Bet that went down well.” “Don’t care. Her attitude stinks.”

“She’s a teenage girl, Steve” Katie smiled. “That’s not the point.” “Honey, just shut the door if the mess bothers you that much.”

Steve sighed, and rubbed at his temple. “I’m surprised the door even opens with the amount of crap on the floor.” Katie gave a little chuckle before she looked at him. “Can you get me the dressing out of the fridge?”

He pushed himself off the counter and opened the fridge. “Caesar or Ranch?”

“Caesar.” She nodded after a moment’s deliberation. “Oh, and the cooked chicken please.” Grabbing them, Steve turned back to Katie and passed her the items, chewing the inside of his cheek. “Do you think I was too strict?”

Katie placed the knife down and looked at him. “Stevie, stop second guessing yourself.” She reached up to run a hand down his cheek “You’re a great dad. All I’m saying is it’s not out of the ordinary for her to have an attitude. She’s fifteen. I was a nightmare at that age, as I’m sure Tony will delight in telling you.”

“Speaking of your brother, what time is he expecting us to drop Jamie off?” “Oh he’s coming to pick him up.” Katie said. “They’re in town anyway so said he’ll be here later this afternoon. I just hope Emmy does as you told her.” “Huh?”

“Because if she doesn’t, you’re gonna have to carry through with your threat. And that means you’ve just flushed our night alone down the lav.” Steve let out a groan, he hadn’t thought about that.

A little while later Katie called Emmy down for lunch. She appeared in the kitchen with a scowl and Katie saw Steve bristle slightly so she decided to get in there first and back him up.

“Straighten your face, young lady.” She ordered sternly as Emmy sat down. “Your dad’s right. That room is an absolute dump.” Emmy sighed and reached over for a warm pitta bread, piling her plate with the salad before she took a deep breath.

“Sorry. I’ll tidy it, I promise.” Steve looked at Katie who gave him a wink as they began to eat.

“Emmy I colourded you a picture.” Jamie pointed to the book which was to his right, out of the way of his plate.

Emmy smiled, and looked at it. “Aww dude that’s awesome. Is it to pin up on my board?”

He nodded and she bopped his nose gently, smiling back.

“I staying at Moo’s tonight?” He asked, turning to his mom.

“Yeah.” Katie looked at him as he picked up a piece of the pitta bread she had sliced into smaller strips for him “Is that okay?” He nodded. “Uncle Nee gives me juice pops. The red ones are my bestest.” “I thought you liked the blue ones?” Steve asked, swallowing his food. “Because they’re the same colour as Cap’s Suit?”

“Red ones better.” Jamie nodded. “Like Iron Man.”

Steve looked at Katie who was biting her lip, trying not to laugh at the look of utter indignation on his face.

“This is good, Mom.” Emmy nodded at the food on her plate. “Better than the incinerated breakfast dad gave us.” Steve half-heartedly glared at his daughter. “I burnt one egg.”

“One too many.” She quipped, and Katie grinned, reaching over for the jug of water. Steve beat her to it and poured her a glass, sliding it over to her before he did the same for Emmy, Jamie already had his in a tippee-cup by his plate. 

“Thanks.” Katie smiled at him before she turned to Emmy “Hey, did you get your grade back for your English essay last week?”

“Oh, yeah, I got an A.” she shrugged.

“Emmy that’s great.” Steve nodded at her, smiling.

“Yeah well don’t get used to it. I don’t think I’ll get one again. I may have upset my tutor.”

“Why?” Katie frowned “What did you do.”

“Well, he’s assigned us a book that is totes inappropriate.”

“What book?” Katie interrupted to ask

“The Colour Purple. I mean it’s good but…”

“Yeah, that is kinda heavy…” Katie frowned, having read the book herself. “What’s the angle?” “Race, gender, and bigotry in the early twentieth century. ”Emmy shrugged “I would have thought To Kill A Mockingbird would have been better but when I voiced my opinion Mr Tozer didn’t like it.”

