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tweetsongs · 1 year

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Transmigrating into the Reborn Male Lead’s Ex-Boyfriend Chapter 153

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so. funny story. i started reading this fun little webnovel, only to find out halfway through that the translation hadn't been updated in about a year, and there were only three untranslated chapters left.

me, a consumate completionist: oh, i think i could handle that!

please keep in mind that this is a translation by someone who hasn't read chinese since they were *checks notes* seven years old, and is completely unedited. the goal of this was mostly to have something more readable than the mtl. when the CG translation group updates i'll link to them instead since i'm sure i missed a ton of nuance/got a bunch of stuff wrong.

you can find chapters 1-152 here! be sure to send love to the og translators

anyways for anyone else foaming to know what happened to sxh and xym and their ridiculous love story here's chapter 153.

Except for his greeting at the very beginning, Xue Mian did not speak to Song Xuanhe again.

He constantly stayed quietly by Master McPhail’s side, occasionally laughing gently and speaking very little, like he had already left the entertainment circle. His beauty and gentle manner led many people to gaze over at him, lingering for a few moments.

It was obvious that Master McPhail was also fond of him, often pausing during his conversations to turn to Xue Mian to explain bits of complicated terminology without concealing the fond look in his eyes. Because of this, everyone present could see that Master McPhail liked his companion very much.

Master McPhail had always been known as a master jewelry craftsman with an independent personality, who rarely invested in or cooperated with others professionally. The fact that he came with the Xue family this time already surprised many people, and their surprise only grew as they saw how happy he looked with the Xue family heir.

These masters at the apex of the design industry weren’t the types to be concerned about any treasured heirs from some bigshot family, but if the person in question was a child that their friend looked fondly upon- well, that was a different matter.

In a matter of moments, the majority of the banquet guests were looking towards Xue Mian’s gentle expression.

Song Xuanhe observed all of this. Rather than grabbing a seat at a banquet table to talk with anyone, he sat by a window silently, sipping his tea as he thought.

This banquet was something that he dreamed of, to the point that at the beginning, he already had several designs for outfits and had talked to several of his peers and Feng Tong about his thoughts and creative visions for his debut. Normally, Song Xuanhe would be ecstatic to be able to talk shop with these like-minded people.

However, for a few days now, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of foreboding.

He didn’t know why, but he constantly felt a sense of unease in the pit of his stomach, and found it difficult to calm himself down.

He couldn’t shake off the memory of the vague words that Xiao Yuanmu had said at lunch that day, and the strange expression on his face after he talked with Xiao Lin. He could tell that these things were connected, but no matter how he tried to connect the dots in his mind, he couldn’t string together the clues into a single answer.

“Mr. Song.”

A voice spoke by his ear. Song Xuanhe lifted his eyes to an unfamiliar face.

The person approaching laughed, and lifted a finger to point at a table in the middle of the room. They spoke in a soft voice: “I heard that you snatched up Master McPhail’s cufflinks, and now he wants to look for you.”

Song Xuanhe followed his pointed finger and, sure enough, he saw the smiling Master McPhail. Not only that, beside him were other familiar faces: not only Xue Mian, but also Feng Tong, Bai Mo, and Jiang Deyi.

“Did you bring the cufflinks?” The person swept their gaze over Song Xuanhe’s sleeve. When he didn’t see anything, he continued: “My friend, you were able to attend Master McPhail’s banquet because of those cufflinks. If you are not wearing those cufflinks, it might seem like you’re not respecting the host.”

Song Xuanhe acknowledged the good advice, giving his thanks with a composed expression. He then said: “The cufflinks are currently with the person that are best suited for them. I believe that Master McPhail understands that.”

The person nodded. “Once Master McPhail speaks to you, I’m sure he’ll understand.”

Song Xuanhe put down the tea in his hand and began to walk towards where Master McPhail was. The closer he got, the more he was able to see the mood of the cluster of people there. The corner of his smile deepened as he came to stop beside Master McPhail.

“Hello, Mr. Song,” Master McPhail gestured for him to sit, then said laughingly: “I heard that it was you who bought my cufflinks. I won’t lie- out of everything I’ve made in my life, those cufflinks are the things I’m most proud of. When I first agreed to participate in the option, I was very conflicted. But now, looking at you, I think that they’ve found a pretty good owner.”

The corners of Song Xuanhe’s eyes turned up, his gaze clear and limpid. Looking into his eyes, his sincere admiration and respect was obvious. “Out of all the things I’ve bought for my collections, these cufflinks are my favorite.”

Master McPhail’s face grew happier at the words, and he said: “Then, child, would you allow me to meet those cufflinks one last time for a goodbye?”

Song Xuanhe ran the corner of his gaze across Feng Tong’s worried face, as well as the frowns that Xue Mian, Jiang Deyi, and Bai Mo couldn’t quite hide from their eyes. He then smiled and said, shaking his head: “I’m afraid not, Master McPhail. I’m not currently wearing those cufflinks.”

“How strange that something Mr. Song loves and treasures so much wouldn’t be worn to the banquet hosted by our host,” Bai Mo said, smiling. “I imagine that there was some sort of misunderstanding that made you forget about them, or that they aren’t suited to the outfit you coordinated for today. There must be many reasons for something like this happening.”

Master McPhail’s smile didn’t change, as if he hadn’t heard what Bai Mo said. Instead, he continued to smile at Song Xuanhe and asked: “May I know the reason, child?”

Song Xuanhe nodded, his eyes crinkling upwards slightly. His eyes were shining as if they were filled with diamonds, sparkling with fragments of light. He said: “Right now, those cufflinks are on the person I love most in the world. He likes them very much.”

Master McPhail fell silent for a few moments, before raising his hand to pat Song Xuanhe’s arm. “I hope that the person wearing those cufflinks will be able to receive the blessing that I gave them when I was making them.”

“What kind of blessing?” Song Xuanhe asked.

“A love that will stay with them for the rest of their lives.” Master McPhail smiled again, eyes fond. “I’ll give this blessing to you as well.”

Song Xuanhe wasn’t sure why, but he felt a tingling behind his nose. He dipped his head and said: “Thank you for your blessings.”

Master McPhail patted his arm again, and moved his eyes to the manuscripts he was holding. “I noticed your design manuscripts earlier. If it’s not too much trouble, would you mind if I took a look?”

Song Xuanhe’s distracted gaze caught Feng Tong’s excited and nervous look, as if Feng Tong were afraid that Song Xuanhe would reject his offer. He urged him with his eyes to quickly accept.

“Of course you can.” Feng Tong was overreacting. There was no way that Song Xuanhe could reject the chance for Master McPhail to critique him.

Master McPhail took the manuscripts and looked over them, eyes bright and expression happy. As he began to speak, he paused and looked over to the rest of the people with him, saying: “If these gentlemen don’t mind, I’d like to speak with Mr. Song alone.”

Xue Mian laughed a little. “As it turns out, I was just thinking of going to grab a drink. Does anyone want to come with me?”

Feng Tong responded immediately that he would go. Bai Mo and Jiang Deyi looked at each other, then glanced at Song Xuanhe coldly before leaving as well.

Actually, this banquet was meant to be an open place to critique, with many design manuscripts piled on tables as people around them discussed them. There was no need to send anyone away.

That’s why, when everyone began to walk away, Song Xuanhe looked warily at Master McPhail. He smiled back without explaining, and instead began to ask him about his inspirations.

“I saw a video of your first show and your designs are inventive and clever, especially your use of color. However, these designs seem to be a bit different from the ones I saw before. Can you tell me about that?”

Song Xuanhe pulled back his train of thought, and began to discuss with Master McPhail. The discussion stretched into the night, the two never seeming to run out of energy. As they spoke, Master McPhail even pulled over some old friends to introduce them to him. One of them was a designer for a popular international luxury brand, and they were very interested in Song Xuanhe’s designs, exchanging contact information with him.

Until the end of the party, Song Xuanhe took full advantage of his time.

As dinnertime drew closer, people began to leave one by one. Master McPhail kept a few of his old friends around to have dinner with him. Because of their lively discussion, Song Xuanhe was also invited to stay, but he chose to tactfully refuse the invitation.

Xue Mian, hearing this, looked at him in surprise. Before, he had seen Song Xuanhe’s involvement in the design industry as a frivolous gamble. After this afternoon, he had to change his mind. He saw now that Song Xuanhe really did have talent in design, to the point where Master McPhail acknowledged his skills. Song Xuanhe himself seemed to genuinely treasure this opportunity as well, so when Master McPhail invited him, Xue Mian thought that he would definitely join them.

Even if Xiao Yuanmu returned today, Xue Mian had thought that there would be plenty of things that Song Xuanhe prioritized over him.

Once again, he was proven wrong.

Song Xuanhe explained: “It’s because of the person I bought the cufflinks for. We haven’t seen each other in thirty-two hours, so I can’t help but want to meet him now.”

At his answer, Master McPhail smiled at him, and the people around him looked at him affectionately as well. The eagerness of young love always made other people feel fond.

Master McPhail answered: “Then I wish you a wonderful evening.”

Song Xuanhe began to leave, but Xue Mian called out to him as he was walking away. He was surprised, but stopped walking.

Xue Mian caught up to him and gestured to another table to the side: “Why don’t we have a chat?”

“I don’t think that we’re close enough for that involved of a chat,” Song Xuanhe rejected. “But I will thank you for today.”

The invitation that Master McPhail extended towards Song Xuanhe was because of Xue Mian. Song Xuanhe knew that his sense of design was good, and his conversation that afternoon was very genial, but he wasn’t conceited enough to believe that one afternoon of talking was enough to receive special attention from someone like Master McPhail, who must’ve seen countless clever, talented newcomers before him.

Besides, Master McPhail made no mention of him staying for dinner during their discussion, only extending the invitation after Xue Mian whispered something to him.

“Don’t thank me,” Xue Mian said. “Master McPhail already liked you. I only gave him a little suggestion. Besides, I have my own reasons as well.”

Song Xuanhe looked at him, neither asking nor speaking.

The corner of Xue Mian’s lip flattened, and he looked away. “You have deeper feelings for Xiao Yuanmu than I had imagined, but have you ever thought about how long the two of you can go on for?”

“That’s our business,” Song Xuanhe said indifferently.

“Of course,” Xue Mian laughed, a hint of mocking in his tone. “This was never my business. Don’t worry, I’ve already thought it through to my decision.”

“Is your decision that you can’t bother us?” Song Xuanhe looked at the time, then turned and said: “If there’s nothing else, then I’ll be going first.”

Xue Mian called to his back: “Do you know why Xiao Yuanmu left the country?”

Song Xuanhe’s steps paused. “I’ll find out tonight.”

Xue Mian laughed sharply, his eyes bitter and regretful. “I don’t think you will.”

“Why?”

Song Xuanhe turned around suddenly, watching his shadow as he left.

After he returned, the bad feeling Song Xuanhe was having grew heavier on his chest. He habitually turned to look at the clock, eyes tracking the ticking of the hands. The corners of his lips kept flattening, tense.

The time slowly slipped from five to seven, the sky turning from blue to grey. The neon lamps in the city slowly began to brighten, casting the darkening streets back into light.

[Xiao Yuanmu is back.]

The sound of the system in his mind was abrupt, making Song Xuanhe startle out of his blank look. He looked at the clock- it was seven twenty-five.

At the same time as the system, Xiao Huang suddenly raised his head, ears pricking up as he looked towards the door. A second later, his tail began to wag, and he ran towards the door enthusiastically.

The sound of the elevator rang out, and the sound of the elevator door opening preceded the sound of leather against the floor, ringing out in tandem with the sound of Xiao Huang’s paws against the floor.

Song Xuanhe looked up, his eyes meeting Xiao Yuanmu’s across from him.

“I’m home.” Xiao Yuanmu looked down slightly, face slightly pale and laugh soft and slightly warm.

Song Xuanhe stood up and walked over, first sweeping his eyes over his figure, quietly releasing a breath, the heartbeat that was picking up in pace finally slowing again. Smiling, he said: “Have you eaten dinner?”

Xiao Yuanmu looked back. “I bought groceries.”

Yang Jie came in as well, giving Song Xuanhe a greeting before turning to go into the kitchen. He put down the groceries before silently looking at Xian Yuanmu.

“Go.” Xiao Yuanmu glanced at him, speaking mildly.

Yang Jie gaped at him, mouth moving as if he wanted to say something. Ultimately, he didn’t speak, bending to give Xiao Huang a pat before leaving.

There was something streaking through Song Xuanhe’s heart. His lips hooked up as he said: “Did Yang Jie do something wrong? Why is he scuttering in and out without even glancing at me?”

“I’m thinking of having him transfer back to China,” Xiao Yuanmu took off his cufflinks, carefully putting them away. “He doesn’t want to.”

“Why?” Song Xuanhe followed him into the kitchen, Xiao Huang following behind. “His family should still be in China.”

“En,” Xiao Yuanmu paused while rolling up his sleeves, eyes moving to the bags of groceries where Song Xuanhe stood. His eyes were dark as they looked, tugging his sleeves downwards as he spoke calmly. “His mom is living alone in China.”

“But Yang Jie left, who’s taking over for him?” Song Xuanhe asked.

“Right now, it’s temporarily Qiao,” Xiao Yuanmu replied.

The hand that Song Xuanhe was using to put the groceries in the fridge froze for a moment, then he closed the fridge door and turned to meet Xiao Yuanmu’s eyes. “Are you hiding something from me?”

“What kind of thing?”

“When you went back to China this time, was it for the Xiao family?” Song Xuanhe grabbed Xiao Yuanmu’s hand, using it to pull him away from the kitchen towards the study. “Let’s talk for a bit.”

Xiao Yuanmu allowed himself to be pulled miserably, following obediently behind with a downcast gaze. After they entered the study, Song Xuanhe closed the door behind them, letting go of his hand.

“You said before that you wouldn’t lie to me,” Song Xuanhe looked at Xiao Yuanmu. “I believe you.”

The hand that Xiao Yuanmu let fall back to his side clenched and unclenched, He rolled up his sleeve, revealing a sturdy arm.

Song Xuanhe’s eyes fell on that arm, then moved away. “Xiao Yuanmu. Why exactly did you go back to China this time?”

“Some private business.”

“About what?” Song Xuanhe asked. “If it’s private, why didn't you let me know that beforehand?”

Xiao Yuanmu moved forward to hold Song Xuanhe, his chin resting on his shoulder. “I’m very tired.”

Song Xuanhe paused, the words bubbling up his throat swallowed back again as he lifted his hands to curl around Xiao Yuanmu’s waist.

“Once it’s the right time, I’ll tell you everything.” Xiao Yuanmu pressed his face deeper into Song Xuanhe’s shoulder, voice muffled. “Can you...not ask me anything right now?”

After ten or so seconds of silence, Song Xuanhe replied: “Okay.”

Xiao Yuanmu returned to the kitchen to make dinner, hands moving like usual. For once, Song Xuanhe had little appetite.

“How was Master McPhail’s banquet?” Xiao Yuanmu asked, putting down his chopsticks to ask.

“Not bad,” Song Xuanhe got up and went to the living room, bringing back his design manuscripts for Xiao Yuanmu to look at. “These are the drafts that I was busy making for the past few days. The details haven’t been finalized yet, but the basic idea and the measurements should be fine. Master McPhail really liked this outfit.”

