#put the brightness up on your screens for this one bc it feels dark to me. idk i adjusted the lighting and everything but still | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

deafsignifcantother · 9 months ago

Text

the v's reaction to someone taking your hearing aid

♥ summary: "what the Vees would do if they noticed their partially deaf s/o being picked on - like the other people would tear out their hearing aid(s) and break them and stuff" @aceduchessdragoness ♥ characters: velvette, vox, valentino ♥ notes: screaming and crying okay so i did val's spanish as spain spanish bc i think spain sign language would be better than narrowing his signs down to a specific latin american country but if the translation is cringe then tell me bc i'm literally using an lse dictionary

Vox

♥ word count: 1.9k ♥ notes: i use [Y/N] for the first time in my career ong, she/her pronouns used in third person, reader doesn't speak and only signs, protective but violent vox, vox in a healthy relationship, reader gets harassed in public

It was never a mystery to you how Vox always knew where you were. Even without the watch on your wrist, you felt his eyes on you, the looming knowledge of persistent monitoring.

Not that it bothered you, of course. If anything, you were worried that he wanted to spend his time watching you instead of running his business. But whatever, it was flattering.

Whenever you went on your routine errands, you would smile at every television or security camera you encountered. On the big screens in Vox's room, he feels like the common softening of his heart. Your smile always seems so genuine. How can somebody like you adore him so much?

Blue light illuminates your living room. From the kitchen, you groan as you make your way to the television. Can he stop bothering you at this hour? All you wanted to do was get some damn water, but of course, as always, he's monitoring you.

Words pop up on the screen as you approach it. You rub your eyes, the brightness overwhelming. You reach for your coffee table.

GO TO SLEEP

With the sudden click of the remote, you smile as the screen goes black. One, two, three... it lights up again.

DON'T TRY

Again, the screen goes black. One... again, a bright blue illuminates you.

[Y/N]. The television shakes.

You snicker at him, finally sitting on the floor and putting the remote down. On the other side of that screen, Vox sits on his swivel chair, gazing up at you, your frame taking up multiple monitors. Your eyes look below where his point of view is.

"It's late," you sign, and the light makes your hands shine in the darkness. "Dim it a little."

He listens; his small act of consideration makes you melt. Your eyes soften immensely. Internally, he begs you to stop looking at him like that; it's embarrassing how good it makes him feel.

The television is still a blinding blue as you go from the living room to the bedroom; he follows you per any screen by your side. Worst of all, a flat-screen faces your bed, which was mandatory.

"Goodnight, Vox." You sign while putting your face up to the screen.

You turn this TV off, and to your delight, it stays off.

With a yawn, you stretch your morning aches away and lean your head against the table of your vanity. You get a few seconds of shut-eye before popping back up. Vox is watching; if he notices you're tired, he will try to be domestic and nap with you regardless of how much work you must do today. So you rub away your sleepy eyes and massage the tension in your jaw. Putting on your hearing aid is first on your daily to-do list; you'd like to hear if he pops up on your television and decides to update you on his morning. Sometimes, he gets so impatient. Next, while picking up your moisturizer, you try not to shiver at the coldness once it touches your fingers.

You wish yourself a good morning before rubbing it in.

At the same time of day, Vox was already up and doing his rounds, making sure his employees were getting work done. He gets antsy between when you wake up, and you get to the tower. Every morning once he sees you entering the elevator, he'll wait on the other side to welcome you in with a kiss to the forehead.

Vox checks his watch. It shows his favorite things: your vitals, location, and pretty little face whenever you dial him.

You've finally left your place, thank goodness. Pacing aimlessly has never looked good on him.

He stands by his window, looking down at the streets below, watching you approach. You're wearing your usual uniform, one that he picked out just for you; it consists of the same red and blue stripes he has on his everyday suit. It makes you an eyesore in the everyday crowd.

If you didn't know any better, you'd lift your head to see if you could spot him among the many stories. The building is beautiful, overpowering. The V tower's magnificent brightness outshines the rest of the V district. The constant noise of people always has you walking with your hearing aid turned as low as it can go without turning off.

With the pink light reflecting off your face, you look both ways before crossing the street, a bright smile on your face, stepping onto the asphalt before a hand grabs your wrist.

Vox furrows his brow at the sight.

You turn your head and see a friendly reporter and a cameraman, the camera not yet rolling. Your pupils flicker between them.

"Hello!" She smiles, removing her hand. With caution, you fully face her, stepping back onto the sidewalk. The 'professional' persona you've been forced to practice is finally coming to fruition.

"Hello! I'm Deaf; I don't think I'd be able to do an interview."

She flicks her hand and rolls her eyes in the most friendly way possible. "Not a problem," she signs, moving the microphone vibrantly, "I can work this out, no problem!"

You widen your eyes in a wowwwww, oh my god, that's perfect... "Oh, what a kind woman you are!"

Vox? You beg internally. Baby? Save me.

Up high, he doesn't remove his eyes from you. With the use of sign language, he can't listen in, and he can't tell whether he needs to intervene or not. There's nothing wrong with going to check, right? Or will he seem possessive, or scared? He doesn't want people to think he doesn't want you to talk to anyone. It's good that you get to sign to someone other than him and Velvette, right?

The camera starts rolling, and you square your shoulders, adjusting your sleeves for more mobility. The news reporter throws the microphone at the cameraman, who does not catch it but ignores it as she shows off her brightest smile.

"Hello, ladies and gentlemen, I have the sweetest person in hell with me, [y/n]! Tell me, how long have you two been together?"

Of course, the news has been recognizing you recently. You've been seen countless times adjusting Vox's tie (he purposely fucks it up so that you'll step close to him) as well as wrapping your arm around his and pinching the corner of his screen endearingly before you give him a babying compliment. Many people have taken pictures and edited hearts around you two. People are obsessed with how "heavenly" your relationship is.

"Oh, many months now!" You nod to yourself, trying to stop your eyes from shining with admiration. You always get so soft when you think about him; it's one of the things people notice. She looks at him as if he's her entire world.

"Beautiful!" The reporter puffs out her bottom lip innocently. "I'm sure you make that man very happy."

What do you even say to that? I hope so.

"The happiest."

"Now," she doesn't hesitate to change the topic. "Are there any challenges you two face about your... differences?"

Your eyebrows raise before furrowing in confusion. Differences? At first, you think she means his television head, but when she notices you pause, she rudely clarifies. "I mean, with your lack of hearing, you know? Don't you find it a little embarrassing?"

You lean your body away from her. "What are you saying?"

The shock of the tonal shift has you freezing in place. The reporter looks at the camera, her eyes squinting with sadistic amusement. Her fingers twitch as she lifts her arm, not even looking at you before plucking the hearing aid from your ears. She crushes it in her hand.

At first, you grab your ear, pressing your hand to it in disbelief. Your face contorts, your shoulders dropping as you try to step away. Why couldn't you see this coming? And on television—is that where this is airing? The air around you goes quiet, the sensation of spatial awareness fading a bit as you stumble back, your hand still grasping your ear. The watch on your wrist hits your cheek, and without a second thought, you tap on the screen repeatedly. The next thing that popped into your head: her bravery is the most surprising.

With a brief fall of light, Vox stands where the lady once was. You eye him with uncertainty, a look you have never given him. He faces the cameraman, not looking your way. Your eyes go up and down his body; his stance is tense, his arms are folded behind his back, and his fingers sparking with small glimmers of electricity.

You see that lying behind him is the woman, body entirely limp, smoke coming from her mouth, and her eyes looking stuck open.

He speaks to the camera, pointing his finger at it, staring intensely into the shaking, blinking red light. Your hands link around his bicep. Composure, you remind yourself. You turn to the camera with a weary smile and lean your head against him.

"That'll never happen again." He stares at himself in the mirror. His dressers and tables are filled with claw marks from his previous meltdowns.

You just sit on his bed, crossing your legs uncomfortably, watching him as he goes back and forth between signing to you and mumbling to himself. You haven't said a word. You just keep your eyes on him.

He protected you in the way he knew best. He wanted nothing more than to put his hands on the sides of her head and crush her skull. It would stain his suit, awful. Even worse, your suit would have been ruined, too.

Should he force you to move into the tower? He's always wanted to. The commute would be no more, and you'd be safe from the outside.

Should he prevent you from leaving at all without him? No, that might be too much, but his entire body craves to keep you secure and protected.

He won't ask you what you want. He knows there's a chance you would just coddle him and tell him it's okay. There's no reality where he will do nothing; he must devise his own plan. But first (actually, secondly, after getting his anger out on his furniture), he wants to make sure his sweetheart is okay.

Once he calmed down and sat next to you, rubbing your thigh, he watched as you scrolled through social media, looking at the hundreds of people laughing and reposting the event. He shuts off your phone, grabs it, and tosses it across the room. You roll your eyes helplessly before he lifts his hands and signs to you.

"I will track everyone down and punish them severely, baby. No one will ever touch you again, or else they will the next flashing headline."

"I know, baby," you wrap your arms around his chest and lean into him, rubbing your cheek against the smoothness of his overcoat.

You hum against him, finding it in yourself to smile softly. Protector, protector, protector. You run those words through your head; they're comforting to their own extent. Suppose he ends up locking you inside the tower. In that case, it's better than him leaving you entirely over this (which, obviously, he'd never actually do). Spending every morning and night with him wouldn't be wrong. Everything happens for a reason.

He leans back onto the bed, his feet dangling off as you curl into his side.

Before resting completely, you use a hand to sign into his chest. "Everything will be fine."

Your coddling, though annoying, provides the most relaxing warmth to his body. He groans, wrapping an arm lazily around you, feeling the usual butterflies in his stomach as you press a small kiss to his collarbone.

Velvette

♥ word count: 1.6k ♥ warnings: reader speaks, party scene, getting harassed by a man, vox is in this too ♥ a/n: i completely headcanon that velvette took an asl class in highschool when she was alive, i have no idea how velvette usually acts in fanfiction so this is MY velvette now

Velvette found you, such a pretty thing, in your little corner of the internet, making content for your little community. That little corner of yours is where you told the news and interpreted a lot of banter from the overlords. Your channel was the perfect mix of education and drama, all for the Deaf community in Hell.

You were, as Velvette described, a tea channel.

She invited you to the V tower to show you around. The three V's introduced themselves to you in their own way, offering you a job. The bossman, ever so gentlemanly and charming, didn't let Valentino try and make sex motions to you for longer than necessary. And before Velvette forced Vox to scurry off, she forced him to snap a few pics of you posing with her as a faux collab.

You weren't stupid. You knew Velvette only wanted your attention to spread whatever brand she endeavored to popularize. But this might be a golden opportunity. You'd learn the behind-the-scenes from three different overlords, and the content you can produce will gather insane traction.

Velvette is just so sweet; the way she showed her care for you was just through gift-giving.

She loved putting together gift boxes for you, similar to the sorority kind. The boxes went from cute little baskets to a cardboard box resembling a PR send. These would always be set on your desk with a bit of note from her, each time she'd signed off her name with a heart.

Jackets, shoes, candies, jewelry, pens, everything. The gifts are versatile with familiar themes of hearts. Every day was like Valentine's Day when she was 'courting' you (did she even realize she was?).

She made you bags: totes, crossbody bags, clutches, phone pouches, coin purses, anything she thought you would need with an array of colors to match any outfit. She put in hair clips and pocket mirrors, cozy slippers and fancy journals.

She even got you two matching bracelets.

You love the smirk she wears whenever she notices you adorning anything she's given to you. Damn right, she thinks, I knew it would look good.

The most enormous box she'd ever given you was the day before one of her fashion shows. Inside were glorious clothes from her collection, all for you to pick out and wear. She really loved her stripes.

You put your hearing aid on, smiling at yourself in the mirror as you watch the charm she made you glisten in the light. With your bracelet ornamenting your wrist, you pat down your stripped outfit before taking a deep breath.

Your entrance reeks of reluctance. The temptation to retreat back to your room is unbearable. Seeing Velvette will definitely lift your mood; where is she? Surely, she'd be the highlight of the room, but amongst all the women with their eccentric colors and clothing shapes, you can't find your eye drawing to her anywhere.

The sounds of the party blend together in a nasty concoction; you can't help but turn your hearing aids off. The sound is similar to what it's like being outside in a heavy storm; the wind, the pouring rain, the blur and whine of the hearing aids. And instead of lingering by the double doors, you push into the crowd. You're the least recognizable in the crowd of celebrities, but it doesn't stop people from moving out of the way when you try to wiggle through. You're wearing stripes, her stripes. You're either bold or very special to her; they don't want to intervene.

But your stripes also get some people to stare at you longer than they would have otherwise. Across the room, in front of you, you notice a tall, almost shirtless model coming your way, directly staring at you. You break the quick eye contact before squeezing through a cluster of girls taking selfies. They won't let you through, grimacing but not laying any hands on you. When you turn to go the other way, the man is behind you, holding out his hand, waiting for you to put your hand in his.

You click on your hearing aid and scroll up. "What did you say?" You ask verbally, clearing your throat a bit.

His eyes bounce from yours to your hand, looking at what you're touching. His head tilts in interest. You don't like the sight of his smile.

"Oh wow." He says.

Immediately, "Yeah, no," Velvette puts her hands on your shoulders and tries to push you away. "I swear, don't even look at him, he's fucking insane."

He speaks over her, but you can't process his words over how close Velvette's lips are to your ear. Her warm breath sends goosebumps down your arms, and your spine straightens. This only makes her hum in amusement.

After turning and growling at him, she effortlessly maneuvers you away. Eyes watch you even closer now as she touches you. You let her guide you throughout the room with not a clue as to where she's leading you, if anywhere. But eventually, you two end up in front of a mirror the size of a wall.

She stares at you through the mirror. "Look at you," she signs, "extravagant as ever, darling."

"Thanks to you."

"Obviously." And she bumps her hip into yours. You laugh, mimicking the motion back.

You had ditched your initial motive of getting close to the V's to gain more information about them. They were fine people to hang out with, making you laugh and feel involved. Velvette gave you special attention that nobody in your afterlife has ever given. Her lipstick left stains on your cheek whenever she kissed you, and she made an 'appointment' in her schedule once a week to paint your nails the same black color as hers.

The afternoon went by quickly; you spent time clapping and watching models show off their garb. Velvette is a true talent.

But something ruined your evening. The air hummed with laughter and the rhythmic beat of music. Velvette had been whisked away by the other V's to overlook the crowd and count the people who had attended. Among the colorful crowd stood a familiar figure whose eyes sparkled with mischief. Different from last time, you don't notice when he starts to approach again.

"You," he coos, placing his hand under your chin. You must stare at his lips to comprehend his words over the music, an awful innuendo you wish you could have avoided. He leaned in closer to you, and in return, you leaned back. Valentino had told you a bunch of times to not worry if someone puts their hands on you, that it's a typical formality in Hell. You would always roll your eyes at him, never expecting a stranger to grab you like this.

You were mentally preparing yourself to dodge a kiss. But then, daringly, he leaned in and gently plucked the hearing aid from behind your ear, holding it aloft like a trophy. Fear flickered across your face, your hand instinctively reaching for it, but he pulled it away. The charm Velvette gave you dangles like a jewel.

"Don't," you say with desperation. He puts a finger in front of your face and waves it back and forth. He coos, using that hand to grab your face as if you were the most adorable thing he's ever seen.

Your eyes are locked on the charm, and it's brash jolts. You almost beg for him to just give you the charm back.

In the middle of a conversation with Vox, Velvette raises an eyebrow; shocked and pissed, she glared at whoever had torn off your hearing aid. She mumbles, "I'd tear their hearing aid off and break it."

Before she can move closer to you, Vox puts his hand in front of her while watching the interaction. "Think before acting, Velvette."

Her frustration turns into anger as she pushes his hand away. He lets her run off; he holds a hard stare as her pink hair bobs through the crowd.

Your eyes are stuck wide with shock, and a million things run through your head, all relating to the appropriate situational response.

True to your casual self, you were having a hard time not just jamming your hand in his eyes and kicking his shins. Would you make Velvette mad? Vox?--Would that result in you being removed from the V Tower? It's all so complicated. Though you were panicking over a 'quick' decision, you and the man stayed in that position for a few seconds. He stayed laughing, dropping the hearing aid and stomping on it.

At almost the same time, Velvette threw a glass from someone's hand at the man, perfectly aimed, hitting him in the face. She lets out a small "nice!" before rushing to you.

Her hand runs down your face, and she holds you tenderly, not turning to face Vox as he puts himself between her and the man. Your eyes bounce around the entire room. Will you ever get a break from being at the center of attention?

"We're leaving. Now." she signs in a single motion so quick that it makes you smile, relieving some of the stress that's been making your head pound. She's able to sign so naturally now.

The crowd splits into two.

Behind the both of you, Vox is declaring an end to the event, apologizing to the people for the inconvenience. Velvette keeps muttering about him under her breath; you can see her lips moving and her face grimacing.

She has beads in front of her, a bunch of small charms with string. She signs, looking up at you. "I should have killed him."

You just watch her craft another charm, laying on her bed and kicking your feet. "That would have been funny."

She scoffs and smiles, her painted lips turning upwards. Her fingers trace over the beads, deciding which one to pick up. She wants to make it different than the last one, but what should it look like? She picks up a pink heart with a slight hum before sliding it down onto the string. She whispers to herself, perfect.

Valentino

♥ word count: 1.7k ♥ note: reader is a vodka drinker, i'm obsessed with writing a loving valentino, reader doesn't talk very much and prefers sign, sexually suggestive things happening but it's not nsfw, kinda written like ass, drugs mentioned but no named just symptoms, takes place on porn set, valentino kills someone, blood description

Every time you step into the studio, you're hit by the smell of sex, mostly the sweetened stench of that strawberry lube he loves so much. Visiting his work is not usually something you do often, but he's seem to be so busy lately that you can't help but bring him a drink, the most beautiful drink in hell: vanilla vodka. You can already see him licking him lips.

Strawberry lube, so prominent in your nose.

His legs are crossed and he stares at the scene in front of him, his sunglasses hiding whatever his emotions are, but his lips are still in a prominent scowl.

Though, when he sees you, his expression changes drastically. He stands with so much excitement that the actors stop to see what he's reacting to. All eyes are on you, you shy away from the attention a bit but Val doesn't seem to notice, else care.

"Amor mío!" One of his hands signs, running down his cheek while his bottom two motions for a hug.

Before you can initiate a hug, he wraps his arms around you and brings you into his chest, trapping your arms in. He's warm, vibrantly so, it's hard not to melt against him. You couldn't be surprised if you let out a small moan at the contact. Oh, how I've missed you so much.

He pulls away quicker than you'd like and takes the bottle from your hand, holding it up close to his face so he can examine it. "Burnett's, oh you shouldn't have!"

He hesitates, torn between his responsibilities and the irresistible allure of having a drink with the person he was enamored with. He's not so easy to whisk away from work, therefore (of course), you seem to be the only person who he is at every beck and call.

You smile softly, "I knew you'd like it."

With a laugh, he takes your hand and spins you, his free hands popping open the bottle, ready to embark on whatever journey you had in store.

He turns and addresses his employees, granting them a small break before turning to you with his sharp smile.

And together, you slip away from the set, leaving behind the hustle and bustle of the studio for a simple moment of peace and luxury. Walls blazed with hues of pink and blue, you both find yourselves nestled on the fluffy couch in a lounge, a wineglass in your hand while he chugs from the bottle.

"You've been so busy." You sign. You switch the wineglass into your non dominant hand to avoid spilling any of the contents. Val holds the bottle with his bottom set of hands while signing with his top ones (he was originally going to do it the other way around).

“I know, princesa,” one of his hands comes up and squeezes your cheek. “Business calls, I cannot help myself.”

“Which is why I came to visit.”

The two of you clink glass upon glass before taking a drink. He’s trying not to finish the drink before you, he’s making sure to take his time. He doesn’t want you to leave as much as he doesn’t want to rush the break. His eyes go over your entire form and take you in, there feels like an eternity since he saw you last. Why do you have so much patience for someone like him? It’s astonishing. Surely someone as beautiful as you could find someone sweeter than her. But he’s grateful to have you, he’s mildly addicted to that internal battle of whether he wants to cherish you or own you (perhaps he can do both? Something he’s never done before).

“What?” You ask.

“Hm?” His fingers pinch together in the casual way of signing.

“You’re staring at me.”

“I can’t resist.”

“What were you thinking about?” You sign and lean forward, giving him bright eyes. Your gaze swallows him, moth to a flame.

He matches your body language, “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen, amor mío.”

When he tries to grab your hand, you pull away. “You're acting as if you're wine drunk.” You sign. You have a sappy smile as you put your glass to your lips.

“Never,” he wiggles his fingers as he signs. You eye him carefully, debating asking if he's kept his favorite gun on him. There's nothing worse than a drunk Valentino.

After the wine break, he has to go back to work. He feels himself getting irritated as he walks back, why can't he just continue spending the day with you? Is it worth sending everybody home? No, he has a job to do, and he needs to complete it before relaxation. But maybe he'll consider taking breaks (his least favorite word) to spend time with you.

You follow, both of your hands holding his, clinging onto him like a child.

Everybody was still in the studio, waiting for his return, not daring to leave in fear of him coming back. Actors were talking to each other casually, away from the camera, it built a strange sense of community for you. They're so nice to each other off-camera.

He drags you to his chair still holding your hand as he sits in it.

Drinking with you had been a much-needed respite from these people. He made a mental note to gift you more wine.

You remove your hands from his and smile. “Get back to work, baby.”

Pearly white, sharp teeth show through his large smile. He presses his lips against each of your knuckles while his eyes skin over all of his actors, counting them. He makes eye contact with one particular one, a woman. They stare at each other for more than a second. She's scowling at him and he squints his eyes at her. The fuck is your problem?

She usually looks at him with sultry looks, but now there's a sharpness to them.

But his eyes peel away from her and go back to you, he leans forward and presses a slow kiss to your forehead. He signs low, almost as if he's whispering a secret. "I'll come see you after."

You smile and start turning away. "Good."

Upon noticing your departure, the actors and crew start returning to their places, keeping an eye on Valentino and any commands he might make. Their eyes are always on him, worried to test his anger. But not all the actors were worried about testing his anger.

"Hey," an actress grabs your hand before you could reach the door and you turn to her. She talks, her voice making your hearing aids buzz, "Are you guys like, dating? Are you dating the Valentino? Like, literally one of the V's."

Her words all bunch into one. You blink, taking time to think about both what she could be asking and the connotation behind it. "Yes?" It sounds more like a question than an answer. Is that the correct response?

She hums and nods, her eyes wide in amazement. Her pupils are large. Her cheeks are hollow and she has strong eyebags. With a distant sound from Val, him talking to the crew, she looks back at him before turning to you. "I mean like, why? Why would he want you?"

Oh no. You try to move away but she just follows you, stepping in front of you closer. It's like being cornered, being trapped in an almost unavoidable situation.

"Why wouldn't he?" You test with a squint of your eyes.

She just smiles at you. "Uhm," and her arm reaches over, grabbing the hearing aid from your ear, pinching it between her claws, "Obviously this."

You reach for it but she pulls it away from you, trying not to laugh.

So you do what you know is the best solution, you call his name, practically screaming it. "Val!"

At the sound of you using your voice he whips his head around. The air goes still, you can tell from the way she pauses. Her pause is only for a second, she reeks of hesitance and sudden worry. She looks at the hearing aid in her hand as if she's finally realizing what she had done and what was about to happen.

Before she can say another word, her entire body stiffs, her eyes widen before her pupils roll back. And then she's on the floor, almost falling onto you.

You wipe blood from your cheek and groan.

Val stares at you, his expression unreadable. In his hand is his jeweled gun. He pauses for a moment to take a long drag of his cigarette, letting out a cloud of red smoke before he looks at his gun with a toothy smile until he tucks it back into his belt.

He starts to approach you and for a second you're scared, it was a primal feeling. He walked like a king.

All you can do is watch him, frozen in place.

The first thing he does when he reaches you is bend in front of her body, plucking the hearing aid from her hand. It's bloody, the liquid drips from it as he lifts it up. He wipes some of it off on his shirt before handing it to you. He drops it into your open hands.

He speaks, knowing you'd have a hard time understanding. "Laying her slutty hands on my angel..."

You lean into his touch when he caresses your face. His eyes gaze at you, softening, his smile widening at how soft your eyes look. You're his greatest treasure. He gets off immensely from protecting you, he would ravish you to death in this moment if he could. Valentinos eyes drift down at the body and his pupils narrows as he glares at the dead woman. He's going to have to clean this up. Her blood is getting every where.

One of his thumbs rub against your cheek, touching the bloody smear. It stains your skin in a delectable way. So perfect.

He melts when he sees your soft eyes slowly start to match the mischievous smile growing on your face. He protected you and he was open about being dithered over her behavior, he didn't laugh at it or tease you about it. You don't doubt for an instant that he's the man of your dreams. He killed someone for you in an instant.

When you take his thumb into your mouth, sucking the blood, his spine straightens. He pulls away immediately and turns around, yelling at the his workers that filming will be cut short today.

He just can't wait any longer to spend some lovely time with you.

#hazbin hotel #vox x reader #x reader #deaf community #x deaf reader #x deaf s/o #velvette x reader #valentino x reader #velvette hazbin hotel #valentino hazbin hotel

1K notes · View notes

gggookii · 6 months ago

Text

𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚗 - 𝚎.𝚠

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

loser!ellie williams x fem!reader

summary: ellie unexpectedly shows up to your apartment with hopes of talking to you. it's just the two of you sitting in her car. she tries to tell you how she feels, but her awkward nature makes it a struggle.

a/n: this is my first post on here and I hope y'all enjoy !! pretty short and sweet bc it's a monday night :/ (not proofread)

c/w: mention of weed

word count: 1.4k

click for palestine

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

the sky has turned dark, with no one in sight through your apartment window. A lit candle emitted the scent of pure vanilla, which gave it a snug feeling. you were dozing off in bed, fitted with a pair of silk pajamas and a bright phone screen in front of your face. you couldn’t help the feeling of nodding off as the same video replayed on your phone. just as you shut your phone off and placed it on the nightstand, there was a notification. with a grunt, you picked yourself up and quickly flicked on your phone. it was her—the person you swore to your friends was the love of your life.

ellie (future gf):

look out ur window rn

like a lost puppy, you immediately scuffled to your window. pulling away the curtain, there sat ellie’s beat-up burgundy car in all it’s glory. your eyes lit up with a smile pulling at your cheeks. it was like a ritual. at least once a week, ellie would randomly show up at any time of the day. the two of you would sit around in her car, blabbering anything you could think of. sometimes, she would bring snacks, but you always thought she ate like a grandpa. who even eats necco wafers? let alone heard of that candy? nobody but ellie.

you put on a random jacket and went down to her car. you mentally prepared yourself and fixed loose strands of your hair before opening the car door. through her window, you could see that she staring at you with a grin with her hair in a small ponytail. you loved it like that.

right as you opened the door; she quickly swept off the pile of fast food paper bags on the passenger's seat. she was so messy. you loved it.

"hey," she awkwardly greeted as she leaned back in her seat. ellie cleared her throat and looked away from you for a second.

"hi, ellie" you said, biting back a smile creeping up on you. the smell of weed that her car was lamented with filling up her nose.

randomly, she drew her hand out to you. with a lift of an eyebrow, you brought your hand out only for her to dap you up. there was pure confusion on your face the moment ellie began. what the fuck? you questioned her inside your mind. on the other hand, ellie was beating herself up for pulling a move like that. her whole body was hot and sweaty from the tension in her body. for her life, she can not flirt at all.

"sorry, that was kinda weird." the auburn-haired girl chuckled at herself and scratched her head. she was a nervous wreck, but you were oblivious to it.

"yeah, you fucking weirdo." you jabbed at her as you opened the pull-down mirror to check your appearance.

there was a couple of seconds of silence with ellie staring at you brushing off something in your eyebrows. "you look really pretty." ellie spoke up with her shoulders curled up.

"you think so?" you sheepishly ask for reassurance while shutting the pull-down mirror. she inches closer to you. the closer she becomes, the closer to death you are. ellie intensely stares at your forehead, squinting her eyes and tilting her head.

"yeah but..." her words cut off. you bit the inside of your cheeks as she continued to stare at your forehead. you felt stupid. was there really something stuck on there? "nah, I'm messing with you. there's nothing on your forehead." she admitted followed by a witch-like cackle.

you responded by shoving her shoulder away. "tsk. wowww, you should be a comedian or something. I'm fucking dying." said in the most monotone voice ever, even though you were holding in a laugh.

"yeah, you think I'm the funniest person ever." the girl in the driver's seat adjusted her shirt and leaned back in her seat. you rolled your eyes and crossed your arms.

"what are you even doing here right now? don't you have the morning shift?" you interrogated her. she only looked down at her fidgeting fingers and shrugged.

"I dunno." she did know. she just couldn't spill it out.

at her apartment, she suddenly had a burst of confidence in her to confess to you. she pumped herself up, and even ran down your whole conversation to herself. but, as soon as you stepped into the car it all diminished away.

"missed me that much?" you teased her with a cheeky grin. her fast stung a color of red and she faced away from your gaze. "dude, you good?" suspicion rose in you as you observed her weird behavior.

"yeah, I'm just mewing," she said with a straight face and pointed towards her jawline. you slightly chuckled and rubbed your temples, "okay, buddy."

the two of them went silent once again. it wasn't an awkward type of silence though. it was comforting. you were just enjoying ellie's company with her doing the same. at least, you think. her ass was definitely pondering about something. her arms were crossed, eyebrows furrowed, lips slightly parted, and her eyes didn't leave her steering wheel.

"uhm..." she finally spoke up and your head spun over to face her. "hmm?" you responded.

"I think I like..." holy shit, it was happening. ellie is finally going to declare her undying love for you. "this girl." she finished her sentence.

are you absolutely shitting me right now?

you thought you were about to go insane. there was no way the two of you had been flirting for the past few months, and ellie likes someone else? there was no way it all meant absolutely nothing. you practically could hear the clique audio of your heart-shattering. the pieces scattered on the floor with no broom in sight to help you clean it up.

it wasn't only you going insane, but ellie too. her words came out completely different than she meant for them to. there has never been a moment where she wanted to smack herself more than now. ellie was already planning on quitting her job, shaving her hair, getting some plastic surgeries, and moving to iceland or something. there was no way she could correct herself now. but she did, and it became even more humiliating.

"wait- no, I don't like a girl." she tried to clear up, but it only made you even more confused.

"let me start over. pretend like none of that even happened." one of ellie's hands was over her face, and the other was being waved around. you held your breath and gazed upon the panicked face in front of you.

"I think I have feelings for you. not any other girl. only you." her final statement became clear. even with that, you were still just as confused as before.

"you do?" fuck, she's going to reject me. ellie thought to herself and prepared for her execution by rejection. "yeah." she shrugged, pretending to be nonchalant.

wow, since when did your skin feel so refreshed? you don't know why, but suddenly you felt a weight wash off your shoulders. you started smiling, borderline laughing, and ellie was kind of getting spooked. not because you looked psychotic, but because she felt that you were going to poke fun at her.

"nah, I'm playing. It was another joke" holy hell you were about to murder her. "that wasn't funny." you gave her a death glare and bit your tongue so you wouldn't start cursing at her.

once again, ellie regretted taking it back and was almost on the verge of tears. the amount of embarrassment she felt is unfathomable. ellie sighed and began to try one last time to clear everything up. her stupid social skills can't get in the way this time.

"I'm sorry." she apologized and continues, "I actually do like you. fuck, I'm sorry I'm so awkward." ellie held her face in her hands.

let's fucking go! you celebrated to yourself with a cringy air fist bump.

"ellie..." you let out an airy snicker as you placed a hand on her head. "you're so adorable." this got ellie's attention with her face swinging up to look at you.

"so, do you like me too?" she asked with a needy tone. you nodded at her. "yeah," a simple response.

"yeah?"

"yeah."

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

a/n: I had absolutely no idea how to end this :{

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oddinary4bts · 1 year ago

Text

Love is a Laserquest | choi san

☆summary: years after your break-up, Choi San comes to you for help. In an attempt to save his life, you escape to your uncle's cabin in the woods far from civilization. Will nostalgia and longing make you fall again, or is Choi San just spinning more lies to you?

☆pairing: gangster!Choi San x female!reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI)

☆genre: gangster au, exes au, angst, smut, a smidge of the one bed trope

☆warnings: guns/gun violence (mentioned), knifes/stabbing (mentioned), a bounty over San's head, death of a minor character (named Jungkook my bad), blood, injuries, stitches, probably some wrong medical terminology bc optometrists don't stitch up people lmao, a panic attack, cursing, pet names, explicit content: oral sex (female receiving) -> face riding, let me know if I forgot any!

☆word count: 16.5k

☆a/n: Here's my submission for Outlaw: The Project hosted by @ssaboala. It is coincidentally my first time posting about another group than bts, so I hope this won't disappoint! I really enjoyed writing it (even though it's really sad oop). Also my first time making a moodboard so hopefully it works haha

☆a/n pt2: thank you to @moonleeai for being my ever-so faithful beta reader, love you lots <3

☆☆☆☆☆

And do you still think love is a Laserquest? Or do you take it all more seriously? I’ve tried to ask you this in some daydreams that I’ve had But you’re always busy being make-believe

Love is a Laserquest – Arctic Monkeys

☆☆☆☆☆

The diner is silent, unoccupied. It always is on late weekday evenings, when most patrons have gone to bed, the city falling under a carpet of hushed silence only night can bring forth. It makes the diner feel like it’s straight out of a 70s movie, and it makes for the perfect study sessions too.

Night isn’t always soundless in your part of town. Hence why you’ve been trying to escape, pursuing an education that has been leaving you penniless, but with a bright future ahead. If you make it out of med school at a certain point, that is.

Tonight, you fear the peace that night usually entails has been ruined for you – there were gunshots earlier, close enough for you to see the police cars racing past as the law officers made it to probably yet another gang fight.

There’s been a gang war on your side of town. The diner has always been safe, a refuge for both sides of the war, where they aren’t allowed to fight. To carry in weapons and hatred. No, the moment they cross the threshold of the diner, the gangsters become one family, sharing struggles that only poverty can cause.

You wipe a table clean before walking back towards the counter. Your open laptop waits for you, and you quickly read the study guide you’ve made for yourself, the cardiovascular system and its pathologies forming a maze in your mind that you’ve yet to decode. Luckily enough, you still have a week before the bloc ends and you have to take the exam.

Plenty of time to cram everything about the heart in your thick little skull, you’d say.

Your lips move in time with what you’re reading, attention solely focused on the bright screen when a thump is heard right outside the door. It startles you, and you turn around to see the empty street out of the glass door.

It takes you about ten seconds to notice the dark form sitting on the ground. They’re leaning against the door, head lolling to the side. You assume it must be someone that’s ended unhoused, something that happens far too often where you live.

You’ve always been kind. When you were younger, you were told your kindness would be your demise. Yet you’ve never been able to be anything but kind, even though sometimes it might put you at risk. So you can’t resist but walk to the front door, trying to push it open.

It’s useless – the weight of the person is keeping it tightly shut, though they do straighten a little, as if coming to their senses. They turn, and the moment their profile comes into view you’re brought back eight years in the past. To a time when the world was still a beautiful place, void of violence and cruelty. To a smile so sweet it made flowers blossom on your heart, and to eyes so sharp you knew they had read your soul.

Choi San is sitting outside the door, and the caked blood on his cheek tells you enough – he’s injured. He pushes away from the door before slowly getting up. He clutches his side as he does it, yet when he turns back towards you and faces your horrified eyes, he still offers you a smirk.

You push the door open, thinking about the years between then and now. You had dated him for a few months that had felt like forever, until you had realized in what kind of business he was getting involved with. You had tried to convince him to flee before it was too late, and he kept promising that he would.

Only he never did, hiding lies with beautiful words that made your teenage self swoon, until your parents had realized and forced you to break up. It had been a nasty break-up, filled with hatred and words you didn’t mean yet had needed to say for him to leave.

You remember breaking his heart like it was yesterday.

“Choi San,” you greet him, and when he lets go of his side, you notice blood on his hand.

Something runs cold inside of you, even though he still sports a smirk on his lips.

He says your name, bowing his head. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

Months, in fact. Because he does come to the diner sometimes. He usually ignores you, and so do you, so it feels strange to have him speak to you. To hear his voice as his words are addressed to you.

“What…” you trail off, glancing down at the ripped fabric of his black tank top.

He’s got a mean cut on his ribs, and it’s only then that you truly realize that he’s badly injured. Because there’s more – one of his biceps has been sliced open too, though blood is barely oozing out of it in small rivulets. The blood on his cheek is from where you assume he’s been punched with rings, and there’s already an underlying bruise under his eye.

“Got beaten up,” he states the obvious, and you immediately open the door wider to let him in.