“So what did you say to upset him?” Steve arched his brow.

“Exactly that. And then he told me it was his way or the highway. Don’t worry, I refrained from calling him Hitler.”

“I guess we should be pleased then.” Steve snorted. Emmy flashed him a grin and went back to eating.

The family made chatter for the rest of their lunch until Jamie poked at his mom’s arm.

“Yes, Sweetie?” “I done now. Fankoo.” He grinned, his plate completely cleared.

“You’re welcome, honey” Katie ruffled his hair “Cake?” He asked hopefully.

“What do you say?” Steve prompted gently.

“Please.” Jamie nodded.

“Do you think about anything but food?” Emmy looked at the small boy.

“You know he doesn’t.” Katie sighed. “He takes after your father in that respect.” “That’s not all I think about.” Steve grinned, as he raised a suggestive eyebrow at his wife over his glass of water.

“Yeah well, thankfully he is way too young for that.” Katie winked as she stood up to get the fruit cake she had made the day before to cut everyone a slice. As she did, she had to bite back the smirk as Emmy sighed at Steve’s blatant sexual reference.

“Gross.”

****

Emmy did tidy her room, so she was dropped off at the coffee shop early evening with her bag which Steve was sure contained more clothes than she needed for the four nights she was away. He made a comment to that effect and the fifteen year old just rolled her eyes and explained she needed two outfits a day,  just in case. Just in case of what, Steve had no idea, and he wasn’t sure he really wanted to know if truth be told. He made small talk with Jennifer over a coffee for a while, instructed his daughter to behave and loudly told Jennifer that if she was any trouble to pack her home straight away. Brooke rolled her eyes but gave him a hug goodbye anyway as he left.  By the time he had gotten home, Jamie had already been picked up leaving the two parents alone. Steve had been planning to take Katie out, but when he suggested it she shook her head and pulled a magnum of Champagne out of the fridge and held it up.

“I got a better idea.” She grinned “Hot tub party for two and take out.” “Champagne, pizza, you in a swimsuit.” Steve grinned, pulling her to him. “Baby, I’m sold.”

Needless to say there wasn’t much relaxing done in the hour they were in the tub, quite the opposite if truth be told. Hands and lips were all over the place, pawing at skin and kisses being exchanged with avaricious force. By the time they’d called for pizza, Katie was feeling thoroughly defiled as she sat on the sofa, wearing one of Steve’s button downs and tore into a large slice of pepperoni as if she hadn’t eaten for a week. Steve grinned, tucking her damp hair behind her ear and dropped a kiss to the side of her head. They settled down to watch a film, but Katie was flat out before it was even ten minutes in and she didn’t even stir bar to murmur something to Steve when he carried her up to their room.

Steve woke the next morning, wrapped around his wife, her warm body pressed to his chest, one arm under her neck, the other draped over her waist. He sighed in contentment, it was bliss, knowing there was nothing to get up for. No constantly hungry three year old to feed, no lunches to make, no school runs, no meetings until later, nothing. Snuggling into her closer, the arm that wasn’t trapped underneath her swept her hair away from her face, before his lips skated over her jaw and down the side of her neck. As her eyelids fluttered his large, gentle hand trailed down the curve of her hip and slid between her legs, caressing the inside of her thigh. Katie took a deep breath, shifting automatically, still half asleep, spreading her legs a little wider. She rolled her head over her shoulder, blinking and she was met with those blue eyes she loved so much, the owner wearing a devilish smirk.

“Morning.” He rasped, his voice low with sleep and desire.

