#so whenever someone engages me on something i’ve said it makes very happy it’s a pleasant surprise lol

[thrashkink-coven]

I saw someone make a post a little bit ago about kids leaving fandom spaces and entering into religious/ devotional spaces with the same attitudes. The kids who think you can disrespect a God like Zeus because he’s problematic in some of his myths. I couldn’t agree more.

and i got to talking to Lucifer about it because I was chatting with someone who came from the Hazbin Hotel fandom (I’ve only ever seen the pilot). Lol

They were talking about giving Lucifer ducks and I was like ??? ducks? does Lucifer have a thing with ducks??? I had no idea???? Which grimoire does that come from ?

And then I go to try and research it and I’m like oh? lmfao okay. Not my Lucifer.

When I asked him, his attitude was very 🤷‍♂️

he said something along the lines of:

“whenever a person makes an attempt to contact a deity for the first time, always, their expectations and understandings are projected onto the spirit. This applies to you too. I appear to you in the way that makes the most sense to your brain and senses. But through this form, I still communicate the truth to you. I appear to you as an older man, older and wiser than you, because that’s how your brain rationalizes my ancient nature. My eyes are the color of the hottest shade of fire because that’s how your brain understands my energy. My hair is an inky black void or blonde strands of light. A morning or evening star. My voice is gentle, my hands are delicate because I embrace you tenderly. You think my light is beautiful, so I appear to you as a beautiful man. I appear to you as a planet because that’s how your brain rationalizes how much larger I am than you.

The funny thing about these people, usually children, is that there’s very little room for me to shine through because that “Lucifer” is a very large character. He’s zainy, he’s entertaining, of course. He’s a cartoon character. They aren’t interested in me or my gnosis, they’re interested in that character. Which is fine, it doesn’t bother me. I like when my name is used in art. Better to have my name said than forgotten. It happens often. Recently, they made a tv show under my name, so those people expected me to be British and cocky. They put Lord Paimon in a horror movie. He had edgy teens contacting him for months.

(he seemed to find that very funny)

Those who are genuinely willing and ready to walk the path will find us regardless of what face or appearance we use or how we are introduced. Most of these people are not occultists. They don’t wish to do the Great Work or know me as a God, so they don’t. In these cases, these people are irrelevant to me.”

so you’re okay with oblivious kids offering you ducks to invoke a cartoon character?

He found that funny too.

“Lucifer has been so many things in so many stories. Some of these portrayals are closer or further from the truth, but they are all caricatures. None of them are truly me. I may use a form that is familiar to someone who is contacting me for the first time. Maybe I’ll be the Lucifer from Hazbin Hotel to make them feel more comfortable. But when the practitioner wishes to know me, the “character” is shed in favour of a truer connection. When we first met I came to you as a light, as an enchanted garden, a serpent, a crow. You did not seek me as a character, you sought me as a concept, Enlightenment. I could take any form, either beautiful or terrible, and you would accept me. You would find value in it. I am not your favourite character, I am your favourite God. These so called “oblivious kids” aren’t offering me anything. They don’t know me, so their actions do not mean anything to me, neither positive or negative. I will always be happy to see people engaging with art, being inspired and understood by it. My name being used in media only presents more opportunities for more people to find me. If people feel drawn to that character, then that is good… that’s fine. But you know that I am so much more than just a character.”

you don’t find it disrespectful at all?

He laughed at that as well.

“I must be among the most disrespected spirits to have ever had his name known by man. I’ve had my name cursed and banished, I’ve been hated, cast away, bastardized and demonized. These people, just enjoying their characters and media, are the very least of my concerns.”

Fair enough.

[akkivee]

i think there’s plenty of proof too!!!! that nagosaka’s time is coming!!!! it’s really hard to be patient when only rei, obviously lol, has been the only one to be a part of the plot so far lol

kuukou and rei have functionally served the same role in their respective teams so far, so your observation about their inner speech bubbles is really neat lol!!!! (unrelatedly this is why i think nagosaka switch on being the last division bc rei and kuukou affect ichiro in this third act lol) whatever rei has in store is in relation to his wife, be it bringing about her ideal world (what he’s trying to get ichiro in on i think, despite making himself the enemy lol) or something else, and i feel like sasara is going to want to return the favour for bringing him and rosho back together. rosho hopefully will still be the heart of dh and keep them in check if need be lol

i haven’t yet managed to make this post lol, but that unami chapter i think is playing into the concept of karma that’s always been floating around kuukou, where his actions and intent have paid off in various ways, one of which was getting him out of trouble he voluntarily put himself in. kuukou has to be getting into trouble in this next arc, like it just has to happen lol, and a good way to show the affects of that good karma he accumulated in harmonious cooperation and really show that bat’s a family that puts their lives on the line for each other by getting jyushi and hitoya to save him lol. bc that has to happen, some vibe overlap with fp i think is a given but rather than gendice trying to save ramuda from forces they can’t control, it’d be kuukou being saved from something he’s willingly subjecting himself to

if we get bb vs bat (a matchup i’m fearful of simply bc bb has the bigger jp fandom lol) i don’t think kuukou’s gripe with ichiro would be any perceived imbalance of feelings but that hesitation and inaction he said he’s never liked about ichiro, something we’ve seen kuukou lead ichiro from twice, in the unami chapter and in the youthful riot track, and commented on during bb vs dh. kuukou and ichiro want the exact same thing but i can see them maybe differing on approach

the guidebook➕ specifically mentioned the true hypnosis mic affects each target in different ways and it’d be kinda neat to see sasara and kuukou (and nemu too maybe) experience different after effects!!!! kuukou with forgetfulness, sasara’s new piercings on his ears are on an acupuncture point used to help with migraines so maybe he has bad headaches but it’s not very plot relevant in those terms lol. tho having effects at all lends into how inhumane the true hypnosis mic is, which is a plot point lol

@thedragonofbadasstemple that post was getting a little too long for me to keep reblogging lol

my hypmic collection goals has pretty much dwindled to getting kuukou plushies and mochi set variants only lmao like i used to aim to decorate my walls with merch, buy preorders for bonuses and tho admittedly a lot of that has slowed to help fund this trip to japan lol, i have been looking at merch like ‘do i need that????’ instead the usual impulse buy lol

i enjoyed the rep squad stages and would love to buy the ones i enjoyed the most in addition to bop2023 but it really is difficult to keep up with both canon and stage items when they both cost ¥8000 usually lol

i think it’s bc we’ve seen what hypmic has done with its characters and story that we, as nagosaka fans, expect it to happen for our faves and i don’t think it’s unfair to do so lol. we’ve all had our guesses and observations and had fun coming to conclusions based on crumbs but i think by everyone swinging on by to voice their complaints, we have loooong reached that point where it’s just not sustainable and feels more neglectful than anything. so even tho it’s exhausting lol, i think we should keep on having those high expectations and keep the pressure on kr to provide lol

[kimbappykidding]

Other Parts: Part One and Part Three

After your initial hookups, you and Yeosang fell into an arrangement and started seeing each other pretty regularly, usually one or two times a week. His apartment was so beautiful you usually went to his but sometimes he'd come over to yours and now your members were familiar with him. You didn't really meet his members much but knew they were aware of what was going on based on how smiley they got whenever your groups bumped into one another...other groups however weren't so happy.

You were at an event for female girl groups when you noticed (G)I-DLE's Shuhua watching you. "Is it just me or does Shuhua know you and Yeosang are together?" Yunjin asked. You paused "Well we're not together, we're in an open relationship like they are. That's all". "Well I don't think they think it's as simple" Eunchae commented as Soojin made her way over to you.  "Hey are you sleeping with Yeosang?" Soojin asked and Chaewon sat up taller, her leader instincts kicking in. "I don't see why that's any of your business" she replied coldly. You put a hand on her shoulder telling her it was okay "why?" you asked. "Because I just thought you should know yes also seeing Shuhua". You nodded "I know". "And you don't care?". "Well they're not dating or in an exclusive relationship, right?". "Well yeah" Soojin nodded and you nodded "so why would I? Nobodies getting hurt". "I wouldn't say that" Soojin said and you frowned "if Shuhua is upset I'm involved with Yeosang then I'm sorry for that but she needs to discuss it with him. Not me". Soojin sighed and walked away. "Well I think you handled that well. You didn't engage and kept it civil" Sakura complimented you. You nodded "there's no reason we have to hate each other just because we're hooking up with the same guy. I've never tried to keep Yeosang from other girls and I'm fine with the two of them hooking up. There's no problem unless we create one" and your members nodded. Yeosang found it a little funnier. "You actually told Shuhua to go talk to me?" he asked as you lay in bed together the next day. You nodded "yeah why shouldn't I?". "Well...weren't you worried she'd give me an ultimatum? You or her" he asked turning to face you. You smiled "no" and Yeosang grinned "you pain me Y/n". You chuckled "Yeosang were both adults having fun. I'm not playing games to keep you. You're not mine". Yeosang paused as you said that and he almost looked upset. You figured people probably fell for him quite easily and with good reason. However you didn’t attach easily and so you weren't one of them. Yeosang finally smiled "how very mature" and he kissed you. 

However, Yeosang lay awake for a while that night after you'd fallen asleep. Your words had bothered him. He liked being the one that cared less in the relationship. It protected him and, as he saw it, gave him all the power but you seemed to care less than he did and he couldn't get how you could be so chill and unbothered. Didn't you like him? Well he knew you did. He could tell by the way you reacted to his touch but was that it? Did you just like him physically? He wasn't ashamed to admit he liked seeing guys and girls fall in love with him. He liked watching them slowly gather feelings for him and the security it gave him but now he knew what it felt like to be on the other side of it and he hated it. So he decided to investigate why you were so blasé about your relationship and something caught his eye. At the next award show he saw you chatting with BTS' Jungkook backstage and paused. Was that why? Were you in love with another guy? Was all of this to make someone else jealous? He hadn't realised you and Jungkook even knew each other but from how familiar you were acting you must be friends. Yeosang frowned watching the happy expression on your face and how charming Jungkook looked when he smiled at you. "Hey have you ever heard anything about Y/n and Jungkook?" he asked Wooyoung beside him. Wooyoung quickly located the two of you and shook his head "only that they're friends". "How?" Yeosang asked and Wooyoung smirked "I've no idea, why? Does it bother you? Getting attached huh?". "Of course not!" Yeosang said changing the subject but Wooyoung kept smiling at him. Later that evening Yeosang brought up Jungkook to you. You'd just gotten into his apartment and were both taking off your shoes and coats. "I didn't know you were friends, how did you meet?" Yeosang asked, hoping he sounded conversational. "We're from the same town" you said "we just became friends because of that". Yeosang nodded "have you and Jungkook ever...". You smiled "ever what?". "Been this kind of friend?" he asked. You laughed "no, why?". "I just saw you two together and you seemed into him". You smiled "did I?". Yeosang nodded "you were laughing a lot". You let out a breath "is someone jealous?". "No! Of course not!" Yeosang said quickly and your eyes widened at his strong reaction so he reigned it in. "I mean...would you like me to be?". You shrugged "jealously can be hot". Yeosang nodded "but you don't seem to get jealous ever". You shrugged "I'm good at hiding what I feel but yeah I'm not that possessive". Yeosang paused "so you don't care who else I'm seeing? Who also has a claim to me?". You shook your head "we're just casual right?". He shrugged "what if we weren't". "Well then I'd obviously feel differently...but you don't seem like a serious person". Yeosang nodded "you're right". "It's okay" you said patting his arm "because I've heard Jungkook is" and went to walk away but Yeosang tugged you back down. "What was that?" he asked and you smiled "you heard me". "I did and I say fuck Jungkook". You chuckled as Yeosang kissed you and clearly meant those words with how he was trying to help you forget him. “Well if you want me to” you said and Yeosang shook his head “bad choice of words, let me show you what I mean” and he carried you to the bedroom.  Yeosang did have a room in the Ateez dorm near the studio and he stayed there pretty much whenever he wasn't with you meaning he hadn’t been there too much recently. So when he walked in the next day Yunho saw him and smiled "so he returns, tore yourself away from Y/n long enough to come home?" Yunho asked. Yeosang rolled his eyes "something like that". Yunho smiled "oh I almost forgot, Shuhua was calling for you, she seemed upset". "Yeah I can imagine that's because I called it off with her" Yeosang said. Yunho paused "you did? Why?". Yeosang shrugged "I hadn't seen her in weeks and it was beginning to feel like more of a chore than fun. So I ended it but she thinks I'll change my mind. So just ignore the calls". "She mentioned Y/n" Yunho said "did you end it for her?"." Yeosang shook his head "no". "Just you've been seeing Y/n a lot lately". Yeosang nodded "so? She's fun and I'm trying to work her out". "Work her out?" Yunho asked and Yeosang nodded "she's is really good at hiding her feelings so she never admits how she feels about me and plays it cool. It's a challenge and I'm enjoying it". Yunho nodded "so what happens when she lets the mask fall? Are you done?". Yeosang shrugged "I'm not sure". "And what if she's just got nothing to tell? What if she just isn't feeling anything for you?". Yeosang shot him a look "I have a pretty high success rate". "I know but your technique isn't going to work on everyone, there's a chance y/n just isn't falling for you". Yeosang smiled "not possible" and walked away.

Yeosang didn’t know where his members got this idea he was the vulnerable one in this relationship so he decided to bring you around to their house. They were having a BBQ and he thought if his members saw the way you melted for him they’d know for sure there was nothing to tease him about. Then you showed up looking amazing and Yeosang couldn’t get his mind off anything but getting through this as quickly as possible so he could escape upstairs with you. He had bigger things to worry about than what his members thought of his relationship with you and so when San started playing music he asked you to dance. 

Yeosang didn’t dance often and figured this could be your undoing. He was right and a few songs later you couldn’t take your eyes off him. “Something caught your eye?” he asked whispering in your ear. You blushed and nodded “you of course, we’ve never danced together”. Yeosang smiled at how perfectly his plan worked “I was saving it for a special occasion, I’m guessing you enjoyed it?” he asked turning to look at you. You paused at how beautiful he looked and nodded “very much”. “Then maybe we should just stay here all night?” he teased and you shook your head “or we could go somewhere else”. Yeosang smirked “and do what? You know San’s been wanting to play Mario Kart all night, we could go do that”. You shot him a look “don’t make me say it”. “I want you to” he replied and you sighed “fine, I want you Yeosang now can we please go upstairs so you can stop looking at me like that and finally do something about it?”.  Yeosang liked it when you got authoritative and told him what to do so he didn’t want to speak in case his voice gave that away. Instead he just nodded and took your hand leading you away from the party without another word. 

Needless to say Yeosang’s plan failed spectacularly. When he came downstairs the next morning all his members just smirked. “Oh how the mighty have fallen!” Wooyoung called and Yeosang frowned “what?”. “I think he’s just saying you’re whipped” Hongjoong said helpfully and Yeosang frowned “what makes you say that?”. “How about how your jaw dropped when you saw what Y/n was wearing yesterday?” San asked. “Or how you danced with her when you never dance at parties” Mingi added “or how you even invited her to an event like this, you’ve never done that with a fling before” Yunho said and Yeosang sighed. “It’s okay” Hongjoong said laughing “there’s nothing wrong with liking someone. Plus we all see why you do, Y/n is great”. The guys all nodded and Yeosang shrugged “see that I will agree to but you all better remember she’s mine!” Yeosang said. He thought it sounded cool and strong but only later realised he’d announced to all his members he was attached and wanted you...he was fighting a losing battle. 

You were surprised when you hear Yeosang had ended it with Shuhua. He told you so casually that it was over with her that you didn't know how to react. Your members were also confused. "Y/n is there any chance this is becoming more?" Chaewon asked. You shook your head "no I mean...we just hook up a few times a week. I think he and Shuahua must just have been on the outs". "And if it does mean more?" Kazuha asked "then what? Do you want to date Yeosang?". You paused "I...I honestly can't imagine what that would even be like. We've purposefully stayed away from that. We're not clinical but we don't go out on dates or talk about our feelings seriously. So I don't even know what it'd be like to date him or if Yeosang is even capable of that" you admitted. The members nodded "well we will support you either way of course". You smiled and thanked them. You figured whatever was happening with Yeosang would reveal itself and you were proven right the very next week...

[georgieluz]

Julian!! I’ve missed you!! Sending a virtual hug and a few asks for the ask game!

❤️💛💚💙🖤🎤🎵📺🔐🧟‍♀️🍇💌🖇️🔍🪐🌚

I just realized… there’s a lot… haha sorry about that 😅 hope you’re doing well!

hiiii!! i missed you too!!! first of all, lemme return the virtual hug and then i'll get to answering!!

❤️ how tall are you?

5ft4. guess i'm joining george, johnny, frank and harry in the smol boys club

💛 what is your favourite feature on yourself?

maybe my hair? idk i feel like so many people talk about how lucky i am to have such thick fluffy hair that if i didn't choose that it would be the equivalent of cursing them and all of their families

💚 where are you from?

dwi'n dod o gymru!! actually it's fitting that the emoji is green because green and red are the welsh flag colours and i'm welsh!

💙 do you have any siblings?

just me, unfortunately

🖤 favourite hobbies outside of your blog?

archery! i used to be on my university team and we would shoot three times a week but i've graduated now and feel like i'm cheating on them whenever i shoot with my local team

🎤  have you been to a concert?

yes! i've been lucky enough to go to quite a few. some of my favourite artists that i've seen live are: my chemical romance, the libertines, epik high, vixx, kim hanbin and day6

🎵 favourite artists?

the libertines, the strokes, pulp, the cure, epik high, kim hanbin, onewe, hoppipolla, sunmi and woodz!

📺 last show you watched?

transatlantic (i'm still a wreck bc of these characters)

🔐 something no one would guess about you?

ohh this might be the toughest one bc i don't actually know how people see me so i wouldn't know what they would guess about me but maybe that i studied and competed in dance my whole life? (if you can guess what styles of dance i'll give you a prize)

🧟‍♀️ scariest thing that’s happened to you?

i don't wanna make this too heavy so i'll leave out the actual scariest things but the other week i may or may not have had an encounter with a ghost in my museum which is said to be haunted

🍇 a word your friends would use to describe you?

texted two of my friends and one replied "unnecessary" and the other said "an idiot of an enigma" so that went well lmao

💌 why did you start this blog?

because it had been so long since i had friends who loved band of brothers and i missed having an online community where i felt comfortable and happy and enjoyed engaging with people in

🖇️ what are your favorite asks to answer?

honestly i like all of them! i love interacting with people and so any asks are fun! writing asks, character discussions, get to know me asks, i'll take the lot of them!!

🔍 what character do you enjoy writing for the most?

lately it's been eddie jones!! every single idea i've had lately spawns around him and forms its own little solar system that revolves around his existence. i think it's bc i'm a little bit obsessed, but i also think the themes i enjoy writing most work very well with him so it's just the perfect match. but i also adore writing nix, he's my favourite hot mess and i love writing him. harry and tab are two i love writing who i didn't realise i loved writing until i saw the amount of times i'd written something focused on them when the work wasn't supposed to be anything massively to do with them lmao

🪐 favourite shows / series of all time?

ohhh another tough one, but i'm gonna have to say band of brothers, star trek, and lost, but succession is probably gonna end up being up there eventually but i need to give it a few years to settle before deciding. there are definitely others but they go in and out of order a lot and those are the three that always stay at the top no matter what

🌚 a show you’d tell people to stay away from?

honestly idk i think it's down to individual taste so if i knew someone didn't like a certain genre i could tell them to avoid shows based off of that but i usually don't tell people to stay away from a show unless there's something genuinely harmful in it

thank you so much for asking all of these!! it was fun to answer them and hopefully i haven't rambled on too long!!

for this ask game!

[writer-of-sorts]

written with @wolfstarmicrofic prompt: market

“I have big news!”

Sirius burst into the four marauders’ shared dorm to find James and Peter engaged in a very intense game of Exploding Snap with Remus as spectator. All three heads jerked up from their game to see Sirius’ blinding smile.

James immediately jumped to his feet. “What is it?” he asked excitedly, “Filch is retiring? You got a new package of dung bombs? Your mother died?”

“I...” Sirius announced.

He raised his head high and paused dramatically. Peter’s eyes widened in anticipation. James hopped up and down. Remus raised an eyebrow.

“am back on the market, baby!”

James, Peter and Remus deflated in unison, instantly turning back to their game of Exploding Snap, grumbling as the cards reshuffled.

“Thought it was something interesting.”

“Melodramatic as always, Black.”

“Ground-breaking news for sure.”

“Hey!” Sirius said, sounding a little hurt his best friends’ quick dismissal, “I was expecting a little more reaction here.”

Remus snorted. “Maybe there would be if this wasn’t your fourth break-up this month –and it’s only the seventeenth,” he added with a hint of venom in his voice.

Sirius looked taken aback. “What? My fourth— No, that can’t be. Have you been counting, Moony?”

To Sirius’ immense surprise, Remus’ face had turned a severe shade of crimson.

“Oh, dear!” James exclaimed, pressing the back of his hand against Remus’ forehead, “You’re not coming down with a fever, are you, Moony?”

But Remus seemed unable to answer. Indeed, as Sirius dropped to his knees beside them, Remus seemed unable to even hold eye-contact with anyone.

“Peter,” James commanded urgently, “Go fetch a wet washcloth from the bathroom. We need to—“

“—get out of here,” Peter interjected, standing up.

James looked confused.

“Me and you, James,” Peter continued, a curious gleam in his eye, “We need to get out of here right now.”

A look of dawning comprehension passed over James’ face.

“Right you are, Wormy my boy!” he chirped. All the worry in his voice was replaced by a sudden joviality.

And just like that, James and Peter had rushed out of the dormitory, leaving Sirius and Remus behind before they could get the chance to ask any questions.

“Uh, hi,” Sirius said, suddenly nervous after realising he was alone with Remus.

“Hi,” Remus replied, his voice sounding unusually high-pitched and not masculine at all.

“So… you’re not actually sick, are you?”

“Nope.”

They both chuckled nervously, and before Sirius could stop himself, he blurted out the question that had been nagging at him for weeks.

“Why are you avoiding me?”

Remus blinked. Sirius blinked. Remus blinked again.

“I’m not avoiding you,” Remus said, sounding doubtful.

“Yes, you are!” Sirius insisted, all his shyness vanishing, “This is the first time we’ve been alone in weeks! When it’s all four of us, you act like everything is just peachy. But whenever James and Peter aren’t around, you start making up lame excuses to not hang out with me. Sorry, Pads, I have to finish homework. Sorry, Pads, I have to do Prefect rounds. Sorry, Pads, I have detention with McGonogall; she wasn’t too happy about that pixie stunt I pulled.”

Remus was so scandalised by Sirius’ horribly inaccurate impression of him. He stood up and yelled rather shrilly, “Well, it’s not like I’m the only one who’s been busy lately!”

“What do you mean?” Sirius demanded, standing up too.

“While I’ve been trying my best to distract myself with school and pranks, you’ve made it your goal to shag every breathing body at Hogwarts! Do you know how much I’ve had to put up with? You bringing a new person to the dorm every week, each one better-looking and more charming than the last!”

The redness of Remus’ cheeks was spreading down his neck. His words were coming out fast, louder, rawer.

“Do you have any idea how painful it’s been for me? How excruciating it is to see you snogging someone else? To see you laughing and talking and holding hands with someone who isn’t me? Do you know how much it hurts to know that you will never love me like-like I love you?”

And with that, Remus descended into tears. He covered his face with his hands. His shoulders shook. His throat ached from sobbing.

He was so, so embarrassed.

Then he felt Sirius gently pull his hands away from his face and envelope him in a tender embrace. All the reckless mistakes Sirius had made over the last few months came crashing down on him in huge waves of regret, and a great realisation hit him.

“Oh, Moony,” he whispered, rubbing Remus’ back and sounding on the verge of tears himself. “I love you too, Moony. I always have.”

[kumeko]

A/N: For the Mystical Songstress zine! Dorogrid is such a knight x maid ship, I love it, especially since Ingrid is an absolute disaster and Dorothea has to steer the ship.