He limps in, heading towards the nearest booth, where he plops down and lets out a pained grunt. You make sure no one is outside before shutting the door and locking it, flipping the hanging sign on it so it says closed in case a patron decides to show up.

You take a few steps towards San, hands shaking slightly at your side. Because that’s a grown man, bleeding out on the leather seat of the booth, and his eyes are shut though he looks in pain. You don’t know what you’re supposed to do. You haven’t yet started your residency, haven’t really gone from theory to practice… Yet you’re studying to be a doctor, are you not?

“Why are you here?” you ask, though you’re pretty sure you know the answer.

“Didn’t know where else to go,” he says, wincing as one of his eyes opens. He tilts his head to look towards you. “Word around the block says…” he pauses, takes a deep breath before continuing, “that you’re studying to be a doctor”.

So you are right. He’s here because he needs your help, and you’re not quite sure how you feel about it.

“Why…” You look for words, and it takes you a moment to realize that it doesn’t matter.

For all the history between you and him, Choi San doesn’t deserve to bleed out to death on a cheap leather seat in a forgotten diner on the dangerous side of town.

He has the decency to chuckle at the start of your question, which only makes him wince in pain once again.

“Don’t move,” you tell him, and it’s a little stupid because clearly, he’s in no state to move.

He doesn’t question it, and you run to the kitchen to thoroughly wash your hands and grab the first aid kit. At night, no cooks stay around, and you usually only reheat food if needed, which doesn’t really happen. You haven’t had any client coming in at night in weeks… until San, that is. So no one is there to see what is going on, which you reckon is a relief. Because you have no idea what’s going on.

You return to the booth where San is waiting, patiently. He’s clearly wiped his hand on his face because there’s fresh blood on his forehead, and you almost balk at the sight of it.

“What have you done?” you mutter, more to yourself than to him.

It seems he’s still in sync with you because he still hears. “Got involved with the wrong crowd.”

You put the first aid kit down on the table, ignoring his eyes when they flutter open, and he rests his gaze on you.

“I don’t know if I can help you,” you say as you unzip the kit and throw it open. You spare his side a quick glance. “This looks like you’re going to need stitches.”

He makes an effort of looking down at himself, though it mostly fails as he doesn’t raise his head from the seat. “Right.”

You grab everything you think you might need – alcohol swabs to clean his skin, fresh linen to bandage his side and arm, and stuff for his cheek too. He carefully observes you, with that piercing gaze of his that used to make you go crazy inside when you were young and impressionable.

You vaguely motion at him, and he cocks an eyebrow. “What?”

“Are you able to sit up?” you ask. “I can’t reach you if you’re lying back like this.”

His pink tongue darts to wet his lips, and he nods curtly. “Let me…” he trails off, resting a bloody hand on the table while he grabs at the back of the booth to push himself up. It has new blood appearing on his side, and you quickly move towards him, putting some linen against it.

As if it’s going to do anything. He clearly needs stitches, and you’ve got nothing with you to stitch him up.

“Fuck,” he curses lowly as he’s finally sitting. You just keep the linen on his side, eyes a little wide.

Your gazes connect inevitably, and time slows. You think about how he used to smile, how his eyes used to hold a softness you haven’t had the chance to see again since he’s walked out of your life.

Or rather, since you kicked him out of your life.

“I don’t think I can help,” you whisper, and his eyes flicker to your lips.

“I can’t go to the hospital,” he admits, shame turning his features into a mask of regret. “They… If they find me, I’m dead.”

Dread fills every ounce of your being. “San, what have you been doing?”

He looks away from your insistent gaze, scoffing slightly. “You don’t want to know.”

He isn’t wrong; you genuinely don’t want to know. Because he means nothing good, even with all the memories you share with him.

“Is it going to put me in danger?” you ask, as he still obstinately avoids your gaze.

He seems to freeze in front of you, as if you’ve pressed pause to your favourite show. To avoid the awkwardness, you busy yourself with grabbing one of his hands so he can hold the linen in place before you start washing the cut on his arm. It’s not deep, but you’re pretty sure it’ll still leave a mean scar, especially considering he can’t go to the hospital.

The thought has a drop of cold sweat roll along your spine. People want him dead. People want Choi San, the man you know as a young, scared teenager just trying to find a way to make his life better, dead. You remember the innocence in his smile – has he smiled at all in the years apart?

“I should go,” he says flatly. He moves to stand, but you hold him down, two hands firmly placed on his shoulders. It makes him wince, and you quickly release your grip.

“Don’t,” you tell him. “Let me at least patch you up.”

His eyes shut again as his head hangs low. “I am so sorry.”

You don’t even know who he is apologizing to, or why he is. All you know is that it causes your heart to clench in your chest, stealing the breath from your lungs.

When you were younger, you believed San was your star-crossed lover. You believed your high school sweethearts romance would grow until you’d be old and grey and at the end of a very long road. You had dreamed of a future with him, the way only teenagers can dream – with no sense of reality. Because your reality had never been to end up by his side.

His choices had been proof enough of it.

You still remember the day you first kissed. Under an August meteor shower, with just the night sky as your witness. It had been hesitant, slow and soft, just like everything with San. And you had believed the lie, trusted it with every beat of your little heart, until your parents had found out the truth about him.

Until they had broken your heart, even before you had broken his.

If the stars had known then, what was going to happen to you and Choi San, would they still have shone through the night?

He lets out a pained sound as you gently dab at the cut on his bicep. You clean the skin around the wound in and of itself, and he watches you carefully, piercing gaze not missing how your face clouds with memories.

“How have you been doing?” he asks so softly you think his words are a gentle summer breeze on your features.

You can almost still smell the summer night air of that field where you had stargazed, where you’d always meet so long ago.

“I’ve been okay,” you answer, truthfully. Because even though you haven’t seen him, you have lived your life apart from him. Have evolved without him by your side. “Better than you, visibly.”

He didn’t expect the joke. It makes him snort, and then a soft smile grows on his lips, softening the edges of his hard features. “You haven’t changed.”

You have, and yet you haven’t. Like him, you think there’s a part of you that is still sixteen, and will forever be. A part of you that remained stuck in the moment when you watched him walk away in the rain, as if even the sky had to cry for his broken heart.

“Wish I could say the same about you,” you murmur, nostalgia a melancholic song in your words.

He chooses to remain silent, because the proof of how much he’s changed is sitting right in front of you, wounded and bleeding and hurt. The hurt is behind his eyes, in the shadows of the past that have also been obscuring your vision.

“Yeah,” he lets out, barely audible.

And then silence reigns between you, because as much as you once loved him, eight years have made you strangers. You don’t know anything about his life except the dirty, obvious darkness that surrounds him, and he doesn’t know anything except that you are studying to be a doctor…

Which leads you to wonder how does he know in the first place?

You ask him, as you’re wrapping the linen around his bicep to make a makeshift bandage. You’re proud of the result, though your fingers can’t resist but linger on the taut skin over his muscle, surprised at how soft it still is.

“I’ve heard you mention it,” he admits, as you take a step away to look at the material on the table, as if it’ll suddenly make stitches appear for you to put them in his skin. “One of the times I was here.”

“You never said hi,” you reproach him, unable to hide the ghost of a bite in your tone.

“Neither did you,” he points out, and he isn’t wrong.

All you can do is purse your lips as you finally decide to clean his skin. But for that, you have to rid him of his tank top, to make sure there’s no fabric in the wound. You look at him, cheeks somehow burning even though all you’re doing is taking care of a patient.

Though he’s not a patient, and you’re not in a hospital. You’re just a server at a dusty, old diner and he’s just your teenage lover, wounded by his dangerous actions.

“Should I grab scissors to remove your shirt?” you ask, though you’re speaking to yourself more than to him.

He still finds it in him to tease. “You want me out of my shirt?” he enquires, smirk gracing his lips again. “Say no more.”

He tries moving, but you hold up a hand to stop him. “Don’t,” you warn. “You’ll make it bleed more.”

He purses his lips, because nodding. “Right.” He glances at the first aid kit, before his eyes trail to your face again. “You got scissors in that?”

There are. You grab them, before turning towards him. It feels strange: you’ve never undressed him before. You had always wanted to wait, back then, before you slept together. You believed you were too young, and San had always respected it.

“Let me know if I hurt you,” you tell him as you take a step closer to him.

He slightly leans back, furrowing his eyebrows. “What do you plan to do with those that might hurt?”

You roll your eyes, playfully, before taking the two other steps leading to right in front of his legs. You notice that they are slightly parted, allowing you to come closer, and you take a steadying breath before reaching between you, pulling at the fabric of his tank top.

“Stay still and you shouldn’t get hurt,” you whisper, ignoring the heaviness of his piercing gaze on you.

It burns right through you, and you have to tame the beats of your heart at the feeling of the warm skin of his shoulder against the back of your fingers as you bring your other hand forward, until you’ve started cutting his shirt.

It’s stuck to his side where blood has dried, and he winces but remains still and silent as you keep going, pulling on it a little harder to be able to cut. The moment stretches into infinity, because you can’t help but take your time. It reminds you of how you’d used to run your fingers on his back, under his shirt, when you napped in the field in the summertime. In an idyllic world where gangs and violence and war were mere inventions of the media, and not a reality that surrounded you.

You’d loved the field. The wildflowers, the open air, the way it was just you and him and a few lazy bumblebees as clouds lazily crossed the sky above. You were so young then, so innocent. Hands unstained from blood, from his blood.

Because as you cut, the hand touching his shirt stains with blood. You pale at the sight of it, but you keep going, pushing through until you’re done, gently pulling the fabric from his body until he’s sitting there, shirtless, with a long wound on his ribs.

You can’t help but notice his toned chest and the defined abs on his stomach. Though blood mars his skin, turning it into a piece of violence, Choi San is still beautiful. Beautiful in a dark, dangerous way that has you glance outside, making sure no one is looking.

But the streets are empty, void of life at this time of the night. At least, they mostly always are.

“You will need stitches,” you state again as if you both don’t know already.

“I can’t…”

An idea forms in your brain. It’s a stupid idea, and you don’t even know why it crosses your mind.

Your uncle has a hunting cabin far in the woods. He’s a nurse himself, and he’s always kept everything over there in case someone got injured and he had to stitch them up. You haven’t gone in forever, but you still remember the tall trees, the deep forest scent that reminds you of autumn and leaves and grey days spent reading by the fireplace.

You never went hunting, but you did accompany your father when he went, needing an escape from the city once in a while. An escape from a life that was slowly becoming too real.

Your uncle is currently halfway across the country, so you know you’d be alone at the cabin. You glance at your laptop over your shoulder – you have three days off in front of you before your next class on Monday. Indeed, the Friday class is pre-recorded and to watch online in your free time, and you figure you can always watch it some other time.

So you turn towards Choi San, almost surprised that he’s real and he’s still sitting in front of you, honey skin cut open on his ribs.

“I might know a place where you can go,” you admit, with a small voice, surprising both you and him. Because you doubt he expects you to want to help, after tonight.

“What?” he asks.

“My uncle’s cabin,” you remind him, because you’ve told him about it all those years ago. “He should have all that I need to stitch you up.”

San looks down at himself. “You’ve just cut my shirt open.”

It sounds a little dumbfounded, and you can’t help the nervous laugh that falls from your mouth. Because even though it doesn’t look too deep, the wound still is terrifying in and of itself.

“I’ll bandage it,” you whisper. “Before we go.”

He seems like he ponders for a time. You watch the debate across his features, his eyes falling to a spot on your chin. He looks sad, troubled and defeated. “I can’t… I can’t do this to you.”

You ignore his words, carefully washing his side. You avoid the cut and try to be as gentle as you can, but his muscles still flex as he clenches his fists from the pain.

He’s strong. That much hasn’t changed. Because he doesn’t make any sound as you finish washing him and then patch him up with those same careful hands. And when you move to his face, cleaning the blood, his eyes flutter shut, and he sighs softly.

He looks so much like he looked then that your heart aches, and you find yourself blinking away tears for this man who’s had it so rough he believed joining a gang would save him.

“I should have come to you before,” he murmurs. “You’re much gentler than Hongjoong.”

You don’t know the guy he mentioned, and you don’t feel like asking. Don’t feel like acknowledging his words, so you just finish with his cheek before stepping away from the peaceful aura that was treacherously pulling you in.

Like all those years ago, you reckon.

“Let me make a call,” you say, turning away from him as you move to the counter. You feel the weight of his eyes between your shoulder blades as you get your phone from next to your laptop. You call your boss, and as someone that’s never called in sick before, you feel anxiety flush through you.

Because you’re not sick. And how could you tell him that you need to take care of your ex-boyfriend of eight years ago?

Seokhyun picks up on the first ring, voice groggy with sleep when he mutters, “Hello?”

“Boss,” you greet him. You scrape your throat and spare a look towards San who’s watching you curiously. “An emergency came up, and I have to leave the diner.” You swallow the lump in your throat that’s formed from lying, and then you add, “There haven’t been any customers all night, so I was wondering… would you be comfortable with me closing for the rest of the night?”

Your boss says your name, a little reproachfully. But then he sighs, because he knows just as well as you what a good employee you’ve always been. “Are you going to be able to come in tomorrow night?” he asks.

You pull at dry skin on your bottom lip, assessing San’s state. You could always come back to the city for work…

“You know what, I know you’ve got that big exam coming up,” your boss says, sighing into the phone. “Why don’t you take the next week off so you can take care of your emergency and focus on your studies?”

If Seokhyun wasn’t a fifty-three year old married and father of three children man, you think you’d ask him to marry you right now.

“That would be really helpful,” you tell him, gratitude dripping from your voice. “Are you sure that won’t be a problem for the diner?”

“The diner won’t lose profit if it closes for three nights in the week,” he points out. “I’ll see if I can get you replaced for the evening shift on Sunday.”

You thank him again as he grumbles that it’s nothing. He wishes you good luck, and when the line goes silent, you finally meet San’s gaze again.

“All sorted out,” you tell him, offering him a nod. “Let me just close the diner, and then we can go.”

He nods, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. He observes you as you do so, quickly closing the diner like you’ve done about a hundred times before, though this time you’re far more excited to go. You grab a plastic bag to put away the bloody swabs, and though he groans in pain, San gets up to help you clean the blood that stained the cheap leather of the booth.

Soon enough, you’re ready to go, and you walk outside with the plastic bag in one hand and your backpack on your shoulders as San chuckles, looking down at himself.

“Do you have a shirt for me?” he asks as he follows you out.

You lock the door behind you before glancing at him. He’s quite the sight, naked from the waist up and bandaged like he is, and you can’t help the small chuckle you let out as you glance towards your car, that’s luckily parked right in front.

Though it’s a deadbeat car, you trust it enough to know it’ll make the trip to your uncle’s cabin, even in the middle of the night.

“My ex left some sweaters on the back seat,” you admit as you unlock your car doors and open the trunk to put your backpack and the plastic bag in there. There’s no chance in hell you’ll leave a plastic bag full of bloody swabs near your work.

You see San nod from the periphery of your vision, and then he’s opening the door to the backseat. “Your ex, huh?” he mutters as he grabs a sweater you used to love wearing and that you haven’t convinced yourself to give back to Hyunmin.

He carefully puts it on, and you’re pretty sure just the motion is going to make blood seep through the bandage. Somehow, you don’t care that it might stain Hyunmin’s sweater.

Hyunmin was a cheater, and even though you never really loved him, it took you months before you found the strength to break up with him. Needless to say, he doesn’t deserve his clothes back.

“Yeah,” you flatly say as you move towards the driver’s seat. You sit, and San follows you, naturally, as if you’ve done it a thousand times before.

As you turn the keys in the engine, San asks, “Have you dated a lot?”

You bristle at the question, shooting him an embarrassed look. “Have you?”

“No,” he replies, features fully serious.

You purse your lips, focusing on the road as you start driving. You need to put gas in the car if you want to get to your uncle’s cabin, so you make your way towards the closest one. It takes you a moment before you register how San has stiffened next to you.

“Can we…” he trails off, and he sinks in the seat, trying to hide. “I can’t be seen here.”

You immediately press on the accelerator, and your car speeds down the street as you pass in front of the gas station. You glance at San only when you’re stopped at a red light. He’s pulled the hood of the sweater over his features, and he’s doing his best to hide.

“Where can we stop?” you ask.

“Next town over,” he answers. “I just can’t be seen in Bangtan territory.”

Right. You have no knowledge of how the gangs have divided your city, but you’re not surprised Bangtan has this part of town. It’s the industrial area, and you assume there’s a lot of money to be made around here.

“Sounds good,” you gently say, and then you’re driving again, the light turning green, allowing you to speed away into the night.

You drive silently all the way to the next town, watching your city disappear to be replaced by trees until buildings reappear. San is looking outside the window, and you can’t help but wonder how he’s been doing, truly. How he managed to get injured like he is right now, and mostly, if his dreams of running away still occupy his thoughts.

He had begged you, the evening you had broken up with him. Told you he’d make enough money to be able to move with you across the country and build yourself a nice little life over there. You had wanted to believe him for so long, until your parents had opened your eyes on just how he was trying to make money.

“Do you need anything?” you ask as you finally reach the gas station, pulling into the driveway. You park next to a pump, turning to face him only to find him already watching you.

“I don’t have money to pay for food,” he admits. He shuts his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I lost my wallet in the… altercation.”

You gently put a hand on his forearm. “Hey, my treat. We have to eat.”

He inhales deeply, letting out the breath slowly, before he nods. “Alright. I owe you.”

You reckon he’ll owe you for a lot more than just food at a gas station, but you choose not to say it. Not when you feel like someone’s watching over your shoulder, watching you drive away in the night with the person they are looking for.

You know it’s paranoia. No one followed you out of the city and into this town. It just feels too strange to have him here, with you. In your car, on the way to your uncle’s cabin, as if eight years have gone out the window. As if you can still be young and innocent.

It’s stupid, because you can’t. Time has changed him; time has changed you. And in just a few years you’ll be a doctor, and you’ll finally get out of this hellhole of a city, of its dangerous streets.

Of its equally dangerous man, that you know could probably pull you back in with one of his many well-crafted lies, one of the dreams he weaved expertly, whispering it into your ear.

You take a deep breath before getting out of the car. You go into the station, grab snacks for the next few days and then head to the counter. The guy behind nods as you approach, and you pay for the food and for gas before wishing him a good night and returning outside. San is still squatting in the car, clearly trying to hide, and you put the food on the backseat before putting gas in.

You watch his profile as you put gas in the car. Back when you were dating, his features weren’t as sharp, as glass-cutting as they now are. He used to sport a rounder face, but today you wonder if you’d get a papercut on his jaw. You wouldn’t even be surprised.

When you’re done with gas, you sit back next to him, and you quickly bring the engine back to life before pulling out in the street. As soon as you exit the city, darkness falls on the two of you, tall trees standing on the two sides of the road again. San doesn’t speak much, and it doesn’t take you long to realize he’s dozing off next to you.

“Hey, everything okay?” you ask, suddenly worried that he might have lost too much blood. Which, you reckon, you should have thought about earlier.

He sighs, glancing towards you. “Just tired.”

“Don’t…” you trail off. “Don’t fall asleep.”

He chuckles. “You’re afraid I’m going to die on you?”

“Choi San,” you warn. “Don’t you dare say stuff like that.”

He smiles, but you reckon he’s a little pale. Or at least you think he is, in the silver light of the moon up above. “I think I’m fine. Just…” He offers you a weak smile, though you’ve returned your attention on the winding road. “Just exhausted. I haven’t slept in three days.”

Worry clutches your heart, and you nibble at some dry skin on your bottom lip. “What’s been going on?”

He slightly shrugs. “I can’t tell you. I don’t want to put you in danger…”

“Am I not already in danger by just helping you?”

The silence is telling enough. And it remains for a while until San finally speaks.

“I was in a gunfight a week ago. Accidentally shot the youngest member of the other gang. He didn’t make it, and the gang has put a bounty on my head. Ateez took my gun and told me to run; I laughed in their face and said I wasn’t a coward. Then I got attacked by two guys with knives earlier, and I made it to the diner because I had nowhere else to go.”

Now the silence is deafening, heavy, and you think you’ve altogether stopped breathing. You’re struck with an image of San in the summer sun, smiling wide as he put a flower behind your ear, claiming you were the most beautiful girl he had ever met. The contrast with who he is now – a product of night, shrouded in darkness with no hint of that smile on his lips – is stark. And you wonder when’s the last time he has seen the sun, when’s the last time his life wasn’t violence like this.

When you say nothing, he scoffs, resting his head against the window as if it’d allow him to escape. Because clearly he wants to escape – he’s just told you that he’s killed someone after all.

And you don’t know what to say. Don’t know how to react to someone confessing murder. All you can do is stare at the street ahead, hoping you won’t end up in a gunfight with San. Because where would that lead you, other than in the dramatics of death?

You don’t speak for the rest of the ride. You don’t think he sleeps either, and dawn is clinging to the far horizon when you get to your uncle’s cabin, in a secluded forest that seems straight out of a fairytale. Instead of bringing you awe like it usually does, the sight of it makes you think of all the murder mysteries you had been obsessed with when you were younger, before you realized how horrible the real world truly is.

Neither of you move, as you turn off the engine of the car, and you fall into even more of a tensed silence, though this time you can hear the chirping of the early birds. It’s peaceful, so peaceful you can barely even grasp how tangible the presence of San is next to you. The presence of his actions too, looming between the two of you like a sword of Damocles.

You move first. Putting a hand on the knob, hoping to escape the heaviness into the dawn. San speaks before you can though, and your heart stops in your chest.

“I never meant for him to get hurt,” he murmurs, and you think he’s speaking to himself more than to you. “Everything went too fast, my gun was in my hand and I just… in situations like these, you don’t have time to think.” He leans his head against the headrest, eyes closing. “All I can picture since it’s happened is him falling and blood. Like a fucking blossoming rose, all around him.” He rests his closed fist on his forehead, rubbing it hard. “I haven’t been able to sleep; I’ve been sick every time I’ve tried to eat…”

“San,” you interrupt as you break and break for him. Because this is the San you know. This is the young boy that just wanted to escape and live in a better world. You can almost taste his remorse, taste his regret and shame. It’s poisonous, treacherous, a slippery slope that can’t lead anywhere good. “Let’s get you in. I want to get that cut on your ribs checked.”

He falls silent, and for a moment you feel guilty. Because what if he had more to say? You don’t even think you would have been able to listen. You need the escape, and you know he’ll permit it. Because the man next to you is a broken man, a fracture of what he could have been.

You step out of the car, blinking away tears – from the anxiety, from the exhaustion, and perhaps even from the pain you feel for him. He follows you, wincing as he swings his legs out of the car. He stumbles a little as he stands, but soon enough, he grows steady on his feet, and his attention moves to you. You climb the stairs of the cabin, lifting the rug to find the small trap that leads to the spare key. The padlock is rusted, but it stands strong as you put in the code, and a click is heard when you pull on it.

A few seconds later, you’ve unlocked the front door, pushing it open to reveal the cabin as you remember it. Not a single item is out of place, though dust covers everything, a clear indication that no one has been here in years. You let San in, before going back to the car to get the food you bought, bringing it in and putting it in the fridge. Three full gas canisters hide under the counter, and you sigh in relief – you’ll be able to get the generator on for some electricity.

You motion to the kitchen table. “Have a seat,” you tell San, who somehow looks like a lost puppy. “I’ll get the first aid kit.”

He nods, remaining silent, eyes downcast. You only move when he’s seated, heading to the bathroom area of the cabin, where you startle a spider that almost makes you scream out loud. You keep it in, heart beating out of your chest as you get the kit before moving back into the main area.

San is leaning against the chair, eyes closed. He senses you approaching, and one of his eyes cracks open to watch you carefully, a little like he did earlier, at the diner. It looks so similar to how he used to look at you, when you joined him at the field, that you stop in your tracks, heart squeezing once again.

You don’t like the way Choi San is making you feel, that’s for sure.

“Take off the sweater,” you tell him, putting the kit down on the table. You put some clean linen next to it, to put what you need over it, before washing your hands with the disinfectant you find in the kit. You put latex gloves on after, and then you fish wire and a surgical needle from the first aid kit that you carefully put down on the linen once you’ve torn the packages open.

As you were doing all of that, San took off the shirt, struggling a little as it meant he had to lift his right arm, which pulled at the skin of his ribs, where the cut clearly has started bleeding again. Though, if you’re honest to yourself, you’re pretty sure he’s been bleeding this whole time, even though it probably was just some fine rivulets.

Indeed, the cut isn’t all that deep, you remind yourself. Mostly because you don’t want to even think about the consequences of the blood loss. As long as he stays awake, you figure he’s fine – he would have lost consciousness a while ago if he was losing a lot of blood.

You remove the bandage you had carefully put in place earlier, wincing at the sight of the blood that’s seeped through it. San keeps his eyes close, lets you clean his skin again in peace, and you feel sick to your stomach as you realize you don’t have any anesthetics for the pain that stitching him up will cause. Indeed, the pocket in which your uncle usually leaves the lidocaine is empty, and you remember that he’s had to use it for your dad when he accidentally cut himself with a machete last summer.

“Huh,” you let out. You chuckle nervously. “It’s going to hurt like a bitch.”

His eyes narrow, and he clenches his jaw. “Don’t worry about it.”

You worry at your bottom lip, holding his gaze as you gauge if he’s serious. When his gaze doesn’t falter, you offer him a curt nod, before getting the wire and needle ready under his watchful eyes.

You hand him some linen. “To bite on,” you explain as he just cocks an eyebrow quizzically. That makes his gaze widen a little as if he’s just now realizing how serious you were about it hurting, but he takes it nonetheless.

You think about the theory of how to stitch someone up. It was in your previous block – you watched hours of videos of it in an attempt to desensitize yourself to it. You don’t think it compares to the real thing, but at least you’re somehow confident of what you’re doing when you start.

San startles, groaning in pain, and you offer him a glare. “Don’t move, or it’ll be worse.”

A drop of sweat rolls down his temple, but he still nods. Even as you keep on stitching him, he remains as still as he physically can, though you don’t think he even notices how he’s trembling. Or maybe that’s you – you don’t even know.

Somehow, you make it through the whole thing. You think San might have passed out at some point, but he’s wide awake when you finish the knot to keep the stitches in place, looking up to meet his face.

He’s panting and tears of pain wet his waterline. He blinks them away as he takes the linen out of his mouth, dropping it on the table.

“Fuck,” he curses.

“Let me…” you trail off, mind set on getting something to at least help him cool off, because he’s clearly been heating up.

You grab a washcloth and a small bucket, and head outside to walk down to the lake. You fill the bucket halfway, and take a few seconds to observe the calm surrounding you, hoping that it can ease the nerves rolling inside your heart like dark clouds do on the horizon whenever a storm is coming. You feel it in your bones – you have a murderer in your uncle’s cabin.

You have to keep that in mind. To not let Choi San in like you did when you were a young impressionable teenager.

You sigh, closing your eyes to breathe in the fresh morning air. The sun is peaking over the horizon now, and you bask in its hesitant rays for all of twenty seconds before you convince yourself to go back in. You’ve got a patient to take care of, after all.

San hasn’t moved an inch while you were outside. The only indication that he hasn’t died on you is the groan he lets out as you put the wet washcloth on his forehead. You tap his cheek gently, as if to say, ‘suck it up, I’m just trying to take care of you’.

Which is exactly what you’re doing, isn’t it?

You watch him carefully for a few seconds before tapping his shoulder this time around.

“There’s a bed,” you remind him. “You’d be better passing out in a bed.”

He groans again, cracking an eye open. “I’ve just been repeatedly poked with a needle,” he drawls. “Give me a second.”

It makes you laugh. Because of the nerves, maybe. You’re not quite sure. All you know is that you’re laughing, and San opens his second eye to look at you as if you’re crazy. And you laugh for longer than you should – you’re exhausted after all, especially considering you haven’t slept since yesterday morning. So far, adrenaline has been keeping you going, but you can tell you’re about to crash.

“Sorry,” you apologize once you calm down. “This has just been…”

“A lot,” San finishes for you. “I know.”

You nod once before glancing at the doorway to the bedroom. It has no door, as your uncle and your dad usually come here alone and they don’t mind sharing a bed. It makes you realize that you’ll have to share it with San, which you reckon you should have thought about before. Because there’s no way in hell you’ll share a bed with him, especially after he’s told you why he’s being hunted.

There’s always the option of going into town later today so you can get a sleeping bag and floor mat to sleep on. But you’re far too tired right now to even consider driving, so you motion to the bed once again.

“Stick to your side; I’ll stick to mine.”

He smirks though he’s extremely pale. A lot paler than he was before, and you swallow a sudden lump in your throat. Because what if he dies? What are you supposed to do with him if he dies?

“You’ll have to help me to get to the bed ‘cause I don’t think I can move,” he says once his smirk dies. He curses under his breath. “I’m so pathetic.”

You put your hand on his shoulder again, reassuringly, eyes holding his. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re hurt. Everyone is pathetic when they’re hurt.”

He gulps before nodding once. It takes everything in you not to offer him more comfort because you feel like the slope would tilt forwards far too much if you did. Instead, you help him to get up, wincing as he puts most of his weight on you, clutching his side with one hand. You’re infinitely aware of how his skin is sticky with sweat, but you ignore it as you slowly walk to the bedroom.

You can only hope the stitches will hold because you don’t think he’d be able to withstand another round of them.

You finally reach the bedroom and help San sit on the side of the bed. He sighs, eyes shut tightly, and he doesn’t move for a time. When he does, it’s to stiffly lie down on his side.

“You might want to sleep on your back,” you inform him. “I don’t want you rolling around and messing up the stitches.”

He glares at you, though he looks like he’s already half out of it. You hold his gaze until he gives in, turning on his back with a deep sigh. You arrange pillows around him to make sure he’s not moving, and by the time you’re done, his breathing has already evened out.

For a moment, you just watch him sleep. You see him in the field where young love blossomed like a trillion wildflowers. You can almost breathe his pollen again, can almost feel the softness of his skin under your fingertips.

But he’s not what he used to be. Back then, you felt like you had discovered something new. Love, infatuation, affection, and desire, all in the form of the man sleeping next to you. You’d used to kiss, dance and sing to a song only your souls knew, and now you don’t think you recognize him anymore.

As much as he is him, he’s also but just the ghost of what he was. He’s trouble, danger in the shape of innocence, and you recall his words from earlier. You recall the despair, the regret and sorrow that haunted him after he told you. You can’t let him get to your head.

You reckon sleep might help. Though you’re afraid he’s going to waste away in his sleep, so you set up an alarm every hour, before climbing on the other side of the bed. You don’t pull on the covers, mostly because the cabin is warm, and you can imagine it’s just going to get hotter as the sun goes up and the summer heat slowly sizzles into the countryside.

It’s a good thing you put an alarm on. Because when it rings an hour later, you don’t even remember falling asleep. You’re pretty sure the second your head touched the mattress, you were out to the land of dreams. You groan, mostly because you’ve got a slight headache, but you power through it to make sure San is still breathing.

When you see his chest moving up and down steadily, you let yourself fall back asleep.

This goes on for the whole morning, and you only force yourself to stay up when your phone shows that it’s passed noon. As you had suspected earlier, the cabin has gotten extremely warm, so you force yourself out of bed to open all the windows, and then you use the washcloth from earlier to gently wash San’s face of the sweat.

He doesn’t even flinch in his sleep, but he’s still breathing and for now, that’s all that matters.

You head back to the main room, grabbing a pack of chips from where you had left the food earlier, and then you move outside to sit by the lake. Mostly because you need to put distance between you and San, but also just because the childhood memories of this place have you in their hold, and they’ve decided to make you miss the times when you’d swim around with your cousins before both of them had moved out of town.

One day, it’s going to be you too. You already know where you’d go – on the other side of the country, as far away from here as possible. You just want to forget all about the place you grew up in, and you know that, in a few years, you will have forgotten.

Though you’re pretty sure a certain piercing gaze will haunt you forever, especially after the events of today.

When another hour passes, you head back inside, putting the empty bag of chips in the trash before you check up on San. He’s still asleep, but this time he doesn’t look as pale as he did earlier. You assume it’s going to take him a while before he wakes, so you head to the nearest town to grab more food. Mostly to busy yourself, but also just because you know San will need a place to hide for a lot longer than just the weekend. Might as well make sure you have enough for him to survive a couple of days. In town, you also stop to eat at a small café on a small terrasse in the shade of a few trees, and then you grab the food you think you might need at the grocery store.

It’s the middle of the afternoon when you get back, realizing that you forgot to buy a floor mat. As you spy San, who hasn’t moved an inch since he’s fallen asleep, you figure that sleeping next to him tonight should be fine.

As long as his presence in your vicinity doesn’t drag you down memory lane again.

You bought some meat in town, so you head to the little shack outside where the generator is hiding. There’s a gas canister right next to it – also full – and you busy yourself for the next twenty minutes trying to figure out how to get it started. When it finally rumbles to life, you head back inside to put the meat in the fridge, which has finally come to life.

When you hear a groan, you quickly jog to San’s side, fully expecting to find him awake. Surprisingly, he’s still asleep, and you stay next to him for a full minute, thinking he might groan again, though he remains entirely silent.

If it wasn’t for his chest moving up and down steadily, you’d believe him to be dead. But now that a few hours have passed, you’re pretty positive he’ll make it, though he’s probably going to sleep through the day and possibly through the next one too.

Which leaves you in the most peaceful atmosphere you’ve been in for a while, with the opportunity to study as you listen to the rush of wind in the leaves of the tall trees surrounding the cabin. You sit outside, this time near the fireplace, and you study until your stomach grumbles, indicating that it is time for you to cook.

You cook the meat you’ve bought on the grill outside, feeling thankful that your dad once showed you how to use it. You go back in to grab a bottle of water before you eat, and you’re bent in the fridge when you hear San moan again, and this time it sounds like he’s saying something.

You gently close the fridge, making your way to the bedroom. San hasn’t moved, but his features are creased in a frown, and sweat is rolling down his temples. You wet the washcloth, gently wipe his face, and you’re about to leave when he moans again.

It takes you far too long to realize he’s apologizing. What for, you can’t really tell. Though you remember his troubled eyes this morning, you remember his story, and your heart breaks in your chest.

He’s haunted. You think the ghost of the dead guy will probably haunt him for the rest of his life. And suddenly you’re struck thinking maybe, maybe if you hadn’t broken his heart all those years ago, you could have saved him from the gang.

Maybe you could have opened his eyes.

You still remember the break-up like it was yesterday. You remember the rain, him leaving without once looking back, but mostly you remember the words you had uttered. Ghosts of their own, that feel more real now that he’s come back into your life.

*****

“You’re going to get hurt!” you yelled. “You’ll get hurt, San. What are you thinking?”

He scoffed, shaking his head, and little droplets of water shot all around him. “I’ll be careful. We need the money if we ever want to make it out of this shit town.”

You blinked away tears, folding your arms on your chest as you tried to keep your heart from breaking. Though you reckoned it had broken when your parents had told you what they knew about San. When your father had mentioned Ateez, and you’d truly realized what it meant that he was part of a gang. San, your sweet, soft, and bubbly San, in a gang that had murdered someone just a few weeks ago.

“But that’s not a way to make money!” you screamed, hoping he’d understand. Hoping he’d hear the truth in your words, hoping he’d change his mind before it was too late. “Why don’t you get a part-time job, like me? Then we can go to college and get jobs in a nice city on the other side of the country!”

“It won’t work,” he drawled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I want to be out soon, not in a few years. I barely even have a roof over my head, Y/n…”

“Come live with me,” you choked out around the lump in your throat.

You both knew fully well that your parents would never let him come near you again.

“I can’t.”

You cried, hiding your face in your hands. You cried thinking of the field where you usually met, thinking about its beauty now fading into ugliness. You thought about the wildflowers, withered and dead as autumn had come. You thought about how you were convinced you knew what love was.

“What’s the point?” you asked then. “What’s the point of putting your life in danger? Life isn’t some sort of a game, Choi San. Worse, what if you have to hurt someone? Do you think you’ll be able to pull the trigger?”

He clenched his jaw, hard. “Do me a favour and stop asking questions.”

You closed your eyes, feeling sick to your stomach. Because it couldn’t be. Not San. Not your smiley San, who’d always weave dandelions crowns with you, as you’d pretend you were a queen and a king of that field you had found. An empty field, an abandoned farmland that was just yours and his to explore. That had been home to your first kiss, and all of those that had followed.

Now you wondered why he had always wanted to meet there in the first place. Was he trying to hide?

"If you love me, you’ll get out while you still can,” you said as your tears suddenly ended.

There was a weird sense of clarity in you, suddenly. You remembered the day you had fallen in love, the moment you had first kissed. You remembered the stars in the sky above, the meteors falling for the two of you. You remembered the music on the radio you had brought. Some Arctic Monkeys song about heartbreak, about moving on and failing to do so. As a joke, when it had ended, you had asked San, “Do you think love is a laserquest?”