Xiao Yuanmu looked at the designs. “When can these be made?”

“Maybe for the fall or winter lines?” Song Xuanhe said, unsure. “Or even later. I’ve already made my fall and winter lines, and these don’t quite match the same mood. It might be a bit hard to integrate these in the lines. By the time it goes into production, it might be quite a bit after.”

“Were these designed for me?” Xiao Yuanmu looked at Song Xuanhe.

Song Yuanhe looked down. “Everything I’ve designed has been for you.”

Xiao Yuanmu looked at him with an adoration that couldn’t be hidden, his lips tilting upwards helplessly. “I want this outfit. There’s nothing like it. Make it for me. Can you make it before next week?”

Song Xuanhe frowned. “It’ll be a bit too warm to wear this outfit in this kind of weather.”

“It’ll get cooler soon.” Xiao Yuanmu looked at Song Xuanhe.

Song Xuanhe gave in. “You’re lucky that I’m not as busy now. I don’t have any materials or machines to make it, though.”

“I can get someone to send things over.”

Xiao Yuanmu kept his word. After getting Song Xuanhe to let him know everything that he would need, he got everything sent over to their apartment within a day’s time.

Not only that, but even with the apartment having empty rooms, Xiao Yuanmu still insisted on clearing out space in the study for Song Xuanhe to work in instead. The study was large enough that after a bit of cleaning, it didn’t feel crowded with the two of them working together at all.

The side of the room facing the shining french windows was originally where Xiao Yuanmu worked, but now it had become Song Xuanhe’s workspace. Xiao Yuanmu instead moved all his work over to one side, so that the two of them could feel comfortable working in tandem.

After the renovation, Xiao Yuanmu didn’t go back to his office. He was still as busy as ever, spending upwards of fifteen hours every day in the study. The only difference now was that whenever he looked up, he could see Song Xuanhe on the other side of the room, drawing and sewing with single-minded focus.

Three days passed in a flash, and Song Xuanhe found himself acclimating to the new normal, sharing a space with Xiao Yuanmu, each working on their own in the same room as the day passes.

One day, however, a sudden stream of people began to flow in and out of the apartment, one after another. Because they had never met before, Song Xuanhe politely greeted them, and Xiao Yuanmu made introductions, occasionally interrupting Song Xuanhe’s work.

After meeting Xiao Yuanmu’s financial advisor, lawyer, and doctor, Song Xuanhe couldn’t resist opening his mouth: “Why are all these people swarming in at once? Did they all agree to descend at the same time?”

“I am taking over the Xiao family,” Xiao Yuanmu’s lip lifted slightly, and he ran his hand over Song Xuanhe’s hair as if to pacify him. “I still had people from the Xiao family who want to leave and talk to me. I haven’t been going into the office, so of course they’ll have to come here.”

“Even your-”

Song Xuanhe was interrupted as Yang Jie knocked on the door. “Xiao-ge, Song-shao, Mr. Zhang is here.”

Ever since Xiao Yuanmu began to work from home, Yang Jie also worked in the apartment with him. Usually he worked from either the living room or another room, but today he acted more like a butler, escorting guests in and out of the house.

“Let him in,” Xiao Yuanmu said, smiling at Song Xuanhe as he spoke.

Zhang Siwei walked in, giving a smile and greeting to Song Xuanhe before saying: “I heard it’s been busy around here.”

“Just cleaning house,” Xiao Yuanmu said indifferently.

“Makes sense,” Zhang Siwei went over to the sofa and sat down, eyes catching on Song Xuanhe’s work area with interest. “Song-shao, are those your new designs? They look pretty good. As a close acquaintance, may I order a set in advance?”

“No.” Xiao Yuanmu rejected him flatly. “These designs were made for me. There’s only one set in the world, and only I can wear them.”

Zhang Siwei raised an eyebrow, noticing the pride behind Xiao Yuanmu’s fathomless eyes. He smiled and said: “I see, something like that can only be given to you. Let’s talk business, then.”

Xiao Yuanmu nodded, walking to sit across from him. The two pulled out their laptops and began to speak quietly. Song Xuanhe turned his gaze back to his work, focusing.

Like this, the days passed. The system inside of Song Xuanhe’s mind counted down. In this period of time, there really were quite a few people that came to visit their apartment. This lasted for three days, before their apartment returned to its usual quiet.

Without Yang Jie knocking on their door periodically, without the sound of soft conversation across the room, Song Xuanhe was surprised to actually feel disquieted for a moment. However, after a bit of time, he fell back into the rhythm of his work.

The outfit that he’s been working on for a week had finally come together. It still needed some final detailing, but after that it would be ready to wear.

Song Xuanhe looked up at Xiao Yuanmu, who was signing a document. Feeling his gaze, Xiao Yuanmu looked up as well, smiling softly at him before looking back and flipping to another document.

“You’ve had to sign a lot of these lately, huh,” Song Xuanhe put down the button in his hand. “Has Louis been slacking off and sending all of his stuff to you?”

“Louis is signing even more documents than I am,” Xiao Yuanhe paused in the middle of writing something before starting again, lightly flipping a page. “It’s been busy lately.”

Song Xuanhe nodded. He knew that it was busy lately. Compared to before he went on the business trip, he was even busier working at home. Xiao Yuanmu didn’t have much time to relax, either. Nowadays, he was barely sleeping five hours a day before going back to work.

Hopefully it’ll slow down soon. Song Xuanhe looked away again, thinking to himself.

Engrossed in his work, it was easy to forget the time. By the time he found himself cutting his final thread, the morning had already passed. He looked at the completed outfit, nodding to himself with satisfaction. He turned towards Xiao Yuanmu: “I’m done with the outfit, do you want to try it on to see how it fits?”

There was no answering voice behind him. Song Xuanhe thought at first that Xiao Yuanmu was too engrossed in his work to answer, and turned to look at him.

Xiao Yuanmu was half-sprawled on the table, looking collapsed with exhaustion.

Song Xuanhe put down the clothes in his hands and walked over to the sofa, grabbing a blanket to lay over Xiao Yuanmu, eyes soft and sad.

Xiao Yuanmu really had been worked to the bone lately. Not only was the already enormous Xiao family expanding their business, but there was also the whole issue with Lady Xiao and Xiao Baicong. It must’ve been a lot of pressure on him.

Song Xuanhe brushed away the longer strands of hair that fell over his face, lightly touching his forehead. It was a little warmer than usual. There was a light wrinkle between his eyebrows. He prepared to try waking him again when he noticed the open document out of the corner of his eye.

Contract of Property Transfer - First Party: Xiao Yuanmu

He pulled the document from his hand. Before he could take a look, the system sounded in his mind: [Xiao Yuanmu is not doing well right now! He’s not asleep, he’s unconscious- you should send him to the hospital immediately.]

“Give him a full-body checkup.” Song Xuanhe immediately put down the document in his hand, placing it on Xiao Yuanmu’s forehead. It felt scalding hot. His hand began to tremble, and his heart began to thud violently with unease. He pulled out his phone with one hand to call Yu Yan, while the other kept gently shaking Xiao Yuanmu while he called his name. Xiao Yuanmu didn’t twitch.

Yu Yan picked up the phone quickly, the phone barely ringing before his voice answered: “Mr. Song? Is something wrong?”

“Xiao Yuanmu is running a fever, and he looks very unwell. Where should I bring him?”

“Wait!” Yu Yan pushed off Zhou Nan’s hand, getting up and going to his landline. Dialing the landline with one hand, he kept speaking to Song Xuanhe. “I’m going to send over some people to get you and Chief Xiao immediately. Are you two in your apartment right now?”

“Yes.”

“Please wait a little longer, they should be there in around ten minutes. In the meantime, try to bring down Chief Xiao’s fever as much as you can, but be careful not to let him catch a chill. Is that alright?”

Song Xuanhe hung up the phone and called Yang Jie.

Yang Jie had a key to Xiao Yuanmu’s apartment. Not two minutes after Song Xuanhe called, he was running into the apartment. When he saw the figure lying on the sofa and recognized Xiao Yuanmu’s face, his face turned pale in an instant.

Song Xuanhe was holding a towel soaked with cold water, and looked up to see the expression on Yang Jie’s face. He couldn’t bring himself to ask about it, instead immediately turning back to Xiao Yuanmu’s condition.

“Song-shao...” Yang Jie asked. “Did you call the hospital? Who did you call? You can’t have called a public ambulance, right?”

“No,” Song Xuanhe said. “I called Yu Yan.”

Yang Jie let out a breath. Looking at Song Xuanhe’s taut face, he opened his mouth a few times, but when he saw Xiao Yuanmu’s unconscious body out of the corner of his eye, he could only close his mouth tightly.

Yu Yan had given them a time bracket of ten minutes, but after seven minutes, the people he called for already arrived. They were very prepared, and the moment Xiao Yuanmu was loaded into the car they were already checking him over.

Song Xuanhe sat beside him, looking with a tense expression as the doctors looked over Xiao Yuanmu. The car slowly pulled out of the quiet streets into the city.

“Where are we going?” Song Xuanhe looked away from Xiao Yuanmu towards Yu Yan to ask. “I don’t remember any hospitals in this direction, and the Xiao family private hospital isn’t in this direction either.”

In the face of Song Xuanhe’s interrogation, Yu Yan remained calm. “The Xiao family can’t find out about Chief Xiao’s current condition. Right now we’re going towards a hospital that Chief Xiao personally invested in- to be more accurate, it should be called a long-term care clinic, Xiao-ge’s private clinic. Still, the facility is up-to-date, and the equipment is better maintained than many private hospitals. You don’t need to worry.”

Song Xuanhe didn’t actually suspect Yu Yan of anything. Even if he didn’t trust Yu Yan himself, the fact that Yang Jie didn’t say anything about this meant that it was something that he had known about. It was just that he had never heard Xiao Yuanmu mention investing in any long-term care clinics, let alone building any private hospitals in said clinic.

Thinking about this, Song Xuanhe felt his heart grow heavier, and his expression became clouded. He hoped that the right time that Xiao Yuanmu had promised him to tell him about everything would be, in fact, the right time.

The car was very quick and efficient. Not thirty minutes had passed before they were driving into a place that was remote, but really looked to have the facilities that even top-notch private hospitals couldn’t compare to.

Song Xuanhe didn’t pay attention to his surroundings, quickly following Yu Yan into a private building. The doctors pushed Xiao Yuanmu into a private room to look him over. Yu Yan stayed at the door, and Song Xuanhe and Yang Jie waited together.

Finally, Song Xuanhe was able to exhale a little. He turned to Yang Jie: “Is Xiao Yuanmu hiding something from me? Or rather, are you and Xiao Yuanmu working together to hide something from me?”

Yang Jie pursed his lips, not looking into Song Xuanhe’s eyes. “Xiao-ge...he said that he would tell you.”

“When you left the country before, what exactly was that for?” The smell of disinfectant in the air made Song Xuanhe feel more tense. His expression became colder, and his voice also lowered as he said: “Tell me.”

Yang Jie avoided his gaze, pressing his mouth even more tightly together before saying: “I can’t tell you, Song-shao. Wait until Xiao-ge wakes up, and he’ll tell you himself.”

Seeing his evasiveness, Song Xuanhe had to take a deep breath to press down his temper. He asked the system: [What condition is Xiao Yuanmu’s body in?]

[It’s complicated,] The system said. [I need some more time to get a more accurate result.]

Song Xuanhe furrowed his brows. [Shouldn’t your technology be more advanced than the technology of this time? Why do you need so long just to check his body?]

[When you finished your mission, many of my functions became limited,] the system said. [My physical scanning system is also not as advanced as before, sorry.]

Hearing the system’s apology, Song Xuanhe felt like a bucket of cold water had been dumped on him, forcing him to calm.

[You don’t have to apologize,] Song Xuanhe rubbed his temple, walking to a sofa against the wall and sitting down. Putting his head in his hands, he said: [I was scared and lost my cool. I should be the one apologizing to you. Sorry.]

[You don’t need to apologize,] the system said. [I’m...just a system. You don’t have to apologize to a system.]

Song Xuanhe managed to lift his lips slightly with difficulty. [Why so heartless? You’ve already called me brother so many times. No matter what, aren’t we friends now?]

[Friends?] The system said hesitantly.

[What? Do your regulations not allow you to make friends?] Song Xuanhe asked.

[Of course not.] The system responded quickly, then fell silent. After a few seconds, it spoke again: [I’ll be sure to properly check over Xiao Yuanmu’s condition. He’ll be fine, don’t worry.]

Song Xuanhe managed to drag up the corner of his lip before it fell again. He made a soft sound of acknowledgement.

Actually, when he snapped at Yang Jie earlier, he was just venting.

From the time that Xiao Yuanmu started to become more taciturn- when he started to work overtime more and more- him flying back without a clear reason- the complicated look Xue Mian had given him- the words that Yang Jie had bitten back after they returned overseas- Xiao Yuanmu getting visits from his financial advisor, his lawyer, his doctor- Xiao Yuanmu collapsing- the property transfer documents on the table-

The truth had always been right in front of him, on clear display. It was just that Song Xuanhe had never been brave enough to touch it.

After a while, a doctor left the emergency room. He addressed Song Xuanhe: “Mr. Xiao’s condition isn’t good right now, but the details are still unclear. We need more time to inspect him to know more.”

Song Xuanhe wasn’t surprised. If the system needed more time, then the doctors could only take longer. “How much time?”

“About three hours,” the doctor said conservatively.

Song Xuanhe nodded, returning to the sofa with a downcast gaze, not speaking.

An indeterminable amount of time passed, and the system slowly spoke, voice complicated: [Xiao Yuanmu is...]

Just then, Yang Jie ran into the room and said to Song Xuanhe: “Xiao-ge is awake!”

Song Xuanhe stood up suddenly, turning and running to the private room. At the door, he suddenly came to a stop, then took two steps back. Behind these doors are the answers that he had been looking for. But now, he wasn’t sure if he actually wanted to know.

“Song-shao?” Yu Yan came up to him. “Chief Xiao is awake. Aren’t you going in?”

Song Xuanhe hesitated, pulling the door as he spoke. “I’m going to go in soon.”

Yu Yan nodded and left. Song Xuanhe took a step into the sickroom. On the bed was a person who, apart from being paler than usual, didn’t look much different. Their eyes met.

The hand that Song Xuanhe was using to grip the door tightened. As he was preparing to walk in, he stopped to look at Xiao Yuanmu quietly.

Xiao Yuanmu blinked at him and said: “Are you mad?”

Without waiting for an answer, he looked at him with clear, dark eyes and continued: “I bought congee for you to eat, so don’t be mad at me, okay?”