…

…

…

…

Of the things Dorothea expected in that gap between class and dinner, in the waning hours of sunlight while she carefully painted her nails, a knock on the door was not one of them. She glanced at the small glass at the top of the door. The pink sky confirmed her confusion: it was late.

Far too late for any gentlemen to visit, at least. A scoundrel though? Well, considering all the dates she had been on recently, she wouldn’t be surprised if she’d found a bad apple. Even a prestigious school like this was bound to have several—even more so considering all of the arrogant nobles around her.

There was another firm rap. Dorothea gnawed her lip. If she shouted, Petra and Caspar were sure to come. Hell, even mentioning Edie’s name would be enough to scare off any man foolish enough to not take a no. There was little to fear. Steeling herself, Dorothea set aside her nail polish and opened the door.

However, instead of a brutish man, she found a contrite Ingrid at the door, her posture overly rigid, her hands tugging on her sleeves. It was ridiculously earnest. It was adorable. “Sorry for the late call.”

Immediately, Dorothea relaxed. She smiled softly, shaking her head. “I always have time for you, Ingrid. No matter how late.”

Ingrid briefly smiled back before growing serious once more. Jaw tense, she said, “Still, I—actually, may I come in?”

“Of course.” Dorothea giggled, stepping back. While this was unexpected, it wasn’t at all unwelcome. This wasn’t the first time Ingrid had come with a problem, after all. “What is it this time, more boy trouble?”

“No!” Ingrid flushed, as she always did whenever Dorothea brought it up. She stomped in, looking a cross between annoyed and embarrassed.

Still laughing, Dorothea closed the door. “Sorry, sorry. I shouldn’t tease.”

She lowered her eyes, remembering Ingrid’s latest engagement and the trouble he had given them. Without the professor, who knew what that scoundrel would have done to Ingrid? Hopefully, Lord Galatea had learned his lesson and wouldn’t be arranging any more matches for his daughter. Dorothea sat on her bed and patted the spot beside her. “So, what is the matter, Ingrid?”

Ingrid bit her cheek, looking oddly hesitant, before perching on the very edge. Their knees bumped and Dorothea felt hot where they touched. It was a good thing she had been in the opera for so long, or her feelings would have been clear on her face. As it was, her back stiffened slightly as she both tried to lean closer and stay away.

If her crush grew any bigger, she wasn’t sure what she’d do.

“I wanted to thank you,” Ingrid finally said, turning slightly to look her in the eyes. In the soft light, there was something noble about the cut of her jaw, the strength in her expression. Her fingers dug into her thighs. “If you hadn’t come to save me from that proposal…”

As Ingrid trailed off, Dorothea reached over and squeezed her hand. “Of course I did. That guy is an utter jerk, and you deserve better. Much better.”

Ingrid smiled, turning her hand to squeeze back. “You do too, you know.”

That caught her off guard. Dorothea stared at her blankly. “Huh?”

“I-I mean…” Ingrid’s flush reached her neck now, a soft strawberry red. She rubbed her knee awkwardly. “I’ve seen some of the men who’ve courted you. They are nobles, sure, and some of them decent men, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen you truly happy around them. You don’t have to settle. You can find someone who’ll make you happy.”

“Have you been watching me?” Dorothea felt utterly warm and cozy at the thought, like she was in the spotlight on the stage, like she was reciting the lines from her favourite script. She half-wanted to kiss Ingrid.

“N-no!” Ingrid stammered, looking even more embarrassed. She was a terrible liar; Dorothea tried not to chuckle. “A-anyways, hopefully my father will have learned his lesson from this and I won’t have to deal with any more suitors for a while.”

Dorothea’s laugh died on her lips, her heart twisting at the thought. Lord Galatea was serious about marrying off his daughter—she had seen the letters Ingrid had received. Unless something miraculous happened, he might even succeed within the year. “I hope so too. He should listen to you.”

“He’s twice as stubborn as I am.” Ingrid sighed, put out. After a moment, she shook her head and looked serious once more. “Still, that’s not why I am here. I want to repay you.”

“You—oh.” Chuckling, she dismissed the whole matter off hand. “There’s nothing to repay. I’m happy to have done it. Like I would let that jerk lay his hands on my Ingrid.”

Lips pressed in a flat line, Ingrid shook her head solemnly. “No, you did me a great favour.”

“Ingrid, really, it’s fine.” Dorothea reached over and squeezed her hand. “Anyone would have done the same.”

Ingrid’s gaze flicked from Dorothea to their clasped hands. Her frown grew deeper. “Anyone could have, but you did. I can’t let a debt remain unpaid.”

There was something utterly charming about how insistent she was, about the nobility in her confident gaze and her square shoulders. Dorothea had seen the men around her wear honour like a badge, but Ingrid embodied it. She turned it into something real. Something to be proud of.

It was also utterly annoying at times like this. Ingrid lacked flexibility, always pushing for more.

Dorothea tried again. “It isn’t a debt. I didn’t do this to get something back.”

“Then why?” Judging by Ingrid’s widening eyes, she looked surprised she had asked the question. Still, she plunged forward anyway. “Why did you help me? We have talked a handful of times before this. Your advice has always been sound and I enjoy our friendship, but is it worth risking your life over?”

“That…” For once, Dorothea wasn’t sure what to say. Her teasing died on her lips as Ingrid’s straightforward gaze pierced her.

Ingrid pressed on. “I know you don’t enjoy fighting. You could have let the professor handle it. You could have just let me handle it. You could have even told Sylvain and Felix about it, or his highness.”

Dorothea leaned back, her fingers almost brushing Ingrid’s but not quite. That was the gap between them, she had found. Ingrid was right—for all of their conversations, they were just more than acquaintances, slightly less than friends.

Yet, that couldn’t explain the panic that filled her when she had realized just who was after Ingrid.

“I…” Dorothea gripped the bedsheet. She remembered watching Ingrid soaring through the air, as gallant as a hero of old, her hair golden in the sunlight, her expression one of pure joy. She remembered walking past the training grounds as Ingrid practiced on a training dummy, her spear clenched tight in her fist, her eyes clear and focused. She remembered Ingrid awkwardly sitting on the bed, staring at foundation as though it was written in a foreign language, intimidated by this new world but exploring it nonetheless.

The reason Dorothea helped was all of those things. They might have only talked a dozen or so times, but Dorothea had been watching her for much longer. It scared her, to think about how long this crush had grown within her, to wonder if it really was just a crush.

She had only come to this dorm for one purpose, after all: to marry rich.

The Galateas determinedly were not that.

Dorothea kept her gaze fixed firmly on her lap. Softly, she half-lied, “I also know what it’s like to be restrained. For others to make decisions for you. I couldn’t leave you be.”

Ingrid bridged the gap between their hands, clasping it firmly. When Dorothea looked up, she was rewarded with a soft smile. “Then that’s how I will repay you. If you need help breaking free, I’m right here.” She squeezed their hands. “Anytime.”

It wasn’t fair. The way Ingrid acted, the way she spoke, all of it wasn’t fair. Dorothea had listened to enough pretty speeches from her time in the opera. She had thought herself immune to them. It seemed she just hadn’t heard them from the right person. Quietly, she repeated, “Anytime?”

“Just call and I’ll be there.” Ingrid nodded, squeezing her hand once more. “It doesn’t matter why or where.”

“A girl could get the wrong idea,” Dorothea replied weakly, already feeling her defenses crumble.

Immediately, Ingrid reddened. “T-that reminds me…” She withdrew, fidgeting with her hem as she looked anywhere but at Dorothea. If before she had been a knight, now she was just a schoolgirl. Quietly, she mumbled, “What did you mean earlier?”

Dorothea could just make out the words. Bemused, she raised a brow. “What do you mean?”

“Back when my father gave Lúin, and just now. You-you said-” Ingrid stuttered over her last few words, her face beet red. “When you said ‘my Ingrid’, what did you mean?”

“Oh.” Dorothea stared at her blankly for a moment, before laughing. “Is that what you’re worried about?”

“I’m being serious here!” Ingrid snapped, both embarrassed and angry.

Now that the shoe was on the other foot, Dorothea slipped back into her comfort zone. Brushing a stray lock behind her ear, she leaned forward. Their shoulders bumped. Her hair brushed Ingrid’s nape. This close, she could hear the poor girl’s heart run a marathon, feel her nervous breath on her skin. This close, she could see the blue and gold flecks in her green eyes.

 Ingrid turned redder at the proximity but didn’t pull away. Utterly vulnerable, she stuttered, “W-what?”

Dorothea smirked. The reaction made things too easy. “What do you think it meant?” she purred, voice low.

For a split second, something akin to desire ignites within Ingrid’s eyes. Then, it disappeared as Ingrid went through every possible shade of red in a second. “D-Dorothea!” Ingrid spluttered.

“Sorry, couldn’t help it.” Dorothea giggled as an increasingly flustered tried to pull herself together. Honestly, whether or not Ingrid had realized it, she had already helped her already.

It had been easy when Dorothea could have passed this feeling off as a crush. It had been only marginally harder when she’d realized how impossible her goals were otherwise. One after another, Dorothea had given herself excuses to not pursue her own heart.

It was a dog-eat-dog world. No one could blame her.

Yet, despite all of that, Ingrid wouldn’t (or perhaps, couldn’t) hide her feelings any more than she was about to tell a lie. For all of her denials, Ingrid’s face gave away her real feelings and desires.

Their knees were still touching. Their shoulders bumped. Ingrid’s skin was hot wherever they touched. This close, all Dorothea had to do was close the gap. This close, all Dorothea wanted was for Ingrid to do the same.

“It’s all your fault, you know,” she murmured. Ingrid’s pretty speeches stirred up a hope within herself, a want for more. More than the songstress of the Opera House. More than a cushy life as some trophy housewife.

She wanted happiness.

She wanted love.

Dorothea didn’t so much as lean closer as she fell. Ingrid’s lips tasted of freedom, as that intoxicating rush Dorothea felt whenever she saw Ingrid swoop through the sky.

Ingrid stiffened before clumsily kissing back, her fingers nervously flitting up and down Dorothea’s sides. Their noses bumped, teeth clanked, and it had to be the worst kiss she’d ever had.

Dorothea smiled the entire time. I’m sorry, Edie, she silently apologized.

It looked like she was changing houses.

[mydarling-suggestions]

I’m not sure of the scope of questions you answer but I need some help and I’m not sure who else I could turn to.

So I’m in a moderately popular fandom on this site and I’d say for about a year, I’ve been bullied by someone I had a nasty falling out with. They go on anon but I know it’s them based on the language and context used—they don’t seem to be too stealthy honestly. Anyway, I’m not sure what to do about it because I find myself getting paranoid whenever I get an ask or a message, because this person has managed to taint a lot of my relationships with people on here that I engage with. I’ve since been blocked, harassed, had death threats received and it’s all very overwhelming. Turning off anon only works for a short amount of time, but my blog is meant to be a safe space, so I don’t like to keep anon restricted all the time.

This fandom I’m in is wonderful in so many ways, but this has been such a sore spot for me, because I just want this person to go away and live their life, though sad it may very well be, and leave me alone. I’m not sure how to manage this mentally. I’ve found myself fighting quite a bit with the anons I get, and I think because of that, I’ve found my engagement with others disappearing. Idk, it’s been a mess. This person btw has caused someone to leave the fandom and the website because they were being harassed too, and all of the mutuals were sad about that, because they were lovely. I’ve tried reporting this user to Tumblr countless times, to no avail.

I don’t know what to do anymore. They are ruining this entire fandom, and they have quite a fierce following of people behind them, supporting them. If they only knew how ghastly this person acted towards me and continued to harass me…

*sigh* I’ve properly talked your ear off. Any help would be appreciated. If not, I understand.

Hi nonnie, gosh this situation sounds horrible I can’t imagine how draining it would be on you mentally and emotionally 😞

I haven’t checked the inbox here for a while so not sure when this was submitted, but this is really disappointing and immature behaviour from this individual. It seems you’ve tried a fair few things to try and combat their bullying already, and it sucks that your attempts to report this user has yielded no results.

There aren’t many other solutions I can think of except for two. My first suggestion is to make a post informing your followers that you’ll be inactive for a short period of time, however long you feel you need, for a mental health break. Hopefully by doing this you can improve your mental health and perhaps come to a solution in the meantime, or even better, this bully decides to move on. My second suggestion is rather drastic and likely not something you’d want to do, but I would suggest making a new tumblr where you can engage with everyone in the fandom that you’re currently engaging with, although under the guise of someone else so you wont be targeted by this bully anymore.

My main hope however, would be that this bully moves on eventually, but preferably soon. I would also add that this is entirely a reflection on them and not you, and try to not take anything they say to heart. Nasty people like them normally know exactly what to say to hurt people and their words can cut deep I know, but don’t believe whatever they may be telling you or calling you. I know this is all far easier said than done, but if you notice you get another nasty anon message from this person, delete it as soon as you realise what it is, please don’t go on to read the whole thing, you don’t deserve to be tormented by this person.

I would also highly recommend talking to a friend about this if you haven’t already, even if you just vent it should do you some good to have someone to talk to and receive support from. Perhaps a friend of yours might even have a solution to all this, and even if they don’t they can keep you happy and distracted! And finally, speaking of distractions, stay as distracted as possible! If worse comes to worst and theres no way for you to really avoid the bullying, spend time with friends and do the things that make you happy and try your best to not dwell on the actions and words of this person.

Keep reporting them to tumblr in the meantime and hopefully something finally gets done about them because bullying should never be tolerated, anon or not. I’m so sorry you’re experiencing this nonnie and I really really hope that the bullying stops or is dealt with 💛 And you can always come for a visit to all of us here because this is a safe space and there’s plenty of love and support for you here 💛💛

[punkscowardschampions]

Bea & Buster & Nancy & Moses

Bea: Just checking you still want to come to Dublin tomorrow?

Bea: You RSVP’d on the cal but I wasn’t sure if you’d changed your mind on that

Buster: I’ve made up my mind that I’m going

Bea: Okay, that’s fine, of course

Bea: When did you have a change of heart?

Buster: [whenever the ruster convo was in relation to this because you can tell the truth about that much]

Bea: 🤔 Am I meant to know if something significant happened then or can I skip the bad mum points?

Bea: Either way, your dad and Uncle Rocky will be happy you’re there, as they both get to make the event at least partially about them

Buster: It’s fine that you slept through my epiphany given the unsocial hour at which it occurred

Bea: Mm, epiphanies usually are preceded by an unhealthy amount of alcohol, in my experience 

Bea: go on then, what wisdom revealed itself to you whilst you should have been in bed?

Buster: In mine too

Buster: hence wisdom is arguably a very generous term and I thought better of waking you for a reason

Bea: I can’t promise I would have been thrilled, even retroactively when I could without having to prove it

Bea: but really, you can wake me any time you need to

Buster: I didn’t need to, like I said

Bea: Good

Bea: though I am a little surprised your epiphany was so religious in nature you want to do Easter

Bea: if your Auntie was around, you could do all the church services

Buster: My other auntie is, if I feel compelled

Buster: or as though my uni place is under threat

Bea: God bless America, obviously

Bea: though Ro’s husband may work as a suitable character ref, even if we don’t actually know him, that’s worth remembering closer to the time

Buster: He’s all the more suitable if he doesn’t actually know me, naturally

Bea: You’re not that bad but he is presumably evangelical so yeah, basically

Buster: I’m not a saint, he presumably is, in her eyes at least, so I’d suffer unfavourably in a comparison with any basis of fact

Buster: we might as well share in the delusion

Bea: I’ve never seen my sister show interest in anyone else in any way, besides Ali, actually

Bea: it all seems a little fantastical itself, from this far away

Bea: but never mind that

Buster: Perhaps you can never really know someone

Bea: No, I know her, she’s never been fond of that fact

Bea: I don’t know, she’s either now trying more than she ever did or is lying to herself, the latter is more plausible but I should be happy for her if it’s the former

Buster: Why not both simultaneously? Trying yet failing, and therefore being forced to lie, is definitely as plausible

Bea: You’re probably spot on

Bea: You can’t stop caring, even after all reason, not when it’s family

Buster: No, but you can stop engaging, she has and she’s hardly the only one

Bea: Do you think they’re right for that though?

Buster: I know you don’t

Bea: Perhaps if I believed that Ro and Joe stayed away for everyone else’s sake

Bea: but that isn’t the case, for either of them, it’s entirely selfish

Buster: It was undeniably for their own sake, but they’re not exactly alone in committing selfish acts either, it’s practically genetic at this point

Bea: Kind of a damning proclamation, especially considering they aren’t genetically related but I get the sentiment 

Bea: Is it your sister?

Buster: She’s related to you and he’s related to dad, you’re both famously selfish and proud of yourselves for being, ask anyone

Buster: Is what my sister?

Bea: You’re upset at someone

Bea: but now I’d change my guess to me/your father

Buster: I’m not upset at you or dad, and frankly, Nancy’s spitefulness barely registers anymore 

Buster: she wishes

Bea: Is it just the thought of going to Dublin?

Bea: Because you don’t have to, you know

Buster: Don’t you have something else to do other than play a guessing game with me?

Bea: Not particularly 

Buster: You told me to go to Dublin, we had an entire conversation about why I should

Bea: I know but you know that it rather spoils things if you’re going to sit there miserable the whole time

Bea: especially if we have no idea why so we can’t do anything about it

Buster: For God’s sake, I can’t win with you

Buster: I thought you’d be pleased, but of course not, you never are

Bea: Buster, I’m just asking what’s wrong

Buster: Something’s wrong when I won’t fly there and wrong again when I will

Buster: I’m just trying to do the right thing

Bea: It’s not about what you’re doing or not doing, it’s how you are, which is clearly not great

Buster: Well, I’m sorry you don’t have the power to police my moods the way you so clearly want to

Bea: For God’s sake

Bea: I get it, it’s none of my business, please try not to be a prick about it though

Buster: I told you before I wasn’t happy and the incredible insight you offered was that teenagers aren’t

Buster: What do you want from me?

Bea: Which is true but if it’s anything more than standard angst, I can’t be any more helpful without knowing at least in the ballpark what the fuck is going on

Buster: I haven’t asked for your help, even wasted I’m aware there’s nothing you could do

Bea: You don’t know that

Bea: I had an off-day with that remark and you’ve written me off, hardly fair

Buster: I’m in love, okay?

Buster: heartbroken is potentially more accurate, either/or

Buster: Can you stop now?

Bea: Ah, I see

Bea: I’m sorry for pushing then

Buster: You don’t but I don’t want you to, so let’s agree to drop it and avoid this awkwardness

Bea: I know what being in love is like

Bea: but no, you don’t have to tell me with who, that’s not what matters

Buster: Obviously, you’re married, that isn’t on the cards for me

Bea: It’s different, sure

Bea: but it doesn’t feel it, just because you’re young doesn’t mean you have to force that perspective on it, it’s impossible, especially if it’s a first love

Buster: Nor does it mean I’m eager to hear your perspective

Buster: I already know what you’d say and do in my position, but you aren’t, I am

Bea: I wasn’t going to tell you what to do, it’s a personal decision, obviously

Buster: I appreciate you resisting the urge

Bea: It’s embarrassing, uncomfortable

Bea: It will be for a while

Buster: What’s uncomfortable is she’s with someone else who’s a complete and utter cunt

Buster: and I want to kill him but I can’t

Bea: No, you can’t

Bea: you also can’t force the epiphany on her, sadly, she’ll have to work that out in her own time

Buster: I know, I’ve tried

Buster: she doesn’t understand where I’m coming from at all

Bea: It’s the sort of thing that’s hard to hear when you’re in it, even if some of it does ring true, she’s unlikely to tell you that

Buster: She has to get out of it

Bea: Yeah, herself

Buster: She said she would, we’re on the same page about that much at least

Bea: But you feel different about her now?

Buster: If she’s capable of being with someone like that, willingly hurting everyone she is in the process, I’m not sure I know her as well as I thought I did

Bea: Maybe not

Bea: far be it from me to hold a young girl’s mistakes against her but you have to make your own call there

Buster: I’ve made my own against her but she’s certainly outdone any of them thanks to him

Bea: You’re allowed to make mistakes, you’re always allowed but you’re certainly the age to do it almost constantly

Bea: and you can be hurt too, I would just hate to see you alone because your standards are so high no one can meet them, I’ve seen what that looks like and it’s the last thing I’d want for any of you

Buster: If this was a group chat, Nance would gladly chime in about my standards being non-existent, as she loves airing every piece of my dirty laundry to you and dad specifically

Bea: Luckily it’s not and I wasn’t just talking about standards in that sense

Bea: none of us are perfect, just try to remember that

Buster: I almost am and she’s the only person who has ever been able to compete, until now

Bea: Well, being ‘perfect’ can feel like a prison to escape

Bea: usually by doing stupid things like going out with complete and utter cunts, you know

Buster: Yeah, she blames me too

Bea: I’m sure she has bigger pressures in her life than you, really

Bea: but you’d make a convenient scapegoat

Buster: Absolutely, her life’s a mess

Bea: I hope you worded it more tactfully, if you brought it up at all

Buster: She’d be the first to admit it, if she could bring herself to acknowledge I’m rarely wrong, which right now is unlikely

Bea: You know the way you are and speak isn’t going to win you any fans easy

Bea: I assume that’s why you do it

Buster: Go ahead and send me to see someone who’ll charge you for the privilege of diagnosing me with all manner of things, Nancy’s desperate to, some sort of discount could probably be arranged

Bea: Is she?

Bea: I best get looking into that when we get back then

Buster: Apparently so, though every word in five is best taken with a grain of salt

Bea: She’s said nothing to me yet, and presumably not your dad

Bea: but I’ll talk to her

Buster: I’d be surprised if even she opts to tell you it’s because she wants to form an inappropriate relationship, the shock factor is wearing thin with you and dad has never entertained her

Bea: And maybe entertaining this is the last thing I should do but I’m not going to have her hurt or in danger just because of my preconceived notions of therapy

Bea: You can go too, if you actually want

Buster: I don’t, thanks

Buster: I have the boxing gym, no talking required

Bea: It’s very American, you know

Buster: Maybe I’ll indulge in the cliche when I move, to fit in

Bea: Do you like it here?

Buster: Chelsea do you mean?

Bea: Yeah

Buster: No, I’d have to be an insane person

Buster: something which has yet to be confirmed by a shrink

Bea: Do you think your sisters do?

Buster: Yeah, but Ava might feel different when she’s older, nowhere’s that shit when you’re 8, unless it’s unspeakable levels of

Bea: We didn’t have any say before, ever, even Dublin wasn’t a choice that was run past us

Bea: and with you lot, we had to be in Cambridge, that was the choice we’d made but now, we could make a different decision

Buster: I know, mum

Buster: and I know why you chose here, it makes sense for you, for work

Buster: I’m making the most of it, it’s okay

Bea: It’s not just that, people commute, it wouldn’t be a big deal

Bea: People commute from Ireland, for God’s sake

Bea: It was embarrassingly childish logic, I suppose, one of the most expensive postcodes in the world equated to the best choice in our heads

Buster: You were a child when you came up with the idea, dad told me

Bea: We perhaps should have adjusted it, once we weren’t

Buster: I’ll be leaving soon, based on my own childish logic

Buster: I’m not asking you to uproot your life unnecessarily in the meanwhile

Bea: It’s still your home

Bea: I’m not saying we’re going to pack up this second, or that we would on just your say so but it’s something I’ve been considering for a while

Buster: The postcode isn’t what I’d be coming back to visit, that’s you, my family

Bea: I remember wishing that time away too

Bea: but you’re still a long way from Uni and properly leaving, wherever you end up

Buster: Don’t remind me, the past and present are both awful, the future is all I have

Bea: Oh, Buster

Buster: I need to leave, start again

Bea: That’s not how you deal with anything

Buster: Desperate times call for desperate measures

Buster: I’ve loved her for such a long time, if she’s a stranger to me, I’m essentially a stranger to myself

Bea: People can become strangers for a time, by choice or by necessity doesn’t change the outcome

Bea: but they can come back to being more familiar to you than anyone you knew in that interim 

Buster: Like you and dad in the early part of uni?