His answer had been cryptic, mysterious, things that had made you believe he was the one. “Maybe. Maybe it is, and I’ve shot you in the back while you weren’t looking. Maybe I’m that annoying player that won’t leave you alone.”

“I’ll never find you annoying,” you had replied.

But today, watching the rain rolling down his face like tears, you realized that maybe, maybe you should have seen the warning behind his words. Because this betrayal, it came like he had shot you in the back – you didn’t think you’d be able to recover from it.

The past dwindled away as San spoke again, reminding you of the question you had just asked him. “It’s not a question of love, Y/n. I do love you. But it’s a question of survival.”

You laughed, coldly, and then you said, “You know what? You’re full of shit.”

“Alright then. Do me a favour and tell me to go away.”

“Go away.”

A long silence had lingered between you, voided of that summer warmth that had you falling in love. Like a piece was missing from the contract of you loving him, and him loving you. And you realized, maybe you had never really loved each other anyway.

He nodded once when you didn’t say anything else, before turning away. And you watched him walk away. You watched him thinking he was going to turn around and tell you this was just some twisted joke, the prank of the century. Only, he never turned around, and he disappeared behind the bend in the road, never to be seen again, cracking your heart open and splitting it in half.

*****

The sun sets, like an ending to a dream. You’ve always liked the end – you think if you could choose, you’d want to witness the end of the world. The nostalgia, the beauty of endings… it’s something you understand now that you didn’t understand when you were younger. Because you and San ending, it had led to you focusing on high school. It had allowed you to get in the good college in town, with a scholarship that covered most of your expenses before you made it to med school.

There’s beauty in knowing losing San has allowed you to live out your dreams.

There’s less beauty in knowing that San has been sleeping for almost thirty-four hours now. Last time you checked, he was still breathing, but you’re starting to be afraid that he just won’t wake up. It’s irrational, you know – after the blood loss it makes sense that he’d sleep for a long time.

But it leaves you with far too much time on your hands to think and revisit the past. You’ve been doing it all day – thinking about the fight with your parents that had led to your break-up with San, thinking about that damn rainy evening he had walked away without once looking back. Thinking of the field, of sunshine and star falls and the sweetness of a first kiss. Thinking that, then, you thought you knew what it was like to be in love.

You haven’t dated anyone serious since San. Hyunmin was a distraction for a while, but you never were into it. Not like you were into San. There’s a guy in your class though, that you’ve been chatting with for a couple of weeks. He’s sweet, innocent, and the perspective of a future seems less scary with him around. He’s mentioned he wants to move across the country once too, and since then you’ve started talking more, the similarity of your wishes drawing you closer.

All day today you’ve been feeling like you’re slowly drifting away though. Slowly getting entrapped in a web you’re not sure you’ll be able to walk away from.

You decide to swim, seeking the fresh clarity only cold water can bring to you. You don’t have a swimsuit with you, but since San is half-dead in bed you figure it doesn’t matter. So you strip naked, feet making squelching sounds in the mud by the lake side as you step in the water.

The sharp cold has you holding your breath, but you don’t slow down. You’ve never slowed down in life – when you make a decision, you bring it to completion. And you’ve decided to swim, so swim you will.

The warm summer evening breeze catches in your hair as you take another step forward, the water now lapping at your thighs. You dread the moment it’ll hit your core, knowing that that’s the worst part, but you breathe in deeply, moving forward. Because there’s no moving backwards now.

When the water hits, your eyes flutter shut, and you hold in the wince that threatens to escape the mask of calm your features hold. Soon enough, you get deep enough to swim, and the movements bring welcomed warmth to your limbs as you flop on your back, tits out of the water.

Your uncle’s cabin is the only cabin in a fifteen miles radius. You know you won’t be interrupted, and so you let the water cool you down. Calm you down, hold you in its fresh embrace. It undoes knots in your back that have formed from worrying about San, but also from worrying about college.

From worrying that you will never be enough. You think it’s a normal anxiety to have, something most people must feel as they go through the trials of college, not knowing what to expect on the other side. A nice career, perhaps, though the perspective of failure is there too, looming over the horizon.

You sigh, and your eyes flutter open as your legs move mindlessly under you, making sure to keep you afloat. You look up at the azury ceiling over your head, so far away as it slowly turns gold. Out of touch, out of grasp. You watch the fluffy white clouds that are lazily crossing the sky, turning fiery in the sunset, as if they have all the time in the universe. And you wish you were them, up above. With nothing to worry about.

Without a Choi San on the brink of death lying about twenty meters away from you. You sigh, and you turn in the water, with the purpose of swimming again. Though your gaze catches movement by the cabin, and your head snaps towards it to see none other than the supposedly Choi San, standing on the deck with a hand clutching his side.

You shriek, looking down at yourself. Most of you is hidden, but you don’t know how long he’s been there. Don’t know if he’s seen you naked as you looked up at the sky.

He doesn’t move, only watches you where you’re swimming.

“Can you please look away?” you say from the water, and he has the nerves to lean against the railing, eyes still boring into where you’re swimming. You think his gaze might be so hot the water will boil, and it startles you into action.

You start walking out of the water, pointing towards the door. “You shouldn’t be up, Choi San.”

“I feel fine,” he says as you take another step forward, and the water barely hides your tits anymore.

That makes him turn around, as he offers you a little bit of privacy. You’re quick to get out of the water and wrap yourself in the towel you brought outside, and then you collect your clothes to head back to the cabin. San dutifully keeps his gaze away until you’re climbing the three steps leading to the deck, and it’s then that his eyes trail to you again.

“Thank you for the water,” he says, offering you a tentative smile.

You left water by his bedside earlier today hoping it will coax him to wake up. You’re strangely surprised that it worked.

“You should go sit inside,” you scold him, only half-heartedly. Because seeing him up and about reassures you, somehow.

He cocks an eyebrow, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “The weather is beautiful, I’d rather sit outside.”

You roll your eyes, but you do let him walk down the stairs to sit by the fireplace while you go inside to take a quick shower and get dressed. You decide to make some food for him, though you know he shouldn’t eat too much right now, after not having eaten for a while. He has to start slowly, and you don’t even know if he’s hungry anyway.

You settle for preparing a cup of chicken noodle soup for him, so at least it isn’t too heavy on his stomach. You bring it to him outside, as he’s just calmly observing the lake.

“Thank you,” he says, voice small as he grabs the cup and the spoon.

You sit next to him, trying not to watch him eat too much. His hair is sticking to his forehead in some places, and you have the distinct thought that he’ll probably need to shower. At least there’s plenty of rain water in the bucket for the water pump.

“What have you been doing while I was out?” he asks.

You spare him a quick glance before losing your gaze in the rocks of the fireplace. “I’ve studied. Checked up on you. Not much honestly.”

He chuckles. “I’d argue that caring for someone is a lot.”

You glance at him, cheeks burning at the sight of his teasing smile. “Not really.”

He chuckles again, but doesn’t say anything more before eating another spoonful of soup. He’s almost done with the cup when he actually does speak, asking, “How long was I out?”

“A day and a half,” you answer. “I’m actually surprised you haven’t slept longer.”

You can hear the smirk in his voice when he says, “I’m made of tough stuff.”

You snicker, but you don’t say anything, just focusing on where you’re kicking at the dirt. When he’s done with the cup, he puts it down on the ground next to him, before sitting back in the chair. He stretches out his legs in front of him, sighing deeply.

“I still feel out of it,” he admits, and you meet his gaze.

“You can sleep more,” you tell him. “I’d just like to check on the…”

You don’t even have to finish your sentence. He immediately turns so his side is to you, and you have to admit you’ve done a perfectly good job with the stitches.

“So?” he asks.

“All good.” You pat his shoulder. “You can sit comfortably again.”

He’s smiling when he does so, and his gaze wanders to the lake once again. “I’m sorry I…” he trails off, and he chuckles softly. “I’m sorry I interrupted your little swim earlier.”

You have the decency to flush furiously red, and you shrug your shoulders. “No worries, I wasn’t expecting you to be up so soon.”

You fall in a comfortable silence, surprisingly so. Rare stars dot the darkening sky up above, and all that can be heard for a moment is the flap of a bird’s wing as it moves from branches to branches in the trees by the water. The breeze picks up as you watch the little bird, and the leaves dance, loudly so. You’d think it’d be deafening in the silence between you and him, but it’s strangely reassuring.

As if, after all, you found your way back to the field. Only this time it’s completely different, as if decades have passed between you. At least, that’s how it feels like.

You notice San has dozed off in the chair next to you when you were about to speak to him again. To ask him how he’s truly been, in the years between then and now. Hoping to avoid mentioning what led to him coming to you, yesterday, a whole eternity ago.

You watch him, heart aching in your chest. Aching to reach out and brush his hair away from his forehead, aching to heal the cut on his cheek with a gentle swipe of your fingers. If only medicine was so simple…

It seems the peace of the early evening wasn’t going to stay around, because you notice dark clouds rolling in the distance, streaks of lightning cutting through them. Slowly inching closer, menacingly so, and you gently wake San up with your hand on his wrist.

He startles awake, hand shooting to his waist, finding nothing there. It startles you, and you both stare at each other for a moment until you realize what he was looking for.

His gun.

“San…” you let out and he runs his hand through his hair, eyes falling shut as he breathes in and out raggedly.

“Sorry.”

“San, I’m so sorry.”

He doesn’t open his eyes, refuses to let you see the vulnerability you glimpsed behind his piercing gaze. Refuses to acknowledge that he’s terrified, deadly so.

“Let’s go in,” you tell him, softly. Because you’re afraid you’ll spook him, when he’s clearly been living in fear long enough. “There’s a storm coming.”

He nods, carefully getting up without sparing you a glance. He heads inside, hand clutching his side again, while you pick up the chicken noodle soup cup before following him.

You’ve refilled the generator before swimming, so you know it’s been charging the batteries for a while now. You don’t fear ending up in the dark with San, and there’s also always the option of using the lamps and candles your uncle always leave here in case of an emergency.

The storm doesn’t roll in until a little later. You’ve forced San to put a shirt on – mostly so your eyes would stop betraying you, dropping to his toned body whenever he talked to you. You’re currently sitting on the couch, and as the rain starts, hammering against the window behind you, you pull your legs to your chest, wrapping your arms comfortably around them.

“How hard do the storms hit here?” he asks, eyes trailed to the world outside.

You follow his gaze, right as wind picks up to make the water hit the window even harder, creating a cacophony that forces you to speak louder for him to hear. “Pretty hard.”

He nods, and he glances once at you. “Fun.”

You smile, because you’ve always liked storms. Have always found them electrifying, energizing.

“Do you remember when we used to go to the field when it rained?” San asks, taking you by surprise.

Making your heart clench so hard in your chest you have to take a wobbly breath in. If he notices he doesn’t say.

“We were always in that field,” you remind him. “No matter the weather.”

It’s his turn to smile fondly. “It got so pretty with all the wildflowers. But you were afraid of the bees.”

“Bees are scary!” You laugh, and he echoes it with a soft chuckle. “You’re the one that almost pissed yourself when we saw the rat.”

That makes him laugh, and he winces in pain clutching his side. “Gosh, is it supposed to keep on hurting like this?”

It douses your enthusiasm and your smile falls. “Well, it was a solid cut.”

His eyes get lost in the void as he takes on a wistful expression. “I’m surprised I didn’t die.”

You gulp, watching his profile carefully. “It wasn’t deep enough for that…” you trail off, even though you spent most of yesterday and today being convinced he’d die. “At least they didn’t… stab you.”

“They would have if… Wooyoung didn’t shoot.”

You remain silent, not knowing what to reply to that. San interprets that as discomfort, and he quickly adds, “He didn’t shoot them. Just… in the air. It attracted the police.”

You remember the cars zooming past the diner a lifetime ago, and you nod your head. “I heard.”

He seems surprised, and his gaze finally finds yours again. “You did?”

“Yeah.” You chuckle, a little awkwardly. “I hear a lot of shootings, in the diner.”

His eyes widen, mouth falling open cutely. “You do?”

You don’t know what he expected. The diner is right between Ateez and Bangtan territory, and as much as it is a safe space, it is also near enough to dangerous grounds, and you’ve heard plenty of shooting in your time working there.

“Always,” you admit. “It can get scary sometimes… but you also get used to it.”

He looks sad. Infinitely so, like a lost puppy. That’s when the first thunder hits, so sharp and sudden you startle. Not quite as much as San, who ducks, wincing in pain as he clutches his side.

“Shit,” he curses. “Sorry.”

“What’s wrong?” you ask, in time with another thunderclap, though this time it’s more of a rumble.

You watch his chest as he breathes in and out quickly. “Just… fuck.”

Now, concern grows in you, and you gently put a hand on his shoulder. “San…”

He meets your gaze, and there’s so much white in his it makes you think of a terrified prey. And then it clicks: he thought it was a gunshot.

“Hey,” you quickly say, moving closer to him. You’re on the side of the stitches, so you still keep a safe distance between the two of you, but you grab his hand nonetheless. “You’re okay.”

“Fuck,” is all he’s able to say.

“I promise, no one’s going to find you here.”

He remains silent this time around, eyes still boring into yours. You take that as a cue to continue, because you don’t want him to panic. You want his thoughts here, with you, and not miles away in a city he should have escaped from years ago. You wish he had, knowing the atrocities that he would have avoided.

Would he have escaped with you, had you stayed just a little longer?

“I killed someone,” he says, and you balk at the silver lining his gaze. “I fucking killed him.”

You don’t know how to help. All you can think to do is cup his cheek, right as he starts breathing even faster. “Breathe with me, San.”

He doesn’t say anything, but his eyes fall to your mouth. You make a good show of inhaling slowly, before exhaling even slower. It takes him a moment but he eventually follows your lead.

It breaks when there’s another sharp thunderclap, and he flinches, eyes shutting instinctively.

“Hey hey hey,” you say again, even more gentle, softer than before. You move even closer, and when a tear slips out of his closed eyes, you pull him into a hug, careful not to brush his side.

His head falls on your shoulder, and one of his arms wrap around your waist. A thunderclap later, he starts sobbing, fist balling the fabric of your shirt in his tight hold, and you let him do it. You let him hold onto you, hoping it’ll keep him here with you. Hoping it’ll keep him afloat during the storm that’s raging both outside and in his mind.

“It’s going to be okay,” you breathe, and you feel like you’re lying to him.

Because how can he ever be safe from the ghosts inside of his skull? The ghosts wandering the halls of him, tainting his soul with their presence?

“He’s never going to smile again,” San chokes out. “Everyone loved him. Even in Ateez… Jungkook was the best of us. The only one who had a shot at getting out of it.”

You don’t know how good he could have been, if he was a member of Bangtan. In your mind, you’d always seen Bangtan as the bad guys, mostly because they weren’t with San. Even when you had been struggling to evade that life, you’d still rooted for him.

It’s strange how you just realize that now, as you’re holding him while he breaks.

“You didn’t mean to kill him,” you remind San, still speaking with the calmest voice you can muster up. “You didn’t want to, San. You’re not a murderer.”

“I’m still a killer,” he says. He sounds angry, and you reckon he might be angry at himself. Might be consumed with his actions, dragged to hell before his time as his mind gets stuck replaying the events.

“Maybe,” you answer. “But,” you quickly add when he stiffens in your arms. “But you can spend the rest of your life making up for it. Repenting.”

He doesn’t respond right away, as he breaks some more, sobs rocking through him. You’ve never seen him like this, not even when you were younger and in love. It makes your gaze wet, yet you hold on strong for him. You keep your head held high, and you allow him to break in the safe haven that your arms represent.

Because to him, you’ve never been tainted. You’ve always been the ideal he was trying to pursue, albeit the wrong way.

“I don’t know how to repent,” he admits when he calms down. He turns his head, and his nose brushes along the skin of your neck, slightly tickling you. You ignore the feeling, especially as he adds, “Ateez… it’s all I’ve ever known.”

You run a hand on his back, soothingly. “It isn’t.”

Because there was you, too. There was the summer field and the twinkling stars and Artic Monkeys on the radio. There was the two of you, petal-soft kisses exchanged in the dead of night and in the brightness of day. There were rainy days, and then there was rain. There was him walking away, and you hate yourself then.

You wish you had stopped him that day, had kept him from going on to become what he’s become now. A person he clearly hates, someone that has a bounty on his head. Someone that doesn’t even believe they’re allowed redemption and you reckon you don’t even know if he is.

You only know that seeing him break is bending your will, the way the wind outside is bending the trees. All you can hope is that, like the tall trees, you won’t break.

*****

The storm calmed down sometime around midnight. San ended up falling asleep on the couch, as you’d reassuringly ran your hand through his hair, trying to keep him with you. Though you think he’s been slipping through your fingers, into his demons.

You’ll find a way to bring him back. You have to. Turns out it comes faster than you think, as the electricity runs out and you busy yourself with lighting some candles throughout the main room. When you’re done, you put a blanket over him, and you almost let out a startled scream as his eyes shot open.

“Hello,” you say, resting a hand on your heart to tame the wild beats.

You’re about to move away, but he grabs your hand, forcing you to sit next to him. You don’t really resist, though you think you probably should. You’re weak – weaker still when he murmurs your name.

“San,” you whisper in return, and you’re aware your voice carries too much longing. Longing for a past when life’s atrocities hadn’t changed either of you yet.

“I’m so sorry,” he apologizes, and a tear rolls on his cheek.

You dry it, fingers lingering there. “It’s okay.”

“Angel…”

The nickname brings you back to laser quests and favours and warmth creeping up your stomach for the first time in your life.

“I’m no angel,” you breathe.

“You saved me.”

You hold his gaze. There’s something hiding behind his pupils. The need, to forget. You don’t think you have the ability to run his mind through amnesia, but still you brush his cheek again.

“You deserved saving.”

His eyes glaze once more, though this time no tears fall. “It’s hard to believe it.”

“Do you still believe love is a laser quest?” you ask him, out of the blue.

As if you’re a line straight of that Arctic Monkeys song you listened to the first time you kissed.

“Maybe,” he says, a parallel to that first time you had asked the question. “Maybe it is.”

You can’t resist. You lean down, and you press the gentlest kiss on his lips. His are dry, but the way he sighs with you against him is soft, for your heart and for your mind, and you kiss him again. He lets you lead, follows the dance of your lips, lets you run your hand through his sweaty hair.

Even if you shouldn’t. Even if you know everything you’re doing right now is a mistake, you still find yourself deepening the kiss, opening your lips to slip your tongue out, teasing his mouth. One of his hands finds your thigh, and he squeezes ever so slightly as his tongue finds yours, and you let out a breathy sound.

When you pull away, eyes fluttering open, you find San’s gaze. You think about the boy he was then, the girl you were then. You think about who you were, together. And when he says, “Please make me forget”, you lean again, capturing his mouth in a languid kiss.

For a reason unknown, the summer sky and falling stars pale in comparison to this kiss. Maybe because it holds longing, nostalgia. Hope that life would have turned out differently. For a moment, you picture what it would have been like, without Ateez. With you and him in the field, in your family house, in a car driving by the beach, windows down as the sun sets and you sing along to the radio, wind blowing in your hair.

You see a whole life there, with you and him marrying in the field, under the sun that had been the host of your first love. You imagine growing up by his side, attending college with him in the big city. You imagine how he would have become the owner of his own construction company, like his dad before him. You picture kids laughing, running around the house he would have built for you. You see Christmas light, late nights antics by the firelight.

You see it all, and you know you’ll never have any of it. But if you can have tonight, then you’ll grab it before it slips through your fingers. Before he walks away in the rain again, only to be a memory you cherish in the deepest corners of your heart.

“How?” you ask him when you pull away.

Mostly, you’re asking how to make him forget. But you’re also asking how it is that the feelings are still there, even stronger now, as if they’ve grown up with you, yet haven’t changed like you have. Like they are a constant of an ever-changing universe.

“Kiss me again,” he asks, begs, and you give in. You kiss him wildly, always making sure not to touch his side and the stitches.

You know sex would be a stupid idea, especially with the fresh stitches. But also because he’s barely had time to recover. But he doesn’t really give you a choice, pulling you on top of him until you’re straddling him.

You sit back on him for a second, eyes trailing to the spot where you know the stitches are. “This isn’t a good idea,” you whisper through the ragged breaths caused by the ministrations of his mouth on yours and of yours on his.

“I’m fine,” he says, and you know you shouldn’t believe him. But when he pulls you down again, large hand holding the nape of your neck firmly so you don’t escape, you want to believe him.

Want to believe the beauty of his lies, like you had when you were younger.

From where you’re perched, you can feel the start of his erection pressing against you, and you moan softly in the kiss, rolling your hips. His mouth falls open, and you capture his tongue, sucking on it once before you pull away, leaving hot kisses on his jaw.

“Sit on my face,” he says, and he sounds out of his mind. Crazed, a little like you too feel at the moment.

“What?”

“Can’t get hurt if you sit on my face, angel,” he explains, and then hisses when you suck a hickey on his neck.

You let him pull your shirt off, unclasping your bra yourself as you sit back on his lap. He cups your breasts, rolling your erect nipples between his thumbs and indexes. You moan again, grinding your hips into his, and he hisses once more.

“You want to taste me?” you ask, head throwing back as he pinches your nipples hard.

“I’d fuck you, but you’re the doctor. Can’t risk fucking up my stitches, huh?” he replies, voice low and husky.

Your core heats up, pussy clenching around nothing. This is a side of him you’ve never seen, though you spy desperation beneath it. Like he thinks he doesn’t have forever, when it comes to you.

He’s right. Because tomorrow, you’ll have to go back into town, into the hellscape you call home. What will be left of the two of you then?

So when he tugs at your pants, you give in and get up, taking off your pants and panties in one swift motion. You step out of them, blood heating up by the way he’s looking at you through half-lidded eyes, gaze burning on you.

You have half a thought that you could probably ride him instead of his face, but when you see his pink tongue darting out to wet his lips, making them glisten in the candlelight, you need to know what it’ll feel like against you.

So you straddle his face as he guides you down, large hands pushing on your thighs until your pussy is a hairsbreadth away from his lips. He blows on it, and your eyes shut with sensitivity. You clutch the cushion of the couch, hoping it’ll help steady you, but the moment his tongue flicks at your clit, you realize nothing will be able to steady you. Yet you still hold onto it, especially as he dives his tongue between your folds, lapping up your juice. He moans in contentment, before moving to your clit again. And his tongue is wicked down there, like it knows exactly what you like.

You grab a handful of his hair, grinding into his face. You’re pretty sure he’s chuckling down there, and then he unleashes himself. Sucking hard, alternating circling motions to teasing you with his teeth. You’d expect the latter to hurt, but the way he does it just makes you see stars, and your pussy clenches around nothing again.

San is deadly good with his mouth. Both with crafting lies and pulling moans out of you, and your thighs tighten against his face as he sucks particularly hard, before dipping his tongue inside of you. His nose brushes your clit, and then he forces you to properly sit on him.

The way his tongue moves inside of you, lapping up your juices while opening you up, has you on the brink of an orgasm in no time. Especially as he makes you grind again, holding you tight into place. When one of his hands moves from around your thigh to reach your clit, you cry out, head throwing back.

He’s quick to rub at your sensitive clit, and you grab one of your breasts, massaging it mindlessly before you pinch your nipple, hard, right in time with a skilled swipe of his tongue. Your orgasm meets you there, shaking through you as it explodes in a blinding flash of light. You moan, loudly, something that resembles his name, and he keeps you going, guides you through your high until you cringe with oversensitivity.

Only then does he let you climb off from his face. You stand on wobbly legs, before deciding to sit next to him, and you catch sight of the smirk on his lips. It makes you blush, right as you realize what you’ve just done.

When you realize what kind of sinful activity he’s dragged you in, this time around.

“Gosh,” is all you manage to say.

He chuckles, clearly proud with himself. “That felt good?”

You worry at your bottom lip, eyes going down to the tent in his pants. You want to pleasure him too, to take him in your mouth and make him feel good, but he stops you with a hand wrapped around your wrist.

“Don’t.”

You still and you meet his gaze with slightly-widened eyes. “Why not?”

His features turn somber, haunted, and the heat of the moment passes so quickly you think it might have been a figment of your imagination.

Were you really riding his face just a moment ago?

“Please just lay next to me,” he says, barely even a whisper.

You don’t know a lot of men that would choose cuddling over getting a blowjob, but if that is what he wants, then you’ll give it to him. You lay next to him, glad that the injured side is closer to the couch. That way, you can cuddle up to him, resting your head on his shoulder while he wraps an arm around you.

“Angel,” he murmurs after a time. “You’re a fucking angel. I think you’re my salvation.”

You highly doubt you hold this kind of power, but you don’t want to tell him. Have never been good at weaving beautiful lies for him to believe.

“We should stay here,” he continues. “Forever.”

And you wish you could. Wish reality didn’t exist, didn’t call for you to go back to your regular life like you’ve never been here with him. But you know tomorrow exists, and you’ll have to leave.

“We should have stayed in the field,” you choose to answer. “Under the shooting stars.”

“I wished for a lifetime with you, then,” he admits. “I wished I’d never have to let you go.”

You’d wished for a similar thing, but life is far too cruel to allow a world of first loves.

“Why did you…” you trail off. The question has haunted your sleepless nights for a long time after the break-up. Even years later, you’d still think about it sometimes, wondering if nostalgia would choke you up. “Why did you decide to join the gang?”

He tenses next to you. But you start tracing a mindless circle on his chest, through the shirt, and it distracts him enough for him to reply. “I thought I didn’t have a choice.”

“Did you?”

His voice holds the weight of the world when he says, “I did. And I made the wrong one.”

You want to cry, but you’re older now. You’re not the teenager who thought she was going to die from losing him anymore. You know what living without Choi San is like, and as much as it hurts, you know that it’s doable.

“You made the one you believed was right,” you say carefully. “But I do wish you had made a different one.”

He holds you a little tighter, as if that will make it so tomorrow never comes. “Me too.”

There’s an eternity of flickering candlelight on the ceiling, of the circles you trace on his chest and of your breathings forming a melody. Outside, the wind has died down, and the world is silent except from an occasional cricket braving the world after the storm.

“Where will you go, once you graduate?” he asks, taking you by surprise.

Because he knows. It’s one of the few things that hasn’t changed.

“As far away from here as I can.”

“I hope you find peace, wherever you go,” he whispers. “I hope you forget all about how we grew up in a hellhole.”

Do you feel bad for saying it? Maybe. But you can’t help saying it anyway. “I will, San.”

And like that rainy day years ago, you think you can see him walk away.

*****

Seven years later

The winter sun is strangely bright, up above. You’d think it will warm you up, but the cold is relentless, violent, and it sneaks into your coat as you walk out of the hospital. You’ve just finished a thirty-hour shift, and you can’t wait to be home.

To take a shower and forget that you’ve lost a patient today.

But you’ve saved another. A young man, with a stab wound in his ribs that should have killed him. But you saved him, stabilized his condition to the point you don’t have to worry about him anymore. Which is the only reason why you’re allowing yourself to leave now.

You’re never able to leave until you know your patients are okay. It’s been that way since your first patient, in a cabin in the woods you’ve done your best to forget.

You’d let San stay, after that weekend. He had given you the number of one of his friends, so you could get some clothes for him, and you’d gone back the next weekend. Bringing him the clothes, making love to him under the moonlight as if that would change the ending.

The following week, you had gone back to find the cabin empty. He’d left a note behind.

I hope I can find you again, wherever you go.

You kept the note. It’s in your bedside table, back at home, in the nice apartment you’ve been able to rent for yourself with all the money you’ve been making now. Enough to pay back student loans from med school, enough to reassure you that never again will you struggle.

You’ve never seen San again after. He hasn’t found you, and you haven’t searched for him. Have only looked up his name a couple of times, in the months following his disappearing, scared you’d find out that he was found dead in a ditch. But his name never came up, and you wondered if he had managed to escape, if he had managed to find a place where Bangtan couldn’t reach him.

You found peace, on your side of the country. Life is kinder here, though it still holds the same atrocities. You wonder if it’s the novelty of the city, or maybe if you’ve just grown old enough to be able to withstand the bad that the world throws your way. It’s hard to tell – you haven’t kept contact with anyone from back home, except Jae-on.

Jae-on, who’s moved with you when you’ve decided to come here, like he said he would. Jae-on, who asked you to marry him in late October, and you said yes. The ring sits heavy on your finger, and you mindlessly play with it.

In another world, you would already be married to Choi San. Sometimes, you catch glimpses of that world – a piercing gaze in the morning, a smile and a kiss to your temple. Talks about angels, children screaming in happiness. In another world, you’d be pregnant again, waiting patiently to add another piece of you and him to this world.

It’s fun to think about, sometimes, but you’ve been good at forgetting. Like you told him you would – most times, you’ve forgotten all about Choi San.

But today, you had a patient that reminded you of him. So you allow yourself to feel, you allow yourself to think about that note tucked in the bottom drawer of your bedside table, hidden under the thick socks you never use.

You allow yourself to think about the cabin in the woods, about the field where you would have gotten married had you been in that picturesque world you like to imagine. You think about laser quests and first kiss and rainy days and meteors. You think about summer, about wildflowers and him.

You’re so lost in thought you miss your stop home, and you begrudgingly get out at the next one. You’re tired, and your hands are shaking as you pull your phone out of your tote bag, wanting to text Jae-on that you’re going to be home late because you missed your stop. You walk to the other side of the tracks, sighing when you see a five-minutes wait for the next subway.

At least the sun is high in the sky, even though it is dreadfully cold. You shiver, putting your phone back in your tote bag so you can hide your hands in your sleeves again, hoping it’ll preserve them from the cold.

In your exhaustion, you forgot your gloves back at the hospital, you realize. It’s strange that you only realize now, and you reckon you really need to sleep, because your brain isn’t even working right anymore.

You sigh, glancing at the display showing the time. Still four minutes to wait. You think at this rhythm you might freeze in your spot before the next subway comes. You try to hide your face in the lapel of your coat, but a movement on the other platform attracts your gaze.

A man is helping an older woman climb down the stairs. She’s speaking loudly, which might be what attracted your gaze in the first place. You follow them as they walk down the stairs, and then when the man turns towards you, you meet his piercing gaze.

He smiles, and you realize that maybe, all those years ago, he was not spinning lies to you after all.

☆☆☆☆☆

Gosh yeahhh rereading it had me ralize that it is a lot sadder than I remembered it to be. At least we got an open ending ... :') What did we think? Should I write about other groups more often? Let me know what you think! All rights reserved to @/oddinary4bts, 2023. Do not copy, repost or translate

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@btsborahaee

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ryescapades · 2 years ago

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angel baby | blue lock

— bllk boys as scenes/dialogues i’ve seen on tiktok

characters: isagi yoichi, bachira meguru, mikage reo, nagi seishiro, itoshi rin, barou shouei x gn! reader

genre/warning: fluff, swearings, a small mention of violence

a/n: repost bcs tumblr is being a lil btch to me :/ also ill put the read more thing later I PROMISE but for now i just wanna post this 😭 part 2 (sae, oliver, shidou, kaiser)

isagi where the two of you somehow, one way or another, went through a rather harsh argument that almost lead to a breakup but he moves to grab a hold on your hands and intertwine your fingers together, navy blue irises smouldering with determination as he looks at you in the eyes, “no. i will not give up on you. you’re worth it, y/n. you always have been. i don’t care how long it takes but i’m gonna learn how to devour love you the right way. i’m not going anywhere.”

bachira where he playfully challenges you to a staring contest, his bright amber eyes burning into your own. his gaze so intense yet so loving it makes your eyes shy away, breaking eye contact as heat rushes to every part of your body (especially your cheeks which do not go unnoticed by your beloved meguru). a small curl of a teasing smirk appears on his face as he uses a knuckle to guide your eyes back to him by hooking it under your chin, “what’s wrong, honey? you’re getting all shy on me now, hm?”

reo where you’re feeling restless on one particular night, eyes wide open and body refusing to rest as you toss and turn in your bed. you stare blankly at literally nothing when suddenly the sound of your phone ringing enters your ears. reaching over to grab your phone on the bedside table, you quickly slide your finger on the screen when you see who’s calling. “hello?” you start. “i knew it. you can’t sleep, can you, baby?” his voice, deep and soothing to your ears says. you sigh, he knows you so well it’s kinda scary. “yeah, well… its 3 am so shouldn’t you be sleeping, reo?” you mutter. “with you? yes.” he replies back.

nagi where you come to his football match like you always do to support him, eyes immediately gravitate towards the snowy haired striker on the field like a strong magnetic pull. his smoky dark eyes sweep over the seats until they fall on you, his face contorting to a conflicted one; eyebrows furrowed, mouth pulling into a slight pouty frown that he himself probably doesn’t realize. oh, right. you’re not wearing his jersey. you watch as he jogs over to where his team’s manager is standing while holding a bag that seemed to be his. digging into it, he pulls out a spare jersey with his number and name on it before walking over to you. huffing slightly, you ignore the stares of almost everyone in the stadium with a blush on your face as he helps you put the jersey on. slowly blinking his eyes like an affectionate cat, he kisses you on the cheek with a murmur of “now you look even cuter, pretty thing.”

rin where the two of you got invited to a party by a friend, and you decide to dress up a little more than usual. twirling yourself in front of the mirror, you catch the teal gaze belonging to a certain striker in the mirror. “what do you think?” you inquire. he doesn’t say anything, only opts to intensely stare at your figure before he approaches you. opening a drawer nearby, he pulls out some decorative pieces before wearing them on his lithe fingers. “rings?” you ask with a confused tilt of your head. he only nods at your outfit, “just feeling like i’ll be knocking out a few guys tonight.”

barou where you accidentally got yourself injured to the point you have to limp your way to places. leaning your weight on the wall beside you, you warily eye him as he turns his back to you and squats down. you chuckle nervously, "no, it's fine, shouei. i'm heavy anyways." after hearing your absolutely ridiculous statement, he glances back to give you the stinkiest glare known to mankind. "y/n, you're not even half my warm-up weight. now get your ass on my back right now."

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a-ikuoliver · 9 months ago

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you're finally being introduced to your girlfriend's friends, invited to a last minute party, any confidence melting from you when you see another girl clinging to her arm. ────no quirks

pairing: gender bend/masc lesbian bakugou x f!reader w/c: 6.7k (i need to be put down) warning/s: fauxcest (bakugou referred to as your step sister/sister), dubcon, bakugou is TOXIC, feminine/girly reader (she/her pronouns; wearing makeup; nails + a dress; long hair/out/on her face), reader referred to as a puppy (degradingly not petplay lmao), pet names (pretty + baby), emotional manipulation, cheating (on reader, implied to be with ochako but not overtly), alcohol + weed mention, reader a lillll bit of a crybaby, public/car sex, oral (r! receiving) notes: i have so many feelings about masc lesbian bkg *head in hands* um this is the most self indulgent thing i've ever written so this is my entry to @mechamedusa's self indulgence collab bc i really didn't need to make bakugou a lesbian on a power trip who treats you like a pet but who's going to stop me? NO ONE inspirations/acknowledgements: frat party playlist ; like a girl does ; soaked ; one of your girls + 10sim's art & @0301995 for always enabling me lmao

crossposted to ao3 • masterlist • wip updates & voting • kofi • askbox

fidgeting with your phone, you check the address once again, about the fourth time since you'd left home, the thumping bass worming its way through the walls to the courtyard enough to confirm it was the same party your girlfriend texted you to meet her at, reassured again seeing a group of boys crowding around something, loud whooping and cheering echoing when the tall redhead at the centre of the huddle landed the small ping pong ball in the final cup across the tabletop, the victor soaking in the cheers of his friends like he was an athlete in front of a stadium filled with screaming fans. with sweaty palms, you slid your phone away, your text to katsuki still reading delivered beneath it.

your fingers don't stay still for long, falling to the hem of your new dress, the one katsuki told you to wear when she'd sent you an invite. the hem sat at your mid-thigh, a little shorter than you usually went for, the long sleeves doing little to warm you from the cool night air, the lack of coverage everywhere else making you shiver while you made your way up to the front door.

checking your phone again, seeking the familiar sound of katsuki's text tone to soothe your nerves, your eyebrows pinched together in a small frown; the screen was still free of notifications, no reply from katsuki since she'd sent you the address hours earlier. with a soft sigh, you tucked it back away, pushing the door open. the music amplified tenfold when you stepped over the threshold, the beat making the ground beneath your feet vibrate and the walls shake, the vocals hardly legible over the sounds of speakers buzzing. tentatively, you closed the door behind you, taking a step toward the heart of the music, searching each room you walked past for the familiar blonde hair, finally spotting the spikes in the den towards the back of the large share house. your heart skips a beat in your chest at the sight of her seated on an outdated, soft dark green couch tucked in the far corner, her cropped shirt riding up on her abdomen when she leaned back, the white band of her bra poking out of the bottom, her legs lazily falling open, knocking knees with the black-haired boy beside her, her other knee nearly taking out the blond seated in front of her, his legs crossed on the floor, cradling a colourful glass bong between his thighs, the boy poking her thigh with a bright yellow lighter, not interrupting his conversation with a brunette girl just to tell your girlfriend to fuck off. an excited smile split across your face seeing her, wasting no more time, you excused yourself through the crowd separating you and your girlfriend, her eyes glinting predatorily in the low light of the lamp when they met yours.

katsuki looks you up and down, a pleased smile on her lips seeing your dress, dark eyes flick back up to your face, drinking you in. she thinks you look like a nervous puppy like this, obedient, bright, excitable but apprehensive, waiting for the order to speak, girl.

you raised your arm higher to wave to her, your anxiety melting away every second longer she looked at you, more teeth on display the closer you got to her. your movements caught the attention of the two boys with her, lazy, half-lidded eyes looking you up and down as you squeezed past the final person keeping you from your lover, the blond boy the first to speak, tilting his chin up without looking away from you, "this your newest fling, baku?"

your smile falters, your heart beating unevenly against your ribcage at the analytical look coming from the black-haired boy, hadn't she told them? she invited you to introduce yourself, didn't she? katsuki's expression hadn't changed from her minute smirk, no sign of the confusion you're sure is written all over your face, the only change being a lasting glance toward the girls the blond boy passed his bong to. brown and yellow eyes alike roam your features, everything about you is exactly katsuki's type, especially the cute, naive smile on your sparkly, glossy lips.