#i'll post the other chs soon!#again this is not edited bc it was written out so i didn't have to try to read the chinese one character at a time #but i thought that maybe?? someone else will want this to at least know what the ending is #Transmigrating into the Reborn Male Lead’s Ex-Boyfriend #RMLE #RMLE chapter 153 #also TN here i guess but i cannot believe the author wanted to stuff this juicy of a plotline this late into the game #TERMINAL ILLNESS STORYLINE IN LAST THREE CHAPTERS??? when i say i HOLLERED

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audriel · 2 months

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hi audriel! Didnt know you had tumblr and had to double-check. I really love your fangrui fics on ao3! I noticed some were taken down? And thank you so much for always posting fangrui pics on discord!! Really appreciate it. Really like how approachable and friendly you are on discord, feels like talking to a friend who you can gush about fandom stuffs with, hope you have a good day ahead!

questions, when did you first started to like qzgs, and what made you do it? What are your top 3 fav chars? Did it ever change? What do you like about them?

hi anon! actually, i made my ao3 and tumblr account almost at the same time, so you're safe! i joined discord pretty recently, that's why i unfortunately lost my chance to use the name audriel there >_<

another fang rui lover! thank you! i'm glad you like them! <333

i'm just so happy that i found people who loves qzgs to gush over together. and to spread all the fang rui love. so thank you for being so kind and welcoming! it took quite a lot of courage for me to finally ask to join the server, and participate actively. it's thanks to everyone in the discord.

are you asking the moon in autumn? it's still there, but only accessible for ao3 users since it's a long fic, and i do have concerns for data scraping for fanfictions. if let's start thinkin' bout it gets long enough, i might end up doing the same. i might only unlock them for few days when there's a new update.

now onto your questions!

i'm pretty sure it's due to the pandemic. since i started to read a lot of korean webtoons/manhwa that's almost always adapted from webnovels, i ended up reading a lot of them during that time (there was not much to do but stay at home after all). however, they were very rarely completed. oh the horror. so i looked for recommendations and there was quan zhi gao shou/the king's avatar on the list. it's highly rated and reviewed, and it's completed! even though it's chinese webnovel and not the genre i usually read (online games, more so professional gaming), so i gave it a try, and boy i'm so very glad i do. i'm hooked.

it has everything i love to read in a story: a smart, powerful protagonist; rich, complex characters and world; and a wonderful storytelling.

the only downside? i'm late to the the fandom. QAQ

i think we all love ye xiu, it's no brainer right? he's perfect but also imperfect at the same time. his strength in character and in his belief is so admirable that i sorely wish i had a fraction of it. but at the same time as a protag, we didn't see much from his perspective. so he's not the character i resonate with the most. definitely top three, but not the top. qiao yifan was my best boi then. i can relate with his struggle the most. and i love seeing him learning and growing under ye xiu's wings. from the transparent tiny herb player to the most stable, reliable happy rookie. i'm so looking forward to the person he'll be in the future.

then there's fang rui. he's overshadowed by huang shaotian at first. huang shaotian is so lively, so distinctive, so difficult to look away from. so at the beginning my top three was qiao yifan, ye xiu and huang shaotian.

only on my reread that fang rui finally caught my eye. at first, he and huang shaotian look so similar and differ greatly with other oh so serious captains and god-level players in that they are bright and lively, and they are open with their emotions. but i end up thinking twice at the latter. huang shaotian is an open book, fang rui is not.

wait, wait are we reading the same novel?

fang rui feels like an open book, because we have seen his own perspective, we've seen his thoughts and emotions. but whenever we've got outsiders' perspective on him, fang rui is always playful even he performs badly. if anything, he acts out, hams it up, just like when he miscommunicated with mo fan or when he lost so badly that he sat in the corner to reflect. when he's troubled, most often he closes up, just like when lin jingyan approached him when tyranny dropped by or when he was so tired after beating xu boyuan.

meanwhile, huang shaotian can put up a public persona like the celebrity he is, but overall he doesn't really bother to hide how he feels, just like when he didn't want to talk after he lost in the finals and when he questioned yu feng after he went to hundred blossoms (even he got the first turn in beating up liu hao lol). in summary, huang shaotian is the real open book. we can count on him for being honest, and also being loyal. while at the same time, he's such an stealthy assassin and deadly opportunist on stage. it makes him such an appealing character and a favorite among the fandom.

but for me, the complexity and contrast of fang rui really caught my eye. that there's more to him that it meets the eye. which is admittedly my favorite type of character. it shows that he has an exceptional emotional intelligence, he understands emotions, his own and others, and he doesn't shy away from it, more so, he owns it. i have admiration for calm and composed characters, but i admire more those who obviously struggling with his emotions but still retain their calm and composure. and that fits fang rui to the t.

because damn, when we put it into context, fang rui has the hardest time in season 10. ye xiu (and qiao yifan) did have a hard time with their previous team, ye xiu can be also said as the reason for excellent era, his beloved team's demise. but the fans and later qiu fei gave him hope for the team to be reborn, then su mucheng joined him in happy, all he needs is to focus on the championship that he's back in the alliance. fang rui?

he has to leave his beloved team and account, then he transforms to a completely different class with a wholly new account, at the huge risk to himself, then he has to fight his former partner/mentor repeatedly until being the one to end lin jingyan's career. the latter feels dramatic, but considering how fang rui's performance is visibly affected by lin jingyan's decline, i'm not surprised if that's how it feels from his perspective. and yet... he gives himself the hardest time when he performs badly in the finals, for not giving his best for happy. he just wanted to return the trust given to him. even though he was exhausted, he still did his best to assure the team. i just... the moment i put things into perspective, i think fall in love right then and there, and there's no coming back from it.

so my current top three: fang rui, qiao yifan, and ye xiu.

i think there's a pattern right there. all three are happy. all three have transformed. all three have left their teams, not by choice. all have suffered rejections and come up victorious.

thank you for the wonderful ask! i don't mind if you have more questions! i enjoy it very much! i can do the same for you if you wish. just let me know!

#ask me anything #quan zhi gao shou #the king's avatar #qzgs #tka #fang rui

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ask-a-w · 8 months

Text

Ebony & Gold

For Aeon Week Day 6 - Historical

Summary: A blonde lord gets off on the wrong foot with a raven-haired princess and they try to make amends. A Victorian AU Aeon short story. (Their characterizations will definitely be different so go in with an open mind.)

AO3

FF.net

----------

In the earlier years of the Victorian era, a youthful prince from a far away land in the East was curious about life in the West. He learned about their mannerisms, with some disapproval from his older brothers. But being the youngest son, the Emperor doted on him and allowed the boy to pursue whatever he fancied.

With blessings from his father, he travelled to England as a diplomatic envoy, hoping to improve trade relations between the East and West. The prince charmed everyone he met there with his grace and slightly eccentric ways.

Soon enough, he caught the eye of many young women that were hoping to marry into a royal family regardless of the fact that he belonged to the Chinese imperial house. Like many couples of that time, the prince was matchmade with a lovely lass who was the daughter of a Duke.

However, things changed during the ball he and the lady were supposed to meet. They both managed to find partners of their own. The young prince met a daughter of a widowed Countess. She was the same age as him and both fell in love with each other. He and his loved one were married within the year they met and their union produced two sons and a daughter whom they cherished with all of their hearts. It was a rare thing to marry one’s true love during that time period and the prince unknowingly set a trend in his social circle for doing that.

Biennially, the family would alternate living either in England or China as ambassadors. Thus, their children grew up with knowledge from both Worlds and it was quite advantageous for them.

Having taken on an English name, Prince Gregory, Duke of the Orient, returned with Princess Wilhemina, Duchess of the Orient to her homeland as scheduled. Their youngest daughter, Princess Ada, now nineteen years of age, was the only child to accompany them on their adventures.

Her brothers were already married, having carved out their own very successful lives away from the family. They were lucky to have found soulmates they wanted to spend their lives with and wished their baby sister all the best with regards to matters of the heart.

As soon as word hit the streets that The Orients had returned, they were swamped with invites to balls and various engagements. Ada now stood in her bedroom as an attendant dolled her up.

Grace, her faithful lady-in-waiting about a decade older than her had been with Ada since she was a young girl, looked on worriedly. “Are you most certain, my lady?” She was concerned about a certain event from three years ago that affected her precious princess.

“I will be alright, Grace. My friends would love to meet me in person after corresponding with letters for the past two years.” Ada replied confidently as her hair was twirled elegantly on the back of her neck.

Grace nodded and gestured to another maid to serve up the tea. “You should eat something before you leave, my lady. I know you rarely do so when you attend balls. It is not good for your health.”

Ada stopped the attendant from sliding her gloves on and thanked the lady for dressing her up before dismissing the rest of the servants from the room.

“It is difficult to partake in food with a corset. The tea and scones will have to suffice till then. Thank you again, Grace. You are ever so thoughtful.”

The princess sat down and helped herself to the food platter. Her parents would take a little while longer to be ready and she would just have to wait for the bell to chime. “You should eat as well, Grace. After all, you will be accompanying me as my lady-in-waiting.”

Under normal circumstances, Grace would decline but this was Ada they were talking about. She and her brothers were raised with both regality and modesty for others around her. They treated their servants as equals. Though others outside of the Orient household thought that the princess was an aloof and icy royal.

“You know I will not take no for an answer, Grace. Please, sit down and rest before the night’s events call upon us.” Ada implored and the older woman obliged, sitting down on the chair beside the raven haired princess and enjoying their snacks.

A few moments later, the bell rang and it was time for them to leave. Grace sat with Ada and her parents in one carriage while the other attendants sat in the other. Gregory and Wilhemina were both pleasant to be with despite their lofty titles.

“Ada dear, you look as beautiful as ever.” Her mother spoke and Ada gave a smile, “I have you and papa to thank for that.” The teenager teased and her parents chuckled, making light-hearted banter all the way to their destination.

----------

In the rolling hills of the countryside there was the mansion of the Earl of Adlitam. They were a noble family mostly invested in business, and had accumulated a great amount of wealth as well as a good reputation. Earl Matthias Kennedy had three children, two sons and an eldest daughter. The middle child, Leon, was currently in his office being lectured by his father.

“You need to take these things more seriously,” The Earl said as he paced back and forth while Leon read a newspaper. “You’re going to inherit this family’s legacy, and I don’t want our ancestors’ hard work to all be in vain because you were too busy showing interest in every young lady you meet. Remember that in this world, personal and professional matters often affect each other.”

“I don’t show interest in everyone, just the ones who are beautiful.” Leon replied, still more invested in the paper than his father’s lecture. “You want me to have my own family, don’t you?” Leon smirked slightly and Matthias gave an exasperated sigh, running his fingers through his greying hair.

“Leon, you have amazing business skills, but don’t be overconfident. This ball is for building good relations, but not those kinds.” The Earl said sternly and snatched the newspaper away from Leon. “Show these people that you are a respectable man and not just interested in their daughters. Limit it to one dance per lady. Now let’s get ready, I have a feeling it’s going to be a long night.”

Leon scoffed and stood up to follow his father. He had been to so many balls already it was completely routine to him at this point. Everyone already wanted to have good relations with the Kennedys that it seemed redundant to pander to anyone. Leon might as well make the most of them.

The blonde had his servants helping him get dressed for the ball. He put on his nicest suit with coat tails, bow tie, white gloves, and his best cufflinks. The servants made sure his shoes were shiny and his hair was neatly styled.

Once the preening was complete, Leon went to the hallway to meet with the rest of the family. His father, mother, and older sister Diana were soon ready to leave as well, while his little brother James stood pouting.

“I wish you would let me go to the ball,” James said. His mother patted his shoulder and gave him a kiss on the forehead.

“When you’re of age. Now be good while we’re gone. Let’s not be late now,” the Countess of Adlitam beckoned the rest of her family to exit the mansion. Leon gave his brother a wave goodbye and a smile as they went out the door and climbed into the awaiting carriage to take them to the ball.

----------

Before they knew it, the Orients arrived at the mansion and they disembarked from their carriage, heading off into the house. After they handed over their coats and hats to the servants, her parents handed out the invitation cards to the doorman where he called out their names to announce their presence.

“Their Royal Highnesses, The Duke and Duchess of the Orient! Her Royal Highness, The Princess of the Orient!”

All eyes turned to them and Ada trailed after Gregory and Wilhemina who were met with old friends and acquaintances. The usual greetings and compliments of her growing more beautiful every two years were exchanged. All these pleasantries bored the princess and when her father finally addressed her to go enjoy herself, Ada curtsied to him and left to find her trio of friends.

She found them clinging to men on their arms and they greeted her fondly. “Princess Ada, it is good to see you again!” The ‘leader’ of the clique, Eleanor, spoke and the princess replied, “Likewise.”

Ada then turned towards the men with a curious look on her face. “All of us got married last year,” Eleanor explained and each lady introduced her spouse to the princess, making the royal slightly jealous.

“Is this the surprise you were talking about in your letter? Congratulations.” Her voice was tinged with a slight edge. Weren’t they the ones who promised that they would swore off men after her failed engagement a few years ago? They clearly broke it.

“I will see you later. Please, excuse me.” The princess turned on her heel and walked away, out of the ballroom into the balcony for some air. Grace was beside her in an instant.

“They were so crass, Your Highness. Some friends they are.” The older woman implored and Ada could only sigh, “I doubt they were truly my friends to begin with, Grace.”

A few minutes later, the Kennedys arrived and they entered the mansion, giving the servants their coats and hats as usual, and handed their invitations to the doorman.

“The Earl and Countess of Adlitam! Lord Kennedy! Lady Kennedy!”

The Kennedy family stuck together for a little while before Leon decided to go his separate way, but not before his father whispered a few words into his ears. “Remember what I said. We’re here for business, not just pleasure.” Leon gave his father a nod and a smile before he turned away. He began to prowl the ballroom for any young, single ladies whom he had not had the pleasure of meeting yet.

There were plenty of available women, some he had been acquainted with, and there were a few new faces. Leon danced with some of the prettier ones to get to know them a little better, but there were none here tonight that seemed to truly catch his interest.

Meanwhile, Ada spent the rest of her time outside, enjoying the beauty of the night sky. A few people lingered here and there in the shadows of the balcony, trying to sneak an intimate moment or two, away from prying eyes. The princess casually ignored the public displays of affection.

Grace was rubbing her arms and Ada spoke with concern. “Are you cold? You should go inside and have a drink to warm yourself up.” Her lady-in-waiting nodded but frowned a bit at the suggestion of leaving her charge alone.

It was a gesture that did not go unnoticed by Ada’s keen eye. “I am capable of taking care of myself, Grace. You have seen me do it before.”

The older woman let out a small sigh, “I will be back soon, my lady.” She gave Ada a look of worry before reluctantly turning away to find refreshments for them both.

After several dances, Leon grew a bit bored and felt he needed some fresh air. The young lord did not want to return to his family just yet, and unfortunately not many of his friends were here, or they were busy with their own dances. He went outside for some quiet time and to look up at the night sky.

Leon only saw a few people milling about on the balcony, which was just how he liked it. He did notice a young Asian woman in a scarlet gown and assumed she was the help of one of the guests, or a lady-in-waiting perhaps.

Inside the ballroom, Matthias learned that the Duke and Duchess of the Orient were here with their princess, and he prayed Leon would behave well around her. He was always at least polite around women. He knew better, right?

----------

The princess had a minute to herself before she heard footsteps behind her. Ada turned to tease her lady-in-waiting for returning so soon but did not say anything when she caught sight of a blonde man instead.

He was dressed like the rest of the males. Black suit with coat tails, white bow tie, and slicked hair. Sometimes she wished women could have simple outfits like that which could be worn repeatedly. Having to purchase new outfits for each season was bothersome.

She kept her thoughts to herself and looked away, not in the least bit interested by the blonde’s presence at all.

Leon was feeling a bit stuffy in his formal clothing and with so few people around, he thought it would be alright if he loosened his sleeves to cool off a bit. He undid the cuffs, but was not quite careful enough, and accidentally dropped a cufflink on the floor. It rolled over towards the Asian woman, and the blonde let out a small sigh.