Bea: That is what I was thinking of, you don’t have to dwell on it if you’ll cringe

Buster: How did you forgive and forget what each other did?

Bea: Things get put into perspective, one way or another

Bea: yeah, you two were on the way in our case but it doesn’t need to be that drastic, whatever it is, makes you see what is and isn’t important

Bea: none of it mattered after

Buster: All I can see is her losing her virginity to him

Bea: That is something you really won’t care about when you’re older

Bea: I know, I know, that’s the worst answer because you do now, of course you do but I swear

Buster: I will, you don’t know what an undeserving prick he is, how old he is

Buster: there’s a fucking list of cons longer than her imagined pros could ever be

Bea: Alright, aside from picking him, his defects aren’t hers though, right

Buster: But how could she do this?

Bea: It’s complicated, I don’t want to sound like a shrink making assumptions myself

Bea: but girls your age, and girls with messy lives, usually don’t like themselves very much, that would be my best guess

Buster: And I don’t want to say I love her why isn’t that enough, but truly why isn’t it?

Bea: Well, assuming she feels the same at least somewhat, and assuming she sees you as a good person and a positive

Bea: it can sort of feel shit, if you don’t see yourself that way, you’re the weight around their neck whilst they’re keeping you afloat, do you see what I mean?

Buster: Is that how you felt?

Bea: Yeah

Bea: and it’s not as if your dad ever said or did anything that made me feel like it, not on purpose, so I’m sure you haven’t either

Bea: it’s just in your head, when you come into someone’s life as a literal problem

Buster: What should I do? I’m able to bring to mind literal examples of when I made her feel like a problem

Bea: That’s alright, it’s not your job to spot and cater for every single person’s hangups, I don’t think that’s feasible, whatever a therapist might reckon

Bea: but you could show her you’re sorry, when you’re ready to, for that

Buster: Okay

Buster: Would you be annoyed if I do change my mind about Dublin?

Bea: No, it’s fine

Bea: you are slightly too old for the egg hunt, if we’re being honest with ourselves

Buster: I had a plan to help but now I’m wondering if it’s just another example of me treating her as a problem to solve, something to fix

Bea: Is she in Dublin then?

Buster: Come on, that’s obviously why I didn’t want to go

Bea: Come on, you wouldn’t have been thrilled if I started playing a guessing game then

Buster: What I said about not being thrilled at the prospect of living in a commune with our extended family still stands, but she’s the real reason

Bea: That wasn’t my next plan, don’t worry

Buster: I saw her when grandad and I went to [that boxing match], you don’t need to be a genius to guess how things turned out

Bea: Your mood did seem at odds to how your evening with him went, yeah

Buster: And I missed St Paddys because she didn’t want me in the country

Bea: Dramatic, I’ll give her that

Buster: Oh please, like you wouldn’t threaten dad with an identical ultimatum 

Bea: I practically said I respected it but I was trying to be supportive

Buster: Better late than never, I suppose

Bea: Charming

Bea: I’ll be glad to be in a different country to you too, kid

Buster: I’ll come out of spite then

Bea: The car is coming at [whatever time to get y’all to the airport]

Bea: If you’ve not decided by then, you’ll be left behind regardless

Buster: Technically illegal but I nevertheless respect it 

Bea: You’re not a lawyer yet and even when you are, you don’t have to enforce it

Buster: Don’t tell the others about my emotional state or I’ll find a lawyer and sue

Bea: Good luck using my money to do so

Bea: but obviously not, come on now

Buster: Including dad, I’m serious

Bea: Okay, I mean it, I won’t

Bea: it’s your business

Buster: I shouldn’t have even told you, because it is my business and I’m meant to deal with it myself

Bea: That’s not what I meant

Bea: I meant if you don’t want your dad to know, then he doesn’t need to

Buster: It’s bad enough feeling like I’ve let one of you down

Bea: Don’t be stupid, you’ve not let either of us down

Buster: I am, I’m not a kid, I’m not meant to come crying to you

Bea: You are a kid, you’re my kid, for God’s sake

Bea: don’t say things like that, I always want you to be able to come to me with anything

Buster: I feel like Ava would fuck this up less than me, like I keep ruining everything no matter what I try and do

Bea: Like you said, the younger you are, easier everything seems

Buster: If you could rewind time, would you?

Bea: Absolutely not

Buster: Why not?

Bea: I couldn’t ask for more than what I’ve got now

Buster: What if you didn’t have any of it?

Bea: Like, would I prefer that?

Buster: Would you still want me to exist if you couldn’t be my mum?

Bea: That’s some question

Bea: You wouldn’t so, I don’t even know where to start with it

Buster: Alright, I’ll give you that

Bea: I don’t wish I’d not had you, if that’s what you’re really asking

Bea: because I’ve still got to where I wanted to get, and if I hadn’t have had you two, then I’d be here on my own, which, no, isn’t preferable, for the record

Buster: As much as I currently wish you hadn’t had Nancy, I’m not asking, I feel wanted, I know you did

Bea: I should hope so too

Bea: there’s nothing I could do about the package deal, sorry

Buster: She’s bound to grow up and get a grip eventually, the myth girls mature faster is doing her no favours, that’s all

Bea: She’s the one I’m worried Chelsea is doing no favours

Bea: but in many ways I feel like you’ve only all just settled, and she could be worse for moving away at this time in your lives

Buster: I’ll try harder with her

Bea: She’s not your responsibility 

Bea: Next year, when your GCSEs start, she needs to start showing some willing or me and your dad will have to try harder with her ourselves, in some way

Buster: We’re a package deal, like it or not

Buster: and more often than, I bring out the worst in her

Bea: I’m not opposed to you two trying to get on, obviously

Bea: but your plate is already full, don’t add any more pressure 

Buster: I thrive under pressure, don’t worry about me

Bea: That is my job, actually

Buster: I’ll be fine, feel free to focus on your paid one

Bea: Oh, cheers

Buster: You’re beyond welcome

Bea: I can promise you I don’t need any career advice from you or anyone else

Bea: there’s never anything for you to worry about there

Buster: I don’t, you’re the most together person I know, it’s why I hate falling apart in front of you

Bea: You’re fourteen

Bea: I wasn’t together at your age, the age I’d consider myself together from even remotely would probably shock you

Buster: Yeah, but it’s a competition and I intend to beat you

Bea: I wish you all the luck in the world

Bea: it’ll be cruel to remind you how together I thought I was at your age, all the way up until Uni

Buster: I make my own

Bea: Mhmm, I know

Buster: As you’ve more or less given me the world, I won’t be cruel and point out the countless advantages I have over you and yours at my age

Bea: That was the goal

Buster: Congrats, it’s been achieved

Bea: Thanks, kid

Buster: The least I can do considering I haven’t thanked you for talking me down

Bea: Don’t mention it

Bea: you’re meant to be able to talk to me or I’m the one failing

Buster: In theory, but I barely remember a time when I wasn’t shutting you out

Bea: So stop it

Buster: I feel so bad, hopefully this will make things slightly better, that’s all I want

Bea: You can’t bottle things up

Buster: I prefer drowning my sorrows

Bea: 🙄 Unfunny

Buster: Because I’m not joking

Bea: It’s not a joke

Buster: It isn’t quite substance abuse yet either, before you circle back to an intervention 

Bea: Make sure it isn’t

Buster: I’m not a total idiot

Bea: It’s not about intelligence

Buster: It’s about you viewing me as a fuck up, which is why I can’t open up to you

Bea: I don’t view you as a fuck up, I can tell you’re not doing well right now and now I know why

Bea: ideally there would be more I could do to help but matters of the heart are shit like that

Buster: I haven’t lost sight of what else is important, ever

Bea: I wasn’t attacking you, don’t take it that way

Buster: How else would I take it?

Buster: you’re worried about Nance and now I’m being lumped in as if we’re remotely similar

Bea: It’s what parents do, it’s not a bloody personal slight

Buster: Do you know how insulting it is?

Buster: I work hard to be the literal opposite of her wherever possible

Bea: You’re my children, I love you equally

Bea: I didn’t make a parallel, you did that in your head

Buster: Everyone draws parallels between us, constantly, expecting me to behave like her at every party I attend, each lesson I’m in

Bea: Yeah, it’s unfair, that’s how people treat twins, you talk to her I’m sure she hates it too

Buster: She hates me, allegedly, so I’m probably not going to talk to her for the foreseeable, however long she manages to maintain her resolve 

Bea: You both have a flair for the dramatic, you can take that comparison

Bea: whether you come or don’t come to Dublin with us, I imagine she’ll have something to say

Buster: Genetically that was rather unavoidable, you and dad are both as bad as each other in how you flare up

Bea: Fair enough

Bea: though he is worse, obviously

Buster: I don’t know which I’ll ultimately regret more, coming or not

Bea: Yeah, well, it’s not as if you have to see the girl, is it?

Buster: I could spit anywhere in Ireland and she’d get wet, it’s a ridiculously tiny country

Bea: Right

Bea: It’s up to you

Buster: Yeah, as per

Buster: everything always is

Bea: Would you like me to decide for you?

Buster: I wish you could like you do for Ava

Bea: Don’t waste a wish, it can be arranged, easy

Buster: Tell me what to do then

Bea: Come, look after your sister, the little one that is, say happy birthday to your uncle and congratulations on the baby to your auntie

Bea: You’ve done your part, no drama

Buster: Okay, at least Ava will have a nice day when I find all the eggs for her in record time

Bea: Exactly, it’s about the little ones

Bea: I don’t think Junior will be there, God knows what’s going on with that situation but it’s unlikely

Buster: Last I heard his dad is still radio silent

Bea: I’d not stand for it

Bea: but, I’ve no idea, really, not having been in the situation she finds herself in

Buster: She feels guilty for fucking him over but that doesn’t mean she should allow him to do so worse

Bea: I know but you’d be surprised, I don’t think it’s illegal, he’s got parental rights

Bea: their custody arrangement would have been informal until now I’m sure, not court-enforced 

Buster: [I’m not gonna look it up but put whatever the law is here because you’re a big nerd and you would’ve found out because you care]

Bea: You can tell Ali, if you want

Bea: I’m sure she’d appreciate it

Buster: I’m sure she’s already read anything I did in her own search for answers, more probably

Bea: It’s just nice to know people care, when you don’t have answers or results

Buster: I’ll talk to her

Bea: Well done

Buster: I’ve missed talking to you, despite such condescending remarks creeping in on occasion 

Bea: You make it sound as if I banned you from talking to me and it wasn’t your bright idea

Buster: Once again I mistakenly thought you’d be ecstatic, here I am humbly admitting that not every idea of mine is great

Bea: Jesus, why would I be ecstatic about that

Buster: Because you slandered how I speak earlier

Bea: Be serious

Buster: If you recall, you had something to say about how serious I was during our previous heart-to-heart, perhaps I’ve taken it to mine and on board

Bea: You’re taking the piss now

Bea: you’ve got to be cheered up enough to manage your shit craic

Buster: Can I stay with you until the car comes? I haven’t been sleeping but it would be typical if I did through my alarm

Bea: We’re not going to leave without you

Bea: but of course you can

Buster: You made the exact promise/threat to not long ago

Bea: It was an empty threat

Bea: You’re allowed to change your mind, even if I made it up for you

Buster: I’d simply be delaying the inevitable, in August there’s no avoiding the trip, I promised granddad

Bea: That was my logic too

Bea: it’ll be alright, I promise, we won’t leave you to fend for yourself

Buster: Ava’ll distract me, like you said

Bea: And I’m never wrong, unlike you with your 95%

Buster: No need to brag, I would never

Bea: Heaven forbid

Buster: We’re going in circles back towards heavy religious undertones

Bea: Heaven actually fucking forbid, no thank you

Buster: I’ll see you at [an o clock you’re joking her bedtime is because gotta try and laugh or we’ll cry about that], thanks for the hotel treatment

Bea: Alright then, I might be early, such a rare treat these days

Buster: I’m sorry

Bea: Shh, it’s okay

Buster: No it isn’t

Bea: It will be and you have nothing to apologise for right now

Buster: Yes I do, for everything

Bea: Not to me you don’t

Buster: You don’t hate me yet?

Bea: Buster, I will never hate you

Buster: I have to hate myself still, don’t I?

Bea: No, darling

Buster: My life wasn’t meant to turn out like this

Bea: It’s a long way from over

Buster: If only that was a comforting thought

Bea: I know

Bea: but it will be when you feel better and then you’ll see where to go next, it won’t stay this shit

Buster: The answer is America, always

Buster: I know it’ll be far enough away if I try hard enough

Bea: We can talk about America later

Buster: You’re just going to tell me running away doesn’t solve anything

Bea: I’m not sure I’m comfortable with you being in another country when you feel this bad, is what I’m actually thinking

Bea: but we’ve got time until you’re due to go, so I’m not saying you can’t

Buster: What’s the worst that can happen, I convert to Evangelical Christianity? I doubt they’d accept me into the fold, honestly

Bea: Obviously not

Buster: Well, fear not, I’m not going to do anything there I wouldn’t here

Bea: We’re here, that’s the difference

Buster: You’re at the end of a phone, that’s no different to right now

Bea: I’m on my way home, actually

Buster: Cancelling would embarrass me at school, it’s all arranged

Bea: And no one is saying we have to, this is months away

Buster: Don’t, I’ll meet your deadline

Bea: Your welfare is my top priority

Buster: I need to go, that’s mine

Bea: We don’t need to talk about this any more right now, I’ve told you no decisions are getting made

Buster: Fine, I don’t want to talk to you any more if that’s a decision you’re seriously considering making

Bea: That’s not going to help anything

Buster: Neither is taking away the one thing I’m looking forward to

Bea: I’m not going to be guilted into agreeing to this now

Bea: I will make whatever decision is the best for you, end of story

Buster: I applied and I got accepted, it isn’t your decision 

Bea: And I’m not trying to make one now, you need to drop it

Bea: because you know I can make it

Buster: Fuck you, you can’t punish me in the same breath as saying I have nothing to be sorry for

Bea: It isn’t a punishment, it’s not allowing you to spiral out alone in a country you know nothing about and no one there, for fuck’s sake

Bea: and you’re the one acting like it’s a foregone conclusion when it simply isn’t 

Buster: You didn’t give a shit when I was spiralling in this country

Bea: Yes I do

Buster: Where’s the proof of that? Until today there’s none

Bea: Better late than never then

Buster: I’ve been alone this entire fucking time

Bea: No, you haven’t, not literally alone like you would be there

Bea: I was waiting for you to talk

Buster: And you repay me for talking by doing it over me when you decide you know better

Bea: I should have kept my concern to myself, between me and your father

Bea: that wouldn’t mean the outcome would be any different, it’ll be what it has to be, I was keeping an open dialogue because I thought you were mature enough to handle it 

Buster: Don’t

Buster: playing the maturity card isn’t going to encourage any further dialogue 

Bea: I’ve made it clear I don’t want to talk about this trip any further, it’s no more the root of your problems than it is the solution to them, okay

Buster: I can’t handle losing something else, don’t you understand that?

Bea: So what happens if you get there and it isn’t everything you think it's going to be

Bea: how will you handle that?

Buster: I’m not anticipating perfect, it’ll be better than here

Bea: You need to learn how to anticipate and handle failure or you’re going to be in this headspace for the rest of your life

Bea: All I was asking was you to understand my concerns

Buster: I’m not going to fail and I’m not weak

Bea: You are going to fail, there are things that don’t work in life, end of

Buster: Things which aren’t meant for me won’t work out, obviously

Buster: that doesn’t equal failure

Bea: That isn’t a terrible mindset to have

Bea: but you have to understand that sometimes things you want or believe are meant for you can fall into that category too

Buster: If I want something, I’ll find a way

Buster: you taught me to

Bea: And I believe that you’re going to get to where you want to be too

Bea: but I’d be remiss not to teach you this basic bit of resilience your life has afforded you not to think about yet

Buster: Yeah, message received, you think I’m a pussy and I shouldn’t be allowed to  leave the country

Bea: And that’s mature, is it

Bea: Enough of this now

Buster: You’re the one who claimed I possess no resilience 

Bea: Plan Bs are vital

Buster: But they’re not all I’m good for

Bea: Absolutely no one has said that

Buster: I can make plan A happen, stop standing in my way

Bea: We’ll talk when we’re home, if you want to carry on

Bea: but this is getting us nowhere right now

Buster: We’ve both said our piece

Bea: [we should probably work out how we want your talk to go IRL so we know the mood in your household and where things are left]

Buster: [it’d be nice if she can calm this boy down once again for everyone’s sake lol but it depends on the level of drama we wanna bring cos it’s equally feasible if she doesn’t given the absolute spiral ruster are in atm]

Bea: [I imagine you can get him calmer in person because you aren’t going to escalate it as an adult lol, you just want him to say he’s not fully suicidal before you let him go, so I’m sure you can calm things back down to where they were before bringing that up at least]

Buster: [mhmm we all know he has the kind of anger that flares up quickly and can be over just as fast so, he isn’t holding a grudge indefinitely especially when it wouldn’t help his case and cause of not being mentally unstable lol, he was just reacting and escalating due to already being upset and in a bad headspace, everyone is welcome that Easter isn’t gonna be entirely ruined]

Nancy: I knew you couldn’t resist

Buster: Likewise with you having something to say about how I do or don’t spend Easter

Nancy: You have no interest in chocolate eggs or wholesome family time either

Buster: Mum asked me to take an interest

Nancy: Oh please

Nancy: like you’d let that sway you if there wasn’t otherwise to tempt you too

Buster: The ‘otherwise’ in this case being that she’s talking about cancelling [whatever your america school trip is called]

Nancy: Again, as if she would

Buster: It’s a risk I can easily avoid taking given a children’s egg hunt is hardly taxing

Nancy: She doesn’t like you that much that she’d rather have you around than the smug parenting points

Nancy: but all of it is just talking around the fact you wanna watch the circus as much as I do

Buster: You wish, on both counts

Nancy: Why would I care, on both counts

Nancy: Your mummy issues are nothing to do with me

Buster: What you care about is quite frankly a mystery to me and I wouldn’t have it any other way

Nancy: You’re the one always deeping everything

Nancy: I just want to know why the radio silence from her suddenly, it couldn’t be more simple

Buster: Well that’s obvious, if you’re asking questions as the most self-involved person she’s ever met, she should probably try and exercise a degree of caution

Nancy: That’s the most boring answer you could think of, yeah

Nancy: or she’s been ditched, which will be hilariously awful if he has this soon

Nancy: or she could be cooking up her own baby bump, open your mind a little, honestly, it’s way more fun

Buster: You’re the one who thinks she’s entertaining

Nancy: Anyone with an imagination would find this entertaining

Buster: Anyone desperate for whatever fleeting distraction they can find, which you can gladly count me out of

Nancy: You’ve got your own dreary distraction

Buster: Thankfully, but I’d rather do homework than join you in the front row of the so called circus

Nancy: I wonder if he’ll be there

Buster: Of course not

Nancy: Why not?

Nancy: That’s what I would do

Buster: I doubt even he would willingly follow your example regarding what constitutes a good idea

Nancy: As you’ve so kindly pointed out, she’s not me

Buster: The truest thing you’ve pointed out thus far

Nancy: Other people don’t hold such a low opinion of me, you know

Buster: Chlo’s opinion of you is irrelevant, she had a lot of help forming it

Nancy: It’s so sweet the obsession has become mutual 

Buster: I’m thrilled you approve, naturally

Nancy: She would certainly be less annoying

Buster: I would never throw myself on such a sharp sword for only a marginal improvement

Nancy: You would never do me any favour, more like

Buster: You’re incapable of asking nicely or paying your debts

Nancy: You’re full of shit

Buster: No I’m not, but as you have absolutely nothing I want, for the foreseeable you’ll have to look for favours elsewhere

Nancy: Correction, full of shit and hot air

Buster: Again, you wish

Nancy: Why?

Nancy: You’re quite literally useless to me as a brother

Buster: Because it gives you something else to complain about, your victim complex is reliant solely upon our parents without me

Nancy: I have a lifetime’s worth, you’re just an irritant 

Buster: Okay, Nance

Buster: great chat, as ever

Nancy: I remain unconvinced you’d know a good time if it fell into your lap, as you’re so keen to demonstrate but sure, ‘great chat’

Buster: As long as you’re unconvincing in your role of supportive cousin

Nancy: Who says she needs support

Buster: Openly gossip seeking isn’t how you earn people’s trust

Nancy: I’ll find out anyway, she’s not good at keeping secrets or I’d have no idea, would I

Buster: Currently, you don’t, clearly there’s some degree of hope for anyone

Nancy: We all know, you don’t just chill with your ex-stepdad, no matter how fucked your family

Buster: It was a tattoo and driving lessons underage, we all know he’s an irresponsible adult, yeah

Nancy: Because you definitely do that for no reason

Nancy: he wouldn’t unless he wanted her

Buster: The reason being, he’s an immature idiot

Buster: that’s as much idea as you have about his motivations, you don’t know him

Nancy: Don’t be naive, you only have to look at him

Buster: I’d prefer not to

Nancy: That makes one of us

Buster: For God’s sake

Nancy: Oh, like you don’t talk like that all the time

Buster: Not to you

Nancy: I still hear it, you and your friends have loud voices

Buster: My friends and I aren’t discussing anyone old enough to be our parents

Nancy: Pshhh, liar

Buster: It’s the truth, which is why you’re struggling to accept it

Nancy: If you’re not talking about older girls, it’s because girls don’t date younger

Buster: Older doesn’t automatically equal MILFs

Nancy: Let’s face it, your friends would date year 7s if they could get away with it without the shaming they’d get from us girls

Buster: Don’t be disgusting

Nancy: You know I’m right

Buster: You’re always wrong, right now is no exception

Nancy: You’re just embarrassed

Buster: You’re just repulsive

Nancy: I should hope so, weirdo

Buster: I’m the weirdo when you brought up this topic of conversation, that makes total sense

Nancy: Life is meant to be fun, I’m trying to get you to engage with the entertainment

Nancy: but it is pointless, that much we will have to agree on now

Buster: Good, go away

Nancy: Farewell, lost cause

Buster: [don’t reply because you’re sick of her nonsense lol

Nancy: 👋

Nancy: I was hoping you’d be here for Easter

Moses: Were you now

Moses: and why’s that?

Nancy: The more the merrier, of course

Moses: Says only you, I didn’t get an invite

Nancy: How rude!

Nancy: Edie is here

Moses: I know she is, her boyfriend’s not got enough family left for an egg hunt

Nancy: That’s awful! 😅

Nancy: They’re a bit too old for it anyway

Moses: She can do what she wants, including taking sweets from kids

Nancy: Awh, I can’t believe she didn’t invite you

Moses: Her loss

Nancy: Ours, I’m sure things would be more entertaining if you were here

Moses: Sure

Nancy: Rio could’ve invited you

Moses: She’s keeping on her mammy’s good side

Nancy: Why? You got her the car

Nancy: I know who I’d prioritise 

Moses: I didn’t ask you whos you was on

Nancy: It must be awkward

Moses: What must?

Nancy: Your cousin moving in and onto your ex

Moses: No more than when my brother went first

Nancy: True

Nancy: do you ever come to any events, what about Edie’s birthday?

Moses: I make my own fuss of her

Nancy: It’s such a shame you can’t be included because of Ali’s choices though

Moses: It’s a shame she don’t see it like that

Nancy: Very selfish

Nancy: still, it’s nice you’ve reconnected with Rio, she was telling me

Moses: She told us you were sniffing ‘round

Nancy: Sniffing ‘round?

Moses: You heard me the first time

Nancy: I don’t understand what you mean?

Moses: Yeah you do, you know how you made me look

Moses: tell us why she was upset after talking to you

Nancy: Why would she go to you when she’s upset?

Moses: I’m who it was about

Nancy: I certainly wouldn’t bring that sort of thing to an adult

Moses: You’ve no shame bringing yourself to me

Nancy: Because I think it’s sad no one wants you here, I’m commiserating 

Moses: What’s it to you where I am

Nancy: I’m already a cousin down, the last thing my auntie needs is another kidnapped child

Moses: The last thing I’ve need of is kidnapping anyone

Nancy: She said you never show up, yeah

Moses: Watch what you’re saying

Nancy: Excuse me?