"huh? her?" she has a bored look on her face, vermillion eyes lazily falling from your face to inspect her chipped black nails while her friends dissected you, heavy gazes watching you fidget with the sleeve of your dress. her tone didn't leave much room for you to laugh it off, to introduce yourself properly, to smack her shoulder and whine that her joke wasn't funny.

your mouth goes dry hearing her suck her teeth, her head rolling on her shoulders like this interaction was exhausting her, languidly raising her hand to gesture to the dark-haired boy, then dropping to the blond, "sero, kaminari, meet my stepsister."

your blood rushes in your ears, drowning out her introduction, surely you misheard her?

"the old woman said i had to make her feel 'part of the family'." slender fingers make quotes in the air, her dark eyes flashing with something you couldn't place, almost amusement when they meet yours again. the blond, introduced as kaminari, climbs up off the ground, untangling his lanky limbs, arms stretching high above his head, chin at his shoulder while he cracks his neck, "so we gotta play nice?" he joked.

as if looking for guidance, or permission, you glance at katsuki, her chest rising and falling steadily, her heartbeat even under her skin a stark opposite to your deranged pulse. pulled from your thoughts by a shoulder bumping against your own playfully, kaminari held your trembling hand in his, "then we better get you a welcome drink!"

with his hold on your hand, you were whisked away before you could get another word in, stumbling through the path cleared by kaminari, dragging you hot on his heels toward the kitchen. steadying yourself, you spare a look back over your shoulder to stare back at your girlfriend, confusion and embarrassment painting your expression. a wave of anxiety washes over you, uncertainty twisting in your stomach, what did she want you to do? she didn't tell her friends she was kidding, and you were unwilling to disagree with her alone with kaminari, what if her friends just laugh off your claim?

maybe they were all high and they'd forget about it all by the next time you saw them. it was a bad joke, yes, but you'd get to try again another time.

your attention snaps back to the boys ahead of you, sero bringing you back down to earth with an arm plopped over your shoulders, boyish charm oozing from him, "what do you drink, gorgeous? you don't look like a cheap beer kinda girl."

your tense shoulders relaxed ever-so-slightly at his playful teasing, manicured fingers still fussing with your sleeves while you scanned the countertop littered with liquor and premix cans, spotting a bottle of confidence-boosting clear liquid, "vodka with raspberry soda? that's what i normally have."

your voice isn't as timid as you expected when you speak, your tone even, curious, albeit soft compared to the boisterous pair. your face warms when sero salutes you, a smile creeping its way back to your lips; he grabs a cup from the top of the stack in the centre of the counter, quickly mixes your requested drink, offering it to you after swirling it under his nose, muttering about its "bouquet".

his playfulness makes you giggle, finding easy comfort with him and kaminari.

"so you're bakugou's sister?" you choke on the chilled drink, body alight with embarrassment again, you'd nearly forgotten what katsuki had said, your gaze drops to the floor when you clear your throat. stiffly, you nodded, glancing over the rim of the cup to katsuki across the room, butterflies erupting in your twisted stomach when she winked at you. you really didn't want to make it awkward, claim you'd been dating her three months, you didn't want to see her upset with you, to storm out with you asking why you'd disagree with her, why you'd embarrass her in front of her friends. looking back at the pair, you nodded again, more certain, compelled to agree with katsuki.

"step, yeah, it's a boring story, though, i promise there's not a lot to say." you laugh, gulping down the last of your drink, wetting your dry mouth before changing the topic, wanting nothing more than to forget the spike of anxiety from katsuki's introduction, "what about you guys? how'd you three meet?"

falling back into the ease and comfort of chattering with them, you listened to sero and kaminari telling you all about their meeting in high school, stories of how crass she used to be, how smart she was, how they saved a room here for her after their first year in the share house, katsuki usurping kirishima's bed after many bar crawls; the image of your drunk, grumpy girlfriend kicking out the muscular six-foot-something guy had you in fits of laughter. apprehension melted from you the more you drank and laughed with the pair, your cheeks warm and aching after being with them for only fifteen minutes, your fingers almost permanently digging into kaminari's shirt to support you between giggles.

even with tears of joy in your eyes, you couldn't resist twisting around to check on katsuki, every atom in your body wanting her to join you, to wrap her arms around your hips and show you off, craving the way she'd toy with the hem of your dress, even wishing she would pinch at the soft skin of your thighs just to feel you squirm in her arms. instead when you spun around, the first thing you saw was the brunette girl, perched on the arm of the couch closest to katsuki, her pink-haired friend taking another hit from denki's bong beside them, oblivious to her friend leaning in front of your girlfriend to point at the newest piercing in her ear, her legs draped over katsuki's lap, even her slender fingers wrapping around the brunette's ankle to keep her steady. your eyes were glued to the couple, a morbid curiosity refusing to let you even blink while katsuki's cherry eyes idly traversed her body, her dress shorter and tighter than your own, your girlfriend's gaze was trained on her plush thighs, squishing together when she adjusted herself to tip closer again, blurred pink lips brushing against your girlfriend's earlobe as she spoke.

"you alright?" kaminari asks, you're slow to tear your eyes off katsuki, finally facing your new friends again with what you hope is a composed expression, "sorry?"

the boys snickered at the pitiful look on your face, your eyes almost cartoony with how big and sad they looked, "you look like a kicked puppy."

"c'mon, i'll get jirou to play untouched, you'll feel better." again, denki was tugging on your wrist, leaving you stumbling along behind hanta's confident navigation, the pair of them clearing a path ahead of you for you to stumble through. tripping over your own leg, you caught yourself with a hand at the back of denki's bicep, giggling at your sluggish clumsiness, your quick movements quickly making you realise how tipsy you really were, forgetting your worries about katsuki the longer you drank, laughed and danced with them, hanta returning just in time to pass you another icy cup, pulling you closer to dance.

"i love this song!" shouting far louder than necessary, hanta laughed with you, singing the lyrics along with you.

naturally, with your eyes half-closed in a smile, you scanned the crowds again for katsuki, your eyes automatically locking to the couch, your heartbeat spiking when you realised she'd moved, your slow eyes zeroing in on her in the next room by the time the next song had ended. she was lounging on the carpeted floor beside the same brunette girl as earlier, swirling a non-alcoholic beer around in her hand while the girl spoke animatedly. even as denki squeezed closer to you, his chest to your back while he danced, you studied your girlfriend, the edges of her body blurred, not missing the way her eyes raked over the girl's body, resting far too long on the low neckline while other people gathered in a circle around them; your attention piqued when the girl leaned over katsuki, taking the bottle from her grip and downing the remnants of the drink before placing it on the floor in front of the blonde.

hanta spun you around, his chest now to your back, his hands resting high on your hips, pulling your body in rhythm to the music blaring through the speakers scattered around, glancing up at him, you flashed a small smile, certain it was lopsided this far into the night.

"what are they doin' in there?"

"huh?"

blinking slowly, all your movements outside of his hold in slow motion, you peered back over your shoulder to stare at katsuki again, catching her staring back at you with a wicked glint in her eye before she turned her hungry gaze on the brunette crawling over her, leaning back on one hand with an arrogant air around her, the other snaking around the girls neck to drag her into a deep kiss, the pretty girl melting into it the moment their lips met.

squeaking, you snap your head back around, your embarrassment apparent on your face when you face denki again, his curious yellow eyes trained on your mouth open in shock. the wolf-whistling in the adjacent room catching his attention, his lips tugging up into a smirk, "don't tell me you wanna play that."

hanta chuckles, bloodshot eyes shining with a mix of curiosity and judgement, what kind of step-sister were you to want to join their game, and where could he find one?

laughing nervously, you shake your head, mumbling something that has denki leaning closer, his pierced ear coming in line with your mouth, "say again?"

"i wasn't expecting to see that…" you repeat as loud as you can muster, suddenly shy once more, denki's eyebrows furrow until he looks back over again, watching the same thing you had, your girlfriend and the other girl he recognised as katsuki's ex from high school, kneeling beside her, a delicate hand tangled in blonde spikes, the other squeezing, pawing at katsuki's hip, travelling down the outside of her thigh while their lips were locked together in a kiss far more sensual than ever necessary in a game of spin the bottle.

dazed, you couldn't speak, couldn't tear your eyes away, watching the shadows cast from eyelashes stretch across katsuki's high cheekbones, edges of her lips tugging into a smile in the kiss, even as your eyes blurred at the edges. unsure if it was the alcohol or tears, you shook your head in an attempt to clear your thoughts, to ground yourself again by focusing on hanta's hold on your hips and denki's soft shirt under your fingertips, too drunk to think straight, too drunk to think of anything but her.

inhibitions clouded, you gulp down whatever is left in your cup. determined to have a good night with katsuki, you spin back on your heel, stupidly excusing yourself to go make another drink. upside down on the sink you spot a shot glass, emblazoned with the logo of some random city you'd never been to, deciding it was good enough to pour vodka in, holding it in your hand while you scan the counter for the bottle, only finding dregs left in countless clear bottles. about to take a wobbly step back to the dancefloor, you were stopped in your tracks when you were face to face with your girlfriend again. well, your face to her back.

your throat closes seeing her on the stairs, stunned into silence watching her heavy black boots climb higher and higher up, the brunette already around the corner, all you could see of her were her fingers sliding through katsuki's belt loops, the belt hanging uselessly either side of her hands while she dragged your girlfriend closer. blinking dumbly, you catch one last glimpse of katsuki before she eagerly submits to the girl pulling her along, her frame disappearing behind the wall, and you even think you can hear a door slam and lock above you over the sound of the music.

stunned, you stand still, stuck in the same spot by the cluttered counter, staring at the landing at the top of the stairs katsuki had just disappeared behind, questioning yourself if that's even what you just saw, trying to convince yourself it wasn't, mentally counting the amount of vodka raspberries you'd had. before you could fall too far into your delusion, denki manifests beside you again, snatching a packet of chips tucked away at the top of the cupboard closest to you, "lookin' for your sister?"

your eyes are slow, your head turned toward him entirely before your eyes caught up, meeting his citrine irises, a polite smile pulling at the corners of your mouth, the rest of your smile tight. just as quickly as denki appeared, hanta did, slotting himself beside you, slinging his arm over your shoulder to offer you his cup. you eagerly accepted, taking it in two hands, finishing whatever mix of liquor was in it in one gulp.

"yeah, what's with the sad puppy dog eyes? we're not enough fun for you?" sero jokes, squeezing you closer, your face burning his skin through the fabric on his shoulder, their teasing, the alcohol and your anxiety making your face only grow warmer. you tried your hardest to laugh off their joking, to play into it, your mind clouded by the look on katsuki's face when she told her friends you were her sister, the look on her face when she watched you dance, the look she had kissing another girl, the look on her face being dragged up the stairs.

even after shaking your head, trying to jostle the invasive memories, all you could see was her face staring up from between the pretty brunette's thighs, red eyes sparkling in the moonlight cascading in through a window, dishevelled but still smug.

you're not quite sure how long has passed since you were dragged over to the couch, your eyes flicking back and forth between hanta, denki and the bottom of the staircase, occasionally distracted by their banter and body heat, your eyes drawn back to the flashing screen each time your shoulders and thighs bumped with theirs. they don't keep your attention for long, every sign of movement having your eyes snapping back to the staircase, hoping every hint of blonde was her. stuck in a loop, their jeering and impish jabs dragging your attention back to the screen long enough to see the blood red fatality light up the TV before you were again checking over your shoulder for katsuki, losing every match against one of your newfound friends before they grew bored of watching your character idle; denki whining nearly immediately when hanta takes the controller from your hands, "that's so unfair, han, i had more to smoke than you did."

with the two bickering like siblings, you gave into your compulsion once more, looking through your hair to the bottom of the stairs before watching the pairs rematch; doing a double take when at last, you spot katsuki sauntering down the wooden stairs.

her spiky hair was mussed, a tuft gathering at the centre as she pushed it off her face, her lips glittering under the lights with a sparkly pink gloss that you knew wasn't her own, the tip of her tongue smearing golden flecks over her bottom lip as her slender fingers hooked through her now empty belt loops, bringing your attention down to her dishevelled shirt and band of her boxers poking out of the top of her baggy pants. without even a second glance behind her for the brunette girl, katsuki beelines for your trio, the hem of her pants hanging over her shoes only adding to her self-assured aura, nothing like your own perfect outfit, meant to impress katsuki and her friends, emphasise your assets, now crumpled between two sets of thighs.

reaching your group, katsuki drops onto the couch beside denki, her legs taking up far more space than necessary as she squeezed between him and the arm, scarlet eyes shining as you squished further between the two, your arms pushing against your chest and pillowy thighs pressing closer together with the space getting smaller. sheepishly, you spare a glance at your girlfriend, her eyes glimmering with a strange look you can't place your finger on as you shift again, your hem rising further up your thighs the more you adjust your position, timid again around her as she lounged back on the couch, draping her arm around denki to brush her fingertips along the nape of your neck behind him.

as quickly as she touched you, you jumped forward, your cheeks burning hearing hanta's wolf whistling, busying yourself with pouring yourself one more drink, something to busy your hands as the pair began interrogating katsuki about what happened upstairs.

katsuki doesn't respond with a single word, her dishevelment, glossy smirk, and a picture she flashes them enough of an answer; her phone screen dimly displaying the cute girl she had gone upstairs with, now with her brown bob messily strewn over the pillow she laid on, fringe sticking to her forehead when she smiled up at the camera, holding up two fingers as she posed with her the top of her dress buttoned up unevenly.

you want to look closer, a morbid curiosity washing over you, simultaneously wishing katsuki would answer every question hanta and denki threw her way and wishing she had never even invited you to this party, never met her friends, never seen the look in her eyes as the girl tugged her upstairs. never met her.

you're standing before you even register your movements, stumbling a little on your feet as you stand, only just managing to steady yourself before spilling any of your drink. three pairs of eyes are trained on you, all of them curious, intrigued, denki is the only one to cringe away from you, worried you might vomit where you stood. gingerly, you spun back around to face the group, a shock of adrenaline sobering you when your glassy eyes locked on katsuki's mischievous ones.

"you wanna go, or somethin'?" her voice was rough, deep like it was when she spoke half asleep in the mornings at your place, shrouded in dim morning light with your fingers tangling in the shorter hair at the nape of her neck. again, you grew quiet, a heat swirling inside your stomach that didn't match the jealous upset circling your head.

your tinted lips part, but your wobbly voice stays stuck in your throat; looking back down to the dark timber floor, you nodded, glancing up at her through your eyelashes to see her bidding goodbye to the pair beside her with a boyish handshake and a slap on her back. coming to stand beside you, katsuki gestures towards her friends, an ash blonde eyebrow quirked in a silent command, speak, girl, only moving down the hallway for you to follow out when you mumble a quick goodbye, their names nearly running into one, "'snicemettingyou."

katsuki walks ahead, each confident step thumping against the flooring, her hands tucked deep into her pockets to search for her keys; you wanted desperately to reach for her hand, to loop your arm through hers and walk beside her instead of trailing behind her with wide eyes and a trembling lip. your need for her only grew as you stepped outside, the night air far cooler than the humidity, the air growing stale from too many cigs, vapes and bongs littered around the house.

"you need to stop poutin', baby." your heart swells at the pet name, desperate for a hint of affection after being denied the whole night. she's just a blurry figure ahead of you when you glance at her through your eyelashes, slowly beginning to clump together with unshed drunken tears stuck in your lash line. katsuki observes you over her shoulder, studying the way you wring your hands together, how your dress slowly rides up your thigh with every step, and how hard you're trying to blink your tears away, she especially pays attention to the way you wobble on your feet, tripping over a stray pebble at the edge of the pathway.

the blonde steadies you with a warm hand at your wrist, gently guiding you the rest of the way to her car, parked in her usual spot. finally, alone together again, katsuki was back to being the perfect girlfriend, keeping her hand firm at the small of your back, opening the back door to her car for you as the first tear broke free, sliding down your cheek, holding out her other hand to you to pull yourself into the backseat.

your eyes easily focus on your girlfriend still standing outside the car, the courtyard a mix of blurry colours and shapes, but her image clearer than ever, the shock of cold air and your tears making you feel far soberer than you did when you'd started playing video games with your newfound friends; you looked her up and down, sniffling a little when you locked eyes with her again, the dark of her pupil staring intently at you while she gets herself comfortable slotted between your legs still dangling out of her car.

you're even more focused on the scent of her pistachio caramel shampoo in the car, sucking in a deep breath of the night air to clear your mind when her hand settles at your thigh, the very tips of her painted fingers crawling under the hem of your dress. you're unsure if it's her touch or the weight of her gaze making you squirm, her fingers twitching on your plush thighs just to analyse your reaction, like you were a specimen, like she was dissecting through your brain tissue to read your thoughts.

they'd be boring, you think, everything was just an echo of her.

your bleary eyes dropped back down to your wringing hands, only watching katsuki from the corner of your eye, she looked… soft in the blurry corner of your eye, all unclear, soft planes, like you were looking at her through an unfocused camera, instead of her typical jagged, harsh spikes, even her eyes looked nearly adoring.

"what are you doin', baby? what're my friends gonna think if you keep gettin' jealous over me like that, huh?" her fingertips are so soft underneath your ear when she cradles your jaw, tracing gentle shapes while she reprimands you. her voice dropped lower, inching closer to you hidden in the dark, her mouth only a breath away from yours, pink lips could easily brush against yours if she just dipped her head, "you gotta behave around them, pretty, or they're gonna think you're some kinda pervert… you want that?"

you shake your head rapidly, your mouth opening to defend yourself, to tell her you wanted her friends to like you, you liked hanging out with them, your throat too tight to get anything more than a whine out, "oh, baby, it's alright, i know."

your chest blossoms with heat, your stomach burning like a heath set alight by her matchstick words, a single fat tear falling from your eyes to roll down your cheek, running down your neck until it was joined by another. katsuki catches your tears as they roll down your face, slowly swiping a thumb over your bottom lip, sucking her own between her teeth before closing the distance between you.

her lips pressed to yours felt euphoric, the feeling of her tongue licking the remaining salty, raspberry taste from your lips as close as you thought you'd get to heaven. katsuki deepens the kiss, parting your lips with her own, her hand on your jaw keeping you hard against her while her tongue slides against yours. the kisses between the two of you are always messy, charged, full of hot, wandering hands, sharp teeth, her raspberry-sweet tongue and a foreign-tasting lip gloss tacking your bottom lip to your chin.

you sigh into the kiss, a whiny, needy sound that you never made until her, your eyelashes tickling her face when you press your lips harder to hers, pouring every ounce of your love and affection into her through your connected lips. a perfect, manicured hand travelled up her chest to tangle in the blonde spikes at the base of her neck, an apprehensive tug at her hair tilted katsuki's head back, your kiss deepening with the practised movements; always starting slow and sensual before devolving into a mess of neediness, swollen lips, sharp teeth and insatiable tongues.

"you're the one i take home, though, aren't you?" katsuki rests her forehead against yours, her breath mixing with your heaving gasps, her deep garnet eyes flicking back and forth between your own, blown pupils staring back at her. adoration bloomed in your chest at her confession, nodding your head as much as you could against hers pressing hard to your own. you paw at the collar of her shirt, intoxicated by her proximity; her figure clouding your thoughts, the image of her towering over a brunette, smiling up at your girlfriend as you did, katsuki's hungry eyes devouring her when her head falls back and her spine arches, the girl's hands digging into the same spot on her abdomen you clung to when you came, their lips wet with each other's affection. glancing down to katsuki's clenched fist at your hip, gathering the fabric higher and higher, you cleared your mind of the girl, you were the one in her car, going home with her, you were the one katsuki was comforting, the one she'd take home and cook for, she'd have probably offered to wash your hair for you if you'd cried any longer.

"you want me?" she asks, revelling in the way you vigorously nod, 'want' nowhere near what you felt anymore, only increasingly more pathetically needy for her.

"do you want me?" you repeat her question between heaving breaths, a sweet sigh escaping you again when katsuki's lips find their place under your jaw, kissing, licking and nipping at the sensitive skin until your ankles cross behind her back and your head falls backwards with a whine. her grin is like saccharine against your skin, slender fingers topped with chipped polish trace the crease of your thigh, only pausing when she feels the heat at the peak of your thighs, "you need me to show you, pretty?"

her forefinger follows the seam down the centre of your panties, huffing out a laugh when your hips buck at her touch, your free hand finding hers under your skirt, manicured fingers gripping her wrist to guide her to your puffy clit, "huh? this is what got you so desperate?"

you don't answer her, can't answer her, your hips bucking off the cloth seats into her touch, scratching at her scalp with your nails, hoping the gentle bite of your manicure at her skin is enough to tell her you need her, need this, the comfort of her touch, her lips, her tongue, whatever it was she usually did when she made you forget how cold she was, to remind you how your heart raced beneath her.

"let me give you what you need," you're not certain you hear her entirely, the blood rushing in your ears drowning out her low voice when she drops down to one knee on the pavement outside her car, her hair looking nearly black in the dimness of the night when she disappears under your skirt; although you're certain you hear a chuckle when she snaps your cold, wet panties against your skin. katsuki sets your skin alight with every expert pinch at your trembling thighs, never giving you a chance to worry about the open courtyard her car was parked in, instead already getting you squealing and whining out her name in the sweet voice you saved just for her ears.

"katsuki–" she rewards your needy gasp of her name with an animalistic stare, her eyes bright even in the darkness watching you, her breath warming the seam of your panties, "people might see."

katsuki thinks you're like a little mouse when you whimper her name, not even trying to hide from her sharp, hawk-like gaze; a dumb field mouse, lying with your stomach exposed to her talons. her clouded eyes drop back to your drooling pussy right in front of her face, the peak of your thighs slick with what your panties couldn't catch, "i'll make it quick."

there wasn't another word whispered into the night when she finally gave you what you needed; pressing her lips to the junction between your thigh and your cunt, not even bothering to slide the panties you wore just for her down your legs, instead settling for holding it out of her way to expose your pussy to her ministrations, a sigh against your skin the only indication of your effect on her.

not wasting any more time, her tongue was at your cunt, your euphoric gasps drowning out katsuki's own moan at your taste, her tongue flat against you to taste as much of you as possible in a single wide lick to your clit. your jolt flicks a switch inside the blonde, her nose pressing so hard to your pubic bone it nearly hurts when her tongue swirls around your throbbing clit, her saliva mixing with your wetness, the mixture already starting to gather on her bottom lip, not bothering to catch the string of cum dripping from her lip to the backseat.

your grip on her hair never weakens, pulling and tugging whenever your hips rose to meet her tongue, muttering out a swear between breathless murmurs when her tongue flicks over the bunch of nerves, following your movements every time you try to escape the pleasure washing over you, simultaneously grinding onto her tongue like you needed more. you can feel her smile against your skin when she licks at the wetness dripping from your cunt, her tongue and lips sliding against your skin like a debased makeout session with your pussy.

not ignoring your clit for long, katsuki's lips drag up your skin to suck at your skin, your noises only getting louder and higher with every flick over it, your girlfriend insatiable, refusing to give in until your thighs were clamping around her skull, "uhnnn, please, 'tsuki, i need it."

you can't see her face under the skirt of your dress, but you can imagine the evil twinkle in her eye, the same ravenous shine pooling in the blood red whenever she got you begging, whenever she had you humping her face, your nails leaving parallel marks at the base of her neck.

"tell me what you need," her words run together in her desperation to get her lips wrapped back around your clit, her tongue still half hanging out of her mouth when she speaks. your mouth bobs open and closed dumbly, wracking your mind for a word other than please or katsuki.

"you know what i need–ah" you try, raising your hips again, whining again when she licks back down to your wet hole, dipping her tongue inside only enough to feel how you clenched your cunt around the muscle, "cum on my face, and i can take you home and give you everything, baby."

katsuki's voice is rough and deep and it breaks on the last syllable.

your eyes roll back in your skull at the broken pet name, your hair knotting against the cloth seats when you nod, a string of unfiltered babbling leaving your lips when her mouth closes back around your puffy clit, "please, 'ki, yeah, i-i think i'm gonna cum, i wanna cum, i need you to cum."

your long moan echoes through the car to your own ears, too blissed out to feel embarrassed at how ruined you sounded for her, too dazed to do anything but buck your hips at her groan vibrating against your soaking cunt, sticky with cum, saliva and glittery lip gloss.

your cheeks burn feeling her tug your panties back in place, fighting the urge to lock your legs around her head and shield yourself from the chill, the loss of her body pressed between your thighs making the damp spot on your panties feel even colder than it was, "c'mon, pretty, let's get you home."

the smile she flashes you when she climbs back to her feet is sweet, despite the point of her incisors shining under the moonlight making her look viscous, like a vampire ready to sweet talk her way to your jugular. you'd fall for it, you think to yourself, the girl beneath the harsh lines so sweet, sincere when you were alone with her, you'd be disarmed, too powerless to deny.

a loud holler at the back of the house reminds you where you are, your thighs snapping shut, your ears hot when katsuki laughs at your sudden bashfulness again, your hands flying to tug your skirt back down your thighs, shielding your exposed skin like she wasn't just kneeling, face to face with your drooling cunt. you finish adjusting where the hem brushes your pillowy thighs at the same time katsuki finishes brushing stray, crisp leaves from her knee with one hand, her other on yours, pulling you from the backseat, both of you as dishevelled as the other; lip gloss smeared over chins, matching tangled hair and slick thighs.

you stare at her like she hung the stars in the sky just for you when she opens the passenger door for you, deep vermillion studying the way your bottom lip tucks between your teeth at her sweetness, the way it did every time she did something like this to you, leaving you waiting on your front steps for an hour for her, whenever she cancelled a plan an hour before when she knew you'd already be getting dolled up, suggesting you both just play video games at her place instead of whatever nice date you'd planned. and yet, it ended with her lips and fingers slick with the tartness of your cum and you, staring up at her with lovesickness shining in your eyes, every time.

katsuki winks at you when she closes the passenger door with a soft thud, hardly loud enough to be heard over the party still raging nearby, the fact giving you some comfort in knowing your lover was the only one to hear your desperate whines and moans.

you track her movements around the car, unable to tear your eyes away from her sharp beauty, amplified even more so by her smile; all dangerous teeth and silver tongue on display, still watching her when she turns the key in the ignition. the engine vibrates and purrs with life, the headlights and radio flickering on with one last turn of the key in the ignition, "wanna put on our song, baby?"

reaching into the cup holder for her phone, the picture of her friends reminding you to ask her to tell her friends the truth about you, maybe tomorrow, not wanting to staunch the adoration pouring out from her. leaning close enough to smell her shampoo and perfume again, you queue your song, katsuki turning the volume knob with one hand, reaching her other arm behind your seat, shifting the car into reverse. effortlessly, she manoeuvres between the countless other cars, each of them parked wonkier and messier, most people pulling into any spare spot they could get.

excited for your and katsuki's song, you lean forward with your tongue bitten in concentration, attempting to press the small skip button beside the obsolete CD player embedded in the car, sluggishly bumping a button, the song skips back, a curse leaving your lips. still trying to press the correct button, you're oblivious to the flash of her phone screen, the illumination dim but clear, unmistakably the same contact photo your girlfriend showed off earlier lighting up the screen, only a pink heart as the contact name beneath it.

i can't wait to see you again x

© all works belong to @a-ikuoliver, @gwen0m, and dlirious on archive of our own, do not plagiarise, translate, repost, feed my works into ai or recommend my work on other platforms, or bind my fanworks for sale.

#katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugo smut #bakugou smut #lesbian bakugou #lesbian bakugo #lesbian bakugou katsuki #lesbian bakugo katsuki #lesbian katsuki bakugou #lesbian katsuki bakugo #livedeliciously🐐collab #「kat <3」#「mercury writes」

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pjisskullourful · 2 months ago

Text

𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓲𝓷𝓮𝓭 𝓼𝓱𝓮𝓮𝓽𝓼

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

🌼Damiano × reader

part 29 [series masterpost]

NSFW 🔥 filthy horny playtime for adults only

° Damiano David/female reader insert

wordcount:: 9,015

° request from my shopping star anon: I was doing some thinking on how to make a sexy situation without having to do it riskily/near other people right, then I saw THIS. Sex JENGA. Now, hear me out. [...] Write stuff on Jenga tiles, leave a few blank then mix them up. Make a tower without looking at the writing [...] it gets progressively sexy ;) and you gotta see how long you can last before it leads to hot desperate sex bc both are horny mfers who are being teased [requests are soo fucking open!][but commissions get priority- book one here]

° lyrics stolen from britney spears

You stirred awake as you rolled over in the bed, your eyes cracking open a little. Immediately something caught your interest - a bright rectangle beaming light directly onto your boyfriend's face. You moved closer to him, glancing up at the window to try to orientate yourself in this rented room. The world outside was still dark, in stark contrast to the phone Damiano was staring at.

You had to concentrate to regain your bearings, bringing the hours before you had fallen asleep back into focus. Christmas night - Damiano and his family had still been awake and enjoying their shared time together when you had retired for the night. You had been feeling sluggish after eating too much of the dinner Damiano and his mum had made. But the others had remained in the festive spirit, reminiscing and laughing.

There were no sounds coming from the other side of the shut door, leading you to believe that you had been asleep for many hours. You felt rested as you started to come into awareness more-and-more.

You got Damiano’s attention by resting your hand on his chest as you moved in closer. “What time is it?”

“Two.” He replied as he began to wrap an arm around you.

You paused from snuggling into his side, lifting your head as your eyebrows jumped up. “Why aren’t you asleep?”

“I don't know, I couldn't find any sheep.” He said.

You were perplexed, wondering if you hadn't heard him properly. You lifted your head from the pillow, turning your bleary eyes to the screen of his phone. The layout and colour scheme looked familiar, he was just playing Alchemy Stars, nothing out of the ordinary. You had never played the battling game yourself, but so far as you knew (and according to what he had mentioned in the past) there were no sheep included. What would their place be in the RPG?

“Sheep?” You asked.

He took his eyes off of the screen, looking at you with a little smile developing on his lips. “Yeah, there were no sheep for me to count, how could I possibly fall asleep?”

“Oh.” You said and you shook your head. “That kind of sheep. But aren't you tired, baby?”

He locked the screen and started to put his phone aside. “Well I thought I was…” He rolled over, facing you and you found a good reason to pull yourself further out of your slumber. “But then I've been laying here and just not falling asleep. I guess I'm not done with the day yet.”

You scooched in closer, the tip of your nose almost touching his. “Is there anything I can do to help you fall asleep?”

“Do you know where I can find some sheep?” He asked.

“I would definitely have to Google that.” You said.

He started to stroke the tips of his fingers against your cheek. “What if we were just awake together?”

“Okay.” You said with a smile.

There was a familiar kind of stirring inside of you as he moved to close the distance between the two of you with a kiss. His fingers continued to caress your cheek while his other arm slid around you. Your bare chest was brought to his body, feeling a warmth greater than the comfort of the blankets.

“You fell asleep pretty fast, huh?” He asked.

“Yeah, my tummy was all full and there were no other presents left for me to open, why would I stay awake?” You replied.

“I'm not surprised that you were asleep by the time I got up here. But I thought you might have stayed awake for a bit and spent some time thinking about your little assignment.” He said, the dim light from outside showing you his face.

You knew exactly what he was talking about, there was only one assignment. It was something he had thought up, it went along with a gift he had bought you. This was one of the gifts that you had opened in your room, a handful of items that there shouldn't be an audience for the unwrapping of, strictly for you and your boyfriend.

Sex Jenga - you didn't know how he had found this item. It was a version of the stacking game that came with modification stickers. There were blank rectangular stickers that you needed to write on before placing them on the individual pieces.

Your assignment was to plan the sexual prompts, each tile needed a different risque action. You weren't sure that you could come up with fifty-four sexy ideas. The instructions had come with some examples but you didn't like all of them.

“Honestly it didn't even cross my mind, ‘cause it's not like we're on the verge of playing it. We can't play it while we're in a house full of people.” You said.

“Actually we could, we would just have to play the quiet version.” He said.

“What, like right now?” You asked.

“Yeah, are you busy with something else?” He replied.

“Why don't we do the assignment together? And we do it lying down just like this? ‘Cause you might end up getting sleepy, in the process you could find those sheep.”

“Okay, if that's how you wanna do it.” He said.

“You're gonna be better at this than me because you're not half-asleep like me.” You said as you rolled over and started reaching out for your phone.

“It's not a competition, kitty. We're working on the same list.” He said. “I’m not expecting you to force yourself to stay awake. Look, put your head right here…” He patted his covered pectoral. “And you can drift off again if you need to.”

You relocated your head from the pillow to his chest, his closest arm draped around you. You kept your phone in your hand, triggering the screen to re-illuminate. “No, I think I’m probably more likely to stay awake now.”

“Great. Well, I have one rule…” He said before he paused, a thoughtful look on his face. “Actually, two rules.”

“Alright, what are they?” You asked.

“No pussy suggestions.” He said.

“What, so what am I supposed to do, just write cock worship for every block?” You asked, disbelieving.

“No, no, no.” He said, starting to laugh a little. “I meant no wimpy suggestions. You can make as many about pussy as you like. But it’s a dirty game, don’t give me a bunch of tame ideas. Don’t write something like kiss my neck, something like that should become: give me a hickey.”

You nodded as you opened a blank document on your phone. “Alright, I’ll only write stuff that I would do just in private, or Ethan’s backyard.”

“That’s the spirit.” He said. “The next rule is that we both get vetoes.”

“Great.”

“You will have five, and I get…” You looked up from your phone when he paused, and you found he was smiling more broadly as he watched for your reaction. “Ten.”

You were almost too surprised to contain yourself. “What?”

“Hey, I thought you didn’t want to make too much noise.” He playfully chastised you, squeezing you tighter momentarily.

“How is that fair?” You asked, making the effort to keep your voice low again.

“I’m the Daddy, I have extra responsibilities, therefore I’m entitled to extra benefits.” He said. “Do you see the fairness in that?”

You made a show of pouting. “Yeah, I guess.” You took your eyes away from his gloating face, looking back at your phone, with your thumbs poised for typing. “Can I put give a hickey on my list?”

“Sure, but don’t leave out that idea you had for cock worship.” He said.

“Well I just wasn’t sure what time limit to put on that. Obviously there needs to be one because you would be down for hours of that. But what’s too long and what’s too short?” You asked.

He nodded, looking more thoughtful again. “You’re right. Because this is about the tease, we don’t want to push it too far and have the game going for a ridiculously long time. Let’s say ten minutes is the absolute maximum- anything longer than that, we should just ditch the game and call it sex. How about nothing shorter than two minutes?”

“That sounds good.” You said, entering these parameters into your phone. “Sounds fair.”

Your list started to grow and you were feeling less sleepy by the second. You found that the ideas flowed once you tapped into the inspiration of thinking about these activities in relation to your boyfriend. You imagined things you would want to do to him, and the ideas began to multiply almost effortlessly.

But the trick was to not give the fantasy too much time. If you dedicated too much time to the image, then it could have an effect on you that went beyond mere distraction.

The beating of your heart got a little more noticeable. You squirmed even closer to Damiano and began caressing your foot against his leg.

Thinking about how things would feel could really get you going, which you needed to avoid. You didn’t want to get so turned on before the game had even begun (all of the blocks were still neatly packed away). He would surely take delight in teasing you over how quickly you got turned on.

He seemed pleased with your progress when you provided an update. He didn’t take issue with any of the prompts that you read out. He helped you determine how many cunt spanks. You weren’t surprised when he said your idea of cockwarming should have two stickers - one for five minutes, another for a ten minute stretch.

