#so yeah. i haven’t unpacked at ALL well sort of but man i missed it all.

[loverofallthingssmart]

ah yes. the jet lag. welcome back.

[waitimcomingtoo]

Where My Feet Take Me

Pairing: Tom Holland x reader

Synopsis: the boys chase a drunk Tom down the street and he tries to make things right with you

Masterlist

“Hello?” Tom called out as he walked into the house. “I’m home.”

“Tom?” You froze in your tracks as a chill went down your spine. He came into your shared bedroom with an unsuspecting smile on his face, making your hands clench around the box in your hands.

“Hi darling.” He greeted you as he set his suitcase on the ground.

“What are you doing here?” You asked softly.

“I live here.” He teased before his eyes fell on the box in your hands. His face crumpled as he read “picture frames” written on the side in your handwriting.

“What are you doing?” He asked weakly, eyes never leaving the box.

“You said you were coming home tomorrow.” You reminded him.

“My flight was changed.” He told you. “What are you doing?”

“I’m sorry.” You whispered. “You weren’t supposed to be home.”

“What are you doing?” He repeated, firmly this time. You looked down at the box, unable to look him in the eyes as he slowly figured out what was happening.

“I’m leaving.” You mumbled without lifting your head. Tom slowly looked around the room, finally seeing how empty it was without your belongings. He looked at you in confusion and you nearly broke down.

“You.” You continued. “I’m leaving you.”

“What?” His asked, voice cracking. “Why?”

“You’re never here.” You told him with a shaking voice. “I’m on my own more than I’m with you. And when you’re gone, you don’t call. You don’t call or text or really give me any sort of indication that you remember me. I can’t do this anymore, Tom. I’m done.”

“But...what?” He rubbed his face as he tried to process what you were saying.

“I’m not happy, Tom.” You said weakly. “You’re a perfect boyfriend when you’re home but the second you leave for work, it’s like I don’t exist.”

“That’s not true.” He protested.

“Its not?” You laughed sadly. “We hardly ever speak. Look at your phone. When was the last time you texted me?”

Tom took out his phone, sure that you were wrong. He looked at his messages and sure enough, you were right.

“Wednesday.” He answered sheepishly.

“Yeah.” You nodded. “It’s Monday.”

“You’re leaving me because I haven’t texted you in a few days?” He asked.

“It’s not just that.” You whined and walked past him. He ran after you and stood in front of you.

“Then what is it?” He asked as he blocked your path.

“I shouldn’t have to explain it to you. You should know.” You said and tried to move past him.

“But I don’t. Please, baby. I don’t understand.”

You stopped trying to get past him and looked into his glassy eyes. It took everything in you not to unpack the box and stay with him. As much as you wanted to stay, you knew you had to leave.

“Thomas.” You sighed. “I wake up every morning and I have no idea if you love me or not. I can’t keep waiting for you to let me be a part of your life. I have to go.”

You walked past him and went out the front door with him following behind you.

“Please.” He begged. “Don’t leave. I can change.”

“I’ve heard that before.” You said as you walked faster to your car. You tried to open your car door but he put his hand on it to keep it closed.

“It will be different this time.” He assured you. “I promise.”

You looked at all your belongings in the backseat of your car for a minute before looking back at him. He was silently begging you to stay as tears slipped from his eyes.

“I just can’t believe you.” You shook your head. “I’m sorry.”

You walked around the car and got in the front seat but he caught the door before you could shut it.

“But, darling.” He cried. “I love you.”

“And I love you.” You told him. His eyes lit up as he hoped that meant you were changing your mind.

“It’s just not enough.” You continued. His hand slipped off the door in shock, and you were able to shut it. He watched you pull away as tears fell from his eyes, and that’s when he knew he had lost.

2 months later

The boys were sitting around in Harrison’s living room, all mindlessly scrolling through their phones. Tom noticed Harrison’s smile suddenly, then look at Harry and Sam. They shook their heads at him and Harrison quickly put his phone down.

“What?” Tom asked when he noticed the strange interaction. The boys exchanged a look, and silently decided not to lie to him.

“Y/n just congratulated me The Irregulars.” Harrison explained. Tom stiffened when he heard your name and looked to the other boys.

“Yeah.” Harry nodded slowly. “She texted me too. She liked my cameo in Cherry.”

“I wonder how she’s been.” Sam said, earning a glare from Harrison and Harry. Tom let out a defeated sigh and rubbed his face, also wondering how you had been. He couldn’t find the words to say, so he just hung his head in shame.

“Sorry, mate.” Harrison apologized. “I didn’t mean to bring it up.”

“It’s fine.” Tom shrugged as he got up. He grabbed a beer from the refrigerator and sipped it while looking out the window.

“I talked to my friend from work. Remember I told you about Holly?” Sam changed the subject. “She said she’d go out with you tonight if you want.”

“Sure.” Tom replied, hardly listening.

“Give her a chance mate.” Sam suggested. “You might like her.”

“Yeah.” Harry agreed. “Especially since Y/n-“

Harry was cut off with a harsh series of hushes from the other boys. Tom returned his attention to them, knowing they were trying to keep something from him.

“What about Y/n?” He asked.

“Nothing.” Harrison said as he glared at Sam.

“Harry.” Tom singled him out. Harry looked at him apologetically and sighed.

“I heard shes seeing someone.” He admitted. Tom stumbled backwards a little as the wind was knocked out of him. He sat back down in the living room and stared at the wall.

“Dude.” Sam hit his arm.

“He asked.” Harry defended himself. “And he was gonna find out eventually.”

“Tom, you okay?” Harrison asked.

“I’m fine.” Tom replied as he wiped his eyes. “When does that Hazel want to meet?”

“It’s Holly.” Sam corrected. “And she said anytime.”

“All right.” Tom downed the rest of his beer and stood up. “I’m ready. Text me the address.”

“Don’t you want to get dressed?” Harrison asked kindly, noticing Tom’s week old pajamas.

“I am dressed.” Tom gestured to himself.

“When was the last time you showered?” Harry wondered.

“Or shaved?” Sam added.

“Wednesday.” Tom shrugged.

“Mate.” Harrison sighed. “It’s Monday.”

“Well if she doesn’t like me for me, she’s more the one.” Tom gave them a tipsy smile and opened the front door.

“Okay.” Sam said wearily. “Have fun.”

Less than two hours later, Tom stumbled back through the front door and flopped onto the couch.

“Hey, man.” Sam greeted when he heard Tom come in. “How’d it go?”

“Horrible.” Tom mumbled. “She ordered Y/n’s favorite drink and it was downhill from there.”

“Tom.” Sam sighed and rubbed his brothers back.

“Sam.” Tom whined. “I don’t need you to play matchmaker for me. I don’t want anyone else. I want Y/n. I miss her.”

“I’m sorry, mate.” He said. “But it’s over with Y/n. You have to move on.””

“I can’t move on.” Tom teared up again. “I love her.”

“I know you do.” Sam nodded. “But you can love her from a distance.”

“No.” Tom decided as he struggled it stand up. “I have to go to her house. I can talk some sense into her.”

Harry walked into the room right as Sam was trying to reign Tom in.

“What’s he doing?” Harry asked as he helped keep Tom in place.

“He’s drunk.” Sam explained. “And he’s trying to go to Y/n’s house.”

“I have to see her.” Tom slurred and went for the door.

“Woah woah woah.” Harry held him back. “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.”

“She’ll listen to me.” Tom declared. “She’ll listen this time. I know she will.”

“I think you should lie down and get some sleep.” Sam suggested.

“No.” Tom broke free from their grasp. “I’m going to her flat.”

“You can’t drive. You’re drunk.” Harry reminded him.

“I’ll walk.” Tom said as he went out the front door.

“Oh no.” Sam groaned. “Grab him.”

Harry and Sam chased Tom down the hall right as Harrison was coming up the elevator.

“Woah. Where’s he going?” He asked.

“To Y/n’s house.” Harry quickly explained as Tom ran out the front door of the apartment building. “Oh no. He got away!”

The boys quickly ran out of the apartment and searched the street for where Tom had gone.

“Tom!” Harrison called. “Where did you go?”

“Oh God.” Sam spotted him in the distance. “He’s running down the street.”

“Come on.” Harry sighed. “We have to get him.”

The boys chased Tom down the street, but never caught up to them. Even while drunk, he was faster than them. Tom found your apartment building and easily made it past the doorman. The boys finally caught up to him in the hallway by your door.

“Tom.” Harry tugged his arm towards the elevator. “We have to go home.”

“No.” Tom fought back. “I have to see her. I have to get her back.”

“You can’t just show up there.” Harrison protested. “She won’t open the door.”

“I have to talk to her.” Tom slurred. “I have to try.”

“Just let him go.” Sam sighed. “We’re not gonna be able to stop him.”

Harry reluctantly let go of Tom’s arm and let him go to your door.

“Y/n!” Tom called as he knocked on your door. “Open the door please. It’s Thomas.”

“Come on. You saw her door. Let’s go home.” Harry tried to tug him again.

“Y/n!” He ignored Harry and called again.

“She’s not home, mate.” Sam shrugged. “Let’s go.”

“No. I have to see her.” He cried and knocked again. “Y/n. It’s Tommy. Open the door please.”

Suddenly, you opened your front door to see the boys with their arms around Tom, attempting to pull him away.

“Tom?” You asked when your eyes fell on him. Tom’s face softened and for a minute, he was stone cold sober. You couldn’t help but smile a little at him after not seeing him for months.

“We’re sorry.” Harrison apologized. “We couldn’t stop him.”

“Hi darling.” Tom said weakly.

“Hi.” You chuckled a little at the sight in front of you. “Is he drunk?”

“Out of his mind.” Sam confirmed.

“I’m so sorry for everything.” Tom told you. “I’m sorry I drove you to leave.”

“Tommy.” You said softly, finally seeing how broken he was without you. Your heart physically hurt from how badly you missed him.

“Please take me back.” He begged. “I miss you so much. I just want...”

Before he could finish his sentence, he passed out on the floor with a hard thud.

“Oh my God.” You gasped as stated at his limp body. “Is he okay?”

“I’m sorry.” Harrison grabbed his leg and began to tug it. “We’ll take him home.”

“Wait. It’s okay.” You stopped him. “I’ll take care of him.”

“Are you sure?” Sam asked.

“Yeah. I dated him for three years. I know how to take care of him.” You smiled softly.

“All right.” Harrison nodded. “It’s good to see you.”

“You too. I miss you guys.” You said as you pulled them into a group hug.

“We miss you.” Harry said as he patted your back. “Just keep an eye on him, okay? He does this a lot. It’s the first time he’s been able to slip through our fingers.”

“I’ll look after him.” You assured them. “And I’ll see you all soon.”

“See you.” Harrison called as they walked towards your elevator. With the boys gone, you turned your full attention to Tom.

“Come on.” You shook him gently. “It’s time to get up.”

“Y/n?” Tom asked in a daze as he slowly woke up.

“Yeah, it’s me.” You chuckled as you tried to lift him. “God, you’re heavy. Woah, and stinky.”

“I’m sorry.” He mumbled from the ground.

“I know. Stand up.” You commanded, and this time he listened. He slowly stood up and swayed a little on his feet.

“We’re going inside, okay?” You said as you wrapped his arm around your shoulder. “Lean on me.”

You helped Tom into your apartment as he hung on your side like dead weight. His head was buried in your hair as you slowly helped him inside.

“You smell good.” He slurred in your ear.

“I wish I could say the same for you.” You teased as you held your breath. You carefully brought him to your couch and began to set him down.

“All right. Easy does it.” You said as you took his arm off of you and let him sit. Tom slumped on your couch like a rag doll and ran his fingers over the material.

“This is your couch?” He asked sleepily.

“Yeah.” You told him. “The previous owner left it.”

Tom winced a little as he remembered that you no longer lived with him and now had a place of your own.

“It’s nice.” He smiled weakly. “We used to have a couch together.”

“Yeah. We used to have a lot together.” You said softly as you sat next to him on the couch. Even though he was drunk, you could see the remorse in Tom’s eyes. He rubbed your couch with his hand and pouted.

“I miss that.” He mumbled. “I miss you.”

“I know, bear.” You modded. “Me too.”

“It’s been so long since you called me that.” He smiled a little when he heard his old nickname from your lips.

“I know.” You chuckled. “We haven’t talked in a while.”

“It’s my fault.” His smile fell. “I fucked everything up.”

“Yeah.” You said quietly. “You did.”

“I’m so sorry.” He told you. “I’ll never stop being sorry.”

“I’d be a lot more willing to forgive you if you took a shower.” You scrunched your nose at him.

“I can do that.” He laughed in his drunken state and tried to stand up. He almost fell over, but you quickly caught him.

“Come on.” You laughed as helped him walk towards the bathroom. “Into the bathroom.”

You lead him into the bathroom and let him lean against you as you walked. You told him it was to help keep him on his feet, but you really just missed his touch.

“Okay.” You pushed the bathroom door open. “We’re here. This is my shower.”

Tom stared at it for a minute as if he’d never seen a shower before.

“How do I use it?” He looked to you for help.

“You just turn the knob.” You laughed and turned the knob towards the hot water.

“Thats too much responsibility for me”. Tom mumbled under his breath.

“Its okay. It’s already warm.” You said as you ran your hand under the water. “Shampoo and conditioner are on the floor. The soap is in the dish.”

As you turned around, you saw Tom tangled up in his shirt with his arms crossed.

“Oh no.” You chuckled. “What happened here?”

“I’m stuck.” His voice was muffled behind the shirt over his head.

“I can see that. Come here.” You gestured for him to come over and he stumbled towards you. You helped him pull his shirt the rest of the way off, reminding you of that way you used to be. He flushed a little under your gaze, feeling more vulnerable than ever.

“You stink.” You scrunched your nose up again when his must hit you.

“I know.” He smiled a little. “Sorry.”

“I took one of your razors by accident. It’s in the cabinet behind the mirror.” You told him. “Use it, please. You look like a pedophile.”

“I’ll use it.” He said, never taking his eyes off you. You stared back at him as you fought the urge to lean in and kiss him right there. You took a step back before you could get ahead of yourself and patted his chest.

“Okay.” You smiled shyly at him. “Have fun in there.”

“I’ll try.” He called after you as you left the bathroom.

When Tom came out of the shower, there was a pile of his clothes sitting on the counter. You had stolen enough of his clothes to throw together an outfit for him. Next to the clothes was a glass of water and some aspirin. He got dresses, popped the pills in his mouth and downed the water before finding his razor in the cabinet.

Once he was done, he padded back into your kitchen and found you sitting at the island.

“There you are.” You smiled at him. “Much better.”

“I feel better.” He told you. “I puked in your toilet though.”

“Well then it’s a good thing I made you some food to fill back up.” You said as you put a plate of eggs and toast in front of him. He looked at you gratefully before digging in.

“Thank you so much.” He said with a mouthful. “I haven eaten in hours.”

“Really? You didn’t eat on your date?” You asked as you put another glass of water by his plate.

“I was hardly even there.” He shook his head. “I drank half the bar though. Wait, how did you know about my date?”

“Harry tells me everything.” You chuckled. “I knew you were on your way here before you even left.”

“Damn.” He laughed as well. You sat in comfortably silence until Tom remembered what drove him to get drunk in the first place. “He told me you were seeing someone.” He said without making eye contact with you.

“It’s not serious.” You shrugged. “It’s only been a few dates.”

Tom felt sick to his stomach as you confirmed his worst nightmare.

“Does he call when he says he will?” He laughed humorlessly.

“Yeah.” You smiled sadly. “And he texts me too.”

“Wow.” Tom rolled his eyes and took a bite of his toast. You got up and poured hot water into a mug before putting his favorite tea bag in it.

“And he owns his own business so he works whatever hours he wants.” You continued as you set the mug in front of him. “No weeks away in other cities.”

“He sounds perfect.” Tom mumbled as he took a sip of his tea.

“Yeah.” You nodded as you sat back down. “I wouldn’t really know, though.”

“Why not?” Tom perked up.

“Cause when I’m with him, all I think about is you.” You said sheepishly. Tom froze and looked at you hopefully when he heard you say this. You gave him a small smile and leaned your chin in your hand, raising your eyebrow a little to tell him the ball was in his court.

“I don’t deserve a second chance from you.” He shook his head. “I don’t deserve any of this.”

“Maybe not.” You agreed. “But I’m giving you one anyway.”

“Why are you being so nice to me?” He wondered. “You never had to open the door. But you let me in, cleaned me up and made me all this food. I broke your heart, remember? Why would you do all this for me?”

“Because I love you.” You said simply. “And l’ve been miserable without you. I should’ve stayed and worked things out. I can’t tell you how much I regret leaving like that.”

“It’s okay.” He nodded and put his hand on top of yours. “It was my fault. I drove you to leave. But I promise, if you come back, everything will be different. I’ll call you so much, you’ll get sick of me. And I’ll start taking you with me when I work. No more months away. I promise.”

“I really want to believe you.” You sighed and toyed with his fingers. “I already know you’re sorry. You left me about 40 voicemails telling me that you are. You’re lucky I haven’t turned one into a song yet.”

“I guess I am pretty lucky.” He chuckled slightly.

“I still might.” You teased. “Next time you piss me off, I’m making a single out of “y/nnnn. I miss you. Please take me back” and getting on the charts.”

“Please don’t.” He whined as he got out of his seat and walked around the kitchen island to be near you.

“As long as you keep your word and make some changes, I won’t have to.” You smiled softly now that he was close to you.

“Thank you for letting me in tonight.” He spoke softly as he eyes stayed on your lips. “Thank you for everything.”

“You’re welcome, bear.” Your lips tugged into a full smile. You wrapped your arms around his neck and rested your forehead against his, relishing in his warmth. Tom took the initiative to lean forward and kiss you for the first time in two months. Three actually, since he’d been away working. You pulled him closer to deepen the kiss, feeling like you never wanted to pull away.

“Thank you for taking me back. I love you so much.” He mumbled against your lips. You rested your head on his shoulder and gently swayed with him in the kitchen, missing him more than words can say.

“I love you too, bear.”

Tag List 🏷

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[clairecrive]

"Bookish talks"- Billy Russo x reader

A/n: again, not requested but the idea popped into my mind after reading @faulty-coding piece. (I think)

Warnings: a bit of angst, misunderstandings but fluffy ending

Word count: 1.5k +

Tagging: @thefictionalgemini , @tarkanelima-blog , @pansysgirlfriend , @acciorudolphx (if you want, you can add yourself to my taglist by filling this form)

My masterlists are here.

"Yeah, she's been going on and on about this book. I've got five more minutes to go."

Well, the things you find out when you turn up where you're not supposed to be.

To be fair, you didn't mean to eavesdrop. When you got out that morning you had forgotten to take your wallet. Here explained why you had returned not even ten minutes from where you first walked out. You didn't even think that Billy would be still at home, so you didn't bother with announcing yourself.

And look what a surprise you were met with.

Taking your wallet, you hurried out of Billy's apartment set on not hearing anymore.

*+* *+* *+*

The day passed as it normally would. You had pushed back Billy's words in your mind because you had work to do. It wouldn't be smart to unpack what it meant so early in the morning when you had so much to do.

You weren't mad per se. You were rather hurt that he had never told you that he didn't enjoy your talks about the latest book you were reading. So yeah, let's add "stupid and guilty" under your current mood. You didn't want to put Billy in a position where he had to bear with something he didn't like. But how were you meant to know if he didn't talk to you?

This is not the moment, you reprimanded yourself with a shake of your head.

Coherent with your routine though, at six, Billy's call came. Of course, he acted normally, nothing had happened for him, after all.

"So, you coming around tonight?"

"Nope, book club meeting tonight."

"Oh, right. Was kinda hoping you'd ditch them."

"They're my outlet for my book nerdiness, Billy. Wouldn't want to annoy anyone with my craze over books."

"Who said you do?"

"You did."

It wasn't your intention to confront him on the matter over the phone. It was an instant reaction.

Billy didn't gasp but the silence you were met with was more than enough to show you that he'd been taken aback.

"Y/n-"

"It's okay, Billy. I don't mind if you don't like listening to me talking about books. I just wish you would have told me. I wouldn't be feeling so stupid and guilty for all the time I've made you waste now if you had."

"You didn't waste my time."

From that moment, things between you had Billy went back to normal. Sort of. He hadn't confronted you on the matter anymore and of course, you wouldn't bring it back up. So you settled in your usual routine, without of course any mention of books.

"Mh," looking at the clock on your desk you noticed that if you only have half an hour to finish your last assignment and before you need to leave, " I've got to go now, Billy. I'll talk to you soon." You ended the call without waiting for a response.

*+* *+* *+*

You were currently on Billy's sofa, leaning on him while you watched a documentary on Ancient Rome. It was interesting and it made you think about a book you had read on the subject a while ago. You opened your mouth to share your thoughts with Billy but a flashback of his words stopped you.

What if he hated it when you did that too?

"You're awfully quiet tonight." His voice startled you from your thoughts.

"A bit tired."

"Haven't got any anecdotes for me tonight?"

"Nope."

Your eyes didn't leave the tv screen. Yes, the documentary was interesting but you also didn't want Billy to know that you were lying. He had the uncanny ability of sensing whenever you weren't being genuine.

Out of the blue, the documentary stopped and the sound of the control hitting the coffee table told you that it was Billy who had paused it.

His hands grabbed your arms and pulled you away from him so that he could look you in the eyes.

"You're holding back."

"You're holding me back." Was your witty yet unnecessary reply. Billy's jaw clenched but the grip on your arms didn't tighten.

"Is this about the book thing?"

"We're watching a documentary, Billy. Why would it be about the book thing?"

"You always have something to say when we watch this stuff. Something you've read somewhere, some time ago." He explained, quoting you.

"I don't want you to feel like you can't tell me stuff," he added more softly when you didn't speak.

"Oh, I know I can. You just bitch about it with your friends whenever I do though."

His eyes squinted lightly, if his hands weren't on you, you probably would have missed how his shoulders tensed too.

"So it is about the book thing," he murmured releasing your arms.

"Well, Billy, you've basically fallen under the category of the white man who complains about how annoying his girlfriend is to his friends."

"I've not said you're annoying."

"You might as well have," you huffed crossing your arms, turning away from him.

"I know I sounded like an asshole but that's not what I meant. I really don't mind when you go off for ten minutes on some book you're reading."

"Spare me the bullshit, Billy. You don't have to lie to not hurt my feelings. It's too late for that anyway."

"I'm not lying." he insisted offended by your accusation but you didn't bother responding to him.

Billy sighed, one of his hands wiped over his face as he, no doubt, was trying to think of how to make this right. But maybe it was your time to speak.

"I realise that me sharing every thought or little thing that happens can be overwhelming." Fiddling with the fingers of your hands, you tried to find the right words.

"When me and Karen chose our university major, I was sure that our friendship was going to end. It happens, you take different paths and suddenly you go from best friends t someone you say hi to whenever you meet them around." You stopped to look at him. Bily's eyes were solely focused on you, so you continued.

"To avoid that, we developed a sort of routine where we would tell each other about our days, what we did, the things that happened, people we had met and stuff like that. We'd usually met once a week if not more often and this way we managed to strengthen our relationship and here we are after ten years, still best friends."

"Even if we went our separate ways, neither of us felt left out or behind from the other's life. I knew her friends even if I hadn't met them and since she told me everything I felt like I was as part of her life as I was when we shared every class together."

"I'm a rather introverted and reserved person, Billy. I'm sure you gathered that by now. I guess sharing this kind of things, books I read, things I do and stuff is my way of making you an active presence in my life. Because I care about you and I wouldn't want you to feel left out. Also because I don't feel the need to filter myself around you." A pause. "Well, did."

During your soliloquy, you didn't meet Billy's eyes. It felt deeply personal to share this with him but you hoped it would help him understand. Not necessarily make him enjoy your bookish talk but to make him at least not think of you as annoying.

Billy didn't speak. He had let you have your moment because it was clear that there were things you had been keeping to yourself. You hadn't been dating for long, only a couple of months, so you were still getting to know each other.

Yes, Billy wasn't exactly a bibliophile but he enjoyed the thought of being someone you trusted so much to the point where you're not afraid of opening up.

He really wanted to kick himself for having ruined that. For making you feel like a burden.

Leaning towards you, he gently turned your face to him.

"What you've heard the other day was me explaining to Frankie what I was doing." His voice was soft as if he was afraid that he'd ruin the intimate atmosphere by speaking louder.

"I was listening to your message about that book and yes, it was seven minutes long and yes, you were going on and on about a character's motives and his psychology but I didn't mean to imply it was annoying." His eyes flickered between yours and he seemed truthful enough but you were still hesitant.

"It's okay if you don't enjoy it, Billy. My father hates whenever I do that but that doesn't mean that he loves me any less." You offered him another way out.

"Well, I guess this is why you told me you're not looking for a man like your father."

"Are we good?" He murmured, eyes flickering between yours. You nodded leaning into his touch.

"Trust me, you're nothing like my father." you chuckled, accepting his words for what you knew knew they implied.

Smiling at you, Billy's hands reaching to cup your cheeks.

"Do you promise to talk to me if there's something wrong?" You asked him, needing the reassurance.

"Don't I always talk your ears off when you leave your stuff hanging around?" True enough but you needed him to say it.

"I promise." He conceded, nose bumping into yours before kissing you softly.

"So, got any fun fact to share?" He asked you again, pointing to the tv with his head.

"I've got a few, yes." You shily smiled at him.

"Hit me." Leaning back on the sofa, he got comfortable as he encouraged you to speak.

[infernal-fire]

suburban dream

summary: how do you wake up from a nightmare? is it a nightmare if you’ve been asleep the whole time?

major warnings: noncon/dubcon smut, stalking, mention of pregnancy, some cum play (check the prompts for indications of other warnings)

a/n: this is for @iraot​’s 1.1k writing challenge. BIG congrats on 1.1k (i cannot explain how glad i am that others get to read your amazing work) and another BIG thank you for hosting this challenge.

Here are the results of my wheel spins:

Kink wheel: daddy kink, somnophilia, breeding kink Character wheel: Jake Jensen Situation wheel: Neighbours AU

You let out a breath of relief as you dropped the last brown box into the corner of the room. How you managed to own this much stuff, you’d never know. Glanced around the living room, it was difficult to decide where to begin. After much contemplation, you huffed and picked up the pizza catalogue, deciding to call it a day. 

It was unbearable to leave the house in the mess that it was. On the other hand, your right hip wailed in agony every time you bent down. Lacking the much-needed support of friends or family, you had no option but to suck it up and unpack… but that can wait till tomorrow. 

Fishing out just the necessities for the night, you climbed up the stairs and headed into the master bedroom. Massive house for one person, you noted. You did insist that an apartment would suffice but Tony was a stickler for rules.

All Stark employees have to be residents of a Stark-Jensen neighbourhood. 

Before getting the job, you weren’t even aware that “Stark-Jensen” neighbourhoods were a thing; it was a term coined by the tech company itself, referring to neighbourhoods that are protected by Stark-Jensen technology. The crime rate in these neighbourhoods are always startlingly low, the odd criminal or two being from inside the community itself. All things considered, how could you say no to free housing? 

Sure, the security measures assured that you never had to worry, but it also made you wonder why they were there in the first place. This place was as secure as the Stark Tower; why? You tried not to ask too many questions, afraid of getting on Tony’s bad side. Besides, it isn’t characteristic of him to give you a straight answer anyway. 

Life is good, your most harrowing concern at the moment being that your new place had no curtains. It had been a long time since things were calm and you were just recognizing that your days had been free of storms for some time now. Counting your blessings for the second time that night, you stepped into the shower and reminded yourself of all the things to be grateful for. 

To say you were in a good mood was an understatement. You finished your night routine right as the pizza was delivered and excitedly skipped down. No one told you how fun living alone was but they didn’t need to - you quickly found that independence is a glorious necessity in everyone’s life.

Jake stood bewildered at your person throwing the door open. He gripped the pizza box tight to ensure he didn’t drop it and continued to look at you like you had grown a third head. He never was very good with his words, but your beauty truly inhibited his ability to think.

“Hi?” you asked.

“Hey, I-I’m your neighbour, Jake. Saw that you were moving in and I came to ask if you need any help.” 

“Oh,” you contemplated, looking past him. “Where’s the pizza person?”

“I paid for it. Housewarming gift?” he  said like a question and handed it over. 

You received the warm box and waited for him to say something as he fiddled with his hands. His smile looks so familiar but you couldn’t place your finger on it. 

“So…Do you need help?” He looked up right at the end. You grinned at how shy he was.

“I would really appreciate the help tomorrow,” you replied casually. 

“Oh, so… I’ll come by tomorrow morning?” He looked hopeful, as if you were the one handing him the olive branch. You took a once-over of his build, sure that he would come handy when your hip gives up again and nodded in response. 

He nodded back slowly and turned around to leave, but seeing him at your doorstep felt eerily similar to a puppy left out in the rain. 