“Excuse me, you there?” He called out to her. “Could you be a dear and pick that up for me?”

His words caught the attention of the others on the balcony and they had to hold back their laughter. Did Lord Kennedy just address a royal princess so casually?

Ada heard a metallic ding against the floor and she frowned at his command. She turned to face the blonde and spoke coolly, “I beg your pardon?” Couldn’t he see that she was dressed regally in red and purple? “I believe your eyes might be deceiving you. I am not a butler.”

“Ah, I’m sorry,” Leon said, beginning to feel slightly suspicious. “No, you don’t look like a butler. I don’t believe I’ve met you before. Are you a guest here?” He asked with a charming smile, still oblivious. He decided to simply walk over to her and pick up his cufflink himself.

Ada gripped the fan in her hand a little tighter, weary about his forwardness with her. Royal protocol prohibited men from approaching her without the presence of her lady-in-waiting. Was this man that clueless about her identity? She also recognized the look of want on his face. The blonde found her attractive but she was not going to give him that satisfaction tonight.

As Leon neared the young lady, he could hear the faint whisperings of other guests and began to have a bad feeling. Upon closer inspection of the Asian woman he had to admit that she was quite fair, with beautiful brown eyes that right now seemed to be glaring daggers at him. Leon wondered for a moment about courting her, but pushed the thought aside. A gut feeling told him to restrain himself in this instance.

“I don’t usually see your kind around here.”

The princess’ eyes narrowed into slits at the last comment. Grace and her family had mentioned that whenever she was angry, her gaze always appeared to be piercing through a person’s soul. Leon was rooted to the spot. It was almost as if she was Medusa exerting her power over him.

“My family was invited and my mother is English.” The princess replied venomously and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Grace hurrying to her.

"Your Royal Highness, the Duke and Duchess are expecting you.” The older woman then noticed Leon standing in front of Ada and she immediately bowed to the princess. “My apologies for interrupting your conversation, ma’am.”

Ada shook her head. “No, we were done with our conversation.” She boldly took a step towards the blonde and whispered acidly. “Good night, peasant.”

Grace kept her surprise to herself and followed her lady back into the ballroom.

She left Leon standing there dumbfounded and speechless. That young woman was a Princess? How was he supposed to know that? He then chided himself when he recalled all the purple embroidery that was on her dress. That should have tipped him off that she was not a servant.

Leon headed back inside to look for his family and the young lord was suddenly keenly aware of all the staring and whispering around him. A wave of humiliation surged through his body. He suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder and turned around to see his father’s furious face, as red from anger as Leon’s was from embarrassment.

“What were you thinking?” The Earl of Adlitam hissed. “How could you speak to a royal princess like that?”

“I did not know she was royalty.” Leon whispered back. “I suppose she got here before we did. No one bothered to tell me there was a Princess of the Orient here.”

“You could have at least been more polite. This is what I was talking about.” Matthias glanced left and right. “You’ve not only embarrassed yourself, but also me and our family. I don’t want you leaving my side for the rest of the ball.” The two men went off to find the Countess and Lady Kennedy, and did their best to ignore the swarm of gossip in the air.

However, the damage was done and Leon and his father were both in terrible moods for the remainder of the night, though they did well to mask it when speaking to the other guests. His mother and sister heard what happened, but did not say anything, and no one else brought it up in front of them out of politeness, even if they had no trouble bringing it up behind their backs.

In another part of the ballroom, the princess finally made it back safely in her own little social circle. “Ada dear, we would like to introduce you to a family friend.” Wilhemina spoke upon seeing her daughter. The raven haired teen did her best to wear a mask of nonchalance but deep down, she was still rather ruffled by the encounter.

The greying man in front of the princess extended a hand. “I am Phillip, your mother’s tutor. I met you when you were a baby. My, how big you have grown.”

Ada raised her gloved hand and the man kissed the back of the fabric politely. She dropped her hand down and continued to politely participate in the conversation. The princess did notice that every now and then, prying eyes would turn and focus on her. Ada coolly ignored them and stood her ground.

The ball passed… ever so slowly but Ada still stayed with her parents, refusing to move her feet at all. They would understand why she wouldn’t want to dance with a man.

Finally, it was time for them to leave and as usual, their status allowed them to depart first. Ada heaved a sigh in the carriage and her mother looked over to her. “What is the matter, darling?”

The princess feigned exhaustion and leaned her head back into the seat. “I am fatigued by all the excitement, mama. It has been two years since my last ball. Grandpa’s palace is relaxing and tranquil with the occasional fanfare.”

Gregory nodded. The East and West threw their parties differently and there wasn’t a mad race to be seen at events everywhere in China. “Then rest immediately when we get home, my dear.”

----------

The blonde lord did his best to go through the motions of the ball, though he did not want to dance with anyone anymore, and none of the young ladies seemed to want to anyway. Leon contented himself with drinking until it was finally time to leave.

The Kennedys all quietly put their coats back on and went to their awaiting carriage. They sat down and wordlessly rode back to their mansion. Leon knew his father would give him an earful once they got home though.

“How could you make such a fool of yourself?!” The Earl admonished his son once they were in his office while the rest of the family was getting ready for bed. Leon avoided eye contact and sighed.

“It was an honest mistake,” Leon retorted defensively, crossing his arms. “If she had been of a lower status there would not be such a fuss.”

“Well she wasn’t, was she?” Matthias asked, one eye twitching just a tad. “And it doesn’t matter what your intentions were, all anyone cares about is you made a fool of yourself in front of royalty. The Kennedys will be the laughing stock for months because of this.” He grumbled and rubbed his temples as the stress got to him.

“And not to mention that you’ve earned the ire of Princess Ada, and likely the Duke and Duchess of the Orient. They could have been good allies to have…”

Leon quirked an eyebrow, “So her name is Ada?” They did not have the pleasantries to exchange names. Leon doubted she would want to know his after this.

His father turned to glower at him for his remark. Leon glared back in return, “If you think I want to court her, you’re gravely mistaken. She wasn’t exactly made of honey when we spoke, more like venom. I’ll be happy if that’s the last time I ever see her.”

“It does not matter, you are confined to this house until I see fit to allow you to leave,” The Earl replied. “Now go to bed. I expect you back to work in the morning.”

Leon sighed and left the office, feeling much less happy tonight than he thought he would be.

----------

“He asked me to pick up his cufflink! What sort of gentleman does that? He also had the cheek to say that he doesn’t see Asians around and assumed that I was some sort of servant.”

Ada vented to Grace when they were both in her bedroom. The older woman was brushing the princess’ hair to get rid of any knots before she went to bed. “Sounds like an uncouth lout, my lady.”

While a maid would typically be helping the princess get ready for bed, Ada preferred to have Grace by her side. She could express her frustrations to her friend to her heart’s content.

The royal handed a night cap to Grace and all her raven hair was gathered and placed into the cap before Grace slipped it on her head. “I was not wearing rags, Grace. Could he not see my dress??”

Grace patted Ada’s shoulder and guided her to the bed. “He must have been blind, then. Get some sleep, Your Highness. It is not worth it to be angry over a pompous fool.”

Princess Ada sighed and slipped under the covers. “I know… I guess my head will be cleared of that mess in the morning. Good night, Grace." Her lady-in-waiting then drew the curtains shut and extinguished the lamps.

"Good night, ma’am.” The older blonde woman called out at the door and shut it close behind her.

----------

The days passed and Leon grew ever more restless as he was stuck doing work with no time to spend with any of his friends. The best he could do was take a stroll through the garden. On the other hand, Ada’s time was spent with tea parties, dances, musicals, and any engagement under the Sun fit for a royal.

A month after Leon’s debacle, the Earl knew he had to repair the damage his son had done. After consulting with a family friend, Phillip, the retired tutor decided to host a garden party where other families, along with the Kennedys and the Orients, would be in attendance. It was all carefully planned by Matthias and Phillip, to have both parties meet on neutral ground and mend their strained relations.

Phillip had tutored Leon as a boy, and who just so coincidentally tutored Ada’s mother. With everything proceeding as arranged, the invitations were sent. It was not a formal ball, but Matthias demanded that Leon be even more polite than ever, lest he be confined to the household for the rest of the year.

Unbeknownst to the young blonde, the Orients were invited as well. Leon would have had second thoughts about going if he knew that piece of information.

For the Orients, they received the garden party invitation from Wilhemina’s tutor roughly a month after the Kennedy incident. Needless to say, they gladly accepted the invite. Phillip was a treasured family friend, after all.

When the day of the garden party came, the princess chose a lightweight yet elegant viridian coloured day dress that went along with her parasol. She also wore boots as the grass could sometimes be uneven and slippery.

With Grace close to her, she mingled with the guests and indulged in some food as well. Her parents were off conversing with Phillip, without a clue on what the tutor had planned with the Earl of Adlitam.

When the Earl saw Philip with the Orients, he enacted the plan and made his approach.

“It’s good to see you, Earl Matthias,” Phillip called out to him and they shook hands. “Matthias, this is Duke Gregory and Duchess Wilhemina of the Orient.”

Matthias smiled and gave them a bow of respect. “It is an honour to meet Your Royal Highnesses. Let me apologize once more for my son’s behaviour.”

If Gregory and Wilhemina were surprised to see the Earl of Adlitam, they hid it really well and instead, gave him a nod to acknowledge his presence. They had heard from Grace on what had happened to Ada on the balcony that night. Needless to say, they were not pleased with the young man’s disrespect.

Matthias looked behind him to see Leon conversing with guests normally. Luckily no one was gossiping quite as much about the incident anymore. “I trust Princess Ada is here as well?”

“Of course. We wouldn’t be able to do this without her, right?” Phillip said with a smile. “Go ahead and call your son over, Earl Kennedy.”

Matthias nodded and turned around to wave at his son. “Leon, come here and say hello to Phillip. You two should catch up.”

The Duchess gazed at her tutor when he mentioned her little girl and Leon. “What are you planning to do, Phillip? Why must our daughter be involved with an uncouth man?” Her blue eyes were full of worry and the Duke put an arm around his wife’s shoulder, glaring at the tutor and demanding an answer.

Phillip didn’t reply to them straight away. Instead, he waited for the young blonde to come over to make his greeting.

Leon heard his father and made his way over like he was asked. He found the party rather dull while he was being kept on a tight leash. At least Phillip might be nice to talk to. “Phillip, how are you?” Leon asked as he beamed at his old tutor.

He then took notice of the Duke and Duchess, and immediately felt a pit form in his stomach. The blonde would not be oblivious a second time.

“Leon, this is Their Royal Highnesses, Duke Gregory and Duchess Wilhemina. Of the Orient.” Matthias said to his son. Leon forced himself to keep smiling at the royals and gave them a polite bow. “It is an honour.”

The Orients nodded at him stiffly and they could feel the temperature of the air around them dropping a notch or two.

Phillip then cleared his throat, “Matthias had this idea to help improve Leon’s image by allowing everyone here to have a glance of him and Princess Ada at least walking together. This is a very unforgiving society and Matt here is a very good friend of mine. I do not wish to see his family come to ruin.”

Wilhemina was about to interject that her precious girl will not be used to improve someone’s public image but Phillip continued to speak, “Of course, it would be most optimal if Leon apologized to her highness and they can both start off on the right foot. You did teach your children about forgiveness, Wilhemina. Leon made an honest mistake.”

It all made sense to Leon now. This was all part of an elaborate plan by his father and his tutor. His father gave him a slight nudge in the back, prompting Leon to bow deeply to the Duke and Duchess.

"I apologize for my ignorance and my impoliteness." The lord said, hoping that this would convince the Orients. He still did not think they had to go this far, but Leon also wanted to get this over with. “Please forgive me. It was wrong for me to treat your daughter that way.”

What Leon dreaded though was seeing Princess Ada once again, and he knew that it would be much tougher to earn her forgiveness. At least his father seemed pleased with his behaviour, smiling proudly at Leon for apologizing.

The Orients still weren’t entirely moved by his apology so Gregory decided to impart some wisdom. “You should not treat anyone in a rude manner, my boy. All of us deserve respect. Depending on where you are, you will not always be part of the majority race.”

Phillip nodded in agreement, “We bleed the same colour, Leon. Remember that.”

It truly was embarrassing for Leon as he did his best to smile and nod at the advice given to him. “Yes, you are right, of course everyone deserves respect. I will do my best to remember that in the future.”

The lord may or may not have actually heed these words, but for now he was simply acting how he thought they wanted him to. He would need to put on his best performance if he was to earn the royal princess’ forgiveness though. “Please, I really would like to apologize to Princess Ada myself. The guilt has been eating me up ever since that night. I’m glad you’ve given me a second chance.”

Wilhemina could see Leon was growing red with embarrassment and she looked to her husband. “Dear, I believe he knows he did wrong. Why don’t we call Ada over now? She is the one he is supposed to apologize to.

Acting was a skill that was needed to survive in this Victorian life. Whether they doubted Leon’s sincerity or not, the royals still had to give face and treat him politely.

Gregory nodded to his wife. “Phillip, please send someone to call for my dear daughter.” The tutor then gave them a bow and walked a short distance away to speak to a servant, leaving the Orients alone with the Kennedys.

To prevent awkward silence, Wilhemina participated in a little small talk. “How is your business going, Earl Matthias?”

Elsewhere, Princess Ada strolled with Grace through Phillip’s rose garden and admired the flowers that were in bloom. “Imagine all the rose jam you can make with this, Grace.” The princess spoke and her stomach rumbled slightly.

“Many cartons, my lady. Phillip already gifts your family rose jam throughout the year and you are still hungry?” Grace teased and Ada chuckled.

A maid approached them and bowed. “Your Royal Highness, the Duke and Duchess of the Orient request your presence. Please, follow me.”

Leon nervously waited while the servants fetched Princess Ada, and listened as the adults engaged in minor chit chat to pass the time. He swore that when he was in charge, he would leave this sort of socializing to someone else, while he could do the real business alone. These politics were so tedious.

“Please, tell me, is there anything about Princess Ada I should know about?” Leon made sure to ask before she arrived. “I just want to make sure I don’t make any transgressions. Better safe than sorry.”

“She detests men who are rude to her and Grace, her lady-in-waiting.” Gregory replied simply as he recalled the times where Ada put a man in his place and he was proud of her for that.

“Her Royal Highness, Princess Ada of the Orient!” A voice announced her arrival and the raven haired teenager closed her parasol and walked up to her parents. She stopped beside the couple before realizing the rude blonde man from that night was in close proximity to them.

Ada’s eyes narrowed slightly and she turned to her folks. “Mother, father, are you acquainted with this man?”

Wilhemina began to explain that they knew what happened on that fateful night at the ball and how Phillip came up with the idea for Lord Kennedy to apologize.

“He belittled me due to the colour of my skin, mother. That is not something that can be easily forgiven and forgotten.”

The Duchess became a little stern, “Everyone looks up to us and we must set good examples for them, Ada. A little kindness goes a long way.”

That is the way it is when you’re born into the royal family. I did not raise you to be stubborn.

Wilhemina could only think of those thoughts to herself but she hoped her daughter got the hint. Ada relented and turned to the blonde. “I am willing to hear you out, Lord Kennedy.”