He shared some of his prompts with you. There was taking the other player’s underwear off and performing a short strip tease. He had included ice play, which you simply had to veto given the current season.

There were the occasional duplicates, both of you interested in the same idea. When it came time to combine your lists, you agreed to let some prompts show up on two stickers. Making out was the kind of thing you would happily do more than once.

The sky outside was still primarily dark when you finished the master list, despite the hours that had gone into the activity. He wasn't any closer to falling asleep. You didn't think you would be able to drift off again until your thoughts came to a satisfying conclusion.

You didn't discourage him when he got the box open and started to write on the provided stickers. You dressed yourself in your pyjamas and set off to get some water from the kitchen.

When you returned (shutting and locking the door behind you) it was to find him setting the tower up.

“Now you’re gonna know where each block is.” You stated. “The game is gonna go exactly how you want it to. Is this another one of your Daddy extra benefits?”

He added another level of blocks to his tower. “You are really over-estimating my memory.”

“You remember all of those song lyrics.” You said.

He made a face. “There are several compilations on the internet that would argue the truth of what you just said.” He carefully stacked three more tiles. “I shuffled them up as best I could and I’ve been adding them with the stickers facing down so that I’m not seeing where every exact block goes. I haven’t been trying to rig it, or whatever.”

“Okay.” You said, sitting down on the edge of the mattress so that you could watch him getting closer to a completed, seventy-five centimetre tall tower. You couldn’t see any of the stickers, giving his statement complete believability.

“Were there any signs of life out there?” He asked about his family member’s current activity.

“No, it seems like everyone is still tucked in.” You said.

“It’s almost as if they’re too far away to hear anything that we do in here.” He said.

“Yeah, yet.” You sarcastically responded, speaking quietly as you lifted your glass to your lips, having another drink.

“So what’s your final answer?” He asked. “Are we gonna play, or should I indulge the masculine urge to destroy something five seconds after completing it?”

“No, don’t destroy it. We can play.” You said and you moved to join him on the floor, sitting opposite him, the tower between you. “Let’s see if there is a quiet mode for this game.”

He depleted the scattered pile next to him by placing the final three blocks in their uniform spot at the top. Then he looked at you, wearing an encouraging smile. “I think you should go first, because it’s your gift.”

You considered the neat tower, with all of the stickers out of sight it looked like you were about to partake in a regular and innocent game. You had no idea what you were on the verge of uncovering. You reached without trepidation, your eyes set on a block at the side.

You got it free without any threats to the structural integrity of the rest of the tower. You turned the piece over and found his handwriting - the innocence of the game was immediately dispelled.

You licked your lips as you showed it to him, reading it. “Receive oral for two minutes.”

“Fuck yeah, starting with a bang.” He said.

You laid the tile carefully across the top, starting a new level. “Am I supposed to count or something to keep track of the time?” He kept a safe distance from the tower as he started to move toward you, crawling on all-fours. “Because I don’t know how specific I will be with that. If you’re giving it to me really great, I might forget what order the numbers should be in.”

“Aw, babygirl might get a bit dumb?” He asked. “It’s okay, we’ll use a phone timer, that can help us to not get so carried away, hm?”

“But not too loud.” You insisted.

He rolled his eyes as he stopped and fetched his phone from the pocket of his sweatpants. He began tapping his fingers across the screen. “It won't wake anybody up. I'll show you.”

He set the timer for a few seconds, the tone coming clearly through the speaker of his phone. He let it trill a handful of times before hitting the button to silence it. He looked at you as you waited. You listened as carefully as you could, ready to hear even the slightest stirring.

But it didn't come. The bedroom that the two of you were in was positioned the most separated from the other bedrooms. The noise from his phone couldn't carry the distance to his family members, it seemed.

“Okay? How about you tell me who's always right?” He asked, moving in to get so close to you.

You smiled, your cheeks heating as you let those paranoid thoughts go, no longer letting them slow you down. “Daddy is.”

“Mm-hmm.” He said, his nose bumping against yours before his eyes moved down. “Seeing that options about taking clothes off are still in play, I guess I'll just sneak these cute pants and panties down to your knees for only a minute.”

“Sounds good.” You said, changing your position so that you were resting on your knees.

You draped your arm around the back of his neck, stealing a kiss. He kept kissing you, not needing to look at what he was doing with his hands. He secured the waistband of your printed p.j bottoms and your panties in his grasp at the same time, taking them down together. You had altogether stopped trying to hear anything beyond this bedroom.

The home’s central heating kept you from feeling a terrible chill as he got these parts of your body uncovered. You moved, placing your ass down on the floor.

He considered you with a hungry look, before getting distracted by picking his phone up again. “Okay, two minutes.” He set the timer and put the phone aside, you put your eyes on him instead of paying any attention to the countdown. He bent down and moved his head between your thighs. But he spoke instead of letting you feel his mouth instantly. “Kitten, you’re- how long have you been wet?”

You huffed impatiently. “Don’t go wasting my minute with talking.” You began playing with his short hair as he brought his face right up to your pussy. “You’re on the clock, I’ll do the talking.”

He complied, letting you feel the swirl of his tongue at your entrance. He pushed it briefly inside before swiping up, setting your clitoris as his focus. Your eyes fluttered shut as you sank into this intensity. Your blood rushed into this area as he alternated between kissing and licking the hood.

“I guess that wetness has been building up.” You said as he continued at this dazzling massage. “When we were making the list, I was being a good girl and concentrating on the task Daddy set for me. And stuff like two minutes of sixty-nine isn’t an abstract concept. Thinking about all of it had an effect on me, I’m only human.”

Your fingers glided between his short strands of light hair. The persistent work of his tongue had you feeling the spread of an enticing heat beneath your skin.

Your legs started to feel like jelly when the sound of the timer reached your ears. You bit into your lower lip, feeling like you needed a bit of extra help to keep you from swearing. You couldn’t let him think that it was beyond you to take this teasing, not this early into the game.

You felt him move away and the timer was halted, but you kept your eyes shut. You took a pause before letting this moment end. You acknowledged the new feelings inside you, a different kind of energy rushing your veins. It wasn’t enough to intoxicate you, not yet.

“Alright, my turn.” He announced.

You opened your eyes, finding that he was facing the tower, with no interest in helping you fix the position of your pants. You covered yourself up again, your desires shrinking enough for you to concentrate on other things.

He picked out one of the tiles. “Give a sexy lap dance.”

“Ooh, very nice.” You said, keenly rubbing your hands together.

“You have to let me play music for this, just give me one song and I will play it extremely low.” He said as you got up, going back over to take a seat on the mattress. “It will be awkward if I try to do it without music.”

You kept to yourself your disagreement with him thinking that he could ever look awkward while doing a sexy dance. You just nodded as you got comfortable, legs dangling from the side of the bed. “Alright, one song.”

He got to his feet, his eyes down as he used his phone. You had some guesses for which song he was going to pick.

“It's going to be a fully-clothed sexy dance?” You asked. “‘Cause it's not the strip tease block, we haven't gotten to the clothes off bricks yet…”

“It's good, this way I know you'll be paying attention to my dance moves ‘cause you won't be distracted by looking at parts of my body.” He said, prompting you to roll your eyes.

The electronic beat started to play from his phone, softly, barely any louder than the two of you had been talking. You weren’t surprised when Britney Spears’ voice joined the music.

‘Hey, over there, please forgive me…’

He dropped the phone onto the bed beside you, freeing up his hands for the dance. He smiled, his lower lip held between his teeth as he shimmied his shoulders, stepping closer to you. He parted his legs so that he could stand directly in front of you, his legs on the outside of yours. He bent forward, at the same time grabbing the back of your head. He brought your face flush to the centre of his chest, shimmying as if he could motorboat you. This made you giggle as you played along, shaking your head.

‘Wanna whisper in your ear, make it clear, a little question…’

He propped one of his feet up on the bed, directly beside your ass so that his thighs could be spread even further. He started to roll his hips, a smooth and rhythmic thrusting into the air directly in front of you.

“Yeah Daddy, give me those Magic Mike moves.” You said, giggling less now.

He slightly pulled up the bottom of his shirt, letting you see the trail of hair that led down to his pubes. “I’m gonna do moves that make Magic Mike look like Basic Michael.”

‘...would you hold it against me?’

“I feel like they do a lot of shit like this…” He said as he put one of his hands on your shoulder to help support himself.

He stopped those smooth rolling of his hips, instead he jutted into your face, then back-and-forth. The thrusts had a more aggressive quality, as if he were demanding your attention, rather than just encouraging it.

With his crotch filling the majority of your vision, you couldn’t help noticing that beneath the fabric of his pants, you could see the movement of his cock. You could see the way the shaft bounced and swung, it greatly interested you.

“Yeah, they get stilted with their super-macho-ness.” You said.

‘I want more, wanna see it. So I’m asking you tonight…’

He quit doing his little impression so that he could spin around, putting his back to you. He bent forward, his hands going to his knees as he put an arch in his back. Then he started to bounce his elevated ass, going in time with the relentless beat as all of your attention was secured.

‘So if I said I want your body now, would you hold it against me?’

He backed up until he could place himself almost in your lap. This was when he threw his ass even higher into the air, making you giggle when it almost smacked into your face. He was undeterred, gyrating smoothly through this slightly slower part of the song, leading to the breakdown.

‘And show me how you work it out…’

He sat down on your lap, now grinding himself on your thighs. You felt the friction between you as he grinded back-and-forth, so close to you, but not lingering.

He picked up one of your hands by the wrist, putting it where he wanted it. He placed your open palm on his pectoral, then started to gradually guide it down over the material of his shirt. At the same time he was doing some body-rolls, all of his movements measured and sensual.

‘’Cause you feel like paradise and I need a vacation tonight…’

He was dragging your hand closer to his crotch, the rest of his body in constant motion. You wished you could be writhing with him, getting carried away.

But you were very aware of the time limit, refusing to let that slip from your mind, no matter how good he felt. You heard the music beginning to fade out and he slowed his movements before stopping altogether.

He stayed in your lap as he fetched his phone, stopping it from playing another song. You wrapped your arms around his middle and took your chance to give him some kisses on his neck.

“That was great. You can always hold your body against me.” You said.

He chuckled as he started to stand up. “Thank you. Maybe I’ll pull that tile again later and you can have an encore. Your turn, kitty.”

He knelt down next to the tower and you resumed your spot on the ground, your cheeks feeling a little warmer than before. You made a calculated move as you went for a new tile, nudging one out from the middle spot. You got it free, leaving the rest of the tower undisturbed.

“Receive five spanks.” You read aloud, when you looked up, you found him grinning widely.

He changed his position, taking his ass down to the ground. He crossed his legs in front of himself, patting his thighs. “Get across Daddy’s lap. Now, the fact that you’re still wearing pants should muffle the sounds of the actual spanks. But when it comes to the sounds that you might wanna make… I guess I’ll just have to put my hand over your mouth.”

“Good thing you’ve got a solution for everything.” You said, starting to move toward him.

He continued to smile until you turned so that he was no longer in your line of sight. You moved your body over his legs before you lowered yourself down. Your chest and tummy rested on him, and you arched your back. He reached around, placing his fingers over your lips, holding firm. Immediately you liked the way this felt, needing no control.

This was a position you would have been more than happy to stay in. Your heart was fluttering as you tried to prepare for the first strike, you were so excited.

Then his palm collided with your asscheek and your breathing halted. Warmth bloomed into the pit of your gut and you were certain there would be new moisture coming into your panties. If you had been totally alone, you would have moaned to show him how pleased you were. Instead you boosted your butt up higher for him.

You felt his hand near your ass but the sharp collision didn’t come, he had a question first. “Should I do five overall, or five spanks per cheek? So then we could have an even number…”

With his hand still firmly over your lips, you didn’t have much chance to respond. But it seemed he didn’t truly need your opinion because you were soon feeling the next spank.

The noise was muffled, the sharp and crisp snap replaced by a dull thud. But it felt just as effective as it always did. You could tell that he was putting so much of his strength into the strikes and you were certain that beneath the fabric your skin would be filling with rosy colour.

The third and fourth spanks were delivered to each cheek. Your eyes fluttered shut as you awaited the fifth spank. There was so much more you were craving. You wondered where the tile with pussy spanks written on it was in the tower.

He gave you another powerful slap, then seemed to stop. He was content with this odd number, letting out a contented sigh as he relaxed the hand that held your mouth.

“I’m very impressed by how quiet you kept yourself. I’m a little surprised, actually. Good work, baby.” He said.

You accepted that no further spanks were coming and started to move yourself out of his lap. You could feel that your heart was still racing a little as you braced yourself with your knees on the ground. “Thank you.”

He gave you a kiss that was over way too fast before he put his attention back on the Jenga stack. He picked out a new tile as you settled in the spot next to him.

He was getting up in the same second that he had added this tile to the top of the tower. He narrated as he grabbed the waistband of his pants. “Take your underwear off- finally we’re losing some fucking clothes in this game.”

You waited to start your next turn so that you could watch. He took the sweatpants off entirely, then pulled his briefs down. As soon as they were removed, he got the pants back on. You could give his cock a very brief, visual assessment before it was covered again. There wasn’t much stiffness to notice - you would have to remain patient for the time being.

You picked the next tile, finding the potential key to getting him erect. He was sitting next to you and you showed him the sticker as you read it. “Give a rim job for six minutes.”

His eyes instantly lit up. “I was hoping that one would come up before the tower got knocked over. Do you want me to get on the bed, or I’ll just lie down where I am?”

You placed the tile at the top of the stack. “If you’re comfortable here, you can stay as is.”

“Easy.” He said and he grabbed his phone before starting to move. He repositioned until he could get his chest down to the floor. He laid down mostly flat, taking a moment to bring his pants down, exposing his ass for you. He got the material around his knees, giving you access only to what you needed.

You got yourself down, lying some of your body over his legs. You braced yourself with a hand on each buttcheek as you bowed your head lower. You gently eased the cheeks apart, revealing his hole. It was a pleasing sight and you were ready to focus all of your passion on this target.

You began by spitting onto it, your aim ensuring it landed practically perfectly. This made him immediately flinch, his head raising.

“Oh! I was gonna ask you to tell me when you were ready for the timer to start.” He said.

You considered telling him that you were indeed ready. Instead you showed him, applying your tongue to his hole. You moved it up-and-down across his opening, spreading your saliva further in this intimate crevice.

“Alright, it’s set.” He told you.

You warmed the area some more by guiding your tongue up-and-down a couple more times. Then you trained the tip of your tongue to his hole, swirling it around repeatedly, appreciating the taste and texture of this natural ring.

You held his cheeks firmly apart and started to see how much of your tongue you could get into this tight area. Beneath you, you felt the muscles in his legs tightening.

He let out a shaky exhale. “Eat that asshole up like you fuckin’ love it.”

You were so happy to know that you were having such an effect on him, it inspired you, making you want to see what other reactions you could draw out of him in this way. You sank your tongue in a little deeper and he lifted his hips from the ground, pushing more of his ass into your face.

You held his cheeks so firmly that your fingernails started to press into his supple skin. You curled your tongue up, taking it up to the roof of his hole. You began massaging this spot thoroughly, wanting to make him overcome by delighting tingles.

“Babygirl…” He whimpered, the tone of his voice brought butterflies into your tummy.

He reached back with one hand, grabbing for the back of your head. He didn’t need to worry about you retracting, you were having too much fun for that. The way his asshole fluttered keenly against your tongue was making you feel more-and-more proud of yourself.

You began to bob your head a little, giving him more motion to enjoy. He let out a low, happy hum in response to this progression. Your lips pushed against his hot and wet skin, then eased back. But you were soon going forward again, burying yourself into him so gladly.

“Fuck, you’re makin’ it real hard to care about this game.” He said. “I’m so tempted to cancel the timer and just let you play around with your tongue ‘til you find that g-spot and it gets fuckin’ impossible for me to not cum all over this carpet.”

You swirled your tongue inside of him, wanting to indicate to him that you were interested in continued exploration.

But the timer began to ring, interrupting you from going any further. Before you could follow through with your idea to just keep going, his hand left the back of your head. It was clear that he wanted to proceed with the game as he started to lower his hips back down toward the ground.

He laid flat as he noisily tried to catch his breath. “That got me… I was seein’ stars.”

You licked your lips as you sat up. You were feeling powerful, there was a swell of accomplishment inside of you.

“It’s your turn, Daddy.”

He sighed before slowly starting to make the moves to lift himself from the floor. He wiped a hand across his face, it sounded like he hadn’t yet fully caught his breath. Before his dick could be covered by his pants again, your keen eyes did another quick assessment. Now he was definitely hard, which made you feel even prouder.

Seemingly he didn’t want this to disrupt the game because he promptly pulled his pants up to their earlier position. As soon as his cock was tucked away, he put his attention back on the tower. You admired how his length stretched out the front of his pants for an extra moment, or two. You refocused when he began to read aloud.

“French kiss for four minutes.”

You instantly got closer to him, trailing your hand up his thigh. “But who makes it French?”

He added this new tile to the top of the steady stack. “You were just working your tongue, why don’t we give it a little rest?”

“Okay.” You agreed as he set the needed timer.

Then he turned to you, smiling as he brought his hands up to either side of your face. You were smiling as well, you could feel the tension that was between the two of you - you were so keen to break it.

Your mouths met, both of you holding your lips apart straight away. Lips quickly collided before you felt his tongue, moving forward without hesitation. At the same time his thumbs caressed your cheeks, which were filled with giddy heat.

Your hand was resting high up on his thigh and you were consumed by temptation, thinking about how you could easily escalate this situation. It was a little ridiculous how easy it would be.

But that would go against the point of the game. You knew that if you wanted to remain in a position where he would call you good girl, you couldn’t try to assume any control. If all he wanted to do was French kiss, then you wouldn’t do anything more.

You just caressed your fingers against his thigh, instead of reaching your hand any higher. You got your other hand further away from his dick by wrapping your arm around his middle.

The consistent massaging of his tongue against yours was wonderful, it was inviting you to surrender and just melt for him. Your sense of time passing got lost as you just enjoyed feeling so close to him.

You were just as unhappy to hear the trilling of his phone’s timer this time around. Maybe he was feeling something similar because he didn’t instantly conclude the kiss. He kept his mouth on yours as he took one of his hands off of your face. He retracted his tongue, changing his approach to cover your mouth with kisses. As you tried to match his speed, he silenced the ringing.

You were getting a little short on breath as he slowly brought an end to these kisses. He drew back after giving your lower lip a suck.

“Your turn, pet.” He said as you began to open your eyes.

You were reluctant to move away from him, but you did it. You hoped to pull a good block, something that would add to the intimacy.

“Grind on your partner’s ass for nine minutes.” You read before you looked at him, checking for his reaction.

“Saucy.” He said. “I figure we can both take our pants down so that it’s more fun than dry humping.”

“That sounds great.” You said, adding to the top of the Jenga stack.

You were getting excited by the thought of getting stimulation directly on your cunt. With his phone in hand, he laid down, flat on his chest again. He pushed his pants down to just above his knees and you did the same, taking your underwear down too (it was even damper than before).

“I’ll start the timer when I feel your pussy on my skin.” He said and you agreed.

Your head was rushing with anticipation. There was already a quiver in your cunt as you thought back to occasions of grinding on his thigh. With how much you were already turned on, you wondered if an orgasm could be secured, if the right technique was employed.

“What are the, like, rules? I don’t wanna do it wrong.” You said, holding yourself back from straddling him yet.

“There are no rules- well, just that you have to stop after nine minutes. But you can grind however you want, however feels best for you.” He said.

You licked your lips as you nodded. “Right.”

You lifted one of your legs, passing it over him as you shifted your body weight. You kept yourself balanced with your knees on the ground on either side of his hips.

“Oh yep, that’s a very wet pussy.” He said in response to you lowering yourself to sit on his butt. “You’ve been really enjoying our game, haven’t you kitten?”

You leaned forward, putting the pressure on a different part of your crotch. “Mm-hmm, it’s heaps of fun.”

You put your hands to your labia majora and eased them back, then you pushed your exposed clitoral hood onto his skin. It was immediately receptive to the pressure and you smiled, pleased by this beginning.

You could stimulate yourself even further by thrusting your hips, testing out how much you could move. The pleasure radiated out to more of your body, making you want to press harder. You put more of your strength into your motions, quickly rewarded and feeling like you wanted to melt even more.

“I said there was no wrong way to do this, but I think you've found the exact right way to do it.” He said. “Keep having heaps of fun for me, yeah?”

You rocked your hips faster and harder. “Yes, Daddy.”

You didn't care about the time limit, you had no interest in holding yourself back. Your thighs clenched against him as you rode the waves of pleasure higher.

When you got an idea you didn't pause, wasting time on consideration. You simply started to bounce yourself on his ass, creating quick collisions that had you feeling more sensitive. You couldn't help the quiet whines that came with this.

“Oh, are you a bunny now? Bouncing around back there.” He observed.

“It’s almost like when my Master spanks my clit. But not as good.” You said before another whimper slipped out of your mouth. “But it’s still very good.”

You switched back to grinding before you could tire yourself out too much. You enjoyed this more sustained pressure on your clitoral hood and the warm tingles it made you feel. You grabbed for a handful of his shirt as you kept dragging your clitoris back-and-forth across his skin.

“You’re practically painting on me with all that cum.” He said and it was true that his butt was getting quite slick in your claimed path. “I’m gonna make you clean your desperate mess off of me with your tongue.”

“I’ll do it.” You said immediately.

“Yeah, I know you will.” He said.

You felt his body tense beneath yours, but you were too concentrated on your own tempo to put thought into what he was doing.

But you started paying attention when he arched his back to push his ass more firmly into you. This was followed by him matching your rhythm. He rocked back into you, giving the activity on your clitoral hood even more impact. You could feel how it rattled you, deep down at your core where it was inescapable.

You latched your other hand onto his side, gripping him here as your need became all-consuming. You gave everything to your rutting, trying to not slip off because your body was screaming out for the pleasure to continue.

“Do you like grinding on that ass, you needy little toy?” He asked. “You’re so desperate to get off and so fucking turned on, all without Daddy even touching you. I can go back to playing my game and you would probably come anyways.”

He picked up his phone and you saw Alchemy Stars on the screen again. There was something tantalising about having him partially ignoring you. You didn’t know why it appealed to you, making your heart thump harder in your chest.

You started to experience unpredictable twitches in your limbs and you acknowledged the pressure in you to simply fall apart. Your chest swelled as you relentlessly rolled your hips, the motion carried through to his body.

“Please, please…” You whispered between your ragged breaths. “Can you please pause the timer, please? Don’t let it- please pause it before it-... please?”

“That’s kind of going against the point of the timer, my little toy.” He said.

You huffed but you didn’t let your tempo suffer, you were going to keep at it for as long as you were allowed, drawing nearer to the release. “No, I know, but, please? I think I could come and- please?”

“Here I was thinking that you wanted to play a fair game.” He said, the teasing in his tone as appealing as it was frustrating. “And pausing and manipulating the timer definitely takes some of the fairness away.”

Again you acted on an idea without fully thinking it through. As you kept riding his butt, you looked to your side and how far the tower was from you.

Not too far, so you stuck your foot out. It connected with the stack and, with a loud noise, the Jenga tiles went flying. You managed to knock over all but the bottom two levels, smiling at the outcome - game over. He stopped writhing, but you weren’t willing to yet.

“Okay, I lost, now we can fuck.” You said cheerfully.

“God, you really are desperate, aren’t you?”

You put your hands up to his shoulders, instantly holding so tight. “Yes, please fuck your desperate kitty, Daddy.”

“Yep, we will.” He said and you stopped moving finally, wanting to conserve some energy. “But not on the bed.”

You began climbing off of him. “That’s fine.”

He propped himself up a little and pointed over to your carnage. “You’re going to lie down there.”

You walked on your knees across the floor, going to where the majority of the blocks seemed to have landed. Once close enough, you swept your arm out, pushing the tiles out of the way.

He interrupted before you could get most of the mess cleared. “Hey, when did I say you could move those?”

“But isn’t this where you told me to lay?” You asked.

“Yeah, you’re going to lie on top of the tiles.” He said and you just stared back at him, waiting for him to admit this was a joke. Instead he added to the idea. “You don’t get to sabotage the end of the game like that and just escape all punishment. That was naughty of you, toy. So take your punishment and lay on the tiles.”

You decided to take on his challenge. You didn’t think the discomfort would be a problem for very long - getting fucked was sure to be a strong enough distraction.

You grabbed the bottom of your shirt, taking it up and over your head, showing him just how willing you were. As he watched, you started to take your pants and underwear off.

You were feeling a little unsure, but also excited, this was the emotion you chose to show. You moved, lifting your butt. You got yourself closer-and-closer to the ruined stack, until you had no choice but to lower yourself onto it. You watched over your shoulder, seeing the disarray getting nearer.

The firm ridges pressed into you, at all different angles and in so many different spots. But you didn’t let that discourage you, putting more of your weight onto the blocks. Their edges dug into your skin even more, hints of disbelief in his expression at the sight.

You laid back, fully giving your body to this strange and unfamiliar feeling. On top of the uneven surface, you got yourself as flat as you possibly could. There were some gaps in the arrangement of blocks where your skin rested against only carpet - for an inch or two. But it wasn’t enough respite for you to feel comfort, you put the luxury of feeling comfortable out of your mind for now. It was the reward you could earn.

He ditched his shirt as he came closer. In the way he was looking at you, you could tell that he was impressed, and that felt better than lying on any bed. He looked at the space in front of him, making sure he didn’t put either of his knees down on top of the pieces. Meanwhile you focused your eyes on the front of his pants, his stiff dick straining against the material.

Before getting any closer, he pulled them down and you got to see his boner bounce free. Your breath came in quick as you watched him take the pants off, and keep them off.

He took a pause, looking at the assortment of tiles around your legs. He picked up some, tossing them out of the way so that no part of his body had to go on top of them.

He got himself positioned in between your parted legs and began to lean down. “Do you still like your Christmas present?”

“Mm-hmm, thank you for getting it for me, Daddy.” You said.

He started to climb on top of you, forcing you even harder into the rigid Jenga tiles. But you didn’t make any complaints, gladly letting your mouth become preoccupied with kisses.

You drew some comfort from how good his body felt on yours, enjoying that uninterrupted feeling of skin on skin. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders as your tongue teased at his lips.

He began grinding into you and you were rushed with a sense of gratitude when you realised there was no timer on the verge of going off. There wasn’t any holding the passion back now. Your body was dominated by his, his moves purposeful and increasing the intensity.

You held onto him tighter when you felt his tip stretching your already aching pussy open. All of your excitement and those building sensitivities finally had focus.

He whined in response to your tongue coming into his mouth. You explored along the roof of his mouth as he eased more of his length inside of you. Quivers of anticipation started at your core as his hips drew nearer to yours. Your walls parting perfectly to accommodate him.

Feeling him buried in so deep brought a needy moan from you, it happened before you had the chance to worry about controlling your volume. With how receptive your pussy was, you didn’t really have the space in your mind to spare a thought for the world beyond this bedroom. Concerns that had felt so big and present were so easily dwarfed by the promise of more pleasure.

He brought an end to the kiss. And before you could possibly plan your next move, he placed his open palm over your lips. You opened your eyes as he kept his hand here.

“You’re very worked up. So I’m gonna hold my hand right here to keep you from getting carried away and embarrassing yourself, okay?” He said.

You nodded your head. He used his other hand to brace himself, placing it on the floor. Then he started to experiment with his range of motion, rutting into you, without much urgency at first. As he put more power into his movements, your body shifted, making the tiles move and drag a little. They clattered against one another, creating a strange kind of music.

He found the right way to move and the pumping of his hips gained consistency. He worked at a quick rhythm, your inner-walls fluttering in response to the stimulation.

You took your legs away from the rigid blocks, gaining a little relief by wrapping them around his waist. The rest of your body continued to experience the uncomfortable sensation, you were sure your skin would bare the marks of the tile’s edges for a few hours.

As you swung your hips with him, he was able to move deeper. You felt his swollen tip rubbing against your walls, taking your excitement to the next level.

It didn’t take long for you to match his tempo. You lifted your hips up higher-and-higher, getting your ass away from the hard Jenga pieces as well. It also served the purpose of giving his every plunge into you more impact.

You were making more noises behind his hand, a quiet whining as each thrust felt better than the last. You had started to shiver, getting truly overrun with these Heavenly sensations.

There was a different tone in his voice when he spoke next, but he was still in control enough to keep the volume low. “Letting me fuck you on these blocks ‘cause you’re just so fucking needy.” You nodded your head, eyes wide as you beheld the determination on his face. “I like it when you’re needy…

“It suits me really well…” He said, snapping his hips down harder between your legs. “‘Cause Daddy can take care of your needs better than anyone else ever could. And Daddy loves taking care of you, even when you’re naughty.”

His rhythm raced ahead of you, taking you by surprise. You were too floored by his energy to know how to match him at first. You kept your hips in motion, squirming through this escalation.

Now he was fucking into your g-spot, making you want to fall apart from your core. Your eyes rolled back, your release seemingly so close.

“Always gonna take care of you.” He said before his head dropped, resting on your shoulder as all of his energy went to that relentless snapping of his hips. “Always.”

As you stared up at the ceiling, stars came into your vision, changing the appearance of the paint. You wanted to plead with him to let you have the orgasm. But with so many other things demanding your attention, it was hard to think and you couldn’t figure out how to do that with his hand still held over your mouth.

“Always, alw…” His word transformed into a whine, a desperate sound just for you.

His next strokes into you were accompanied by a feeling of extra heat in your cunt. He was starting to unload, more cum drawn out of him with every movement.

You started to disappear into your release, overcome beyond anything else. You soared, forgetting about the tile’s edges making your skin sting in certain places. You were flooded by only pleasurable sensations as you writhed between him and the Jenga pieces.

“Okay, okay, okay…” He said, sounding a little breathless as he took his hand off of your face and rocked his body weight back. “Get up from that shit, I can’t believe you-...” He sat back on the ground and grabbed for your hands.

With his help, you sat up, the tiles noisily shifting beneath you, digging in anew. But you weren’t paying the feeling much attention, not while you were still feeling the giddiness of your orgasm.

You climbed off of all of the uneven blocks, going to the safety of your boyfriend. You placed yourself in his lap and he put his arms around you.

You looked back over your shoulder. “Did I fuck up any of the stickers?”

“Oh my God, I do not even slightly care about that right now. I just need to make sure you’re okay.” He said.

You turned your head to look at him, but he had already extended his neck, his head held so that he could look at your back. “Of course I am, what are you talking about?”

“The blocks didn’t hurt you too bad?” He asked, his fingers hovering near the short lines scattered across your back.

“No, it didn’t feel good, it sucked, actually. But it wasn’t so bad, it wasn’t getting-a-tattoo level of pain.” You said.

“Okay.”

You readjusted and put your hands up on his face, directing him to look at you. “I promise that I’m fine. That was a lot of fun.”

A smile began on his lips. “It was, wasn’t it?”

In the echo of all of that energy, you stayed attached to one another. You discussed each of your favourite parts of the scene, its effects could still be felt through your body. You told him which tiles you wished had been pulled and he reassured you that a follow-up round would be played once you were home.

Your request for aftercare was very simple: sleep. He agreed that he was feeling quite tired now, willing to give falling asleep another attempt. There were no more complaints about having no sheep to count.

The relief that you felt when your body reached the mattress was a little unreal. The comfort flooded you immediately and you were so grateful as all of those bad sensations fled from you.

You were the little spoon and he turned the lamp off, no longer needing to look at the temporary marks on your back.

Your eyes travelled to the nearby window and you lifted your head from the pillow. “Shit, the sun is literally starting to come up.”

“Shh, just close your eyes, you won’t even see it.” He said and he placed a hand over your eyes.

»»————-　♡　————-««

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felixsramen · 1 year ago

Text

Mastermind

This is for someone who created a prompt. So here you go I hope I did your idea justice @thatonenoona

Warnings: mxm, anal play bc it's members x members, Chan has a dark blue dildo that Minho fucks Jisung with, masturbation, degradation, praise, Chans a switch, Minhos a dom, Jisung is a sub, Felix is also a sub, throat fucking with a dildo, brief mention of Jisung with a butt plug, jealous Chan, idk what else I'm missing bc it's currently 5 in the morning so if I'm missing anything else please let me know

Why was Chan sitting in the studio late at night again? Oh right comeback. The comeback that was going to happen in less than a month. The comeback that had Chan stressed out beyond relief. The comeback that Chan was struggling to finish the songs on. He couldn't help but sigh leaning back into his chair. The bright light from the computer screen was starting to annoy him. He stretches hearing pops throughout his whole body. He looked back down at the words in front of him. They were starting to taunt him.

"Chan?" He hears spinning around in the chair. He was met with his member he had completely forgotten that was there.

"Hmm?" He says to the second oldest member. Minho just looks at him slight concern on his face.

"I think we should head home now." He says to his older member. Chan shakes his head and Minho sighs. "Don't stress yourself too much. It won't be good for the comeback if you aren't taking care of yourself." Minho says sitting on the couch that him and the other 3racha members had decided to go in on.

"I'm trying not to but I need to finish this song. After this it'll just be 2 more songs then we're ready." Chan says to Minho who sighs at him.

"I need to get home before the boys try burning the house down again." Minho says standing up. He stretches out and sighs as the tension leaves his body with each crack. He grabs his jacket as he walks to the door.

"Are you sure you want to be cooped up in here all night? Even to finish that song?" Minho asks his older member and Chan shrugs.

"I'm willing to do anything for this band." Chan says and he meant that. Minho sighs but nods as he opens the door to the empty hallway.

"Hurry up and finish that okay? Come back to the dorm when you're done and don't spend too much time here. Me and the boys worry about you." Minho says seriously and Chan can't help but feel a little guilty about that.

Chan nods. "I will. I promise." Minho nods stepping into the dark hallway closing the door leaving Chan to his own thoughts.

Chan turns back to the computer. "Fucking hell." He says sighing at the notebook full of lyrics. He scribbles out it and rips the paper out in front of him. He crumbles it into a ball and throws it into the trash can that was full of other ideas Chan thought was terrible.

He picks the pencil back up. He once again looks at the computer screen. After a few minutes of thinking and nothing coming to mind Chan hears a ding. He grabs his phone but realizes it wasn't from his.

He looks to the couch Minho was just previously sitting on and sees his phone that he had left. He rolls the chair over there and picks it up. He wonders if Minho had noticed yet that he left it.

He sees it's a notification from Jisung but doesn't care enough to read it instead putting it on the desk beside his.

Chan goes back to the computer and then once again here's a ding. Minhos phone lights up with another notification. Chans eyes glance and sees it's Jisung once again. Again he doesn't read it.

Chan goes back to the notepad again and after almost an hour has lyrics that aren't terrible reading or ones he'd cringe at.

This time it's Chans phone that lights up with a ding. A text from Changbin. Chan unlocks the phone reading the text that had been sent.

"Hey it's Minho. Pretty sure I left my phone there. When you come home can you bring it? Me and Changbin ended up getting home before the boys and are picking up takeout. Want anything?" It reads and Chan picks the phone up sending a quick reply.

"Yeah of course. Just the usual is fine." He says and it's returned with a thumbs up emoji.

He sets his phone back down but Minho has another notification pop up on his phone from Jisung. He worried and was slightly curious as to why Jisung was blowing his phone up.

He picked the phone up not being able to see what the messages said from Jisung. Luckily Minho had shared his password with Chan before when Chan had forgotten his phone at home while out asking if he could borrow his phone to text Changbin about the new album. He unlocks his phone but doesn't get to Jisungs messages before a video is playing.

"Look at this. My pretty little slut." The camera shows a video of Jisung on his knees. Minhos hand had him looking at the camera.

A whine can be heard and a chuckle Chan assumes in from Minho. The camera falls on his freckled Australian bandmate. "My other pretty little slut." Minho says hand caressing Felixs face.

"Please." Can be heard from Felix as Chan watches his adams apple bob. "What do you want Lixie?" Minho asks him and he whines again.

Minho traces Felixs lips with his thumb and Chan can't help but watch. It was almost hypnotizing. "Sungie." Felix says and Minho pulls away from him.

"Want to use Jisungie?" Minho says teasing the boy but Felix just nods eagerly.

"What about you "Sungie"? Minho asks mocking Felixs words. The camera goes to Jisung who gulps down.

"Please." He says and it's desperate.

Minho laughs once again. "Go ahead let Lixie use you." He says and before Minho can say anything else Jisung and Felix are all over each other.

"Look at my pretty sluts." Minho says as Jisung and Felix make out but it's more teeth clashing than anything yet it seems like Chan was now sporting a boner watching his two team members make out.

Felix and Jisung pull away from each other a string of Saliva connecting them.