Moses: I show up, I’m a man of my word

Nancy: We’ve never seen you

Nancy: you must mean with Rio now

Moses: I mean with my daughter, she goes without nothing

Nancy: You bought her affection, I’m of course familiar with the tactic

Moses: I provide for her to do right by her, that’s being a daddy and a man

Moses: she loves me cos she knows I always have and will

Nancy: Until she found someone more consistent

Moses: Nah

Nancy: You should be proud, Liam is quite the catch

Moses: You should go follow him around then

Nancy: Oh, please

Nancy: they’re devoted to each other

Moses: It isn’t like they’re getting hitched

Moses: she’ll grow out of the boy

Nancy: Death pact is more their style 

Moses: I know my kid

Nancy: Said every dad ever

Nancy: Do you think Rio’s knows her?

Moses: Every decent one, so no

Nancy: You know her for him, that’s nice

Moses: No one’s stopping you dropping that eejit a message to bother himself with her and her sisters, can get yourself better sweets while you’re there

Nancy: I don’t do hippie dealers

Moses: You’ve that much sense anyway

Nancy: No one is missing his presence 

Moses: Nor mine or I’d be chatting to them, not you

Nancy: You’ve surely lots better to do

Moses: That I do

Nancy: Thank god, be sad if you were waiting around on one of ‘em to care

Moses: What are you waiting for, girl?

Nancy: Hm?

Moses: Simple question, is it not

Nancy: What do you want?

Moses: What do you, you started this

Nancy: I told you

Moses: Ah give over

Nancy: You’re going to have to give me a clue

Moses: Ali’s wrote ‘em, go find yourself an egg, like

Moses: you’re boring us now

Nancy: When was I meant to be entertaining you?

Moses: If you have to ask the question, be why you’ve not

Nancy: You’re weird

Moses: Coming from a little stalker

Nancy: How am I a stalker?

Moses: Go on, what would you call it

Nancy: I know who you are, Edie is my cousin, remember

Nancy: your lack of interest in her and her life is your problem, not mine

Moses: I’ve the knowing exactly how often you’re in her life, London girl

Nancy: We probably average out the same

Moses: We don’t

Nancy: Ha, right

Moses: As I said, how are you in my business to have worked out my schedule, you’ll embarrass yourself

Nancy: I just don’t think Edie would lie about you being a deadbeat

Moses: Don’t speak for her

Moses: if she reckoned I were she’d say it to me

Nancy: Don’t you believe me?

Moses: No

Nancy: Or are you afraid I’m telling the truth

Moses: You’re trying to wind me up, trying really hard

Nancy: I’ve no reason to do that

Moses: I don’t blame you, more fun than a family party under their roof

Nancy: He doesn’t say much, does he

Moses: He don’t love attention the way she does

Nancy: He must love her to deal with this

Moses: Easier to from a distance, we’ll see

Nancy: Who do you hate more?

Moses: Why not keep it equal? Fair since they’re a couple

Nancy: That’s not very mature of you

Moses: So, not very mature to go back for your teenage leftovers

Nancy: You’re older than him

Moses: No I ain’t

Nancy: You look it

Moses: What you lying for

Nancy: Funny 🤣

Moses: Someone has to be

Nancy: It’s okay, you could look a lot worse for your age

Moses: And you could be more of a bitch by yours

Nancy: Exactly, I didn’t even bring up receding hairlines or crows feet

Moses: Oh, you need glasses, is it

Nancy: 😏 You can tell you’re vain

Moses: I know what I look like, you who don’t

Nancy: Now I’m not a stalker, is it

Moses: No skin off my nose if you can’t pick us out a lineup

Nancy: A benefit, undoubtedly

Nancy: should it come to that

Moses: It won’t, stalker

Nancy: I wouldn’t be so sure

Moses: I wouldn’t threaten me

Nancy: You haven’t done anything to me

Nancy: Rio doesn’t seem very happy

Moses: And it’d be a shame if I had to

Nancy: Are you threatening me?

Moses: Not yet, no

Nancy: I wouldn’t

Moses: I’m not, there are people who would, for how you’re carrying on

Nancy: Idiots

Nancy: I wasn’t born and raised in this backwater, I would sue

Moses: I weren’t born yesterday, going through the courts takes a long time, plenty can happen while you’re waiting for someone to do their job

Nancy: You wish, old man

Nancy: private security is worth its weight in gold, obviously

Moses: Right, feeling safe, that’s priceless

Nancy: Is that your line?

Moses: Ha

Nancy: Ew, that’s a yes

Moses: Let’s not pretend it’s a yes from me

Nancy: Aren’t you scared what’s going to happen?

Moses: I’ve nothing to be scared of

Nancy: I’ve heard they hate men like you in prison

Moses: I’m not going, I’m not a man like that

Moses: you heard wrong if you think I am

Nancy: Let’s hope so

Moses: I’ve done no wrong

Nancy: Is that what you think?

Moses: It’s what I know

Nancy: You would say that

Moses: Be why I just did

Nancy: I’ll see if they agree

Moses: I don’t care what anyone reckons, you must be thinking of my cousin

Nancy: I’m pretty sure I’m not

Moses: Talk too much, see what happens

Nancy: I’ve got nothing to be scared of

Moses: Nor me

Nancy: Are you that stupid?

Moses: Which of us is being stupid

Nancy: Not me

Moses: If you wanna start it, I’ll make your life hell

Nancy: Good luck with that, it already is

Moses: It can be worse

Nancy: I doubt that very much

Moses: You’ve been told how to find out

Nancy: Yeah right

Moses: Least we’re both having fun now

Nancy: Way to prove you’re not that sort of man

Moses: I prove what sort I am when I have to, you wanted it this way

Nancy: I just wanted to see if I could get you to admit it

Moses: Sure you did, I’ve played that game

Nancy: You didn’t do a very good job denying it

Moses: Why would I

Moses: what I’ve done I’d do again

Nancy: Why?

Moses: As I said, I’m not sorry or in the wrong

Nancy: What you say doesn’t matter when the consequences roll around, it’ll be what she does

Moses: She’ll say the same

Nancy: You’re that confident, are you

Moses: Yeah

Nancy: You poor thing

Moses: Jesus, they really can’t host a party

Nancy: It’s easter

Moses: Meaning what?

Nancy: It’s the worst holiday

Moses: They’re the disappointment never a long weekend

Nancy: There’s still time for it to kick off, not be a waste of my long weekend

Moses: Do it or don’t, else you’re only wasting my time

Nancy: What?

Moses: What you keep on threatening to

Nancy: Telling everyone what you’re doing?

Nancy: the worse it gets the better the fallout, I’m not preempting anything good

Nancy: but I think she’s gonna ditch you anyway, honestly

Moses: Do you now

Nancy: Definitely

Moses: I’m not a paranoid sort of man

Nancy: I was expecting her to be all 😍 

Moses: Her bad mood’s probably your fault, it was last time

Nancy: Sound more mad about it

Moses: You’re blatant, the point’s you’re after making me

Nancy: It’s just the truth, she’s miserable

Moses: It’s not down to me, unless she is cos we’ve not spoke today

Nancy: How often do you usually speak?

Moses: Depends how busy I am

Nancy: 🙄

Moses: I can tell your daddy don’t make enough time for you

Nancy: You aren’t her dad

Moses: I’m the only one she’s got

Nancy: Until she gets someone else to take your place

Moses: No one could

Nancy: Anyone could

Nancy: the only one you can’t is the blood-related one, unfortunately for her

Moses: I have, unfortunately for him

Nancy: She’s too old to have any use for a dad

Moses: Obviously she reckons different

Nancy: If we’re pretending that’s what you are, yeah

Nancy: but that’s a boring conversation I’m not interested in having

Moses: Who’s pretending?

Moses: I give her everything she needs and she needs a daddy

Nancy: And what do you get out of that arrangement?

Moses: I wanted to be her daddy too or I wouldn’t have been

Nancy: What’s stopping you having more kids that are actually yours?

Moses: Nothing

Nancy: Are you going to find a wife soon or what

Moses: I might

Nancy: Good luck getting Edie to be a bridesmaid

Moses: She’ll be happy for me

Nancy: Depending

Moses: Whatever happens, long as I am, she’ll be too

Nancy: That’s a nice fairytale

Moses: Her mammy read her fairytales, I told her stories out of my head

Nancy: Tracks

Moses: Did no one put you to bed, is that why you never have the knowing when to stop

Nancy: I didn’t need putting to bed, I could do it myself, like

Moses: Even as a baby

Nancy: Well, I don’t remember being a baby, do I

Moses: You’d say so just to try and wind us up

Nancy: Do you try to convince all girls they have daddy issues?

Moses: I’m not trying to convince you of anything, you messer

Moses: I can’t help that you do

Nancy: You wish

Moses: It don’t matter to me how true it is

Nancy: My dad, like all dads, is a secondary character in my life, at best

Moses: Sure he is

Nancy: I don’t care what you think, if that wasn’t abundantly clear

Moses: I already said it first

Nancy: I don’t care, you’ve said enough incriminating shit since then

Moses: You’re welcome, enjoy building your court case, like

Nancy: Enjoy getting murdered, or, whatever

Moses: 😆

Moses: or whatever, yeah

Nancy: You remind me too much of my brother 

Moses: 🍺

Moses: cheers to him

Nancy: [throwing Buster’s contact information at him like there you go, be best friends]

Nancy: 🤮🤮🤮

Moses: [rudely leave her on read like I’m not even gonna dignify that with a response, thankfully we all know he won’t look at Buster’s info and doesn’t know about ruster so all is well]

Nancy: [my boo said the drama we are narrowly avoiding because he does not care and thank god lmao]

[krmy2386]

Kind Not Weak

Rhett Abbott x Reader

DON’T STEAL!!!

Please be kind!

Total honesty I’ve never actually watched this show… so no idea of this is correct…

WARNINGS: Mainly angst, Bar fight(reader fights Maria for Rhett).

For anyone who really wanted this I am sorry it is late. And also not very lovey😅

If you asked anyone in Wabang about Y/N they would all tell you the same three things.

She was kind.

She was gracious.

And the Abbott boy was smitten with her.

The two met shortly after his fling with Maria blew up in his face. Y/N moved to town on a whim and quickly fell in love with the place. And every member of the town quickly fell in love with her. She often volunteered with children, the elderly, fundraisers, anything. She came off pretty quiet but was a total sweetheart.

That’s what Maria had heard when she came back to town. She had asked around about Rhett, expecting to hear that he was still drinking and riding. She never expected to hear he was engaged.

Rhett had never experienced a love like Y/N’s before. Then again had never met someone like Y/N before. Someone to help others without expecting something in return. She loved every part of him. She never forced him to change but helped in courage him to be better.

It was a typical Friday night which meant family dinner. They were about to dig in when they heard a knock at the door.

Amy shouted, “I’ll get it!”

Perry followed close behind, confused as to who would drive all the way out to the ranch at night. When Amy opened the door Perry’s face dropped.

“Hi!” Maria said, in a sickly sweet voice, “Is your Uncle Rhett here?”

Amy began backing away and looked at Perry.

“What are you doing here?” Perry spat at her. Amy ran off back to the dining room.

“Always the gentleman, Perry.” Maria rolled her eyes, “I’m here to see Rhett.”

Perry seethed. Rhett never could control himself when it came to Maria. Perry couldn’t let her ruin Rhett’s life, again.

“No.” Perry said sharply.

“Perry,” Rhett, said from behind him, “it’s okay.”

Perry looked at his brother. Rhett just nodded and Perry began to walk away.

“It’s been a while, handsome.” Maria said, batting her eyelashes.

Rhett stood tall as he looked at Maria. Those eyes meant nothing to him now.

“What are you doing here, Maria?” Rhett asked calmly, almost bored.

Maria was taken back by his tone. A year ago he’d have fallen at her feet with just one look.

“I- I just wanted to see you. Maybe get a drink?” She asked, her confidence briefly wavering.

“I’ve missed you,” she said seductively.

Rhett rolled his eyes, “No.”

“What?” She asked.

“You’ve missed having someone. Not having me.” Rhett explained. “I’m engaged. I’m happy, Maria. Please leave.”

Maria stood there shocked. She tried to stammer out some words to maybe change his mind but he stopped her, not wanting to hear anything she had to say.

“Goodbye Maria.” He said closing the door.

Maria slowly walked back to her car. She never thought it would end this way.

Perry looked at his brother a cross the table. He heard everything Rhett said to Maria and he could’ve have been prouder. Rhett no longer had a lovesick puppy look whenever he saw Maria. Now he looked at Y/N like she was the most important woman in the world.

————————————————————————

Saturday night, Rhett and Y/N were at the local bar. They tried to go out two or three times a month. Tonight Perry joined them. They sat in their normal booth, casually drinking and making small talk with the other patrons.

Maria sat in the other end of the bar. Glaring at Y/N. She thought to herself, ‘What’s so special about this girl?’ ‘Sure she’s pretty. But she’s so… weak.’ ‘What does Rhett see in-‘ before she could finish her thought she heard a voice say, “Can I help you?”

Maria shook her head slightly, feeling the tequila. Once her eyes focused she saw Y/N standing in front of her. Maria briefly looked over at Rhett, his eyes were firmly set on Y/N.

“What do you mean?” Maria said, with drunken confidence. “I’m just sitting here drinking.”

Y/N crossed her arms, making sure her left ring finger showed, “While glaring at me and my fiancé?” She asked.

Those words made Maria feel sick. She glanced at the ring in Y/N’s hand. Rhett was hers, he was always supposed to be hers.

“Oh trust me, I know your fiancé very, very well.” She said, hoping her insinuation would ruffle the other girl’s feathers.

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh, “So I’ve heard. I know exactly who you are.”

Y/N’s eyes hardened, “You’re the one who broke him.”

“And you think you can fix him?” Maria said smirking, “He will always be mine.”

Y/N shook her head, “He didn’t need me to fix him. He’s a great man. He’s going to be a great husband. To bad you won’t be there to see it.”

Maria couldn’t take it. She lunged at Y/N trying to grab her hair. It was only a matter of seconds before Y/N slammed Maria’s head into the bar and threw her on the floor. Then leaned down to her face.

The entire bar stopped and watched the ‘Town Sweetheart’ get menacingly close to Maria.

“He will never be yours again.”

Y/N stood up and turned around to see Rhett standing there. He quickly began checking ti see if she was okay. Y/N nodded and kissed his cheek.

Maria shakily stood up and shouted, “You’re asking if she’s okay?! What about me?!”

Rhett just rolled his eyes and began to lead Y/N to the door.

“Someone call the cops! She assaulted me!” Maria shouted. Rhett and Y/N stopped. The entire bar stared at her but no one moved for a phone.

“I want her arrested!” She shouted again.

“I didn’t see anything.” The bartender said.

The bar filled with ‘Me neither’ and ‘Same here’.

“Ya know you should really be more careful when you drink. You’re libel to trip and hurt yourself.” Perry said smirking.

Maria stomped out of the bar. Accepting defeat.

The entire bar broke in to cheers for Y/N. They were almost proud of their sweet Y/N for standing up for the man she loved.

Rhett pulled Y/N in for a kiss and slyly put his Stenson on her head and she blushed. He knew that this was out of character for Y/N. But he also knew to never mistake Y/N’s kindness for weakness.

@shakespear-picaso-lovechild

@3tabbiesandalab

@daughterofthereaper02

[yandere-sins]

Past and Future

Horrortober Day 2: Decision  |  “It’s your decision. Choose wisely.”

Day 2 woop! Got a chance to work on my Kazuha a bit more. I hope to write for him more in the future!

Warnings: Yandere, Manipulation, Possessiveness, Stalking Mention Characters: Kadehara Kazuha x Reader

Kazuha couldn’t not notice the yearning in your gaze as you looked across the plaza at your old friends. These scumbags. Wannabe goody-two-shoes. Oh, how much he despised them. And yet, you longed for their laughter in your ears, the wrinkles in their eyes as they grinned and smiled at each other cheerfully. They were celebrating something Kazuha didn’t know about. But undoubtedly, you remembered after having been close to them since early childhood. 

And yet, you didn’t belong to their circle anymore. You hadn’t been invited to wine and laughter, food and celebration. Instead, you absentmindedly squeezed his hand tighter, and Kazuha took that as a sign. “Come on,” he mumbled, watching how sadness overcame you with every passing second. Frustration and anger, but mostly disappointment, snaked their way into your expression. You had been so excited for today, going out with him, exploring Liyue Harbor with your boyfriend, but the mood was ruined now. 

When you didn’t react, Kazuha used his free arm to lay it around you, pushing you forward despite your feet being unwilling to move. Part of you wanted to go to your friends, to join them in their festivity. But without being invited, you were way too hesitant to approach, and it hurt you even more. Your head hung low as you two finally disappeared in the crowd of people working and shopping, the night market making for a great scene. Still, you couldn’t take it in anymore after remembering your past heartbreak now.

Kazuha wasn’t the type to leave you alone, never wishing to be separated from the warmth and comfort you gave him by being by his side, but in your depressed state, it was hard to do anything with you. Placing you on a bench, Kazuha left to get you something to drink. His mind was wrecking itself of how to help you as he bought your favorite, seasonal beverage, still hot and steaming in its cup, and brought it back to you. 

Unfortunately, no one heard the clattering sound as he dropped it, watching you talk with some of your old friends. When did they come over to talk? Why were they here? How did they notice you? Why now of all times? This was his evening. His time with you. And yet, you hadn’t been as happy with him all night as you were when you talked to them. Kazuha’s expression changed from worried to upset as he had to watch you laugh with them, even though the mood seemed awkward from afar. Maybe they were apologizing, or perhaps just trying to replicate the good old times with you, but you seemed very receptive to their presence, smiling in a way that you never did when you were with Kazuha. 

It had taken a lot to break you guys apart. Not willingly, but they weren’t a good influence for you. He had never done anything to them, but one day they had decided they didn’t like the way he looked at you. That Kazuha was too ‘possessive’ and that the ‘took up all your time’. They told you to stay away from the outsider, to ignore the soft, wonderful feelings you two had for each other—the strong bond you were forming with your boyfriend. Your friends decided he wasn’t good for you but were they really your friends when they made you choose between them and your love? Gods, he hated what they did to you. Hated how miserable they could make you. You had been so nervous and anxious after they started harassing you to leave him, crying at night and into his shoulder when you didn’t know what to do. The first time you said you loved him was while you were assuring him that you still had feelings for him; that being the reason why it was so hard on you to be forced to make this decision. It wasn’t a romantic moment, but one filled with tears. Kazuha would never forgive them for robbing him of his amazing confession from your lips.

However, in the end? You chose him—naturally. You chose him for this very reason. Because you love him. Kazuha never made you decide. Sure, he didn’t like your friends, but he didn’t go out of his way to engage with them. He only ever had eyes for you, following you whenever you met with your so-called friends and making sure you’d be safe from them. However, he was better than them, and even if they made you cry on your way home, he never once went back to hurt them just as much as they hurt you, even if his blood was boiling. Kazuha would rather spend his time comforting you, asserting his place in your heart, than stick to the ones who were desperately trying to tear him out of said place. 

But maybe he should have.

Maybe he should have demanded that you decide on one side. After all, you were already distancing yourself from these people that kept hurting you in the name of ‘only wanting the best for you’. He was the best for you. There was nothing that could be better for you than Kazuha. He was strong; he was safe for you. No one else tended to you as gently and lovingly as he did. Comforted you when you were down. You had to wear the burden of everyone around you, but Kazuha only committed to you and your worries. He was the saving grace and the helping hand you needed in your desperation. The person your friends should have been if you had actually mattered to them. 

In return, you were the same for him. You gave his life a meaning that he had long searched for. A new friend and a love to wake his lonely heart again. No one could ever stir him like you did, and he was thankful. Thankful for the opportunity to be by your side, to warm you on cold nights, and to tell you about the past he never shared with anyone else. You were the listener he wanted; gave him the attention he needed. And Kazuha...

Kazuha wouldn’t lose you now. He couldn’t lose someone again. Not you.

Marching up to you and your friends gathering around, he listened to the meaningless conversation you had. “We’re sorry for saying such harsh things,” and “We were worried about you.” Loads of empty words, in his opinion. But seeing your eyes tear up at them made his heart sting and his blood boil all over again. It made him furious. Furious for you. You deserved so much better than these lies. They didn’t care about you!

Pushing through them without roughly, Kazuha only looked at you, finding your eyes instantly. You were surprised by his appearance but quickly wiped the tears from your eyes and returning to the silly, little smile you usually graced him with. One that was as empty as your friend’s words. One you adapted just to please him and not worry him further, but once he’d put an end to this, Kazuha knew you’d be able to smile at him properly again with a sincere one. 

“Choose,” he prompted, and you raised an eyebrow in confusion while your friends began to grow tense and murmur between themselves. 

“These people-” he made a vague gesture between the few gathered around, “-aren’t good for you, and you know it. They dropped you when you needed them the most while I’ve been with you all this time.”

“You can’t be serious,” you breathed, but Kazuha didn’t confirm your wish. He was serious, even if that meant upsetting you. This was for the best. “It’s your decision. Them or me. Choose wisely.”

“That’s unfair!” one of your friends cried out, upset about his intention, and Kazuha looked at them sharply from the corner of his eye, silencing them effectively. “It’s not unfair,” he shut their argument down, looking only at you as he spoke. “They made you choose first and broke your heart. I never have and never will hurt you. But I am not so sure about the people who already did it once.”

Kazuha’s words had impact; he could see it in your eyes. You, too, remembered the bad times that felt like your heart was ripped into pieces by the people you put so much trust in. And instead, it had been him who was there, making sure you ate and drank in your troubled times, and got rest when you needed it. Even if there was no luxury in his life, he still had been a better friend than any of them. Kazuha completely missed that he suggested dropping you the same way your friends had when he made you choose. He didn’t want to believe you would choose anyone over him after all he did for you. You belonged to him, and he belonged to you. That’s how love worked. 

“I love you.” 

A dirty trick. One that your friends couldn’t use. Kazuha directly pulled at your heartstrings, making you miss a breath as you grew even more blindsided. “I don’t want to lose you, again,” he didn’t hesitate to add, noticing how your friends’ faces grew worried and upset at his words. He was hinting at the bad time you two had gone through. The one that made a part of you die. But you only looked down, hands balling into fists as you felt conflicted. There was no need for you to wreck your pretty head over these nobodies, Kazuha decided, holding out his hand. You only needed him—as much as he needed you. 

Timidly, you reached for his hand, and he gripped yours tightly, pulling you up from your seat and after him, away from these fake friends and their fake worry without another word to them. “It’s better like this,” he assured you, dragging you through the crowd so you wouldn’t be able to look back at your past. He was before you, your future, and he wouldn’t let anyone take you from him and ruin this for you. 

But when you were unresponsive, he threw a glance back over his shoulder, noticing the tears streaming down your eyes. You two came to a stop as he turned around, cupping your face and pulling you into a kiss. Even though your hands came to rest against his chest, pushing, you never managed to escape his grip, forced to kiss him until neither of you could hold your breath anymore. Leaning his forehead against yours, you were left speechless, but not Kazuha.

“I love you. I love you so much. Promise me you’ll never go back to them.” It was hard to commit to that, but his hands grew tighter around your face, desperate to hear it. “You chose me,” he insisted, pain swinging in his voice. “You’re not leaving me.”

There was no way of saying where those emotions came from, but he didn’t give you time to think them over. This was the future he chose, by your side. And that night, you chose it too, even if you ended up not liking it once you found out that your friends had been right all along.

[kkusuka]

What about a insecure reader about her and Ushijima's relationship since he doesn't seem all to interested in having her around unless it's for volleyball purposes. So when she starts to drift away from him he's super confused, suddenly Tendou becomes more comfortable to sleep on at movie nights, and Reon seems to know everything you used to tell Ushijima. And he struggles internally because he doesn't know what to do. And the last straw was when you walked in holding Goshiki's hand and he walked over pushing the 1st year away with a worried/pained/anxious face shaking his head saying no because he doesn't to no what else to say but he knows it's not right.