“Good morning.” She grinned, biting her lip as his hand moved back up over her stomach to her breasts underneath the shirt she was wearing and he began to tease her softly, causing her to moan as he rolled a nipple between his fingers, the sensation burning in her stomach. She rolled onto her back and Steve settled between her legs, her arms winding around his neck as he captured her lips with his, soft and slow before he pulled back to peel his shirt off her body, tossing it down the side of the bed. He turned his gaze downwards, eyeing up her blue lacy panties before he groaned and lowered himself over her again, kissing her and sliding his tongue along hers. Katie wrapped her legs around his hips, grinding against him to get any friction that she could. His hands trailed down her sides and under her back, fingers gently grabbing at the waistband of the lace before he broke the kiss and unhooked her legs from around his waist. He gently pulled her underwear down, shimmying under the covers as he removed the garment and then kissed up her right leg, his lips hot as he made his way from her ankle up to her inner thigh, pushing her legs open wider.

His actions were controlled, slow. There was no rush after all. His mouth and tongue gently worked her to distraction, flicking at her clit over and over. She was a writhing mess within minutes, her hand fisted in his hair, the other grasping at the sheets, the noises flowing freely because they didn’t have to be quiet. Her fingers tightened on his scalp and she gave a cry of his name as her hips bucked upwards, her legs tensing slightly before they flattened against the bed, her breathing heavy and ragged. With a smirk at how easy he could undo her, Steve moved back up the bed, one hand pushing his sleep pants down. Without a word he lined himself up with her, letting out a loud groan as she slid a hand between them, stroking him before guiding him inside. He moved slowly, deliberately, until every inch of him was sheathed. Katie’s eyes rolled back as he stretched her, her groan was loud as he laced his fingers into hers. Steve let out a shaky little whimper as he moved his pelvis slowly, pushing back against her hands.

Every thrust was deep, slow, measured, his mouth moving from hers to her jaw, neck, collar bone. The house was quiet, nothing but the sound of soft cries and kisses could be heard as Steve continued his thrusts, whilst his wife purred into his ear, and he let go of her hands to bring one of her legs up round his hip. She let out a cry at the change of angle as he picked up the pace slightly, but not much, Katie’s nails raking down his back as her pleasure rose. The sensation made him shudder and he doubled his efforts, her hands sliding down, grabbing at his flexing ass, urging him on and, as always, he was happy to oblige.

“Shit, Stevie,” the cry of his name turned into a complete babble which died in her throat as she tightened and pulsed around, him, her body shaking with pleasure.

“God, Doll,” Steve was right behind her as he came with a low moan, his hips thrusting until he was completely spent, his head buried in the side of his wife’s neck.

Katie tipped her head back in satisfaction, sighing softly as Steve pushed himself up slightly. He gently ran his nose up her throat, taking her bottom lip between his and he let out a loud, satisfied sigh of his own. He loved his kids, beyond anything but man he enjoyed being able to take his goddamned time making love to his wife without the patter of little feet across the hall meaning they were about to be interrupted. “Baby,” he said softly, his lips gently smoothing the skin underneath her ear “Hmmm?” She asked, her hands creeping into his hair as her head rolled to the side, eyes still closed in pure bliss. “Look at me, kitten.” She obliged, and emerald green met ocean blue as she held her husband’s gaze. He gave her a soft smile, and she reciprocated, the affection on his face blatantly evident. “I love you,” he said, as she reached up and gently brushed the longer strands of his hair back over his forehead, “more than you can ever know”

“Will that still be the case when I’m old, grey and wrinkly but you still look like you’re straight out of GQ magazine?”

Steve frowned as he looked at her, this wasn’t the first time she had mentioned that. He shook his head and sighed softly, unable to do anything but repeat what he told her the last time she’d raised the issue.

“I told you baby girl.” he gave her lips a quick peck, “it’s me and you till the end of the line.”

After a lazy breakfast, Katie headed off to collect Jamie from Tony’s and Steve made his way into Manhattan for the two support groups of the afternoon. The first one was always the busiest and it took a little longer this week as they had a few new faces. This didn’t surprise Steve, people were still five years later coming to terms with opening up about their heartache or problems, but the core of the group were always welcoming. He had an hours break before the second, slightly quieter group so he took a walk. Their air was damp and there was a gloomy fog descending over the city, making it darker than it would normally be for the time of day, but it wasn’t cold. He grabbed a coffee from the shop round the corner and headed back to start the second meeting.