“I don’t think I can finish this pizza alone,” you called out. He turned around, a glint of happiness apparent in the shine of his eyes. 

“Do you have time to help me with this right now?” It was your turn to look hopeful and you really hoped this cutie took the bait.

He did. 

You couldn’t ignore the nagging at the back of your head that you had seen him somewhere. You also couldn’t dismiss the fact that dinner together was just a little awkward. The conversation started off with small talk, and it didn’t take a genius to tell that neither of you enjoyed it. Luckily, it shifted to talks about the neighbourhood and your old job. After that, the words flowed easily, the two of you bonding like you had known each other forever. Although it was smooth sailing, you couldn’t help but wonder how he knows so much about the neighbourhood security measures. When he mentioned that he had lived there for about 6 years, you chalked it up to a simple accumulation of knowledge he must’ve acquired from being around for so long. 

“So everyone who lives around here works for Stark-Jensen, right?” you questioned, trailing your finger on the rim of your second wine glass for the night.

“Yeah, for the most part. Though it’s hard to tell who works for who.”

You chuckled in agreement.

“What is it with that? I mean, I work for Stark, and my colleagues, too… but exclusively for Stark. Jensen does exist right?”

“Yeah,” he snickered, “He does. Stark makes the tech and Jensen does the coding.”

“So they’re a two-man team, but Tony’s the face of the company? Seems sort of unfair,” you muttered, quirking your brow a little. 

Jake smiled at your comment, glanced at his hands and looked back up at you. 

“Maybe he wants it to be that way.” He nudged his glasses up and took a little sip of his wine while peering at you. 

You cocked your head to the side and considered the information. Your head was hazy and you needed to stop drinking; alcohol and cute guys are not a good mix. 

“Wait.” You squinted at him. 

“Does that mean you’re a Stark-Jensen employee?” 

He let out a chortle and took your glass from you. 

“Hey, hey I want that back!” you whined, not even caring that you’re embarrassing yourself. 

“I think that’s enough for today.” He gently helped you up, waiting for you to move. 

“I can usually handle my liquor,” you promised, clinging onto his broad form for support. 

He started moving you up to your lone mattress in the corner of your room, softly laying you down. 

“Jake,” you caught his arm. “You didn’t answer the question. Do you work for Stark-Jensen?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

You pouted at his answer, still gripping his wrist like you owned him. He tenderly pried your fingers off him and placed them on your belly. 

“See you tomorrow,” he mumbled as he left your room. You drifted asleep easily, blissfully unaware of how you’d never be able to live down the humiliation of your drunken stupor. 

The next day, you hoped Jake wouldn’t show up. It would save you from the burning heat that crept up your neck every time you recalled the night before.

Unfortunately, Jake had found it way too amusing an opportunity to tease you, showing up at your doorstep at 10 AM on the dot. 

The day went on without a hitch, the conversation picking up easily from where you left off. Jake found it endearing when you groaned at the mention of your state, only after three glasses of wine. The question of his employment never crossed your mind again, both of you having way too much fun unpacking. You felt ten times better knowing that your neighbour was a loveable, single, hunky nerd; it made the stress of settling in that much better. 

Of course, like all good things, the weekend came to an end. Monday morning, you eagerly prepped yourself for a new week at the office. Being Tony’s right hand took five rounds of interviews as well as background checks into every living relative you had. After the turbulent hiring process, you found that the job was not any easier. Luckily, the move had you feeling more thankful about being in sync with all the Stark tech; with FRIDAY managing your house and personal appointments, it was easier to keep track of Tony’s day. 

You stepped out of the house and shielded your eyes from the beautiful day. Just then, your lovely new friend stepped onto his porch wearing casual attire.

“Have fun at work!” he called after you.

“Thanks! Are you going to work?”

“Yes, I am.” You took in his outfit one more time, chuckling as you wondered what job would pay enough to live here while dressed in sweats.

“Well, in case I don’t see ya’... Good afternoon, good evening and good night!” you exclaim loudly. 

Jake giggled like a schoolboy and waved goodbye before ducking into his car. 

Tony’s 10 AM meeting has been pushed to 11 AM, Miss L/N. 

“No, no, that won’t do! He has another meeting at 12 PM, the timing will clash. FRIDAY, who was he supposed to meet at 10 AM?”

Speaking to the AI felt more like talking to yourself, but with time, you assured yourself that it would look as cool as Stark when handling your things.

He’s meeting Mr Jensen, the co-founder of Stark-Jensen. I believe you have not met him yet. 

“Yeah, I haven’t. Could you call him for me, FRIDAY?”

Sorry Miss L/N, Mr Jensen’s phone is switched off. He has already notified Tony of the change in plans. 

“What an asshole,” you grumbled. 

On the contrary, I think you would like Mr Jensen, Miss L/N.

“You can just call me Y/N, FRIDAY. Oh, and, send out a notification to all of today’s meeting hosts and tell them to push it by one hour. If they complain, send them my number to take up any problems they have.” 

It’ll be done by the time you reach your office. 

“Thank you,” you smiled and pulled into your parking spot, right beside Tony’s. 

It was hard to imagine what would’ve happened today if Tony didn’t give you access to FRIDAY. Calling each meeting host and personally asking them to push their meetings seemed like a tedious and mind-bending task. And frankly, you didn’t ever look forward to talking to Karen’s. But now, you would never have to know; FRIDAY was an absolute godsend. 

You stepped onto the other side of security clearance just as the clock struck 9 AM. Strutting up to your office, you made a mental checklist of everything you need to do during the day. Usually, Tony didn’t require you to sit in for his meetings. He has a different set of assistants for note-taking purposes. 

Too consumed by your thoughts, you didn’t notice the large picture of Jake and Tony sitting side by side on the wall beside the elevators. You also didn’t notice Jake’s smirk as he passed by you with ease. He would’ve stopped to say hi, but he knew that you didn’t realize who he was yet. Now he just had to figure out a way to get you to show up to his and Tony’s meeting and give you the heart attack of a lifetime. 

Beep, beep.

The Stark-watch buzzed on your wrist, letting you know that Tony was calling for you. You had barely even stepped into the elevator and he was already whining like a baby. 

You shook your head and stepped into the doorframe of his lab.

“Come here!” his voice called from the far end of a lab. Your suspicions of him being under the work table were confirmed when he wheeled out on his back and handed you a wrench. 

“Do me a favour. Tighten this for me?” 

He handed you the arm of an Iron Man suit, what you assumed was his latest mark. He already lived at the lab as it was, you wondered how he ever had time for Pepper. 

“Come on, put your arm into it L/N! You know what, you’re distracted, give it here.”

“Did you call me here to tighten your screws?” You shifted your weight onto one leg and crossed your arms. It was sassy of you, but Tony’s assistant needs to have some backbone, famously said by Rhodey.

“Well, you know me, screws always loose.” He knocked on his head and chuckled at his own joke. You sighed and turned to walk out. 

“I need you to sit in for my 11 o’clock. And cancel everything else today.”

You gasped and turned again, marching to where he was lying down. 

“Tony Stark, you have no regard for anyone’s time! I already pushed everything back by one hour because of your buddy Jensen and now you’re asking me to cancel everything?”

“I know, and I agree. I wish I could go to the mind-numbing meetings with corporate clowns, but I want to show you and Jensen something cool.”

He stopped fiddling with his toy just long enough to glance at you. 

You sighed and called for FRIDAY, groaning for the umpteenth time since that morning. Why were you acting like this was the first time he’s done this? It was probably your lack of energy from moving. You couldn’t wait to get home and maybe call Jake over for dinner. Now that you considered this possibility, time seemed to pass slower, but at least there was something worthwhile to look forward to. 

When 10:55 rolled around, you were sitting in Tony’s lab, patiently waiting as Tony set up his latest invention for demonstration. 

“Where’s your buddy?” you asked, checking your watch for the time again. 

“On his way,” he replied without turning away from his work. 

He paused and took a step back to admire his work before facing you. 

“You haven’t met Jake, have you?”

“Jake?”

Right on cue, Jake walked through the doors of the labs and you whipped around to find your grinning friend.

“Howdy neighbour,” Jake sneered. 

“Oh, right. You live beside each other,” Tony muttered as he gathered some more things from his desk. 

You shamelessly inhaled the pinewood and vanilla-infused scent of Jake as he sat down beside you. To have him so close to you was a dangerous thing, your cunt unknowingly clenching every time he moved his biceps. 

“Stop making heart-eyes at him.”

You threw whatever was in your hand at Tony’s head, and it happened to be a pen. It narrowly missed as he ducked and doubled over in laughter at your embarrassment. The bastard took sick pleasure in it so he often made it a point to humiliate you, but it usually wasn’t in front of the co-CEO of the world’s largest tech company. 

The rest of your time in that lab went on without any heart attacks - as far as anyone knew, the slick between your thighs doesn’t account for a ‘heart attack’, per se. You shouldn’t even be thinking about Jake like that. He was technically your boss too. 

Tony dismissed you at lunch and told you to take the rest of the day off, much to your delight. You slid into your car and dropped your head onto the steering wheel.

You had barely moved into the neighbourhood and you’re already finding ways to be fired.

~Time skip~

You sighed and laid back in the over-the-top maternity chair Jake got you for feeding. Your baby gurgled as curled his little fingers into his palm before knocking on your breast once. With a light chuckle, you cooed as the little bundle began falling asleep. 

This was the only place in the house that had a sliver of sunlight gracing the inside of the house. 

You could have outdoor privileges if you didn’t pull that little stunt. 

Could you really blame yourself for trying to leave? How were you to know that it’s impossible to leave a Stark-Jensen neighbourhood?

Because it says “Stark-Jensen” in the name, you dumbass. 

Fair enough.

You lost count of how many times you sigh on the daily, instead opting to count the number of times you’re able to hold off a mental breakdown. Today, you got the rare privilege of privacy, with Jake being gone to another one of Stark’s presentation.

You reminisced about the last time you sat in Tony’s lab and watched him explain his latest creation. Little did you know that the first time you sat with Jake in there would also be the last time you ever sat in there. 

You gently placed the Jim in the cradle. Again, one of the many over-the-top investments made by Jake to ensure the baby got state-of-the-art care. The way Jensen had made you sit beside him as he put the contraption together almost had you lurching. But you didn’t want to wake the baby. The horridness of the memories cannot outweigh your will to keep Jimmy from crying.

“Look at it!”, Jake excitedly spun the box to show you. It must’ve cost an unreasonable amount of money - not that he couldn’t spare to spend the coin, but the purchase confirmed your worst suspicions; he was serious about this all. 

Your eyes, puffy from the days of crying, were barely open. Yet you still nodded, figuring that if you put up with his enthusiasm now, he’ll let you go to sleep without raping you like he did every night. 

Anyway, you were wrong. 

When did everything go so wrong?; How?

You picked up your phone. Your eyes flickered between the only two contacts saved on it. Jake made sure you couldn’t do anything except call him or Tony.

You missed your ex-boss (who was always more of a friend to you). But, it was obvious that calling him wasn’t worth it and would rarely yield any fruitful conversation. Tony always spoke as if he were walking on glass around you and your words were always monitored and censored by Jake. It didn’t take long to figure that one out. 

“I don’t know what happened, Tony, she’s just unhinged,” Jake explained over the phone. In the background, you struggled against the bonds that held you to his bedframe. You sobbed harder into your gag and tried to scream ‘help’. All that came out was a shriek. 

“You hear her? She’s completely unfit to come into work… What happened? I don’t know man… She’s breaking down under all the stress. A few days of rest might do the trick. No, no, you don’t have to come down. I’ll take care of it.” 

He ended the call and you went limp, pausing your hysteria. He smiled at you as if he hadn’t kidnapped you. As if he hadn’t just made Tony believe that you were off your rockers. As if he hadn’t just fucked you five times over the span of 48 hours. 

He had planned every step of your entrapment to the letter and it was all going according to his plan.

You put your phone facedown on the dining table and walked back upstairs to your room. His room. Your room, too. 

Never, you internally screamed.

Well, it’s too late to debate it. 

You stood at the foot of your bed and traced the footboard. He took you countless amount of times on this bed and every instance held some clue that he was working up to what was happening now. You could see that now - but what was the point now?

You giggled as Jake pushed you onto his bed. Who knew this golden retriever could be so rough?

“Shhshshshhh” you slurred and Jake laughed in response. 

“Tony’s not here, baby,” he replied, climbing on top of you. 

“We’re not gonna get fired?” 

“He can’t fire me, sweetheart.”

“Oh… yeah.” You frowned, remembering that your risqué relationship was only risky for you. 

In your drunken haze, you didn’t realize Jake was rubbing his bulbous tip against your folds, gathering slick. 

“Condom?” 

“Don’t have,” Jake lied. 

“Oh,” you hesitated. 

“It’ll feel so good, baby.” He nuzzled his nose into the crook of your neck and sunk in before you had the chance to protest. 

“Jakeeee,” you whined. Writhing under his grasp, you shook your head side-to-side as he vigorously fucked into you. 

He abruptly stopped and pulled out. “What have I said about saying my name?”

“I’m sorry, daddy,” you sheepishly say. 

“That’s right, slut. You’re gonna make me a daddy, right?” He pushed back in. 

“Yeah, you are. Gonna make me a daddy, so call me daddy.”

The implication of his words flew right over your head in your drunken haze and blank mind. Any ounce of sense that you had left was being fucked out by his thick length. 

“Gonna blow my load. Fill you tight cunt, not gonna last long.”

His words were broken with loud moans. He couldn’t think straight with your warm, wet pussy inviting him in over and over. 

As you shook from an overwhelming orgasm, your pussy involuntarily clenched, causing Jake to lose any last bit of restraint he was holding onto. He pushed in as far as he could go as you flailed around. He pinned your arms down and pressed his mouth into yours, delivering a hot and heavy kiss that had you panting. 

He pulled out, but the string of cum that followed made you blanch. You never were one for cum play. Still, you didn’t protest when Jake pushed everything back in with two fingers. 

“Gotta’ make sure you’re full baby.”

You shake your head now, but again, what’s the point? It’s all done and dusted. Though, you should give yourself some credit. Even if you had realized earlier, it wouldn’t have made a difference. He would’ve realized that you knew before you could’ve even thought about escaping.

As you drifted asleep, you adjusted the volume of the baby monitor one last time and slumped into the fluffy pillows. 

How do you wake up from dreams? Was it by pinching yourself? You couldn’t wake up from the nightmare that was your reality when you pinched yourself. You doubted that would work right now. You couldn’t recall how to open your eyes. Instead, you whimpered in your sleep, reliving the moment Jake finally revealed his ulterior motive

“You did what?” Jake was seething, but the only indication of it was his clenching jaw and red face. His tone was the perfect embodiment of the calm before a storm. 

“I know you aren’t happy… but Jake, you- you’re always talking about babies and a family. It was so overwhelming and I… I-I…” You were shivering now, unable to withstand the heat of his glare. You had never been on the receiving end of his anger. Hell, you had never even seen him angry. 

“I didn’t have an abortion, Jake, for god’s sake stop looking at me like a killed a baby! Plan B is not a crime. I’m only even bringing this up because I started on birth control anyway. Plan B every time we have sex is just not practical or feasible.”

At this point, you could’ve been speaking to a wall. Jake still hadn’t said anything and you were beginning to wonder if he had even been listening. 

“I can’t believe I didn’t notice,” he whispered, at last. 

“What?”

“I watch you do everything, I can’t believe I didn’t know about the Plan B.”

“What… What are you saying?”

“I said,” Jake stood up, “I’ve basically been watching you 24/7. And I don’t know how I didn’t notice this.” 

“What do you mean watching me?” Tears in your waterline were threatening to blur your vision but you blinked furiously in an attempt to keep looking Jake in the eyes.

 “You think FRIDAY works for you?” 

Jake leisurely cracked each knuckle and took a step towards you. You took one back. 

“Oh, now, don’t be like that.”

You woke from your nightmare that was the boiling pot and jumped straight into the fire. Jake was already moving in and out of your channel, moaning about how he missed you too much. 

You tried to adjust yourself but he caught your arms and pulled out just long enough to flip you onto your stomach. 

When he pushed back in, the hopelessness of your life manifested as tears; it happens every once in a while. 

Today, you had a new record: you were able to hold off a total of 7 breakdowns.

But, of course, that was right before he pinched you awake every time.

Masterlist

[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)

[drabbles-of-writing]

Stitched Back Together

AO3

first Owl Fight attack, woo! The prompt for this one was “Luz and Raine hanging out”

Summary: Free of Kikimora's control, with scars carved into their skin, Raine is taken back to the Owl House. Awake in the middle of the night, unable to sleep after their whole ordeal, they officially meet Luz. Talking to one of Eda's kids really shouldn't be as intimidating as it feels.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

When Raine first saw the kids, truly and consciously, there were thorns retreating from their eyes and scars etched onto their skin as Eda held them tightly.

Eda’s sclera had turned black, hands hooked into talons with wings arched over their heads, and was at least two feet taller than when they had last seen her. And there had been a lot to ask about there, and possibly some gawking, but this isn’t about that.

Because as soon as Raine could stand, Eda holding their hands tightly and almost brought to tears at how relieved she was to see them alright, to know there would be no more harm done to them, Raine noticed the two figures far across from them, holding back the few guards trying to intervene.

They recognized them quickly, from the photo that had twisted a hole into their chest, because Eda had kids and she had spoken of them with such desperation and love--

The girl had turned, and Raine knew then they hadn’t been imagining the round ears when they first saw the photo. She had the young demon they recognized earlier clinging to her back, and they both looked at Raine with confusion. The demon’s had been accusatory, but the humans, she had to be a human, looked nothing but curious.

It had all passed by in a blur, the escape from the guards and Eda bundling them into the Owl House, frantic as she continued to check them over, never slowing in her talking as the wings and sharp edges retreated back into her body, which Raine may have quietly mourned the loss of. They suited her.

The human and demon had watched from the background, occasionally offering assistance towards or around the two, but more or less giving them space as Eda fretted and explained all she could to Raine, clinging like she was afraid if she didn’t, Raine would vanish again.

They heard of what Kikimora had done to them, of what Belos had done to them, of what they had done. Of Eda’s acceptance of the curse, of the rest of the BATs being in the Conformatorium (something they both agreed on fixing as soon as they could), of everything that Eda could think to catch them up on.

There would be time to unpack all of that, to formulate plans, to talk about everything beyond what Raine had missed out on. But that could wait until another day, could wait until Raine had gotten rest, and a moment to reorient themselves.

And yet, they still found themself in Eda’s kitchen, nearing midnight, with a cup of tea that looked suspiciously like the one Lilith had liked in their hands.

They knew they should be asleep, it was late, and knowing Eda, there would be far more to fret about in the morning. Eda had offered her nest, but Raine had taken the couch, not exactly willing to voice their opinion on how Eda’s nest did not look comfortable.

They were thankful for it later, too, when they awoke after barely an hour of sleep with the feeling of vines wrapped around their throat and muffled, begging cries as their hands moved of their own accord.

They sighed and slumped against the counter, setting down the cup for a moment to rub at their wrist, where scars from the reaching thorns still lay. They faded the further the scars stretched up their body, but they figured the ones along their wrist and arm would last for the rest of their life.

It wasn’t too bad, a scar was really the best thing they could’ve asked for. They stared down at their tea, thoughts swirling and not even bothering to try and sort any of them out. Later, when their wrist didn’t have a phantom ache.

“Oh, hey.”

Raine startled, almost knocking their cup over as they whirled their head around.

The human stood in the doorway, looking a bit surprised at Raine’s reaction. She had clearly just woken up, hair a frizzy mess and eyes still blinking with sleep.

“Oh, um, hello.” Raine said, forcing themself to relax. “Sorry, is there something you need?” They asked, wrapping a hand around their tea.

“I just came here for a snack,” The human shrugged, breezing right by the counter and towards the cabinets. 

Raine nodded, mostly just to themself, and went back to staring into space, trying to pretend the awkward tension hadn’t suddenly arisen.

They realized after a moment that the girl had paused in what she was doing, hand still in the cabinet door, but taking nothing out. They looked up for a moment, and caught the girl watching them with a contemplative look on her face until she realized she had been staring and jerked back to shuffling through the cabinets.

“So,” Raine said, in some attempt to break the tension, leaning their arms across the counter. “You’re Eda’s kid?” They said, grimacing slightly at how off that had come off sounding.

“Er, yeah,” The human said, frowning at the cabinet before shutting it again and opening a different one. “And you’re...Raine.”

“You’ve heard of me, then?” Raine guessed, taking a sip of their tea.

“Vaguely,” The human admitted, opening another cabinet door. “I know you’re--er, were, the head of the Bard Coven. I know Eda mentioned some group called the BATs you lead. I know that...Eda knows you.” She said, voice becoming more mumbly as she spoke.

“Ah, Eda didn’t speak of me much, then?” Raine inquired, telling themself that they shouldn't really be surprised.

“Not until you, uh, had the whole...thing happening.” The girl nodded. “Then Eda got really worried and me and King asked why she was so worked up, and then she told us you were an old friend, which I maybe halfway trust, and that you had this group with the BATs...and I still don’t think I understand it completely.” She admitted with a sheepish look.

“Sounds like Eda.” Raine chuckled, shaking their head slightly as they smiled down at their tea. “Wait, halfway trust?” They added right after, back straightening.

“I mean, I trust you mean a lot to Eda,” The human said, her raiding of the cabinets forgotten. “And I trust Eda means a lot to you,” Raine did not flush at that, thank you. “But pretty much everyone Eda knows she has a very complicated relationship with, and I’d be surprised if you were the one exception.”

“Ah,” Raine said, rubbing the back of their neck. Is this what it felt like to be interrogated by a kid? “You got me there. We haven’t...seen each other in a while.” They admitted.

“How long?” The human asked, interest sparking in her eyes as she leaned next to the cabinets.

“Erm, two...maybe two and half decades?” Raine said, lifting a hand and tilting it. “Titan, it sounds much longer than it feels when I say it out loud.” They murmured.

“Oooh, another piece of the mysterious backstory!” The human grinned, perking up, all the hesitation from earlier melting away at a probably concerning speed. “Why’d ya stop talking?”

“Ah, well, you know,” Raine said, flushing again as their ears pressed back. “Just...a split, really. Seeing other people. Eda had some things she still needed to work out, and I suppose I had to reflect a bit, too.” They mumbled.

“Wait,” The girl narrowed her eyes, and when Raine focused on where she was again, they pulled back when they realized Luz was on the other side of the counter. “Are you one of her exes?” She gasped, eyes wide.

“Oh dear,” Raine sighed, face falling in their hands.

“You are!” The girl exclaimed, and they sincerely hoped it didn’t wake anyone else up. “Man, and I thought all her exes hated her from how she talked about some of them.” She whistled. “Explains a bit, though.”

“Is that so?” Raine mumbled, knowing that they were blushing up to their ears.

“Yeah, I mean, explains why she seemed so freaked out. She's gotta know you pretty well.” The human said casually. “She goes all out when she gets attached, as I’m sure you know.” She added with a light tease.

“Oh, I know.” Raine sighed, memories of holding back a feral Eda back in Hexside from mauling Odalia still vivid in their mind. “And, since we’re talking, I apologize, but,” They said, raising their head from their hands when they were sure they didn’t look like they’d had a nasty sunburn across their face. “I don’t believe I...caught your name.”

“Eda didn’t mention it?” The human blinked, graciously taking the change in conversation.

“She might’ve, but I’ll be honest, I caught maybe two of every five words she said.” Raine admitted, flicking an ear. “I’m sorry, but I figure I should ask now before it turns into something where I ask at a much worse moment.”

“Ah, don’t worry about it,” The human waved her hand. “You went through a lot. My name’s Luz.” She said cheerfully, offering a hand. “The other little guy is King.”

Raine blinked at it for a moment before reaching out and taking it, giving a single shake until Luz pulled back. She was practically rocking on her heels from how excited she seemed, and Raine may have allowed a small half-smile in return.

“Have you lived with Eda long?” Raine asked, because they could still remember Eda’s pained explanation that the kids weren’t hers hers, and found themself wondering where in the world she had picked up a human.

“Few months,” Luz said. “Four, maybe? I dunno, the calendars here are different from the human realm.”

“Four months?” Raine blinked, surprised. “I would’ve thought you’d known her longer.”

“Nah, I’m just a recent addition.” Luz shrugged, looking away with a hint of nervousness. “King’s been here for years, though.”

“Huh, odd.” Raine said with a shrug as they went back to drinking their tea. “You act a lot like her, I would’ve thought you’d have picked up those habits from her.”

“I do?” Luz repeated, straightening.

“Yes?” Raine lowered their cup. “When she was younger, at least. Very curious, couldn’t leave any questions unanswered. And stubborn. And maybe a little too attentive for her own good.” They added with a lighthearted tone.

“Oh, yeah, that-that sounds familiar.” Luz coughed into her fist, and Raine smiled at her embarrassment. “You knew her when you were younger, then?” She asked, and Raine chose not to comment on the slight diversion in conversation.

“Since Hexside,” Raine nodded. “I want to say we were eleven or so? Maybe twelve. Never had a moment of peace since.”

“Aw, Eda’s backstory just keeps getting more and more convoluted. At least yours isn’t as crazy as Lilith or her moms. Even after the whole mind-control thing.” Luz said with a fiery curiosity in her eyes, and Raine was impressed at their lack of visible reaction to how casually Luz brought up the mind-control. Another thing like Eda, Raine thought. No amount of answers would be satisfactory, and treated every odd thing like it was just another day.

“Well, I’m glad I got her daughter's approval. Wouldn’t want to fight my way in now, would I?” Raine chuckled, tilting their cup back and finishing the last of it.

When they lowered their cup again, Luz was staring at them like a spooked rabbit, hands gripping the counter. They blinked slowly, brow raised in confusion.

“I-I’m not,” Luz stuttered, coughing to clear her throat and forcibly releasing the counter. “I’m not her daughter, you thought I was her daughter?”

“You aren’t?” Raine frowned, ears perking up. “But you said you were her kid.”

“That’s--I thought you meant--like when Eda just casually calls me and and King kids, or when I’m out with my friends and she’s watching us we’re just ‘her kids,’ you know?” Luz said, looking a little frantic as she did so, wildly waving her hands around. “Not--no I’m not, related to her or anything--”

“Oh, I knew that.” Raine brushed it off. “But Eda told me you and King were her kids?”

“I--when did that happen?” Luz asked, near sounding like a demand.

Raine hesitated, for a brief moment. They doubted someone like Eda would so casually tell a teenager and young demon about that time she, you know, almost died, and it really wasn’t their place to tell them as such if she hadn’t.

“The last time we spoke.” They settled on. “Before the...thing.” They said, mimicking Luz’s words from earlier. “I learned she had kids, and I told her that if she had something to lose, she had to get back to them.”

“I...oh.” Luz said quietly, slowly relaxing and turning her head down to stare at the counter.

“I’m…” Raine hesitated. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep, I didn’t know it was a touchy subject--”

“No, no! It’s not, you’re fine.” Luz waved them off. “I just...didn’t know Eda had said it like that.”

Raine would’ve thought something along the lines of ‘Eda didn’t tell you she thought of you as her kid?’ if they didn’t know that Eda was the same person who hadn’t even truly thought of them as dating until Raine had introduced her as their girlfriend with earshot. She’d been so touched over the whole ordeal that Raine had to remind her, repeatedly, that they had been dating for over a month. Apparently knowing, and having a title for it, were two very different things.

They wouldn’t be surprised if this kid was the same. 

“She cares about you, you know that, right?” Raine asked softly, and Luz looked up to meet their eyes.

“Yeah,” She said, cracking a small smile. “I know.”

Raine nodded in satisfaction, stepping around the counter to set their cup in the sink. It was late, they could wash it in the morning. How Eda could've ever thought about leaving a kid like her, they don't think they'd want to know.

“She cares about you, too.”

Raine paused, going still as one hand lightly gripped the edge of the sink.

“I know,” They said, almost surprised that they believed it so easily, inhaling as they set their shoulders back. “It’s almost scary how little that seems to have changed.” They mumbled.

“For the both of you, huh?” Luz teased.

Raine whirled around, ears pressed back as their face lit up again, being greeted with the girl's smug face that she had to have picked up from Eda, it was almost uncanny. 

“I--you--she just--there was--shouldn’t you be asleep at this hour?” Raine managed to strangle out, getting a gleeful giggle out of Luz as they did so.

“I got hungry,” Luz shrugged simply, her smug expression never falling.

“Then grab a snack and go to bed.” Raine huffed, crossing their arms, as if that would hide the embarrassment as they stepped aside.

“I will, once I find where Eda put the cookies. She keeps hiding them from King and doesn’t tell me where she put them.” Luz muttered, stepping up to the cabinets again and opening a new one.

“I think that means she’s hiding them from both of you.” Raine raised a brow.

“She should find better hiding spots, then.” Luz said, retracting a hand from the cabinet with a container full of cookies in her hand, shaking them. “Cover for me if she asks why some went missing?” She asked, a pleading look on her face.