Muddle<3

relationship: ushijima wakatoshi x reader, slight oikawa tootu x reader 

words: 1.5k 

synopsis: Ushijima can’t bare to lose you. 

cw: insecurity

a/n: i havent written something like this in a while and i really missed it! 

Ushijima Wakatoshi was not emotionless.

Simple, but not emotionless.

It was something that had to be constantly reminded before people began to truly believe he didn’t feel anything. He’s had his many licks with emotion, as anyone else would. The joy of finding the one thing he truly loved doing; volleyball. The confusion when his mother began reprimanding him for using his left hand. The overwhelming helplessness when his father walked out the door.

Butterflies when you smiled at him in the hallway, the heat in his cheeks when he saw you in the stands at one of his games. The shake in his hands when he met you at the gates and told you his feelings, very detailed in facts.

Ushijima Wakatoshi was clearly not emotionless.

So why was it he seemed so indifferent to you?

You knew he had to feel something for you, people don't empty their entire heart just because they felt like it, at least you hoped. Of course, as much as he denied, you knew that you would be on par if not second to volleyball. In a sick way; you were fine with it as long as he came back to you and let you share some of his burdens, you were happy.

But as of recently, it seemed that he couldn’t even do that.

Gone were the nights he would fall into your arms outside the gym doors because he’s been practicing for five hours straight. The walks in the park when neither of you could sleep, ones that ended in his arms on the couch watching some random food network show.

So now, as you leone the couch, void of the warmth you so desperately crave; you can't help but wonder if it was only you who felt the distance between you.

Your door unlocked- just as you thought it would. Your boyfriend slipping through the door, eyes immediately finding your body draped over the end of the sofa. He could still see the dinner you had made, glazing over the dirty dishes, proof he was hours behind when he said he’d be here.

“Tosh? Is there any way we can spend more time together? It feels like it’s been forever since we’ve done something.”

“No. Nationals is arriving soon, I cannot do anything about my schedule. We are spending time together right now.”

If Ushijima was not emotionless; how was it so easy for him to dismiss you?

Did you and Tendou always have a Wednesday movie night?

Ushijima raked his mind for the last time he’d seen this; the last time he was in his dorm on a weeknight. He knew you and the redhead were good friends, close since the first year of high school. He remembered something about a sleepover before you had begun dating and the occasional dinner at some fast-food restaurant.

He understood both your and his love for anime, and the movies alongside. But if he hadn’t known any better, he would assume that it was to two of you dating, not yourself and him.

Clearing his throat, you both glanced from your spot, huddled on the couch, inviting him to sit beside you. It was nice, though he knew nothing about what was happening on screen, something about demons and a little girl along with a boy with boar head overtop his.

The second the credits rolled, you and Tendou engaged in a conversation that he couldn’t even begin to understand. Somehow ending in another plan to go out the next night for a store opening that will have a manga that you both like.

Finally, as Tendou left, you noticed how silent your boyfriend had been since getting there.

“Would you like to come with us, Toshi?” Would he? The ice in his eyes held the answer far before he spoke.

“No. I will be practicing.”

The statement seemed like nothing. A simple retort you’ve heard so many times you could predict what he was going to say before he did. The phrase forced the memories of laying alone on the couch and sitting at restaurants staring at the clock for what felt like-- and really was-- hours a night.

You could count o one hand how many dates that he’s been early too, or even stayed the whole time. That’s even when he accepted your invitation.

Your friend had warned you that you would feel like this, abandoned and thrown to the side. ‘Why do you stay?  Clearly, he isn’t treating you right, o find someone who will!’

“Just for a little? We haven’t been out for a while.” you plea, noticing how he was ready to walk away.it felt like ages since you’ve had an actual conversation.

“Y/n, don’t start right now. I am tired, and I have already told you that I am busy. Quite pestering.” pestering? Is that what you meant to him, were you a bother?

Tendou had always reminded you that Wakatoshi wasn’t good at feelings. He didn’t know how to put what he felt into words. You accepted that, you understood that emotions can be harder on some people.

But now, it wasn’t just feeling an word, it was actions. It was the missed dates he never apologized for, the charging past you after practice that he stayed overtime for. It was him turning his back on you before you could respond.

As you turn your eyes catch one of the photos you have taped to your wall, a selfie you and him took during a trip to Harajuku in May. You bought matching bracelets both with small flower charms on each, ‘a symbol of eternal love’, yeah right.

‘If you’re the only one putting in effort, it’s not a relationship, it’s desperation’

Ushijima Wakaothish may not have emotions, but he surely had one.

Jealousy.

Green and far too ugly to acknowledge.

He may not understand the butterflies when you smile or the warms when your hand locks with his, but he knows exactly what the burning in his veins is. The furrow in his brown and deeper frown than normal, he’s jealous, extremely at that.

A fact that anyone who looked at the man could see, his aura radiated exactly what he was feeling, a true sight to behold.

His mind was muddled, what right did Oikawa have to even share the same breath as you, never mind put a hand on you. His mind ran through all of the things he could possibly do right there, he could punch the brown-eye playboy, but then he would be in trouble.

He could make a big scene and yell at him, or he could do nothing, just watch as the Seijoh playing steals your attention. Suddenly he’s thrown into memory, Reon and you chatting at the lunch table. Like you’d been friends for years, the smile that was supposed to only be meant for him plastered on your face.

Then it was Goshiki and his blistered hands that you so dutifully wrapped for him, holding his hand so tenderly that Wakatoshi wondered if it felt like when you held hands with him.

Then to Tendou, your pro-claimed cuddle buddy.

Would it even be worth it to stop Oikawa? Has he already lost you to someone else?

He couldn’t let that happen, not when he still had a chance to keep you.

You were violently ripped from whatever stupid pick-up line Oikawa was spouting by two hands on your hips. Your entire body was pulled into a hard chest as the same two arms cradle you to his.

“Waka-”

“Don’t talk to what’s mine, Oikawa”

You’ve never heard him sound so angry, he practically snarled at the setter, turning the both of you and walking down the hallway to the ext before the brown-haired man ould even retort.

“Toshi are you-”

“Please don't leave me.” Another emotion you’ve never seen from the man, fear.

He was acred, losing you was the end of the world for him. What was he supposed to do if you aren’t there for him? Who will he look at in the crowd to keep him going during the fifth set? There is simply no one that can give him the rush you can.

“I know I’ve been bad, and I’m so so sorry. I can make up for the dates and we can go to the manga store and to dinner whenever you want. We can watch movies after practice and cuddle whenever! Just please don’t leave me for Oikawa!” he pleaded, taking your hands to his, holding you so tightly and yet like you were glass.

“Wakatoshi, I’m not leaving you. Please calm down, I’m not going anywhere.” You move your hands to cup his face, finally taking notice of the tears looming in his eyes.

And you smiled. The smile just for him, taking his head onto your shoulder, slightly rocking back and forth. His hands rubbing along the length of your back.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“I won’t let you.”

tags: @bakugos-cumsock @rinsangel

[spine-buster]

the watching her and falling in love.

gif credit @/nylwnder

A/N: I was happy to see the positive reactions in the tags for the last chapter despite the subject matter! It was a bit of a hiccup (okay...maybe a big hiccup) but these two love birds are going to work it out, I promise you!

And please, if you have any canon questions about Rasmus and Lusine, or any questions at all about the fic, please ask away! I'd love to build their canon and make sure you guys get to know then (and fall in love with them!) at the same level you got to know all of my other OFCs and relationships!

Lusine told Bianca everything. Everything. Every little detail.

Including what had happened with Rasmus.

The amazing thing about Bianca was that she was extremely perceptive and acutely aware of everything, especially in regards to Lusine; it was what made them best friends. So when Bianca noticed how Lusine was slightly off, she asked what was wrong without any hesitation because she wanted to get to the bottom of it. Then, it was word vomit for Lusine. She started from the very beginning and included every minute detail of what happened when telling Bianca. Bianca would nod along, ask questions, and ask for clarification; her eyes would bulge or her brows would furrow at the appropriate moments. She was fully and completely engaged with every word Lusine was telling her because, well – she and Lusine were best friends. And what kind of best friend would she be if she didn’t listen to Lusine?

“I feel like I’ve fucked everything up,” Lusine admitted once she finished telling Bianca everything.

“Why would you feel that?”

“Because who does that?!” Lusine screeched, burying her head in her hands.

“It happens a lot more often than you think, Lusine,” Bianca tried to remedy the situation. “Actually, it happens all the time. You’re not the first girl in the world that it’s happened to and you’re definitely not going to be the last.”

“Uuuuuuugh!” Lusine groaned into the abyss, flopping backwards onto Bianca’s bed, still with her hands over her face. “It was the worst, Bianca. The absolute fucking worst. He’s gonna—it’s all gonna end. It’s all gonna end because I was too nervous and too tight for him to…” she took one of her hands and pushed it forward dramatically.

Bianca rolled her eyes. “No, it won’t. Stop being overdramatic. Ever since you met Rasmus you’ve been a lot happier. And that’s not to say that you weren’t happy before, because I know you were, but you’re even happier now. And I know you’re not together yet, like, officially, but I think that’s inevitable.”

“No it’s not. Not anymore,” Lusine was shaking her head. “He hasn’t asked me yet. And now, after this, he for sure won’t.”

“Stop thinking that. You guys are practically together anyway. It’s basically just a formality at this point. It’s not like either of you are seeing anyone else,” Bianca said.

“I bet he’s on Tinder right now looking for someone who isn’t as much of a nervous wreck that he can actually stick his beautiful Swedish dick into.”

“Lusine,” Bianca said sternly. “The thought wouldn’t even cross Rasmus’s mind and you know that.”

“Do I?”

“Yes! God, I feel like Cher in Moonstruck! Snap out of it!” she yelled, causing Lusine to groan once more before pulling herself up to be face-to-face with her. Lusine was still moping, and Bianca knew she had to get her out of it. “Rasmus adores you. He wouldn’t even think about doing something like that to you.”

“I know he adores me,” Lusine agreed meekly.

“D’you think you’re in love with him?” Bianca asked suddenly.

“I don’t think.”

Lusine answered so quickly, despite her less-than-stellar mood, that Bianca was taken aback. She didn’t expect for Lusine to admit it out loud when just fifteen seconds ago she was lamenting about him going on Tinder to replace her. “Really?”

Lusine bit her bottom lip. “I…yeah,” she nodded slightly.

“Really?”

“The feelings are there whenever we’re together,” Lusine admitted. “And this is the other thing. Do you think it’s lame that it happened for me so quickly with the first guy that ever spent longer than a date with me?”

“No, I don’t think it’s lame at all,” Bianca shook her head. “You have to stop thinking that you have to live your life like people in movies and not the way that it pans out for you. There’s no need for you to date or kiss or sleep your way through half the men in Toronto just because other people are doing it. You’re lucky that you’ve found someone you love so early. A lot of people don’t have that.”

“But do you think it’s lame that, like—”

“—Lusine, it doesn’t matter what I think,” Bianca stressed.

“But I value your opinion, Bianca.”

Bianca shook her head. “You value my guidance, but I can’t guide you on something like this because I’m not the one with Rasmus. You have to make these decisions for yourself.”

Lusine pouted, falling back and looking up at the ceiling. “I just want someone to tell me what to do every day – how to live my life, you know? Sometimes I don’t think I’ve been doing a good job so far. What happened with Rasmus just proves it.”

“You’ve been doing an amazing job so far,” Bianca encouraged her. “What you’ve done has led you to meet me and Rasmus. Isn’t that the best outcome possible?”

Bianca was right. Besides her family – and on bad days, they maybe weren’t even considered – Bianca and Rasmus were the most important people in her life. Hers and Bianca’s relationship was strong and impenetrable. She wished for the same with Rasmus. “He’s supposed to come see me perform with the quartet tomorrow night,” she said softly. “If he still shows up. I won’t hold it against him if he doesn’t.”

“He’s going to show up,” Bianca said confidently. “And when he does, you need to talk to him about what happened. And be honest with him.”

***

Rasmus dressed in a crisp white collared shirt and dress pants to see Lusine perform with her quartet at the university. The show was due to start at seven, and he had his ticket checked and seat assigned at 6:30. Because he was one of the first ones, he was near the front – only three rows from the stage. The first two were sectioned off anyway, and he assumed that was either for Covid protocols, or because “important” people were coming. He took a picture of the empty stage, knowing that he needed to document everything more, especially pertaining to his relationship with Lusine. He couldn’t rely on Aberdeen all the time.

Though a few nights ago had been a complete disaster, he was intent on seeing Lusine and hopefully bringing her back to his place so they could have a nice, romantic dinner together before Christmas. He’d even gone to Eataly earlier in the day to pick up some fresh homemade pasta and pecorino cheese. Despite what had happened, he didn’t care. Well, it wasn’t that he didn’t care – he did care, but he knew it would be worked out. The reason why it happened was because he had been thinking too much with his dick and wasn’t reading Lusine’s cues properly. It happened because she was scared he’d think her body was vile because of her scars. She wasn’t ready, and that was that. He’d wait until she was more comfortable. He just hoped she didn’t harp too much on it – it happened to everyone.

As the room began to fill up with patrons, Rasmus ended up being seated next to a stylish elderly lady who wore a fur coat and a fancy hat. Her husband left her alone to go to the washroom before the show began, and to entertain herself, she looked over at Rasmus. “What brings a strapping young gentleman like yourself here this evening?”

“A friend is one of the musicians,” he smiled politely. “And yourself?”

“My husband is one of the top donors to the university,” she said. Well, that settled that. Now Rasmus knew where the fur coat came from. “He enjoys coming to these events at Christmastime. Which instrument does your friend play?”

“The cello.”

The woman who overpronounced her h’s nodded her head. “I hear the cello player in this quartet is quite good.”

“She’s extraordinary,” Rasmus nodded.

“Not that your biased,” the woman chuckled.

***

When Lusine and her quartet walked on stage, Rasmus thought she looked absolutely beautiful. She was wearing a black turtleneck with pearl buttons near the sleeves tucked into a long, heavy skirt that hit mid-calf, with opaque tights and black heels. Her blonde hair was styled perfectly, twisted back and then braided over one shoulder. Her makeup was glamourous with a festive red lip, but it all still enhanced her natural features. She was an absolute vision. Rasmus couldn’t stop staring at her, even when she sat down in her chair and positioned herself with her cello in between her legs.

There was a program with all the songs they were going to play, but Rasmus had no idea what any of them were. Maybe he’d recognize them if he heard them, but for now, he read a babbled mess of ‘overture’ and ‘sonata in F minor’ and ‘Op. 4 No. 2 in B flat’ – whatever that meant. But when the quartet started playing – composed of two violin players, a viola player, and Lusine on the cello – he and the rest of the crowd listened intently.

Rasmus was entranced completely by Lusine. He was spellbound and hypnotized by the way she was playing, by the movements of her hands and fingers, by the concentration on her face as she played and went through the movements of the songs. He didn’t think he even blinked. He wanted to catch absolutely everything about her. It was as if she was a different person when she was performing in a room full of people. He knew that was usually the case – he felt like a different person when he played hockey. He wondered if Lusine could see him in the crowd.

The crowd would applaud after every song. Rasmus would too, of course. After a few songs, the viola player introduced herself to the crowd, “Hello, my name is Aiko Takahashi. I’m currently in my second year studying biology…” and played a few songs solo. The entire quartet played two longer pieces before the two violinists introduced themselves and performed two duet songs, “Hi, my name is Tristan Parnham and I’m studying environmental biology…”; “My name is Kamran Jones, and I’m majoring in geography…”. After three more songs with the entire quartet, Rasmus knew what was coming up next.

“Hello, my name is Lusine Forrester. I’m currently studying history in my second year. I’ve been playing the cello for thirteen years now – since I was six. I’m very excited to be playing for you, and I hope you enjoy.”

Rasmus watched as she positioned herself back on the chair, her cello in between her legs. He quickly looked down at the program to see what she would be performing: Cello Suite No. 1 in G Major by Johann Sebastian Bach. He didn’t know what that was, but was excited nonetheless. She took a deep breath before beginning to play the opening notes.

Oh, this song!

If Rasmus was spellbound before, he didn’t know the word for what he was now. He was mesmerized. Fascinated. Awe-struck. He couldn’t believe what was taking place before him. The sounds she was making with that giant instrument were astonishing. It was magic. It wasn’t like magic, it was magic. Rasmus could watch her play forever. He wished her solo set would never end.

Lusine received an applause after every song, just like the others, even garnering a particularly rowdy one after she played Albinoni’s Adagio in G Minor. According to the program, that was supposed to be her last solo song, but it looked like she had other ideas. “Ladies and gentlemen, I know that according to the program, that was my last piece for you. However, we do have a special friend of the quartet here who will accompany me on the piano on my surprise last piece. Please give a warm welcome to Alex Shapiro.”

A young guy who couldn’t have been older than Rasmus stood up from the front row and walked up on the stage as the crowd clapped, sitting on the piano bench and arranging his hands on the keys properly. They looked at each other, counting, making sure they were in sync, and then Alex began to play. There was no real reaction from the crowd until Lusine entered with her cello, and then – wow. At the first few notes the crowd seemed to immediately know the song because they gasped excitedly, leaning forward in their seats with their eyes glued to the stage. Some even had their hands over their hearts, like the rich old woman sitting beside Rasmus. He didn’t know what the song was since it wasn’t listed, but it resonated so much with the crowd. People even began to sway side to side along with the notes. It was magic. Pure magic.

When she was done performing, she got a standing ovation. She stood up and bowed for the crowd. Rasmus whistled loudly with his fingers. When she heard it, she looked his way and saw him for the first time that night.

***

When the concert was over, Rasmus was antsy to see Lusine. He stood right by the door he thought the quartet would come out of, but then he looked out into the crowd and saw Lusine speaking to the rich woman with the fur coat.

God, he was so stupid.

He approached them quickly. When Lusine saw him walking, her eyes sparkled. “Lusine, hey,” he said, just as the woman turned around to see him powerwalking towards them.

“Hi Rasmus,” her voice was soft but professional.

“You have my information now, Ms. Forrester. I actually sat beside your friend here during the concert,” she said before looking at Rasmus. “You’re lucky I’m done speaking with her. I’ll leave her to you now.”

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Mrs. Bratty. Thank you for your support,” Lusine said, giving one last nod before Mrs. Bratty rejoined her husband holding her fur coat. She now focused her attention on Rasmus. “Do you want to meet my bandmates?”

Rasmus was itching to talk to her and take her home, but he found himself nodding. There was no way he was going to deny her introducing him to her friends. So he found himself shaking hands and having small talk with Aiko Takahashi, Tristan Parnham, Kamran Jones, and Alex Shapiro, complimenting them on their performances. Then he found himself posing for photos with Lusine, and watching her pose for photos with the quartet. It was only when the ants in his pants became unbearable that he finally broke. “Can I talk to you somewhere private?”

Lusine looked up at him. “I can bring you to our dressing room. My stuff is in there anyway. Is everything okay?”

“Take me there.”

She excused them from conversation before grabbing his hand and leading him through the crowd and towards the stage door. She opened it and they shuffled in, the door closing behind them. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

Rasmus didn’t answer. Instead, he wrapped her up in his arms and leaned down and kissed her passionately, like he hadn’t seen her in years. There were no words he could say that would be able to equal what the kiss said, so he relied on it to tell her every emotion he was feeling and every emotion he felt as he watched her perform.

When he finally stopped kissing her, Lusine kept her eyes closed, lost in the feeling. That’s how he knew he got the point across. “Oh…” she sighed out, a mix of being pleased and being completely swept off her feet by the passion in the kiss. She opened her eyes. “That was nice.”

“I hope so.”

She got back down to reality after hearing a particularly loud laugh from the other side of the door. “You came.”

“What do you mean? Of course I’d come.”

Lusine bit her bottom lip. “I thought you might not after what happened.”

“You mean the other night?”

Lusine nodded. “I was convinced you’d be on Tinder tonight trying to find someone a lot less lame.”

Rasmus couldn’t believe what he was hearing. How could she think that when she was magic? He had no words for it, so instead, he kissed her again with the same passion of the previous kiss, completely sweeping her off her feet again. Though it lasted just a smidge shorter than the last kiss, Lusine still felt wrapped up. She could kiss him forever like this. “I guess that’s a no?”

“Why would I do that when you’re right in front of me?”

Lusine shrugged, embarrassed. “I just thought…you know, after the other night when I…well, you know—”

“Shhhhh,” he cooed, pressing his lips onto hers again, much quicker this time.

“When you made that decision to intervene on my disaster date, I don’t think you expected to be here,” Lusine said.

“Maybe not,” he chuckled. “But I’ve made weird decisions always. And that weird decision to intervene led me here with you, which is exactly where I need to be.”

Lusine couldn’t help but smile at his words. “Thank you, Rasmus.”

“When we leave here, can you come to my place? I have a surprise for you,” he asked.

Lusine bit her bottom lip. “I wouldn’t go anywhere else.”

***

Lusine posed for some more photos with her quartet, and Rasmus made the effort to get Tristan to take pictures of he and Lusine together. Eventually, when the crowd died down, Lusine grabbed her things, packed her cello, and slipped out with Rasmus back to his apartment.

When they arrived back to his place, Rasmus made Lusine stay put at the door so he could run and set something up. She did as she was told, and when he came back, he said the surprise was ready and put his hands over her eyes for the big reveal. They giggled as they shuffled down the hallway to the main living area. When he removed his hands from her eyes and told her to open, she was greeted with his Christmas tree lit up in the darkness, his small dining table set with bowls and wine glasses, and the TV in the background turned on to the fireplace channel.

A giant smile overtook Lusine’s face. “What’s all this?”

“Just a little something I put together.”

“Just a little something, eh?” she couldn’t stop smiling.

“For us. Before Christmas,” he said, wrapping his arms around her. “We kind of still have to cook. I bought some good stuff from Eataly.”

Lusine’s eyes lit up at the prospect of food from Eataly. “Let’s cook. I’m starving!”

They made their way into Rasmus’s kitchen, taking out the bucatini. Rasmus focused on the pasta while Lusine focused on the sauce, melting the butter and adding the appropriate amount of cheese that the recipe suggested. When Rasmus took out his phone to take pictures and videos of them cooking together, Lusine did the same; videos of Rasmus testing the bucatini to see if they were al dente (tagged and captioned “Official taste tester ❤️"), burning his tongue by not waiting long enough (tagged and captioned with ��), stirring the pasta and tapping the wooden spoon against the edge “like a professional chef” (tagged and captioned with 👨‍🍳). Eventually, the pasta was drained and added to the sauce, plated as professionally as Lusine could make it look. Rasmus cracked some black pepper over the top before he shaved more cheese atop everything else. It looked delicious.

Lusine filmed as Rasmus brought the plates to his small dining table, and she filmed as he uncorked the bottle of wine and poured some in both their glasses. He looked up at her, noticing the camera, and smiled wide. She stopped filming before he started speaking. “Looks like we both remembered to take your advice from the skate,” he said as he finished pouring.

“About not forgetting?”

Rasmus nodded. “I took pictures at the concert too. Well, of the empty stage. Then we took a lot afterwards.”

Lusine quickly tagged Rasmus and typed ' ❤️' into the caption before locking her phone and setting it down on the table. They sat together, eating their cacio e pepe pasta and sipping their wine as they talked about finishing exams, how his knee was feeling, memories from the skate, and everything in between. When they were done, Rasmus cleared the plates. Lusine finally got the chance to look out his windows at the view he has of the city; it looked beautiful all lit up at night, and his terrace was huge – perfect for hosting parties in the summer.

She felt his arms wrap around her from behind and melted into his touch. He placed his head on her shoulder and tucked his head into the crook of her neck, placing a quick kiss there. “What are you thinking about?” he asked.

“How amazing your balcony is gonna be in the summer.”

Rasmus laughed, squeezing her tighter. “You can use it all you want.” It was bold to say that for something so far away, but at the same time, what were they doing here if they weren’t thinking for the long term? “Come lie down on the couch with me.”