The meetings always followed the same format. There was ten or so minutes of everyone arriving, grabbing refreshments, saying hello and then they would form the usual circle and Steve would start the discussions with a chat about something he’d done or seen that week that was positive before moving to something he’d done or seen that week that wasn’t so positive, and then invite other people to comment and do the same, gently coaxing them into opening up.

“So, I went on a date the other day.” A man named David sighed. “First time in five years. I didn’t know what to talk about.”

“What did you talk about?” Steve pressed gently, patient as ever.

“Same old crap, you know? How things have changed. My job. His job. How much we miss the Mets,” David paused taking a breath, “then things got quiet. He cried as were serving the salads.”

“What about you?” Another man, Ian, asked hopefully.

“I cried,” David trailed off, ���just before dessert,” There was a slight pause, “but I’m seeing him again tomorrow, so…”

Steve gave a small smile. “That’s great. You did the hardest part. You took the jump, you didn’t know where you were gonna come down. And that’s it, it’s those little, brave baby steps we gotta take, you know, to try and find purpose.” He paused and looked around the group, biting the inside of his cheek. “I went into the ice in forty-five right after I met the first woman I’d ever loved. Woke up seventy years later and met the love of my life. She gave me hope, she gave me a purpose, a reason to keep going in the crazy new world I’d found myself in.” He paused again and looked around at the attentive faces assembled in a circle. “You gotta move on. The world is in our hands. It’s left to us guys. We gotta do something with it. Otherwise, Thanos should have killed all of us.”

Steve let the meeting roll for a little longer, everyone discussing what he had said before it came to a natural end and, with a glance up, he saw Katie and Jamie pushing open the door, Katie holding a huge box full of brownies.

“Looks like you’re all in luck!” Steve nodded towards his wife as Jamie ran across to his father who smiled and swept him up into arms, planting a kiss onto his head before replacing him on the floor. He looked over at Katie and she smiled back, placing the box of treats down on the table. She often did this, popped into a few of his sessions over the week with some form of snack for them all when she had time, her way of helping out, and Steve loved her for it. 

Over the next ten minutes or so, various people drifted over to the side of the room, greeting Katie and grabbing a brownie. She gave David a hug and cheekily told him to behave on his next date as Steve wrapped an arm around her waist and kissed her forehead in greeting as they waved the man away.

“How long where you at the door?”

“Long enough.” She told him, knowing instantly why he was asking.

“I meant it.” He turned to look at her. “Every word you know.”

“I know, and for the record you’re the love of my life too.” She grinned “My husband, my baby daddy…” 

Steve smiled and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. 

“Gross.” Jamie gagged, sticking his fingers in his mouth, an action he had learnt from Emmy.

There was a pause before Steve grabbed Jamie and launched into a tickle attack until the boy was screeching and running from his dad who chased him round the hall. Katie watched her boys as Jamie feinted left and Steve let him get away, before the little boy dived under a table and out the other side of it, cackling in a way so like his father.

“Don’t think that’s gonna save you, pal.” Steve easily vaulted the table, picking Jamie up, throwing him over his shoulder, patting his backside once with a large hand.

“Momma, help!” Jamie’s voice was punctuated with laughter and with a grin Katie strode forward and her hands went straight to Steve’s sides from behind, and she began to tickle him.

“Oh sh-stop it!” Steve cackled, his ridiculously ticklish nature was always his downfall. He let Jamie down as Katie continued her attack and he whipped round, grabbing her and spinning her round. He folded her arms across her chest, pinning her back to his front as he dropped his mouth to her ear.

“You’re gonna pay for that later.” “Promises, promises Captain.”

****

There was a presence to Katie’s right and she felt the soft weight of a hand against her cheek. It was too small to belong to her man, but the perfect size and weight to belong to her boy.

“James,” a soft, deep voice whispered, warning in the tone, “this is the second time I’ve told you and there won’t be a third. Leave your ma alone. She’s sleeping.”