“I’ll cover you if one goes missing.” Raine bargained, and Luz gave them a disgruntled look before sighing and taking a single cookie from the container.

“Can’t believe you.” Luz huffed good-naturedly, putting the cookies away.

“Just because you're Eda’s kid doesn’t mean I’m going to let you get away with everything, Titan knows how Eda would’ve ended up if that happened.” They muttered, shaking their head. “I fear the day you and Amber meet.”

“Who?” Luz tilted her head, taking a large bite of her cookie.

“One of my crew, she’s about your age.” Raine said simply. “I think you’ll get along. Now go, shoo, I’m willing to bet tomorrow will be quite hectic, and you need your sleep.” They said, herding Luz out of the kitchen.

“I’m going, I’m going!” Luz said, smiling as she lightly batted at Raine’s hands, darting out of the kitchen. “Remember, you saw nothing.” She warned, walking backwards as she narrowed her eyes on Raine.

“Lips are sealed, I was fast asleep the whole night.” Raine said, leaning against the doorway to the kitchen. “Though I figure she’ll find out, anyway.”

“Yeah, but I’ve got backup now.” Luz said, shoving the last half of the cookie in her mouth before slipping away through the doorway that led to the staircase.

Raine chuckled, shaking their head as they pushed themself off of the doorway. They should probably hit the couch again, too. Eda would only fret more if they were falling asleep all day tomorrow.

“Oh, almost forgot!” Luz said, head suddenly poking through the doorway and causing Raine to pause. “Welcome to the Owl House,” She said cheerily. “Since I take it you’ll be staying a while.”

Raine’s ears flicked back and they mumbled under their breath as Luz’s smile only widened, and Raine couldn’t help but mirror it.

“Night!” She chirped, vanishing around the corner yet again.

Raine watched the place where she’d vanished again, rubbing their wrist and noting it didn’t ache as much as before. 

“Goodnight,” They said to the empty air.

[goldencuffs]

persuasion

@lamenweek day six: auguste lives au

It’s four-thirty on a Wednesday, and Damen is exhausted, worn down and irritated over the fact that he’s still stuck in the gym storage room, sorting through eight boxes of equipment.

The year seven kid in here with him, Peter, is slow and mullish: he’s only here because Huet gave him detention for not doing his homework for the third week in a a row.

Damen is here because his entire faculty is incompetent. These boxes were supposed to be unpacked a month ago, at the start of the term, but after Kallias walked out, things have been… hectic, to say the least.

In the stifling heat, Peter’s odour is unpleasant, because he’s thirteen, and thirteen year old boys reek.

Damen is seriously considering telling him to leave, but the extra pair of hands, no matter how small and slow, are still better than nothing.

Then, Damen hears the squeak of trainers across the shiny linoleum floor, and a tall, slim figure leans against the doorway, arms crossed.

Damen bites back a sigh, his irritation spiking.

Laurent says, “Hey you, fuck off.”

Peter balks. “Me?”

Damen has his back turned, but in the ensuing silence, he knows that Laurent is staring the poor kid down, unwilling to repeat himself.

“Mr Vallis…” Peter starts, voice high and whiny.

This time Damen sighs loudly. “It’s fine, Peter. You can go home.”

Peter does so, without a goodbye, and when the gym doors close once more, Laurent says, “Damen, I need to talk to you.”

Damen turns around, mirroring Laurent’s pose. “Laurent, I’ve told you a hundred times not to call me by name at school. It’s Mr Vallis to you inside these gates. Always.”

Laurent rolls his eyes. Everything about him, as usual, is immaculate. There isn’t a single hair out of place, he’s still wearing his blazer, and unlike the most boys in this school, he hasn’t loosened his tie or unbuttoned his shirt to wave off the heat.

The only indication that he isn’t a weird, strange robot is the pink across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose.

“Unless you’re planning on help me with this, I need you to fuck off too,” Damen says, ready to turn back around.

“Actually, Mr Vallis,” Laurent straightens, and Damen doesn’t miss the inflection in his name, “I need a favour.”

Damen unpacks the third box, almost bursting into tears when he sees they’re nets. Nets always go on the top shelf. His back is going to break by the end of it.

“What is it?” He belatedly asks, realising Laurent is watching him.

Laurent presses his tongue to his top lip. “I know there’s a spot open on the wrestling team, and it would look really good on my uni applications if I wrote that I’m—”

“I’m going to stop you right there, Revere. I already told you before the holidays that if your grades don’t improve—”

“They have! I managed to get a B in Ancient History—"

“You need a B average, not just in one subject. I’ve already checked, and you’re barely scraping a C.”

Laurent makes an indignant scoff. “Yes, but it would be a B average if Auguste helped me out with Chemistry—which is the only subject I’m failing, by the way. And he doesn’t help me at all—what’s the point of him being the best Chem teacher at this school if he won’t put me in his class!”

Damen runs a hand over his face. “You know you can’t have your brother teaching you—it’s against school policy.”

“Fine, whatever,” Laurent shrugs. “But, I swear I’ve been trying Dam—Mr Vallis. Can’t you make an exception for me?”

“Absolutely not,” Damen snorts.

“Ugh! What’s the point of knowing teachers if they don’t help you out when you need it?”

Damen shrugs. “Tough luck, kid. If I gave you the spot, it might keep someone who actually deserves it from joining.”

“I deserve it.”

Damen rolls his eyes.

“Fine,” Laurent adopts a haughty look, head held high. “I’ll tell your boyfriend Auguste that you’re being a dick—”

“We’ve been over this Laurent; I’m not dating your brother.”

“Hmm, could have fooled me,” Laurent mutters in a dangerous undertone. “All that touching and cuddling and inside jokes—”

Damen knows that he shouldn’t rise to bait presented to him by a belligerent eighteen year old, but he’s tired, and it’s been a long, long day so he snaps, “Yeah, that’s what friends do, you little shit. Not that you would know what it’s like to have one.”

He regrets it as soon as he says it: Damen is the adult here (the proper one) and more importantly, he’s Laurent’s teacher. A professional.

Laurent’s face falls, and genuine hurt settles into his eyes.

The corners of his mouth droop, and his voice shakes as he says, “You’re such an asshole.”

Damen sighs, “Laurent—”

“Fuck you, Damen,” Laurent says, and turns on his heel in one smooth, elegant move.

*

Two weeks later, Auguste holds one last barbeque party to mourn the end of summer.

It’s not a crowded party: just four other teachers from school, two of Auguste’s uni friends, and of course, bloody Laurent.

He hasn’t said a single word to Damen all afternoon, the rude shit. Not that Damen expects anything less from the most prickly person he knows.

Laurent normally doesn’t even hang out with them, but since he turned eighteen over the winter, Auguste has been trying to include him in their gatherings a lot more.

It’s still a bit surreal to see Laurent easily holding down conversations with men twice his age, a beer bottle pressed to his mouth.

(That part is not so surprising. Damen caught Laurent guzzling an entire bottle of wine when he was sixteen, in this very kitchen).

Orlant touches Laurent’s knee, and says something that makes him laugh raucously.

Damen stands from the couch and makes his way over.

“Hey,” he says, “I think your brother’s calling you.”

Laurent frowns, eyes drifting over to the alfresco, where Auguste is belting Wannabe by Spice Girls and ignoring the grill, Lazar attempting to beatbox along with the words.

God, the steaks are going to burn.

“I don’t think so,” Laurent says.

When Damen doesn’t leave, Orlant says, “You good, man?”

Damen doesn’t bother to reply. He frowns at Laurent. “You’ve been drinking non stop since you got here.”

Laurent throws him a disgusted look. “You’re not my teacher outside of school hours. Fuck off.”

Orlant raises an eyebrow, looking between them. “You’re his student?”

“Barely,” Laurent mutters. “He just makes us do laps and teaches us abstinence like a pastor from the seventies.”

“The curriculum suggests that I—”

“And he won’t put me on his wrestling team because of a small technicality.”

“It’s not a small—”

“You should let him on the team, man,” Orlant says, smiling at Laurent.

Laurent smiles back, eyelashes fluttering.

Damen frowns again.

“Thank you,” Laurent says to Orlant. “I wish you were the coach. Nikandros spent all summer helping me perfect my form, and it’s all been for nothing.”

Damen feels his face crack. “Nikandros? Since when have you been hanging out with him?”

Laurent gives him a devious smile. “Oh, I can be very persuasive. He spent the entire time telling me how good I was.” He flutters his lashes at Damen this time. “It’s a shame you won’t be able to see for yourself, Mr Vallis.”

Orlant watches Laurent shamelessly.

Damen grits his teeth, blood rushing to his head, and grips Laurent’s bicep, ignoring his “Hey!”

He drags Laurent to the unoccupied living room, pushing him away in disgust the moment they’re alone. “What the fuck is your problem, Revere?”

“What the fuck is yours?” Laurent snaps, rubbing his bicep. “Have you lost it already? You usually go crazy around midterms.”

“Shut up,” Damen hisses. “What are you playing at? Did you seriously go to Nikandros for wrestling tips?”

Laurent is still rubbing his bicep, the drama queen. “Well, yes. You wouldn’t help me, so I had to look somewhere else for… expertise. And Nikandros was more than willing to help. Eventually.”

Damen can feel a headache coming on. “Nikandros is shit at wrestling.”

Laurent laughs. “Oh my god. You’re acting like a baby.” “And you’re being your usual intolerable self.”

“Oh, fuck you.” Now Laurent looks livid, his eyes flashing with malice.

“You haven’t even tried to get to know me for the last three years. When you told me I had to improve my grades, I studied my ass off. I got a tutor. I even went to fucking summer school. And yeah, I might only have a C average, but I’ve improved in literally everything. I’ve only failed one subject! At least Nikandros was willing to listen to me. You just behave like an ass.”

Damen swallows, crossing his arms over his chest. He looks away, down at the shiny, tiled floor.

He sighs, “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“What was that?”

Damen looks at Laurent, at the sun shining down his head. “I said I’m sorry. Perhaps I have been… a little unfair.”

Laurent snorts and presses his mouth together,

“I didn’t realise how hard you’ve been working,” Damen says, appreciative. “I’m proud of you.”

Laurent goes red. He rolls his eyes, but it’s half-hearted. “Whatever. You’re still a dick.”

Damen smiles. “Yeah, I guess.”

There’s a brief, awkward silence.

Then Damen says, “Okay, give me your speech.”

“My speech, Mr Vallis?”

“Yeah,” Damen raises an eyebrow. “Give me whatever speech you gave Nikandros. If it can convince him to teach you to wrestle, it might convince me to give you a shot on the team.”

Laurent stands straight, assessing him for a moment. “Are you sure, Mr Vallis?”

“Yeah, ‘course.”

Laurent gives him a smile Damen has never seen before. It unleashes something dark in his eyes.

Damen swallows, his heart suddenly picking up pace.

Laurent saunters towards him, still with that smile. He comes close enough that Damen can see the small smattering of freckles on his nose.

Damen presses his back to the counter. “Laurent…”

Laurent bites his lip. “Everyone thinks you’re the hottest teacher at school, Mr Vallis. I’ve had a crush on you since my first year.”

Damen coughs, startled. “Laurent, what…”

“Do you want me to give my speech or not?”

Damen’s chest heaves with his breaths. He assesses Laurent’s beautiful face, his mind carefully shutting down.

“Yes,” he says quietly.

Laurent’s smile is sweet and shy.

He’s still wearing that smile when he gets down on his knees. His fingers are quick, nimble as they unbuckle Damen’s belt.

The clank of metal is loud, even amongst the drone of the party.

Damen should stop this. He should say something. Laurent is his student. More than that, he’s his best friend’s just-legal little brother. Damen should—

Laurent kisses the tip of his cock through the cloth, dragging his tongue over it, making it damp.

“Fuck, Laurent.”

Laurent pulls back and smiles at him, eyes half-mast. “I managed to convince Nikandros in about three minutes. Do you think you’ll last a bit longer?”

Damen grunts, hips moving in aborted jerks as Laurent slides down his underwear.

“Let’s find out, shall we?”

[pinkmirth]

—𝐌𝗼𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐁𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐠𝗼𝐮 𝐊𝐚𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐢 [𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞]

《𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝗼𝗺𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝗼𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 + 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐝》

Boxes splayed across the bare, sheen hardwood of your newly owned apartment, some contents of them being haphazardly tossed out onto the floor, courtesy of Katsuki. Speaking of, the eager ash blonde had been taking this whole unpacking thing with a ravaging approach, a little more aggression than enthusiasm being displayed. This disregarding husband of yours had already broken two vases since the moving van hauled in your belongings..

You caught wind of his incoherent murmurs throughout the day, which were practically countless by now. You’d been racking your brain since, attempting to discover what had gotten your poor Katsuki so upset. Despite the marriage that bonded you and him, Katsuki’s profession usually got in the way of many personal things. For a while, it’d been a danger just for the pair of you to live together, so you haven’t been. Until now. It had been three days since you and him moved from the comfort of your hometown, Musutafu, to the renowned capital, Tokyo, and you wished you could say it had been smooth sailing. Unfortunately, a certain Bakugou wasn’t having the best time, always sputtering a profanity or a groan left and right. His case of the grumps was probably a trip of his complex emotions, either caused by a sense of neediness, deprivation of some sort, or bottled rage. You were betting, practically hoping on the first two instead. Knowing your husband, it meant well that he’d get his hands on miscellaneous household items to crush, smash and break, as some way of channeling his anger episodes. Three days down the line, and you already needed to replace a handful.. Though, it was currently dinner time, and you were sure that was a good thing. Katsuki’s little funk would wash away come 6pm. Cooking had a way of melting away the male’s heaps of stress, especially when you offered to join in. Throughout that hour of making food and serving you his prideful dishes, he always carried a subtle smile. Dinner wasn’t something to worry about. “Fuckin’ hell!” Scratch that. Telling by the pestering clatter of the cabinets he was yanking open, to the dastardly echo of his stomps, it seemed that you couldn’t rely on the succor of food for any longer. “I oughta’ set this lousy kitchen on fucking fire!” You let out a hefty sigh, picking yourself up from the spacious beanbag, since you were yet to assemble any couches, before strolling over to the kitchen, awaiting to see the reason behind your husband’s exaggerated shrieking. “Katsu-Chan, what's the issue..?” Your husband immediately bombarded you with a growled rant, “I can’t find my shitty apron!” You eyed Katsuki through furrowed brows. Is all this attitude really about one measly apron? Nah, I doubt it, your inner voice chimed. “And there ain’t any more pepper seasoning, so I haven’t got a clue what I’ll cook now..” he spewed through gritted teeth, recklessly tossing away the poor frying pan that he’d been holding onto all the while, impressive dents imprinted onto the handle, curved into the shape of his fingers. In that case, you had one more household item to replace. Noted.. “I can’t find that damned thing,” he spoke with an exasperated huff, his hands flying up to the cupboards, motioning them open and closed with the slightest violent tendency. “Hate to break it to you, sweet cheeks, but we ain’t eating dinner tonight,” you scoffed over Katsuki’s recurring dramatics, “These past few days have been shitty anyway..” He’d said it throughout a lowly mutter, but it was enough to cause a nervous stream to rush through you. Did he not like it here? Perhaps the city was too busy for Dynamight, maybe he wasn’t immune to getting homesickness as he liked to brag about, or it couldve been that he just wasn’t ready to get used to such a foreign occurrence in your relationship— living together. But, of course, considering your nature to bat things off with a joke of some sort, you contorted your worries into a comical stick to jab at your husband with.

“Darling, if you’re on your man-period, you should’ve just said so..” you’d said it with fabricated pity, all the while holding back your chuckles as his brows began to furrow, upper lip curving vexingly.

“You think you’re so damn funny, dontcha’, woman..?”

“Yeah, just a little bit.”

Another rasped groan left the lips of the ever-impatient Bakugou Katsuki, “Oi. Are ya’ just gonna keep giggling on about my little anger episode forever?”

Hm. For once, he actually acknowledged it for what it is, you thought briefly, before making your way around the glossy, marble-design kitchen island, your hands finding solace on his defined, muscular triceps. 

The thick straps of his black, square neck tank top gradually began to slide past his shoulders, shadowing over his collarbone before you inched it back up.

“Do you.. like it here, Katsuki?” By the moment he answered your answer with an aggressive snort, you realized you had nothing to worry about.

 “Why the hell wouldn't I? We didn’t pay for this house just to hate the place,” he scoffed, his large palms skimming over the small of your back before thick fingers of his wrapped around your waist.

“That’s a relief, but you’ve been acting a little grumpy— Like something’s bothering you. Could you just tell me how you’re feeling?” You finally admitted your questioning thoughts with an expectant look, watching Katsuki return your curiosity with a subtle smirk. “You wanna know what’s bothering me..?” 

“Y’know what, never mind. Don’t wanna hear it, Katsu-Chan.”

Your abrupt response had him knitting his brows and emitting confused huffs. “So you’re just gonna change your mind on me like that?!” You jabbed at his chest with your pointer finger to punctuate your reply, “because you made it sound creepy, that’s why!”

Katsuki then tightened his grip around your waist, earning a breathy gasp out of you. Before you could question the blonde, he already had you hauled up into the kitchen island, standing between your dangling legs with the tip of his nose grazing yours. You couldn’t help but let out a sigh at the comforting warmth of his sizey hands, your arms instinctively flinging around the back of his neck.

“Alright, I’ll tell you the truth, hon,” confessed Katsuki, “The move has been great, but horrible. It all went good, I guess. No missing items, moving trucks arriving in record time, everything we wanted. But there’s one more thing that we wanted that you seemed to forget about, you lil’ idiot..”

Despite the use of an insult, his cheeks and ears began the bloom a subtle but pretty pink, his sharp red eyes averting from your own blinking ones.

“Care to inform me on whatever I forgot..?” You skimmed through my your memory frantically in those few seconds that he’d paused, trying to dig up a pleasing answer before he told you himself.

“Privacy, [Y/N].. We’d have so much, too much once we moved to our own place. And we loved the sound of that. Y‘know why, right..?”

Your heart suddenly leapt within your chest at his indication, his left brow rising suggestively as he briefly cocked his head. You definitely knew why.

“So we could have times like this. Without any damned interruptions. I can suck your face off without one of my shitty friends popping up unexpectedly, ain’t that swell?” His voice held the slightest bit of laughter in it, his tone comical and yearning.

“So.. if I said that I wanna feel you close to me..” you murmured, your breath fanning over his proximate lips, “Like, really really close, it wouldn’t be a problem, yes?” A teasing, lingering peck was what you placed across his cheek, earning a genuine grin from Katsuki as a response.

“Who the hell’s gonna stop you? In fact, I’ve got my own idea,” his lowly voice came out booming nonetheless, but of course, the benefit of privacy made sure that his volume wasn’t a problem.

“I wanna watch you. While you watch me.” He didn’t have to be lewdly exact with his words, the lust-blown gaze in your husband’s vermillion eyes was enough to tell what he wanted. It was simple enough as he’d said; Mutual masturbation, just a few minutes before dinner time would commence.

Albeit the serene atmosphere, you couldn’t hold back your snicker over your realization. Bakugou Katsuki, your impatient lover. The poor guy had been in such a distasteful mood, only because of his unnerving libido..

“You wanna watch me take off my panties, huh?” Your teasing statement came out as a suggestive giggle, your hand placed sturdily at the nape of his neck while the unoccupied one got to work on making his fantasies a reality, tugging at the hem of your leggings hastily.

“You’ve gotta watch me too, y’know,” Katsuki reminded you with a gravelly chuckle, shimmying and pulling his bottoms off as though there were no time to spare.

His half naked form had attracted you in an instant, eyes drawing to his thick cock, semi-hard and already being encased into his moving palm.

“Don't just stare. It works both ways, sweet cheeks. I wanna see some fingers moving’ already,” Puffs of breath were taken between his words, ruby red eyes already lidded with an agape mouth that poured out the most arousing groans.

“Nah, I think I’ll just enjoy the show for now,” you decided matter-of-factly, pressing a sloppy kiss along his defined jawline, causing him to emit another grunt, lowly slapping sounds being heard from his vulgar ministrations.

“You think you’re cute, huh..” hissed Bakugou, trudging his clothes back on with a grunt, to your dismay. “Forget it. Instead of putting on a show for a brat like you, I’m gonna go straight to dinner.”

You accepted the fate that your actions resulted in, ready to slide off the island, just before his stern hands stopped you. He gave you this glance, one that made you eye him in suspicion as he kept his hands on each of your thighs, spreading them apart with a lax grin.

“Katsu— Ah!” By now, the blonde had already dropped to his knees, now face level with your clothed heat. “W-what about dinner..?!”

“Whaddya’ mean?” His tone came out rasped and attractive, a growing smirk reaching his lips as his fingers prodded at the band of your bottoms, “This is my dinner, babe..”

[happyreid187]

Beats working - Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Word count: ~2.5 K

Description: Reader’s friends finally make her go to a party, and force a certain genius to attend as well... 

Warnings: SMUT. Explicit, 18+ only! Not gender neutral. Oral sex (reader receiving), unprotected sex, borderline degradation but not really. It’s sort of Dom!spence vibes but very soft. There is alcohol involved at the beginning but consent is made clear. I named the reader’s friends but they’re only mentioned twice so you can def fill that in with your own friends if you prefer :)

“Thank god, you workaholic bitch!” One minute into the party and Marley was already chastising you. Fair. Though you made time for brunches and wine nights, you had missed many of her signature parties. “I’m sorryyyy,” you sang, pulling her in for a hug. “I’m here now.” “Do you think they’ll survive without you for a night?” she giggled. “No, but I don’t really care. Point me in the direction of the alcohol?”

After some obligatory small talk, you found your way through the party to a slightly quieter area, leaning against the wall. You weren’t having a bad time exactly, but you were definitely reminded why you avoid these things. A tall, slim man made his way over, leaning next to you. You had seen him when he came in, having felt drawn to him immediately - he was greeted with similar fanfare, but by Marley’s boyfriend Ben, who lamented his absence at recent parties. You noticed him from the start, but as he stood closer to you, you really took him in, his messy chestnut hair and sharp jawline. He made your brain go dumb. He was, like... really pretty. He seemed shy, but still spoke first “You don’t really seem like a party person. I thought I was the only person they had to force to these things.” he chuckled. “Yeah, I find that I’m about a million percent - well that’s not a thing - a million times more charming one on one. These things make me quiet, and I’m not quiet.” “I love that you corrected yourself there,” he laughed for real this time, and you were weirdly proud of yourself for bringing it out of him. He seemed so stoic and anxious when he first walked in. “I totally relate - I’m usually dead silent at these things and normally people can’t get me to shut up, and...” he smiled at you, and butterflies overtook you “I think you’re plenty charming now.” 

It turned out he was the charming one, and he wasn’t so quiet after all. After brief introductions, he really opened up. You could see what he was saying about never shutting up as he rambled on and on, but you couldn’t understand why anyone would ever want him to stop talking. You could have listened to him all night, and you did. The hours flew by. You learned his name and title - he asked you to call him Spencer - how smart he is, and that his passion for his job mirrored your own. You learned a lot, listening to him talk, as he lamented the amount of germs at parties; how entirely disgusting he finds the proximity and amount of touching they inspire. Contrary to his words, he was sitting incredibly close to you, and you could feel his eyes on your lips. The feeling of this stranger’s eyes on you made you happy in a way you couldn’t explain. Maintaining his anti-party rhetoric, he started whining about how stupid it is to try to interact with people in a space where it’s too loud to hear oneself think. The space around you was deafening, and only getting worse, as the people around you got drunker while you two became progressively less so. The benefit of this was that it forced him to sit with his thigh against yours on the couch and say everything in your ear, like a secret. But having him that close gave you goosebumps, and you wanted him even closer.

“It is really loud. Do you wanna... maybe get out of here?” you nervously inquired. His eyes lit up at your suggestion as he started to shift to stand, but then a shyness crossed over his face. “Are you sure?” he replied, glancing at the beer in your hand. “Yes, yes I’m sure.” He looked unconvinced. “I’ve had two drinks in...” you glanced at your watch “four hours. I’ve barely been sipping this one.” He nodded knowingly, “Well, yeah, and considering the average person can metabolize roughly one drink per hour, and those have a relatively low alcohol content, your blood alcohol should be well below the legal limit for driving. I know you’re not drunk. But the whole time we’ve been talking you’ve been...” he paused. He looked nervous. “Uninhibited? Are you sure you want to leave here with me?” Your chest squeezed at the emphasis he placed on the last two words. He not only wanted to make sure you were fully able to want him, he seemed to question why you would. There was a lot to unpack there, so you pushed it from your mind. You would find myriad ways to reassure him of your desire after you left. Right now you just needed to get out of there, or you were going to suck face in the corner of your friend’s party, and you were both too old for that. You leaned in close, and spoke slowly placing excessive inflection on every single word, as if that would make him believe you. “I am absolutely certain that I want you.” Spencer seemed satisfied. He stood and grinned, pulling you to your feet.

You made your way out of the room swiftly, with him at your heels, his palm on the small of your back. He trailed behind you as you stepped out the door and through the frigid air, moving towards your car. You were too nervous to turn to look at him. Your thoughts turned to insecurity at the coffee cups, receipts, and work clothes that littered the floor and passenger seat. Before unlocking the door, you spun around to warn him, but before you could even open your mouth, his was on yours. As reserved as he had seemed inside, he wasn’t holding anything back now. His lips crashed against yours, bordering on violent, but it wasn’t messy. Your bodies seemed to know how to link, somehow. He grabbed your waist harshly, shoving you against the door. Leaving one hand with a tight grip on your waist, like you were going to slip from his grasp, he brought the other to the side of your neck, his touch surprisingly soft compared to the rest of him. He placed heavy kisses down your neck and along your collarbones. Without his mouth against yours, there was nothing to quiet you. “Oh my god, Spencer...” you gasped. You weren’t sure what you expected, but you hadn’t quite expected him to be so in charge - it was an extremely satisfying surprise. He pressed himself impossibly closer to you, that gentle hand ghosting down your spine and moving to cup your ass. His mouth returned to yours, probably to keep the rest of the party from hearing you, tongue moving with yours. 

“I thought you didn’t like to touch people,” you gasped with a smile as you pulled away dizzy, needing to catch your breath, though your desire to feel his lips felt stronger than your will to breathe. He snapped away from his powerful state for a moment, the lust fading from his eyes slightly and turning into something warmer, his gaze softening. “Oh I want to touch you,” he muttered, a grin tugging at the corners of his now pink, puffy lips. “I want to touch you,” he said again, both reassuring and frighteningly intense, the softness fading but still present “Like this,” his hand found it’s way to your reddened cheek, flushed from both him and the cold, running across you so lightly he was barely there. “And like this...” his other hand found its way from your waist to your breast, squeezing and eliciting a moan from you as he ran his thumb harshly across your nipple. The hand on your cheek simultaneously shifted to grab your chin, forcing you to look at him - as if you weren’t already. His eyes were dark again, and so fierce that you felt simultaneously consumed and overwhelmed. You fought the overwhelm, following his silent demand that you remain focused on his face. You would do anything he asked, with or without words. He returns your focus and leans in, voice deep and austere, crackling against your ear “And like this.” His hand slipped under your dress, cupping your pussy through the drenched lace. Spencer looked entirely elated. “Baby,” he started. You melted at the name. You were going to die. Your heart was going to explode through your chest, but there are worse ways to go. “You’re already so wet for me. I haven’t even started yet,” he muttered. He was so smug. “Were you this wet for me in there, sitting on our friends’ couch?” You didn’t think you would be able to speak, so the sound of your voice surprised you. “Yes. Just hearing you talk and feeling your eyes on me was enough to completely fucking wreck me.” Spencer didn’t seem to expect that answer, looking shocked and delighted, smiling as he pulled you in for a small kiss, chaste in comparison to the previous. “Mmm, well you’re going to have to be patient for me. As much as I want to fuck you right here, I don’t need anyone seeing you. Let’s get out of here.”