“I did not mean to belittle you, really,” Leon began, being actually sincere about that. He was not perfect, but he certainly did not enjoy being thought of as some kind of a bigot. “I had no idea that the Duke, Duchess, and Princess of the Orient had come to the ball that night. Had I known I would have been much more aware.”

The blonde was not quite sure how much of him was acting and how much really was being honest. Perhaps both. Leon might have told himself he did not care about what these people thought of him, but deep down he had the feeling he wanted people to like him. He looked the royal in the eye as he proclaimed, “I was rude out of ignorance. I am completely willing to admit to that, but it was far from being malicious, especially in regards to your ethnicity, Princess Ada.”

Matthias nodded in approval at his son’s performance. He did not care if he was sincere or not, so long as he gained the royals’ favour.

Phillip was a bit more of an optimist and believed there was something real there. “Ada, do you think you’d be willing to forgive Lord Kennedy?”

Ada listened to Leon with a calm expression on her face. Frankly, she just wanted to tune him out but there was something in his eyes when he apologized. It intrigued her.

The princess turned to the retired tutor and regarded his question with a bit of thought. “I accept his apology.” She finally replied without any mention that she would forgive Leon.

That satisfied her parents and Gregory spoke up. “Good. I suggest the two of you take a walk along the grounds so everyone can see that you have made peace.” The Duke turned his gaze towards the older Kennedy. “I trust that would be sufficient, Matthias?”

Ada bit the inside of her cheek at her father’s suggestion. A walk with that lout? As long as she didn’t have to hook her elbows through his, she would maintain a respectable distance from the young lord.

For a very brief moment, Leon felt overjoyed that she accepted the apology. Now all of this could finally be put behind them.

And then they asked them to walk together. He wished the ground would just swallow him whole.

“Yes, of course it would be,” Matthias answered the Duke before his son could get a word in. “Leon would love to, wouldn’t you?” The Earl nudged him in the ribs discreetly and Leon nodded, getting the hint.

"It would be an honour." The blonde replied, doing his best to hide his ever growing annoyance at the entire situation. Just one short walk, then it would be all over.

“As it would be mine.” Ada replied and gave a bow to her parents before walking up to the blonde with her lady-in-waiting following behind her as a chaperone. “Shall we?” She made no indication to let go of her parasol and they walked out of the private pavilion side by side but at a respectable distance from each other.

When they were far away from the adults, the princess couldn’t help but whisper to him. “If you step out of line again, peasant, there will be consequences.”

She saw a hint of the other guests out of the corner of her eye and she put on a serene smile on her face. The crowd did a double take and almost stopped talking when they saw the Princess of the Orient and Lord Kennedy strolling beside each other along the sheltered pathway leading to the rose garden.

“Pretend to make some conversation, peasant. The sky is blue and the roses bloom red.”

"My name is Leon, your royal highness, not ‘peasant’.” The blonde whispered back to her. He was finding it increasingly difficult to keep his cool. At least he knew now that she was as insincere about accepting his apology as he was in giving it.

Leon did manage to force a small smile on his face while they walked together, though if one looked closely enough they would see the slight twitch of his eyelid. “Perfect weather for a garden party, isn’t it?” He asked, keeping up with their act.

"Mmm hmm…” Ada muttered to herself when he irritably told her about his name. She continued to calmly smile back at Leon. “Indeed it is. Though you should relax the crease on your forehead on this beautiful day, it ruins your handsome face.”

Leon was momentarily stumped when the princess called him handsome but figured she meant it sarcastically. His mood turned dour once again.

They strolled to the end of the walkway and that was enough to get the guests talking excitedly on how the Princess of the Orient and Lord Kennedy have set aside their differences.

The path led into Phillip’s rose garden once more. “Let us wait for a while before we walk back. Leaving too soon sets their tongues wagging again.”

Just then, a white furry creature popped out from the bushes and it let out a meow. “Ah, Phillip’s cat, Opal.” The beautiful white fluffy British longhair feline trotted up to them and rubbed her skirt, much to her delight.

“I don’t have food for you, silly Opal.”

The white kitty looked up and gave Ada an oblivious little meow before moving onto Leon, rubbing his legs and purring loudly. The lord’s features immediately softened into a genuine smile, and he knelt down to stroke her fur. Appearances be damned.

"Hello there little Opal," The blonde cooed sweetly and scratched behind the cat’s ears, making her nuzzle into his hand and purr happily. “Are you enjoying the party too? I bet you are, with all the guests giving you treats, am I right?”

Opal flopped on the grass and allowed Leon to pat her smooth white belly. He let out a chuckle, “You are an adorable cat.”

“Cats are such mysterious little creatures.” Ada said with mild amusement as she watched Leon play with the cat and give her affectionate belly rubs. Other than her brothers, he was the first man she saw openly fawning over a cat. The princess slowly made her way to Opal so that it would not be startled.

When she was near enough to bend down and touch the cat, she spoke, “I have an equally snow white feline at home. She’s a Persian, a gift from one of the diplomats.”

“I would love to see her. What’s her name?” Leon said enthusiastically, before he caught himself and attempted to save face. He was not supposed to be enjoying this right now. The blonde stood up and took a couple of steps back, allowing Ada to have her turn with Opal.

The princess was bemused by his enthusiasm and sudden coldness as he remembered that they were not on good terms. She decided to ignore his request about seeing her Persian and replied, “My cat is called Jade. Do you own a cat in your mansion?”

“Yes, we have a few cats at our house. One for me and both of my siblings,” The blond noble said, feeling a little at ease that Ada was not being hostile at the moment. “I have a British shorthair named Max.”

Ada found it rather endearing that the Kennedy siblings had a cat each and if circumstances were better, she would have wanted to see them as well. Alas, she had to be content with Jade and Opal.

She bent down and scratched the longhaired feline’s head before petting the creature from its head all the way down to its bottom. Opal was very content now as she closed her eyes in bliss.

“Do you want to return to Phillip, little Opal?” The cat just continued to purr, obviously not understanding the human language.

“She seems quite happy right where she is.” Leon said as Opal curled up for a little cat nap. “Let’s leave her be. Cats can get quite cranky when you keep them from their sleep.”

“I know.” Ada stood up and bid the cat a quiet farewell. They walked past the little walkway again and the guests were chatting about them, as usual. It seems their little charade successfully convinced them to forgive Leon as well.

Both of them walked around the garden a bit more, and Leon was starting to forget that they were still mad. Their parents and Phillip noticed the duo as they came back towards them, and Matthias could almost sense a change in his son when he saw him.

“Did you enjoy your walk?” The Earl asked Leon. He nodded and cleared his throat. “Yes, it was quite enjoyable.” The blonde said, trying to sound sincere but not quite so sincere that it would tip Ada off that he truly enjoyed their time together.

Ada could see Leon was attempting to feign sincerity again. “We met Opal in the rose garden, Phillip.” The princess happily spoke to her tutor and the older man smiled as well.

“Ah, so that would explain why some of my flowers have been chewed. I would have to build a little play area for her so she leaves the garden alone.”

“I’m sure Opal would love that.” Leon said with a soft smile.

The rest of the garden party went well, and both the Kennedys and the Orients left on good terms. Leon was not sure if he would ever see Ada again, but at least now he could put the incident behind him.

Princess Ada departed Phillip’s residence with a change of opinion regarding Lord Kennedy. For someone who loves cats, he wasn’t that much of a boor. She related the experience to Grace as the older woman was brushing her hair yet again.

“It would seem that second impressions would be better than first impressions, my lady. We should believe in second chances.”

The raven haired princess looked at her reflection, deep in thought. “I suppose so, Grace…” She wasn’t sure she would entirely trust the blonde nobleman yet but he wasn’t so bad.

#Ada stories #Aeon Week 2023 #Ada Wong #Leon Kennedy #aeonweek

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calypsoff3 · 2 years

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Thirteen.

Do I regret telling my mom the truth no I don’t, do I want my parents divorced I really don’t. The home feels so weird, my mom has become so strict. It’s like an army camp in that house now. She doesn’t play, the only people we see is the cleaner, Amerie and the cook that comes. She has cut off everyone, I do try and speak to her, but she said she wants to do it alone without anyone and that she hates dad but then I hear her cry at night, she is putting it on. I am concerned for my mom, I feel like she is just rushing everything, I know she is hurting, and I am hurting too but dad has made no contact at all, I don’t hate him. I am disappointed but I don’t hate him, and I just wish he would see Imani, she is so sad. She has a broken her heart she tells me, and then my dad not making contact is making it worse but it’s horrible. Junior has been getting the lashings he deserve, I even try to save him, but he is very bad. Tianna and I don’t speak, she dislikes me even more because North and her had a fight, she lost, and she deserves it and I just watched. But I am back in school, it’s not bad but it's like every one knows “ling ling” I jumped at an arm around my shoulder, looking up “oh you, what do you want” closing my locker door “ling ling? Am I Chinese, what?” Melo laughed “I don’t know, I could say lee lee? Bit weird though” North smiled at me “you have been hiding away from us, left class early on teacher discretion, sucks you know. Nobody will say anything to you, I am there” North is acting like my bodyguard “I know they won’t, but I feel slightly ashamed of everything even though nobody has said anything” I shrugged “your dad is brazy, impressive too” Melo said, side eyeing him “you niggas would say that though” I scoffed “hey, now what is with the hate?” Melo is stupid “because you’re dumb” seeing Tianna behind North, she looked at her “what do you want?” North asked “can I speak to my sister” Tianna said, “not really” North is my protector “it’s ok” moving by Melo “lunch? See you then” nodding my head “we have five minutes” I said, I need to get to my next class.

Sitting down outside, I mean I don’t know why we came outside but we kept walking “what is it?” I have to be neutral because I am the eldest, my mom is relying on me a lot and I feel it with her, she keeps asking me to help “before you speak, I will never forgive how you was with me, just because we are speaking it’s for mom, it’s because I don’t want to stress her out with the shit, but I don’t really forgive you. I just wanted you to know that” Tianna didn’t say anything, but she is silent “ok but what are we going to do about mom and dad?” raising an eyebrow “do what? What is there to do?” I am not sure what she thinks “we need to get Junior to break his arm and then they will be in the room together” I laughed “Junior? Is that your victim, don’t you hate dad for what he’s done” I asked her ”I am hurt but we live with them, we know the love they have, and we know that outweighs a kiss Rylee, that is just me. I don’t want to see mom miserable. We need them to talk, I don’t think anyone deserves mom. I rather dad beg for the rest of his life. I am hurt but Uncle Herb and his friends defended him” shaking my head “Uncle Herb also lies for him Tianna, mom and dad are going to have to do it alone, we can’t break Junior arm to get them to speak” Tianna laughed “has dad spoke to you since you have your phone?” shaking my head “he has deleted all his social media, but he has a performance today, that joint tour thing” Tianna chewing on her lip “we should go, let’s go and see him. Imani is hurting and ok we don’t get on like that but if we can get mom and dad amicable, I learnt that word today then it’s good. Just let’s try and do this for the younger ones” nodding my head “mom is going to refuse?” I know her “then we lie” this is going to get me in trouble, I feel it in my bones “I will lie to her instead of you” then I can take that.

Sitting down with North and Melo “no lunch? You can have mine” Melo slid his tray over “no, I don’t like that shit you got” he gasped “how about I get you what you like? I know what you like, I will be back” Melo got up, I shrugged “Rylee, are you going to invite us to your sixteenth party?” looking at Delray “I don’t even speak to you nigga, go away” I laughed “I literally call you Rihanna every day” putting a finger up at him “how about me?” Sire asked, “is your dad going to perform In Da Club for us?” North said which made me snort laughing “you not funny, that ain’t funny at all” realising I am eating Melo’ lunch “the hell” I caught myself “you was eating his food?” North said laughing “yeah, busy talking, anyways you can go now, that way” I pointed, Sire smirked “give me a chance” shaking my head “come on?” rolling my eyes “he is so weird” they walked off and Sire is still staring at me “I bought you something you would eat” looking over at Melo “what did you do? There is a queue” I pointed “I run this school were you eating my fries” shaking my head, laughing at the fact he got me the salad “this is why I know you’re gay, you remind me of Jah. You can literally be my Jah” Melo side eyed me “I keep telling you I am not gay, what is this” North and I laughed “you not hanging with your basketball gang, I think they want you” Melo took his food back “oh I will see them after, what did them niggas want?” he asked, “asked to come to my party but I don’t think there will be a party, too much happening with my family” I shrugged “let me take you out?” he asked “on my birthday?” he nodded “I mean if they don’t do anything, I get like a lot of things are happening for you, I wish it wasn’t though” smiling at him lightly “I feel the same” I huffed out, it’s stressful at home. Looking around us, I catch Tianna staring but she looked away “I will never forgive that girl” I said, “who Rita?” I scoffed “oh who?” North cringed “my sister” I mean she is right about that bitch too, broke up my family.

Tianna and I actually here at the Kia Forum with no ticket, just vibes “I didn’t ask, what did you say to mom? How did she agree to it?” I just left the house as soon as “oh I literally said that we are trying to make up and I want to take you the movies and try and rebuild us” letting out an oh “right” I said, “she is going to kill us both, it’s worth it though” I am just thinking how do we do this “don’t you have like uncle number?” nodding my head “then call him, he will be there. I am shocked with dad not contacting us” nodding my head “he’s ashamed I think, let me call uncle” scrolling down to his number, tapping on his name “dad is always booked isn’t he, look at his stupid face” Tianna said staring at something, looking behind me and seeing the poster. Charity concert, which is sweet, and it has a whole bunch of other artist “Rylee, what’s up? You good?” I hope he is here, but I think he is “erm, uncle me and Tianna are outside Kia Forum, to see dad. Can you get us in please? We are waiting, don’t tell dad please” the line went silent “oh wow, come to the front doors. I will come around, wow. You really here, wow. I am coming. Just give me five” I smiled at Tianna “ok, see you soon” disconnecting the call “he is coming, he is so shocked at us. Dad is going to be shocked with us” I grinned, I can’t wait to see him, but I know he will be hiding because he is ashamed.

Herb looked at us a little shocked “it’s so weird like I didn’t think, how come you’re here?” he asked “to see dad, better then breaking Junior’ to come drama” I said, Herb chuckled “damn, I mean yeah. You can see him, you ain’t got any papers here right?” I frowned “no?” what a weird question “yeah, he is hiding, and he really didn’t do this, but he has too, so yeah erm. Come with me, he is going to be so shocked” looking at Tianna as we walked off “oh yeah here” holding the passes to us, taking it from him “erm, he is in his room backstage. I think you going to make him cry seeing you girls” I just know he is going to be shocked, but I don’t want them to be divorced and neither does Tianna, least we can agree on something in this situation we going on. Security glared at us and then looked away; they know who we are. Tianna and I just looked at each other, I mean what if dad doesn’t want us here, I get he is feeling a little bad about things, but he cannot just hide away, Imani really needs him. I am not even here for any other artist but seeing them is super cool “watch out man, come on. Y’all niggas need to mind it” he said moving the people out of the way. We got back stage finally “nigga” Herb said as he opened the door “can we have some space here, get out please” I hope dad is happy to see us because we are excited to see him, Herb smiled at us as he moved back “oh shit” the fat guy said, a few guys came out “what you doing?” my dad asked, “you have some visitors” Herb said, that is us. Making my way to the room “hey dad” my dad’ face dropped “what? He said in disbelief “we tracked you down” I laughed “but I thought-” he pointed a little confused “what?” he is in shock “we wanted to see you, I mean behind mom’ back of course” he got up from the seat “for real” his voice went high pitch “shit, wow. Sit down” my dad is emotional.