Katie sighed and stretched. “It’s okay, I’m awake”  

Jamie giggled and surged forward giving her a peck before falling back onto his father’s pillow, "Morning Momma!”

“Good morning, Sweetie.” She yawned rolling onto her side, dislodging Lucky who had been asleep with his leg resting on the back of her knees.  As ever Jamie had his stuffed Cap bear with him, along with God knows how many other toys all which adorned Steve’s side of their enormous bed.

“Morning, Baby.” Steve bent over from behind her, pecking her cheek too.

“Hey.” She smiled, rolling her head to catch his lips, noticing his bare, damp chest from the shower. “What time is it?”

“Little past seven. Somebody-“ Steve glanced at Jamie, “-was awake at half Five.” “Not sleepy daddy.” “Really, I didn’t notice.” Steve replied, sardonically. Katie chuckled as Jamie frowned, the sarcasm utterly lost at him.

“Momma, we hided in the fort.”

Steve and Jamie had made a blanket fort in Jamie’s room last night in which they had hidden in for their bed time stories. Jamie had insisted they left it up, and considering it wasn’t in the way, Katie had been happy to oblige. Steve, who had gotten a lot better with dealing with the mess Jamie left around over the years had resisted the urge to fold away the blankets and his wife had pulled him out of the room when the pair of them had popped in to check on Jamie before he could change his mind.

“Mighty fine Fort it is too.” Steve ruffled his son’s hair.

“What time are your meetings today?” Katie asked, looking at Steve. His groups ran at different times during the week. This way, it made sure that there was a day or night everyone could attend at least one session a week.

“Last one finishes at four today. Why you ask?”

“Well, I thought seeing as we didn’t see Nat at the weekend, we should pop in.” “Auntie Nat-Nat, yay!” Jamie clapped his hands “Maybe she can come see my fort.” “You should tell her about it.” Steve nodded, before his attention turned to Katie. “Might convince her to leave the compound.” “Yeah, maybe.”

“What do you fancy for breakfast?” Steve swiftly changed the subject.

“I can bake some cinnamon rolls if you want?” “You don’t have to do that.” “I know, but they’re already made so just need to go in to the oven and I also I know someone id going to ask for pancakes and he isn’t having them three days on the run.” “Waffles?” Jamie whipped his head round, hopefully.

“No.” Katie shook her head. “Cinnamon rolls or cereal, your choice.”

“Can I have both?”

“You two will eat me out of house and home.” Katie rolled her eyes. “Yes, if you want both you can have both.”

“Cool, man.” Jamie nodded, in a way that was so like Emmy it made Steve turn back to face his wife from where he had ben stood at the dresser pulling out his clothes, a smirk on his face. The pair of them watched as their son announced he was going to get dressed and dropped onto the floor, heading out into the hallway, Lucky following.

Katie watched as Steve pulled on a pair of sweats and she cocked her head to one side.

“Did you seriously call me Jamie’s Ma before?”

Steve grinned. “Sorry.” “Makes me sound like I’m ninety” she snorted.

“Try actually being ninety.” Steve scoffed, and Katie laughed as he started to crawl over her in the bed, pushing her back gently.

“Hate to break it to you, Captain Badass, but you’re actually a hundred and five.”

“Thanks for the reminder.” Steve muttered gently, his lips pressing to hers. She happily melted into the kiss her hands straying up and down his bare chest, before she pulled away knowing that if they carried on she’d be wanting a lot more.

“Stop it.”

“What?”

“This.” Katie pouted.

“I only wanted a kiss.” Steve looked at her, eyebrow raised. “You have a dirty mind, Mrs Rogers.” “Years of being with you.” She shrugged and Steve laughed, standing up. As he headed across the room Katie couldn’t resist one last quip. “Nice ass…daddy” Steve turned round, a wicked grin on his face as he held his arms out at either side of him, as he walked backwards for a few steps. “It’s all yours, momma.” He smirked, before turning round and heading out to help Jamie get dressed.