The drive was challenging, but quick. You were both grateful and frustrated that he didn’t try to tease you on the way. At least not much. His hand rested on your thigh through the ride, but he didn’t dare to move it. When you finally walked through the door of his apartment, he led you quickly to the bedroom. He had no interest in taking his time. His lips moved against yours with a desperation that made the room spin. You weren’t sure how you would survive him fucking you when his simplest touches overwhelmed you, but you were eager to find out. Too eager, you began grinding on his bulge, moaning into his mouth as your fingers fumbled on the buttons of his shirt. “So impatient, aren’t you?” Spencer asked. “I just want you so bad, Spence.” you begged. You felt pathetic, but you didn’t care. “Good girls know how to wait for what they want. Don’t you want to be a good girl for me?” his voice was deeper than it had been all night, and it edged you even further “Yes. Yes. But please, please don’t tease me.” Your voice shook with emotion and arousal. His teasing was hot, but you needed him now. “We just walked in the door and you’re already begging for me? Either you’re a little slut or I must be really special.” he muttered against your lips. “You are. I’m desperate for you. Only for you.” He had been frustratingly quiet so far, but he moaned at your words now. Spencer shoved you against the bed and moved to hover over you, one hand beside you holding him up while the other made it’s way to where you needed him most. “You are so fucking wet for me. So responsive.” he kissed down your stomach, and you arched your back, moaning so loud you should have been worried about the neighbors, but you weren’t. Your brain was completely empty - all you could do was feel him. With his head nestled between your legs, he kissed your inner thighs, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. You guessed he only wanted to mark you in places he alone could see. You hoped he knew he already owned your body - you were his already. You were already ruined and he wasn’t even fully undressed. “Such a good girl for me, y/n.” he breathed against you, before diving in. His mouth was too perfect, alternating between long laps and short flicks against your clit. After only a few minutes, you were already close, but it seemed so wasteful to finish on his tongue before even seeing the rest of him. You locked your fingers in his hair, pulling him off you “You don’t want me to continue?” he asked, insecure but somehow still dominant. “I want to cum on your cock, baby.” His hazel eyes grew wide at your words. “Please fuck me, Spencer. I need you.” You thought he would mock you for being so desperate, for begging, for needing him, but he seemed to return your need. 

With shaking hands, he unbuckled his belt, and you moved quickly to pull down his boxers. His dick was so pretty, flushed and ready for you. You started to pump him in your hands, but he quickly stopped him. “Not right now baby. I need to feel your pussy.” he was panting already. “Need to be inside you.” You laid on your back, as he moved over you. “Do I need a... “ he started, but you interrupted him, “I have an IUD, you’re good.” He looked relieved. He started kissing you again, but you made it difficult, gasping into his mouth as he moved his member up and down your folds. He pulled away from your mouth, looking at you for approval. “Fucking please.” He pushed into you immediately, slowly but all at once, pausing only when he had completely filled you. Again, he wasn’t as quiet as you might have originally expected, moaning loudly as he buried himself deep inside. He started moving, and quickly built to a rapid pace. Neither of you could be quiet, your moans filling the air as you tried and failed to call out his name. “Y/n,” he somehow groaned and whined at the same time, “you’re so fucking tight.” You couldn’t respond, too focused on the knot forming beneath him, trying to put off your release so that you could feel him just a little longer. 

“Spencer,” you managed, “you feel so good.” he groaned at your cry. He was even more vocal in response to your words than to your body, so you found your voice despite feeling completely inundated with pleasure. “You’re so good. I’m gonna be ruined for anyone else. No one else is this good,” you sung his praises, and it affected him exactly as you had hoped. His thrusts grew less controlled, slowing down somewhat as he said “Good. You’re mine. I - I want you to be mine.” His words nearly pushed you over the edge, but you wanted him to be ready first. “Fuck, I’m gonna - ah” you screamed, “I need you to cum with me baby, please please please” your cries were interrupted by your own orgasm, your muscles spasming around him as he came deep inside you. He relaxed on top of you, and stayed there for a while before finally pulling out. You weren’t ready to part from him yet, but fortunately he quickly returned with a t-shirt, and after cleaning up your collective mess pulled you into his arms, spooning you and placing gentle kisses on your face. Again, you weren’t sure what you had expected - it made sense that after being so desperate for your touch he would want to hold you after. But you remained surprise. Being this close to him felt like a miracle. Rather than questioning it, you settled into the comfort of being close to him, appreciating his arms around you. 

[thr-333]

Just Another Class Trip :)  Part 2

Marinette sacrifices Adrien and then steals his alter ego.

First<>Next

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

With the help of the staff Marinette is directed to the room she will be sharing with Chloe and Kagami. It was meant to be two to a room, but yada yada Lila yada yada medical condition yada yada tears= Lila gets her own room.

“Marinette,” Kagami spots her first, rising from the couch.

“Mari!” Chloe vaults over the couch and hug tackles her, Marinette barely moves an inch, “You should have heard all the shit Lila was saying on the way here, you’d think it be enough she got the class to leave you behind!”

“Perhaps it’s best if you do not,” Kagami pulls Chloe off her, “You didn’t answer your phone,”

“Flat,”

“Bags?”

“Stolen,”

“Lila?”

“Probably,”

“Well lucky for you housekeeping dropped this by earlier,” Chloe hands her a box, inside filled with essential items, tooth brush, hair brush, even a pair of pyjamas, along with a note

‘Courtesy of the Waynes, for Miss Marinette Dupain-Cheng’

“Must be a generic package,” She had shrugged off the bellhops earlier saying her bags were lost.

“Well since you don’t have to unpack, help me with this,” Chloe leads her over to their kitchen that might actually be bigger than her houses.

On the counter beauty products are lined up along with random ingredients.

“We’re making face masks!”

“Correction, Chloe is making face masks,” Kagami scolds, “I argued that sleep would be more effective,”

“And yet you didn’t go to sleep,” Chloe teases, mashing up avocado.

“Well not without you,” Kagami smirks, making Chloe blush, but it’s not like her to back down.

“Awe, you’d wait for me~” Chloe relishes in the blush dusting Kagami's cheeks.

Marinette dry heaves, wondering how long they were going to keep pretending to flirt like this, each too stubborn to back down. They have been doing this more and more recently, great that they were more comfortable around each other but…

“How about we go to bed,” Marinette disturbs their challenging stares.

“Not without Kagami,”

“I already used that one,”

“I never said we’d use the bed for sleeping~”

“Hey!” Her exclamation doesn't get them to drop their staring contest, “Do either of you know what room Adrien is in?”

“End of the hall,” They both answer, not looking at her.

“Great,” Marinette hastily grabs her bag and the box, she could get ready in Adrien's room, away from the weirdness.

She practically runs down the hall, ignoring her Kwami’s snickering.

“Mari!” Adrien throws the door open for her, “Did everything go ok, you didn’t answer your phone, you look upset,”

“Sorted everything out with security no problems, Phones dead, Bag stolen,” She plops down on the couch next to Nino, “Chlo and Kags are driving me crazy,”

“How long have you been back?” She looks down at her watch.

“Three minutes,”

“Are they doing that thing again?” Adrien, Kwami bless him hands her a mug of coffee.

“Yep,” She takes a sip from the mug, she retracts that blessing “Betrayal! This isn’t coffee!”

“It’s hot chocolate,” Adrien is in the kitchen fixing another mug, “You need to go to bed, and coffee will keep you up,”

No she needed to go on patrol, and a coffee is vital to her surviving it.

“What’s up with Chloe and Kagami?” Nino takes off his headphones.

“They started teasing each other by jokingly flirting but their both too stubborn to back down," Marinette sighs, downing half the mug of hot chocolate so she can get herself a damn coffee, "So they get uncomfortable then we get uncomfortable and its overall very uncomfortable,”

“I think it’s kind of funny,” Adrien sits down next to her, mug in hand.

“It would be if they both weren’t horrible at flirting,” She steals the mug away from him taking a sip.

That is not coffee, that is sugar disguised as a liquid

“That’s the funny part,” Adrien smiles as she hands back the mug,

“Touche Agreste, Touche,”

“If you wanted you could sleep in my room,” Nino offers, oh so innocently.

“Thank’s Nino, but I would rather Alya not kill me,”

“Nah dude, I was going to stay with Alya anyway Madame Bustier wont mind,” Yeah their teacher really should learn not to trust teenagers, "So you can have my room,”

“Nino you are a godsent,”

Nino cleans up his few thrown about items and bids them adieu. Marinette was glad they could still talk, maybe they were even still friends. When you have the devil in one ear and her loyal sidekick in the other it is actually kind of impressive they still have a friendly relationship.

“So how’s your day been?” Marinette gathers up the strength to start a conversation after making her own coffee, and her mouth was only very burnt from chugging a hot drink.

“Good, Chloe took us to a supermarket, I brought a bunch of american snacks!”

Indeed he had, Marinette watches in mild horror as he plops bags full of junk food in front of her.

“I didn’t realise we were feeding an army,” Adrien starts rooting through the bags, “If a super villain comes after you because you brought all their favourite snacks in Gotham I’m not protecting you,”

“I’d just share with them,” Adrien hums, chomping down on a chocolate bar.

“... Yeah that could work,” Dear Kwami I have to protect this sunshine child,  “Maybe,”

“Oi, don’t eat too much, I don't want to have to re tailor your outfit for the runway,” She teases, regretting it immediately as Adrien's shoulders sag.

“Sorry,”

“Adri I’m kidding,”  She places a hand on his shoulder smiling gently, “I already made the measurements a bit bigger so you’re good.

“Have I ever told you you’re the best?”

“Not enough you haven't,” Marinette huffs in mock offence, “Now eat,”

She shoves the chocolate bag in his face, getting it all over his cheek. They both start laughing as Adrien tries to get his revenge. They end up falling off the couch, Marinette on top of him. Adrien is blushing a bright red, Marinette just grins and shoves the chocolate in his face before getting up.

She could almost laugh at how her younger self would react to that. It wasn't as if she didn’t like Adrien, well maybe not in that way anymore, she honestly hadn't put that much thought into it lately. Things just got busy she supposed, Akumas got harder, then she became the guardian, she started her fashion career. Actually her fashion career might be at fault.

Gabriel had started lending Adrien to model for her more and more. The man stepping further and further back from the fashion world, or the world in general, over the years for whatever the reason. At first she had been a blushing mess around Adrien, not directing him properly and making her work suffer for it. Overtime she had learnt how to handle it, getting less flustered every time they worked together. Now that she thought about it, when she had revealed her identity as MDC Adrien didn’t seem surprised; maybe her work attitude had bled into her regular life well before then.

Marinette is washing the chocolate off when a knock sounds at the door. Neither feel like walking to it so shout out ‘come in’. That turned out to be a mistake as Lila bursts into the room. How were they supposed to know Lila would actually knock?!

“Marinette you slut!” Lila all but screeches.

“Lila, you don’t have an audience and neither of us believe you,” Marinette comes out of the bathroom, already bored of the conversation she really needed to go, Lila and Marinette both.

“Well just wait, tomorrow the whole class is going to know what you did,” Lila gets up in her face, so close she can smell her perfume.

No not Lila's perfume her perfume.

“Right, sorry to say but there’s worse rumours than sleeping with a supermodel,” Marinette tries to edge her way around Lila, good excuse as any to dip out for patrol.

“Not if I say you forced him,” Lila looks way to self satisfied for what she is implying

I think the fuck not

“Nah,” Adrien shrugs, getting Lila’s ire turned on him, a noble sacrifice indeed.

“Nah?” Lila looks livid, “What do you mean Nah !”

“I’d just say I wanted to,” Adrien stays calm with Lila's face inches from him, Marinette gives him the thumbs up as she edges closer to the door, Adrien nods back.

She loved this version of the high road

“After all Marinette's super pretty and talented,” Adrien gushes, Marinette grins at the face Lila must be making, “Honestly your lie is so unbelievable, why would she ever go for someone like me?”

Marinette closes the door on Lila’s cursing response, saying a quick word of praise for Adrien's bravery and sacrifice.

At least he gets to see Lila’s reaction when she realises I’m gone

Marinette uses a back door of the hotel to get to the street, not wanting the staff to stop her and warn about the dangers. She skips along looking for a good place to change. The city was actually kind of beautiful at night, she feels drawn to it in a strange way.

“Marinette!” Tikki looks out from her scarf, “You forgot the Miracle box,”

“Shoot!” She looks back to the hotel, a few blocks away from it by now, “It’ll be fine Tikki I leave it at home all the time,”

“You’re not at home right now,” Tikki looks worried, those are her friends after all, “It’s a guardians duty-”

Marinette tries not to groan, she really does.

“I know Tikki, I know,” She looks over the buildings surrounding her, feeling a deep itch to see Gotham from the rooftops “But can’t I just be myself for once, not the guardian?”

“You are the guardian,” Tikki insists, before sighing, “Which means you can make your own decisions regarding the miracle box,”

“Thank you Tikki,” She hugs the little Kwami, “I promise to be back super quick, I just have to stop one bad guy, an eye witness account of Starling so I don’t just appear randomly, I won’t even need to go on patrol again after this,”

“Alright Marinette, I trust you,” Tikki nuzzles her cheek, easing Marinette's conscience.

With that she ducks out of sight to get changed. Her costume is pretty simple really. All she had to do was pull her infinity scarf up, discrete holes allowing her to see. She turns her skirt inside out to a black side, with white, purple, and blue detailing to stick to her Starling namesake. The skirt pulls over her shoulders, a zip down the middle allowing her more movement, and a zip to form a secret hood.

Ready to go she climbs up to the roof, super strength and speed making roof hopping easier. She supposed if someone looked too hard they would be able to piece together pieces of her costume but her ‘cape’ hides the detailing of her shirt. Besides if she has her way she won’t have to use this identity ever again, but she rarely has her way.

About ten minutes into her search through Gotham she spots a broken window. Not notable except that the lights are on. She lowers herself onto the fire escape and sure enough someone is being held at gunpoint.

“Excuse me,” Both people jump, spinning to look at Starling casual sitting on the broken glass on the window sill, “You seem to have a very rude house guest on your hands,”

“Who the hell are you!?” The burglar turns their gun on her.

“Just a stray passing through,” She gives a bright smile, and a very Chat like bow, “Starling at your service… milady,”

If I’m going Chat I might as go full Chat Noir, hope he doesn't file a lawsuit against me

“Ummm,” The woman looks very confused, but not as confused as the burglar.

“Would you like me to remove him from your home?”

“Ah… yes?”

With another smile Starling makes her move. In the split second it takes the burglar to register her offer she's standing in front of him. The gun moves a second too late as she ceases his arm, her strength being as good as handcuffs. She hits a pressure point her Aunt taught her to make him drop the gun, kicking it away. Pinning the man's arm behind his back she spins him around, zip tying his hands.

“What the fuck!!”

“That’s no kind of language,” Starling reprimands, pushing him towards the window, “Now apologise,”

“What?! No way fuck you!” Starling grins, hooking a bungee cord to his shirt.

“Alright then, bye!” She pushes him out the window.

His screaming doesn't stop even when she watches as he bounces back up, dangling out the window. She grins.

Ladybug would never get away with that

Tying the other end of the cord to a post, she double checks to make sure everything is secure before turning back to the victim.

“So sorry about the rude intrusion milady,” She bows again, in jest, “Have you contacted the police?”

“Yeah… what are you?”

“A Starling bird,” Starling spins, showing off her cape, the patterning placed to resemble wings, “I though the name would be a dead give away,”

“Yeah, but what are you? A Bat? Vigilante?”

“Vigilante yes, Bat not so much,” Starling can see as she looks more cautious after that, “Just happened to be passing through Gotham when I saw you in need of assistance,”

“Right... ok then...” She sits down, letting herself slump over the couch, “Ugh, this has been a terrible day,”

“How so?” Starling eyes up the kitchen, “Besides from mister bungee jump out there,”

“I was almost out of work this afternoon when a new rumour about the Wayne's blew up,” Starling nods along, turning the oven on and picking out ingredients.

“I work in the PR department at Wayne tower, do you have any idea how hard that is?!” Starling shakes her head finding a bowl but no measuring cups, she could just estimate.

“They have new bruises everyday,” Starling does look up to that, very concerned, “Don’t worry it’s not abuse or anything, they really are just dumbasses,”

Starling snickers a little bit at that, pouring in ingredients like second nature.

“I once asked mister Drake why he had a giant bruise on his forehead, he told me he passed out at his desk and just slammed into it!” Starling does laugh at that one, “Like?! How am I supposed to tell people that without sullying the Wayne name?”

“I think its funny,” She did clearly not agree, Starling changes the subject as she starts mixing “What was the problem today?”

“Nothin much really someone took pictures of mister Drake talking and giving a ride to some girl with black hair and blue eyes, and now everyone thinks she’s a Wayne,”

“That’s all it takes?” She starts placing the cookie dough on the baking tray, “Maybe I should apply?”

“Nah, you’d sooner be Batman's kid than Bruce Wayne's,” She cracks the first smile Starling has seen so far, “He’s got the same amount of kids, if not more,”

“Maybe they should share custody?” Starling puts the cookies in the oven, “Double the number each,”

“Yeah, how about no?” She smiles more, which is good, “I can’t imagine having to explain away the bruises the Bat kids get,”

Starling smiles, the sound of sirens now drawing close.

“I guess that's my cue to leave Milady,” Starling jumps up onto the window sill, the burglar still shouting below, “Take the cookies out in fifteen minutes,”

“Hey,” Starling looks back, “Thank you,”

“No problem,” Starling sends a dazzling smile, “Good night, Milady,”

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

Taglist (guess I’m doing these now, please let me know if theres any issues):

@smolplantmum @flufflepuffle296 @dawnwave16  @caffeinetheory   @g-arya   @Maribat-2k20   @ladybug-182    @Actual-disaster-human    @fusser90   @messrs-weasley   @soap-lady  @paintedhope7   @zeneralla    @mochegato     @random-nerd-3 @clumsy-owl-4178  @throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen   @too0bsessedformyowngood @certifiedbidisaster  @Purplegeekypanda

[alwaysahiccupandastrid]

His Dark Materials - Season 2 Episode 7 *FINALE* (Thoughts and Rambles)

We have a LOT to unpack here oh my god oh my god

When I say I was screaming and yelling during the episode, I mean I was LITERALLY screaming and yelling

This post is mostly screeching and capital letters, you’ve been warned

“So cold” “life or death meant nothing” - well shit. Accurate description of a Spectre attack damn

I didn’t know what those creepy noises were at first and I was sat here absolutely TERRIFIED because it was creepy as fuck. Then I realized it was cliff ghasts because they said something that I recognized from the book and I was like “oh shit”

Pan and Will talking is the sweetest omg

The fact that Pan told him that Lyra thinks he’s as brave as King Iorek Byrnison :’)

“She’s the best friend I’ve ever had” “You’re her best friend too” - STOP, MY HEART

Lyra was awake and heard the whole conversation :3

“I’m no longer an aeronaut” :( “I’m an insect” - LMAO

Hester and Lee’s banter remains my favourite thing and now it’s bittersweet tbh...

“You could never be an insect, Lee” “Okay, hare” - bless them

Marisa finding where Lyra was staying and then finding Lyra’s coat?? And crying with it pressed to her face?? :’(

In case I haven’t mentioned it already, I am incredibly gay for the witches/their aesthetic/costume. Absolutely beautiful queens, all of them

Oh hi, it’s Mary and the two kids!

The fact that Mary helped them find their adults :’)

Also, “We like you miss” - BLESS

I’m kind of confused as to whether the blue flower petals are important or if it’s just her smelling them? IDK

“I’m close to my father, it’s time I found him” - OOF OKAY UMM ARE YOU SURE

“I let my best friend down” - Noooo Lyra, no you didn’t! :( Your dad is a terrible parent and killed him, that’s not your fault!

“Maybe this is how I let you down” - Well done, Asriel and Marisa, you’ve fucked up a perfectly fine child is what you’ve done

Will telling Lyra that she hasn’t let him down :3

That witch turning up because she was trying to warn Marisa about the spectres, only for Marisa to torture and kill her... oof

FUCKING MONKEY I CAN’T DECIDE HOW I FEEL ABOUT HIM

“She’s MY daughter” - Okay, damn, lady...

“EVE. She’s the mother of all” - OH FUCK YOU TOLD HER. OH FUCK OH FUCK OH FUCK

THE SPECTRE ATE HER DÆMON OMG NO THIS IS HORRIFYING WTAF

Seriously, the way the witch went so grey and lifeless and just fell to her knees and down... Urgh, my stomach is turning

Just when I thought I hated the monkey again, he starts whimpering because he’s afraid of the Spectres :(

“Stop whimpering” - DAMN MARISA YOU ARE A STONE COLD BITCH HUH

Pan being the damn voice of reason and telling Lyra they should stay with the witches like yes, Lyra, listen to him for once!!!

Okay but why are the Magisterium soldiers lowkey dressed like German soldiers from one of the World Wars???

I’m not really surprised that BBC left out the detail of Ruta and Asriel fucking when she found him to be honest XD

So the witches think that the Æsahættr is a person but it’s actually the KNIFE. AND THEY DON’T REALIZE. RUTA YOU DON’T NEED TO GO ANYWHERE, IT’S LITERALLY RIGHT THERE

“...That’s not my dæmon.” “Run.” - OH SHIT OKAY MY WHOLE BODY JUST TENSED UP

So umm Lee got shot and FUCK NO FUCK NO I’M NOT READY FOR THIS EMOTIONALLY THANKS

I LITERALLY DO NOT WANT THIS TO HAPPEN OKAY

“You’re either with me or against me” Umm he’s your dæmon?!?!

THE WAY SHE SCREAMED AT HIM OH MY GOD SHE’S FUCKING TERRIFYING HOLY CRAP

“What are you frightened of?” - oh, I don’t know, Marisa, maybe because YOU FUCKING SCREECHED AT HIM. MAYBE HE’S FRIGHTENED OF YOU

Also I love the detail of Marisa getting onto her hands and knees, sort of crouching and mirroring the monkey’s body language. I just love the parallel

The way the monkey flinched from her when she went to touch him omg :( No dæmon should be THIS afraid of their person (or at all?!?!)

Honestly, I find this series’ portrayal of Marisa fascinating tbh

“We have to do whatever it takes to keep her safe” - Umm, like maybe drugging her and hiding her in a cave for months? 🤔

Also in case I didn’t say this before, the fact she has complete control of the Spectres is fucking scary and always has been from the very first time I read the books

Okay so Lee is fully aware that he’s going to die if he stays behind but he does it because he knows that it’s the best chance of making sure that Lyra ends up under the knife’s protection (because Jopari will find her). All Lee wants is for Lyra to be safe and that hurts my heart so much, he loves this child so much :’(

“I love that little girl like a daughter” - LEE STOP MY HEART IS ALREADY BREAKING AS IT IS

NO NO NO NO I AM NOT AND NEVER WILL BE READY

Oh hey Red PAN-da (sorry I know I keep repeating that joke but honestly LOOK AT HIM)

“Once I change, you’ll stop changing” - OH SHIT. So we’re having THAT conversation then

“What do you think you’ll be?” “A flea I hope” - LMFAO I LOVE IT

“Is it Will that’s changing you?” “I think” - FORESHADOWING FOR AMBER SPYGLASS ANYONE?!

All the meanwhile, while Lee is dying and shit is going down, Ms Mary Malone is just chilling in a cave on a mountain by a waterfall, just reading

I literally struggled to watch Lee’s final scenes. I literally didn’t want to watch it because I cried reading it in the book, and I knew I’d be the same here

The fact that Lee HATES taking away people’s lives but he says ��it’s theirs or Lyra’s”... I love him. He loves her so much.

“Think about anything, think about bacon!” - LMFAO I LOVE YOU HESTER YOU ABSOLUTE GEM

THE BULLET CLIPPED HIS SCALP AND I HAD A HEART ATTACK 

“This is my fault, isn’t it?” - NO HESTER NO DON’T YOU DARE BLAME YOURSELF DARLIN’, YOU ARE THE BEST AND WE LOVE YOU AND LEE LOVES YOU

I do this everytime I read the book and I did here even though I know what happens, but I was praying mentally that maybe Serafina would reach Lee in time... just maybe...

I’m really sitting here crying over Hester and Lee on a Sunday night, love that for me

Hester limping :(

“Don’t you go before I do” - FUCK YOU BBC AND PHILIP I’M SOBBING MY EYES OUT

“Oh how far we flew” - STOP IT. STOP IT RIGHT FUCKING NOW I SWEAR-

I literally yelled and cried out “NOOO” when Hester faded away and Lee died. I am so upset even though I KNEW it was coming. I am literally not okay.

Oh god no Will, now is not the time to be walking away from Lyra and that witch 

Also why is that witch asleep on guard?? Come on, love, do better, it’s not like these are the two most important children in all the universes.... 

To be fair to Marisa, I’d feel pretty invincible if I were climbing up a mountain while the Spectres were guarding me/on my side

WILL AND JOHN FINALLY MET AHHHH

“I was told I’d find my father here”  - YEAH AND THAT’S HIM WILL ASDFGHJKL;

I’m low-key disappointed that there’s no brawl between Will and Jopari here. Like they instantly recognize each other and... hmm. I know there has to be changes but still.

“Your mother, Will, where is she?” - Awww. John really didn’t stop loving her :’)

“My son... is the Knife Bearer” - oooooohhhhhhh

“You have a dæmon” - that’s right, Will. Don’t worry, you’ll get one next season

The way I audible went “oh shIT” when Mrs Coulter found Lyra fast asleep. Like I said, I knew what was going to happen but STILL

I’m not really surprised that those Spectres killed the witch who was supposed to be guarding Lyra and Will tbh like that’s what happens when only ONE witch guards two teenagers and that witch falls asleep

The way that Lyra panicked when she woke up and saw her mother stroking her cheek omg 

Off topic but I’ve only just realized that Jopari has a fucking man-bun LMFAO OKAY

The fact that Jopari tried to get back to Will and Elaine but couldn’t will always hurt me

“And you chose these people over your family?” - I MEAN-

“I’ve thought about you every day.” - Awww

So John tells Will that he has to go to Asriel and bring him the knife, and he tells him all about the war that’s coming and I have LITERAL chills because I’m so ready

“And then we go home?” “... And then we go home.” - RIP MY HEART OUT, IT WOULD HURT LESS

“I’m not strong enough” - yes you are, Will! I promise you, you are! And Jopari says, “Both of us were brought here” - exactly! You were brought there for a reason by fate or whatever you want to call it!

“Your duty was to be my father” - WILL REALLY CAME FOR HIS DAD LIKE THAT I GUESS

“Look what you’ve become without me” - Oh my god, just when I thought I wasn’t going to cry again

JOPARI HUGGING WILL, SEEING THE SOLDIER AIMING, AND THEN PUTTING HIMSELF BETWEEN THEM SO HE TOOK THE BULLET INSTEAD OF WILL ASDFGHJKL;

So in the book, Jopari is killed by a scorned witch who had once asked him to be her lover, but he had turned her down (because of Elaine and Will obviously), and she kills Jopari in front of Will and then he kills her (I think?). But here it’s just a soldier leftover from the Lee vs Magisterium fight, so... yeah. Kind of a little peeved about the change personally but whatever I guess.

“The night is full of angels, they will guide you now” - AHHHHH

Also, might just be me, but maybe that line would have been slightly more impactful if the scene had taken place at night

This show really said “fuck healthy parental figures” I guess

Except Will’s mum, she’s the best and if anything were to happen to her we’d all riot

SAYAN KÖTÖR FADING AWAY NOOOO I HATE SEEING DÆMONS DIE

Okay, last little gripe, but I just wanted to say that in the book, Will doesn’t realize it’s his dad until literally the last second before his dad dies - like they both realize and then BAM, Jopari is killed. And while I do love the father-son reunion, I am kind of annoyed by the change because it was such a huge punch in the gut in the book that Will searches for so long for his dad, only to lose him the second he finds him.

Serafina finding Lee’s body and kissing his forehead was yet another punch in the gut, thanks Pullman/BBC/BadWolf

The fact that Will had to bury his dad :(

Also, WILL WEARING JOPARI’S JACKET OH MY GOD MY HEART

Oof that shot of his amputated fingers...

So the narration, when it started I thought it was Jopari at first, like from one of his letters... but then as it continued, I went “hang on”, and then I said outloud “wait, is that ASRIEL?!”

DID MARISA REALLY PUT LYRA IN A FUCKING TRUNK?!? BITCH ARE YOU OKAY?!?

Will putting his hood up like his dad did just hits differently

Okay so um ASRIEL HI I WASN’T EXPECTING TO SEE YOU THIS SEASON OH MY GOD THE SCREAM I LET OUT

HIS MONOLOGUE BY THE WAY IS FUCKING ART AND A MASTERPIECE BUT I WAS TOO BUSY CRYING OVER JAMES MCAVOY TO WRITE THE WHOLE MONOLOGUE DOWN

Oh, hi Stelmaria!

It always makes me scream that this man is not only Lord Asriel now but he’s also fucking Mr Tumnus and MOTHERFUCKING BILL DENBROUGH LIKE HOW IS THIS MAN INVOLVED IN SO MANY OF MY FANDOMS?!?

ANGELS ANGELS OH MY FUCKING GOD-

“We stand with you, Asriel Belacqua” - AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

“Let us prepare for war” - FUUUUUUUUCK

(I was deadly serious when I said this was just me screaming and crying by the way)

I’m still reeling over the fact that Marisa put her daughter in a fucking trunk. Like I get you can’t exactly carry a drugged child about in the open but Jesus Christ, love, really?!?