Rasmus was still in his dressy clothes – as was Lusine – but that didn’t seem to deter him. He laid down and pulled Lusine on top of him, eventually having her body settle between his legs and on his chest. They sat in silence for a few moments before Rasmus broke it. “What was that last song you played tonight?”

“During my set?” she asked. He nodded. “It’s the love theme from a movie called Cinema Paradiso. By an Italian composer named Ennio Morricone.”

“It was beautiful,” he said. “I don’t know if you heard but the entire crowd gasped when you came in after the piano. They had their hands over their hearts and were swaying back and forth. That old lady beside me was on the verge of tears. So were a lot of people.”

Lusine smiled bashfully. “It’s my favourite piece of music. The song is just so perfect. So beautiful, like you said.”

“Just like you.”

Lusine was sure her cheeks were red at his comment. It was one thing to call Ennio Morricone’s music beautiful and perfect because it was. But her? Besides, if anyone here was perfect, it was Rasmus – all his blonde hair, blue eyes, funny quirks, weird decisions – all of it. It was a bit rich of him to say that about her when he was in the room, too. “Can I ask you a question?” she asked.

“Of course.”

“First I want to say how sorry I am about the other night—”

“—There’s nothing for you to feel sorry about,” Rasmus said quickly. “I feel bad because I didn’t see it sooner. I should have stopped.”

“You didn’t—you didn’t do anything wrong. I was forcing myself to be ready.”

“I did something wrong by not reading you right. Don’t put all the blame on yourself. It’s not right.”

Lusine took a deep breath. “Do you think it’s lame, though? Be honest.”

“No!” Rasmus shook his head, his tone revealing to her that he thought the idea was absurd. “Lusine, it happens all the time,” he echoed Bianca’s sentiments. “Don’t beat yourself up over it.”

Lusine wiggled her body up more so she could kiss him, and she soon realized she couldn’t stop. Neither could Rasmus. They kissed for so long that Lusine untucked Rasmus’s dress shirt from his pants so she could lay her hands on his skin, desperate to feel his body. They kissed so long that Rasmus switched their positions, so they were side-by-side on the couch, entwined in each other’s bodies. They kissed for so long that Rasmus untucked Lusine’s turtleneck from her skirt so he could lay his hands on her skin, desperate to feel her body. They kissed so long that Lusine’s lips turned red and swollen again.

“Ras?” Lusine whispered as they took a breath.

“Hmmm?”

“Remember when we went for sushi and we talked about how instant this is?” she asked. Rasmus nodded. “And you said you were happy it was instant?” she asked again. It was clear she hung on his words. Rasmus nodded again. “How’d you know it was instant?”

“I don’t know,” he bit his lip, smiling slightly. “I don’t know how else to say it. I just knew. I knew with you.”

Lusine’s heart swelled.

Maybe one of his weird decisions was her.

[snackhobi]

a human touch, part 2, final

Part 1 / 1.5 / [2]

(masterlist here)

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

then he turns up at your door.

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

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

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

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

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

You’re aware of this because: 

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

and:

b) Said new tenants are apparently very noisy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A sexy living foghorn,” Seokjin says brightly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll stay here,” Taehyung decides.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Make me,” Seokjin says primly.

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

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

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

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

“Are you okay?” You ask, concerned.

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s okay,” he says. “I’m happy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can go get some from my apartment?”

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

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

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

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

And then you freeze.

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

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

The blood is blue. 

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

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

Seokjin’s an android.

(Seokjin’s an android who seems human.)

Seokjin’s a deviant.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What happened to your LED?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yoongi’s eyes narrow. “Jin…”

“Maybe I am,” you hazard. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Much like Taehyung had.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really?”

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

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

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

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

“How did he—why did he deviate?”

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

Wow.

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

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

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

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

You feel warmed at Yoongi’s words. But. 

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

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

“Has Jin always been like that?”

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

“You love him a lot,” you say gently.

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

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

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

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

“That sounds great,” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’ve missed this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi,” he replies.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay. Okay, Taehyung, I will.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

There’s just, uh. One little thing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A thing that people and deviant androids do.

A thing that Taehyung does.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s nice.

“You seem happier.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re in so, so deep.

(But who can blame you?)

“I want to go outside.”

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

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

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

So what you say is: “Okay.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Warmer and softer than it probably should.)

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

“Ready?”

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

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

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

(Mysterious. Yeah, right.)

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

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

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

(Whatever this is.)

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

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

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

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

(Shouldn’t hope for more than that.)

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

You’re certain Taehyung will, too.

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

(So human.) 

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

Taehyung is enraptured.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he’s not.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like love?” A whisper.

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

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

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

“Oh, Y/n!”

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

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

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

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

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

You panic. Just for a second.

Taehyung doesn’t.

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

And then he immediately slips his hand back into yours.

Namjoon is utterly charmed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Loyalty. Dedication.)

(A breath.)

(Love.)

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

“Y/n?”

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

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

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

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

(More of him.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re staying late again.”

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

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

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

It’s unnerving.

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

“No,” you lie.

Yes, you think.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not that you would want to. 

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

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

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

It's hard.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then he speaks.

“You’re avoiding me.”

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

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

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

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

“Why are you lying to me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Independent?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(No one chooses you. Why would they?)

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

And then all the lights go out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Taehyung? What are you—”

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

“Taehyung!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Taehyung, though, is intent on you.

“Y/n?”

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

“Yes?”

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

You don’t respond. Not right away. 

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

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

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

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

“I do. I want to be here with you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Taehyung takes your silence as hesitation, his face softening.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“More?” He murmurs against your skin.

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

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

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

And you can touch, too. 

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

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

“Angel?” 

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

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

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

Then. His hands are at your waistband. Your breath quickens, but Taehyung’s eyes stay on your face even as your breasts rise and fall, shining with evidence of the touch of his mouth and tongue.

You lift your hips, and Taehyung smiles. Keeps smiling as he strips you, underwear and all, and when your thighs instinctively go to close shut, he catches your knees and keeps your legs open—gentle but firm, swiping his thumbs up and down the side of your knees, a tender touch even as you’re naked in front of him. You see the look on his face, drenched in candlelight, and swallow even as you force your legs to relax.

Then he looks down.

“Oh, God,” he groans, and one of your legs jumps in his grasp at the sound of his voice. Hoarse and deep. Almost unrecognisable. “Oh, angel, look at you.”

You’re so, so wet, so wet it’s embarrassing, so sensitive and responsive to every single one of Taehyung’s touches and kisses. The edges of his hair are spun gold in the candlelight but his eyes are so deep, so dark as he drinks down the sight of you spread out in front of him, wet and wanting and willing. You still want to hide away, cheeks burning, but you can’t look away from him. Can’t look away from how he seems almost pained, brows drawing together as he stares at the shining, flushed lips of your cunt.

“Taehyung.” Your voice shakes. “Taehyung, please.”

You're naked and vulnerable but—but the way he looks at you is so adoring, and you trust him. You trust him.

Just like earlier, his hands cup the back of your thighs. But this time, it’s not to carry you. You twist on the bed when he ends up eye level with your dripping cunt, utterly exposed. Those hands slide up your thighs and under your hips, tilting them up. Your fingers have been resting on the bedspread and tighten in them, bunching in your grasp when Taehyung presses a kiss to the softness of your inner thigh. 

One kiss. And then another. And another. His breath is warm as it curls out across your skin. You feel like you’re about to shake out of your body, wanting to pull away, wanting to lean in; wanting more, even when it feels like too much. Overcome with it all, even if you trust Taehyung. Safe under his hands, his lips. All you can think about is how close he is, face only inches away from your most sensitive parts—

Then he turns his head and—

The noise you let out is almost a keen. His mouth is on you, hot and wet, lips and tongue, and you’re writhing, overwhelmed with sensation. He starts slow, balls of your feet digging into Taehyung’s back and toes curling as he mouths at you. Your hips buck, and your hands are tangled in Taehyung’s hair—when did that happen?—as you sob at the feeling of his lips around your clit, unlike anything you’ve ever felt before, but so so so good. 

He licks a fat stripe up your entrance and your grip tightens in his hair. He makes a noise when your nails drag across his scalp, almost a growl, face still buried between your legs as he presses his tongue in. You’d worry that he needs to come up for air, but he doesn’t, doesn’t have to stop—keeps licking and kissing and humming, responding to each of the sounds pulling out of your lips. Keeps staring up at you, your eyes locked, the way you can’t look away from the sight of his head between your legs, dark haired and incredible.

You don’t realise you’re speaking, words slipping out of your lips as your hips roll, oh-oh-oh, fuck, God, oh, and Taehyung doesn’t stop. On his knees, he worships you, learning what you like—things you didn’t even know—and does it again, and again, and again. One of his hands slides away from your hips and over your stomach, holding you down, keeping you still, and then the other hand—

He turns his head, presses a kiss to the junction of your thigh. “Okay?”

“Okay,” you answer, shaky and weak. So okay, more than okay.

“Going to finger you now,” Taehyung says, and you feel like you’re going to die.

“Okay,” you say again. “Okay, Taehyung.”

He smiles at you before he puts his mouth back to your clit, sucking, a welcome distraction as—with all the languidness in the world—presses a finger into you.

You’ve fingered yourself before. You’ve got your own toys, vibrators, things that are longer and thicker than just one of Taehyung’s fingers—but this feels so different, out of your control. One finger becomes two, your cunt so wet that the slide in is easy, slow, deep thrusts of those long fingers inside you, and you’re panting, you’re so fucking overwhelmed.

And then he curls those fingers as he laps his tongue over your clit and you almost shout, Taehyung’s name bursting from your lips as he keeps beckoning with those fingers and circling the sensitive nub with his hot, wet tongue. It’s so much, it’s so fucking much, it’s so good and you’ve never felt so good before—

You’re almost blindsided by the orgasm that explodes through you and you come apart with a sound you didn’t realise you were capable of making, a gasping moan that keeps unfurling as Taehyung keeps his mouth on you, feeling each pulse of your cunt as you cum around his fingers, tight-tight-tight. (You miss the way his hips kick into the mattress that the sounds you’re making, how much you tighten around him.) You never thought you’d be so loud, never thought you’d end up all but sobbing as Taehyung eventually leans back, candlelight brushing shining gold over the wetness over his mouth, his chin. Your wetness.

“Oh my God,” you gasp. “Oh, fuck.”

Little jolts of pleasure are still wracking through you, pulsations of pleasure that unfurl in your lower stomach; Taehyung rubs the pad of his thumb across your oversensitive clit and your entire body jumps, your legs going to snap shut as you gasp, only stopped by his body in the way. You realise, then, that his fingers are still curled inside you, and you shiver.

“One more,” he says, and your whole body shakes. “Can I give you one more?”

He still looks reverent, and hungry. Like he wants to devour you. Taehyung is usually so soft, a gentle summer breeze—but right now he’s so intense it might scare you if it was anyone else. But it’s not, it’s Taehyung, and there’s something—there’s something about knowing that he looks like that because of you. 

You let your legs fall open, watch how pleased he looks; how grateful. Like he's blessed to be able to do this to you. For you. You’re still so sensitive when he lowers his head again, but he’s slow and patient and coaxing, two fingers becoming three, and—that’s a lot. It’s a lot, but it feels good, Taehyung knowing exactly what to do to make you sob, your legs still hooked over his shoulders as he pulls you along that line between oversensitivity and mind numbing pleasure. This time, when you cum, it’s with three fingers buried deep in your cunt, the flat of his tongue pressed against your clit, back arching as you throw your head back and cry out. Your pussy throbs and it's so dirty, the wet sounds of his fingers thrusting into you, the slick sound of movement as you moan, and moan, and moan.

No one's ever made you cum before. Only you. And now you know what it's like to put your pleasure in someone else's hands, to have them intent on making you feel good, so good, and it leaves you dizzy. 

He’s praising you, you note dimly. He’s praising you, how well you’re doing, how good you are for him, and it leaves you feeling warm. You’re panting when Taehyung pulls his fingers out of you, moves so he can brace himself on his elbows and lean in to kiss you. You can taste yourself on his lips and tongue. You can feel his skin against yours, chest to chest, his weight pressing you down and then you can feel—

You let out a noise against his lips. There’s nothing else that can be, that hot weight. You might not have felt it before, but you’re not stupid. That’s Taehyung’s cock, his hard length pressed against you.

“Taehyung,” you murmur.

“Mm.” He brushes his nose against yours, and the wave of affection that crashes through you is so strong it feels like it could pull you under. You didn’t realise that sex could be like this—that lingering shockwaves of pleasure could be skirting through your body as you lay there naked, still aroused and almost overcome, but also feeling so warm and soft and tender, too. 

You feel lax after cumming, a little more confident, bolder—and the noise Taehyung makes as you clumsily grasp at him through his sweatpants is incredible. You feel like you could get high on it, the way he sucks in a gasp as his mouth falls open, even if you don’t know what you’re doing as your fingers wrap around cloth and hard heat.

“Please,” you start, then stop. Swallow. “Please, Taehyung.”

You want so much you feel like you could pass out. You want to feel and touch and taste; you want everything you haven’t had a chance to experience yet, want it with Taehyung, someone who you trust. Someone you love. Someone who knows far, far more than you—will always know more—and you want to learn that from him. 

“Want you,” you say, and Taehyung looks pained all over again. He wants you, too.

“Fuck.” The word is rough, and you’ve never heard him curse before. The way he says it has something in you singing, as strange as that might be; you don’t think you’re ever going to get over how much you affect Taehyung. “What do you want from me, angel?”

Everything, you think. I want everything. 

“Let me see?” is what you say, squeezing your fingers around Taehyung’s length, feeling the way his hips buck into the touch. “Please?”

You never thought that someone taking their clothes off could be artistic. And yet, there’s something about Taehyung moving to stand and stripping off the rest of his clothes that’s completely arresting and beautiful; carnal and holy, all at once. You don’t even realise your mouth is open as you sit up and watch him, moving closer as you drink down the sight, the way he’s naked in front of you.

Taehyung. Naked. Naked and beautiful and hard, and it’s so overwhelming, everything about it, how much you want and how—oh, God, how big and thick he is, obvious even to you, someone with nothing to compare it to. Holy fuck. Should you think that his dick is pretty? Can dicks even be pretty? Taehyung’s is. Of course it is. He’s gorgeous all over. Maybe you’re biased because it’s him, but there’s something about the sight of his hard cock, precome gathering at his slit, that makes your mouth water.

Taehyung goes to say something, but before you can lose your nerve, you move forwards, and whatever he was going to say is lost in the sound of a choked off groan. He tastes like salt and musk, hot under your inexperienced hands and mouth, and you don’t know what you’re doing but the noises he’s making, fuck. You run your tongue up the throb of a vein you can feel on the underside, and all you can think about is how big he is, slow and careful with your teeth and lips as you try your best to do whatever feels good for him. 

His noises seem almost frantic but Taehyung’s hands are gentle when they comb through your hair. You look up. There’s a flush on his cheeks—red, not blue, you notice—and you pause, pulling off, suddenly shy after the burst of confidence that had you swallowing his cock down.

“Is this—is this okay?” You’ve still got your fingers wrapped around him, and maybe it’s a little ridiculous to be asking with spit and precome shining on your lips, but Taehyung’s answering smile is so affectionate.

“You’re perfect,” he says, and you know he’s not just talking about your clumsy blowjob. “Do you want to stop?”

You bite your lip and pump his length, which has Taehyung sucking a breath in. “I—what do you want?”

Something flashes through Taehyung’s eyes, and it feels like there’s electricity shooting down your spine before that look disappears. “This is about you, angel,” he says. “We can worry about what I want next time.”

Next time. This is the first time but it’s not the last. Oh, God. God.

Taehyung takes advantage of your distraction and hikes you up and away from the edge of the bed. It leaves you breathless, knowing how strong he is, how easily he can move you, even if he’s gentle-gentle-gentle. He settles in the cradle of your hips, and he’s so close, naked body flush with yours, covering you. His cock is so close—he just has to shift a little, just a little, and—well. 

Before that, though, there’s something you need to know.

“Taehyung?” Your voice shakes but you have to ask.

“Yes?”

“Is this. Um. Does this feel good for you, too?”

You’re always aware of the fact Taehyung is an android, even if he looks and feels and is human, too. (It doesn’t matter that he’s made of metal and thirium and circuitry. He’s human.) You lift a hand and thumb at the soft skin of his temple, where his LED used to sit; you don’t know how to communicate that you love him regardless, that it doesn’t matter to you if he's a man or robot. But you’ve wondered—you know Taehyung was built to pleasure humans. Even if he’s been reacting, making noises, looks for all intents and purposes that he is enjoying this—what if it’s all programming? What if he’s just doing this because he thinks it’s something you want?

He leans into your touch. “Angel.” It sounds like the word is being scraped out of him, hoarse and deep, all dark heat. “It feels good. You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this.”

He rolls his hips almost imperceptibly, but you’re hyperaware of every motion, how close you are. Your breath stutters in your throat.

"I want you to feel good," he says. "I've wanted to feel you and taste you for so long. I want to learn everything about your body. I want to know what you feel like around me. Under me. On top of me. You make me feel so fucking good, you don't even know," and, oh, fuck, those words go right through you, settle deep in your belly, leave you breathless. Taehyung sucks at your pulse point and you melt, even as your skin feels like it's burning, so hot, every part of you so hot, so ready for him.

Taehyung’s big enough that you’re worried about how he’s going to fit, even if you’re slick and wet and so, so turned on—you know about the importance of lube, used it often enough by yourself, but when you mention it to Taehyung he just smiles.

“Don’t forget that I’m a sex android,” he says, and before you can ask exactly what he means by that, you feel the tip of his cock at your folds and the question dies on your tongue.

“Please,” is what leaves your lips. “Please, please, please.”

“Anything you want,” he says, and eases his hips forwards.

Slow, and hard, and wet, the head of Taehyung’s cock starts to press into you. You grab at his back, digging your fingers in; it doesn’t hurt, not exactly, a not-quite-pain as he pushes in—but it’s a lot, even if the slide is smooth, so smooth, from your own wetness and the slickness that covers Taehyung’s cock. Your eyes are wide and your lips are parted and it feels—astonishing, the way you can feel yourself open up for him, the way it feels like he’s filling every part of you, throbbing heat.

“Oh, oh God,” you gasp. 

Taehyung’s forehead is pressed to yours, the loose locks of his dark hair framing his face as he waits, hips snug with yours. You shiver and move your hips a little, entire body seizing at the sensation of him shifting inside you. It's so new and alien, having someone nestled inside you, against you, so close in every sense of the term, above you, around you, inside you—but it feels… good.

And when he moves, it’s so, so slow. Slow and smooth as he works you open, even if you feel so tight around him. You drag your nails down his shoulder blades when he moves a little faster, a little roll of the hips that has you gasping all over again.

“More,” you say, and he gives you more.

You feel so full. You feel full of Taehyung, inside and out—the way his body is still pressing you down, skin on skin, how hot he is.

They call it making love, and it’s not until now that you really understand what that means—how you can feel Taehyung’s soft and tender affection in his every motion, read it in every shift of his body, the lines of his face, his lips; the way his eyes are dark but full of wonder, shining with love for you, pleasure singing through every inch of you, centred around Taehyung, Taehyung, Taehyung.

Each noise that falls from his lips is an echo of that love. Even when he leans back and takes you with him—settles on his knees, pulls your hips from the mattress to stay connected to you as your shoulder blades dig into the mattress, his cock in your cunt—there’s tenderness there, even if you’re both chasing mutual lines of pleasure. You feel almost dazed, dizzy with love and arousal, reaching out for him, and he catches your hand. The other stays at your waist, guiding you onto him, again and again, each roll of hips into yours.

“Taehyung,” you gasp, voice breaking on his name when he thrusts into you. He’s been increasing the pace, faster and sharper, harder, and it’s so-so-so much, so good. “I’m—Taehyung, I’m close, I wanna cum again, pleasepleaseplease—”

He lets go of your hand and then he’s thumbing at your clit and you’re cumming harder than you’ve ever cum in your life, Taehyung’s cock still hard and insistent inside you as you ride out your orgasm, pulsing around him. You’re gasping and making noises like you’re falling apart, and there’s something desperate in Taehyung’s eyes, something dark and wanton. 

“Angel, I’m going to cum soon,” he says, and you moan in response, hazy. “Do you want me to pull out?”

You shake your head no. You want to know what it feels like, to have Taehyung lose himself inside you. You’re about to reach out for him when he hooks his hands under your knees and hitches your legs up—you suck in a sharp breath as he starts to move again, almost bent in two, his face so close to yours. It's not rough but something about Taehyung taking control like that has you baring your throat, arching your back and throwing your head back. The hold he has on you is firm, and you feel how it tightens as his thrusts speed up, and then, fuck—

When Taehyung cums it’s around the gasp of your name, a hitching sound as he empties himself inside you, throbbing and hot. You let out an answering sound, the two of you locked together until Taehyung pulls out, careful and slow; you feel like a sweaty mess, empty without him inside you, but then his hands are so carefully cupping your face and he’s kissing you over and over and over. It leaves you feeling breathless, all those little kisses, struggling for air by the time you part, every part of you lax under his loving touch. 

“How are you feeling?” Taehyung murmurs, soft and sweet. 

“Good,” you murmur back. And then your nose crinkles. “Sweaty.”

Taehyung laughs, quiet and low. You turn your face into the crook of his neck, hiding your smile as you breathe him in. You do feel sweaty, and there’s an ache settling inside you, but it’s a good ache. A glowing ache, an unfamiliar one, but one that you know you'll get to feel again, with Taehyung.

You’ve just leaned back to take him in all over again, painted syrupy sweet in the golden candlelight—when the lights suddenly turn back on. It floods your eyes and you make a noise of surprised pain as you squint against the sudden brightness, but then you start to giggle, shock melting into laughter.

When your laughter dies you realise Taehyung’s been watching you. The room is full of shining light now, and you realise you’re still naked, entire body shaking as you’ve been giggling. You’d feel embarrassed about your nakedness if you hadn’t just shared yourself with him, bared yourself in ways that are more than skin deep. There’s an instinctual part of you that wants to cover up now that there’s nowhere to hide, no flickering shadows to cover up the parts of your body that you don’t like, the flaws you don’t want Taehyung to see. But he just looks fond, fond, fond, love and affection dripping off him as he watches the way you smile shyly up at him.

“Hi,” you say.

“Hi,” he says, and smiles back, wide and bright. 

You love him. You love him, and he loves you, and you trust that love. As hard as it might be to believe, you trust that this is what he wants—that you’re what he wants.

“Do you want me to carry you to the shower?” he asks, and you can’t help but laugh again, warm through and through, how he’s still taking care of you.

“Not yet,” you say. 

You end up against his chest, wrapped close. You’ve laid your head in his lap countless times, but he’s never been on his back before, never had his arms around you like he doesn’t want to let go. Taehyung might not have a heart, but the thirium pump nestled in his chest beats steady as you stay nestled against his side. 

You’re drawing little circles on his skin with your fingers when he catches that hand and lifts it to his mouth, presses a tender kiss to your fingertips.

“I love you,” he says.

You feel like liquid sunlight, shining happiness as you melt, melt, melt. And the feeling stays, body filled with it, even after Taehyung coaxes you out of bed and into the shower to wash the sweat off your body; when he drags a soapy loofah over your back you can’t help but laugh, so in love, so loved.

And when you fall asleep, it’s not with your head on Taehyung’s thigh. It’s with his arms around you, his chest to your back, his body curved around you. You don’t want tonight to end, but you also can’t wait for tomorrow, knowing that it’s another day with him, with Taehyung, your Taehyung. You never thought that love would be like this, never thought that you’d feel love like this, cared for and protected and loved, loved, loved.

“Not staying late?”

You pause in the process of shoving everything into your bag. Hoseok is leaning against your desk, a smile curling at his lips as he raises his eyebrows at you, almost suggestive.

“Nah, I’ve got a dinner to get to,” you say. 

“You seem a lot happier lately,” Hoseok comments, and when you don’t fall for the bait, he wiggles his eyebrows. “The girls think that you’ve got a secret boyfriend that you’re too shy to tell anyone about.”