Jisung goes to Felixs neck kissing it as Felixs hands make their way to Jisungs sweatpants. Jisung lifts his lips as Felix tugs them down along with his boxers.

"My eager little sluts." Minho says as Felix pushes Jisung onto his back softly and straddles him. Felix pulls his own shirt off throwing it on the floor. Chan couldn't help but realize it was the dance practice room. Felix grabs Jisungs own shirt tugging on it as Jisung brings his hands up so Felix can take it off of him.

Was Jisung always that toned? Had he always looked so breakable? Chan couldn't help but wonder as he watched Felixs hands rub over his chest.

"So pretty." Felix mumbles and Jisung lets out a whine at Felixs compliment.

Felix kisses his lips and Chan feels the tightness in his pants as he watches his members makeout once again. He watches as Felix palms Jisung. Jisungs whimpers can clearly be heard through the phone.

Jisungs hands go to Felixs shirt trying to lift it up too. Felix pulls away so Jisung can lift it above his head.

Felix was just as gorgeous as Jisung. Was that wrong for Chan to admit? He couldn't really help it though as he watches Felix and Jisung go back to making out.

"Fucking gorgeous." Chan hears Minho say and he can't help but be extremely turned on watching them.

"How about you suck Sungie off?" Chan hears Minho says and he thinks he's really losing it.

Felix pulls away leaving a string of saliva between them.

Jisung already looks fucked out as Felixs hand eagerly make it to his boxers and pulls them off of his body. Felix brings his hands up to Jisungs cock and pumps it a few times as Jisung whimpers at the feeling.

"Such a pretty cock." Felix says going to Jisungs neck kissing it and Chan realizes he really needs to get these sweatpants off before his cock suffocates inside his boxers.

Chans with one hand pulls his sweatpants down along with his boxers. He can't help but sigh at the feeling of his cock now free from his boxers that was suffocating his cock.

Chan can't help but bring a hand to his own cock as he hears Jisungs whimpers. He begins a rhythm of his own mirroring the way Felixs hand stroked Jisung.

"Fuck." Chan says watching his other hand still holding the phone. He hasn't had any time for the past 2 months now to pleasure himself, too busy wrapped in his work for the new album.

Felix kisses down Jisungs body making his way down to Jisungs cock. Felix presses a kiss to the head and Chan can see the way Jisung shivers as he lets out a moan.

Felix licks up his cock and Jisung moans again. "Don't tease Sungie. Unless you want me to do the same to you later." Minho says and Chan sees Felix tense for a second. Chan wondered if Minho was harsh with his teasing because next thing he knows Felix is going down on Jisung.

"Fuck." Jisung says hand going to Felixs hair. Jisung let out probably the prettiest moans Chan had ever heard.

Chans hand was now coated with his precum and Chan used it as lube making the glide easier. Chan was letting out his own moans now along with Jisung. His own hand mimicked the way Felixs head bobbed on Jisungs cock.

Though Jisungs hand was in Felixs hair he wasn't controlling Felixs pace instead letting Felix choose how own pace. That didn't stop Jisung though from digging his fingers into Felixs hair.

"Please! I'm close!" Jisung whimpered out to Felix but instead of slowing down Felix speeds up his movements.

Jisung whines and moans had gotten louder and if Chan was in the right mind he would've wondered how no one had heard the desperate man. Yet Chan couldn't care less right now as his own release was close.

Chans own moans had started matching Jisungs and he was close. He couldn't help but watch as Jisung finally pushes Felixs head down onto his cock practically choking him. He stills inside Felixs mouth with a really loud moan.

"Fuck!" Chan says rather loudly cumming on his hand. As Chans orgasm subsides his eyes go back to the phone watching as Felix pulls off Jisung. His eyes are teary and Felix has his own saliva and a mixture of Jisungs cum hanging from the side of his lips.

Felix looks completely fucked out. "God Lixie. You almost made me cum." Chan hears Minho say.

"Let me reward you." Minho says going up to Felix wiping the saliva and cum from his lips. He still doesn't show his face behind the camera.

"You'd like that wouldn't you?" Minho says and Felix nods.

Jisung whines. "I'll reward you too. I'll reward both my pretty sluts." Minho says and with that the video cuts off.

Chan looks at his own hand as he shuts Minhos phone off and sets it on the desk. Chan was now embarrassed at what he had done as he grabs the tissues nearby and wipes his hand. He cleans himself off and pulls his boxers and pants back up.

Luck was on Chans side though because he had gotten the producing room sound proofed a month ago after the boys complained about hearing everything from down the hall. He was sure if he hadn't the people who were working late would've heard him.

Suddenly a ring brings him out of his trance. It was Chans phone and it was coming from Changbin. He picked it up and heard Minhos voice over the phone. "Are you on your way home yet?" Minho asks Chan and he's embarrassed to talk to the boy after just jerking off to him, Felix, and Jisung.

"About to." Chan says trying to sound normal.

"Good." Minho says sounding slightly suspicious of the boy.

"Call me when you get here." Minho says and Chan lets out a hum letting him know he heard him. Chan quickly hangs up and looks at his keyboard.

Minho definitely knew something was up now Chan couldn't help but think.

Chan finishes cleaning up his desk and throwing the cum filled tissues in the trash. He quickly saved the work he was doing. Grabbing his bag, his phone, and Minhos phone. Luckily it didn't take long for Chan to get home.

He quickly gave Minho his phone and walked off straight to his room. Minho couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at his older member but he shrugged it off as he was probably tired.

It has almost been 2 weeks since that night. Chan tried his best to avoid the 3 boys he had jerked off too. He was embarrassed and anytime one of them tried to talk to him he'd tell them he had to get to the studio grabbing his bag.

Chan though currently was laying on his bed staring at the ceiling. He couldn't stop thinking about that night. Chan didn't know how to feel about the boys after watching such an intimate moment between them.

Chan loved all his members. They were all hand picked by him and he loved them each. Yet he was starting to see those 3 in a different way from before.

Chan couldn't help but wonder if they were together. Chan started noticing how Jisung would always be very affectionate to Minho and Felix. Felix was clingy but he was especially clingy to Minho and Jisung.

It didn't make Chan feel better though that he had started not just avoiding them out of embarrassment. He had also started avoiding them out of what Chan came to know for the last 2 weeks was Jealousy.

Was it jealousy from the boys being so intimate? Was it because Chan knew that'd he never have something like that? Chan had no idea but all he knew was he hated this feeling.

Chan hears a knock on the door bringing him out of his thoughts. "Come in." Chan says sighing as the door opens. He didn't bother looking up to see which member it was.

Suddenly the bed dips beside him. Chan still doesn't look at who it is. "Chan?" He hears his Australian mate say.

Chan doesn't look at him too embarrassed to even glance at him. "Chan? Please talk to me. Did I do something wrong?" Felix says a crack in his voice followed by a sob.

Chan quickly sits up and brings Felix into his arms. Had Chan been so caught up in being embarrassed and jealous he couldn't see the pain he was causing by ignoring him.

"Hey it's okay." Chan says as Felix sobs into his arms. Chan rubs Felixs back trying to soothe him.

"You did nothing wrong. I've just been caught up in work and my thoughts." Chan says hoping that'd be a good excuse considering he wasn't fully lying.

Felix cries into Chan and Chan feels terrible. Felixs sobs eventually turn into soft hiccups as tears still ran down his faces but not as heavy. Chan continues rubbing his back.

"Do you regret bringing me in the group?" Felix asks him. Chan felt guilty that he made Felix feel like that.

"Not at all. Not one bit. I don't ever regret bringing you in the group. You're amazing and make Stray Kids so much better. There's no one like you Lix." Chan says hoping those words would help him feel better. Instead Felix cries harder and that breaks Chans heart.

"Please don't cry. I can't stand seeing you cry." Chan says and before Chan knows whats happening Felix presses a kiss to Chans lips through his tears.

Felix pulls away and Chan looks at him in surprise. Felix looks as if his heart is broken at Chans expression and at how he didn't kiss him back. Yet Chan just was completely shocked that one of the three men he's been obsessing over for the past 2 weeks just kissed him.

"I fucked it up didn't I?" Felix says trying to get from Chans bed as the tears didn't stop.

Chan quickly grabs his arm pulling him back onto the bed and Chan smashes his lips against Felixs. Chan can feel Felixs tears on his own face from Felix but he doesn't care right now. Especially not when the man he's wanted for 2 weeks or probably longer seemed to feel the same way.

Chan pulls away and smiles at Felix. He brings a hand to Felixs face and wipes the tears from it.

"Don't cry please." Chan says once again but whispering this time and Felix just sniffles at his response.

"Why have you been avoiding me?" Felix asks once again and Chan looks away even though he had already answered that question. "Please Chan. I want the truth." Felix asks him and Chan looks at the ground.

Chan knew it was unavoidable but he also didn't think he should tell his band member about how he felt.

Chan sighed knowing he should tell the Australian before he started crying again. He looks up at Felix and he can't help feel guilty that he has a question to ask before he answers that. "Are you, Jisung, and Minho in a relationship?" Chan asks him saying what was on his mind.

Felixs eyes widen and he looks taken aback at Chans question. "What?" Felix asks him and Chan sighs putting a hand over his face.

"Are you 3 together?" Chan asks once again. Felix is still in mild shock and Chan feels so bad about having asked that but curiosity had gotten the better of him.

Felixs opened mouth and wide eyes turn guilty. "Yes we are." Felix says answering his question and Chan sighs nodding.

"I told them we should tell you. You're our leader for gods sakes but Jisung and Minho said that they didn't want you to look at them different. I respected their decisions and agreed but I wanted to tell you." Felix says as Chans eyes are back on the ground.

Felix is worried about his reaction. "You didn't need to tell me. That wasn't my place to ask." Chan says and Felix feels the tears well back up.

"Chan?" Felix says again and Chan doesn't look up. "I don't want you to be upset with us." Felix says reaching out for Chan but he's hesitant at that.

Chan nods as his eyes fall on the freckled boy. "I'm not upset, not even a little bit. I'm not upset at any of you. I just did something embarrassing so that's why I have been avoiding you for the last few weeks." Chan says sighing and taking Felixs hand that he had reached out. It calmed Chans racing heart and he sighed now that he felt every thought in his head wasn't trying to burst through.

Felix looks at him confused what he could've done that was so embarrassing that he ignored the boys.

Chan sighs seeing his face and feels his throat start to close from nerves. Yet Chan didn't want to confuse the boy even more so he made his mind up that he was going to tell Felix even if it meant he was embarrassed.

"Remember when Minho came to the studio about 2 weeks ago and left his phone?" Chan says and Felix nods still confused.

"Jisung was blowing his phone up and I knew Minhos password and I didn't know if it was an emergency or not from how many times it went off." Chan says stopping and Felix nods letting him know he could continue with a squeeze of his hand.

"I unlocked it. I knew I shouldn't have and when I did there was a video that started playing..." Chan says trailing off and looking at Felix who is wide eyed having a feeling he knew what video was playing.

"It was you and Jisung and I heard Minhos voice and I really wanted to turn it off but I couldn't seem to and before I know it..." Chan says mumbling the last part and Felix raises an eyebrow not hearing what he had said.

Chan sighs and lets go of Felixs hand bringing both hands to his face. "I jerked off to it and I couldn't face you guys." Chan says and he doesn't move his hand from his face not wanting to see Felixs reaction.

There's not a reply to what he says and Chan wonders if he just made the boy disgusted. Suddenly he feels hands moving his hands from his face. Felix doesn't look disgusted though.

Instead Felix presses his lips back onto Chan who is surprised. Chan kisses back and Felix makes the kiss deeper. Felix pulls away and Chan can't help but wonder what God had handcrafted this man.

"Fuck you're so hot." Felix says and Chan thinks he might lose it at Felixs words.

He hears a knock on the door but it's opened and there is Minho and Jisung. "Already playing without us Felix?" Minho says and Chan looks at the younger boy in front of him and he can't help but raise an eyebrow.

"We heard everything from out here. You're not exactly quiet and everyone else already left to go play Laser Tag, they'll be gone for a few hours." Minho says and Chan is slightly nervous at hearing that. Now the 3 boys knew he had jerked off to them all.

"Our Lixie here was so upset you know? He didn't like you ignoring us." Minho says and Jisung looks nervous beside Minho.

Minho walks closer to the bed and Jisung follows him like a lost puppy. Minho brings a hand to Chans face. "Our Lixie wanted you so bad. Wanted you from the start, begging for us to tell you. We didn't want to scare you at the fact we wanted you too but from the looks of it you wanted us just as badly right?" Minho says bringing his face closer to Chans.

Minho wears a cocky smirk on his face and it excites Chan. "Right?" Minho says once again and this time Chan nods. Minho must like that answer because the next second his mouth is on Chans.

His kiss is different from Felixs whose was soft and gentle and he took his time while Minho was harsher even though Minho had also taken his time. Minho doesn't let Chan pull away instead pushing his tongue in-between his lips. Minhos tongue immediately goes to the roof of Chans mouth licking a long stripe across it. Chan wants to moan but he can't instead bringing his hands to Minhos.

Minho sighs as Chan digs his hands into his hips now seeming desperate. Minho continues licking inside his mouth until he knows Chan needs air. Minhos tongue leaves Chans mouth but he bites Chans lip and Chan whines as he releases it.

Chan is breathing heavy and he looks fucked out already. His hands dont leave from digging into Minhos hips and Minho doesn't mind.

Minho watches as Chan whines for another kiss and he can't help but smirk again. "Don't be too greedy. Jisung hasn't even had a taste yet." Minho says and Chan lets go of him looking behind him at the nervous boy.

Minho looks at Jisung who looks at his fingers as if they were more interesting. "Sungie?" Minho says and Jisung looks up and makes eye contact with Chan as Minho moves from in-between Chans legs.

Jisung goes up to Chan and brings a hand to his face and he seems unsure of what he's doing. Chan can't help but feel like he doesn't want to be any part of this. "Ji you don't have to do anything you don't want. I don't want to make you uncomfortable." Chan says and Jisung looks surprised at that but he shakes his head.

"No. I want this. I want you so much. I just never know how to initiate these things." Jisung says and Chan lets out a relieved sigh.

"Would you like me to take the lead then?" Chan says.

"Look at that Chans being so considerate." Minho says teasing but Chan doesn't care focusing on the rapper in front of him.

Jisung nods his head and Chan smiles at him. He moves Jisungs hand from his face and brings his own hand to Jisungs face. Chan brings his face to Jisungs placing a single kiss on his lips. Jisung lets out a whine and he sighs.

Chan kisses him again but he doesn't pull away this time. He sighs and Jisung stumbles like he's about to fall but Chan takes him into his lap. Chan pushes his tongue into Jisungs mouth trying to copy what Minho did mere minutes ago and Jisung lets out a whimper.

It takes Jisung even less time than it did for Chan to need breath maybe because Jisung was much more needy. Chan could tell Jisung was still unsure but he brings a hand to his back and Jisung relaxes more into the kiss.

Chan pulls away and Jisung looks even more fucked out than Chan was. "That was so hot." Felix says and Chan looks at the boy.

"Fucking hell. Don't look at him like that." Minho says and Chan looks at Minho confused.

"Like hes a fucking piece of meat. If you keep looking at him like that I'm going to lose it and fuck you dumb." Minho says and Chan can't help but groan at Minhos dirty words.

"Fuck Chan. I'm definitely going to have to fuck that pretty ass of yours now." Minho says bringing a hand to Chans face outlining his jaw.

Chan whimpers at his words and the feeling of his nails against his face. Jisung whines and Chan and Minho look at him.

"After we take care of the precious little sluts." Minho says and he takes Jisung off of him and pushes him into the bed. Jisung whimpers at the feeling of being manhandled.

Chans eyes meet Felix's desperate ones. "Come here Lixie." Chan says and Felix gets up coming to him. Chan brings him down into his lap and Felix kisses him desperately.

Felix pulls away and starts kissing Chans neck and Chan sighs hands going to Felixs hips. "Fuck pretty boy." Chan says letting him leave a few more kisses before Chan is taking his lips again.

Chan pushes Felix onto his back and climbs on him not breaking the kiss. Felixs hand goes to Chans shirt tugging it for him to pull up and over his head.

Chan breaks the kiss doing exactly what he wants and throws it somewhere.

Chans hands go to Felixs shirt now and Felix lifts his hands so Chan take it off of him and Chan stares at it for a few seconds appreciating his body. It looked good on camera but seeing it in person was a whole different thing.

Chan brings his lips down to Felixs body kissing wherever he can. Felix brings his hand into Chans hair and he sighs. Chan once again goes to Felixs lips capturing him in another kiss.

Chans hands find place on Felixs hips. He's brought out of his focus on Felix when he hears a moan from beside and sees Minho pumping Jisungs cock. Jisung seems to be long gone as he moans. Minho looks at Chan and with his other hand brings Chan in for a kiss as they makeout with Minho pumping Jisungs cock.

Minho pulls away. "You got any lube Channie?" Minho says and the nickname he uses sends chills throughout Chans body.

"Yeah. Second drawer." Chan says and Minho stops pumping Jisungs cock to get up and grab the lube. Minho goes through the drawer and pulls something out.

"What's this Channie?" Minho says smirking holding up a dark blue dildo that was around 10 inches.

"Use this a lot?" Minho says as he grabs the lube also out from the drawer.

"Yes sir." Chan says and Minho raises an eyebrow smirking.

"Sir? How cute is our precious little Channie." Minho says walking to the bed.

Minho climbs back onto Jisung but grabs Chans head. "Do me a favor Channie. Be a good little slut and suck on this for me. Get it all drenched in your spit so I can use it to fuck Sungie." Minho says and Chan thinks Minho is going to make him do it himself. "Say ahh." Minho says and Chan lets his mouth fall open.

Minho pushes the dildo harshly into Chans mouth hitting the back of his throat causing him to gag. "Fuck Channie. Can't take this cock in your mouth? How are you going to be able to satisfy someone without knowing how to take cock." Minho says pushing it back up and down into his mouth.

Minho forces Chan to choke on it for a little longer until he pulls it out of his mouth satisfied with it. A string of spit connects Chans lip and the dildo. His eyes are brimming with tears from choking on it and Minho can't help but think Chan is so pretty like this all fucked out for him.

Chan watches as Minho spreads Jisungs legs open and it reveals a pink jeweled butt plug. "See this Channie. Sungie knew he was going to get fucked." Minho says and Chans eye can't help but stare as Minho pulls it out of him and Jisung whines at the feeling of being empty as he clenches around nothing.

"Don't worry Sungie. Going to fuck you dumb on this pretty dildo." Minho says as he brings the dildo to Jisungs ass and slowly slides it in. Jisung moans as each inch enters him until he can't take anymore.

"Fuck- Min- Please! I don't think I can take it-" Jisung pleads with the man yet Minho does nothing but watches with a smirk.

"Of course you can Sungie. My precious little baby can take anything I give him can't he?" Minho coos at the boy and Jisung grabs for anything to help ground him as Minho starts fucking Jisung with the dildo. Jisungs hand finds Felixs who squeezes his hand in reassurance as Jisung lets out moans.

"Lixie ask Sungie if he's enjoying." Minho says to the boy under Chan. He sees Felixs adams apple bob up and down.

"Are you enjoying it Sungie?" Felix asks as the boy loses his mind.

"Lix 's good- 's so good-" Jisung babbles absentmindedly.

Chan can't help but watch Jisung whine and moan as he's fucked open with his dildo. Felixs whine is what brings Chan back to the boy under him.

"Please Channie. Fuck me. I promise I'm a good boy." Felix says to the boy and Chan thinks he just lost it as he pulls Felixs pants and boxers down throwing it wherever not caring.

Chan grabs the lube Minho had between them and places some on his fingers. "It's going to be cold." Chan says warning Felix who squeezes Jisungs hand as he presses into Felixs tight ass with two fingers.

"Fuck!" Felix says out as Chan slowly pumps them inside his ass. Chan watches as Felixs face contorts from pain into pleasure as Chan builds a pace.

"So tight around my fingers Lixie." Chan says and that causes Felixs eyes to roll back at his dirty words along with being fingered.

Chan pushes another finger into Felix as his hand that isn't intertwined with Jisungs goes to Chans trying to ground himself even more because Jisungs hand wasn't working anymore as Jisung was just letting his hand loose now.

"My prince is taking my fingers so well." Chan says to the boy as he fucks his fingers faster into Felix.

Felix lets out a really loud moan and Chan assumes he's just his prostate so he does it again this time curling his fingers there and Felix gasps.

"Going to cum- Channie fuck- please- I-" Felix says brainlessly just worried about being so close to release.

Chan keeps abusing that spot. "Go ahead Lixie cum whenever you want." Chan says and with Chans permission Felix does exactly that cum spurting from his cock with an even louder moan.

Chan continues abusing that spot until Felix comes down from his high and Chan can tell he's exhausted. Felix is trying his best to catch his breath as Chan pulls his fingers out his ass.

Chan looks to the side seeing Jisung is just like Felix as Minho removes the dildo from his ass. Minho brings his hand down to the cum that is on Jisung and brings it to Felixs lips who licks around his fingers until they're clean and grabs some of Felixs cum bringing it to Jisung who just as eagerly licks it.

Minho once again brings a hand to Jisungs cum but this time he mixes it wish Felixs and brings it up to Chan. Chan opens his mouth as Minho lets him suck the bitter cum off his fingers before removing them

"I think we tired them out Channie. Think I can fuck you now?" Minho asks and Chan nods as Minho moves Jisung and Felix out of the way as they cuddle up next to each other.

Minho immediately attaches his lips to Chans and he makes his way to Chans pants so he can take them off along with his boxers. Minho makes quick work of his own.

"Look at you. So painfully hard right now. Let me take care of you." Minho says and Chan whines at Minhos sickenly sweet words.

Minho grabs the lube and spreads some onto his hand though Chan grabs his hand before he can push inside him.

Minho looks at him concerned and Chan looks sad. "I've never done this before. I've done it with my dildo but never someone else." Chan says and Minho nods at his words.

"It's okay. I'll be gentle." Minho says and Chan nods as Minho presses a kiss to his lips. Minho pushes inside him while he tries to distract him with the kiss.

Chans face contorts into pain and Minho knows how painful it can be at first. Minho pulls away moving Chans hair out his face. "It'll stop hurting soon I promise." He says kissing the boys lips.

It doesn't take long before what Minho said was true and it had turned pleasureful. Minho watched as Chan let out gorgeous moans one after another and he couldn't help but push another finger in.

Minho goes back to kissing Chan and Chan kisses him back as he's fucked open. It was strange at first having someone else fingering him but now he was a moaning mess as Minho had fucked his ass open.

"I think that's enough." Minho says pulling out and Chan whines at the loss of pleasure.

"Give me a second. Do you have any condoms?" Minho asks the boy who nods and points at the open drawer. Minho quickly grabs a condom tearing it open with his teeth and sliding it on.

Minho grabs Chans hips lining himself up and slowly pushes in him inch by inch. Chan felt like he was tearing in half. Minho of course wasn't as long as the dildo but he was very girthy along with being longer than average.

"Fuck Channie you're still so tight? Do you not fuck yourself enough?" Minho asks and Chan just lets out a moan in response.

Minho continues cursing as he drives himself into Chan over and over. Chan can't help but reach out for the man overwhelmed. Minho intertwines their hands and places them next to Chans head as he continues fucking into him.

Minho does a particularly hard thrust and it has Chans eyes roll back. "Fuck you're taking me so well Channie." Minho says praising him.

Minho thrusts hard again and it has Chan arching off the bed as his eyes roll back again and he wonders if he hit Chans prostate by the way he babbles incoherently.

Minho hits that spot over and over building Chan to his orgasm and Minho is getting there too. Minho continues thrusting into Chan and doesn't stop not even when he feels like he's teetering on the edge.

Without warning though Chan cums all over himself and Minho and he doesn't mind as he fucks him through his orgasm and it doesn't take long for Minho to share the same fate. He stills inside Chan as his own orgasm washes over him.

Minho stays like that for a minute or so before he realizes how sticky he is with sweat and cum. Minho pulls out earning a whimper from Chan but he kisses his lips hoping it silences it.

"Out of it Channie?" Minho asks the man who has no reply and he has his answer at that.

"Let me go run some water for a bath." He says kissing each of the boys before getting up and heading to the bath tub.

Chan can't think at the moment and has no idea what he said but feels arms pulling him in. He looks up and sees Jisung and Felix smiling down at him as Felix runs a hand through his hair. Chan sighs at the warmth of the two boys.

He sees Minho come back in. "Are you two okay for now if I get a bath with Channie first?" Minho says and both boys nod. With that Minho picks Chan up taking him to the tub.

Minho sits him in the tub and Chan feels his muscles immediately relax in the warm water. "Let me go get clothes okay?" Minho says and Chan nods tiredly now that his body was relaxing and he can hear what he said.

Minho leaves and it doesn't take long before he's back with clothes and sets them on the counter. Minho gets into the tub with Chan and it's cramped but Minho couldn't care right now.

Chan wonders what happens from here on out. Does he becomes part of the already trio? Or was this spur of the moment?

Minho must sense he's not here before he's bringing a hand to his face. "What are you thinking about?" He asks and Chan sighs.

"What do we do now?" Chan asks slightly terrified of what his response was and Minho runs a soothing hand down his back.

"What do you want?" Minho asks him back and Chan wasn't really thinking about what he wanted.

"What I want?" Chan says back and Minho hums in agreement.

"I want you. All 3 of you." Chan says back and Minho smiles at him.

"Good. We want you too but I do want you to know this is an open relationship before you decide anything." Minho says making sure he knows.

Chan nods. "I don't care as long as I have you 3." Chan says back meaning what he had said and Minho smiles once again. He grabs the soap and loofah washing him off.

Minho helps him out the tub and quickly drys him off helping him into his clothes and quickly putting his on.

He brings him back into the room. "Here sit in the game chair while I go put Sungie and Lix in the bathroom. I'll come back and change the sheets after." Minho says as he goes back into the bathroom running more water and coming back for both boys before disappearing into the bathroom.

Chan sighed. He looked at his desk and sees an open notebook and a pen nearby. He picks both up carefully with the way his body was sore. He looks at all the lyrics he's been struggling on and suddenly he's hit with inspiration.

He starts writing away with lyrics and he doesn't notice Minho come back in and Minho watches as he scribbles lyrics into his notebook not bothering him. Minho quickly took his sheets the laundry room and came back with new bed covers and blankets.

He goes back into the bathroom as Chan continues writing. Eventually he comes back with Jisung and Felix and places them on the bed. Minho walks up to him and looks over his shoulder reading the lyrics and he's surprised by how good they are knowing Chan has been struggling with it this whole time.

Chan finally closes the notebook and sets it on the desk. He flinches when he puts it down trying not to put too much on his body. "Come here." Minho says picking up the older boy.

"You need to get some sleep. That was a lot on your body." He says putting him next to Jisung who is half asleep.

Minho slides in behind him wrapping his arms around him. "I'm glad you saw that video. I was hoping you'd go through my phone." Minho says and he feels Chan flip in his arms and his eyebrows are raised.

"You did that on purpose?" Chan says and Minho smiles.

"Maybe." Minho says and Chan rolls his eyes playfully hitting him.

"Asshole. Why couldn't you just talk to me like a normal person?" Chan says and Minho shrugs.

"Because you know how I am." Minho says and Chan buries his head into Minhos shirt.

"Fuck you." Chan says and Minho laughs.

"You just did." He says and Chan gets up now moving in-between at Minhos words.

"Aww baby don't be like that." Minho says pretending to pout.

"Whatever Minho." Chan says his ears turning red as Felix cuddles into his chest.

"Our precious Channie." Felix mumbles and Chan brings a hand to his back rubbing circles in it.

He feels arms wrap behind him as Jisung cuddles into his back. "Love you Channie." Jisung says half asleep.

Chans heart melted at that. "Love you guys too." Chan says back and before Chan knows it his eyes are getting heavy. Sleep eventually takes over and Chan closes his eyes around his new 3 lovers.

#skz smut #stray kids smut #poly skz #skz fluff #stray kids fluff

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sinkingteethinwhitenoise · 1 year ago

Text

Limoncello - Chapter 6

Pairings: Nick Folio x OFC, Bad Omens x OFC

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: Fluff, cursing, one mini flashback, I didn't proof read half of this bc I hate myself, a stupid joke? or exchange??, like it's really fucking dumb i'm warning you.

Series Masterlist

“To get the full value of joy, you must have someone to divide it with.” ~ Mark Twain

Mountains of different shirts, shorts, pants, skirts, and dresses littered the floor in Maeve’s bedroom. She couldn’t even see the floor anymore. When Nick had told her that he found it hard to believe that she owned anything black, she hadn’t expected that the nail polish would actually be the only black thing she owned. She also hadn’t realized that she had this many clothes. She growled in frustration as she grabbed yet another colorful article of clothing. She looked over to her vanity where her phone was propped up against the mirror, her best friend’s bored face covering the screen as she watched Maeve through the ongoing facetime call.

“Presley,” Maeve whined to her friend, striding towards the phone and picking it up as she anxiously ran her fingers through hair. “What do I do? I have nothing to wear to this gig.”

Presley sighed and rubbed her eyes. “Your floor looks like the opening scene of Clueless. You have plenty to wear,” she started. “What exactly are you going for?”

“Like…A rockstar girlfriend type of look,” Maeve sounded unsure. “At least something that won’t make me stick out like a sore thumb.”

Presley visibly held back laughter. “Babe, that’s so not you. You’re not going to find anything that fits the bill in your closet.”

“Well what do I do? I can’t go buy anything,” Maeve whined. “I have to be ready in an hour.”

Presley thought for a moment, “Do you still have those dark green corduroy shorts?”

Maeve nodded and set the phone down to dig through the closet once more. She found them relatively quick and put them on to ensure that they still fit. They did.

“Great,” Presley approved. “Now just style those how you’d usually style them. You’ll look gorgeous. If that boy likes you for you, he’ll think so too. Plus, it’s a dive bar. Don’t overthink it.”

Maeve felt her face heat up at the mention of Nick possibly liking her. She hoped he did, but she continuously convinced herself that he was just friendly. Presley had been rooting for them the moment Maeve told her about him on the day the band moved in across the street.

“Presley!” Maeve beamed once she answered the facetime call. “I have new neighbors! Across the street!”

“I’m assuming you already went over there?” Presley questioned, knowing her friend’s tendency to be hospitable.

“I just got back from bringing them cookies,” Maeve confirmed. “It’s four guys. And! They’re a band. From what I can tell, they play pretty heavy stuff. Well, heavy for me at least.” Maeve rambled on with the biggest smile that Presley had seen from her in a long time. Maeve usually was one to get excited about meeting new people. But Presley could tell this was different.

“How did it go?” Presley asked gently, trying to get more information about these neighbors and why they had her so excited.

“It went really well! They’re all so kind! They loved the cookies,” Maeve giggled before she continued. “Oh! Their drummer is really cute.”

Presley watched as Maeve’s face turned bright red. “Tell me more about this drummer.”

“Well, his name is Nick. He seemed a little bit shy. But when we shook hands, neither of us let go when we definitely should’ve. I feel really stupid for that. It’s probably my fault,” Maeve’s smile faded a bit. “Oh my God, he probably thinks I’m so weird.”

Presley laughed and shook her head, “If he didn’t let go either, it’s probably fine.” Presley didn’t say anything then, but she knew that Maeve had a crush and that Nick probably had one too.

Maeve dug through the clothes on the floor and in the closet looking for some very specific pieces. She grabbed a fitted, cropped white tank top, a thin brown belt, and some brown boots. After dressing herself completely she threw on a dainty, gold necklace and matching stud earrings. She backed up so she was in frame to show Presley. “This is cute right? I don’t think I’ll stick out like a sore thumb.”

“Super cute. Super you.” Presley gave her a thumbs up. “I love it.”

“Cool,” Maeve nodded. “One more question. Bubble braids?”

“Oh, absolutely!”

After throwing her hair into bubble braids, doing some light, glowy makeup, and saying goodbye to Presley, Maeve grabbed her purse and made her way across the street. She smiled as she saw the garage door open the second she stepped into their driveway. ‘Perfect timing,’ she thought.

Nicholas stepped outside first, his hair sitting messily in a bun on top of his head. He offered a tight lipped smile. “Hey Maeve. You’re still riding with us, right?”

“If that’s still okay with you guys, then yes,” she grinned as she approached him.

“Well, you’ll be riding with Folio in the truck,” he explained. “And trust me, he’s more than okay with it.”

“Oh you guys take separate vehicles?” Maeve tilted her head to the side.

Nicholas nodded, “Yeah. The drum kit takes up a lot of space, so we have to.”

The door leading into the garage opened and Nick emerged. He seemed to be on autopilot as he went straight over to the drum kit without even glancing in their direction. As he began to prepare it for loading, Nicholas leaned over to Maeve. “Watch this,” he whispered. He cleared his throat. “Hey, Folio.”

Without turning to look, Folio responded with a hum.

Nicholas tried to hold back a smirk, “Maeve’s here. You’re not gonna say hi?”

Folio froze in his spot for a moment. His eyes widened as he finally turned around. His face had turned beet red in a matter of seconds.

Maeve tried to hold back a laugh, “Yeah what’s up with that?” She played along. “You invited me and you’re not even gonna say hi?” He looked nervous, embarrassed and clearly didn’t know what to say. Maeve couldn’t hold in her laughter anymore as she walked over to him, “I’m just messing.” She placed her hand on his bicep and gave it a comforting squeeze.

His face settled into a goofy grin as he looked down at her, “Very funny.”

“Nicholas started it,” Maeve jutted her thumb to point behind her at Nicholas, who had a hand over his mouth still trying so hard not to burst out laughing.

Folio rolled his eyes as he turned his focus to Nicholas. “Since this is so funny, why don’t you help me load this up?”

Maeve stepped to the side as Nicholas began to help Folio. Once they were far away enough from Maeve, Nicholas decided to tease him a little more. “You are so fucking down bad,” he mumbled to him with a shit eating grin on his face.

“Shut the fuck up.”

With all the instruments and equipment loaded up, they all left for the bar. Maeve sat in the passenger’s seat of Nick’s old truck and tried not to stare too hard at his profile while he drove. Nick was trying to keep his eyes on the road. It was proving difficult with how pretty she looked and how nice she smelled, so he kept stealing little glances.

He then realized how quiet it was. Even with the music playing from the radio, he still felt like there was an intense, awkward silence. He needed to say something. He didn’t want it to seem like he didn’t want her there. So, he began to talk about the first thing that came to mind. It just so happened to be a shower thought that he’d had earlier. “You know dog whistles?” he asked her.

Maeve furrowed her eyebrows as she looked at him. “Yeah…” she trailed off, confused. “What about them?”

“So, only dogs hear them, right?”

“I guess…yeah.” She had no idea where he was going with this, but she was curious enough to play into it.

“Alright. Have you ever heard of a death whistle?” he questioned, seemingly changing the subject.��

“Like the Aztec ones?” Maeve asked. A smile began to form on her face at the strangeness of this conversation.

“Exactly,” said Nick. “Do you think it’s the same? Like only dogs can hear dog whistles. Can only dead people hear death whistles?”

She bursted into a fit of laughter. “Definitely not,” she responded. “How would that even work? How do they hear it if they're dead?”

Nick started to laugh along with her, “I don’t know! Maybe their souls have ears or something.”

“That is the dumbest thing I have ever heard,” Maeve laughed, clearly amused. She lifted her hand to cover her mouth as she continued to laugh harder and harder the more she thought about the absurdity of the question.

Nick looked over at her fully as he laughed at his own stupid question and her reaction to it. Then he noticed her nails. “Hey, did you paint your nails? They’re black.”

Through heaving breaths in an attempt to control her laughter, Maeve nodded. “Yeah, I painted them last night. Thought it could be fun for us to match.”

Nick swore he felt his heart swell at the admission and he was rendered speechless for a moment. “Yeah,” he said softly, his own laughter long faded but a fond smile still present. “That’s sick.”

#bad omens fanfiction #bad omens fanfic #bad omens x oc #nick folio fanfiction #nick folio fanfic #nick folio x oc #limoncello series #sinkingteethinwhitenoise

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daydreamtofiction · 2 years ago

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Thou Shalt Not Covet // 4: Sacrilege

Contents | Part 3 | First Person Version [AO3]

Summary: (Priest!Benedict x Fem Reader) One-on-one time with the priest comes with its perks, some you weren't fully prepared for.

Word Count: 5K

Warnings: Strong language, irreverence, dark humour, adult & sexual themes, smoking (cigarettes), discussions of death, grief, religion and strained familial relationships. Readers must be 18+

Disclaimer: In this chapter, F. Benedict makes reference to a brother. I just want to stress that this is 100% my own fictional narrative and in no way based on/referencing the real life sister of BC.

Finally, sorry to anyone named Soleil - I actually really like that name, Ellis, however, does not lol.

"Posture."