Also Ruth Wilson / Marisa Coulter in a headscarf? *chef kiss*

The way that the screen went to black as she put the lid on the trunk down - SHIT OH SHIT GOOSEBUMPS

THE CREDIT SONG IS SO BEAUTIFUL BECAUSE IT HAS FUCKING ANGELS NOW I’M-

I WASN’T EXPECTING THE POST CREDITS SCENE OH MY GOD

ROGER?! ROGER! IT’S ROGER I’M NOT OKAY-

BBC YOU CANNOT JUST DROP THAT ON US LIKE THAT FUCK-

“What is this place?” - I’M SCREAMING SO LOUD I CAN’T HOLD IT IN

For anyone unaware, the reason I’m screaming so loud over the post-credits scene is because in TAS, while Lyra is drugged and in a groggy sleep, she has these visions of Roger talking to her from the Land of the Dead, which then later leads to her and Will actually GOING to the Land of the Dead and... well, the rest is even HUGER spoilers but YEAH I’M NOT OKAY.

Honestly, I’m just so happy and emotional because I’ve been waiting over a decade for a decent adaptation of not only NL but for TSK and TAS too, and we’re 2/3 there now. Just one more book/series to go... I wish we could have it now. I really hope that filming for the final one starts ASAP because if we have to wait two years just to see the conclusion to this series, I might cry.

This series is so amazing, and this season especially has been so incredible to watch. It’s been the highlight of my week for seven weeks, and I have no idea what I’ll do with my Sundays now that it’s over. I’ve asked for the DVD for S2 for my birthday already (since it comes out 29th December and my birthday is 13th January... just saying), and words can’t describe how much I do love this series. I know it sounds hollow since I say it about so many things I’m into, but this was such a huge part of my childhood and it’s one of my favourite fantasy series of all time. It’s truly one of the most incredible pieces of literature and now it’s making for incredible television... I love it so much.

[waitimcomingtoo]

Protocol

Pairing: Brad Simpson x reader

Synopsis: the boys chase a drunk Brad down the street as he tries to make things right with you

Masterlist

“Hello?” Brad called out as he walked into the house. “I’m home.”

“Brad?” You froze in your tracks as a chill went down your spine. He came into your shared bedroom with an unsuspecting smile on his face, making your hands clench around the box in your hands.

“Hi darling.” He greeted you as he set his suitcase on the ground.

“What are you doing here?” You asked softly.

“I live here.” He teased before his eyes fell on the box in your hands. His face crumpled as he read “picture frames” written on the side in your handwriting.

“What are you doing?” He asked weakly, eyes never leaving the box.

“You said you were coming home tomorrow.” You reminded him.

“My flight was changed.” He told you. “What are you doing?”

“I’m sorry.” You whispered. “You weren’t supposed to be home.”

“What are you doing?” He repeated, firmly this time. You looked down at the box, unable to look him in the eyes as he slowly figured out what was happening.

“I’m leaving.” You mumbled without lifting your head. Brad slowly looked around the room, finally seeing how empty it was without your belongings. He looked at you in confusion and you nearly broke down.

“You.” You continued. “I’m leaving you.”

“What?” His asked, voice cracking. “Why?”

“You’re never here.” You told him with a shaking voice. “I’m on my own more than I’m with you. And when you’re gone, you don’t call. You don’t call or text or really give me any sort of indication that you remember me. I can’t do this anymore, Brad. I’m done.”

“But...what?” He rubbed his face as he tried to process what you were saying.

“I’m not happy, Brad.” You said weakly. “You’re a perfect boyfriend when you’re home but the second you leave for tour, it’s like I don’t exist.”

“That’s not true.” He protested.

“Its not?” You laughed sadly. “We hardly ever speak. Look at your phone. When was the last time you texted me?”

Brad took out his phone, sure that you were wrong. He looked at his messages and sure enough, you were right.

“Wednesday.” He answered sheepishly.

“Yeah.” You nodded. “It’s Monday.”

“You’re leaving me because I haven’t texted you in a few days?” He asked.

“It’s not just that.” You whined and walked past him. He ran after you and stood in front of you.

“Then what is it?” He asked as he blocked your path.

“I shouldn’t have to explain it to you. You should know.” You said and tried to move past him.

“But I don’t. Please, baby. I don’t understand.”

You stopped trying to get past him and looked into his glassy eyes. It took everything in you not to unpack the box and stay with him. As much as you wanted to stay, you knew you had to leave.

“Bradley.” You sighed. “I wake up every morning and I have no idea if you love me or not. I can’t keep waiting for you to let me be a part of your life. I have to go.”

You walked past him and went out the front door with him following behind you.

“Please.” He begged. “Don’t leave. I can change.”

“I’ve heard that before.” You said as you walked faster to your car. You tried to open your car door but he put his hand on it to keep it closed.

“It will be different this time.” He assured you. “I promise.”

You looked at all your belongings in the backseat of your car for a minute before looking back at him. He was silently begging you to stay as tears slipped from his eyes.

“I just can’t believe you.” You shook your head. “I’m sorry.”

You walked around the car and got in the front seat but he caught the door before you could shut it.

“But, darling.” He cried. “I love you.”

“And I love you.” You told him. His eyes lit up as he hoped that meant you were changing your mind.

“It’s just not enough.” You continued. His hand slipped off the door in shock, and you were able to shut it. He watched you pull away as tears fell from his eyes, and that’s when he knew he had lost.

2 months later

The boys were sitting around in Tristan’s living room, all mindlessly scrolling through their phones. Brad noticed James smile suddenly, then look at Conner and Tristan. They shook their heads at him and James quickly put his phone down.

“What?” Brad asked when he noticed the strange interaction. The boys exchanged a look, and silently decided not to lie to Brad.

“Y/n just congratulated me on All Night hitting 500 million streams on Spotify.” James explained. Brad stiffened when he heard your name and looked to the other boys.

“Yeah.” Tristan nodded slowly. “She texted me too.”

“I wonder how she’s been.” Connor said, earning a glare from Tristan and James. Brad let out a defeated sigh and rubbed his face, also wondering how you had been. He couldn’t find the words to say, so he just hung his head in shame.

“Sorry, mate.” Connor apologized. “I didn’t mean to bring it up.”

“It’s fine.” Brad shrugged as he got up. He grabbed a beer from the refrigerator and sipped it while looking out the window.

“I talked to Kirstie’s friend from work. Remember I told you about Heather?” James changed the subject. “She said she’d go out with you tonight if you want.”

“Sure.” Brad replied, hardly listening.

“Give her a chance mate.” James suggested. “You might like her.”

“Yeah.” Tristan agreed. “Especially since Y/n-“

Tristan was cut off with a harsh series of hushes from the other boys. Brad returned his attention to them, knowing they were trying to keep something from him.

“What about Y/n?” He asked.

“Nothing.” Connor said as he glared at Tristan.

“Tris.” Brad singled him out. Tristan looked at him apologetically and sighed.

“I heard shes seeing someone.” He admitted. Brad stumbled backwards a little as the wind was knocked out of him. He sat back down in the living room and stared at the wall.

“Dude.” James hit his arm.

“He asked.” Tristan defended himself. “And he was gonna find out eventually.”

“Brad, you okay?” Connor asked.

“I’m fine.” Brad replied as he wiped his eyes. “When does that Hannah want to meet?”

“It’s Heather.” James corrected. “And she said anytime.”

“All right.” Brad downed the rest of his beer and stood up. “I’m ready. Text me the address.”

“Don’t you want to get dressed?” James asked kindly, noticing Brad’s week old pajamas.

“I am dressed.” Brad gestured to himself.

“When was the last time you showered?” Tristan wondered.

“Or shaved?” Connor added.

“Wednesday.” Brad shrugged.

“Mate.” Connor sighed. “It’s Monday.”

“Well if she doesn’t like me for me, she’s more the one.” Brad gave them a tipsy smile and opened the front door.

“Okay.” James said wearily. “Have fun.”

Less than two hours later, Brad stumbled back through the front door and flopped onto the couch.

“Hey, man.” James greeted when he heard Brad come in. “How’d it go?”

“Horrible.” Brad mumbled. “She ordered Y/n’s favorite drink and it was downhill from there.”

“Brad.” James sighed and rubbed his friends back.

“James.” Brad whined. “I don’t need you to play matchmaker for me. I don’t want anyone else. I want Y/n. I miss her.”

“I’m sorry, mate.” He said. “But it’s over with Y/n. You have to move on.””

“I can’t move on.” Brad teared up again. “I love her.”

“I know you do.” James nodded. “But you can love her from a distance.”

“No.” Brad decided as he struggled it stand up. “I have to go to her house. I can talk some sense into her.”

Connor walked into the room right as James was trying to reign Brad in.

“What’s he doing?” Connor asked as he helped keep Brad in place.

“He’s drunk.” James explained. “And he’s trying to go to Y/n’s house.”

“I have to see her.” Brad slurred and went for the door.

“Woah woah woah.” Connor held him back. “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.”

“She’ll listen to me.” Brad declared. “She’ll listen this time. I know she will.”

“I think you should lie down and get some sleep.” James suggested.

“No.” Brad broke free from their grasp. “I’m going to her flat.”

“You can’t drive. You’re drunk.” Connor reminded him.

“I’ll walk.” Brad said as he went out the front door.

“Oh no.” Connor groaned. “Grab him.”

Connor and James chased Brad down the hall right as Tristan was coming up the elevator.

“Woah. Where’s he going?” He asked.

“To Y/n’s house.” James quickly explained as Brad ran out the front door of the apartment building. “Oh no. He got away!”

The boys quickly ran out of the apartment and searched the street for where Brad had gone.

“Brad!” Tristan called. “Where did you go?”

“Oh God.” Connor spotted him in the distance. “He’s running down the street.”

“Come on.” James sighed. “We have to get him.”

The boys chased Brad down the street, but never caught up to them. Even while drunk, he was faster than them. Brad found your apartment building and easily made it past the doorman. The boys finally caught up to him in the hallway by your door.

“Brad.” James tugged his arm towards the elevator. “We have to go home.”

“No.” Brad fought back. “I have to see her. I have to get her back.”

“You can’t just show up there.” Connor protested. “She won’t open the door.”

“I have to talk to her.” Brad slurred. “I have to try.”

“Just let him go.” Tristan sighed. “We’re not gonna be able to stop him.”

James reluctantly let go of Brads arm and let him go to your door.

“Y/n!” Brad called as he knocked on your door. “Open the door please.”

“Come on. You saw her door. Let’s go home.” James tried to tug him again.

“Y/n!” He ignored James and called again.

“She’s not home, mate.” Tristan shrugged. “Let’s go.”

“No. I have to see her.” He cried and knocked again. “Y/n. It’s Bradley. Open the door please.”

Suddenly, you opened your front door to see the boys with their arms around Brad, attempting to pull him away.

“Brad?” You asked when your eyes fell on him. Brad’s face softened and for a minute, he was stone cold sober. You couldn’t help but smile a little at him after not seeing him for months.

“We’re sorry.” James apologized. “We couldn’t stop him.”

“Hi darling.” Brad said weakly.

“Hi.” You chuckled a little at the sight in front of you. “Is he drunk?”

“Out of his mind.” Connor confirmed.

“I’m so sorry for everything.” Brad told you. “I’m sorry I drove you to leave.”

“Brad.” You said softly, finally seeing how broken he was without you. Your heart physically hurt from how badly you missed him.

“Please take me back.” He begged. “I miss you so much. I just want...”

Before he coudk finish his sentence, he passed out on the floor with a hard thud.

“Oh my God.” You gasped as stated at his limp body. “Is he okay?”

“I’m sorry.” Connor grabbed his leg and began to tug it. “We’ll take him home.”

“Wait. It’s okay.” You stopped him. “I’ll take care of him.”

“Are you sure?” Tristan asked.

“Yeah. I dated him for three years. I know how to take care of him.” You smiled softly.

“All right.” Tristan nodded. “It’s good to see you.”

“You too. I miss you guys.” You said as you pulled them into a group hug.

“We miss you.” Connor said as he patted your back. “Just keep an eye on him, okay? He does this a lot. It’s the first time he’s been able to slip through our fingers.”

“I’ll look after him.” You assured them. “And I’ll see you all soon.”

“See you.” James called as they walked towards your elevator. With the boys gone, you turned your full attention to Brad.

“Come on.” You shook him gently. “It’s time to get up.”

“Y/n?” Brad asked in a daze as he slowly woke up.

“Yeah, it’s me.” You chuckled as you tried to lift him. “God, you’re heavy. Woah, and stinky.”

“I’m sorry.” He mumbled from the ground.

“I know. Stand up.” You commanded, and this time he listened. He slowly stood up and swayed a little on his feet.

“We’re going inside, okay?” You said as you wrapped his arm around your shoulder. “Lean on me.”

You helped Brad into your apartment as he hung on your side like dead weight. His head was buried in your hair as you slowly helped him inside.

“You smell good.” He slurred in your ear.

“I wish I could say the same for you.” You teased as you held your breath. You carefully brought him to your couch and began to set him down.

“All right. Easy does it.” You said as you took his arm off of you and let him sit. Brad slumped on your couch like a rag doll and ran his fingers over the material.

“This is your couch?” He asked sleepily.

“Yeah.” You told him. “The previous owner left it.”

Brad winced a little as he remembered that you no longer lived with him and now had a place of your own.

“It’s nice.” He smiled weakly. “We used to have a couch together.”

“Yeah. We used to have a lot together.” You said softly as you sat next to him on the couch. Even though he was drunk, you could see the remorse in Brad’s eyes. He rubbed your couch with his hand and pouted.

“I miss that.” He mumbled. “I miss you.”

“I know, bear.” You modded. “Me too.”

“It’s been so long since you called me that.” He smiled a little when he heard his old nickname from your lips.

“I know.” You chuckled. “We haven’t talked in a while.”

“It’s my fault.” His smile fell. “I fucked everything up.”

“Yeah.” You said quietly. “You did.”

“I’m so sorry.” He told you. “I’ll never stop being sorry.”

“I’d be a lot more willing to forgive you if you took a shower.” You scrunched your nose at him.

“I can do that.” He laughed in his drunken state and tried to stand up. He almost fell over, but you quickly caught him.

“Come on.” You laughed as helped him walk towards the bathroom. “Into the bathroom.”

You lead him into the bathroom and let him lean against you as you walked. You told him it was to help keep him on his feet, but you really just missed his touch.

“Okay.” You pushed the bathroom door open. “We’re here. This is my shower.”

Brad stared at it for a minute as if he’d never seen a shower before.

“How do I use it?” He looked to you for help.

“You just turn the knob.” You laughed and turned the knob towards the hot water.

“Thats too much responsibility for me”. Brad mumbled under his breath.

“Its okay. It’s already warm.” You said as you ran your hand under the water. “Shampoo and conditioner are on the floor. The soap is in the dish.”

As you turned around, you saw Brad tangled up in his shirt with his arms crossed.

“Oh no.” You chuckled. “What happened here?”

“I’m stuck.” His voice was muffled behind the shirt over his head.

“I can see that. Come here.” You gestured for him to come over and he stumbled towards you. You helped him pull his shirt the rest of the way off, reminding you of that way you used to be. He flushed a little under your gaze, feeling more vulnerable than ever.

“You stink.” You scrunched your nose up again when his must hit you.

“I know.” He smiled a little. “Sorry.”

“I took one of your razors by accident. It’s in the cabinet behind the mirror.” You told him. “Use it, please. You look like a pedophile.”

“I’ll use it.” He said, never taking his eyes off you. You stared back at him as you fought the urge to lean in and kiss him right there. You took a step back before you could get ahead of yourself and patted his chest.

“Okay.” You smiled shyly at him. “Have fun in there.”

“I’ll try.” He called after you as you left the bathroom.

When Brad came out of the shower, there was a pile of his clothes sitting on the counter. You had stolen enough of his clothes to throw together an outfit for him. Next to the clothes was a glass of water and some aspirin. He got dresses, popped the pills in his mouth and downed the water before finding his razor in the cabinet.

Once he was done, he padded back into your kitchen and found you sitting at the island.

“There you are.” You smiled at him. “Much better.”

“I feel better.” He told you. “I puked in your toilet though.”

“Well then it’s a good thing I made you some food to fill back up.” You said as you put a plate of eggs and toast in front of him. He looked at you gratefully before digging in.

“Thank you so much.” He said with a mouthful. “I haven eaten in hours.”

“Really? You didn’t eat on your date?” You asked as you put another glass of water by his plate.

“I was hardly even there.” He shook his head. “I drank half the bar though. Wait, how did you know about my date?”

“Tris tells me everything.” You chuckled. “I knew you were on your way here before you even left.”

“Damn.” He laughed as well. You sat in comfortably silence until Brad remembered what drove him to get drunk in the first place. “He told me you were seeing someone.” He said without making eye contact with you.

“It’s not serious.” You shrugged. “It’s only been a few dates.”

Brad felt sick to his stomach as you confirmed his worst nightmare.

“Does he call when he says he will?” He laughed humorlessly.

“Yeah.” You smiled sadly. “And he texts me too.”

“Wow.” Brad rolled his eyes and took a bite of his toast. You got up and poured hot water into a mug before putting his favorite tea bag in it.

“And he owns his own business so he works whatever hours he wants.” You continued as you set the mug in front of him. “No weeks away in other cities.”

“He sounds perfect.” Brad mumbled as he took a sip of his tea.

“Yeah.” You nodded as you sat back down. “I wouldn’t really know, though.”

“Why not?” Brad perked up.

“Cause when I’m with him, all I think about is you.” You said sheepishly. Brad froze and looked at you hopefully when he heard you say this. You gave him a small smile and leaned your chin in your hand, raising your eyebrow a little to tell him the ball was in his court.

“I don’t deserve a second chance from you.” He shook his head. “I don’t deserve any of this.”

“Maybe not.” You agreed. “But I’m giving you one anyway.”

“Why are you being so nice to me?” He wondered. “You never had to open the door. But you let me in, cleaned me up and made me all this food. I broke your heart, remember? Why would you do all this for me?”

“Because I love you.” You said simply. “And l’ve been miserable without you. I should’ve stayed and worked things out. I can’t tell you how much I regret leaving like that.”

“It’s okay.” He nodded and put his hand on top of yours. “It was my fault. I drove you to leave. But I promise, if you come back, everything will be different. I’ll call you so much, you’ll get sick of me. And I’ll start taking you with me on tour. No more months away. I promise.”

“I really want to believe you.” You sighed and toyed with his fingers. “I already know you’re sorry. You left me about 40 voicemails telling me that you are. You’re lucky I haven’t turned one into a song yet.”

“I guess I am pretty lucky.” He chuckled slightly.

“I still might.” You teased. “Next time you piss me off, I’m making a single out of “y/nnnn. I miss you. Please take me back” and getting on the charts.”

“Please don’t.” He whined as he got out of his seat and walked around the kitchen island to be near you.

“As long as you keep your word and make some changes, I won’t have to.” You smiled softly now that he was close to you.

“Thank you for letting me in tonight.” He spoke softly as he eyes stayed on your lips. “Thank you for everything.”

“You’re welcome, bear.” Your lips tugged into a full smile. You wrapped your arms around his neck and rested your forehead against his, relishing in his warmth. Brad took the initiative to lean forward and kiss you for the first time in two months. Three actually, since he’d been away on tour. You pulled him closer to deepen the kiss, feeling like you never wanted to pull away.

“Thank you for taking me back. I love you so much.” He mumbled against your lips. You rested your head on his shoulder and gently swayed with him in the kitchen, missing him more than words can say.

“I love you too, bear.”

[lumosinlove]

Sweater Weather

WARNING: struggles with homophobia and past abuse.

part xv

Remus had his head in Lily’s lap, the TV on a commercial break from the All-Stars game, when there was a knock at the door. Remus’ head ached, but he raised it anyway at the delusional thought that it might be Sirius, despite knowing exactly where he was. He remembered a similar knock, one that had actually revealed Sirius, who had fallen straight into his arms. And Remus had been there for him.

“Do you want me to get it?” Lily asked gently, her hands in Remus’ hair.

“I will,” Remus sighed, and sat up, rubbing his eyes. “Sorry that’s probably not a comfortable position for you and the baby.”

James appeared from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel. “Do you want me to get it?”

“I’ll do it,” Remus smiled a little, standing. “Thanks for getting the dishes, Pots, really.”

“No problem,” James shrugged.

Another knock sounded and Remus called out that he was coming.

“Probably just one of those salespeople,” Remus sighed as he turned the lock. “Someone always falls for it and lets them in—”

Remus’ words died in his mouth in surprise.

Finn sent him a hesitant smile from the other side of the door, Leo mirroring it.

“Sup, Loops,” Finn said.

“I…Hi, boys.”

James poked his head around Remus to see.

“Cubs?” James questioned.

“Pots?” Leo said.

“And Lily!” Lily called from the living room.

Remus stared at them. “What are you doing here? Are you…”

And Remus realized. How could he have forgotten? Logan.

He didn’t know what was going on with these three, but maybe he was about to find out.

Finn held up a bag. “We brought tacos.”

“You just missed it, I made dinner,” James said.

“Oh,” Finn lowered the bag slowly. “Well…phew.”

James scoffed. “Thankless little rookie babies.”

“I’m not a rookie,” Finn pointed out. “More tacos for us.”

“Still.”

Remus blinked back to life. “Jeez, sorry, come in, guys.”

Finn walked past him only to receive a slug on the arm from James, and Leo put his hand on Remus’ shoulder as they followed James and Finn back into the living room.

“How are you?”

Remus looked up at him with a shaky smile and raised a shoulder. Leo nodded, understanding.

“We haven’t talked,” Remus found himself saying, throat closing a little at just the words. “I don’t really—Things are really just…busy right now.”

“I’m so sorry, Loops,” Leo said quietly.

“Don’t make excuses for him,” Finn said as he unpacked the take-out containers.

Lily spread her hands. “Thank you, O’Hara.”

“I’m not,” Remus said. “I didn’t expect smooth sailing, alright? Look, it’s…” Remus sat down. “It’s more complicated than that. Is there a point where I’m going to stop cutting him slack? Of course. But I need you guys to trust that I know when that point is. That point isn’t now, when he got brutally outed, which he was terrified of, and then had to go to one of the most public events in hockey in the same fucking breath.”

Remus stared around at them all. Finn was still holding the same take-out box.

“Okay?” Remus said.

“You got outed, too,” Leo said quietly.

“Yes,” Remus said over an exhale. “But I was ready. Not the way I would have chose, but I was. That’s the difference.”

The room got quiet again. Remus glanced at the television, but a commercial was still playing.

So,” Finn began slowly. “Is this a good time to say that me and Leo—”

Lily gasped, clapping her hands to her chest. “I knew it. Wait—”

“…are dating Logan?”

Lily’s gasp turned to one of surprise, slow and drawn out. She put her hand on her belly, eyes wide as she looked between them.

“Oh,” she breathed. “Yes.”

James put his towel on his head, pulling at it by his ears. “The cubs?”

Finn gave James a confused look. “Yes? What are you doing?”

“How did that happen?”

“Lots of misunderstanding,” Leo sighed. “And time.”

“Eight years in some cases,” Finn added.

Lily cooed. “Since college, aw, babies. Nut, are you wearing Logan’s hat? I’m going to cry. I’m pregnant so I’m allowed to cry at this.”

Everything Remus wanted to say felt lodged in his chest. He blinked and he saw Sirius’ haunted expression.

“Re?” Leo said hesitantly.

Remus snapped his head up. “Hm?”

“I know this is probably the last thing you’d want to hear,” Leo continued with a glance at Finn. Through the glass coffee table, Remus saw Finn put a hand on Leo’s thigh. “But we really have you to thank. Logan was sort of our missing link, you know? He was…” Scared, Remus knew Leo was about to say. Just like Sirius. But he shifted at the last second. “You really got through to him.”

What Remus couldn’t do for Sirius.

Remus smiled at them, knowing it was probably shadowed with everything bouncing around in his head and chest right now.

“I’m so happy you guys worked it out,” he said, and it was true. “Really, that’s…”

Sirius turning away, disappearing.

“That’s amazing.”

Sirius, the morning after.

Who I love has nothing to—

“Sorry,” Finn said. “Maybe that was…”

“No,” Remus said. “No, I’m glad you told us. I’m glad you’re comfortable, of course I am. I don’t want any of this making you feel like you can’t be yourself.”

“I think it did the opposite, Re,” Lily said gently.

Remus nodded. “Exactly.”

There was another knock on the door. Remus turned around.

“Um,” he said. “I’ll get it? Again, I guess?”

“What’s up, Fruit-loop,” Natalie said when Remus opened the door. Her blonde hair was pulled into a high, messy bun and she was wearing pajamas. “I brought face masks.”

“I brought alcohol,” Kasey said from behind her. He held up a bag. “And candy.”

Remus stared. “I…”

“We brought tacos!” Finn yelled from the living room.

Natalie clicked her tongue, smiling. “I knew I liked that red-head.”

“Sup, Nat,” Remus heard Finn say as he and Kasey watched Natalie walk into the living room from the door.

“You are a walking freckle, O’Hara, but you brought tacos, so it’s okay.”

Finn snorted, and Remus turned back to meet Kasey’s dark eyes.

“Hey, Bliz,” Remus said softly. “Uh, thanks for bringing—”

“He was selfish,” Kasey interrupted him. “And you’re allowed to think that and love him at the same time.”

Remus almost laughed. It seemed that everyone knew Remus loved Sirius except Sirius. Kasey’s words hit like stone, but they were soothing, too. The ache of pressing on a paper cut.

Kasey smiled a little, just a closed upturn of his lips.

“Come on,” he said, and nudged Remus inside the door, closing it behind him. “I make mean cocktails.”

Walking back into the living room, Remus stared around at them all. They were spread out, Kasey in the kitchen unloading what seemed like ten bottles, Natalie and Lily with their arms around each other on the couch. James and Finn seemed to be seeing who could build the biggest taco, Finn leaning back into Leo’s chest and feeding him chips.

Natalie pointed between them. “When?”

“A while,” Finn said. “Logan, too.”

Natalie’s smile was approving. “Hot.”

Leo pressed his finger over his lips, and Natalie pretended to zip her mouth closed.

Remus let out a breath. He had thought he would want to be alone, but this felt—better. The chatter, the laughter…it distracted him. Sirius wasn’t his entire world, no matter how big a part of it he occupied. Remus liked being reminded of that.

He took his place back on Lily’s other side and leaned into her.

“And welcome back to all our viewers,” the television said. “To our 2020 All-Star Weekend, where you can see your favorites present their best skills, and dream lines compete against each other.”

Remus sucked in a breath.

“You gonna be okay?” Lily said quietly. “Watching this?”

“Yes,” Remus said firmly. He wanted to see Sirius’ face.

It was true, Remus did have a point when he would stop cutting Sirius slack.

He would wait, but not forever. And not for the wrong reasons.

He had told Sirius that himself.

“Red carpet first, right?” Finn asked through a mouthful of chips.

“Yep,” Leo said.

“Okay,” James said, staring at Finn and Leo. “I love this. Where would Logan be sitting right now? Like, does it get crowded?”

“Imagine if you had two Lilys, James,” Finn said with a raised eyebrow.

James blinked for a moment, then flushed behind his glasses. “Fuck.”

Finn grinned. “Yeah.”

James took another bite of taco and chewed slowly. “That’s so much love.”

“Yeah,” Leo said softly, and pressed his cheek to the top of Finn’s head.

“What we’ll be doing tonight is welcoming all of our players, who were voted in by the fans, of course,” said the announcer. “And there is our nice red carpet. We’ll see who arrives first shortly, I’m sure.”

“I am so excited to see Crosby,” Lily sighed. “That man’s butt, my god.”

James made a disgruntled sound.

“Love you, Potter,” Lily smiled.

“It is a legendary ass,” Kasey said.

“Me and Kase rate asses every year,” Natalie said. “I think Crosby won.”

“He wins every year,” Kasey said. “Deservingly so.”

“That’s true.”

They watched the Stars arrive, then the Bruins. Zibanejad  and Panarin came from the Rangers.

Sirius and Logan were one of the last team members to show up and, ironically, they did so at the same time as the Snakes.

“Oh, Jesus fuck,” Finn breathed. They had finished their tacos and Finn was still sitting against Leo’s chest while Leo leant back against the couch, their hands laced on Finn’s stomach.

Remus watched, holding his breath, as Sirius and Logan got out of the car.

“Our boys,” Kasey said. “And…”

From just beside them, Snape and Regulus emerged, straightening their suit.

James and Finn hissed loudly.

“The snakes,” Leo finished.

Remus only half heard them, too focused on the camera flashing to a close up of Sirius’ face. His heart positively yearned.

Sirius looked exhausted. His eyes were a dull gray, hair curling agonizingly soft over his forehead. He was wearing a black suit, lapels velvet.

“Sirius Black with the fashion statement,” one of the announcers laughed. Remus couldn’t even tell them apart. “I guess we should expect that now.”

“Oh, fuck you!” Natalie yelled. “Fuck you, you stereotyping ass-hat.”

It rolled Remus’ stomach, but not as much as Sirius’ expression when he saw his brother and Snape. It was only on the screen for a second, his clenched jaw and unsteady eyes, before it switched to Logan.

“Oh, baby,” Finn sighed. “Look at that glare.”