He really didn’t expect us to come “I didn’t expect it, so your mom doesn’t know yeah?” shaking my head “why are you jumpy?” he is looking at us like we have something “because I don’t want your mom to serve me papers, this is why I am lowkey and I ain’t telling her where I am at or even seeing anyone, doing this is a little out there” letting out an oh “right, but like I get you want to hide but I really think you need to be there for us, you need to not hide and take it and talk to mom. You know how much Imani misses you, she needs you dad. She is not good at all, we need you. Mom is so strict too but I know you are feeling bad, you did hurt me with it all but we both know. Tianna and I, that you and mom can’t be without each other. Can’t you do something?” I asked, I mean he always has an idea of something “don’t you kids hate me? I ruined y’all home” he asked “I was hurt at first but I can’t imagine a life without you, you have been a good dad to us. Just wish you didn’t do that to mom” Tianna spoke “I am stupid, I get above myself a lot. But to hear you kids say that” smiling at him “you have been there best dad to us, been there no matter, you know. I just can’t overshadow what you have done for us and how you are a good dad to us” he put his head down, I don’t want him to cry “I know you do stupid stuff; I see you are like Junior. He is crazy, he just does things and doesn’t care” he wiped his tears “hurting you kids is something I don’t want to do, like I don’t want to lose you or even Robyn, I don’t know. I am fucked” he mumbled.

My dad sighed out “I really think tomorrow you should see mom without her knowing” my dad is looking at us crazy “mom will be home tomorrow, none of the codes have changed. She won’t see it coming, just come to the house and speak to her. Dad you can do it, mom isn’t being mom, she is on the war path too, please listen to us” my dad looks scared, he is scared of mom clearly but now he knows how we feel right now “so tell me how she is?” he asked “she doesn’t let anyone come to the house, she is very angry all the time, I have lost count how many times Junior got his ass whooped. Imani was really upset and asked when you are coming, mom kind of snapped on her. She is not in a good mood, but at night she cries. We hear her” nodding my head in agreement with Tianna “and you girls haven’t said where you both at, damn” I laughed nervously “I hope she doesn’t find out at least” I cringed, I mean I hope she doesn’t “so you girls made up then?” he asked and I shook my head “oh no but we teaming up for operation Chrianna as they call it on the social media land but dad, I really want you to try and get mom back” my dad is really stumped on this “I will try” he shrugged, he needs too “maybe I am a stubborn child because I still can’t get over my dad having another child” he laughed “you raised us well then” I said, he did raise us well.

I mean we are staying to see dad perform, if we get in trouble then least we had fun and we saw dad sing. We are stood at the side of the stage, it’s nice to see the love he gets “y’all having a good time?” my dad said down the mic “I got my special loves here tonight, give it up for my daughters” he said and smiled at us, the crowd cheered. I am glad we are hidden here “cheater” someone in the crowd shouted, that was awkward but clearly my dad ignored it, I know he heard that because we did but the show goes on, Go Crazy started playing. Smiling as I bopped my head, nobody in the game be moving like my dad, he is old, but he can move and the crowd are in hysterics, they love him “hold on” I grabbed Tianna’ arm “dad!” I shouted seeing some guy jump on the stage and come straight at my dad, Big D ran by us. My dad moved back before he could even touch him, my dad laughed and the guy tried again but Big D just picked him up like he was nothing, he continuously shouted cheater. Big D threw him back in the crowd, he is so big my dad’ bodyguard “wow” my dad said down the mic “I got a lot of haters here tonight, it’s ok. We all love Rihanna, I get it. But you messed the song up, let’s run it again” he said, he looked at us both and smiled at us, but I know that would upset him.

#Chrianna #Chrianna FF #Fanfic #Fanfiction #Chrianna Fanfic #Chrianna Fanfiction

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dankusner · 1 month

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GIMME SHELTER Who Is Meant To Throw Louis C.K. His Comeback Party?

a charming Shelter Island cottage, nicknamed Primrose and once lived in by Babe Ruth, l

5:50

You know what I would really like?

I would really like it if certain older male comedians could just stop freaking whining all of the time about how it’s just not fair that people’s taste in comedy is changing with the times for the very first time in all of history.

Earlier this month we had Jerry Seinfeld out here talking about how you can’t make edgy shows like “Seinfeld” and “Mary Tyler Moore” anymore because of the “extreme Left and PC crap, and people worrying so much about offending other people” in the same damn interview in which he explained that George Costanza, a character based on Larry David, with a father played by Jerry Stiller, had to be made Italian because the president of NBC and noted “Saved By the Bell” guest star Brandon Tartikoff was concerned that the show would be “too Jewish” for Middle America.

(Is this yet another way in which Fran Drescher is a radical?)

He also complained about how you couldn’t do certain episodes of “Seinfeld” now.

To be fair, that’s very true. The Chinese restaurant episode would be about three minutes long now that we all have cell phones.

Then, this week we were treated to Bill Maher and Bill Burr (whom I generally like!) sounding off about how unfair it is that Louis C.K. is still canceled and how “people” need to welcome him back.

To refresh your memory: For years, Louis C.K. was known to ask up-and-coming female comedians if he could take out his dick and masturbate in front of them. It was an open secret in the comedy scene. It was reported as a very obvious blind item by Gawker in 2012 and was brought up as a non-blind-item multiple times afterwards throughout the years (and C.K. was repeatedly asked about it as well).

It didn’t become a thing that anyone actually cared about, however, until #MeToo happened and The New York Times did an exposé in 2017.

“Don’t get me started on that,” Maher told Burr, in regards to C.K. “Isn’t it time everyone just went ‘Okay, it wasn’t a cool thing to do, but it’s been long enough and welcome back!’”

Who is it, specifically, that is supposed to do this? Everyone? Like, are we all, collectively, as a people, supposed to get together and throw Louis C.K. a ReDebutante ball to reintroduce him to society? Or is it just women in general? Female comedians? Barbie?

“They took $50 million, I think they punished him,” Burr added. To be clear, no one “took” $50 million from him in some class action suit, so I assume he’s referring to the $35 million he said he lost when his movie got pulled on account of people being grossed out by his behavior.

“Enough!” Maher added. “I mean for Christ’s sake, it’s not the end of the world. People have done so much worse things and gotten less. There’s no rhyme or reason to the #MeToo-type punishments.”

Okay, but what if it’s not a fucking “punishment”? What if some of us are simply repulsed by the idea of a man who feels so free to ask women he has no existing romantic relationship with if he can masturbate in front of them? Because I will tell you, I don’t hear those stories and just think “Burn the witch!” — I hear them and I feel tired. I feel nauseated. I feel fucking annoyed.

I don’t really feel like laughing. Especially when there are so many people out there who actually do make me laugh and whom I would prefer to give my money, attention and support to. Is that allowed?

For the record, Louis C.K. is hardly being punished. The New York Times article about him came out in November of 2017, and by August of 2018 he was back doing comedy, with the support of an absolute shit ton of his celebrity friends. He won a Grammy, in 2022, for Best Comedy Album … for his comedy album about being cancelled. He’s been on tour, he’s put out four comedy specials, one of which was a live taping of his sold out show at Madison Square Garden.

If that’s “being canceled,” sign me up, because I’d say he’s doing okay! In fact, I would say that he is doing much better than the vast majority of people out there who have never just come out and asked anyone if they could masturbate in front of them before.

But it’s not really about that, is it? No one is worried about him starving to death, no one is worried about his ability to make money, they’re not even really worried about his ability to do comedy — because let’s be real, there is a built-in audience for men with such “credentials.”

Hell, half percent of Bill Maher’s entire career at this point is literally just whining about this shit (the other half being whining about college students and trans people). If it weren’t for cancel culture, he wouldn’t have no culture at all.

To his credit, Bill Burr did point out to Maher that people don’t really, actually get canceled anymore (if they ever really did), which Maher was not at all interested in hearing — insisting, in a truly incredible display of self-awareness, that if either of them said ever anything wrong they could lose their careers “in two minutes.”

Donate Just Once!

The idea of “cancel culture” has allowed a lot of people to give themselves passes on bad behavior or to explain away why they didn’t stay a huge celebrity forever. It’s not that they really did anything wrong, it’s not that they repulsed people to the point where they just weren’t interested in watching them do stand-up or star in movies or host late night shows, it’s that people are hopping on a cool bandwagon and destroying their lives because it’s trendy. It’s like saying that people don’t like you because they’re “just jealous.”

Bill Maher has an absolutely massive platform. He is absolutely free, if he likes, to invite Louis C.K. to be on his show — which you will notice he has not done since 2011.

Who’s doing the cancel culture now?

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kai-keda · 1 year

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hiiii im world salad anon from yesterday and ive calmed down enough to talk about this more: it feels gross that people on twitter who had a day ago no problem absolutely dogpiling on someone for disliking goldendragon or any number of smaller offenses now draw the line at criticizing a BNF for knowingly spreading misinformation about a literal deity it's cliquey and concerning that being popular apparently makes you immune to criticism

i honestly dont even blame the kid for this theyre allowed to be uncomfortable with nezh@ ships ofc and their opinion is valid and warranted, but its a problem that their adult friends enabled this and spread a post they had been informed was misinfo and refused to correct themselves, im tired of people who say "i did my research" when all they did was read 1 post by 1 person thats backed up by 1 friend group and did no further research

oh and you are so fucking right about the tone policing its actually disgusting to mock the way someone WHO IS CLEARLY USING A TRANSLATOR talks

A lot of the issues with these people - and why my twitter thread on the topic was focused on finding consistent values - is that whether or not certain actions are considered appropriate or inappropriate depends wholly on who they do or do not like.

This is an EXTREME example but it often feels similar to the mindset of people who will deadname trans people they don’t like. Those actions show that they never did respect trans identities.

I say it’s similar because the way to “properly” handle a situation starts and ends with how much they (dis)like the people involved.

Clowning on TikTok users on Twitter is fun! So it’s okay, even if it leads to harassment! Even if said TikTok users were minors!

A teenager is acting their age when they make a post claiming something as fact specifically to call out ‘bad behavior’ from a crew member. Because they were simply acting their age and they’re a BNF, it’s excusable and is something that should simply be ignored and quietly forgotten rather than corrected publicly.

But someone making a post calling out bad behavior from a teenager with evidence that said bad behavior directly led to harassment? How dare you put someone on blast. Also, the teenager didn’t pull the trigger, therefore not their fault.

Where was that same energy during all the Dream controversies, btw?

At the end of the day, for me, yes, the post calling out what was happening and the VERY inappropriate response the teenager in question had when they WERE confronted in private was poorly worded and made to look like a blame game rather than a plea for a correction of misinformation.

Personally, I feel confident it was intended to be the latter but I also do see that it looked like a “Fuck this child for doing this to us specifically!!” because, again, poor wording.

I also see and am sensitive to the Chinese users who were fed up with being told their opinions on THEIR culture didn’t matter.

Side note - I find it freaking insane that someone tried to claim that they were gatekeeping Chinese culture. One user tried to tell everyone a singular interpretation of a character was factual to the culture. The other users tried to tell everyone that there have always been varying interpretations of the character and that those other ones are equally valid to the culture.

Who exactly is gatekeeping the culture here?

#vent #fandom drama #fandom wank

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justtryingtolosesomeweight · 1 year

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Until my posting fever goes down, it’s probably going to be one post abt how much I ate and one venting or just talking. Or it’s going to be whatever once I decide the difference is arbitrary.

Anyhow, looked at myself in a mirror at a distance and... my shoulders are so small. but I’m not happy because it’s in a feminine way. I wish I could just lose all this fat over night. If I didn’t have to get my blood checked then I would be much more open to saying fuck it and eating as little as possible. I gave up on my homework because i left myself an hour to do it and it turns out it required more effort. It doesn’t make me feel good but at least I cleaned my room today. Sigh... maybe I should just not eat, it’s really the only thing that makes me feel like I’m doing something. And it was practically alright then that I sucked at being alive. Not having a job was alright-anxiety looks so much better in skinny. I really do like stoking certain flames sometimes.

It reminds me when my mom asked me if I was skipping breakfast and then was like keep it up, it’s working. so, i don’t really know why I care sometimes about whether what I’m doing is unhealthy, it doesn’t matter until you’re skinny. Ah, the honeymoon, I want it back-I lost like forty pounds. It helped my social anxiety so much knowing people weren’t judging me as harshly. And it helps me pass- I have no doubts that my parents would be more open to accepting me if I was skinny. i wouldn’t even have to lose that much- to them I only need to lose like ten pounds right now- I want to lose at least thirty. Maybe 130 is what I can do but maybe if I really tried I could get to 117. It would be concerning to them but to everyone it’s practically the standard- or at least to us. I know realistically in the long run it’s not a body you can keep but even if you did gain ten pounds like you would still be at 127. ah but I’m being silly, longevity? this is fast fashion, fast body culture.

Ah you know my laptop notes look like this too. I just have too much to say and am not very good at saying it. but I notice here it’s about ed mostly but on my laptop it was about self harm. Which I want to do again but I lost my blade and am too cheap to buy another. I like them both because it makes me feel like my body is my own. I liked the confidence. and I felt like I was putting myself on the course that I wanted to be on, i want scars and a thin body. THinking about thighs- I want to go to bed every night knowing I did the best I could that day to get rid of them.

I could write novels complaining. Wonder where all these words go when I do want to write novels or do any productive writing. Maybe I’m just not okay enough and need to get all these loops out of my brain before I can think about stories. I can’t even read. I did a year ago force myself to read like seven books. I liked Chinese Cinderella and A Little Life the best. A Little Life made me so happy- and we share the same name- it did inspire me a little to sh but as we know you don’t get it from media, you already have to be sick to give in. I didn’t finish it- one day I will- I don’t know when but one day. Like cherry pie. Chinese Cinderella... I related too hard to her. Maybe not as studious and discounting the factors of chinese family hierarchy and living in that time period but I connected. Just her staying in her room and trying to get though it with media. I could go more into but I feel bad already and I need to go charge my phone.

I’m sorry for talking so long, it’s not like I have friends.

#it'sgoingtoraintomorrowforsure

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enbysaurus-rex · 1 year

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ALRIGHT MOTHERFUCKERS it’s time to buckle the fuck up bc what do we have but another surreal historical rabbit trail and this is the BEST website for that shit so

Enter this suggestion from google!! It thinks I should read that article, which, cute!!

(Context: I’m an USAmerican who speaks moderately shitty Chinese but loves me my Chinese history okay?)

So I’m reading the headline and it boils down to “1967, how ‘hitting chicken blood’ became a whole nation trend” and alright, that’s got my interest! So I send the screenshot to some friends and I try to move on because the last thing I need is to get some weird sort of cockfighting ring comrade shit (my Chinese isn’t very good and I hadn’t looked up the idiom so I think it might be something about gay sex which is possible)

Spoiler alert: not gay sex! Somehow BETTER

I get through the intro of the piece and it’s all “Chiang Kaishek was bamboozled into injecting chicken blood into his veins whilst he commited evils” which is ALREADY interesting and I’m enjoying the communist flavor so I keep translating, or trying to anyway

The turn of phrase started in 1960s Shanghai which sounds about right honestly, bc Shanghai (with all the affection in the world) loves to start shit!! Cool!!