The rest of Katie’s day was pretty much the same as it always was. She dropped Jamie in at the day-care and headed up to her office for her fifteen minute start up meeting with Soray. After going  over her diary for the day, she spent most of the morning sifting through the mountain of emails and responding to the ones she needed to. After a quick chat with Emmy at lunchtime, the girl enthusiastically telling her all about how her and Brooked had run up the Rocky steps and were eating a tonne of Philly cheesesteak, Katie headed up to the boardroom for the Monthly Financial Review. Escaping at little after three, she picked Jamie up and headed to the store to grab something she could make at the compound for dinner. Once Steve was home they all jumped in the car to make the hours drive up state owards the compound.

Steve drove easily down the highway, one hand on the steering wheel, the other laying on the arm rest in between the front seats, whilst next to him Katie hummed along to the John Legend playlist that was playing. Steve cruised the Audi onto the bridge which would take them out of Manhattan and frowned gently as he noticed that the cars ahead were all coming to a halt. As Steve slowed the car down, Katie too narrowed her eyes as people started getting out of their cars, heading to the side of the bridge, pointing.

“Wait here.” Steve instructed, climbing out of the car, Captain mode engaged.

“What’s happening?” Jamie asked.

“Daddy’s gone to see.” Katie turned to smile at him before she turned back, watching Steve approach the side of the bridge and speak to the nearest man before looking down. His mouth dropped opened and he turned, jogging back to the car.

“You’re not gonna believe this!” He shook his head, excitement all over his face as Katie climbed out of the car. “Come see.” He opened the back door of the car and unstrapped Jamie from his seat. Picking him up in his arms, Steve made his way to the side of the bridge, wife by his side and he pointed downwards.

Katie felt herself gasp at the sight- a small pod of whales leisurely making their way through the Hudson River.

“Wow.” She whispered.

“What are they?” Jamie asked

“Whales.” Steve replied. “Humpbacks, I think.”

Steve tried to keep the smile on his face genuine, but he hated it when Jamie saw something out of place in the new world that he was born into which would have been perfectly normal in the world that they once knew. Whilst a pod of whales in the Hudson was an astounding sight for sure, and would have been unheard of even before the Snap, the fact that it was Jamie’s first time ever seeing a whale made him slightly sad. They had been a pretty common sight around the ocean waters in and around the bays leading out into the North Atlantic. That was until Thanos had killed half of them.

Jamie giggled and pointed out that the biggest whale was being followed closely by a slightly smaller one, and then an even smaller one after and then a tiny one.

“Daddy, Momma, Emmy and Jamie.” He smiled at Steve who chuckled, smoothing Jamie’s hair back.

“Come on Kiddo, let’s go see Auntie Nat” When they arrived at the Avengers compound, the sun was just beginning to set. Steve drove round to the rear entrance and the gate creaked open as the ANPR scanners recognised the car. He parked the car in their old designated spot before he collected the bag of ingredients from the trunk that Katie had bought to make dinner with. Together the three of them headed inside, FRIDAY welcoming them all as they made their way towards the living area, and they could hear Natasha closing up a meeting.

“Nat,” Rhodey’s voice was almost pleading but Nat cut him off

“Please.” She begged.

Katie had a feeling she knew what she was talking about, or rather who. She glanced at Steve as they rounded the last corner to the large meeting-slash-living room and it was then that Katie could hear Natasha trying to stifle her cries. At that point Jamie ran in and jumped onto his Aunt’s lap hugging her tightly.

“Don’t be sad, Auntie Nat-Nat.” He whispered, and Natasha took a deep breath, leaning her head against her nephew’s with her eyes closed hugging him back.

Steve leaned against the bookshelf for a moment as Katie walked into the room, taking the bag of ingredients off Steve as she took in the sight of Natasha’s dinner of a peanut butter sandwich which rest on top of the table.

“You know, I’d offer to cook you dinner, but you seem miserable enough.” Steve opened, looking down at her with a smile.