It was true. Logan’s stare, aimed at Snape, was menacing.

“And there’s the League’s oldest and most famous rivalry right there,” the commentators said with a laugh. “Arriving at the same time. And, of course, Sirius Black who, as you all might know, has made a bit of a splash in the news recently when photos of him kissing another man were leaked to the media and turned out a major Twitter trend. That man is Remus Lupin.”

Remus’ stomach clenched. He had known they might bring him up, but he didn’t really think—

“Now, what do we know about Remus Lupin?” the announcer continued. “Not much. He’s on the Lions training staff, working, shall we say, closely with the players. And, well, the man was one heck of a hockey player himself. Let us play you the tapes we dredged up from Lupin’s college days at the University of Wisconsin.”

“What the hell,” Remus breathed, tucking his knees to his chest and hugging them. He felt Lily glance at him.

The screen faded away from the carpet and suddenly Remus was staring at an old memory. The footage was a little grainy, but he saw himself—could remember the feeling of himself—sprinting up the ice, skates cutting in. He took one player down, another, and scored. The tape cut and he won a Face-off, knocking it back to—

“Is that Greyback?” Finn leaned forward. “Fenrir Greyback?”

Remus swallowed. “Yes.”

“You played with—”

The announcers came back into view, grinning at each other.

“Pretty great. Unfortunately, Lupin was injured just before his draft eligibility, but, rumor has it, he was set for first. Would you look at that, Rob?”

“I know, John. Well, looks like he found another way to get some fame, eh?”

The two laughed. The living room was dead silent.

“Up next, we’ll get to talk to some of the stars. We’ll be right back after this break.”

“Excuse me,” Remus managed.

“Remus,” James called.

But Remus was already up, walking quickly out of the living room and into his bedroom, closing the door behind him.

Remus squeezed his eyes shut, then open. He fumbled for his phone, sinking down to the floor against the door with his knees against his chest. His thumb missed the call button twice, but finally the screen went dark with the call display.

It rang and rang. And rang. Remus rubbed his thumb along his neck. Of course, Sirius wouldn’t answer. Look what he was in the middle of.

“Hey.”

Remus closed his eyes.

“You’ve reached the Sirius Black,” James’ voice said on Sirius’ voicemail. “I can’t come to the phone because either girls are proposing marriage, or I’m scorning a hat trick. Maybe both! Leave a message!”

The beep was piercing, for the thirty-seventh time. He’d never left a message before.

“Sirius,” Remus whispered into the speaker. He pressed his forehead to his knees. “I know you’re—busy and I’m not going to beg you to talk to me, I…”

Remus took a breath.

“Just re-watch your arrival. I’m not going to beg, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to fight for you to see. See if you really care what those sort of people think about you.”

Remus hung up.

“Remus?”

It was Leo’s voice through the door.

Remus let out a steadying breath, scrubbing his face before standing and opening the door.

“Sorry,” Remus said. “I’m good, I just—I haven’t seen those in a long time, and then the two guys… I just needed a second.”

Leo had his hands in the front pocket of his sweatshirt, Logan’s hat backwards on his head, his blond hair fluffing out over the adjustment strap.

Leo nodded. “Do you want us all to clear out?”

Remus shook his head. “No.” He looked to the living room where the soft faces of his friends were peering at him. “No, I really don’t. C’mon let’s watch. I—Crosby does have a good ass and, you know…at least I can say that out loud now.”

Kasey laughed, pumping his fist in the air.

Remus settled himself on the couch again as they waited for the commercials to end.

“We’re cuddling too much,” Remus heard Finn whisper to Leo.

“No,” Remus said, hands out. “Please cuddle. Really, that’s not what’s wrong, I’m so happy for you guys.”

“It’s so cute,” James mumbled. “Lily, can we cuddle?”

“No, I’m cuddling Remus. We’ll cuddle later, baby.”

James nodded. “Kasey?”

Kasey raised an eyebrow from his chair. “You want to sit in this chair with me?”

James shrugged. “You can come on the floor.”

“I am a net minder,” Kasey said. “We do not sit on the floor.”

Natalie laughed, peeling a face mask out of its package. “Snob.”

Kasey winked at her.

Remus let out a breath, and smiled at Lily when she smiled at him. Things would happen, one way or another.

The ball was in Sirius’ court, the puck in his zone.

~

Sirius eyed the photographers and interviewers. His stomach churned. He had barely said two words to Logan, who had basically gotten right off the plane, into his suit, and into the car with Sirius, Minnie, and Logan’s agent, Clyde. They’d bumped fist, but the most Sirius had received from Logan was a hello and a serious of unreadable looks. It was those looks that disquieted Sirius more than the reporters. If Logan hated him—

“Hey,” Logan said as they were ushered forward onto the red carpet. Sirius was tense with Snape and his brother at their backs.

He looked at Logan.

“We’re talking later, okay? If we get split up, text me when you’re back at the hotel.”

Sirius blinked. It was—harsh for Logan. It was the way he spoke on the ice.

“I—okay. Yeah, let’s talk.”

Dread pooled in Sirius’ gut. But Logan wouldn’t want to talk if he didn’t like who Sirius was anymore, right?

Logan clapped him on the shoulder. “I have your back, Cap,” he said, and then he was pulled away to do his own run of interviews before Sirius could respond. Minnie approached him while Sirius was still standing there, mouth open, expression still changing.

“Right,” she sighed. “Well, here we are.”

Sirius shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’m sorry, Minnie. I’m such a headache.”

“Stop that nonsense, Sirius,” Minnie said, patting his arm. “You are the most real person I have ever met. Snapping at stupid questions instead of being a drone. It was unfair how the world thanked you for it, but I believe in you. You have a game plan, I’m assuming, although you refuse to tell me anything about it?”

Sirius sighed. “Sirius Black being gay is news. Sirius Black telling the media to go fuck themselves isn’t.”

“Excuse me,” an aid came up to them, headset on. “We’re ready for you on the carpet now.

“Thank you,” Sirius said, and he had just started forward when Minnie lay a gentle hand on his chest.

She pressed her lips together. “You remember what Alice said. This could be important to a lot of people. That includes yourself, my boy.”

Sirius swallowed hard. He nodded, quiet, and then followed the aid into the camera fray.

~

“Logan Tremblay, holding his fucking own,” Kasey slow clapped.

“You mean holding his fucking tongue,” Natalie said. “That’s kid’s a fire cracker.”

Finn, gestured to the television with his ice cream. “He was the perfect medium between civil and simmer. And now I can tell you all that I bought him that suit when we were eighteen. Well, I was eighteen. He was seventeen.”

“Does Tremz know we all know?” James questioned.

Leo nodded. “His plan was just to start making out in the locker room. I thought we should go for more of a verbal approach first.”

“I was okay with either,” Finn added, then looked at Remus. “I’m sorry I’m eating all your ice cream.”

Remus waved him off, heart still ringing with Logan’s words to the third interview he had.

You guys wouldn’t care if he had a girlfriend, Logan had said with a shrug. Why are you asking me that question with such a crazy look on your face? And then, finally. I support my Captain.

Sirius had been too far away to hear. He hoped Minnie played it for him later.

“But if that was one of Logan’s first interviews, that means…” Lily trailed off.

Sirius.

“I hope he knows what’s coming,” he said instead. By the looks of him, shoulders hunched, eyes guarded, he did.

All Remus wanted was for Sirius to talk to him about it. It was like a single, hooked claw dragging its way through him.

The screen flipped to Sirius, his gray eyes focused on the reporter’s grin. His own smile was small. The reporter threw him softball after softball, and Sirius answered them shortly. Remus waited, waited for it to happen, for the interview to take the turn they all expected.

But the reporter held out his hand. “Great to have you in the League, my friend. Have a great weekend, eh?”

Sirius stared at the hand, the camera zooming in a little.

“Ah, yes,” Sirius said haltingly, and took his hand. “Thank you.”

Remus sat forward.

“Well, that was okay,” Leo said, sounding out of breath.

“Yeah…” Remus said. He wasn’t ready to believe it was over yet, though.

“So, Sirius,” another reporter said. “You’ve been in the news lately, huh?”

“Oh, here we fucking go, eh?” Kasey gestured angrily at the screen.

“I’m in the news a lot,” Sirius said blankly. “More than I’d like.”

She laughed. “But first openly gay NHL player. That’s got to feel good?”

Sirius stared at her.

“He wasn’t,” Remus sat back again, cheeks hot as he stared at the microphone that was being held closer and closer to Sirius’ mouth. “You fucking lunatic, what is open about this to you?”

“Preach, Loops,” Natalie said, leaning over to pat his knee.

“I’m looking forward to a good weekend,” Sirius said. “Playing some good hockey.”

“I—”

But Sirius was already walking away, in fact, walking past all the cameras. The television camera caught some reporters staring at Minnie with alarmed eyes, angry at missing their interview with Sirius Black.

They could just see a glimpse of Minnie’s head following Sirius as the camera tracked his back all the way into the building.

Commercials filled the room.

“Wowza,” Finn said. “Okay.”

“I think it’s good he didn’t stick around for those guys,” Leo said. “I mean, he shouldn’t be made to talk about it like that, you know?”

“Yeah, maybe he should talk to me first,” Remus grumbled and took a long sip of his cocktail.

“Yes, Lupin,” Natalie clapped. “Bitch all you want, we know we all love him. It’s all good.”

Remus did want that, at least a little. It even made him smile, Natalie’s words. But most of him was longing for Sirius, for his phone to ring. He kept it close, even as the screen played another two hours of Sirius and all the other All-Stars signing puck after puck, doing stupid game after stupid game, preparing for the skills competitions tomorrow, and the three-on-three games the day after that.

~

Sirius was exhausted. The day had been camera after camera, signature after signature. He could have fallen asleep on his feet, but Logan’s promise kept his adrenaline up. Remus’ text, too.

Thankfully, he and Logan had shared a car back to the hotel.

“Your room,” Logan said simply, and pressed the elevator button.

They were mostly quiet on their way up, and Sirius’ hands fumbled a little with the keycard as he let Logan in. His suitcase was still zipped up where the bell-boy had left it, and Logan took his jacket off, tossing it onto the bed. Sirius heard the door shut behind them, and then it was quiet.

“Là,” Logan sighed, crossing the room and then turning around to face Sirius. “Straight to it, I guess.”

“Yeah,” Sirius breathed.

“I don’t want to sound like I know more than you. Because I don’t. I really, really don’t, but, this is just something I think you should know.”

Sirius looked at Logan carefully, wondering what he meant.

“Knowing about you, knowing that you’re…” Logan raised an eyebrow.

“Gay,” Sirius said.

“Gay,” Logan finished. “Cap, it,” he looked around, but they were alone. He took a step forward. “Sirius, it did more for me than I could ever tell you.”

Sirius felt the words sink in slowly. He looked at Logan. Really looked at him. Brighter. He stood straighter. He looked more focused.

“You mean you’re…”

“I get that you think you’re the only one, that you’re alone in all of this,” Logan said. “I thought that. I felt that. It nearly crushed me. But you aren’t. I’m not alone, either. Neither of us are alone, but…but you’re on one hell of a precipice.” 

Sirius knew what he meant.

“I ran from him.”

“Yeah,” Logan said. “What the fuck, Sirius?”

“I know,” Sirius felt like the air was leaving the room. “I’m horrible.”

“You aren’t,” Logan said, and looked up at Sirius. “But, that was. That was horrible. But you must have talked, I mean, it’s been…what? Two days?”

Shame burned Sirius through and through. “No,” he choked out. “We haven’t. He’s—he’s waiting for me—”

The words hurt. Remus seemed always to be waiting for Sirius, and Sirius always asking Remus to wait. It had seemed romantic, under the veil of Christmas and gifts. It didn’t feel that way now. Sirius felt selfish and cruel. He was.

“I left—” Logan reached up, as if to take off his hat that wasn’t there, and then smoothed his unruly hair instead. “I left Finn so many times.”

Sirius jerked his head up. Finn.

“And I was so scared and guilty because of that, that I left Leo, too.”

“Leo?” Sirius said, confused. “You…wait, I don’t—”

“Both of them,” Logan said simply. “Yeah, it’s…” despite everything, Logan smiled. “It’s…yeah. It’s us.”

Three, Sirius thought. On his own team, and he—he had thought—

“How could you do that?” Logan said softly. “How could you do that to him?”

Sirius stared at Logan, throat closed. He swallowed over the bile.

A mistake. He had made a mistake, of course he had made a mistake, he always made—

“Cap, I saw you,” Logan stepped forward. “I saw you every day and I didn’t know why, but you were happy. You were so fucking happy and I thought maybe you were just…I don’t know. I was jealous, to be honest,” Logan let out a short laugh. “I wanted to know how you did it. And now I see because I did it. I found my…” Logan took a breath, as if this was the first time he was saying it aloud. “I found my two.”

I lost my one, Sirius thought.

“You’re like my brother,” Logan said. “And, growing up with three sisters, I’ve always wanted a brother. I’ve looked up to you since I was, what, in high school? And you deserve that, Cap. You’re good, and you’re kind, and you’re a hell of a hockey player.” Logan shook his head. “But fuck what you did to Remus.”

“I don’t know what to say!” Sirius shouted, and Logan blinked at the suddenness. It had burst out of Sirius, the words hiding until he couldn’t, he couldn’t—

Sirius sat on the end of his bed. He was exhausted, and Logan hated him, and—

The bed dipped beside him and Logan’s arm wrapped around his shoulder. The sudden warmth at his side made Sirius close his eyes, dropping his head.

“Cap,” Logan’s voice was soft. “Merde, this is coming for someone who didn’t say a word about how they felt to the boy the loved for eight fucking years, but, yes, you do know what to say. I always knew what to say, I just couldn’t.”

“I can’t,” Sirius said.

“Sirius, fucking think for yourself,” Logan said, taking hold of Sirius’ shoulders and turning him to the side to face each other. “I said I couldn’t, that doesn’t mean you can’t. We can now. Who the fuck knows what your fucking family said to you all your life, but that doesn’t mean they’re right. All the shitty things Twitter said are wrong—everyone is allowed to be wrong but what the fuck are you doing if you can’t fix things?”

Logan was breathing hard by the end. He swallowed over a dry throat and Sirius watched, stunned. Logan shook his head, eyes bright.

“I saw what happened to you and I got angry and scared. You saw what happened to you and you got scared. You need to get angry. Drop the fucking gloves a little, Black, lose your temper. I’ve seen it before. It’s like a dead point streak mid-season. You fucking accept that you can’t score anymore? No.”

I don’t know how many times you’ve heard that you aren’t good enough. But I’m going to make you forget each one.

“I’m fucking mad at you,” Logan said. “But it’s because I love you. Not because you’re bad or because you’re hopeless, or because you made a mistake. You aren’t a bad person. And you’re allowed to make mistakes.”

Do not make any mistakes, his mother had said.

Logan let go of him, then, and the sat there shoulder to shoulder, quiet. Sirius felt—lighter. He’d never felt that after being yelled at before.

“Tremz,” he began shakily, then cleared his scratchy throat. “I’m…I’m proud of you, you know? If that means anything right now.”

Logan’s voice was thick, too. “Of course it does.”

“You’re right,” Sirius whispered. “You’re right, I…I made a horrible mistake. I had never been so terrified in my life. If I lost the team, I—I don’t know what…” Sirius pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. “You all are the only family I ever…”

Logan was quiet for a moment, and then his hand replaced itself on Sirius’ back.

“It’s not just about Remus, huh?”

Sirius let out a sob, let it tear through him, and shook his head.

“Cap,” Logan hushed, and Sirius felt him press his forehead to Sirius’ temple, like they did after a goal sometimes, in a scrimmage, only there was no helmet. No hockey. This was his friend. “You’re our Captain. We gave you that, and we keep you there. We want you there, you’re our leader. You’re our friend.”

“Have you talked to the boys?” Sirius wiped at his eyes, looking at Logan. “Have they said anything?”

“No one’s texted you because Leo thought we should all let you tell us in the way you wanted to,” Logan said. “Not because no one supports you. To be honest, we didn’t think you’d go radio silent for this long when we made that decision, but… And after you didn’t let James in…”

“I have a lot of people to talk to, huh?”

Logan smiled. “Not right now. Right now, you have one person to talk to.”

Sirius smiled, too. “Yeah.”

Fuck, he hadn’t looked at his phone all day.

Logan got up and stretched with a groan. “That media run was hell. Fuck this weekend. If I so much as pull a muscle tomorrow I’m going to murder someone.”

“That’s what we all say,” Sirius stood too. “Tremzy.”

Logan looked up at him.

“I’m really happy for you. You and Finn…and Leo,” Sirius laughed a little. “How did that work out?”

“So much drama,” Logan rolled his eyes. “And moping. And, what’s the word, destin?”

“Fate,” Sirius said.

“Right, fate,” Logan smiled. “See? Not so different from you.”

“Guess not, no.”

“I’m going to call my boys,” Logan said, and held up his phone, shaking it at Sirius. “You call yours.”

Sirius’ heart lurched with guilt, but he nodded. “I will. Really, though, I…I don’t know what I’d be doing now if you weren’t here.”

“Spiraling, like you did after that failed cup run?”

Sirius laughed. “Yes.”

Logan swung his jacket over his shoulder. “See you tomorrow, Cap. I’ll be ready to defend your honor.”

“No, you aren’t allowed to fight because of this.”

“D’accord, d’accord,” Logan waved him off and shut the door.

Sirius stood there, feeling strangely light, given everything. He blinked after Logan for a moment, and vowed to call James, too, who had pounded on his door for hours. He felt stupid and selfish still, but he wanted to apologize. Not hide. But only after. After Remus.

Sirius took his phone from his pocket.

He had a voicemail. Remus hadn’t left a voicemail before. Sirius thought of the cold, formal text. He didn’t know if he could bare to hear that in Remus’ voice, but he clicked listen anyway.

“Sirius,” Remus’ voice came after a second, and Sirius sat down heavily.

I know you’re—busy and I’m not going to beg you to talk to me, I… Just re-watch your arrival. I’m not going to beg, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to fight for you to see. See if you really care what those sort of people think about you.

The phone went dead and Sirius scrambled for his remote.

~

Everyone had left for the night, but the apartment still felt warm from their presence. Remus decided to make himself a bowl of ice cream, but found himself eating straight from the carton instead. Finn really had made all-gone.

He was watching the melted part pool in his spoon when his phone rang. Everything, even the air, seemed to still and cool.

Sirius.

The name flashed at him. He hadn’t dared to put a contact photo, a picture of him that Remus had taken, bare in bed, sleepy eyed and smiling—

Now, maybe he could. One day. Soon. 

Remus pushed himself up to sit on his kitchen counter. He set his ice cream down, feet swinging nervously against the cupboards, and answered the call.

“Hi,” Remus’ voice was shot.

“I didn’t have my phone,” Sirius sounded desperate. Remus’ heart broke. “No, that’s not an excuse, I…Remus—”

“For the last thirty calls, or…”

“I know,” Sirius whispered. “I know, I know, Re, oh god, what they said about you—”

“I’ve been defending you to—to everyone,” Remus’ voice was thick. “Everyone, but I don’t…I can’t…”

“I’m coming home,” Sirius said. “Fuck these games, Remus, I’m coming home.”

Remus didn’t say anything for a long moment. He could picture Sirius there, alone in his hotel room. “I don’t know what to tell you right now, I’m… It hurt, Sirius. You left. You left and then you ignored me.”

“I know I did,” Sirius whispered. “But—”

“You aren’t the only one who this happened to,” Remus said, hushed, and then, even surprising himself, let out a sudden sob. He tried to reign it back in, but he couldn’t. It burned now, hearing Sirius’ voice, being alone. It hurt more than it had. He didn’t know if he had been ignoring it, or pushing through it, or if it was just hearing Sirius know that he had been wrong.

“I know that,” Sirius said. “I do, Remus, I know that. I made a mistake. I made a mistake. The meeting. I should have taken a later flight, too, I should have talked to you. I shouldn’t have run out, that was—I’m—”

“I don’t want to do this over the phone,” Remus replied with a hitch in his words. He stirred the spoon in the melted ice cream, just for something to do, then gave up and fisted his sweatshirt by his neck. “I know I said call me, but I really—I really want it to be us together talking, okay?”

“You mean…after the games?”

Remus took a slow breath. “I’m not just going to say everything’s okay, Sirius. It fucking hurt. All of it. And I know you’re hurting, too. I hate that you’re hurting, too, but…”

“You don’t have to explain,” Sirius felt guilt like it was something crawling inside of him. “I’ll—let me wait for you now.”

Remus let out a breath, remembering the words.

“I…I understand why what happened happened,” Remus said. “I do. Of course, I understand. And all I want is for you to be okay. For us to be okay. I just need my own time, too.”

“I want that. Please, just—let me tell you one thing,” Sirius said. “Is it okay?”

“Yeah,” Remus said softly, curious. “Go for it.”

“I talked to Logan. Well—he also talked to me. Really gave it to me. I deserved it.”

“Don’t put yourself down to me right now,” Remus began, but Sirius cut him off.

“I’m not, no, I’m not,” there was a sound like Sirius sitting down on the bed. “I…I won’t explain it all to you now, but I just need you to know that things are clearer for me. I’m…I’m not alone.”

“You never were,” Remus managed.

Remus listened as Sirius’ breathing changed into cries. Remus wanted to hold him tight.

“It’s so good to hear your voice,” Remus said softly. “Be careful, okay? With everyone this weekend. Snape. Regulus.”

Your mother, Remus thought.

“Logan will be with me,” Sirius said, and then added, as if remembering, “and I’ll be with Logan.”

Remus nodded. So Logan had told him.

“Protect each other.”

Sirius nodded. “And everyone else who needs it.”

Remus sucked in a breath, and cradled the phone closer, eyes soft.

“Yeah,” Remus said. “Yeah, baby, everyone else, too.”

At the name, Sirius sounded all but torn apart. He let it out, lungs out racing his heart.

“I miss you,” he choked out. “Am I allowed to say that?”

“Yes,” Remus hushed him. “Sirius, I’m mad, yeah, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want you. Of course I want you, you’re mine. You’re my wish, okay? This happened because we’re each other’s. We can be—we can be something good that comes out of this, can’t we?”

“Oui, yes, yes,” Sirius said. “I’ll tell you everything, okay?” He sniffed, taking a moment to breathe. “It’s different, hearing these things from my friends. From you.”

“You haven’t had a lot of support, Sirius. I…I get that it’s going to take a second. And so…I’m here, okay? But I’m not here to run back to if you keep leaving me. That wasn’t good. That was…” Remus would never forget that feeling.

“I’ll be better,” Sirius said, and then sucked in a breath. “I mean…for myself. For you.”

Remus nodded, even though he knew Sirius couldn’t see him.

“I’m going to try and sleep,” Sirius said.

“I miss you,” Remus replied.

“I miss you, too,” Sirius said. “So much.”

~

Sirius stepped out of the tunnel and immediately his eyes were drawn by flashes of color near the glass. There were six teenagers standing there. Their cheeks were decked out in painted on rainbow flags, and they were wrapped in them, too, holding paper versions up to the glass with the words HERE FOR #12 on them.

All Sirius could think about was going over there and maybe crying. Instead, he picked up a few pucks to sign.

The locker room had been—intense. There was no way Sirius could have missed the way some guys had moved away from him, avoided him. But others came up and shook his hand. They didn’t say much, but Sirius didn’t really want to be congratulated. The support, even quiet, was enough to keep him on his feet and focused enough to feel like, sure, he could perform some hockey tricks today.

And Remus’ words. We’re each other’s.

“Sometimes I think hockey just isn’t colorful enough, you know?”

When the voice spoke, Sirius’ eyes found the stick that had come into his vision first. The tape wasn’t the usual white or black, but all colors, neatly wrapped and waxed off.

Sirius looked up to find Alex O’Hara grinning widely at him.

“What’s up, Lion?”

“Hi, Alex,” Sirius said faintly, as they tapped helmets.

“I hope you don’t mind,” he gestured to the tape.

Sirius, to his own surprise, let out a laugh. “Of course I don’t, I… I should have thought of it, maybe.”

“You want some?”

Sirius looked at the pucks he was holding, then back at the kids at the glass.

“Yeah,” he nodded, setting the pucks aside for a moment. “Yeah, I do.”

“Alex,” Logan stopped hard in front of them with a spray of ice. “Have I ever told you how much I love you?”

Alex laughed, and then leaned in close. “Oh, yeah? More than my brother?”

Logan flushed pink beneath his tan skin. Then, he grinned and punched his arm. “How long have you known?”

Alex scoffed. “Please.”

And so Sirius found himself, sitting beside Logan as they re-taped their sticks with rainbow tape, while millions of cameras and cell-phones watched.

It was terrifying. And wonderful. It was something that went along with the phrase never in a million years, in Sirius’ mind. Only, it was happening now.

“Could I get some of that maybe?”

It was Mika Zibanejad, his hair pulled back beneath his helmet, dark eyes kind and soft.

It was the flood gates.

Sidney Crosby, Kris Letang. Braden Holtby, Nate MacKinnon.

Not every player did it, not by far, but they did have to ask for another roll.

Sirius’ breathing was working against his pounding heart when he took to the ice again, throwing a puck down and watching it bounce darkly between the colors. He smiled, and looked up at the kids behind the glass again.

Silver sharpies were not in short supply, and he fired off six signatures before skating over with them balanced within his arms. They began to pound on the glass as he approached, and he nodded to them. They were hard to hear over the crowd and the announcer’s noise, but he smiled and mouthed thank you, and they seemed to understand. He flipped the pucks over the glass easily, and bumped his fisted glove to it.

They loved him for who he was.

And Logan had been right. His team would, too. The thought that they wouldn’t still chilled him, but there were two sides of the coin now.

It even made him forget about—

“Stop this,” Regulus was there, hissing at him and grabbing him by the arm as he skated back with Logan, who had wandered over to a little boy with a Tremblay sign and jersey.

Sirius stared at his brother, surprised that he’d even approached.

“What are you—” he began, but Logan cut him off.

“Back off,” Logan growled, and gave him a little push. Sirius cursed internally. He didn’t want to start a fight right now.

Regulus ignored him.

“Sirius—” Regulus said quietly. “Think about—”

“Don’t tell me to think about the family,” Sirius practically snarled. “I’m thinking about myself for once. What I want.”

“Think about what you’re doing,” Regulus said, glancing at Logan desperately, like he wanted him to leave. “This is it, if you really—”

Sirius shook his head, yanking out of his brother’s grip. “I tried to take you with me, Reg. I tried so hard. And what did you do?”

“Fuck you,” Logan spat in Regulus’ face. “You call yourself his brother? When was the last fucking time you acted like that? Oh, right, was it when you trashed talked him?”

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” Regulus growled. He had switched to French now.

“Rookie,” Snape said in English from the outskirts of their triad, eyes on Regulus. “Come on.”

“Daddy’s calling,” Logan snarled.“La marionnette.”

Sirius watched his brother swallow, pale eyes wide and fierce.

Puppet, Logan had said.

“Tremz,” Sirius said, and put a hand on his shoulder.

Regulus looked to Sirius, then.

“Microphone?” he asked.

Regulus was asking if he was mic’d up. Sirius shook his head, and Logan scoffed.

“Little late,” Logan said.

Regulus, once again, ignored him. “Maman est là.”

“Je l’ai deviné,” Sirius had guessed as much.

Logan was still standing between them, but he looked like he wasn’t sure if he should be now.

Regulus pushed forward one stride, and Logan’s glove pressed against his chest. Regulus glared down at him, then turned back to Sirius. He was nearly as tall as him now, but for a single moment, Regulus’ expression flickered. Sirius saw his brother again, his little brother, the boy who had snuck him a Lions hat and hugged him and told him he’d miss him more than anything, and please don’t leave me alone in this house, with them—

“Fais attention,” Regulus bit out.

Be careful.

Regulus shoved Logan with his stick and Logan cursed again, but Sirius barely heard. He watched Regulus skate away, back to Snape’s side. Sirius and Snape looked at each other, across the ice, for a brief moment.

Sirius didn’t think Regulus would ever forgive him for leaving. Especially not with Snape at his side.

Snape’s lip curled, and he turned away, over the boards.

~

“That’s my big brother!” Finn shouted.

Remus laughed, hand on his throat as he stared at the screen, at Sirius, sitting on the bench beside Logan and Alex O’Hara, Zibanejad, Panarin, Crosby, Letang, Holtby…

Sirius, camera honing in on his focused face as he scribbled the signature that Remus knew well. The camera had been showing the fans wrapped in rainbow flags off and on, and it showed them now, too, as Sirius skated over with a wide, if not a little shy, smile on his face. He sort of talked to them, mostly just nodding and bumping fists as he passed the pucks over.

The camera saw Regulus coming before Sirius did.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Finn sat up in Leo’s arms, pulling him with him. “Black brothers, Black brothers.”

“Fuck,” Remus said, and felt Lily grab his wrist nervously.

Regulus and Sirius were talking furiously at each other, at least until Logan got between them.