We then get to the point where I start frothing at the mouth. Why, Dyou ask? Because 1. My Chinese wasn’t doing a very good job and 2. The things I CAN read are very concerning??? I can read that there’s something going on in Jiangxi Province (which is an important place at the time we’re talking about) and something about the internal temperature of a rooster being very high

Obviously I’m hooked, so I Google translate the shit out of it bc I refuse to wait any longer for my chicken blood injection trends!! And by Jove it was better than I fckn thought it would be bc here’s this dude who isn’t a doctor but he knows enough to pretend to be a doctor well enough and has some experience bc *hand waves in mid 20th c chinese healthcare* named Yu Changshi who went “y’know chickens are warm inside so they must be REALLY FCKN GOOD at what they do?” Okay. “also we use chicken blood to treat some gynecological diseases in traditional medicine” that’s MORE reasonable so alright

This mans INJECTS IT INTO HIMSELF bc he thinks “y’know topically applied is good, but what’s better is IN MAI VEINS” and he claims he feels energetic, has a really high appetite, and it cures his dandruff and athletes foot. Feet?

Nice. Cool. That’s a perfectly reasonable and not at all unhinged thing to do.

So when he got out in charge of a factory as their health coordinator/clinic guy, what do you think he did? If you guessed “injected everyone who came to him with any problems with chicken blood,” you’d be right

And that’s when shit started to gain traction cuz he made himself a pamphlet which got picked up by some folks in Shanghai which got a special research team formed which-

Yeah. (Now there were reasons for why the government was pressing so hard to have new discoveries and why they were so willing to try anything that might give them STEM innovations to announce, so that’s a lot of the background here)

The problem came when like YEARS later, it was finally announced as unsafe by the government and Yu Changshi refused to back down. Not only that, but people were SO HERE for this fckn treatment that they’d show up at the hospital with their rooster in the morning so someone could give them their injection! This lasted well into the 70s, when the treatment was originally a 50s thing

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effervescentnonsense · 2 years

Text

Rant incoming, regarding Some Bullshit and Abusive People

Scroll on if you arent about that

Two rentals ive lived in in a row now, I have been bullied and verbally abused and manipulated and targetted by someone who gets off on pissing other people off and being controlling.

I am so sick and tired of being used and abused like this. One of them was a former friend who I now see was always controlling and manipulative, they just preferred admiration as their primary "take"

This new man, who is twice my age, a random stranger the landlord leased to in the 3bdrm place i live in (im a 29yr old afab), has known me for less than a month, and picked his first fight with me monday night, over an unswept floor, a shower curtain bunched up, and a wet footprints in the bathroom. He used these as an excuse, plus being drunk, to verbally berate and belittle me for several minutes, calling me a slob and and "as bad as (alcoholic other roommate, also a middle aged man)". The house is very clean. Yes, the floor needs to be swept more often, but this was the first time he ever voiced concerns over the other things. And none of that makes someone deserving of being abused.

He has only known me 3 weeks and he knows a little of the stuff i have been through because i foolishly told him. And in one argument he tried to set off every trigger he could think of.

When i told him the next day i didnt appreciate being spoken to that way, and that there are better ways to communicate than that, he was unapologetic. "Thats how its going to be, because you dont fucking listen".

What didnt I hear, asshole? You spouting anti-asian racism when our landlord is a Chinese woman? Your conspiracy theory bullshit about China is funding Russia? Because yes, I did stop listening to that shit. If i wanted to hear some quack theories, I'd ask the ducks at the pond about astrophysics. You're a power tripping little man who thinks he is so much smarter than everyone, that you admit to manipulating the alcoholic, but think I don't see your attempts at doing the same to me now?

He is a divorcee with no job, his kids and exwife dont want him around, his only friend is his cousin, he just dropped a long standing friendship with a man who was his boss for a little bit. No one wants to be around that, and for good reason.

But I've known enough people like this that I know how deeply insecure and guilty he is. But he is in denial of it. He acts egotistical to cover up the fact that he is deeply ashamed of himself. He is controlling and manipulative because he feels so small and out of control that using others like chess pieces makes him feel strong.

I'm going to talk to the landlord when I can, because I am not staying around someone like that.

I just want peace, and i want to be treated with respect.

My mom keeps saying "theres some lesson here you need to learn" but the only thing i havent tried yet is unleashing my anger on this jackass, but i dont want him to get the satisfaction. He isnt worthy of my rage, he isnt worth the trouble. I dont need to stoop to his level or play his games. He is the pigeon on the chessboard, and the only way to win against someone who is going to knock all the pieces over and shit on the board if they start to lose? Is to not play at all.

#delete later #id love to really put him in his place. but i dont need to. he knows where it is. he just wants to drag everyone down with him.

0 notes

0613magazine · 2 years

Photo

140122 Haru*Hana Vol.22

Member Talk

Suga x Jimin x Rap Monster x J-Hope

Q: Recalling all of the events up until now, please tell us who you would like to thank and what’s great about him. Suga: Although all three of them are younger than me, they are like adults and handle problems very well. Especially Rap Monster - although his age is in the middle of the group, he plays the role of leader very well whether it is on stage or in life. I’m really thankful for that. Rap Monster: I really need to thank Suga hyung. Sometimes when I see Suga hyung, I really think I should go into introspection. His existence is like a mirror. People are always easily limited by themselves or by those around them. But after talkng with hyung, he makes me ponder about what kind of person I am. J-Hope: I think Jimin is very awesome. How should I say it.. he always lacked 2% in everything. It was a concern whether he could stay in the group. But now as everyone can see, he dances very well and also has a powerful presence on stage. It’s a result you only get from working hard. Watching him figure out the moves in front of the mirror and him working hard in vocal training, it makes me think that he’s very awesome and that there’s a lot for me to learn from. Jimin: No, J-Hope hyung is also very awesome… (Shy). He’s always very optimistic and even I turn into having a good mood. J-Hope: Hahaha. I’m the type of person that likes to enjoy the moment. If someone asks what was the happiest moment, I will always answer that it’s right now, this moment! Jimin: The fans are a lot like you. At the high-five events before, hyung’s fans would yell, “Hya~!” It seems like everyone is very cheerful (laughs). Q: After debuting, how are the members’ birthdays celebrated? Rap Monster: We always surprise the birthday boy with a cake once it hits midnight. J-Hope: There will always be cake, even if it’s late or small. We already celebrated the members’ birthdays like this. Rap Monster: Otherwise, you’ll probably be very disappointed if you’re the only one that didn’t get birthday blessings. But we don’t give presents. J-Hope: We, ourselves, are presents (laughs). Earlier when it was V’s birthday, he took a picture with K.Will sunbae-nim at a music festival. (V: I didn’t even know at that time. K.Will’s birthday is also on December 30th. He said to me, “V, it’s your birthday today? Happy birthday.” I was really happy.) Q: What are 3 things you’re thankful for besides family, friends, fans, and music? Jimin: Hm… it’s hard besides those four things… First it’s clothes and then food because I like to eat. Also, rest. I didn’t have much hobbies before and if I had to pick something, I would’ve said dance. But lately I’ve been liking drawing. When I was younger, I would draw for my brother. I really want to draw it again~ Rap Monster: This is hard… Microphone, Epik High. This gave me the opportunity for me to start doing music. Also Bang PD who helped me be me. J-Hope: Bangtan Boys, Big Hit (laughs). Lastly it’s headphones because it’s very important (laughs). The headphones I listen to music with in the car are basically all gifts I received from the fans. Suga: Water, air.. It probably won’t do if I answer like that (laughs). Then I’ll just say what first came to my mind. Me, internet, and electricity. I often look up stuff online. It would be very inconvenient if there’s no internet. Internet is also very useful when making music. If there’s no internet, I can’t make music.

Rap Monster x Suga

Q: The origin of your name? Rap Monster: My real name is Kim Namjoon and Chinese characters is 金南俊. It’s hard to write Chinese characters… and I often forget them. My parents gave me the name. Nam means South Korea and (the whole name) means “talent of the south.” I think it should mean that. Suga: My real name is Min Yoongi. I have the Chinese characters stored in my phone… Ah, here it is. It’s written as 闵玧其. Gi (其) is a generational name (the same character for the family members in the same generation). My hyung also uses that name. I don’t know the origin of the name (laughs). It probably means to hope to live on smoothly. Q: What made the relationship between you two well? Rap Monster: Suga moved into my dorms after 3 months. Even though it was our first time meeting and suddenly living together, it’s a must that we get a long (laugh). There’s a park near our dorms and we would eat snacks while we chat about a lot. We chat about things like girlfriend from junior high… No doubt we are guys; we get close just by talking about girls (laughs). Suga: (laughs) We not only talk about that. We also got a lot closer through music. We had monthly evaluations when we were trainees. At that time Rap Mon and I were in the same team writing songs. This was a very crucial matter. Meanwhile, Jimin really works hard so I love him dearly ever since we were trainees. Seeing him work hard makes me want to treat him well. J-Hope will ask me a lot of questions about music. I’m not very good at socializing, but J-Hope will take the initiative to come to me so our relationship became well. Q: If you had to make each other happy within an hour, what would you do? Rap Monster: I don’t need an hour. I can make him happen within 3 seconds. The technique is to say to him, “We have days off so we can go back to our hometown.” Hyung should be the happiest after hearing that. I’ll call him an hour later to tell him it’s a lie and to apologize to him. “(In Japanese) It’s a lie, sorry~” Suga: Ah~. I will take Rap Mon out to eat meat. I think he should be happy if I do that. We actually go out to eat together quite often. The composing profession doesn’t end until the sun comes up. When we get hungry, we both will go eat and then return to the dorms. Can we say we go Dutch in terms of paying? Rap Monster: No, pay for me~ Suga: Actually it wasn’t that we split it in half at first. It was the person who had money forked the entire bill. On average (in terms of total of all meals), it’s probably about half and half.

J-Hope x Jimin

Q: The origin of your name? J-Hope: My real name is Jung Hoseok and Chinese characters is 郑号锡. I heard my parents gave me that name when they went to a temple. It means “having your own name spread throughout the country.” Jimin: Park Jimin. Chinese characters is 朴智旻. It means “wisdom is greater than the sky.” My grandfather gave me that name. Q: What made your relationship between each other well? J-Hope: When Jimin first came to the office, I was the one that picked him up. My first impression was a kid that came to Seoul from Busan. Now he’s totally exquisite (laughs). Jimin and I are both good at dancing so I asked him what dances he does. We both practiced until the sun came up so our relationship also became well. Although sometimes he is a bit frivolous, he also has his serious side. Both of us go out to eat together and chat about a lot of things. Jimin: That’s right. I learned a lot about dance from hyung. Besides hyung has an open personality where he can be friends with anyone so we became very close. But when we were doing introductions to others, you called me “Jimin-gun.” I also said, “Ho, Hoseok-gun…” (laughs) It was very awkward at that time (laughs). Q: If you had to make each other happy within an hour, what would you do? J-Hope: I think Jimin will be happy if I take him out to eat (laughs). Ah, he should be happy if I buy pants for him! Lately he’s always been shouting in the dorms, “Hyung, I don’t have any pants to wear~ what to do~” (laughs). Although I never really bought any for him before, I would say to him, “Wear this.” Then I give him the clothes he likes and often take him out to eat~ Jimin: I can easily get J-Hope hyung to laugh. Just one minute is enough. Hyung will laugh when he sees me trying to hold in my pain or when I’m desperately exercising. (V: For example when Jimin is about to sit down and someone pulls out his chair on purpose, everyone, not only J-Hope, will laugh when we see his butt fall on the floor.) Everyone says I have such a big reaction and is funny. I then shout in despair, “Aaaahhhhhh…” I really hate this! (laughs).

Scans cr: Chansol Kook Trans cr: yoogamin

#2014 #bts #haruhana22

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absolutebl · 2 years

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Hi!

Recently,...during Mew's birthday, Chinese fans literally showered him with gifts, to the extent of giving him "Gold Bars". Now,..this literally was a jaw dropping moment for me. Because,...BL as an industry literally exploded during the time of the pandemic, and I believe, the success of "TharnType", and "2gether" can be very much attributed to the pandemic, because almost the whole world was in a lockdown. And prior to the pandemic,...whatever fan-service would happen, it was to a great extent simple, and relatable. But now,...international fans shower so much of gifts on the stars that it's just beyond anyone's imagination. At least for those fans that are genuine and hard-working. Because it's not a question of whether fans can afford or not, it's a question of spending your hard-earned money on an already well-established, and filthy rich celebrity.

The same happened with Ohm Pawat's birthday celebration too,...where a fan gifted him an Air-con because he jokingly tweeted something like his AC being too old and not working properly.

What is your opinion on such kind of gift showering by uber-rich fans, given that these actors are already minting tons of money not just by doing BLs, but through brand endorsements, variety shows, top-spender events, etc,...etc,...etc???

And,...

How far do you think the whole Fan-service events would change post the pandemic?

xoxo

Arjuna

Celebrity Tribute

Oh man this kinda thing makes me so uncomfortable.

First it should be said that most of the Thai BL actors actually don't seem to make much money. The major ones with endorsement deals excepted, of course.

But putting that aside, celebrity tribute is something I'm unfortunately all too familiar with.

From the fan side

I get the instinct.

Fans want to give back to someone who brought them pleasure. They want to be remembered and mean something significant to the object of their admiration. Sometimes, they want to share a thing they love and display their knowledge:

“I know you like coffee, this is MY favorite coffee. I want you to like it too, so that we like the same thing. Now we have a connection.”

This is the same psychological need for direct social linking to authority/admiration figures (we are learning) that drives sasang behavior.

“I WANT TO BE REMEMBERED. I WANT TO BE SEEN AND NOTICED.”

Perhaps with Bl actors there's even some sexual fantasy guilt going on...

Oh noes, I'm having impure thoughts, must gift aircon!

Personally? It makes me VERY uncomfortable.

From the celebrity side? I’m sorry but 9/10 they really don’t want it.

TRIBUTE

Most of them get very careful about not mentioning the things they love/want/need by name to avoid unwanted gifts.

Amusing aside, an ex (and still dear friend) of mine and a rather big name writer is always joking about the fact that they should write more about how great BMWs are, just to see what happens.

But honestly? If they’re traveling, the celebrity has to figure out how to transport their loot home. It’s probubly not to their taste. If it’s handmade or crafted they feel guilty getting rid of it. If it’s food related they’re probubly on a diet or it’s too dangerous and risky to ingest.

It’s a waste of money.

A wealthy fan is far better off supporting a celebrity by buying the brand that celebrity is endorsing, then saying how much they love that thing (whatever it is) and tagging both the brand and the celebrity in a post. That’s social proof for everyone concerned. It’s the equivalent of leaving a great review for a book or movie.

ASIDE: if you are a fan of a creator, shill their shit. Like that artist? Talk about how great they are. Share their site/books/photos/music (appropriately attributed and tagged, of course). Buy prints, gift their books, support them by supporting their work. Most purchases of goods are still driven by word of mouth.

VIP EVENTS

Top spender (VIP) fan events, those are probubly better for everyone concerned. I don’t mind them. It’s like, I don’t know, those weird fundraiser dinners politicians have. Probubly really awkward, but these are actors and extraverts, they should handle mini performances okay.