Taehyung still greets you every day when you get home. But now, every greeting is punctuated with a kiss—and sometimes a little more. When you stop to think about it, it’s startling, this thing that Taehyung’s taught you. That the simplest of things can turn into something more, love edged with lust, that it’s all part and parcel of loving someone, being with them, being comfortable with them. Just the other day you’d been reading on the sofa, and then Taehyung’s fingers had curved over your thigh and the tablet had fallen from your hands—

Hoseok clicks his fingers in front of your face. “You’re zoning out again,” he says.

“I am not,” you say, zoning back in. “I was thinking about if I needed to buy any food on the way home.”

“To feed that secret boyfriend of yours?” Hoseok says, and you laugh in his face.

“Definitely not to feed the rumour mill,” you say. Hoseok pouts but it’s good natured, and he waves you off with a smile, letting you leave the office without trapping you in an interrogation for the gossip you’re certain your coworkers are hungry for.

It’s your turn to cook for Yoongi and Seokjin, so you’ve got to get home to help Taehyung. Both men had been spectacularly unsurprised when they’d found out about the two of you. Yoongi had remained calm as Seokjin crowed in delight, proclaiming I knew it, I knew that’s why you were avoiding Taehyung. 

“Feel lucky, Y/n,” Yoongi had said. “At least Taehyung has a sense of decorum and shame.”

“I think it’s a shame that my boyfriend is such a party pooper,” Jin had said. “I demand a dinner party! To celebrate your new relationship! Oh, I’m going to bake the biggest cake.”

“Oh my God,” you’d said, and Taehyung had just smiled.

The truth is that you’re grateful for your neighbours and their support, grateful for their friendship. Just because Taehyung looks human doesn’t mean that you don’t worry about him, worry that someone might discover that he’s a deviant; Jin’s slipped under the radar for long enough, and you hope it’s the same for Tae, too. And yet you can’t help but think about it, think about the present, the future, how your lives are going to unfold as time goes by.

When the door swings open to your apartment, though, that’s the last thing on your mind. All that’s on your mind is Taehyung, Taehyung, Taehyung, your love appearing just as you’ve kicked your shoes off, all bright pink hair and dark eyes and welcoming hands.

“Taehyung,” you say, warm and happy.

“Hi,” he says, smiling so brightly, and then he kisses you.

You’re never going to get tired of kissing Taehyung; never going to get tired of how his mouth fits against yours, so perfect and sweet. But then he crowds you against the wall, swallowing down your gasp before kissing down your neck, running his teeth so gently across your skin.

“Missed you,” he murmurs, words dripping hot and slow. “Been thinking about you.”

“Taehyung,” you breathe. “Taehyung, we need to cook dinner.”

“We have time,” he says, and when he picks you up, you don’t protest. You go easily, wrapping your arms and legs around him, heat already gathering in your stomach as he walks the familiar path to your bedroom.

You have time: today, tomorrow, and every day after that. You have time with Taehyung, to learn with him, to love him. To be loved back. You don’t know what’s coming on the horizon, what the future holds—but then again, you never have.

There’s one thing you know now, though. No matter what happens, Taehyung will be at your side, and you’ll be at his. He wants you, and he loves you. You want him, and you love him. 

“I love you,” you murmur, and Taehyung kisses the words off your lips, lets the promise of your love settle inside him, warm and soft and safe.

“I love you too,” he says, and then you’re too busy to say anything, after that.

taglist:  @beyoncesdragon​ @vensulove​ @jalexad​ @beingbeings​ @lorielulu7​ ​ (can’t tag: @jeon-joon-kook)

[gildedmuse]

Hi I’ve been following you for a while, I love your work! Just wanted to say I hope you get well soon or at the very least you’re not in pain. It doesn’t matter to me what you post I’m just here to see the new content it’s all interesting/fun!

Ahh, so sweet. I got really, really sick for a while there guys - I haven't even seen any of the new episodes! - but I'm recovering nicely so hopefully I'll start post again in the next few weeks.

Let's see... Do you like All Hearts? I'm gonna assume most of the people following me are at least cool with the concept of Zoro as Law's first mate. Current obsession while in recovery: Taking fanart of the Heart Pirates doing just like, whatever, and turning it All Hearts-y.

For example:

[There used to be an image here, now there is not, because I suck.]

[This is where I got the image, and I am just going to hope that's the actual artist. Sometimes it's hard to tell on the internet. And if I'm wrong, someone should correct me so I can take it down or add proper credit. Also, they have no idea what's about to be inspired by their work, so, yeah, don't associate the poor artist with this.]

I tend to think Shachi and Law are the more cynical bastards and probably the more argumentive ones (specifically over plan details/minor analytical things), so I imagine they're in some deep, really impassioned Argument that is about something relatively innocent, maybe the best way to sneak past a navy blockade (Easy: submarine) And then sneak into the base unseen (less easy: pirates, all of whom are in jolly Roger marked uniforms, one of whom is a polar bear, another that uses three swords, and, oh, yeah, one with a WANTED POSTER showing off his VERY UNIQUE, EASILY IDENTIFIABLE DEATH TATTOOS) and they're ideas/debate is perfectability reasonable, but they do get very passionate about it. And it maybe doesnt always sound great.

Or at least, if you happen to not be listening to the whole thing because for some reason whenever you hear the words "... Highly effective plan so that our engagement with any actual Marines will be minimal and with no chance of any violent-" your brain just automatically starts tuning out

Or if you're just the kind of helpful pilot/officer who would help carry good from the kitchen as Hi-Ge finishes each dish to get it out at the table and so may have missed the bulk of the discussion

Then maybe parts of having Shachi and the caption passionately arguing about how, "this concern is over nothing, they're hardly his most recognizable tattoos"

"But they are the ones in the photos that were flown out to every Northern Island with your name splashed over them, captain. People are going to notice!"

"If you really think it's so much of a problem then we'll just get them a new photo of me to use. We just have to ensure these ones focus on drawing attention to my other, more eye catching markings."

"I'm sure if the posters promdominatly features those tattoos, not even the Marines would be looking at your hands, fair enough, but one week is hardly enough time to-"

"Are you doubting my ability to make so much trouble that quickly, my ability to force them into raising my bounty so soon, or that I can't guarantee the photos will contain said tattoos."

And Penguin KNOWS it's all innocent and it's just them hammering out details he just, well, Shachi never gets so worked up when THEY talk. Maybe because they never really argue? He's always happy to argue with Law though, even though Law is captain, And Shachi knows it's not arguing-arguing, obviously, since it's all about the plan and Law never gets, like, really bad either way though maybe it would be little nice if Law DID get upset some with Shachi every now and then for the arguments, just so maybe Shachi remembered how much nicer it is talking with someone who gets you and would never fight with him like that....

And Zoro - Zoro's mind has decided to jump back into the conversation because know he's wondering where and what those tattoos are that will take people's minds off Law's hands (he's not sure he believes it's possible, to be honest) and also how come Law seems to have no problem with SHACHI knowing all about them while Zoro is just left guessing and how come Law is trusting Shachi to come up with this plan? If he needs to get his bounty up, surely Zoro would be more help! not that Law really needs help finding or causing trouble, so then is the help he needs, does it involve these mystery secret tattoos and their a apparently very directing location and design? Shouldn't a first mate be told (and shown) these things?)

And so Penguin is standing there with the food bowl watching the two of them be all animated and smirking and plotting and wagging fingers wondering what's so great about it all anyway and Zoro is sitting there, head cocked, watching the same scene wondering why Law doesn't argue with HIM like that, the same way he takes Shachi seriously

And then finally looked Kit kind of coughs, mostly because just watching the two of them like that is getting embarrassing even if no one else has noticed because everyone is digging in while the food is still fresh (also, they definitely are going to START noticing since Penguin hasn't put down the new dish yet, and Kit doesn't wants to see Zoro get even more openly moony eyed over the captain when, like, he's just a kid and Law is a doctor (like Kit) and in his twenties (like Kit..... Will be in two and a half years) and doesn't really need Zoro mooning over him and as for Penguin, well, seeing him get all upset over something Shachi related if like when your sister cries because her "good guy friend" forgot it was their "special" hang out night. Like you know what it means but you don't want to have to think about it. Ever. At all.

It's just like the way Penguin is just standing there I immediately decided, oh, he MUST be thinking, "what if Shachi doesn't just, you know, respect the boss cause he's our captain. What if he like.... Likes him?" He just looks so left out, like he has no idea how to even insert himself into the debate.

The thought, ahh, of this was baby Zoro of COURSE he'd assume similar. Law got his wanted poster and Zoro wanted to kiss him and wasn't allowed, but he's happy boasting about the poster with Shachi, even planning the next one. Zoro is given the role of Vice Captain was like the most important office role right along with Navigator, but apparently it's really just like any other officer position. More importantly, it's doesn't suddenly make Zoro more important than Shachi, which isn't even what he wants because he likes Shachi, Shachi is cool (he just hadn't realized how much LAW liked Shachi, too)

Difference is I think Zoro eventually would, force himself into the conversation, after Kit catches their attention at least enough for Penguin to set the food down before like sliding into the seat next to Zoro, still just sort of staring (it's not his usual seat, he just kind of takes the nearest chair but after he does he figures it's probably a good thing, Law and Shachi are clearly, you know, preoccupied with their own discussion so it's good for Penguin to give them ro-

"I'm good with a den den mushi!" Zoro also knows that isn't Penguin's usual seat, because his usual seat is next to Shachi, and he imagines because Penguin is older and he knows all about like proper dates and stuff, he probably knows something like, uh, if two people who like each other are having a private conversation you give them room And don't interrupt so they can enjoy their time together. Penguin is usually right about that stuff so Zoro should probably do the same but, you know, they're talking about Law getting new wanted poster, right? Which will mean new photo - isn't like the the whole point? And it just so happens Zoro knows how to take den den images, and as vice captain obvious he needs to speak up so that they know this. For their plan.

And by speak up I mean almost shout it out, the way only an 15 year old with a crush who isn't paying attention to him really can; a way that makes everyone free,e, expect Eland who has to slap Bepo across the back to make sure he doesn't choke on the fish he'd been close to swallowing whole. Also, Puffin, who nearly sinks under the tableout of embarrassment by proxy before Marusa catches him to keep him still, and Hi-ge who peaks in from the kitchen.

Oh and Law and Shachi. They turn to look at him like everyone else but Shachi doesn't go completely still, first giving Zoro a confused look then tilts his head, giving Penguin a look that clearly means, "what, when did you start sitting all the way down there? Your seats not even taken, no one ever takes it because it's yours. What's going on, Guin? Are you being weird again? Could you at least tell me about what? It's not emotional, is it? You know I never get that stuff without your help...."

Where as Law just sort of looks at Zoro, then his eyes get all grey like a living storm - not a bad one, but one of the fun ones that sweeps you away in it, and his lips turns up in this half smirk-smile. Which admittedly isn't like a lot but has a lot of effects. Specifically on Zoro's stomach and also his mouth since words just sort of start flying out of it. "Back when I was a bounty hunter sometimes there were only these like two marine based around and if you just left the guy with them until some one further up the chain came along you'd never see a berry of that bounty, they wouldn't even buy you a skate why you waited. anyway, some older guy, he taught me this trick where you'd take a picture, you holding the wanted poster, and you sign it, then you'd get your guy -"

"Or girl," Beluxa tosses in like this is the time Zoro's trying to explain Law needs him to take the photo this is important!

"Or whatever holding that same poster, with your signature, and you'd catch a news coo and send it to the nearest big base they were gonna spend the guy for processing. So you could prove you caught h-them without having to find your way all the way to some hidden marine base.

Zoro's too in the moment too notice the various snorts and chuckles. Oh, no Northernern is naive enough not to believe the Marines have got some bases they're hiding up here, but they're also certain those kinds of bases aren't ones that just pay out bounties for some island outlaws some random unknown kid brings in.

Zoro is much more focused on how he is an idiot. He mentioned being a bounty hunter and he's always suspected that a lot of the crew didn't like that, now he's sure Law is one of them that doesn't because the second he mentioned that old guy who taught him this trick Law's smile slipped right away. But Zoro had already beaten them, and it's not like he really cared about keeping criminals out of the blue or getting a pat on the head from the Marines or whatever, but if he beat a guy shouldn't he get paid for it? "I needed the money and it worked so I bought this cheap image den den and figured out how to use it-"

"What? Like, pressing the button?" Shachi cuts in, chuckling as he mimics pressing down on the top of the shell. "Gee, good thing have an expert on board."

The remark might seem insulting but honestly, it's just sort of a joke, one Shachi is mostly telling Penguin, who doesn't look the leasf bit amused.

"He's just trying to help with the plan," Penguin answers, and he doesn't snap because Penguin doesn't really snap like that but it's close enough that quite a few looks are exchanged around the table. "He's an officer, too, it's normal he wants to be involved." Zoro actually sits himself up little straighter when Penguin mentions it, making sure he looks every one of his one hundred sixty eight cm.

"If you don't want any input or help, even from us other three," Penguin adds, not notifcing Zoro's posture shift of Shachis strange look, more focused on the small port window. "Why not save these discussions for Law's cabin? So we don't make the mistake again, and you two will be free to continue without even some minor, well meaning interruption to come between you two and your plan."

Zoro noticed none of it because Law has apparently decided to figure the whole bounty hunter thing because he's smiling again, elbows prompt on the table as he leans forward, like he's leaning in towards Zoro(!!) And smiling like that at him too (!!) He knew that Den Den trick would come in handy.Even though there is nearly a whole table between them, it really didn't feel like it when Law stared at him THAT way.

"Of course, Zoro-ya just wants to help." Law winks and Zoro's heart no his stomach no his throat - well somewhere in him something happens.

Winking! Winking is flirting! He knows it is! Lumikko told him himself and even Ikakaku agreed after a bit of disbelief (she apparently thought the guy's son at the junk yard they were scanvenging up for parts probably just got dust in his eyes and Lumikko was "messing with Zoro-kun, ad how many times do I have to tell you, just because YOUR easy doesn't mean that easy is considered fun by the rest of us." Then he did it again at the register, and did this weird thing where he asked Zoro his name a what he was doing on the Island - Ikkaku had been yelling his name plenty, was he not paying attention and seeing as he was carrying a box of used parts it's pretty obvious why he was here. Thought apparently according to Lumikko, the wink made them not stupid questions at all, more like riddles that Zoro had been MEANT to answer with, "Whatever you like, stranger," and "Oh, you know, taking in the locals, you wouldn't happen to know any worth taking would you?" Zoro still hadn't decided these.)

What Zoro DID understand was flirting meant winking, and since Law winked that meant!!

"Exactly, yeah, I just wanted to help - however you like stranger."

("Depths!" You could hear not only Ikkaku's hand connect with the back of Lumikko's head but also his ribs slamming up against the table with the force of if, and Ikkaku wasn't even bothering to whisper about see, see this is what happens when you're an idiot around Zoro-kun.)

Law doesn't seem to mind so Zoro doesn't really notice. (Oh, he definitely gives Zoro a look at the line but the chuckles and Law hardly ever like.... Laughs on any way so one of Zoro's various parts of maybe all of them this time do the thing again.) "Stranger? Is that what you're going to call me to the Marines when you're turning me over?"

Wait? Was that part of the plan? Zoro hadn't realized... Law is still smiling, and Zoro knows it's one of his honestly amused sort of grins so if he's still joking and flirting that means everything must be going according to the plan, or at least getting towards the plan at this stage, Zoro guesses. He just didn't remember when Law mentioned, "I wouldn't have expected such sneakiness for you, Bo-ya."

Zoro isn't sure what his captain means.

He doesn't notice, either, that Penguin is suddenly okay with Shachi, eyes wide as he makes a gesture for Shachi to please stop their boss before -

"Captain Roronoa Zoro has a fine ring to it, though. If nothing else I could not longer calm you Bo-ya, you would be more of a Tora-ya if-"

"I WOULD NEVER SELL YOU OUT TO THE MARINES!"

[Law honestly was just teasing Zoro, it's fine. I mean, he was a little suspicious of those older men going around teaching you tricks, but no he was just teasing you for your strange wording, that's all.... Not that it will stop Zoro from jumping to his feet and making this proclamation with all his heart.]

[the-type-a]

I was in a mood and can you do anything of like Duncan being jealous of either Courtney with another guy, or being protective (in that non toxic way) when they’re still dating? take your time ofc but :)

You got it!

I’ve had a few requests of jealous Duncan recently so I’ll change it up a bit for this one.

All that “Duncan is going to pummel whoever for Courtney.” gets so old. I, on the other hand, would love to see how Duncan would help/stand up for her whenever something is emotionally draining her. So here’s a little something that falls into that.

—

Duncan and Courtney had just finished dinner with her parents, who for better words were not happy. The couple had just announced they would be taking the next step in their relationship— moving in together.

Courtney’s parents expressed their thoughts with no concern for their daughter's feelings. Mrs. Rosales had broken into tears saying the two were not even engaged. She could not make sense of the sudden need to be sharing a home without marriage in the air first. Mr. Rosales, on the other hand, wasted no time in reprimanding his daughter.

Naive, ungrateful, even stupid were among the words being thrown in Courtney’s direction. Duncan noticed how his girlfriend accepted each harsh word and stayed quiet, letting her parents belittle her. “Respect your elders.” was heavily engraved within the household. Enough was enough, Duncan was not going to let them affect her this way anymore.

“You’re wrong.” He blurted out, causing the room to go quiet with unease.

“I was not addressing you!” Mr. Rosales yelled, but Duncan was not backing down this time.

“Mr. Rosales, you can say whatever you want about me.” Duncan began. It wasn’t a secret that Courtney’s parents thought Duncan was no good, thinking he’d someday abandon their daughter, or worse, steal from them. If only they knew how much he loved her. Well, now was the time.

“Courtney is smart, determined, independent, and frankly too good for me. I would never hurt her the way you think. She is the love of my life.”

“Duncan.” Courtney tried to interject. He did not need to come to her rescue. Her parents did this often, stating their very unwanted opinion on her own life. Courtney had thick skin, so for the most part she would be fine.

Mr. Rosales stood in front of the two, towering over them. He was trying to intimidate them, Duncan mostly, but it was not going to work. The tension in the room was growing tremendously, and if someone did not step out soon someone was going to regret something.

Duncan stood and reached his hand out to Courtney. Once she took it he they both stepped toward the front door.

“I think we can talk about this another time.”

Before Courtney’s parents had a chance to yell anything else the couple left. Once they were in their car Duncan reached over to his girlfriend, squeezing her hand, and pushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Don’t let them get to you. You know everything they said was a lie.”

Courtney sighed as a tear fell down her check. Duncan whipped it away with his thumb.

“Did you really mean all that back there?” She said in almost a whisper.

Duncan couldn’t blame Courtney’s uncertainty. Having the two people who raised you constantly putting you down whenever something happened out of their control had to put a strain on her emotionally. But he had no problem reassuring her that he indeed loved her. Duncan leaned over and kissed her forehead then rested his own against hers.

“Every word, Princess.”

[roger-that-cap]

peace

natasha romanoff x fem!reader

summary: natasha wanted to marry you more than she wanted everything, but how was she supposed to propose to you and ask you to be hers forever when she couldn’t give you even the simplest of things?

warnings: so this is minimal angst, don’t be fooled, this is fluff, ya know the drill. this may or may not be cheesy, but i tried 

word count: 6.4k, short and sweet 

so, i listened to peace by taylor swift while i wrote this one. take that information how you wish lollll. also, not edited!

Natasha met you years ago. You were the bright eyed girl at the front counter of an ice cream shop near the tower, soft serve shop. Natasha, ever the reader of mankind, immediately knew that you were kind, patient and simply sweet. Sweeter than the vanilla cone she had treated herself to, the one that you had made yourself because your coworkers were on an extra long break that wasn’t exactly authorized. 

  You knew who she was, but you didn’t ask her for anything. No autograph, no murmuring of a catchphrase, nothing about whether or not Captain America would be into you. Natasha admired that. She loved that she saw the flash of excitement and recognition in your eyes, but that it never went further than you asking her if she wanted sprinkles. 

 That one encounter led to many more. Soon, you two were on a date, after you had been brave enough to ask if she wanted to go on a picnic in the park after she kept coming into the store. And that one date was enough for you both to know that you wanted to see each other again, and again, and again. 

You and Natasha spent two months dating each other before making it official, and it was the best decision either of you had ever made. 

You made her feel like she was needed and loved, and she made you feel like you were cherished and safe. The feeling that you got when you looked at her was just so… natural. You weren’t worried about angering her, or about messing up in front of her. She made you feel calm, and one look at her washed all the jitters out of your nerves easily. 

And in return, there was no one on the entire planet that made Natasha as happy as you did. You were the one, and it was almost over night when she realized that you were it. 

One night, she was in bed next to you after a long day of training recruits and having a briefing for an upcoming mission. She had only been in your apartment for about twenty minutes, just lying in your gentle and welcoming arms, and she was fighting the urge to nod off where she felt safest. She was tired, but she knew one thing above everything else, and it was that she wasn’t going to waste an entire night with you because she wanted to sleep. 

“You don’t have to stay awake, sprinkles.” You said to her in the dark room, your hand smoothing her hair. “I’ll be fine.”

“I’ve been wanting to talk to you all day.” Maybe that’s when Natasha should have noticed. When the urge to talk to you was stronger than the drive that she had while training recruits, or when she nearly forgot that she couldn’t go home early because of how much she was just ready to. 

“I won’t be upset, you work hard,” you said softly. “You deserve some peace and quiet. Sleep, I’ve got you.” 

Natasha did a few things for the first time in a long time that night. 

One: she felt at peace enough to fall asleep immediately. 

Two: she went to sleep with the sound of someone humming in her ear. 

Three: she realized that she was completely in love with her girlfriend. 

There were plenty of times that hinted to her that she was falling in love. She looked for you or an essence of you everywhere, from seeing something the color of your eyes to looking over at your favorite brand of yogurt in the grocery store and contemplating buying it. Whenever you smiled, she couldn’t help but grin twice as big. If you laughed, she was happy. When you were upset, she wanted nothing more than to make it better, than to eliminate whatever it had been that made you feel that way. She would do anything for you. And she really believed that you would do anything for her right back. 

 Your relationship wasn’t perfect, but it was damn near it. It was the thing Natasha was most proud of, just like you were the person that Natasha was proudest of to call hers. And she wanted that. She wanted you to be hers for the rest of your life, and she wanted nothing more than to be officially yours. 

And that was why she stood in a high end jewelry store that specialized in special rings, closed for two hours from the public just for her. And Tony and Steve, who desperately wanted to tag along. 

  Tony was more of the planner and the doer. He was the one pointing out the rings that seemed pretty, the ones that looked like they would fit your style. He was the businessman, ready to negotiate price even though he could easily afford the entire store ten times over. Steve, however, was the mother hen. Hovering mostly silently, an excited buzz flowing out and touching everyone else in the vicinity. He was excited for Natasha, it was obvious, and he also wanted to make her feel as comfortable and ready as possible. 

  “That one’s pretty, isn’t it?” Tony muttered, pointing towards an intricate ring with a diamond in the middle of the studded band. “Y/N likes stuff like that.” 

“No she doesn’t,” Steve cut in, and he pointed to a ring that was quite literally the opposite of the one Tony was referring to. It was a simple ring, one with a silver band and a decently sized diamond in the middle. It was clearly an engagement ring, but it wasn’t flashy. “That one is probably closer to what she’d like.” 

Everyone in the tower knew you well. Natasha made sure that you knew her friends well when you two started to get really involved. You introduced her to your siblings and parents, and she let you meet her own family, the Avengers. Natasha remembered the day that you met everyone vividly. Everyone had loved you immediately, and she was so proud of the way that you handled yourself while being so nervous. Hell, she was always proud of you. 

  You made fast and sturdy friendships with everyone and fit in well, and that was all Natasha could ever ask for. Eventually, she started to bring you over at least once a week just to hang out with everyone, to get you familiar with every member of her found family. 

  Perhaps that was another sign that she should have taken and read. She had never introduced a significant other to the family that she cherished so much, not once before you. 