“I swear to god, someone’s gotta get that kid out of Slytherin,” Kasey grumbled. “He’s like the Captain was, but on steroids.”

Remus nodded slowly, eyes on Regulus’, or at least what sliver of his face the camera was able to get.

Kasey hit Remus’ couch with his fist when they showed a long shot of Snape and Sirius. They were practically staring each other down.

“Can I just,” Kasey gestured at the television. “Can I kill him? Or shave his head?”

“Fine with it,” James nodded.

Leo glanced at Kasey. “I like that that’s your next worst fate after death.”

The cameras moved on relatively quickly as the skill events began. Hardest shot, accuracy, puck handling…

“So, Cap is accuracy, and Lo’s hardest shot,” Leo said, staring at his phone as he scrolled through the website.

“I wanna see how hard Logan can shoot,” Finn mumbled, and Leo whacked him on the head. Natalie nearly cackled and gave Finn a pat on the head.

Remus couldn’t stop looking at the tape on Sirius’ stick.

“Quite a display of camaraderie, seemingly begun by Alex O’Hara, older brother of Finn O’Hara who is Black’s teammate,” one of the commentators began. He was a new voice from yesterday’s red carpet. “It’s good to see that, eh, Tom?”

Remus liked him.

“Sure is, Nate,” replied Tom. “Sure is.”

“Well, that’s more like it,” Remus sighed.

No matter how fun it was to watch Sirius execute a perfect score as he dangled a puck between tight cones and flipped it through tiny slots, Remus itched to talk to him. He itched to see him.

He loved seeing the sticks tap for him, see other boys knock helmets with him like nothing had changed, but still. Remus wanted him home. He wanted him away from Regulus and Snape, and here in Gryffindor, or anywhere where support was strong. Remus had spent hours last night after the team had left scrolling through articles and Twitter. His mind was filled with the messages telling Sirius that he’d changed their life.

He couldn’t believe he had to sit through another entire day of this, watching Sirius play three-on-three games—possibly against Snape.

“Hey, Leo, did they announce the lines for tomorrow yet?” Remus asked. “Would you look it up for me?”

“Sure,” Leo said, looking around Finn’s head to get at his phone.

“The boys aren’t going for fastest?” Lily said disappointedly.

James snorted. “Um, I think we know Remus wins that one, Lils.”

Finn shook his head. “I’m still like, at family skate…I fucking fell over. I haven’t fallen over since, like, I don’t even know.”

Remus smiled. “Sorry about that, Harzy.”

“You really tore Kasey up, Fruit-Loop,” Natalie laughed, reaching up to push her hand through Kasey’s hair.

“Look, he’s really good, I was surprised, and I hadn’t warmed up, okay? I was surprised.”

Remus laughed. “I did have that up on you, Bliz. I’ll admit it, and give you a free pass.”

“No,” Kasey huffed. “I don’t want a free pass, I want to play again and stop your shot.”

“Fuck,” Leo breathed, and Remus stopped laughing.

“What? Is it Snape? Did they put them on the same line?”

Remus knew they liked to do that at All-Stars, put rivals on the same line. Sidney Crosby and Claude Giroux were frequent victims.

Leo looked back at him, then up at the television where Regulus was taking his mark for the fasted skater loop.

“Not Snape,” Leo said. “Regulus.”

As if on cue, the announcer spoke up.

“And here’s Regulus Black getting ready to skate. We’ll be getting a real treat tomorrow, Nate. We’ll be getting to see Sirius and Regulus Black, hockey’s most famous brothers right now, play on the same line with Mathew Barzal. That should be quite some hockey.”

“Oh my god,” Remus heard someone breathe.

Quite some hockey.

Remus wondered if Sirius knew.

On everyone’s way out, Lily squeezed him in a hug. “You seem better today. Did you guys…”

Remus nodded. “We talked. It was…you know, it’s hard. It was good.”

“Yeah…”

“But I said I want to talk about it mostly face to face and so…all I can really do is wait now. I’m probably going to call him again now. See if he wants to talk about Regulus.”

Remus was absolutely going to call him again now.

“Okay,” Lily sent him a smile. “See you tomorrow for three-on-three?”

“Hang out at Lupin’s,” Finn hollered in the hallway and was immediately shushed by Leo.

“Jesus, Harzy,” Kasey groaned as he hit the button on the elevator.

Remus was in the middle of doing dishes when his phone rang. He wiped his hands quickly and picked up, nearly fumbling his phone into the sink.

“Hi,” Remus sounded breathless even to himself.

“Hey,” Sirius said. “Do you want to FaceTime?”

“Yeah,” Remus said. “Yeah, yeah, one second.”

Remus more or less ran to the couch, socks sliding on the floor, and sat down just in time for his phone to light up. Sirius’ face filled the screen. His hair was wet from a shower, and Remus didn’t know if it was the light, but the bags under his eyes looked worse than Remus had thought.

“Hi,” Remus said softly, smiling. “God, I’ve been staring at your face all day on TV but I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.”

Sirius smiled, rubbing one of his eyes before stretching back on the bed. “Wish I could stare at your face all day.”

“You’ll be home soon,” Remus said. “Hey, I…today was pretty amazing.”

Sirius laughed and reached out of frame for something. His hand came back swinging a roll of rainbow tape around his finger. “A fan gave me this.”

Remus grinned. “I’m so proud of you.”

Sirius looked at him for a moment, like he wasn’t sure what to say. Then, he smiled again, but it was quieter this time, less at Remus and more at himself.

“Me too. Today was—good. I mean…you probably saw Reg, but…”

Remus nodded. “Did you see your lines for tomorrow?”

Sirius shook his head. “Not yet. Why, are they up?”

Remus took a breath. “Yeah. They’re up.”

~

The All-Stars management seemed to enjoy the idea of putting Sirius and his brother together as much as possible, even going so far as moving their lockers beside each other. It felt like there was always a camera trained on the two of them, and Sirius had never been more on edge. The only good take away from this, it seemed, was that people weren’t asking him about his sexuality anymore.

“You’re welcome,” Minnie had said when Sirius had mentioned it to her in the car over to the arena that morning with Logan and Clyde.

Sirius raised an eyebrow.

“I had to give them something, Sirius,” Minnie said. “They need their publicity. I hate it as much as you, but I thought this would be better.”

Sirius had to give Minnie some credit for that PR move, actually. At least with his brother, Sirius was used to dealing with the hounding.

“As Harzy would say,” Logan said from his seat, headphones on one ear and making his hair stick up. He raised his sickly-sweet coffee at her. “Bitch-ass move, Minnie.”

“Why, thank you for that assessment, Mr. Tremblay.” 

Sirius was just as thankful for Remus’ heads up about the game lines, even though he would have found out this morning anyway.

He only wished he had had one about Greyback. Sirius’ line, consisting of himself, Regulus, and Barzal, were set to face off against Greyback, Tom Wilson from the Washington Capitals, and Tony DeAngelo from the New York Rangers.

There was no fighting in All-Stars, which was a shame.

Cameras had followed him all the way into the locker room, where Regulus had cleared his throat awkwardly as he sat down beside Sirius and started dressing. Sirius felt a strong pang in his heart. They had done this with each other a million times. He hated that it felt so strange.

“Maman—”

“I don’t give a damn,” Sirius whispered lowly, using French so there were at least fewer people around them who could keep up. “And you shouldn’t either.”

Regulus laughed, and he made it look mirthful for the sake of the cameras. So, he was learning. There was no humor in his eyes.

“Do I have a choice?” he said.

“I did.”

“Yeah, well, I think we all know how you chose.”

“Regulus,” Sirius sighed.

“Drop it,” his brother bit back.

But this was the longest they had been and would be together in probably months. Maybe years, if Sirius counted his family. He didn’t want to drop it.

Sirius pulled him aside in the locker room while the cameras had to follow the stream of players leaving for the tunnel. It was a brief moment of privacy.

“I would have done anything to get you out with me,” Sirius whispered intently, and pressed his glove to his little brother’s helmet, keeping them close. “Anything. But I couldn’t help you if I was trapped there with you. Maman’s, the Snakes, either one. I had to get out. And then—”

“You don’t know what it was like,” Regulus’ voice came out shaky, and Sirius realized he had tears in his eyes. Regulus closed them quickly, head bowed so that their helmets tapped together. “You left, they lost you, and so they doubled down. I couldn’t—I couldn’t breathe. I can’t breathe.”

Sirius stared at him. In some ways, this hurt more than anything that had happened in the past few days. This hurt more, his little brother, his to protect.

“Reg…” Sirius began.

“You don’t know what he’s like,” Regulus whispered, and then, like he was afraid to say the words aloud. “Snape. Malfoy.” He swallowed, and added, even quieter so that Sirius could barely hear. “Riddle.”

“Mon étoile…” Sirius said. He hadn’t said the old nickname since they were little, and Regulus jolted to look at him. Stars, the two of them. “I’m sorry. Please, let me help you.”

“They made me hate you,” Regulus said. “But I never did.”

They both looked up when the locker room was beginning to empty out. Their moment was over.

“Let’s play,” Sirius said. “Let’s play, and then let’s talk, d’accord?”

“They made me delete your number, but I memorized it,” Regulus said. “Is it the same?”

Sirius closed his eyes, then nodded. “Oui.”

“D’accord,” Regulus said, then jerked his head towards the tunnel.

Sirius tapped Regulus’ chest with his glove. “Allez.”

Sirius followed him towards the tunnel, going out last. People would play it off as a strange superstition, but Sirius knew there would be pictures of him and Regulus talking anyway. He felt different this weekend. For obvious reasons, and not.

His life had always had a path, and that path had always been set. If it changed, the breaks had been slow. A trade deal. A contract. Longing for Remus. Everything had happened with time.

Not this. He was out. He was proud. It was an earthquake, a fault slipping. Regulus needed him, he didn’t hate him, after so long believing otherwise. An aftershock.

He was half way to the tunnel when he saw her.

Another slip.

His mother stood against the wall, her too thin body all in black, hair inky. She spared a short look to Regulus, but followed Sirius with her eyes. Minnie was standing beside her.

Sirius stopped walking.

Regulus, seeming to sense that Sirius wasn’t behind him anymore, stopped, too. Sirius held out his stick, telling him to stay put, and made his way over to the two women.

Sirius’ mother’s lip curled in what maybe appeared to be a smile. “Sirius,” she held out her arms. “I have so much to say to my son—”

Sirius turned at the last minute, minutely. It was a classic play, a fake out right in front of the net. He watched his mother realize his side-step at the last moment when it was too late.

Sirius hugged Minnie close to his chest.

“Regulus,” he whispered, and let go.

“Sirius?” Walburga’s laugh was high. “I beg your pardon?”

“You can’t have it,” Sirius said, and looked her straight in the eye. He towered over her. He didn’t know how he hadn’t realized that before. He looked to Regulus, then at Minnie, and then back at the dark woman.

“Never contact us again,” he said, and then turned towards the tunnel and into the bright lights, eyes on his brightly colored stick tape, and on his brother walking ahead of him.

~

“Welcome back to the 2020 All-Star weekend, everyone! As you can see, the players are out on the ice and this news has just reached us. It seems that Sirius Black has just thrown his own mother out of the arena.”

“Say what?” Natalie yelled.

The commentator laughed. “I know, Nate, this is very…well, there have been rumors about the Black family. I really thought they were, you know, classic hockey parents. Sirius seems to have taken matters into his own hands. He deserves to, honestly, after what he’s been through these past days. What a kid, I—oh, man, hold on everyone, we’ve got a fight!”

Remus and Lily both yelped when the camera cut away quickly from where Patrick Kane and Artemi Panarin had been joking around, and to Sirius—beside Fenrir Greyback, to Remus’ horror—throwing a punch.

~

“Sirius Black,” a voice said, and Sirius took a long breath through his nose, and turned.

Fenrir Greyback, American, had perfectly straight, light brown hair, cropped short and sticking up in the front. His face was scruffy, and when he smiled, his thin lips revealed sharp canine teeth. The teeth beside his jolly laugh made for an eerie sight. Knowing he was the same age as Remus unsettled Sirius. He didn’t look it. He had the timeless look of a corpse, skin waxy and smooth safe for a bad scar, a skate cut, raking over his left cheek. Greyback leaned against his stick, smile in place.

“We have a game soon, don’t we? You and your cubs will be coming to Vegas.”

“Looks like.”

“Ready to lose?”

Sirius smiled wryly. “What sort of question is that?”

Fenrir shrugged. “How is Lupin these days? He was quite a player.”

Sirius could feel the cameras on them, but decided he didn’t care if they were mic’d. The crowd was roaring, he had seen Vegas fans taking pictures with Fenrir. They deserved to know who they were supporting.

“Before you destroyed his career, you mean?” Sirius said evenly.

Logan looked up, eyes wide, from where he had been re-lacing his skate.

Fenrir laughed. “Still pushing that story, huh? Look, man, if you watch the tape it was a clean hit.”

“How the fuck could it have been clean? You ruined his shoulder.”

“Oh, his shoulder. Well, that’s a different story,” Fenrir nodded, as if remembering, and then looked at Sirius, his sick grin still in place. “And there’s no video of that.”

Sirius’ entire bloodstream went cold. He thought of Remus. His panicked expression whenever any conversation got close to his hockey career, his mom’s worried one. But Remus had said, a bad hit, Fenrir…

“No proof,” Fenrir shrugged, and then gripped Sirius’ shoulder, fingers digging into his pads. Louder, so that the other players around them could hear, he said, “Really sorry that he had to stop playing, though. I heard it was one hell of a car accident.”

A fourth shock-wave, rocking his Earth.

~

“Holy fuck,” Finn said loudly. “What is happening? What is happening?”

Remus couldn’t look away from the screen, from where Sirius basically had Fenrir in a choke hold, the momentum of their swings propelling them in a slow, oblong circle as the other players backed away from the sudden fight.

“Jesus, what do you think he said?” Finn asked.

Kuny, who had decided to join them today, shook his head. “Shit-head player, doesn’t matter. Go Cap. I punch him also, when we play Vegas.”

“Remus, you said you played together?” Leo questioned. “Was he a shit-head in college, too?”

“I…” Remus began, and the whistles blew on screens, refs skating forward to pull the two players off of each other.

“Well, man-oh-man, Rob,” one of the commentators said. “I wonder what he said.”

“One could guess,” replied Rob.

Remus felt dread swirling in his stomach. They couldn’t guess, but Remus could. Remus was the only one who knew aside from Greyback.

Remus could still taste the bile from the biting pain of Greyback’s fingers, ripping into the muscle between his neck and shoulder. His hand covered it instinctively.

You hurt it in the game and didn’t tell anyone, Greyback had spat at him. That’s your lie. Remember, I know about you.

He hadn’t, of course. Remus knew that now. It was a bluff, an easy sentence that could mean anything to anyone. Everyone had secrets. Greyback had simply put faith in just how powerfully Remus’ secret would hold him.

Enough for Remus to tell his training staff that he had been hiding a very serious shoulder  injury. Festering muscle tears, dislocated, would heal wrong for sure, not a worthy investment, not anymore—

“Remus?” Kasey said.

Well. Remus’ secret was out now. Fenrir’s could be, too.

“He’s the reason I don’t play anymore,” Remus said quietly.

Lily sat forward, hand on her belly. “What do you mean, Re?”

“He was your bad hit?” Finn asked in a hushed voice. “Was it—on purpose?”

Remus pressed his lips together, trying to steady his breath. “It wasn’t even on the ice. He cornered me in one of the recovery rooms. My routine used to be long, I would stay after the other guys, cool down, stretch, you guys know.” Remus kept his gaze steady on the television where they were zoomed in on Logan and Sirius speaking with their heads close together. Sirius would no doubt have a black eye in a few hours.

“Ripped my shoulder apart,” Remus said softly. “Told me if I told anyone he’d tell my secret.”

“He knew?” Leo said. He sounded horrified. “And that’s what he did?”

Remus shook his head. “He didn’t know. I was too careful. But everyone has secrets, don’t they? I guess he just put his bets in the right place. Some people do.”

“And you never said anything,” Kasey said. “Jesus, Loops.”

“Well, now everyone knows my secret, eh? And I didn’t want to be that guy, blaming the end of their career on someone, some other player. No one would have believed me. And now, it’s so long ago, what does it matter?”

“It matters,” James said urgently. “It does. We can—we should do something.”

“Maybe,” Remus said. “But not now. Not with all of this.”

“And Sirius? He know?” Kuny asked.

Remus looked at the television. ““I think he just found out.”

Which was stupid of Greyback, really. What did he expect Sirius to do? Laugh along?

The game had resumed. Greyback, Wilson, and DeAngelo were lined against Sirius, Regulus, and Barzal. Sirius and Regulus were talking. They bumped fists before taking position. Remus blinked. That was new.

“What the fuck, are we friends now?” Kasey mumbled, intent on the screen.

Sirius scored easily, like a fire was at his heels. Remus loved that look he got in his eyes. The camera zoomed in on their celebration. Sirius wasn’t smiling, but he clutched Regulus and Barzal to him. Barzal looked a little hesitant, like he could sense he was in the middle of something that he knew nothing about.

As Sirius skated towards the bench for glove taps, he found a camera and stopped. The camera held, of course. Sirius Black was looking right at it. Sirius wedge his glove under his arm and reached for his neck.

“What’s happening,” Finn whispered again. He had his hands in his hair, like everything was too suspenseful.

Meanwhile, Remus’ heart was clattering down his ribs.

Sirius withdrew the silver and gold number twelve necklace, gray eyes steely.

He pressed the numbers to his lips.

“Oh…” Remus whispered, hand over his neck.

Sirius’ eyes grew soft as he tucked the necklace, Remus’ gift, safely back into his jersey. Like he knew Remus was gazing at him, too. Remus felt his entire world zero in on this moment. That was for him. Sirius was defending him.

An animal sound came from James.

“Necklace,” James shouted. “Fuck me!”

“Yeah, you’re the only one who was still working on that, sweetheart,” Natalie said.

Lily laughed. “But we love you.”

“We do.”

Remus gripped his watch, thumb rubbing over the face.

I love you. I love you IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou.

He would be home tomorrow.

Remus’ chest was a scrap of feeling. His heart was warm, his blood cool, his neck hot, his hands shaky.

Home tomorrow.

~

The cameras that had swarmed Sirius a moment ago now swarmed Regulus’ stall. Regulus had a towel around his neck, sweat dripping into his eyes. They were lighter though. He kept looking at Sirius, and Sirius remained seated in his stall, showing him that he was staying right where he was. He wasn’t leaving him.

“Regulus, do you have any…” the reporter glanced at Sirius and seemed smart enough to make his question vague. “…thoughts on your brother? Or, what was it like playing with him today? How long has it been?”

Regulus was slow in answering. He wiped his face, adjusted the hat he had on backwards. They look so much alike it’s scary, Sirius heard a reporter whisper to her friend. Finally, Regulus cleared his throat, and looked up from where he had been picking at the label of his water bottle.

“I’m very proud of my brother,” Regulus’ voice was steady and deep. He was unblinking. “It was very brave what he did, especially given the—the intrusive situation. No one deserves that. I wish him all the best, and Lupin, too. I look forward to spending time with him this summer in Gryffindor.”

Sirius’ smiled. And he knew the cameras caught it.

Sirius was sitting in Regulus’ stall this time when his brother got out of the showers. He stayed seated, the two of them silent among the other changing players, while Regulus got dressed. Sirius slipped his phone out of his pocket.

Call you in twenty, he shot a text to Remus.

“Hey, Cap,” Logan said from the doorway. “I’m going out with some of the guys. You’re…” he glanced at Regulus.

“See you on the plane,” Sirius said, and Logan nodded, understanding.

Regulus sat in Sirius’ stall. He had a Snakes sweatshirt on, and the sleeves were picked practically to pieces, fraying and ratty. It hurt to look at them.

They were alone.

“Alors,” Regulus said hesitantly.

Sirius turned to him. “Come back to Gryffindor with me. Minnie got you a seat with me and Logan. Tomorrow.”

An expression of relief so pure crossed Regulus’ face, that Sirius watched him ache with it. Sirius stood and pulled his brother into a hug. The first in a long, long time.

“Okay,” Regulus said into Sirius’ neck, voice thick. “Okay."

[slowly-writing]

Whispers

Avengers x Teen!Reader

Word count: 1.8K

Requested by @shady80smusicsingercolor : Avengers x teen!reader Where the reader is a cheerleader at the high school that Peter goes to, reader was during school hours when the teen heard the rest of the squad talking crap about them,teen gets upset,and after teen decided to skip practice,when they arrive to the avengers tower,Steve was the first one to notice but yet haven't notice the sadness in the reader face,but then realized the teen should be in practice,Steve now notices the teen face, calls for the team,and team comfort her

A/N: this was requested so long ago (literally April 10th), and I’m so sorry it took me so long. Thank you for your patients!

“Bye Pete, I’ll see you back home. I’ve got practice after school,” you remind the boy, waving as you turn the corner out of the cafeteria. You always left lunch a little early. Your next class was across the school and you really didn’t like to be late. So that’s what brought you here, alone and hearing voices ahead of you. Normally you wouldn’t think much of it, being in a school there’s constantly someone somewhere, talking about something. But then you heard your name.

You paused creeping close to the corner, but not quite rounding it. Listening to the voices you recognized as your teammates.

“What’s the deal with y/n and Peter? She’s always with him...I wonder if they’re dating,” Betty whispers to the group you can’t quite see.

“They can’t be. She’s way too good for Parker. It’s just a charity thing. Cause she lives with the avengers and he works there or whatever. She probably pities him,” Brad counters and you shrink further in on yourself.

“She’s kind of a weirdo too though. With that whole mysterious backstory and weird accent she tries to hide. Where’s she from? And how did she end up at the avengers tower?” Liz joins in and your frown deepens.

Did they really think you were shallow enough to think you were better than Peter? Just because he wasn’t on the football team? If only they knew how awesome he really was. And why did they suddenly want to know everything about you? They never asked before and you don’t really want to unpack their analysis of your home life anyways. That was none of their business.

You silently turn around, taking the long way to class. You really don’t want to see any of them right now.

xxxxx

When the final bell rang you sat at your desk, debating whether you could face practice. They don’t know you heard them gossiping, and it hurts more that they said it all behind your back, so you shake your head sending a quick text off to your coach, claiming you have a migraine, and start walking home.

You kept running over the things they had said. They really thought Peter was lame? After everything, you’d thought they’d gotten to know him. He’s the coolest person you’ve met, even without the whole spiderman thing. He was sweet and super passionate about the things he enjoyed. He was smarter than you could ever hope to be, but you never minded listening to him in the lab as he rambled about the new web shooters he was working on. You think he’s amazing, and you know that’s more than your massive crush talking.

Then there was the fact that they thought you were hiding things. It’s not like your living situation was a secret, but it wasn’t something you enjoyed talking about. You were born in Sokovia and lived there with your parents until the attack with Ultron happened. Most of that day is a blur, a mix of confusion, chaos, and repressed memories. But you know Steve got you out, but your parents were lost in the tragedy.

Steve and the other avengers felt some sort of responsibility to you. You’re still not quite sure why, but you know better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. A lot of people from your hometown came out of it with nothing, and the team is always sure to help when they can, but you’re grateful for your new life and all that it’s given you.

You’re so lost in thought you don’t even register that you’re almost home until you reach the front door of the tower. You smile weakly at the security guard and make your way to the elevator, silently praying nobody is home. As the doors open you see your prayers haven’t been answered, but the silver lining is Peter’s not there yet. Maybe Steve will forget you have practice today.

“Hey, kiddo. Didn’t you have practice after school?” shit.

“Uh yeah...it umm. Got cancelled. Last minute...gardening emergency. They had to close the field for the day,” you wince and Steve raises an eyebrow. “I gotta go. Homework.”

With that lame excuse you scramble to your room, closing the door behind you and flopping face down on the bed.

xxxxx

“Hey, Peter. Did y/n seem off to you today? She seemed upset when she got home from school,” Steve asks Peter in the lab, Peter furrowing his brow before responding.

“No, not that I noticed, but I haven’t seen her since lunch. Maybe practice was rough, I know they’re getting ready for that competition in a few weeks,” Peter says softly, trying to figure out how to help you.

“No, practice was cancelled. They closed the field,” Steve’s words cause Peter’s head to snap up.

“No they didn’t. I saw them practicing after school. The soccer team was on the field too. I didn’t look too close because y/n says it’s embarrassing when I watch practices, but I know it happened,” Peter stands, setting his tools aside, “I’m gonna go talk to her.”

“I’ll come with you,” Steve follows him out of the lab, and not five minutes later, there’s a knock on your door.

“Coming,” you yell, only to immediately shrink back after opening the door. One look at their faces and you know they’ve caught you in your lie, “hey.”

“I think we need to talk,” Steve says in his captain voice and you let out a sigh, opening the door enough for them to follow you into the room.

“Why did you skip practice?” Peter’s head is tilting to the side like a confused puppy, and you have to remind yourself that this is a serious conversation, not a time to fawn over how cute he is.

“I just-”

“And don’t try to lie again,” Steve cuts you off. The man really knows you too well.

“You know how in movies and TV shows cheerleaders are always such jerks?” They both silently nod, “and how when I moved here I tried really hard to fit in so they’d be nice to me?” two more nods. “I thought it worked but it turns out that in real life they just say the mean things behind your back when they think you aren’t listening.”

“What’d they say?” Steve’s voice is softer now, he’s always been afraid of you having problems at school. He knows his fair share about bullying, and knows kids will always attack anything different. Your accent may have faded over the years, but it’s still clear that you’re not from here and you’re not quite used to the New York lifestyle. Back home everything was smaller, but you’re always excited to learn about your new home. It’s rare to see you without a smile on your face and he always hoped your naive compassion would save you.

“They were talking about how weird it was that I kept secrets about why I lived here and…” you trail off, looking at Peter. He looks ready to go to war for you, and you don’t want to admit the rest out loud, “that I must only hang out with Peter out of pity. But it's not true! Sometimes I think it’s the other way around. You’re so sweet and smart that sometimes I think the only reason you spend time with me is because you feel bad for me. The freaky kid from another country with no family. I try to fit in a school, so I don’t talk about my home, and I’ve learned to talk like they do. But no matter what I do, I still stick out. Maybe it’d be easier for you if we weren’t friends at all.”

By the time you finish your eyes are firmly locked on your hands in your lap, tears building up in your eyes.

“That’s not true,” Peter says firmly, in a rare show of anger. For a moment you think he’s mad at you, until he continues and you see the real object of his anger. “I don't hang out with you because I pity you, or I think I have to. I hang out with you because I like you for who you are. You make me feel normal. Not like the geeky kid at school everyone likes to tease, or the hero the city looks to for help. With you I’m just Peter. You listen to me ramble about tech I know you couldn’t care less about and you tell me about cheerleading moves that are so foreign to me they may as well be in a different language, but it doesn’t matter. We’re there for each other, it’s what we do. And I wish I could’ve been there for you this time. I know what it’s like to feel like you have to keep secrets but you don’t have to do that with me.”

You let his words sink in, letting him brush away the tears that have made their way down your cheeks before Steve speaks.

“And you have a family. I know you lost yours in Sokovia and I can’t even imagine that pain, but you’re not alone. You have all of us and any one of us will be here to listen to you, or take your mind off of it for a bit. What happened to you was traumatic, you lost your whole life and it’s okay not to want the kids at school knowing that. But you don’t have to forget where you came from to fit in.  Wanda makes food from Sokovia on Peitro’s birthday every year and I know she still keeps her journal in Russian. You’re allowed to miss your home, y/n. It doesn’t make you wierd, or ungrateful. It makes you human,” Steve wraps his arm around your shoulder and you lean into his side.

“I do like it here, but it’s just so hard sometimes,” you admit softly.

“We know it is, but you’re not alone,” Peter tells you and you smile up at him, gently taking his hand in your own.

“Now, I think you need a fun, relaxing night with no responsibilities. What do you say to a movie night. We’ll watch whatever you want,” Steve proposes and your smile widens as you nod. “Then it’s settled. I’ll go gather the troops, and you two come join us whenever you’re ready.”

It’s silent for a few moments after he leaves and you soon realize you’re still holding Peter’s hand. You go to pull away but his grip is firm. His other hand on your chin, drawing your eyes to his. “I mean it you know. I like you, as more than just a friend.”

“You do?” your voice is barely above a whisper, but there’s a happiness in your eyes you can’t hide and Peter’s whole face lights up.

“Yes really. I have for a while now, I just never knew how to tell you. I wasn’t sure if you felt the same way.”

“I do,” the words tumble out of your mouth before he’s even done speaking, but he’s smiling, and so are you. For now it all feels right as he gently presses his lips to yours. The whispers in the hallways don’t matter, because you have a family, and it seems you may have a boyfriend now too.