You peeled your eyes away from the computer screen to find Dawn, the studio receptionist, in the doorway of your office. She nodded her head towards you, raising an eyebrow in silent demand as she crossed her arms, waiting. You rolled your eyes and slowly began to sit up properly in your chair, feeling the curve of your spine straightening out, an ache at the base of your neck as your shoulders realigned.

"That's better," she said, the same way a mother would commend a child. "There's a woman at reception asking for you."

"Oh?" you replied with a furrowed brow. "Okay, I'll just be a second."

She nodded and disappeared from the doorway as you returned your attention to the photo you were editing; a tiny baby curled up on a cloud, its bald head adorned with a fluffy white halo. You saved your progress and switched off the screen, thankful for the break.

You made your way through the building to reception, pushing through a large set of double doors into the bright, welcoming foyer.

"Mara?" you asked, taking a few steps towards the front desk.

The woman standing there turned around, brushing her hair back to reveal a face you knew, a set of eyes you'd both inherited.

"Hi," she said, her voice breathless and agitated as she struggled to hold a fidgeting baby in one arm. "I've got a session booked and you said I could use your discount. I told them I'm your sister but they need approval from you to put it through."

"Oh, right, yeah." You turned to Dawn as she sat at the computer behind the front desk. "Can you-"

"Already doing it," she replied, typing and clicking with her long nails.

"Thanks."

"Thanks," Mara echoed before turning around and walking away.

You watched her for a moment, realising she had no intentions of sharing any more words with you.

"Hey, so how are... How have you been doing?" you asked awkwardly as you followed her over to the waiting area.

She sat down, laying the baby back in her pram and beginning to roll it back and forth. "Yeah, okay," she replied with a shrug. "Soleil's been colicky so..."

Soleil. Jesus Christ. Nine months of pregnancy and a torn vagina just to call your baby fucking Soleil.

There was a long silence as you stood in front of her, hands behind your back, lips pressed together. She was nine years older than you, but you might as well have been born centuries apart, as good as strangers if it wasn't for the unmistakeable resemblance. She insisted she loved you, but she was better at doing so from a distance; in a way that made your differences easier to ignore.

You gestured to the baby. "Is... she sleeping better?"

"A little. She still wakes through the night but she's eight weeks old, it's to be expected."

You nodded. "I'm sorry I haven't been in touch much, I just thought you'd probably want your space with... Soleil." You gritted your back teeth, forcing the name out. "And after what happened at Christmas, I didn't want to..."

"Yeah, well I haven't been in touch either so don't worry about it."

There was another long silence, the kind of silence that seemed to expand, consuming everything, begging to be filled.

She was the first to give in to it, letting out a quiet sigh. "Will you be editing Soleil's photos?"

"I don't know. They assign them randomly, but if her files end up at my desk then yeah." You paused. "I can try and see if they'll make sure her pictures come to me-"

"No, no it's fine. I was just wondering."

"Oh okay." You glanced up at the clock on the wall. "Well I better get going anyway, I'm going to miss my train."

"Now?" she looked at the clock too. "Where are you going?"

"Yeah I'm finishing early. Meeting a friend."

"Gina?"

You shook your head. "A new friend," you said as you began to walk away, before stopping and turning back towards her, like you couldn't help yourself. "He's a priest."

"Piss off."

"No, really."

"Why on earth are you leaving work early to spend time with-" she stopped suddenly, letting out a disappointed huff. "Oh, Ellis."

"What?"

"Of all people, a priest, really?"

Your brows scrunched together. "I'm n- I'm not... Mara, I have a boyfriend-"

"Mm, doesn't seem to stop anyone nowadays." She sat back in her seat, crossing one leg over the other.

You rolled your eyes. "I have to go. Enjoy your shoot."

You were expecting the scent of baking bread. Cookies perhaps, maybe even coffee. But instead, the shop smelled like fresh paint, sawdust and window cleaner. You didn't mind it, actually, finding it oddly pleasant, like when you were a child and you would hang your head out of the window of your father's car, inhaling the smell of fuel as he filled up at the petrol station.

There was a healthy crowd inside; a long queue at the shiny new counter, people sitting at spotless tables in kitschy, pastel coloured chairs. You looked around in search of Father Benedict, wondering if you'd somehow managed to beat him there. You hoped not.

"Ellis!" his voice called over the crowd.

You glanced around, trying to decipher where it was coming from when you finally saw him. He was sat at a small table, tucked away in the corner beside the window. You hurried over and sat down, gesturing to a cup of coffee on the table.

"Is this for me?"

"Yeah, it's just a cappuccino, I hope that's alright."

"It's fine, thank you."

You lifted the large, round cup to your lips, sipping on it politely as you eyed him over the rim. He was leaning back in his chair, hands resting gently on his thighs as he peered over at the bustling queue, providing you the perfect view of his neck, his jawline, how it tensed and softened as he moved.

He was wearing jeans and a grey jumper, the cabled wool clinging like armour to his body, sleeves pushed up to his elbows to reveal his forearms. You'd never found yourself attracted to someone's arms before you met him. It seemed strange, to find limbs sexy. But it was the thoughts they elicited; how you could picture them holding you so firmly.

"It's a lot busier than I thought it would be," he said before turning his attention back to you. "Now it looks like I lied just to get you to come."

"Mm." You placed the cup down. "If you were that desperate to spend time with me, Father, all you had to do was ask."

There was a moment before he laughed, a split second where you could have sworn you saw his gaze turn dark, a primal look in his eyes. But it was fleeting, so evanescent you doubted if you'd seen anything at all.

"Maybe next time I'll suggest somewhere a bit closer to home," he said, still smiling as he took a sip of his own coffee. "And please don't feel like you have to call me Father today, This is... we're just- we're here as friends, so..."

"Thank you, but I'm not sure my brain would even allow me to call you Benedict. Feels... sacrilegious."

He smirked, looking around for a moment before leaning in and lowering his voice. "What feels sacrilegious is strangers with no idea I'm a priest overhearing the woman I'm with calling me Father."

"Oh you're fine. It'd be a different story if I started calling you Daddy."

He dropped his head and breathed out a stunned laugh. You cocked your head to get a glimpse of his face, assessing his bashful, flustered reaction with an intrigued smile.

"So the clergyman knows what that means," you said, propping your chin on your hand, elbow resting on the table. "Interesting..."

"Of course I know what it means; I live in a rectory, not under a rock."

You raised an eyebrow, bringing the cup back to your lips. "Ah, so you get full internet access then?"

He paused, eyes narrowing as he tried to figure out what you meant. Then it clicked, and you watched as he fought another smirk.

"Priests aren't allowed to do... that," he said simply, his voice dark, low.

"Which bit? The watching or the taking part?"

"Any of it."

"Not at all?" you asked, lip curling in disbelief.

He laughed quietly. "Not supposed to. I don't."

"Never?"

"Well of course I've- You know there was a time before I took my vows...?"

"So you went from being... active, in that way, to now just not even thinking about it? At all?"

"I think about it constantly," he replied bluntly. "But that's part of this whole gig, isn't it; resisting, choosing to remain faithful to God, not giving in to temptation. It's literally in the Lord's Prayer - 'and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.'"

"Sex is far from evil, it's fucking amazing."

"Not the sex you're having by the sounds of it."

Your mouth fell open with a scoffing laugh. "Touché."

He chuckled into his coffee. "Sorry, that was a low blow. You confided in me, I shouldn't use it against you."

"No, it was funny. You said yourself, we're just friends today."

He smiled, leaning back and crossing his arms comfortably over his chest, looking out the window at the busy high street.

"Oh, speaking of," he said. "Did you get a chance to look at the bible passages I annotated for you? I thought they might help with your... situation."

"Friends today," you repeated, pressing your mouth into an unamused smile.

"Right, sorry."

The truth was that you had looked at the passages. You'd taken the bible home, its pages adorned with small post-it notes of his analysis and interpretation, advice on how to implement the teachings into your life.

You'd lay down on your bed and began reading them, but somewhere down the line, musing over his writing turned into musing over him. And before you knew it, the book was closed beside you, your hand slipping down the front of your trousers as you pictured his fingers there instead of your own.

"Thank you so much for coming!" a voice appeared beside your table.

You looked up to see a woman smiling down at you both, an apron tied around her waist, hair pulled back into a loose ponytail. You assumed it was Catherine, her sweet, soft voice a perfect fit for the cutesie decor.

"I can't believe you came," she said to Father Benedict. "I really thought reaching out to you would be a shot in the dark."

"Of course I came," he replied as he gestured to you. "And I brought reinforcements. Though clearly it wasn't needed; this place is booming."

"Ah well, we have a really great community here. And a lot of gluten free people, apparently."

They both laughed as you sat there awkwardly, suddenly forgetting how to act like a real person.

"I have to tell you it's wonderful to see you," she continued. "The parish has been a shambles since you left."

"Oh, stop, don't be silly." He waved his hand shyly.

"No really! Father Martin's great but he's a bit of a stickler, y'know. Not as approachable as you were."

Approachable or fuckable, Catherine? Be honest.

"Oh well that's very kind," he said as you caught his eye, making him shake his head apologetically. "Oh, sorry, Catherine, this is Ellis. She's an aspiring member of my new parish."

"Hi, nice to meet you," she said with a smile, before leaning in towards you. "Aspiring member or just another sucker for this one's charming smile?"

She nudged him jokingly with her elbow and you gave a weak, unconvincing laugh.

Fuckable. She definitely meant fuckable.

"Anyway," she said, turning her attention back to him. "There's a few people from choir over here if you want to say hi?"

"Oh, yes, absolutely!"

You watched as he rose from his chair and shuffled out from behind the table.

"I'll just be a second," he said, reaching out and placing a hand on your shoulder.

You almost melted at his touch, immediately feeling ridiculous for it. It was a pat, a quick, reassuring squeeze, and yet the contact was enough to make you blush, having to hide your face behind another sip from your giant cup.

You watched from across the shop as he stood talking to a group of people, finding yourself zoning in on the way he interacted with Catherine. She seemed sweet, friendly and naturally tactile, like she was unable to talk without touching him.

You began to wonder if she was the temptation, if she was the thing that made him question his faith. You wondered if he'd found himself fantasising about her the way you did about him, if he'd left this parish because he could no longer bear the weight of his own desire.

By the time he returned to your table, you'd finished your coffee, staring down at the remnants of foam and speckles of cocoa powder at the bottom of the cup like you were reading your tea leaves.

He sat down, placing a pastel pink box on the table between you. "Sorry about that," he said. "Got you some pastries to make up for it."

"Really?"

"No."

"Oh."

"Catherine gave them to me. I offered to pay but she said they were on the house; a 'thank you' for coming."

"Wow, business must be doing well if she's giving away free stuff on the first day."

He laughed. "I literally just said the exact same thing, word for word-"

"So how do you know her?"

He paused, taking a moment to register your interruption. "Hm? Oh, she's involved in the church here."

"And I take it you were close?"

"Erm, well she was a 'regular', if you will; got pretty involved in all the..." he trailed off, narrowing his eyes at you with a slight smile. "Are you jealous?"

"Jealous of what? The fact that I'm not the first weird woman you've met in a church?"

"Oh, you're definitely the first weird woman I've met in a-"

You kicked him gently under the table and a laugh resonated in his throat. It was deep, warm, the kind of sound that elicited tingles, raised the hairs on your arms. If this was his voice in the middle of a busy bakery, you thought, then you could only begin to imagine the sounds he was capable of behind closed doors.

He scrunched his nose and looked out the window, then back to you. "Fancy stepping outside with me for a second?"

"What for?" you asked as you felt your heart flutter with nerves, like your body was making assumptions before your brain had even processed his question.

"I could do with a cig," he replied quietly. "Disgusting habit, I know, but-"

"No, it's- Yeah, I'll come."

You followed him outside, hugging your coat closed to shield yourself from the wind. He slipped down a side street next to the bakery, leaning against the wall and placing a cigarette between his teeth. You watched as he snipped his lighter over and over again, the wind snuffing out the flame each time.

"F'cking hell," he growled, cigarette still in his mouth. "Sorry, shouldn't have said that."

You exhaled a soft laugh and reached into your pocket. "Would this work any better?"

He glanced down at the heavy zippo lighter in your hand.

"I got it for you," you said. "The 'G' stands for 'God'."

He took the cigarette between two fingers and moved it from his mouth, looking down at you in bewilderment. "Are you fucking with me?"

"Of course I am."

He rolled his eyes and took it from you. "See, I still can't tell when you're joking," he said, successfully lighting up and tilting his head back to blow out a long plume of smoke.

"It's my friend's," you said. "She keeps leaving things in my coat."

"My brother used to do that. Not with my coat, with my car." He laughed, still staring up at the sky as he took another drag. "I'd get in it and his music would start playing, the seat'd be moved forward, stuff all over the passenger seat. He was borrowing my car without asking but not bothering to cover his tracks. Probably because he knew I could never be mad at him for more than five minutes."

"You have a brother?"

"Mm." He fell quiet for a moment, a contemplative look on his face, before snapping out of it and smiling at you. "He was quite... troubled, then towards the end he found God. Which is what made me start connecting with my own faith after he-" Another pause, followed by a gentle laugh. "I was so anti-religion back then, if he could see me now, a bloody priest, he'd lose his mind."

You forced a smile, trying to disguise your discomfort as you pressed your mouth closed, teeth digging into the backs of your lips. "So... we're both part of the Dead Brother Club then."

You grimaced to yourself immediately and looked away, anywhere except directly at him. The Dead Brother Club? Really, Ellis? But like always, he seemed happy to take you in his stride, understanding your intentions without making you explain.

"I prefer the Surviving Siblings Society," he said dryly, the corner of his mouth twitching with a smile.

"I'm sorry," you began, pausing to clear your throat. "I say things I shouldn't when I'm- Well I'm just not good with knowing what to say or do when people... divulge their... I'm not a very comforting person."

"That's alright. Because I, on the other hand, like to think I'm a very comforting person. So I can comfort us both."

"I don't really think I need to be comforted."

"Then what do you need?"

You.

"Nothing."

"Everyone needs something."

You were holding your breath as your gaze held his, and despite the cold weather, the air between you suddenly felt warm and heavy. But you weren't sure why, unable to decipher the look on his face and reluctant to mistake it for something it wasn't. Again. So instead you remained quiet, waiting.

He took a final drag of his cigarette before stubbing it out on the brick wall behind him. "Shall we go somewhere?"

"Where?"

"I want to show you something."

He made his way back around the corner onto the main high street. But instead of going back inside the bakery, he walked straight past it. You began to follow but stopped for a moment near the window, glancing inside at the table you'd been sitting at, the box of untouched pastries he'd left behind.

You were convinced that once you'd seen one church, you'd seen them all. The greys and browns, stone and wood, old carpets and tall, vaulted ceilings. They all smelled the same too, echoed the same, filtered in the sunlight through multicoloured glass.

When Father Benedict walked you inside, you felt a pang of disappointment in your chest, the urge to tell him just how similar it was to the church back home. But when you looked up at him and saw his smile, you refrained.

He wandered around the chapel, his footsteps echoing, fingers grazing over the pews as he passed them. "This was my church," he said. "Before I took my sabbatical. I was the priest here."

You looked around. "It's... Nice."

"It's changed. Well, some things have changed - that's new." He pointed to an obnoxiously large statue of Jesus nailed to a cross, the thing crudely lying on its side waiting to be mounted on the wall.

"Subtle," you said. "I like the artistic choice to lie him on the floor like that."

"Artistic choice," he scoffed out a laugh.

"Yeah. Really makes you think."

"About what?"

"About why he didn't just stand up and run away if he was so close to the ground."

"Fuck off-" He clamped a hand over his mouth and looked around to make sure no one else was there.

You bit your lip to suppress a laugh, but still it tumbled out of you in a mischievous giggle.

He took a few steps towards you, speaking slowly and quietly. "You, Ellis, are going to get me defrocked."

"With any luck," you muttered under your breath as he walked away.

"I heard that."

Your heart stopped, your eyes snapping up to meet his as he glanced over his shoulder at you.

"I... It was a joke."

"I know," he said softly, simply, turning around and making his way up the steps to the altar.

"So," you began with an awkward cough. "Saw my sister today for the first time since Christmas. Was just about as awkward as you can imagine."

"I take it there's been no improvement since you came to the grief support group?"

"It's hard. It's like she knows that she's the one to blame for the tension between us and she feels guilty for it, but she doesn't know how to fix it." You wandered slowly up the aisle as you spoke. "Then every time she does start to soften towards me, I do something that pisses her off and we're right back to square one."

"That being Christmas."

"Yep."

"What did you do?"

"Sat in Cain's chair."

"Cain...?"

"Dead brother."

"Ah."

"It was mum's turn to host. She still lives in the house we grew up in, and she always leaves a chair open for Cain at the dining table so it feels like he's there with us or whatever. Anyway, we were sitting down for dinner, and I wasn't really paying attention and I accidentally sat in his chair instead of mine. Mara went mad."

"Could she not rationalise that it was a mistake?"

"Obviously not," you sat down on the bottom step leading up to the altar. "Cain was her best friend, favourite person in the world. I was just the annoying little 'oopsie' our parents had almost a decade after they said they were done having kids. Plus, she was probably a bit extra sensitive, what with all the hormones."

"Hormones?"

"She'd just given birth five days earlier, so..."

"Oh." His tone brightened as he continued to wander around. "So you have a niece? nephew?"

"Niece."

"What's her name?"

You turned your head to look at him, before returning your gaze to your lap. "I'd rather not say."

"Why? It's stupid isn't it."

"Maybe a little bit."

"Go on."

"No."

He began making his way towards you. "Go on."

"No, honestly it's-"

"Just tell me," he laughed, plonking himself down right beside you.

"Soleil," you finally said, like his closeness made you weak, including your mouth.

"I think that's pretty."

"Fuck off."

"I do! Makes me think of... sunshine, grace, warmth... It's better than Benedict."

You smiled at him. "What does my name make you think of?"

His expression seemed to soften, his eyes flitting across your face for a moment. "It just makes me think of you."

There was a long silence, the enormous space around you somehow feeling so small, so intimate. You broke eye contact first, looking around, as if making sure it was all still there.

"How long ago did you work here?" you asked.

"I left last year."

"And how long were you... between places?"

"A few months. Not that long."

"What did you do? Y'know, while you were... away from it all."

He took a deep breath, resting forearms on parted thighs. "I went home to my parents'. Stayed in my old childhood room. I helped my mother with the garden, cooked dinner with my father almost every evening, caught up with people I'd left behind when I chose this life."

You were hanging on his every word, the way everyone always did during his sermons.

"I read books and watched films and listened to music. I cried, I got drunk, I talked to God and I, I doubted if he was even there."

"Did you sin?" you asked, almost whispering.

"Everyone sins," he replied with a shrug. "I just sinned two minutes ago when I said 'fuck' inside a church- Oh, there we go, just did it again."

You smiled before leaning your body towards him. "I mean did you... sin. Like, sin sin. Proper sin.”

He eyed you curiously. "Why do you ask?"

You paused. "I don't know. Maybe because... If I know a priest can commit sin and still consider himself good, I might be able to forgive myself too."

"Forgive yourself for what?"

"For sinning. Keep up, Father."

He smiled, then swallowed, his jaw flexing as he was thinking.

"I suppose it's subjective," he finally said. "The bible says if you repent, you can pretty much be forgiven for anything. But forgiving yourself, that's... different. I mean, it depends what you did; if I break commandment three then of course I can forgive myself. Six, on the other hand..."

You stared at him blankly.

"The ten commandments...?"

"Rings a bell."

He dropped his head and laughed, before throwing it back and looking up at the ceiling. "Okay. One: You shall have no other Gods before me."

"Self explanatory."

"Yep. As is two: Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven images. Don't worship false idols. Three: Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain. And four: Remember the Sabbath day and keep it holy."

"What's five?"

You couldn't believe you were actually finding this interesting. But perhaps it wasn't the subject itself, but the way he spoke about it. How easily the knowledge poured off his tongue, how you were so close you could practically see the words coming up his throat.

"Honour your father and mother."

You rolled your eyes and blew a raspberry, making him chuckle.

"Six is thou shalt not kill, and seven is-"

"Seven is...?"

He cleared his throat, glancing at you, then down to his hands. "Seven is thou shalt not commit adultery."

Suddenly, seven was your least favourite number; sharp and angular like a blade. The words hung in the air between you, and you could almost feel Alfie's lips on your skin, like a bruise, an entirely unwelcome souvenir.

"Eight is thou shalt not steal," he continued. "Nine is thou shalt not bear false witness. Which just means don't lie."

Now you hated the number nine too.

"And finally ten: Thou Shalt Not Covet."

"Covet like... want something?"

"It's a little more specific than that. To covet means to desire something that belongs to someone else."

You bit the inside of your cheek before looking at him. "Does it count if the thing you desire... belongs to God?"

He met your gaze, from the corner of his eye at first, before turning his head to face you properly. "You desire something that belongs to God?"

You had never met anyone so all-consuming before, so utterly captivating that you could feel it in your bones. Drawing you to him. It was in the way he spoke to you, like he'd figured out exactly how you worked; cracked you open and found an instruction manual carved into the wrong side of your skin. You wanted to do that to him; to know him so well that he could feel you in his marrow.

"Ellis," he said softly, snapping you out of your daze. "You have to stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like I'm not a priest. And like you don't have a boyfriend."

The air seemed to evaporate from your chest, your mouth falling open slightly with a gentle gasp. "I- I didn't... I was- I'm sorry I- I didn't even realise I was- I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable-"

"You don't. It doesn't." He rose to his feet. "Therein lies the problem."

"Problem?"

He turned to face you and began walking backwards down the aisle. "You came to me seeking salvation. That has to remain at the forefront."

You stood up too and began to follow him. "As opposed to...?"

He stopped when you caught up to him, causing you to bump into his chest. The last time you were face to face like this was at the boot of his car, when you could have sworn he was going to reach out and touch you, perhaps even lean in for a kiss. You'd been wrong then. But this time you weren't so sure.

"As opposed to what, Father?"

He inhaled slowly, looking down at you with heavy lids. "The Lord can be cruel, and it's not always clear why. Sometimes it's up to us to forgive him."

You furrowed your brow in confusion. "What passage is that?"

"That wasn't the bible, that was me."

"Oh." You shook your head. "Okay, well, what do you mean by that?"

"I mean I think he sent you to me. God."

"Why?"

"Because of all the churches, you just had to walk into mine."

"Do you wish I hadn't?"

"I'm starting to."

You had never felt such a guttural urge to scream before, but when your phone began to ring in your pocket, it took all your might just to keep your mouth shut. You shoved your hand into your pocket and ripped out your phone, looking down at the screen, then back up to him.

"It's my sister," you breathed. "I- I can't ignore this, she never calls..."

He held his hands up in surrender before gesturing to you to take it.

"Hello?" you said, pressing the phone reluctantly to your ear.

"Were you being honest this afternoon when you said your friend was a priest?"

"Yes, I was," you replied with a frustrated sigh, glancing up at him, like you were scared he would disappear if you took your eyes off him for too long.

"The priest at St Augustine's?" Mara asked, her tone as snippy as ever.

"Yes."

"Could you ask him if he'll christen Soleil?"

"Could I- You're calling me to ask if- Are you jok-"

"I can," said Father Benedict, able to hear her on the other end, interjecting before you completely lost it. "I can do that. Just have her come to mass on Sunday and I'll talk to her about it then."

You let out a huff. "Did you hear that, Mara?"

"I did. Tell him I said thanks. Oh and-"

"Yeah, okay." You hung up and stuffed the phone back in your pocket, able to feel the annoyance heating up your cheeks. "She only wants her baptised so she can put her in that fucking catholic school by the town centre. Fucking hell! Of all the moments to-"

"It's okay," he said softly. "We should probably go, anyway."

"But we-"

"We should probably go," he repeated, slightly more sternly, before turning on his heels and making his way towards the exit.

Part 5: Sacrifice

*Tags: @evelynrosestuff @thealleydog @lexlexigogh @allie131313 @simpingbestie @ironstrange1991 @witchoftheages @queerbee8 @swds @jyessaminereads @withalittlehoney @hunterofshadows04 @slytherindoctorsat221b @diabaroxa @phoebe221 @hai-kbai @downtownshabby @dara-of-qui-zi @unfilteredmoonchild

*If you would like to be tagged in future chapters, please feel free to ask, or you can add yourself to the list here

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zozobruh · 1 year ago

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Tag game to better know you

Iva, my dear, tysm for tagging me @b1uetrees <3

what book are you currently reading?

I finally got around to reading Dune! It's going really sloooow since I have been working and trying to write my thesis at the same time, but so far so good! (The 1st movie def didn't do justice to some things oops)

what’s your favorite movie you saw in theaters this year?

I haven't really been to the cinema this year. Objectively, I would say it was Banshees of Inisherin (which I saw with Iva ofc hehe). In terms of the experience of live screening it def was The Rocky Horror Picture Show! It was so fun, I loved people singing and making comments to the plot, epic

what do you usually wear?

Most days of the year you'll see me in mom jeans and a shirt tucked in them or a sweater over them for colder periods of the year. Recently I bought high-waisted wide-leg black jeans and I AM IN LOVE. For shoes I prefer the vans sneakers and dr. martens boots.

how tall are you

157 cm (5'2)

what’s your star sign? do you share a birthday with a celebrity or a historical event?

Taurus. For celebrities ik that I share my bday with Pierce Brosnan, Megan Fox and Thomas Brodie-Sangster lol

do you go by your name or a nickname?

I go by my name (Klara). The only person that actually calls me Zozo is my boyfriend haha

did you grow up to become what you wanted to be when you were a child?

Def not, but I still think child me would be pretty impressed with what we achieved and would probably think the adult me is cool af haha

are you in a relationship? if not, who is your crush if you have one?

Yes, going strong for almost 4 and a half years. I love my bf and I wouldn't trade what we have for the world. MUST protect <3

what’s something you’re good at vs something you’re bad at?

Honest answer is that I think I'm average at everything lmao. I guess I'm good at planning, organizing and respecting deadlines. I'm bad at maths and quick thinking haha

dogs or cats?

I always say both, but if I'm put in a spot and have to choose, I'll say cats. I feel like kitties are just closer to my personality and I like their dynamic.

if you draw/write, or create in any way, what’s your favorite picture/favorite line/favorite etc. from something you created this year?

I have been writing some rather emo poetry since highschool (I'm okay), so earlier in April, I wrote a little poem I liked:

Daffodil The reflection of water on the wall Mercilessly moving The time is taking its toll The tall glass vase on the table Mercilessly staying still The time is writing its fable As it slowly comes to kill A beautiful yellow daffodil

Recently, I got back into writing fanfiction bc of watching KP, here's my fave line from my fic (ofc titled after MCR) The world is ugly, but you're beautiful to me:

Kinn sits up and studies the night in Bangkok. The bright yellow lights of the buildings are reflected in the darkness of the river. The Theerapanakul headquarters are amongst the brightest shining buildings, shaping the skyline of the city. Sometimes the building feels like his home, swarming with memories of his brothers and him playing, of his mother reading them stories and preparing them for bed. Growing up made it feel like a prison in which he exists, simply fulfilling his destiny.

what is something that you’d like to create content for?

Before I got into KP brainrot, I really wanted to write for Beyond Evil, but never got to it. But now, I do have a pretty well-developed idea for a BE fic! Everything is on hold until I finish my thesis tho

A wild part of me also wants to stream The Sims4 let's play hahaah

what’s something you’re currently obsessed with?

My brain got a bit too tired to be obsessed in the purest sense of the word, but I'd say KP (and the actors who play them) still has a pretty strong chokehold on me.

what’s something you were excited about that turned out to be disappointing this year?

Honestly nothing. The things I was excited about were great, but the things I wasn't excited about were shit so lmao, as expected

what’s a hidden talent of yours?

Don't think I have one

are you religious?

I'm not, however, I'd still say I'm somewhat spiritual. I grew up catholic, but I realized it's just not for me. Since it's hard for me to believe there's nothing at all, so the closest to what I'd label myself as is agnostic.

what’s something you wish to have at this moment?

a finished thesis, so i have more time to relax and do my hobbies after work, one can dream ah

A no pressure tag for @tr1edandtrueblue if you feel like doing this :3

#tag game #long post sorry oops #zozo rambles

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fereldanwench · 2 years ago

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💕 self-love time! talk about which ones of YOUR creations (edits, artworks, fanfics) you like the most then send to other creators to do the same 💕

Ahhhhhh, thank you for sending me this, Na. 💙 I'll probably have to send mine out tomorrow bc I'm sleepy but I kept forgetting to answer this so I didn't want to put it off.

I'll start with edits/photostories: I was really happy with how my little Abernathy/Valerie prologue set came out for my full corpo AU. It's super long so linkage here. (But also honorable mention to the one I made for Day 3 of this year's Goro week.)

I unfortunately kind of let my regular art fall to the wayside the past few months, but I still really like this drawing I did of Valerie from last year. It'd been a good while since I'd done any colored pencil work, and I still love how the coat came out.

And for fic, I think I still gotta give it to Homecoming, which is a very fluffy, smutty fic I wrote for Goro and Valerie's reunion when she gets out of Mikoshi. Little snippet:

"Takemura-san?"

"Yes?"

"Miss Powell is ready for you." The medical assistant gestured into the room, and Goro nodded in thanks before he stepped through the doorway.

Valerie stood at the edge of the hospital bed with her back to him as she fought with a zipper on a small duffel bag. Her blue hair was swept up in a loose bun, and she was dressed plainly in a black, baggy long-sleeve t-shirt and sweatpants.

She was a magnificent sight, truly.

"It is good to see you, Valerie," Goro said.

She spun around before he finished saying her name and grinned, wide and bright. He smiled in return, and Valerie looked up and down, lavishing Goro with her adoring, dark gaze. An inkling of pride swelled in his chest.

"Goro, it's good--You look... Wow." Valerie reached for his arm, running her hand down the fine silk sleeve. "I feel very underdressed."

"Miss Powell, as a reminder: it's recommended you continue to wear loose-fitting clothing for the next month," the assistant interjected from the bedside station. He continued to rapidly tap against the console screen without otherwise acknowledging them.

Goro caught Valerie rolling her eyes at the interruption, and he smirked at her silent display of petty rebellion.

"You look good, too," he murmured affectionately. Even under the harsh lighting, Valerie's hair and skin were luminous, and her eyes were vibrant, alert. She looked healthy and well-rested. Unburdened. Goro could not recall the last time he saw her so at ease, if he ever had.

"Not like you," she replied, resuming her appreciative caress down his sleeve. When she reached the hem, Goro turned his palm over to take her bare hand in his, but as soon as their skin touched, Valerie shuddered. Her breath hitched in a lascivious whimper, and she immediately clamped her hand over her mouth.

"Over-stimulation is an expected side effect," the attendant interjected again, disinterested and monotone. "The worst of it should subside within a week. Occasional episodes may persist during the first six months."

"That's very helpful, thank you," Valerie mumbled against her palm.

#goro takemura #cyberpunk 2077 #oc: valerie v powell #c: goro takemura #ship: goro x valerie #g: cyberpunk 2077 #mine: edits #mine: stories #mine: art #fic: goro x valerie #t: wench replies #long post

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theloveinc · 2 years ago

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hi!!! i have a kindle paperwhite that i love, the newest gen (the option without the ads and 32gb because i love books and wanted lots of storage space). i highly recommend it!!! it’s backlit, so you can read in the dark, and you can adjust the brightness and warmth of the screen, as well as the color of (regular) books between white, black, and a sepia/tan tone. you can also change font size, style, and boldness, as well as page orientation between upright and horizontal. i have a fun little flap cover case for mine, and a screen protector, but i’m sure you can get fancier/more protective cases. i like having my simple flap cover :) you can go onto the internet but it’s kinda ehh, but if you want to read fics from ao3 you can download them and port them onto your kindle using something like calibre, which is a totally free and open source software to take downloaded files, like pdfs or .mobis, and convert them or send them to your kindle/e-reader from a laptop or computer! ao3 supports downloading fics in house, i have several downloaded onto my kindle, and if you read fics from other websites (like fanfiction.net), there are websites that can help you download fics from those sites too, and you can use calibre to transfer them to your kindle :) and then of course you have access to the entire amazon books sale page (on the kindle! you can buy books on your kindle), and if you want to you can get kindle unlimited, which i have because i like reading kitschy romance novels lol mine also has a super long battery life, and i highly recommend spending to get the kindle dock as well, i use it to hold my kindle up while i read in bed and knit, and it connects to a cord to charge it for you :) all-in-all, i honestly really like my kindle paperwhite, but i also had a pretty large kindle library before i got it, so that’s why i got a kindle specifically. i also didn’t want anything that i could put apps on so i could read without getting distracted like i sometimes do on my phone, so the fact that it’s pretty simple in what all it can do is perfect for me :) (and you CAN get comics/manga on it, i just don’t read mine on it, and it’s stuck in b/w/ even on colored pages i think)

(rest of post under cut due to length!!)

thank you sm for the breakdown of yours! sounds like something really fun to have, with all it's uses and the ability to customize it! i remember way back when in like... 5th-6th grade, my friend had a kindle too and her google(-equivalent?) app didn't work very well either....... i see not much has changed lolol (maybe for the best?).

i agree with you, though. i'd definitely get distracted with other apps, so it's almost better not to have them? at the same time tho, i just feel like... paying for a device like that... and then not having the option to have other entertainment would piss me off LOL. esp cuz switching back between phone and kindle at night seems... a bit pointless (why i want to read more in general, to get off my phone + probs why my mom keeps telling me to just use the kindle app but... ehhhh). probably why it's so cheap tho.

as for downloading fics... i'm glad to know it's an option at the very least!!honestly, truly what sounds the best to me (other than the reading itself) is the dock thing, as i'd love to read and crochet, too🥺

but this was really helpful, as i def think it's something i should think about saving up for (and a better quality one too, at least for space and lack of ads bc... yeah u right). not to repeat myself for the 40th time but.. i've got some time to consider it before i really need to put it on the list.

thank you so much for your help tho! it sounds really beneficial and like it was a great gift for you❤️❤️❤️

#i have this old ipad that was my grandpas and so i keep thinking i could read on that #but i dont want my eyes to hurt which they already do and i want to get off my darn phone #yet.. im just a bang for my buck kinda girl #but i wanna read so badly ugh #thank u again anon!!#caitie answers #anon #ereader saga #long post

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starbuckie · 4 years ago

Text

𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠

pairing(s): college!peter parker x reader, dark!steve rogers x reader, dark!sam wilson x reader, dark!bucky barnes x reader

words: 8.1k words

warnings: DARK!FIC, SMUT 18+ (unprotected sex, foursome turned fivesome, gangbang, non-con/dub-con, daddy kink, oral M and F-receiving, spit kink, degredation kink, praise kink, creampie), age-gap (reader is in her early 20s), cheating, angst, there’s like zero fluff

summary: peter should’ve made it back to the tower for date night on time, or maybe just before he found his girlfriend being fucked by three other superheroes.

a/n: eee my first dark fic! im so so happy with the way this turned out, and even though it was a pain in my ass for nearly three months, im so hapy to share it with y’all. this idea was brought up by an anon from @mypoisonedvine’s saturday sleepover a few months back, but i switched up tony and sam bc i didn’t like the tony and peter stuff. hopefully my smut has improved from the first time i wrote it in january, and just a reminder that in no way, shape, or form do i condone rape of any kind. there’s a large difference from the page and the real world. i try to put all tw’s in the tags and warnings, but if there was something i missed please tell me. thank you to my lovely bestie @mermaidxatxheart for beta-reading(i have no fucking clue what i’d do without your help). feel free to leave a comment or two and reblog, but don’t repost anywhere or i will hunt down your ass. thank you again and please please enjoy <3

main masterlist || mcu masterlist || sebastian stan characters masterlist

Bucky wasn’t planning to fuck Y/N as soon as he saw her.

It started with a faint mention, something Tony had thrown around along the lines of, “Parker’s bringing his girl down here tomorrow, don’t be an asshole”. He didn’t give a damn what Tony said or how he acted around Peter’s girl. Years of being thrown between gruesome mind-wiping and being half-dead, asleep in a freezer would do that to a man.

So the next day when Peter brought his girlfriend in, he was scratching his ass like a fucking ape and downing a beer with a messy bun at the nape of his neck, until he actually saw her. Neat hair, even neater laces with a sweet smile but a body that could kill. Didn’t matter that she was bundled under Parker’s hoodie and a pair of jeans- he could always admire a pretty dame, but Bucky could see that she was beyond that. It was as if God had intentionally made the one being, the one ethereal creature beautiful and angelic enough to be a sin away from him, so that he couldn’t touch her. Because she was young, and in her twenties, and that shouldn’t have even been the first two things that popped up in his mind because she was also Peter’s girlfriend.