“Steve’s right,” Natasha murmured, and she heard Tony’s playful scoff. “But I have no idea when I’m going to actually do it.”

 “You don’t have a trip planned?” Tony asked incredulously. “Well, I can schedule anything you want, whenever you want. Just ask me.” 

Natasha knew exactly what Tony was referring to. He had gone above and beyond for every romantic gesture that was ever for Pepper, and Natasha knew that your relationship wasn’t like that. You didn’t need grand gestures or long trips to beaches. The both of you were happier than ever just being with each other. She knew that you would cry in the middle of a Wendy’s if she popped the question there and held her hand patiently waiting for the ring. The location mattered the least. 

“We probably won’t do a trip, that’ll make it obvious.” There was one thing that Natasha was very picky about that had to do with the whole affair, and that was surprise. She wanted you to be the most pleasantly surprised you had ever been in your life, and she wanted to watch those beautiful eyes of yours light up and start to water in the most joyous of ways. She wanted the cheesy hand-over-heart move, the hand grabbing, the excited chatter of a small gathering of random people looking. And most of all, she wanted to hear your elated yes and she wanted to slip the ring onto your ring finger, and she never wanted to see it off from that moment on. 

But that was just her. 

Natasha, Steve, and Tony spent another hour in the jewelry store. The owner was buzzing around, clearly excited for the amount of business that their presence was sure to rope in. He took a picture of them and promised not to release it until Natasha proposed, even though he was quite literally bursting at the seams to brag about it. In the end, Natasha ended up getting a pretty ring with a silver band and a nice sized diamond, simple and just your type. 

They were on their way out when Tony spotted paparazzi. He stopped in his tracks and turned around. “Okay, I’ll go first to lead them away.” 

“Why?” 

“If Y/N sees you on a tabloid at a ring shop with me and Steve… the surprise is up.” Tony made a clicking noise with his tongue and left without anything else to say, strolling out and indeed leading all of the people with cameras away from the shop, all of them entranced by the billionaire. 

To be safe, Natasha and Steve waited for a few more minutes before walking out and getting jumbled in with the crowd. Her grip on the bag was tight, and she was holding the box in her hand through it. So, are you excited?” 

“Not as excited as you,” she teased, but even she could hear the nerves in her voice. “I just don’t wanna ruin anything.” 

  “Please,” Steve scoffed. “Y/N is so in love with you that I forget that you two aren’t already married, honestly.” 

  Steve saying it aloud made Natasha’s heart race, even though she already knew that. That was one of the million wonderful qualities about you. She never had to ask you for validation, because you told her with everything you did. You tapped her hand three times at parties. You whispered it into her ear before you both went to sleep. You kissed her cheek or her jaw when she started to get antsy, and rubbed her back while you did it. Every touch, every kiss, every breath that the both of you took told the other that you loved them. There was no question about that. 

“So, what are you worried about? She’ll say yes. Everyone knows that.”

If only Steve knew that it was so much more than you saying a three letter word instead of a two letter one. 

They walked back in silence to the tower, comfortable silence between two friends who were both deep in their own heads even as they swiped their clearance cards and went into the elevator. 

§§

Natasha always felt bad when she lied to you, no matter how small or white the lie was. One day, it was small and for the both of you, but it still didn’t smooth the guilt. 

She had told you that she had a late night meeting, top secret, and that she would call you when you could come up in her room. “So, that’s the plan.” 

“You’re gonna pop the question of your lives in the park?” Tony asked, a brow quirked upwards. “Well, to each their own.” 

Wanda rolled her eyes. “That’s a really sweet idea, Nat. Tony, here, is just annoying.” 

“Thank you, Wanda.” Natasha said, and then turned to the billionaire. “So, what would you do, then?” 

“I would go on a crui-”

“Yeah, I’m thinking Nat wants a more casual approach,” Sam said, giving Tony a once over. “So the park would be great.” 

“I know,” she said absentmindedly, thoughts already on the next hour, where she would be on the couch in her quarters with you, watching one of your favorite shows together. 

“We’re still allowed to come, right?” Wanda asked, gently bringing Natasha out of her thoughts. 

“Of course.” That was another thing she really wanted. Her family had to see everything happen first hand, that was non negotiable. “Just lurk in the shadows, she’ll know what's happening if she sees all of you.” 

That night, she left the tower to go to your apartment rather than just have you come over and swipe your card that Tony had made you. She figured that the less people around that knew about the proposal, the less likely it was that someone was going to spoil it. 

  She wasn’t an idiot. Weddings were special to you. Hell, when you were younger, you used to want to be a wedding planner. Natasha knew that a goal in your life was to be loved by someone so much that they wanted to spend their life with you, and luckily, the both of you found that in each other. 

  “Baby,” Natasha called when she stepped through the threshold of your apartment, her ears already pricked up as she heard the television coming from the room that you had moved half of her belongings into. She smiled as she walked closer, purposely making her footfalls a little louder so that she didn’t startle you. 

  You were smiling at her when she opened the door to the bedroom, and Natasha felt her heart stutter for a second as she caught her bearings. “Hi, sprinkles. How was work?” 

She would never get tired of the sound of your voice. “It was alright.” Natasha walked over to you, and you leaned into her hand, the same one that always reached for your face and cradled your cheek, her own little greeting. “You weren’t there, so.” 

“Sadly I was doing soft serve,” you said, rolling your eyes at the customers you had encountered. “And one woman was particularly… not nice.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry, baby.” Natasha said softly, pulling you closer. “At least now all you have to worry about is sitting down in time to catch your show.” 

“That is my only worry,” You agreed playfully. “Come sit, I’m tired. And I know you are, too.” 

§§

Natasha thought that she was going to do it as you walked through the park, on a trail that the rest of the Avengers were following you on flawlessly. She was surprised that they could keep that quiet for that long, especially Steve, with his non-stealthy physique and training. But they were doing it. In a way, it made Natasha worried out of her mind that you couldn’t feel that five people were trailing you. But she forced that part of her mind, the one that was always so overwhelmed with the need to keep you close and safe, to the back of her mind, and instead felt for the little box in her pocket. 

“Oh, do you hear that bird singing?” You asked softly, trying not to disturb the peace. She watched your eyes scan the tips of the trees, watching as a smile grew on your face and planting one of her own. “I wish I could see it.” 

“You go bird watching all the time,” Natasha mused at you, and you snorted a bit. 

“But we never really sit down and do it together,” you said after a moment, and just like that, Natasha’s excitement was dried out. Her fingers left the box in her jacket pocket, and her hand swung at her side with the other held by your hand. 

“What?” 

“We just don’t do it much, ‘s all.” Like you sensed that you had said something that changed the mood of your little stroll, you turned to look at her. “There’s nothing wrong with that.” 

But there was. There was everything wrong with that statement. Mostly because it was one hundred percent true. The two of you didn’t have any time to bird watch or stargaze like you wanted to. And it wasn’t on your end, no, it was on her’s. 

She came home late more often than not. She left early in the morning, sometimes before the sun even rose. She was sent on missions that were weeks long, sometimes even months. Sometimes, she didn’t even get to warn you or say goodbye before she had to get on a quinjet, just up and leaving and sending a text, apologizing for things she couldn’t control. 

  “Nat?” She hadn’t even realized that she stopped walking. But she had. Her arm was stretched out towards you because you hadn’t dropped her hand yet, and you closed the gap between the two of you with a look of concern on your face. “You okay?” 

“Um, yeah.” She cleared her throat and rubbed her face with her hand, blinking a few times as the familiar guilty feeling burned in her chest like acid. “Wanna keep walking?” 

For the rest of the walk, Natasha was stuck in her head. She was good at multitasking, so she indulged you and your words to the best of her ability while she thought about how terrible she felt for you. She couldn’t even take you birdwatching. And she thought that you would want to marry her? 

“Are you ready to head back, darling?” Natasha asked once the sun started to finally make its retreat, and after she felt that the others had left and were far ahead of them. They knew her just as well as you did, and they knew that it wasn’t the day that she was going to ask. 

“As long as it’s with you,” you murmured, and then you turned around to press your lips to hers in an innocent, binding kiss, and then pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” Natasha said back just as sincerely, wrapping her arms around you and hugging you right in the trail, closing her eyes tight and waiting for the feet and doubt to subside. 

It didn’t. 

§§

It took two more failed attempts for Steve to finally come knocking on her door one night. The night of the third failed proposal attempt, everyone was anxious to see a ring on your finger, and everyone just wanted it to be done so that they could plan the wedding. 

 Natasha was not on the same page. 

At first, the team was confused. Natasha’s love for you never wavered. It was as certain as the sun rising and falling, as the tide coming in and going out. It was constant, and it never faltered. So her backing out of making it official, of finally tying to knot with you, confused everyone. And then, they thought about what exactly made the change in conversation.   

  Wanda was the one to crack the code. She subtly picked at Natasha’s mind during the last of the failed proposals, and when she came back out into the present, she didn’t seem surprised at all. 

  The first thing that Wanda said when they all got back to the car was, “she doesn’t think that she’s enough.” 

Doubt. 

Natasha Romanoff never doubted herself. She was the best assassin in the world, capable of literally anything that she put her mind to. She had no reason to doubt herself. Until she started to work for someone else, not just for herself.

  “What is she doubting?” Tony muttered, the exhaustion at watching one of the boldest people he knew dancing around a woman who clearly loved her to death. “Y/N is going to say yes. She would say it if Nat asked her on the toilet.” 

 “No, it’s not that,” Wanda said softly, shaking her head. “She thinks that she’s… neglecting her. That her presence isn’t often enough. She feels guilty about her job.” 

 Silence. 

That was something many of them who had relationships dealt with. The balance between domestic life and life as an Avenger was hard to achieve. Not only did the Avenger have to know when to separate things. The Avenger also had to find someone who knew what they did, what their job entailed, and that they would both have to make sacrifices.  You knew how to do those things. So what was the problem?

“Y/N takes the distance and the danger really well,” Steve stated. “So, what’s the problem?” 

Wanda shrugged. “There was… there was more. But I didn’t have enough time to really see.” 

  While the others tried to figure out what was going on the the former assassin’s brain, Natasha was back in her room, sitting and twiddling her thumbs as she thought. Her eyes kept going back to the box, resting on it very now and then before she looked away in apprehension.  

 There were three knocks on her door, way too harsh and precise to be you. Besides, you hardly ever knocked, just as she never knocked on your door. “Um,” Natasha started, and then her brows furrowed as she put the ring in a drawer just in case. “Come in.” 

Steve Rogers was standing at her door, arms crossed, a slightly disappointed look set on his face. “What’s up?” 

Natasha raised a perfect brow. “You came to my room, Cap.” She crossed her arms as well, even though they both knew that neither was on the defensive. “Are you okay?” 

“Why haven’t you done it yet?” 

Her heart dropped to her toes, but she knew how to control her facial expressions. She was sure that she would never lose that skill, no matter how old she got and how much she would start to forget things. “Done what?” 

Steve shut the door. “You haven’t proposed to her yet. Why not?” 

“The time wasn’t right.” 

“That’s a lie.” 

She wasn’t used to Rogers calling her out so fast. Typically, she was an A list liar, and the only person she failed at lying to was you. She rarely ever did that, and when she did, it was for the better. Like, when she would tell you that she would be back within a few hours knowing that it would be about two nights still. Or when she would tell you that she wasn’t hurt, knowing good and well she had been bleeding out five minutes not even two minutes before she made the call. 

The second lie that came to mind came flying out of her mouth. “I’m scared she’ll say no.” 

Steve rolled his eyes, to Natasha’s surprise and sligh humor. “She’d find a way to say yes to you even in the afterlife, Natasha. You can’t play the lying game. Not with me, not with us, and especially not with her.” 

“Why are you so worked up right now?” 

“Because you deserve happiness, and it’s right there in front of you. You’re throwing it away, for what?” 

  “I never said that I wasn’t going to propose,” the redhead defended, but Steve just put his hands on his hips. 

 “I can see it in your eyes. You’re not going to unless someone pushes you, and because Y/N can’t in this situation, then I will.” His “Captain” voice was on. “It’s much more than you being worried about something that won’t ever happen, so what’s wrong, Natasha?” 

Natasha stood there for a second, her eyes narrowed on him as her face stayed still, and her mind raced a thousand miles an hour. She pursed her lips after a few seconds and breathed in, trying to decide whether or not to spill everything to one of the people that she trusted the most in life, one of the few that she trusted with her very life itself. Her mouth started moving before she could even approve its speech. 

 “Because of who I am and what I do, I can never give her what she deserves. I can never give her the suburban life, the calm life, the one where all she has to worry about is whether or not she’ll have to go to the store to get more cheese. I can never give her that.” 

 “I have money, she’ll never have to worry about going hungry or not being able to do things, yes, but at what cost? At the cost of me leaving her by herself one day for forever because of one wrong step? At the cost of me not being there to hold her at night or wake up with her in the morning? I can’t even do simple things with her like stargazing because I don’t have time for it. I don’t have time for her, do you realize how horrible that is? How terrible I feel?” 

Whatever Steve was expecting, it surely wasn’t that. Natasha was never one to have an outburst, even with the people she was the most comfortable with. But there she was, spilling all of the feelings she had been harboring within seconds, her eyes resting on Steve’s as they both refused to look away for more than a few seconds at a time. 

  “I can never give her a calm life without worry, or without pain. She’ll have to be scared about whether or not I got shot in Siberia, or if I’m rotting somewhere at the bottom of a cliff, or if I’m a prisoner halfway across the world. All I bring to the table is worry, and all I want to give her is what she gives me every second I’m with her. Peace. I want that so badly, and she deserves it more than anything. And I can’t give it to her.” 

Steve was silent for a moment, and a singular moment turned into two. “Have you ever asked her what she wants?” 

 The question stopped Natasha’s erratic thoughts in their tracks. “What?” 

 “Natasha, she’s been with you for years now, and I’ve never heard her complain about your job. I’ve never even seen her cry about you being gone more than anyone else would. She knows what you do, and she knew that when she agreed to be your girlfriend. She wouldn’t have stayed with you if she couldn’t handle it.” 

 “How do I know she’s handling it?” 

“Ask her.” Steve said softly, like he was nudging her with his words alone. “You’ll only know if you ask her.” 

  As she drove to your apartment that night, her mind was buzzing with nerves. “Ask her,” she mocked, making her voice deeper. “Not that easy.” 

  The door was open when she got there, enough to make Natasha shout your name with anxiety in her voice, and that sound was enough to make you come poking your head out from the kitchen. 

“You alright, sprinkles?” 

Natasha could breathe again. And when she inhaled, she smelled chicken in the air. She grinned. “Perfect now,” she said, shutting the door, locking it, and walking over to you. 

§§

It hit her in bed with you that she should bring it up. You two always had conversations before bed, it didn’t matter what about. Sometimes, the conversations were as serious as a heart attack, and other times, they were about whether or not Candyland was a good game. That night, it was leaning on the more serious side. 

  “Y/N,” Natasha called softly, and you hummed in response. “Do you… are you happy? With me?” 

The soft humming that was coming from your throat cut off abruptly at the question, a question Natasha had never asked you before. To say that you were confused was an understatement. You two had almost always been on the same page, and if one of you were to be unhappy, the other would know. “Of course I am, Natasha. Why? What’s wrong?” 

 “Do you think that my job complicates things between us?”

Natasha sat up after you did, looking at her like she was in the process of growing a second head. “What?” Before she couldn’t say much else, you were talking again. “Who put that idea into your head? No, your job doesn’t put a strain on us, unless you feel something on your side?” 

  “No, no,” Natasha rushed out. “I just… I don't want you to feel like I’m neglecting you. I don’t want you to feel like you’re not getting what you need from me, as a w-girlfriend.” 

 “Natasha,” your voice was soft in the night, a satisfied and sweet whisper that never failed to calm her nerves. “You give me everything I could ever ask for. You always have, and I think you always will. Is this about stargazing?” 

  “What?” 

“Don’t think I didn’t notice the way you got weird when we were walking in the park,” you said softly, your fingers tracing little hearts on her back. “I told you that we didn’t go stargaze or bird watching together, and you got upset. Is that what this is about?” 

  She couldn’t lie to you. “Somewhat.” 

“Oh, Nat,” you said, and you pulled her closer to you, resting your head on her chest and listening to her heartbeat, steady and constant. “I don’t care about that. All I care about is you.” 

 “Do you even see enough of me?” 

“Your job does not affect me whatsoever,” you answered. “I knew who you were and what you did when I asked you to go to that picnic with me, remember? I knew exactly what you did, and I knew around how much I could or could not be seeing you. I knew everything. So, why would I back out now after all these years? And why would I leave you?” 

  You had no idea how soothing your words were to Natasha in that moment. To you, it was just reassurance, affirmative words. To her, it was everything. It was the solution to all of her worries regarding the ring that was in her dresser back at the Tower. 

  “The point is, I could wait up for you to get home until four in the morning and make dinner for you after a long mission every day for the rest of my life, if you wanted me to.” The tracing of hearts never stopped on Natasha’s skin, but her breathing surely did for a second. “Because, what’s losing a few days compared to sharing a lifetime?” 

  Natasha smiled as the fear washed out of her system like it had never been there. More or less, you had just confessed to her that you wanted to be with her for a lifetime, and that for that lifetime, you didn’t mind any of the things that she was worried about. She was going to do it.  

§§

  After a short chat with the team, Natasha was finally ready. Like they could all tell that it was the day, they gave her a serious pep talk and Tony even muttered his premature congratulations, even though Wanda insisted that saying it before was a form of bad luck. 

 The plan was set. She was going to get you from work, pretend like you were going to go to dinner, and then take you stargazing. And then, she was going to pop the question. And hopefully, most likely, you were going to say “yes”. 

 When her car rolled up to the windows of your store while you were cleaning, you laughed. “Hi, Nat! What’s up?” 

 “Just here to pick you up,” she said with a smile, and your grinned at her. 

  “Alright, give me fifteen.” 

By the time you had gotten home, gotten dressed and were both seated in the car, Natasha’s hands were sweaty, and the weight of the little box was somehow heavier than anything Natasha had ever carried before. Her leg was bouncing up and down in the driver’s seat, and she hoped that you paid no mind to it. 

 “It’s pretty tonight,” you mused, and she nodded.  

“Yep, very clear.” And it was pure luck. She thanked all the gods that were ever worshipped that it was a clear night. “You can see everything.” 

“Yeah, you can.” 

“Do you… do you wanna go look at the stars?” She asked, and you turned your head to the side to look at her, a spark in your eyes that had just caught flame. 

  “You didn’t reserve anything, right?” 

Natasha had forgotten about the fake dinner already, her eager mind already onto the next stage. “Oh? No. I didn’t.” 

 “Then, we should ditch the food and do that. I’ll make you dinner after.”

 When Natasha parked on the side of the road, it was empty. It was emptier than it usually was at night, and the closest street lights were off. It made it much easier to see the stars. You were the first one to sit down on the dry grass, and you patted the spot beside you, urging Natasha to sit down with you. The second she did, you laid down and sighed, eyes on the sky. 

After a few moments of holding hands with eyes to the stars, roaming the dark blue sky in silence, you quietly began to speak. “It’s so pretty,” you murmured. “I haven’t done this in forever, and I hardly remember what it was like, but I can’t imagine that any other time could have been better than a time with you.” 

  Natasha turned her head into your neck, resting it there like she always did. “I love you,” she whispered, and you shivered at the intensity laced between the three words, the sincerity warming your heart. “I love you so much.” 

  “And I love you,” you responded, just as genuinely. You tapped her hand three times with your pointer finger, saying it twice. “More than I love the stars.” 

You two stayed there for hours, just watching the sky and ignoring the dull hunger pains that kept leaving and coming back. You spent a little time pointing out constellations, and Natasha told you how to navigate using the stars. Eventually, it was time to leave, and Natasha reached her hand out to you once she stood up. 

Natasha slowly walked you towards the car, but you didn’t notice how out of character it was for her to walk without a sense of urgency in the moment. She knew that you couldn’t hear their footsteps, but she could. They were soft and familiar, trying not to alert you of their presence, and they were succeeding. Natasha cleared her throat softly and swallowed her fears.

“Y/N,” she started, and you furrowed your brows at the usage of your name. “Do you remember how we first met?” 

You stopped walking, your back towards the approaching people. “Of course I do,” you responded, a smile on your face as you reminisced. “You ordered a cone with no sprinkles, what a weirdo.” 

 “Is it weird for me to say that I knew?” 

“Knew what?” 

“I knew that you were going to be a part of my life somehow. Whether it was going to be a friendship, a relationship, or even just an acquaintanceship, I didn’t know. But I knew you’d be around.” 

“That’s so sweet, Tasha.” Your bottom lip poked out and you went in to hug her, closing your eyes as you held her tight and then pulled away. “I think I knew after our third date.” 

Natasha cracked a smile, even though she felt like she was going to throw up. “Coney Island?” 

“Coney Island,” you confirmed, eyes glimmering under the starlight. Natasha was about to get lost in them, well on her way, before she shook her head and cleared her throat again, checking behind you discreetly to make sure that everyone was hiding before she turned you both sideways, so that your side profiles were visible to the others. 

“But… you have the most beautiful soul that I’ve ever had the privilege of meeting. You're everything I could ever dream of asking for, and I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything in my life. You’re my day and night, my high tide and low tide, and you’re the only person I’ll ever admit that I need. Because it’s true. You give me a peace that I never hoped to ever receive from anything, and I love you even more for that. You are just… you’re the one for me. And I…” she swallowed as her eyes tore away from yours, and she wiped her sweaty palms on her jacket. “I’m sorry I’m no good at speeches, but I...”

   She reached into both pockets at the same time and pulled the box out in a swift movement, and before you even knew what she had done, she was on one knee right in front of you. A strangled noise came from your throat, a gasp and a sigh all the same, and then you put one hand over your mouth. 

 Natasha’s eyes were watering, and so were yours. “I would be the luckiest woman in the world, the most privileged and honored person in the entire universe, if you let me marry you.” 

 There was utter silence for a second besides your harsh and surprised breathing. Then, a gasp left your mouth. “Natasha!” You shrieked, a hand still over your mouth as the tears ran down your face, reflecting the joy you felt on the inside. Your emotions roared and rushed inside of you, like a furious river of elation. You blinked rapidly, but you were so happy that your eyes didn’t even get that familiar burning feeling that came with the tears. 

“Is that even a fucking question?” You bent down to her level and your lips met hers, passionately and full of love and relief. Neither of you noticed the clapping and cheers after being so immersed in each other. 

 Natasha pulled away, a shit-eating grin on her face as she started to say something to you, right when you noticed everyone else around you. “Wait, baby, let me put the-”

“Have you been here the whole time?” You shouted towards the rest of the team, who were all watching with proud and excited expressions, and Wanda nodded. 

  “Most of the time,” she grinned, and you wiped the tears from your face, only to see the one and only Tony Stark recording you and Natasha, who was still on one knee in front of you, holding one of your hands. 

  “Can I?” Natasha asked from her kneeling position, gesturing towards the ring, and you nodded excitedly. She slipped it on your left ring finger, and you yanked her up with such excitement that she was sure that one of her bones popped, but she didn’t care. She kissed you again, a sweet and meaningful kiss, before she hugged you tightly. 

 “Thank you.” 

You would have been confused if you weren’t on a high.  You were going to get married. To Natasha. You were going to have forever with her, like you always wanted. “For what?” 

She kissed the shell of your ear softly, and then your jaw and cheek, right where you always kissed her. “For everything, darling.” You leaned back into her, your face in her neck, and she made brief eye contact with her friends, who were all looking at the display of affection with soft eyes and even more tender hearts. She closed her eyes as she felt your heart beating against her chest, savoring the feeling of being so close to the woman that she loved unconditionally, her soon-to-be wife. “For everything.” 

****

hey guys! hope y’all liked this one, i wrote it in two hours, and then thought about deleting it, but here she stands. if you liked it, feel free to like and reblog! comments are also widely appreciated, i love those! also, i wanna make friends up here so feel free to blow up my messages! hope you have a great day/night 💕