Tag list: @rvgrsbrns @rororo06 @prizmix-and-friends @worlds-in-words @im-salt-but-not-salty @5aftermidnight @riotmaximoff @xxxtwilightaxelxxx  @stop-drop-and-drumroll

[echoes-of-the-clockwork]

Book One: Gold (Prompto x Reader) Chapter XXXV

A couple years later, rebuilding Insomnia was still in full swing. People were beginning to return to the city after hearing their king was alive and well after the darkness was vanquished. Noctis was still trying to get used to his duties as king, but he had the help of his friends. Even Cor returned to help him. Many of the Kingsglaive returned to help with the restoration project.

Today, (Y/n) was watching Prompto puzzling as he ran around frantically in his new office located in the Citadel. Some of his papers fell off his desk, which she picked up for him. After laying them back down on the desk, she called out to him. "Prom, what is going on that requires you to be running around like a chocobo with its head cut off?"

The man, who was now sorting quickly through his paperwork while standing up, looked over at her. "Oh, right! I haven't told you yet." He looked back down at the papers and grabbed his pen, promptly signing the documents. "We're going on a vacation!"

"Huh?" She blinked in shock.

"Noct told me to take a vacation with you or he was gonna kick my ass," Prompto chuckled. "He wants us to have some alone time after spending these last two years so focused on the restoration project. We...really haven't had much time for our private life."

"Now that you mention it, we really haven't. Whenever we're done here, we always wind up crashing at home. And then when we wake up, we're back on the job."

Prompto grabbed the paperwork and turned to leave the office. Before he left, he hooked an arm around her waist, pulled her into his side, and kissed her on the cheek. "Meet me outside in ten minutes. We'll go home and pack as quick as we can and then we are outta here!" He stormed out of the room and began running down the hallway.

(Y/n) rearranged Prompto's desk before leaving the office. As she closed the door behind her, she spotted Noctis walking down the hallway. She smiled and greeted him. "Hey, Noct. Never expected you to threaten your best friend with a vacation."

"You two need some time off," Noctis said. "So do I..."

A smirk made its way on her face. "So you can spend more time with your special someone?"

The king rubbed the back of his neck with a groan. "Who told you about that?"

"Gladio did."

"Of course he did..." He combed a few stray raven locks aside. "Actually, I was hoping to find you before you and Prompto left. I was hoping you could tell me a little more about guardians."

Her eyes widen. "Wait, is this woman you like a spirit?"

"Guess Gladio didn't mention that part," he chuckled.

She smiled. "Then I'll tell you all that I can."

As Noctis and (Y/n) chatted, they had lost track of time. They didn't realize how long they'd been talking until Prompto came running down the hallway. "Hey! How could you keep me waiting?" He pouted childishly, poking her in the side playfully. "We're supposed to go on vacation together!"

"Sorry, Prom," she said. "Noct and I were talking."

"Is this about his new girlfriend?"

"She's not my girlfriend," Noctis groaned.

"Then ask her out already!" Prompto shouted.

"You're worried about her master, aren't you?" (Y/n) asked.

"Something like that," the king sighed.

"Listen, I know you're probably worried she and her master will say no because you're the king, but there's only one way to learn the truth. Ask her and see how it goes. Don't worry about her master. And if you need my help when we get back, I will gladly lend my services."

Noctis smiled in relief. "Thanks, (Y/n)." He walked up to Prompto, patting him on the shoulder. "You two have fun."

"Oh, we totally are gonna have a ball!" Prompto grabbed the guardian's hand and dragged her out of the Citadel. They returned to their apartment, where they packed their things before leaving Insomnia.

Prompto was behind the wheel as they drove through Leide and crossed into the Duscae region. (Y/n) was wondering where he was taking her until she saw a familiar yellow sign. Her eyes widened as they pulled up to Wiz Chocobo Post. As she went to exit the car, Prompto beat her to it. He opened the door for her and took her hand in his. Closing the door, he smiled like a child in a candy shop. "There's someone that's been wanting to see you again for a long time."

The spirit allowed her beloved to drag her towards the pens. She wondered who wanted to see her since she couldn't think of anyone outside the city she knew. However, a bell of recognition went off inside her when spotting a chocobo with (f/c) feathers. "No way," she gasped. Prompto let go of her hand and she walked up to the pen occupied by her favorite chocobo. When the bird recognized her, he chirped loudly and flapped his wings in excitement. She petted the top of his head with a smile. "Hey, buddy. It's been a long time. Did you miss me?"

The chocobo nudged his beak against her cheek, making her giggle. She wrapped her arms around his neck and combed her fingers through his (f/c) feathers. "I missed you, too."

Prompto vanished to find Wiz. He rented two chocobos, one being the (f/c)-feathered bird who was fond of (Y/n). He returned to her and they took the two chocobos out of their pens. The couple left the outpost, riding atop the birds as they traveled across the Duscae region. They enjoyed the warmth of the sun and the beauty the wetlands had to offer. Prompto, of course, was still fond of photography and snapping picture after picture.

The couple stopped at the Alstor Slough and admired the catoblepases roaming through the wetlands in search of their next meal. Hopping off the chocobos, they stood at the water's edge. Prompto continues to take pictures until he was satisfied. All of a sudden, he remembered something. "Oh! I totally forgot!"

"Please don't tell me you forgot to pack something," (Y/n) groaned. "I even gave you a check list!"

He chuckled. "No, I packed everything." He shoves his hand into his pocket and pulls out a piece of paper. "I never really told you what happened the last time I came to Wiz's." Unfolding the aged, wrinkly paper, he showed her the portrait that was drawn on it.

(Y/n) took the paper from him, eyes widening slightly. "This is our portrait from Altissia..." Looking up, she stared into Prompto's eyes. "You carry it around with you?"

He nodded. "Yeah. It's also how I knew who this guy was," he said, pointing to the (f/c)-feathered chocobo. "Two years ago, I was back at Wiz's after finishing a job. It was before I learned Noct was coming back. He managed to grab the paper from my pocket and recognized you in the drawing. That's when I decided to promise to bring you back here to see him."

"I still can't believe I slept for ten years," (Y/n) mumbled sadly. "I wish I was there with you, Prom."

"I wanted you with me too, but I guess we really never get a say in what the Astrals have planned," he said. "But those ten years without you made me realize something."

"And what's that?"

Prompto took her hand in his, entwining their fingers together. "Come with me to Galdin Quay and I'll tell you."

The two mounted their chocobos and headed back to the outpost. They parted with their birds and headed to their next destination. Arriving in Galdin Quay, they took their luggage to the room Prompto paid for. After settling in their room and unpacking, they decided to get a bite to eat. At the counter of the Mother of Pearl, they placed their orders and waited patiently. As they did, (Y/n) shattered the silence lingering between her and Prompto. "Well, we're at Galdin Quay now. You gonna tell me?"

"Hold your chocobos, (Y/n)!" Prompto exclaimed. "Just...give me a couple of days to find the right words. In the meantime, we can enjoy all this delicious food and the beautiful beach!"

"All right, fine. I'll try to be patient," she sighed before poking him in the side and causing him to jump slightly. "Just don't keep me waiting too long."

Their dinner was served. Munching down on the delicious seafood, they savored every bite. When the food was gone, they paid and returned to their room for the night. The couple fell asleep after a few hours of chatting and getting comfortable in the plush bed. Their slumber was peaceful and both woke up early the next morning to relax on the beach.

(Y/n) grabbed her swimsuit and took off her nightwear. As she hooked her fingers under the elastic band of her panties, two toned arms snaked around her waist and pulled her against a bare chest. She tensed up slightly when Prompto nuzzled his face into the crook of her neck and his goatee grazed her skin. "H-Hey, that tickles!"

He chortled, kissing the side of her neck. "Sorry. I couldn't help myself."

"Are you going to let me put my bathing suit on or do I need to prepare for something more intimate?"

"Maybe later, but not right now. Even though it's very tempting seeing you like this..." He kisses her cheek before releasing her. "I'll go find us a spot while you change."

"All right. I'll be there in a few minutes."

Prompto left with all they would need to enjoy the beach while (Y/n) changed into her swimsuit. Adjusting the strings one final time, she was ready to go. Leaving the hotel room, she walked through the restaurant and crossed the boardwalk. She found Prompto not too far from the fishing pier. He had everything set out and prepared for them to enjoy their day at the beach. There were a few other people who had the same idea as them.

Crawling onto the towel next to Prompto's, (Y/n) basked in the warmth of the sun. She closed her eyes as a content sigh fell from her lips. Her eyes, however, shot open seconds later when she felt a cold substance come in contact with her abdomen. Lifting her head off the towel, she saw Prompto smiling innocently at her as he put sunscreen on her exposed stomach. "You can try acting innocent, but I know what's going on in that head of yours, Prom."

"I am not thinking dirty thoughts, I swear!" He protested.

"If you say it a little louder, you just might be able to convince yourself," she snickered.

Prompto's hand gravitated towards her sides, where he caresses his fingers against her exposed skin. A smile manifested on his face after hearing her moan slightly. "Who's the dirty one now?"

She rolled her eyes and sat up, taking him by surprise. She snatched up the bottle of sunscreen and placed her free hand against his bare chest. She pushed him down on his back into the sand and straddled his lap. She did just as he did and squirted a decent amount of sunscreen on his exposed belly. "Damn, that's cold!" He shrieked.

Now it was her turn to laugh at him. She laid both of her hands on his abdomen and began rubbing the sunscreen in. Her golden eyes were focused on his face. What caught her attention was him biting his bottom lip. Smirking, she traveled south with her hands and stopped just above the waistband of his swimming trunks. She teased him by slipping a few of her fingers under the waistband. That was just what she needed to hear the moan he's been suppressing. She removed her hands and moved them up to his chest. "Guess we're both feeling a little naughty today." She climbed off of him and got to her feet. "Let's take a dip and clear our heads before we get lost in our hormones."

(Y/n) grabbed Prompto's hand and hauled him up onto his feet. She dragged him towards the clear waters of the ocean, where they both swam for the next couple of hours. After playing a few water games with each other, Prompto swam towards the guardian and encircled one arm around her waist. He pulled her closer when she rested her head against his shoulder. They floated aimlessly, enjoying each other's touch.

After ten minutes of silence, Prompto spoke up. "Hey, (Y/n)? Remember when I said I'll need a couple of days to think about what to say?"

"Do you need more time?" She inquired.

"It's the opposite, actually. I think I know exactly what to say." He pulled them towards the shore. "Think you could wait for me on the beach? There's something I've gotta grab from my suitcase."

"Sure," she responded, wondering what he needed.

They swam back to shore. Prompto ran back to the hotel room while (Y/n) remained on the beach. She stood at the water's edge, allowing the gentle waves to wash over her feet. The sand stuck to her wet feet, but she didn't mind. It was the first time in her life she was able to enjoy the beach. Galdin Quay is the perfect spot to go on a vacation, especially if you wanted to relax on the beach. The water was clear and sparkled as the sun's warm rays casted down on the surface of the ocean.

Hearing the padding of footsteps and the faint crunch of sand, (Y/n) looked away from the ocean and saw Prompto had returned. A nervous smile was plastered on his face as he hid something behind his back. He came to a stop in front of her, swallowing hard. "Okay, I know I said I have the perfect thing to say, but I completely forgot it because of how nervous I am." He wiped at his forehead that was damp with sweat. "I think I'm sweating..."

"Try to calm down. I don't know what has you in a tizzy, but you look like you're about to pass out," she said. "Whatever you wanna say, just say it. You don't have to use any fancy words on me."

"Then I'll just come out and say it." Prompto kneeled down on a single knee and revealed the small black box he was hiding behind his back. Opening the lid, he revealed a beautiful ring with a golden diamond that matched her eyes and gemstone. Along the sides of the yellow diamond were two smaller white ones. Along the silver band were golden accents that matched the yellow diamond. "It's taken me a while to find the perfect moment to ask you, but I figured why not while we're in the most beautiful place in Lucis?"

(Y/n) stared wide-eyed at the beautiful ring. "Prom, are you...?"

"Proposing? Yeah..." He blushed in embarrassment. He looked up at her face with worry. "A-Am I doing this right? Or have I totally screwed this up?"

"N-No! You're doing just fine," she reassured him. "Please, continue."

He took a deep breath before continuing. "Those ten years without you made me realize how my life isn't complete without you. I felt so empty and useless without you. I don't ever wanna feel that way again. Will you marry this loser?"

"I don't see a loser. All I see is the man I'm deeply in love with," she smiled at him. "Of course I'll marry you, Prompto."

The man smiled back, his heart racing in his chest as he took the ring and slid it onto her ring finger. Once the ring was secured on her finger, he stood up and engulfed her in a hug. "Thank you, (Y/n)."

<--------------<<<<<

Five years have passed since Prompto proposed to (Y/n). With help from Noctis, Ignis, and Gladio, they both had a wonderful wedding. Now, the thirty-seven-year-old marksman was searching for his wife and their new addition to the family. Searching the Citadel, he found her and their four-year-old son, (S/n), in the training room.

(A/n: (S/n) stands for son's name in case some of you aren't aware. I couldn't think of any names and thought you guys would have one in mind. It's also to make this story more x reader friendly.)

(Y/n) was in her spiritual form, laying on her belly with her front paws stretched out in front of her and her back paws tucked under her. Her tails were splayed out across the marble floor as (S/n) climbed across her back and up her neck to reach her head. When he did, he outstretched a hand and began messing with the white tips of her ears. Her ears flicked over and over again at the feeling of her son's touch. They were always quite sensitive and it would always tickle her whenever someone touched them.

Prompto watched with a gentle smile. He chuckled when (S/n) managed to crawl up just a bit higher and sprawl his small body across the fox's face. "Okay, buddy," he approached them as (Y/n) lowered her head for him to grab their son. He grabbed (S/n) and lifted him off the spirit's face. "Mommy's not a jungle gym."

"But we were having so much fun!" The (h/c)-haired boy whined. The child looked over at his mother with cerulean eyes that were just like his father's. Although he was the child of a human and spirit, he looked like a normal boy with no guardian features. "Tell him, Mommy!"

(Y/n) changed back and stretched her arms up in the air. "We were, but mommy needs a nap. It's been a long day. We can play some more tomorrow, sweetheart. I promise."

An idea popped into Prompto's head. "Hey, how about you go see Gladio in his office? I'm sure he'll play with you."

"Okay!" (S/n) dashed out of the training room when Prompto put him down.

(Y/n) eyed her husband. "Are you trying to drive Gladio crazy? Or just trying to get rid of our son?"

"I would never get rid of (S/n)!" He denied. "It's to drive the big guy crazy. Besides, (S/n) loves him!"

"Looks like Gladio's the favorite uncle," she giggled.

"Speaking of the favorite uncle, Gladio's agreed to watch (S/n) for the rest of the day. You and I have some time for ourselves. What do you wanna do?"

She placed a hand on her hip with an eyebrow quirked up. "Don't you have work to do?"

"I finished early just so we could go out." He took her hand, entwining their fingers. "So, where do you wanna go?"

She smiled. "Surprise me."

"Leave it to me, milady!"

They left the Citadel and spent their time together by traveling to a few places around Insomnia. It had been hours since they left (S/n) in Gladio's care and the sun was setting. After grabbing a bite to eat and stopping by a bakery to buy some sweets, they headed home. Stepping into the apartment, they saw Gladio knocked out on the couch with (S/n) running circles around the coffee table.

"Little guy's so full of energy he wiped out Gladio," Prompto chuckled.

"Maybe we should save the sweets for later," (Y/n) mumbled.

"Mommy! Daddy!" (S/n) shouted when spotting them.

Prompto nudged his wife towards the kitchen and whispered. "Hide the sweets before he sees them. I'll keep him distracted."

The guardian quickly made her way to the kitchen and hid the items from the bakery. She placed them up high so (S/n) couldn't see or reach them. Leaving the kitchen, she found her husband and son sitting on the couch by the sleeping Gladio. She wondered what they were talking about and eavesdropped.

"C'mon, daddy!" (S/n) whined. "Tell me the story of how mommy took down that big monster again."

"You mean the behemoth?" Prompto asked.

"Yeah!"

"Whoa, hold it," (Y/n) intervened, knowing the story was gory. "Don't you think that story's a little too grown up for him, Prom?"

"Nah, don't worry about it, (Y/n). I leave out all the graphic parts," Prompto explained.

"Well, then...tell away."

While Prompto told the story, she tapped Gladio on his shoulder and gently roused him from his slumber. When the shield was fully awake, she offered him a grateful smile. "Thanks for watching him, Gladio."

"Hey, I love the kid. I'll watch him anytime you and Prompto want a night out on the town," he said, standing up.

"But what about your duties as Noct's shield?"

"Our lovely king has been really busy with his own personal affairs lately," he chuckled. "He plans on proposing to his special lady soon."

"Maybe it's about time you found your special someone."

"Trust me, I've got my eyes on a special gal. Now all I gotta do is ask her out," Gladio explained. He patted her on the shoulder. "I'm heading out. You three have fun."

"Bye, Gladio. Thanks again," (Y/n) replied.

"Anytime, (Y/n)." He walked past Prompto and (S/n), ruffling the little boy's (h/c) locks. "See ya, squirt. Make sure you don't stress your parents out too much."

"Bye, Uncle Gladdy!" He giggled, waving farewell to the man.

After hearing the door close, (Y/n) checked the time before sitting down beside her husband and son. She combed her hand through (S/n)'s messy locks. "Have you already ate, sweetie?"

"Mhmm. Uncle Gladdy ordered pizza for us. There's even leftovers in the fridge."

Suddenly, (S/n) yawned and leaned against his father's chest. He was having issues keeping his eyes open and warding off sleep. "Whoa, someone's tired," Prompto said. "It is a little past eight. I think it's time for someone to go to bed." Scooping the little boy up into his arms, he stood up from the couch.

"You wanna put him down tonight?" (Y/n) asked.

"Yeah. Meet me in the bedroom?" He questioned.

"Yeah. I'll be there shortly." She watched Prompto carry their son to his room before locking the front door and heading to the master bedroom. She crawled on to the bed, laying on her back. She stared up at the ceiling, mentally sorting through what she would need to do tomorrow. Her train of thought was derailed when she felt the mattress dip and saw Prompto looming over her. "Is (S/n) asleep?" She inquired.

"Yep," he answered before leaning down and placing a kiss on her forehead. He snuck a hand under her shirt and traced circles on her soft skin. "So..."

"What do you want?" She sighed.

"You, uh... You think we could have another kid? Y'know, so (S/n) can have a little brother or sister?" Prompto muttered, eyes full of wonderment.

"You want another kid after four years?"

"Bad timing?"

She shook her head. "No, it's just...why now all of a sudden?"

"Well, (S/n) told me how much he wanted a brother or sister while I was tucking him in. And I think having another kid would be great! I just hope it's a girl this time. I want a little (Y/n) running around."

A smirk crept onto the guardian's face. She pushed Prompto down on the bed and straddled his lap. "Well then, I guess we better get started."

<-------------<<<<<

After their sexual escapade, it was only a little past nine. Both were sweaty and in need of a shower. (Y/n) wrapped the sheets around her bare chest as she sat up. "Guess I'll have to wash the sheets again."

"I would hold off on that," Prompto chuckled.

She looked over at him, puzzled. "And why's that?"

"We're gonna enjoy ourselves again tomorrow night, and maybe even the next night..."

She smacked him on the arm. "We're lucky (S/n) didn't hear us tonight. It's too risky to do this every night, especially since his room is literally right across from ours."

Prompto smirked as he sat up. "That just means we'll have to be extra quiet." He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her naked body against his. He pressed a kiss against her forehead and hair. He tucked her smaller form against his side, resting his head on top of hers. "Honestly, I'm happy with just hugging and kissing you."

She wrapped her arms around his waist and snuggled closer. "Me too, Prom. To be honest, I never saw this in our future, but I'm happy it was. I love you so much."

"I love you too, (Y/n)," he whispered. "You've made me the happiest man on Eos."

"Let's continue to make each other happy as long as we can, okay?"

He nodded his head with a gentle smile. "Deal."

••••••••••END••••••••••

A/n: This marks the end of Book One: Gold! Next up is Book Two: Sapphire (Ignis x Reader). I've also made a minor change to the lineup of books. Book three has been changed from Diamond to Amethyst. Hope you guys are excited for the next book because I know I am! Love you all!!!

Previous Chapter || Masterlist ||

[torielectra83]

Garak and the Jack Pack

Want to thank

@volixia669

for giving me the idea and motivation; this is the first fic I've posted and finished in quite a while. Also gonna tag

@unicorn-and-bluebells

and

@tirlaeyn

since their DS9-related posts are what helped lead me to this (if there's a DS9-related Discord I should join, let me know); note that I'm not much of a shipper (and I'm ace), so I wasn't quite sure how to approach the Bashir/Garak relationship; I just left it in the background (and the lizard man t-shirt).

“Oh, Doctor. There you are, and I….see you’ve brought company!” As he could see, Dr. Bashir was heading for the Replimat for his typical luncheon with him, only four other people were crowded around him. A skinny man with a mustache, a stocky older man with a timid expression, a rather gregarious-looking woman, and another woman who looked rather distant. “Oh, hello Garak. I’d like to apologize for being a bit late.”

“Oh, don’t worry, given what I’m seeing it’s very much a valid excuse.” Garak had heard about the other genetically-engineered people who’d been sent to DS9 to meet Dr. Bashir, but he’d been busy with orders at his shop; he’d been thinking about hiring someone to help out, actually. “Well, that’s Jack, Patrick, Lauren and Sarina. This is my...friend Garak, he runs a tailoring shop here on the Promenade.” “Oh, hi there, Hi. Uh, I gotta go over to the replicator, I’m starving over here.” Jack promptly excused himself, while Lauren made her way to Garak next. “Well, hello, Mr. Garak.” She promptly began her flirtatious attitude. “If you’re trying to seduce me...it won’t work. I am sorry, but I do not generally do one night stands.” Surprised and somewhat disappointed, Lauren backed away.

Patrick then approached Garak. “Do you make clothes?” “Yes, I do.” Patrick then grinned eagerly. “Good, because the clothes the institute gives us are too...itchy and things like that. Do you have softer clothes?” “Well, I can certainly make some? I believe Dr. Bashir said you need “sensory-friendly” clothing?” Bashir nodded; the term was an old term from pre-warp Earth. “I’ll do it at no charge; anyone who’s a friend of Dr. Bashir is a friend of mine.” He sipped his Tarkalean tea as Jack argued with the replicator over not being able to make something, while Lauren used the other one to replicate a bowl of Vulcan plomeek soup.

“And… Sarina, is it? I’ve noticed you haven’t said anything yet.” Garak simply saw the young woman turn, before holding up a PADD, with words written on it -- “I can’t speak, If you want to have a conversation with me, use this.” She promptly set the PADD down and continued to watch Jack’s tussle with the computer. “Sarina’s unable to speak, I can explain the whole thing later Garak.” Julian felt the need to pre-emptlively apologize for their behavior. “Oh, you don’t need to. I’m seeing people with a lot of potential here.” Bashir nodded. “So do I. And not many others do. That’s why I brought them here. I want to try and help them.”

“They seem to be helping themselves.” As Garak watched, Jack had finally managed to get something from the replicator that agreed with his standards -- a ham sandwich with Bajoran mapa bread. “So, this is the irrefutable Elim Garak, huh?” Jack asked. “Yes, and I see my reputation precedes me.” Garak said politely. “That’s right. Former intelligence agent for the now-defunct Obsidian Order, exiled and now working as a tailor here on DS9.” He said hastily before ripping into his sandwich. Garak raised an eyebrow. “And how did you find that out?” He asked, a tone of interest in his voice. “Oh, you’d be surprised what you can dig up on the extranet. There’s all sorts of unsavory rumors about you, like you causing a Cardassian doctor to break down by staring at them for four hours straight.” He promptly chugged from his cup of targ milk, before continuing. “And that your father was the head of the Obsidian Order, Enabrian Tain, and he got wiped out by the Dominion when the Obsidian Order and Tal Shiar teamed up, yeah, but they didn’t know the second-in-command of the Tal Shiar was actually a Changeling leading them right into a trap!”

“I...think we will have to pick up this conversation sometime later, Doctor.” Garak was getting rather uncomfortable at all this private information being practically shouted in the Promenade. “Oh, and I’ll see what I can do about those new clothes you requested, Patrick.” As Garak walked back to his shop, getting his mind off old events, he began pondering about what to do in the present. My orders are backlogged. I simply need help. As he opened his shop doors to see the current state -- half-finished orders, bolts of fabric all over and supplies in crates he hadn’t unpacked. “I must find someone to help me. I would get Julian but he’s too busy with being in Starfleet.” Garak sighed, and began getting back to working on an order.

Some time later...

Having returned from the Defiant, Dr. Bashir went into Garak’s shop, expecting to see it as it had been for some time -- cluttered and filled with things Garak was working on. He instead found it a hive of activity. Customers were entering and exiting, some waiting for their orders, others were looking at holographic models of new clothes to order. Bashir looked around in confusion. “What the…'' Suddenly, a figure blocked by their holding of several bolts of fabric maneuvered into view. “Look out, everyone!” Bashir knew that voice. “Patrick?!” “Oh, hi, Dr. Bashir.” Patrick didn’t even turn back as he carried the bolts into the back of the shop. “Patrick, how did you get here?” Bashir followed him, and realized the entire “Jack Pack” (as someone, most likely Quark, had nicknamed them) was working there. Patrick set the bolts down for Jack, who proceeded to start measuring what exactly was needed for that order. Lauren was busy inputting data of some kind into a PADD, while Sarina was sewing an order up. “Ah, Doctor, good to see you’ve returned home safe and sound!” Garak greeted him cheerily from behind his desk.

“Garak, what is going on here? How did they…” “Well, Julian. I saw their potential and I needed help. And so far, they have been excelling at everything they’ve been doing. I haven’t been this efficient, ever!” Garak looked positively delighted at this. It was rare to see him like this, and Julian was a noted expert on Garak’s emotions. “But...what about the Institute? And Dr. Loews?” “Well, she needed a vacation, and my offer to give them steady employment was something she couldn’t pass up.”

“Oh, well then. But...how are you so busy now?” Julian wondered. “Well, their brightness led them to not only help clear my backorders, but also introduce whole new product lines based on pre-warp Earth stylings. I will admit I knew little about it, but they have brought in several new kinds of clothing. Like this ‘tee shirt’.” Garak promptly held one up, the front reading “WWCKD?” with a small line underneath reading “What Would Captain Kirk Do?” “They’ve come up with several of these things. Like this one for the USS Voyager.” The shirt had a fictional flyer on the front with a picture of Voyager, underneath a “Missing: Reward” banner as if it were a lost dog. “We’ve also re-created other Earth fashions, from “bell-bottoms” to “zoot suits”. I must admit, they make most current styles of clothing look downright boring!”

“Yeah, Dr. Bashir! Here’s one we made especially for you!” Jack promptly handed him a T-shirt and headed into the front of the shop. Julian simply looked at Garak with an expression of disbelief. “Garak, we caught them trying to pass on classified information to the Dominion, and now, they’re recommending I wear a t-shirt that says ‘If lost, return to lizard man for reward’!” He said angrily, shaking the shirt in his hand for added emphasis.

“Doctor...these people needed another chance. One that nobody else was willing to give them. And another thing...they are still very useful analysts. They can predict trends, root out information and generally think far ahead of the game. To be quite honest, they’re the best analysts I’ve ever seen. “ Garak admitted. “Yeah, where else can you get a nice new pair of pants and information of Dominion troop movements?” Lauren commented.

“So...you’re basically running your own intelligence service out of this shop.” Bashir muttered, running his hand through his hair. “Well, there has to be a third-party intel service somewhere. With the Obsidian Order gone, there’s a market for it; we used to take on clients for analysis as a method for extra revenue. Strictly off the books, of course. So that’s what I’m doing now.” Garak reasoned. “And we aren’t just doing war intelligence either; we’ve got multiple projects for the Ferengi Alliance, the First Federation and the Gorn Hegemony for analyzing things like market trends, population censuses and whatnot.” Patrick nodded. “Yeah, Grand Nagus Zek and Ishka appreciate it! We got in touch with them thanks to the Ferengi maintenance guy, oh, what was his name…”

“Rom, that’s him. Real friendly guy. Came up with the self-replicating mines around the wormhole and keeps the holosuites running, real good guy.” Jack said at his normal speedy pace, before returning to his fabric measuring. Sarina promptly passed a PADD to Bashir, with a message reading “This is the best we’ve been treated in years. We’re working for ourselves, we’re constantly kept active, and we’re being paid 5 strips of latinum an hour.”

“Anyway, I’ll see you later, Doctor. We’ve got a lot to do before closing time today. After that we can meet at Quark’s, perhaps? Jack came up with this astounding holo-program based on another pre-warp Earth cultural thing, a “game show” called...Wipeout, yes. It involved picking the right answers and avoiding the wrong ones, it’s fascinating. But we have work to do and I’m sure you have work in the infirmary.”

Garak promptly ushered Dr. Bashir out of the store and back onto the Promenade. “...what just happened?”