But then she had the audacity to stick her hand out, a shy grin and twinkle in her eyes as she gave her name. It sounded so pretty rolling off of her tongue, and he wondered what it would sound like while he groaned it into her cunt.

Y/N.

So, yeah, maybe Bucky wasn’t planning to fuck her as soon as he met her, but it was pretty damn close after.

Steve Rogers was one of very few men who said they had the pleasure of banging nearly every woman on the north side of Manhattan. Bucky indulged in the fact that the man who had once been too shy to do so much as meet a gal’s gaze was now “a dollar whore”, but he was more than happy to keep that title if it meant he could continue to get off in the nearest woman’s mouth everyday.

Every time he walked down the streets of New York with just a simple ball cap and jeans, he could feel stares on his back from what seemed like miles away, girls on every street corner just waiting for him to take her into the nearest public bathroom and fuck them dirty. CEOs, baristas, girls fresh out of getting master’s degrees with stars in their eyes and big dreams, until he shattered them by making them gag on his cock and scream his name into bedsheets. Or tile floors. He didn’t care as long as they were screaming. The girls of this century were just too delectable to turn down. He didn’t discriminate. His dick had been in women of every height, stature, hair color, and he had quite the variety throwing themselves at him as well.

And then Tony ruined it all and sat him down with a simple explanation that the image of Captain America was being tainted with disturbing stories of girls being fucked in the ass and thrown on their knees in dirty bathroom stalls. The blond was beyond pissed when the billionaire told him to stop dicking around, but he couldn’t do anything else if he wanted to keep his title and job. In a new century, even if he’d had a few years to adjust, he was still absolutely oblivious when it came to anything outside of aliens and sex. There was nothing left for him outside of being an Avenger, so reluctantly he agreed to keep his number of conquests to a minimum, and most definitely inside of the tower rather than out on the street.

However, inside of the tower seemed to be no problem at all when Peter brought his girlfriend over, all smiles and straight A’s, and that’s when Steve realized that he’d yet to fuck a bright, little college student. He could see himself stripping her from the innocence in her eyes, loosening up her pussy with his thick cock against the wall in his room.

Surely Tony couldn’t reprimand him for spending a little time trying to bond with Peter’s new girl, right?

Sam Wilson was a simple man. He had a job, a well-paid one at that, somewhere to live, a girlfriend, or a woman to keep him company, that’s for sure- but for once in his life he was seeking out something other than missions, something that would keep him busy when he was feeling bored, something like-

Pleasure, and he knew that he’d finally found what he was looking for the moment Peter brought his girlfriend through the elevator doors on the fifty-sixth level of the Avengers tower. She’d shaken his hand so daintily and spoke so politely that if he were to see her without any backstory, he’d think she was another innocent, dim-witted college student, breaking her bank account every Saturday morning and naively believing that her relationship would last longer than a few months. But by the things Parker had told him, she was much more than that.

Was it shitty of Peter to tell his teammates, the people he worked with, how Y/N was in bed? By the majority’s vote, probably, and by Sam’s strict conduct of his own morals, definitely, but when Peter’s girl looked like that and he was so incredibly bored with his routine?

Well, fuck, Sam had never been happier that the Spider-kid had told everyone how his girl gave head.

Peter brought his girlfriend in daily after that, and every one of her visits, she grew less shy and more friendly, and the Falcon saw each of his friends gape at her growing comfortability with a wolfish demeanor. It started with the water incident with Steve in the kitchen, where he so clearly spilled water on her already thin, white camisole with intention. Sam couldn’t say he was upset though, after all Steve had offered him and the rest of the Avengers quite a show when he tried to clean up her shirt, taking his sweet, sweet time to fondle her tits as subtly as he could, his eyes staring at her pebbled nipples poking through the material. He could see Bucky hiding his boner under his cereal bowl on the couch that day.

Then of course, he’d been no better than America’s sweetheart himself when he greeted Y/N with a hug that in hindsight, was a little too enthusiastic. His large hands squeezed into the pockets of her back pocket, and if the college student found anything weird with it, she didn’t say so, but Sam graciously palmed the round globes of her ass in his hands, feeling the muscle clench under his fingers. Oh, how he’d never hugged someone that tight ever before in his life. Maybe he would’ve gotten a bit further than squeezing her ass had it not been for his own girlfriend standing behind him, ready to introduce herself to Y/N.

Bucky, well, Sam could admit that Bucky had the most guts out of all of them. Though the super-soldier was normally well-reserved and polite, the dark glint in his eyes the day he met Y/N let him in on the secret that he had a much dirtier mind than most thought. It had been movie night that time, and he barely even tried to cover up how much he wanted the girl, his hands resting all over her as they watched Inception. Hardly a movie to get so riled up over, yet Bucky’s hand still inched its way up her thigh, his rough fingers gently carressing the flesh until they started to lightly trace the apex of her thighs.

If she noticed anything then, she didn’t comment on it, doe-like eyes just marvelling at the screen in great intrigue. It was only when Peter’s arms wrapped around her a bit tighter did she scooch away from Bucky’s touch, with a small apology and shy grin.

That only made his dick harder.

On the other side of Bucky, his super-soldier counterpart tapped his knee gently, forcing their blue eyes to meet each other. No words had to be said between the two, three men when they looked over to Sam, because they all recognized that look they saw in each other's eyes; predatory, dark, nearly voracious in the way they all wanted to be balls deep inside of Y/N.

And they would get there. No matter how long it took, they knew that the ultimate prize of tearing their prey apart would be more than worth the wait.

“Hey, babe, I’m gonna be a little late. Ned and I got stuck back in the lab, so we’re gonna need to stay until eight or nine. Can you make it to the tower by yourself alright?”

Peter’s concerned voice made Y/N smile gently as she trudged along the rainy streets of New York. He always loved to worry about her, especially when it was dark and gloomy out, but she could handle herself pretty okay. By pretty okay, of course meant she could kick ass like no other twenty-something year-old, but she wasn’t one to brag. Y/N readjusted the Kate Spade purse on her shoulder with her right hand, attempting to keep her umbrella over her head with the other. “I’ll be fine, Pete, just go finish up and get back to me. I’m gonna be waiting in your room at the tower before you go off on that mission this weekend.”

A small sigh came through the speaker, “Okay, I’ll try to get back to you soon. I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you too, Pete.”

“Oh,” she could hear the shy but no less mischievous smile that was taking over his face, “I left you a little present on the bed, make sure you open it before I get back.”

Y/N’s face heated at the implication. “Peter Parker, you dirty little-” He ended the call with a laugh, and she huffed out a small chuckle at his childish antics.

The walk to the Avengers tower would have been nice, had it not been for the downfall of rain, making everything mushy, socks being absolutely soaked through her sneakers by the time she arrived. The receptionist at the front desk, Jenny, if Y/N remembered correctly, stared at her a little oddly, probably not expecting to see the young college girl in such a state of disorder, but it didn’t affect her at all. She confidently strutted up to the elevator, pressing in the floor number where all the rooms were located. Y/N scrolled through her Twitter feed on her phone while classic rock blared through the elevator with the constant shuffling of people moving in and out. Seven minutes and thirty-two seconds later she was sprinting down the halls with soggy shoes and damp hair, her cold body screaming for warmth.

Peter’s room was the farthest down the hall, and the room was fairly empty. He rarely stayed at his room in the tower, preferring to stay with his Aunt May or keep Y/N company in Brooklyn. When she entered the room, she saw a plain white shirt and a pair of socks strewn upon the carpeted floor, but what really caught her eye was the red box wrapped in a pink bow on the bed. Deciding it would add more suspense if she opened it later, she quickly hopped in the shower, letting the hot water warm her freezing, rigid muscles under the spray.

Peter didn’t have all the products she’d usually use before she knew they were going to have sex, so she had to make do with the half-used bar of Irish Spring and his small travel-sized bottles of shampoo and conditioner, promising the fresh, breezy smell of citrus and mint. It was a quick process; two squeezes of shampoo, shaving with the green soap as best as she could without cutting herself, one squeeze of conditioner. A fuzzy towel sat waiting for Y/N on the rack, with the Spiderman symbol as a prank gift from her to her lovely boyfriend, and without a second to let the heat leave her damp skin, she wrapped herself in it, quickly hopping out to the bedroom again.

The lingerie she set out on the bed was a deep set burgundy color, with lace decorating the delicate corset and the trim of the satin panties. The packaging really did not do it justice. Y/N grinned at the new set, one that she knew would happily be torn from her body later. A shiver ran through her as she let the cold air fall over her skin, carefully slipping the lingerie on. It was a damn shame, really; the set was quite nice, and she reminded herself to buy more of the nicely suiting color for their nights together.

Click.

Y/N’s heart thumped with anticipation as she heard the door open and she took a quick moment to ready herself. Hair in perfect style, legs stretched along the length of the bed to make herself look as seductive as possible, a small smirk thrown on her pouty lips.

But in the darkened room, it wasn’t Peter’s shadow that appeared. Three men, three tall, bulkier men’s shadows appeared at the foot of the bed, and horror washed over her as she realized who they were. “Goddamn, dolly, I’ve imagined what you would’ve looked like under those sweaters, but this is much sweeter than I expected.”

The sinister face of Bucky Barnes came into her view, just a sliver of moonlight lighting up his pale skin. His eyes raked over Y/N’s uncovered skin, and goosebumps appeared as she tried to cover herself up under his predatory gaze.

“W-what are you doing here?” She whispered worriedly. Sam and Steve flanked the bed on either side of her, plastered sickly sweet smiles on their faces, providing her with a false sense of security that made her heart scream in fear. Though she wasn't making any noise, her lungs felt like they were going to give out, her throat closing up like an allergic reaction.

Her head whipped every which way in robotic movement, her brain seeming to fail her as she scanned the room for an exit. Several moments of shortened breaths, cold air chilling her body, before she came out of her freezing shock to realization.

“Why are you here? Please, get out, just g-get out!”

A calloused hand pushed away Y/N’s left arm that covered her tits, and Steve groaned at the sight of her pebbled nipples. “God, baby, they’re as pretty as I thought they’d be. Been trying to feel them up all week, but you knew that, didn’t you?”

Saturday the week before at lunch when he’d spilled water over chest and tried to clean her up. Sam’s friendly hug that became a bit less friendly when his hands slipped into the back pockets of her jeans. The movie night on Monday when Bucky’s hand caressed her thigh a little too close to her core. All of their touches began to make more sense, and her eyes filled with tears at the realization.

“Please,” she begged, tears blocking her vision, “I promise I won’t tell anyone, not even Pete, but please just go.”

“You just don’t get it, do you?” Steve asked. He grasped her chin roughly, his face close enough to hers so that she could feel his fiery breath on her lips. “We’re not leaving, sweetheart. You’re gonna let all three of us play with your pretty little body, and you’re gonna make the prettiest sounds for us, alright?”

Y/N shook her head violently, too afraid to make noise, but also bold enough to make one last attempt at freedom. The hand that held her chin quickly moved to slap her cheek, and she hated the way the sting made heat stir in her lower belly. She tried to shy away from their touch again, but Bucky’s face simply held the same smirk as he trailed his vibranium fingers up and down her leg.

“Oh, come on, Y/N, don’t act all shy now. Peter has been telling us how good you’ve been to him and don’t think he hasn’t told us about your little childhood crush on little ol’ me. Been wanting to fuck you ever since.” Bucky’s hand quickly left her body, instead moving to palm over the bulge in his pants. “Fuck, sweetheart, got me real hard just thinking ‘bout your pussy swallowing my cock. Bet you’re gonna be a sweet, obedient girl for me, right?”

Fire started to course through Y/N’s veins, and with all the power she tried to dampen it down with, it seemed to push through her body that much more dangerously. She despised the fact that she could feel herself growing wet for the three older men, but God, she had never felt the need to be filled up as badly as she did in that moment.

“You’re a bit of a slut, don’t you think?” Sam mocked. He kneeled on her right, his eyes fixated on her panty-clad pussy, a wet patch already forming on the soft satin. It really didn’t help that three of her teen celebrity crushes were eyeing her nearly naked body like a piece of meat. “I mean, look at you, already growing wet and needy for three cocks. Is that what you want, honey? Parker not treating you good enough?”

She hesitated. Goosebumps rose across her skin at the sinister tone of his voice, like he already knew it was true. And it was true and she hated that Sam was right, but as amazing as Peter was a boyfriend, it was clear from the vibrator hiding in his apartment’s bathroom that he was not amazing in the sheets. Every time, she held hope that it would be better, that she would finally get to stop faking an orgasm before he rolled out of the bed with a filled up condom, but she knew deep down inside of her that it wasn’t happening anytime soon. Y/N forced herself to nod weakly at Sam’s questions, and Bucky chuckled. “Oh, you poor dolly, we’re gonna have so much fun with you. Treat you better than that little boy ever could.”

All it took was a whimper, a nearly audible, deadly silent whimper that managed to squeak its way past Y/N’s throat, and the three men took it as permission to ravage her body however they pleased.

Steve made quick work of his pants as Sam lifted her chin to kiss him, his tongue hot and heavy against her mouth, coaxing her lips open. The sound of belt buckles hitting the floor shamefully turned on Y/N even more. Panic coursed through her senses, her mind wanting to scream for them to stop, but her body knew her too well as she felt a wave of slick run down her thighs. Cold metal digits slipped under the waistband of her panties, moving to her wet folds, and she whimpered into Sam’s mouth at the touch.

“You look so nice, baby, so pretty all laid out for us like this.” Bucky’s hands pulled down her panties as Steve pinched her peaked nipple through the lace, laying lavish, open-mouthed kisses down her torso. The cool air hit her pussy when Bucky’s hands pulled her legs wide open, fully exposed to the three men ready to use her against her will. “Knew you’d be so wet for us, sweetheart, just look at you. Dripping all for your daddies,” Steve murmured against her skin.

Hot breath fanned over her cunt before they rolled her over on her stomach, someone’s hands forcing her up onto her knees with her face smashed into the cotton pillows. She could feel two rough human hands pulling her ass cheeks apart, spreading her ever wider for their view. “Would you look at that, boys, look how fucking hot she is for us.”

Sam’s thick finger ran through her folds, the calloused pad of his finger just teasing her clit before landing a harsh smack to the inside of her thigh. Her moan was muffled through the mattress and she prayed they wouldn’t hear how being treated like whore made her wet like nothing else.

Hot slick dripped down her thighs, a pool of it staining the pristine sheets by each knee. It was quite a sight, Steve, kneeled by the bed as his face hovered next to her ear, whispering filthy things into her ear as Bucky stroked his hard, leaking cock right next to him. Sam’s lips were making their way up the inside of her right thigh, cracked skin gliding across her sticky flesh. “Oh, baby,” he purred, “you smell so good. Bet you taste even better, don’t you, little girl?”

His tongue reached the apex of her thighs, finally licking a stipe up her center with no warning. Y/N sobbed into the comforter below her, mascara stained tears marking up her face. Two fingers edged their way between the bed and her face, forcing her head upwards and arching her back. Steve’s face was caught in a dirty smirk above hers, lip pulled taut between his teeth, until he saw the tears trailing down her face. “Oh, sweetheart, you look so desperate like this.” His fingers traced her smeared lip gloss around her lips, before opening her lips harshly. “Open up, you dumb baby.”

Y/N forced her jaw open wider, just enough to watch a string of Steve’s saliva drip into her mouth. The thick spit pooled on her tongue and she tried hard not to grimace in front of him, in hopes that he wouldn’t make her-

“Swallow it, sweetheart.” He saw the hesitation in her eyes, how her lower lip trembled at his words, but he just laughed at her. “Now.”

The warm saliva slid down her tongue and more black tears ran down her face as she obliged his orders, finally gulping it and cringing at the taste. Steve loved the way her face screwed up in displeasure, how she still had the audacity to pretend she hated what they were doing though she was moaning and whimpering with Sam’s tongue attacking her entrance.

“What do you want, sweetheart? We might give it to you as long as you use your words.” Bucky taunted lightly.

Y/N stared up at the brunette, staring menacingly down at her with his cock in hand. “Please,” she whimpered.

The three found it woeful, the way she could barely get a full sentence out as Sam went to town with his skilled tongue, but even with that onslaught, a simple please wasn’t enough for them.

“Please what, honey,” Sam moaned from between her legs, “you gotta use your big words or we’ll never know what you want from us.”

Steve and Bucky nodded in fake-agreement even though they all knew exactly what she wanted and where.

“I don’t-” her widened eyes glanced into Steve’s, blown-out and teary. “I don’t want anything, not from you.” She lied through her teeth harshly.

Sam removed his head from between her thighs and Y/N immediately whined at the loss of contact almost hilariously. “You don’t want anything, little girl?”

The air felt static, every hair on her neck rising in the pressured silence. The angel and the devil clawed at her heart, each trying to show her what was right. And she wanted to sin, God knew that she would love nothing more than to let that little greedy part of her take over, but she’d already cheated on Peter and that damn good part of her conscience stole the wheels of her brain.

Slowly and shamefully, she shook her head, though the downright dirty monster inside of her wanted the men to ignore her words and keep assaulting her body.

“That’s a shame, baby, I thought we were having fun.” Sam sighed. He met Bucky’s gaze on the side, and though they seemed to be in resignation with her wishes, their eyes twinkled devilishly. He positioned his body over Y/N’s kneeled over form, his bare chest glued to her sweating back as his hands ran up the sides of her ribcage and to her front, just barely grazing over her sensitive nipples. “You mean, you don’t want me to touch you here?”

He pinched the darkened buds and she had to use every ounce of self-restraint to not collapse at the sensation. His calloused hands moved back even further, tracing down to the stretch of skin just above her mound, swiping a finger across the skin delicately. “How about here? Or even,” he brought three fingers around her body, over her ass, and into her glistening cunt again, just rubbing along her entrance, not daring to go further in. Y/N couldn’t hold in her reaction to his prodding anymore, his teasing chipping away all of her dignity and pride in a few simple touches.

“Yes, please, please, use your fingers,” she blurted against her will. Where shame should have washed over her, there was only lust, raging red and coursing through her body so forcefully that she felt braindead. “Put your fingers in me, daddy, please.”

The pet name rolled off of her tongue so easily and she was barely ashamed of how it made her feel. The name especially shocked the three men, who smiled even wider with their cocks harder than before at the little slip up. “That was all you had to say, dolly, gonna have your daddies make you feel real good,” Bucky laughed.

Sam finally plunged his thick fingers knuckle-deep into her cunt as Steve’s mouth captured hers, effectively swallowing her scream with ferocity. The long digits scissored and swirled inside of her, pressing against new unexplored areas that she’d never even gotten to with her own fingers. White dots danced along the front line of her vision as teeth clashed against hers and though it’d been mere minutes she already knew she was close and the men did as well.

“I can feel you clamping around my fingers, honey,” Sam taunted. His lips were moving sinfully around her ass, planting sloppy kisses and drooling all over her skin while he fingered her deep. “Are you gonna come soon, baby?”

“Yes, daddy, I’m so- fuck,” Y/N panted into Steve’s mouth, “m’ so c-close.” The blond bit her tongue hard enough for her to taste blood and she yelped as she heard Sam and Bucky laugh.

“Watch your language, dolly,” Bucky sneered from the side of the bed. His hand was rapidly moving around his cock, corkscrew motions edging him towards the brink of pleasure.

“Little girls like you don’t get to use big swear words,” Sam’s face was still buried between her legs, his soaked fingers pulling out of her cunt only to rub at her little pearl of nerves in circles. His tongue still lapped at her dripping entrance and he could feel her tight hole start to pulse as her breathing picked up. “Oh, baby, you’re getting close, aren’t you?”

Y/N was hesitant to answer at first, the sweat on her body seeming to cool immediately in fear of what would happen if she messed up. But after five seconds Steve stopped kissing her, gripping her chin and staring into her eyes deeply. He looked as debauched as she felt, with his rosy lips swollen with spit and cheeks tinged with pink. “Are you gonna answer daddy, sweetheart?”

That knocked her into shape real fast.

“Yes, daddy, I’m so close. P-please let me come,” she whimpered. The whine in her voice pleased the two men, and Steve went back to exploring her mouth before she felt something poking against her asshole.

“Gonna let daddy put his cock in you, little girl?” Sam asked gently. His words had panic coursing through her system, a chilling realization like water being poured on her head and she began to wiggle around, trying to free Sam’s hand from her hip. Her arms weakly pushed at Steve’s chest, trying to push him as far away as he could, but the men only laughed at her flailing limbs. Y/N wanted to scream no to them, and despite her contrasting love-hate relationship with Sam’s fingers inside her cunt she knew it was time to go. It was laughable how much she would continue to say that to herself for the rest of the night.

But Sam managed to sense her panic, knowing exactly what the issue was before harshly spanking her and effectively stopping her struggle. “Don’t worry, baby, I won’t come inside of you. I’m not risking knocking up a whore with my kids, I’ve got more dignity than that.”

He led the leaking tip of his dick down her crack, rubbing it along her slick entrance before pushing in with a groan. “Oh my fucking God, that is so hot.” Bucky admonished from the side. “Gotta get in on that soon.”

Steve chuckled against Y/N’s lips, pulling away with a strand of saliva connecting them. He adjusted himself up so his dick was centimeters from her face, a knee propped up on the bed for balance. “Gotta wait your turn, Buck, we all want a piece of her.” He noticed the way Y/N’s eyes were transfixed on his cock, the red mushroom head smeared with precome along the slit, nearly purplish veins standing out prominently on his shaft. Yeah, he couldn’t even deny that he was big because he already knew how many girls had dropped down on their knees for him. “Go ahead, sweetheart, open up those pretty lips for me.”

Almost too excitedly, she dropped her jaw, allowing him to slide his cock into the silky warmth of her mouth. As his hips started to thrust into her mouth, Sam’s started to do the same into her cunt. Both men moaned in tandem with their movements as Y/N’s worries faded away to the back of her mind as they stuffed her to the brim.

“You can come now, baby,” Sam nearly ordered, “go and cream on daddy’s cock- fuck, I know you’ve been waiting.”

It was a harsh bump of his head against her G-spot that sent her over the edge, walls clamping down with ferocity and milking him for all she was worth. Y/N reeled in the sunlight infested warmth that coursed through her body as she finally let go, whining around Steve’s dick as he continued to abuse her throat with long, deep thrusts.

Bucky was still holding his orgasm off, fondling with his tight, heavy sac while his dick remained a painfully hard mess, glistening with precome. “I’m so glad I got to see you come, dolly, look so fucking pretty when you do.”

She couldn’t deny the little skip of her heart at the praise, just a few simple words that made her feel like a good little girl. But no, God-fucking no, she wasn’t supposed to let them make her feel this way. Guilt washed away that warmth in her chest just as quickly, knowing that her boyfriend was just waiting to come back to see her, finishing up his studies so that they could live their lives out together after college while she was getting her pussy and mouth absolutely wrecked by his co-workers.

As soon as Y/N got her brain thinking straight again, Sam started moving inside of her again and she garbled out a strangled cry. “If you thought we were done here, baby,” Sam laughed, “you’ve got a lot left ahead of you.”

“We’re not leaving until all of us have come, brat.” Steve’s palm gripped the back of her skull roughly, pushing her head so far down on his dick that her nose was squished against his abdomen. “Greedy little bitch.”

Both men started to thrust into her again, and just like that she was back to being absolutely lost in desire and lust like the bitch in heat she was until there was a sudden shift in the air. So much that the sweat on her body began to cool her skin, Sam’s hands still gripping her hips so tightly she knew they’d leave marks that she would have to hide when she wore her favorite low-cut shorts.

Bucky’s eyes seemed to drift from her tits moving with each movement of her hips, checking behind the door as if there were something lurking there, but she was too afraid to see for herself. If she stopped she would get spanked, and they’d probably prolong her second orgasm even further, and her pussy couldn’t handle any more subtle teasing.

“Hey there, Parker, why don’t come on out here?”

But that, that was what made the hairs on Y/N’s neck rose, dread filling her to the fullest as she realized the implications of Sam’s words.

Peter had seen everything. Peter, her boyfriend, had seen three of his co-workers, three men who she barely knew, fuck her deep into his mattress. Peter, her boyfriend, had watched her get fucked into his mattress, without trying to stop them whatsoever.

She couldn’t tell if it was the guilt of cheating on her boyfriend or the freezing realization that he hadn’t done anything to stop the three men that hurt more.

Yet Peter still walked from behind the door, dressed in a NYU hoodie and a pair of khakis slung low on his hips, just drawing attention to the sizable bulge that stretched out his zipper. His umber eyes, normally full of so much joy and love, were possessed by the same lust and darkness as the three men, as much as he tried to hide it behind a shyer facade.

His eyes were trained on the tightness of how Y/N’s pussy was gripping Sam, her lips glossed over with come and spit wrapped around Steve’s dick. The girl stopped in her movements, her eyes no longer full of tears for just being gagged, but as soon as her mouth came to a halt around the base of his cock, the blond slapped her across the face. A sharp crack echoed around the room and though she couldn’t see him, she heard Bucky’s feral growl of pleasure at the whorish treatment she was receiving.

“Didn’t say you could fucking stop, sweetheart, keep working on daddy’s cock.” No more words needed to be said as Steve gripped her hair once more, forcing himself farther back into her throat to the point where she couldn’t breathe. Sam’s thrusts were quickening, closer and closer to release as the sounds of the girl struggling to breath made his balls tighten.

“Fucking shit, baby, you feel yourself squeezing my dick? I bet you like teasing daddy like that, don’t you?” One of his hands were brought down on her ass in a quick smack that resonated with Bucky, who was staving off his orgasm for something much sweeter than his hand. She was moaning raucously around the dick stuffed in her mouth, the vibrations sending jolts of pleasure up every nerve in Steve’s body as he came with the tip of his dick nearly being swallowed by Y/N’s throat. There was barely any time for her to fully down the thick come in her mouth before Sam was threatening to orgasm. “I’m gonna come so soon but you better fucking not, little girl, you hear me? Gotta let your daddy come before you, you ungrateful little bitch- oh.”

It was a really fucking close call, Sam’s dick pulling out of her with one quick movement before spilling pearly ropes of come onto Y/N’s spine. A high whine escaped her mouth, clit throbbing as she was so, so close to coming, and she was too far into her crazed pleasure to realize that she was letting three older men, men who fought to defend the universe from evil, use her as an over-glorified fleshlight.

She couldn’t really blame them for calling her a cockdrunk whore.

Bucky sauntered over to the bed, eyes trained on the pool of come centered around the base of her spine before flipping her over onto her back with his large hands and shoving three vibranium fingers back into her hole. She gasped and held onto his forearm as he continued to fingerfuck her to her second orgasm, eyes screwed shut in a delirious haze of contentment for being filled with at least something again.

“Bucky, Bucky, Bucky, please-” Steve slapped her along the face, correcting her words immediately. “Daddy, daddy, please let me come.”

Bucky chuckled, tweaking one of her nipples with his flesh hand as he hovered over her face. “I don’t know, dolly, you’ve been a little naughty, callin’ me the wrong name, not listening to Stevie’s orders- don’t think you deserve to get what you want.”

A muffled whimper escaped her swollen lips, and he sighed in surrender. “Okay, dollface, go ahead and come on my fingers. Let me see how you wet ‘em up real good.”

Y/N’s hips bucked into his metal digits with finality, come leaking out of her cunt and soaking the sheets below her. Her sweat-glazed skin shone even against the darkening sky, and all Bucky could do was chuckle at how her chest rose quickly as she tried to catch her breath. He thought about teasing her clit again, just circling around the little bud of nerves to get a rise out of her, but he decided against it. Sam probably had better plans for her anyway.

On the other hand, Y/N’s orgasm was starting to wear off as she noticed the hardened stare from the edge of the room. Her boyfriend.

“Peter, I…” Y/N made eye contact with him, suddenly noticing how mousy he looked in his own bedroom.

“I nearly forgot you were here, Parker,” Sam smirked darkly. “Why don’t you come over here and fuck your little whore. I’m feeling a little generous today.”

Steve and Bucky nodded with the same infuriating smugness as Sam. The brunette boy opened his mouth to object to the degrading statement, but when he met his girlfriend’s eyes nothing needed to be said. There was no escaping this. Nothing he said mattered to the three older men, because really they had already gotten everything they wanted right in front of their disgusting, perverted eyes.

He unbuckled his belt, letting the weight of it drop his khakis to the floor. Maybe if he’d known he would be forced into join a fivesome later that night he’d have picked any other boxers but the Ducktales one, but no one seemed to say a word about them, rather focusing on what they were failing to conceal.

Peter’s cock had always been admirable to Y/N by its length and God, definitely its thickness. Curved upwards towards his abdomen with a vein running along the left side up to the bulbous head, it was definitely more than average. It was really just a shame he didn’t know how to use it well enough.

His shirt was pulled over his head just as quickly, and if Y/N knew any better she would say that he was excited to get to fuck her in front of the three men. He placed himself in between Y/N’s parted legs, standing in the same position as he had so many times before.

But when Y/N cried out in pain and pleasure as he slid into her, Peter knew that this time, it was different. This time three men, men that he used to trust with his life, stood on either side of him and his girlfriend and jerked their hands up and down their cocks as they watched her get fucked relentlessly. It wasn’t sweet, it wasn’t romantic, but he couldn’t really think when his thick cock was stuffed inside of her stimulated pussy, juices and come leaking out of her abused sex.

“Go faster, Parker,” Steve instructed, his face contorted in pure pleasure. The pace of Peter’s thrusts sped up, and he threw Y/N’s ankles over his shoulders, hitting deeper inside of her, with the sound of her sobs only turning them all on more. “Oh, right there, shit, shit, shit-”

Steve came first, a low groan escaping his lips as streams of come landed on her tits, still bouncing with every movement of Peter’s hips.

“Open up,” Sam gritted through his teeth, and Y/N obediently opened her mouth to let his bitter come coat the inside of her throat, some of it landing on her face and neck. The string of curses he let out made Peter thrust even faster into her, and he hated, absolutely despised the way it turned him on to see the three men use his girlfriend to their pleasure. But soon enough a hand pushed against his chest away from Y/N and he reluctantly pulled out.

“Move aside, kid,” Bucky instructed, “Wanna come inside of her.”

As he lined his gigantic cock up with her entrance, her eyes widened with fear. “No, please, I didn’t take my pills, I can’t- I won’t, please not inside-”

“Shut the fuck up, you slut.” Bucky’s fingers came to slap her clit harshly, and she cried out in pain. “You’re gonna be quiet and let me come wherever I damn want, right?”

He punctuated his last word as he thrust inside her, filling her up to the hilt with his girth. She was too drunk on the feeling of her cunt being filled up to argue again. It was painful, extremely so, even though two different cocks had been inside her overstimulated pussy already and Bucky stretched her out wide, his cock thicker with veins to hit every pleasure point. With her legs tossed around his tapered torso, he slid out until his very tip was left in her, then slammed back in with a small moan. The head of his cock relentlessly pounded into her cervix in a nearly soundless tempo and all Y/N could hear were her own gasps of pleasure, jaw-dropping moans that made drool slide back down her throat in her laid down position.

She turned her head to the side, and though her vision was bleary through the tears, she could see Sam and Steve watching Bucky fuck her while Peter, her boyfriend, her sweet, sweet boyfriend, was caught up fucking his hand to the sound of Bucky’s balls slapping against her ass.

“Fuck, ‘m not gonna last much longer, dollface.” Bucky gasped. “You gonna come soon? You’re gonna come for daddy one more time. I think you’ve got a third one in you, you little fucking slut.”

“Shit, shit, daddy, please ‘m almost there,” Y/N wailed absentmindedly. A thumb came down to circle her clit quickly and she felt the coil in her stomach grow tighter and tighter, until she finally let out a high whine, finding her release as Bucky’s cock pulsed inside of her, ready to come just as easily as her. Her pussy clenched around his cock as she rode out her orgasm, fingers grasping at the sheets in order to find some sort of grounding. His come painted her walls white, and Bucky could’ve sworn there was no better feeling than feeling his blood warm in every vein as he finally let go. With stunted groans, his hips slowed its rhythm, lost in watching how his cock disappear into Y/N’s pussy, her slick juices coating his dick each time he pulled out.

“Ah, fuck, dolly, you did so good for me. Pussy tight as a fuckin’ vice.” Bucky hugged her limp body close to his sweaty chest, letting his dick soften inside of her for a good few moments before pulling out. He tossed Y/N back onto the bed below him, barely even caring to clean the come dripping down her ribcage and out of her cunt before grabbing his boxers from the cabinet next to the bed.

Steve was already buttoning his jeans up, checking the notifications on his phone before shoving it back into his pocket. The blond seemed to have better things to do so soon after, rushing his way to the door before pausing where Y/N laid to watch come drip out of her pussy. One more time he pushed Bucky’s come inside of her abused entrance, watching as it oozed out from behind his digits. “Look at you, fucking full of of his come. Such a goddamn whore,” he muttered under his breath.

Those were the last words he said to her before patting Bucky on the shoulder and leading him out of the opened door.

Maybe Sam was a bit more kind, or affectionate at least. He was already dressed but visibly hard again beneath the thick denim of his pants, and he made sure Y/N knew it, taking her left hand and placing it over his dick. “You still got that effect on me, honey, even when you’re all fucked out like this.” He dragged his fingers through the thick ribbons of come that coated her chest, bringing them up to her mouth so she could taste. Even though she was more than exhausted, she wrapped her tongue around the two fingers that were pushed past her swollen lips, sucking them clean with a tired vengeance. Satisfied with her work, he kissed her chin one more time before leaving without so much as another word, slamming the door shut on his way out.

Click.

It ended exactly the way it started, the lock jostling into the doorknob just as easily as the high of Y/N’s final orgasm slipped away.

Stifling silence suffocated the room around them. Peter refused to meet her eyes, just as much as hers did his. She laid motionless on the bed with him standing at the foot, his dick soft and if she narrowed her bleary eyes just a bit, she could see how his knees were shaking. Neither of them were able to say anything, losing the ability to converse as soon as the three men left the room.

“Peter,” her voice was throaty after the rough fucking she took, “C-can you please get me a drink?”

The brown-haired boy looked down to meet her face, and she could finally see the reason that he had hid it from her. His eyes were red and bloodshot, snot running from his nose with tears running down his cheeks. She’d been so caught up in the after haze of the sex that she didn’t even notice how his bare chest was heaving so deeply, nearing hyperventalation.

But still, he grabbed his boxers, pulling them over his weakened legs clumsily. “Y-yeah, what kind do you want, Mr. Stark has a ton-”

“I don’t care.” She cut him off firmly, a sharp tone in her voice as she rolled over on her side. Y/N tucked her knees to her chin, fingers running over the side of her neck which was marked with bruises and scratches. “I don’t fucking care.”

Without another word Peter slipped out of the room quietly, knowing better than to try to talk to her about what they had been forced to participate in. It wasn’t as if there was much to say anyways.

Rain pattered against the window. It was only six o’clock in the evening. Cars honked and beeped and Natasha’s Igor Stavinsky record played for its fiftieth round of the day, and to anyone else in the tower it was a normal night. Normal, just like the ones spent sitting on the couch with Bucky’s hand creeping up her leg or Sam’s hands groping her ass, but this time they’d made a move.

The silence was far too much to handle, the unspoken truth of what she’d done with Bucky, Steve, Sam, and Peter finally hitting her, knocking the air out of her lungs as she suddenly struggled to breathe. Gripping her face, clawing at it like a goddamn wolf, Y/N began to cry. Silently at first, gradually growing into heartbroken sobs, she let her trodden pride carry her voice wherever it wanted to go.

The men’s whispered words haunted her mere moments after they’d left the room, but most audibly she could hear a faint husk of a voice, Sam’s low moan in her ear looming in the dreadful silence of the room:

Thanks for sharing with us, baby.

2K notes · View notes

snackhobi · 4 years ago

Text

a human touch, part I

Part [1] / 1.5 / 2

(masterlist here)

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

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

then he turns up at your door.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No human could ever look this good.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“After you, please,” he says.

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

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

“Not as pretty as you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's just depressing, really.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Purple.”

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

You think it suits him better.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/n.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ahh, Saturdays. You love the weekend.

“Good morning.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure,” you mumble. “I think—woah!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why can’t I just wear your clothes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Of course, you never do.)

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

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

“All done?”

“I think so.”

“Nice.” You feel content.

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

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

You promptly roll off the sofa.

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

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

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

Ah.

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

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

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

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

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

V looks utterly enraptured.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Go for it,” you say.

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

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

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

Just for an instant.

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

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

But then V laughs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you,” V says, and you blink.

“For what?”

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

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

He chooses dinner, never leaving your side.

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

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

So here he is.

(And here you are.)

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

“Morning,” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

“I won’t be long,” you promise.

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t you want to see the clothes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Thank God.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I have to go to work tomorrow.”

V tilts his head down to look at you.

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

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

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

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

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

So you do.)

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

“Morning.”

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

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

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

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

It’s… nice.

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

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

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

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

“Oh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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