“So I’m gonna do it instead.” Katie smiled, holding up the bag she’d brought, dropping it onto the table. “Chicken stew, dumplings and chocolate cake for after.”

Natasha looked at them, a smile playing on her face as Katie sat down across from her. “You guys here just to feed me?”

“And to see a friend.” Steve shot back.

Natasha leaned back into her chair, Jamie still on her lap. “Clearly, your friend is fine.”

“Bull.” Katie mimicked her stance, eyeing her. Natasha avoided her gaze and the room fell silent.

“You know we saw a pod of whales as we were coming over the bridge.” Steve broke the silence, changing the subject.

“In the Hudson?” Natasha raised her head slightly, sounding impressed.

“There was a Jamie whale and a daddy whale and a momma whale and an Emmy one!” Jamie gushed and Nat smiled.

“I haven’t seen whales in the Hudson ever, even before.”

"Well, there’s fewer ships, cleaner water.” Steve shrugged

Natasha sighed looking up at the ceiling. “You know, if you’re about to tell me to look on the bright side, umm, I’m about to hit you in the head with a peanut butter sandwich.”

“Sammich?” Jamie looked up hopefully and Natasha tore off half of one side before passing it to him.

“Sorry.” Steve sighed pushing himself off from the bookshelf, his jacket slung over his arm. “Force of habit.”

He tossed his keys onto the table, dropping his jacket over the back of a chair before sitting down next to his wife, glancing at Jamie who was now eating a small piece of the sandwich, then at Natasha. The woman looked tired, pale and such a far cry from the stoic, well-groomed Natasha Romanoff he had first known. But then again, they were all a far cry from the people they had once been.

“You know, I keep telling everybody they should move on, and forget what happened.” Steve crossed his arms as he leaned back in his chair. “And some do. But not us.”

“If I move on, who does this?” Natasha asked simply with a shrug.

Katie sighed. “Maybe it doesn’t need to be done.”

“You know, I used to have nothing. And then I got this- this job, this family.” Nat smiled sadly and looked down at Jamie before she looked back up, the tears evident in her eyes. “And I was better because of it. And even though they’re gone, I’m still trying to be better.”

There was a pause as Katie wiped her eyes, a tear having escaped down her cheek and Steve gently placed his hand between her shoulder blades, rubbing softly.

"I think we all need to get a life,” he joked, breaking the sad silence, and Natasha forced a smile nodding to him.

“You did.” At her words, Steve gave a smile. She was right, he had. Whilst he and Katie had been extremely lucky over the last five years, that didn’t stop them thinking about the people that hadn’t, and the friends they had lost.

Katie reached for the bag she had placed on the table. “I’ll go start dinner.” She was mid-way through standing when a small, holographic screen popped up in front of Natasha indicating she had a notification of sorts. She flicked it to the side, bringing the video feed to life behind Steve, who looked over his shoulder as the video began playing.

“Oh, hi, hi! Is anyone home? This is, uh, Scott Lang. We met a few years ago, at the airport, in Germany. I was small, then I got real big.”

Katie left the bag where it was and whipped round, to see Scott on the screen, stood in front of his van. Besides her Steve stood from his seat, unable to believe what he was seeing.

“This…this is impossible.” Katie breathed, shaking her head. “He was…”

“Is this an old message?” Steve asked, his voice quiet, not taking his eyes off the footage.

“Ant-Man! I know you remember Ant-Man.”

Natasha’s reaction was much the same as theirs, confused awe as she sat up, breathing deeply. “It’s the front gate.”

“I really need to talk to you guys!” Scott continued to yell his voice becoming desperate.

The three of them remained frozen for a moment, absolutely lost for words, before Jamie broke the silence.

“Who’s that?” He asked, jumping down from Nat’s lap. “An old friend.” Steve swallowed, turning to Natasha who was fishing in a drawer for the key to the main gate which had been padlocked shut for years as no one used it anymore. She found it, tossed it to Steve and he caught it expertly before heading off to go meet Scott.

**** Chapter 50

 **Original Posting**