It’s literally the uber fan paying for access (paying for the celebrity’s time) and that’s a value for value proposition. I wouldn’t want to attend one. But then I dread the idea of attending concerts of bands I LOVE. There’s actually no celebrity in the world I would pay to access. Period.

But I don’t really object to these. I think of them as a little like very small conferences or conventions (built on the same model).

VARIETY SHOWS

Variety shows are for publicity. They’re just another kind of press junket.

I don’t like it when they force BL actors to do stupid games that tease homoerotic contact and come off as lascivious and predatory. They make everyone concerned (including me) uncomfortable. And with most of the pairs you can tell by the body language they find it unpleasant.

I don’t watch them if I can avoid it.

You want to know what I really want instead of celebrity tribute?

I want every major celebrity to have a short list of charities that they endorse. And if a wealthy fan wants to make a gift to that charity in that celebrity’s name, that’s what they can do.

If they want extra credit and attention for it, they can bring a certificate or something to be signed at VIP events. If the celebrity is moved but the amount or something, they could do a shout out in their next Live.

You want to support BL?

Join the streaming platforms that host the shows. Pay to play. LEGALLY. (If you have to pick one, GaGaOOLaLa is objectively and politics wise, the best. It’s queer. It’s based out of Taiwan.)

Pay subscribe to those BL YouTube channels (like Strongberry) who offer VIP content.

Back BL projects that are trying to get off the ground via kickstarter or gofundme or otherwise.

Tip or pay the subbers who are working to translate forgotten or lesser known BLs that gets no attention any other way.

Buy/support the original content that you want to see adapted (or has been adapted). By that I mean the yaoi mangas/manwha, webtoons, and y-novels. The studios need stuff to work from, the best BLs are always adaptations. We MUST support the writers, they are the beginning.

Don’t have any money to burn?

Subscribe to the BL YouTube channels that offer content. SUBSCRIBE TO THEM. Press the fucking button. What else are you doing with your life?

Follow the production side: if they are on social media follow the producers, writers, and directors. Tell them how much you love and appreciate them. Give them your support. Comment on their IG posts. Retweet their thoughts. They are the ones that really need it. Trust me.

Talk about the shows you love and spread the word to anyone who might be intersted. Explain WHY you love them. Learn to identify that why in yourself so you can articulate it better and suck in more fans.

(source)

#oh i had a lot mroe to say on this oen than i thought #thai bl #bl industry #how to support bl #seriously though you can be a good fan

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h0neypjm · 3 years

Text

Confident 02 | jjk

↳ Summary: After giving Jungkook the best suck of his life he’s left wondering if what you said was true. Was it really your first time? ‘Cause Jungkook thinks you might’ve lied.

↳ Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

↳ Genre: Smut, fluff, angst, college au, fuckboy! jk, our fav cheeky virgin reader!

↳ Rating: 18+

↳ Word count: 8.8k

↳ Warnings: swearing, mentions of past toxic relationship, mentions of being pressured into sex, mentions of body image, mentions of stds, Jungkook being very confused, no smut in this part

↳ a/n: here it is !!! thank you for all the love for the first part, i hope you enjoy this part ! please feel free to leave any feedback <3

↳ Series: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04

Previously...

“She said it's her first time.” He pauses, looking up at his friends' concerned faces. “I think she might’ve lied.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

Jungkook groans, cradling his head before banging it on the table. The utensils on the table rattle and clang, bringing unwanted attention to his mini breakdown. Taehyung is quick to place his hand under Jungkook's forehead just as he goes in for another blow. “Ok, Jungkook- Jungkook!” Jimin giggles beside him. “Fucking stop, people are staring.”

Jungkook pauses and subtly peeks out of his long bangs, checking to see that Taehyung’s words were indeed true. He breathes out and sits up in his chair, fixing his shirt to play off that he wasn’t just having a mental meltdown.

Jimin rolls his eyes, “soooo are you gonna talk now, cause’ I have a horrible headache and you’re really not helping.”

Jungkook nods opening his mouth to speak. “Alright so uh, I met a girl last night and-”

“I thought you went home?” Taehyung shoves Jimin’s shoulder and Jungkook glares, “yeah, well that clearly didn’t happen.” He rubs his temples, “could you do me a favour and let me speak first, and then you can ask the questions. Ok?”

The two boys nod, settling into their seats as Jungkook delves back into his story.

“Alright so anyways, I saw this girl and like, I haven’t ever seen her before? She was literally perfect”. He exhales looking at nothing at particular as he continues. “Gorgeous face, prettiest lips and oh! speaking of her lips, God the way she sucked-”

Despite what Jungkook said earlier, Taehyung feels the need to intervene. “Ok as much as I love a good suck myself, I need you to stop here, we don’t need the graphics.” Jimin nods in agreement even though it’s clear he’s not paying an ounce of attention. Jungkook smirks at the memory, but it soon drops as he remembers one tiny detail. He places his hands on the table, total seriousness etched onto his face. “But here’s the kicker, she said it was her first time.”

Confusion.

“So did you or did you not take her virginity?”Jungkook crosses his arms. “No, after that she just up and left.” “Wait, fuck”, Jungkook suddenly realises, “I didn’t even make her cum”, he groans and Taehyung bursts into laughter. This finally garners Jimin’s attention, his dazed eyes squinting. “Who’s the girl?” Jungkook sighs, “if you were listening before you would’ve heard me say that I don’t know her.” Jimin leans forward,“well can you at least describe her? I pretty much know everyone who attended the party”

Jungkook doesn’t have to think that hard. “She was wearing this plaid skirt and like a white top-” Jimin’s eyes widen, “Holy shit, Y/N?! Man, Jin’s gonna kill you.” This makes Jungkook pause, thoughts running back to the text he had received from Jin. “Wait, they’re not a thing are they?” Jimin chokes, “God no, they’ve been family friends since like forever, Jin’s practically her protective older brother.”

That explained his text earlier. Jungkook furrows his brows, more questions beginning to arise and spill out of his mouth. “How come I’ve never met her and if she’s a virgin, then how- how did-”, Taehyung cuts in, “dude she’s done other things before.” More confusion. “And how would you know that?” Taehyung smirks, shrugging as he gets up out of his chair. “I'm gonna get a drink, Jimin, you want anything?” God, his head is spinning. “Sure, you know my usual.”

It was the way Taehyung spoke too casually, like your lifestyle choices were common knowledge. How the fuck hasn’t he met you, yet his friends seem to be well acquainted with your existence? “What the fuck was that look?” He focuses on Taehyung from where he orders his drinks. “Did you see it Jimin? Kinda sus.”

Jimin remains nonchalant, blowing a strand of hair out of his sight before answering one of Jungkook’s urgent queries. “Jin never introduced you to her because well…” He looks Jungkook up and down with an unimpressed look. “You would get your grimy hands on her immediately. And Then after that, It’s like she never existed ” Jungkook opens his mouth, rebuttal on the tip of his tongue. “Don’t argue with me boy, the second you met her, you already wanted her on your dick, did you not?”

Jungkook is shocked to say the least, jaw hanging open as Taehyung makes his way back to the table, drinks in hand. “Oh God, what did you tell him?” Jungkook slams his fist on the table, yet again grabbing the attention of people around them. “That is not true! I have standards, and what about you two. You guys are just as bad.” He points accusingly at the bruises peeking out of Taehyung’s loose shirt, “Look at Tae! Those hickies are probably a combination of the three girls he fucked last week!”

Jimin doesn’t want to get kicked out of the cafe, so he attempts to calm down a soon to be raging Jungkook. “Look, to put it nicely, you’re a heartbreaker, you lead girls on whereas Tae and I actually tell people we’re not interested in anything more than a hookup.”

Jungkook seems to understand where he’s coming from. He can admit, he does have quite the reputation if the amount of times he’s been slapped in the face says anything. But now, with this newfound information, he can also admit that you’ve certainly intrigued him, that was for sure.

Jungkook wants to see you again.

Not for a rump in the sheets, but rather a friendly conversation.

It was just his luck that he had heard through the grapevine that you had been invited to one of Jin’s small pool party get togethers. If Jungkook was being honest, he’s quite excited to be within your vicinity again but he knows he needs to keep his cool. Especially after the series of death threats and slaps on the neck from Jin. He shudders at the memory.

And so, Jungkook prepares himself more than he usually does. He wants to do it right this time. No flirty teasing, just friendly innocent conversation. He makes sure to carefully pick out the right swim shorts that display the thickness of his thighs. Not for any sexual gain, more so to show off the hours spent at the gym in hopes that maybe he can get you to become more interested in him as he is to you. He sounds desperate, and he’s sure you’re not that materialistic, but he has this nagging want to impress you somehow. He huffs and does a few pushups, for extra measure of course.

He’s not sure as to why his brain decided to make him act this way. You’re more or less a stranger to him. However, when Jungkook begins his short journey to Jin’s house he really lets himself think, which usually isn't a good idea.

Jungkook doesn’t know you, but you’ve definitely left an imprint in his mind which makes you all the more fascinating. It’s news to him that you seem to be very close to his small circle of friends which is probably thanks to your deeply rooted friendship with Jin. That new piece of information had been bugging him since the day he met up with Taehyung and Jimin. Surely his reputation couldn’t be the only reason why you’ve never met him. Right?

Parking his car in Jin’s enormous driveway, he makes his way up to the grand front door. Sometimes he wishes he could live a life like Jin. He grew up being fed with a silver spoon his whole life. Having everything paid for instead of rolling in the miseries of college student debt.

Once Jungkook makes his way into the large house, he sets down the drinks he had brought onto the kitchen counter and watches his best friends goof around and enjoy the summer sun with a warm grin. He chuckles quietly when Jin pushes Jimin and his perfectly styled hair into the pool. Jimin screams a slur of curses while Jin quickly runs beside a sleeping Yoongi for protection.

Slipping out of his loose oversized shirt, Jungkook scans the entirety of Jin’s backyard, looking for the face that has been haunting him since that fateful night. She’s not here. He reexamines the pool seeing nothing but the chaotic mess of his favourite people, and he sighs. Just as he prepares to step out into the blazing sun, the sound of his stomach growling stops him in his tracks.

Thinking about you made him nervous. So nervous that his stomach couldn’t bear the thought of breakfast. However, after the realisation that you hadn’t arrived just yet, makes him do a full one eighty, long strides taking him to Jin’s expensive fridge.

His head is already deep into the fridge when he hears the sound of the sliding door opening, revealing a dripping Jin with a small scowl on his face. It seems Jimin finally got his revenge. “I’m starving you got any leftovers?” Jungkook queries, his head popping out from the cool air of the fridge.

Jin grabs a fresh towel and whacks it against Jungkook’s naked back. “What’s the point of even asking when you’re already going through my damn fridge!” Jungkook flashes Jin an innocent grin and glows when he discovers a small bowl of Chinese takeout.

It very quickly dawns on Jungkook that in order to enjoy a nice warm meal, he would need to heat it up. His stomach all but roars, not used to the lack of food in its system and Jungkook wants to cry. He wants to cry and it's not from the angry hunger pains, but rather something extremely laughable. He has to use a fucking microwave.

You’re running late, there’s sweat running down your brow and you feel like your arms will fall off any second. The weight of snacks and alcohol you had brought making you stagger as you finally enter Jin’s enormous home.

The one and only thing that’s on your mind is the refreshing feeling of slipping into Jin’s pool while sipping on an iced beverage. This motivates you enough to put all the strength left in your exhausted being to speedily walk into the kitchen and throw everything onto the counter.

“AHH FUCK!” You flinch at the sudden scream, hugging your body protectively. Jungkook slowly pops out from behind the other side of the counter, his doe eyes big and wide. “You fucking scared me Jesus!” He exclaims, running a hand through sweaty bangs.

The air had escaped your lungs long before you could utter your next sentence as the sight before you has you freezing. There he was, Jeon Jungkook in all his glory. Tanned skin and taut muscle sculpted by the Gods. You didn’t mean to stare, but how could you not! Your eyes had a mind of their own. He’s glorious, every single part of him, and you’re not even afraid to admit it. Your eyes are quick to eat him up, tracing the art staining the whole of his right arm and you wonder what every swirl of ink means to him.

Jungkook coughs awkwardly, going in to scratch at his neck. You imagined he would tease you about your obvious ogling, but it never came. Strange. “Why were you hiding?” You ask, dropping your gaze from his body in order to arrange the snacks into neat piles, using it as an excuse to slowly step closer to him. “Oh! Uh-”, he scratches his head, looking down at his feet before jumping five feet into the air, a startled gasp leaving his lips when the timer of the microwave goes off.

You burst into laughter and Jungkook flushes in embarrassment. Jin had told you about Jungkook’s embarrassing fear of microwaves but you never thought you would see it first hand. You hold in the laughs that tickle your throat and try to settle him down by lightly touching his shoulder. He flinches at your touch.

“Are you okay?” You’re really close to him now. Your chest is practically pressed up against his and Jungkook gulps. How was it possible that you could look even more stunning than the last time he saw you? Your cheeks are glowing from the soft golden rays of the afternoon sun and the way you look up at him, your soft smile curling makes his head spin.

“Yeah, I’m good”, he breaks eye contact in embarrassment. “Sorry, just uh, microwaves are scary you know?” You giggle up at him. Is this really Jungkook? The Jungkook you’ve seen flaunting a new girl every week just to abruptly break her heart when he can’t promise anything more than sex?

You’re not complaining, he’s quite adorable like this.

You’re not too sure why his personality has the sudden switch up. It could possibly be the fact that he’s with his closest friends and doesn’t feel the need to put up his playboy persona. Although, the way he blushes when he looks at you plays a different story. Do you make him nervous? Surely not, if the memories of that heated night are anything to go by.

“So uh, are you gonna head into the pool?” His empty stomach is long forgotten as he gestures to the large backyard, you nod up at him excitedly. It’s then Jin decides to bust back into the kitchen, a stern gaze set on his face. “Y/N, can I speak with you for a minute?” Jungkook cautiously takes a step away from you, your bodies no longer close to each other and you notice this with a small frown.

“Yeah, sure”, you relent walking over to Jin who places a protective arm around your shoulders. Unknowingly to you, Jin traps Jungkook down with a hard stare and signals Jungkook to go outside, to which he accepts with a nod.

“I know what you’re gonna say, and no I do not see him like that”, you cross your arms defensively. Jin sighs, “I just don’t wanna see you get hurt again.” He places his hands on your shoulders, full lecture mode on. “Let’s face it, you’re a hopeless romantic, I can’t trust that you won’t do something stupid, but you and Jungkook… You’re both important friends of mine and-”

You’ve heard his overprotective brotherly speech plenty of times, “I know, and I’m so thankful that you’re looking out for me. I just don’t see the harm in befriending him, you’ve never let me speak to him before.” Jin releases his hold on your shoulders to fix the mess of his wet hair, “and there's a reason for that.”

Why was he so damn hard-headed. Jin loves Jungkook like he loves his family. It just didn't make any sense to you that Jin could approve of their friendship but when it comes to you, he completely shields you away from any interactions with the so called playboy.

“When are you going to stop protecting me from boys?” Jin senses your frustration immediately. “I may be younger than you, but I’m also an adult just like you. An adult that can make her own choices.” You exhale slowly, “You’ve let me befriend your whole group and they’ve been nothing but wonderful to me, I don’t see the wrong in getting to know Jungkook.”

Jin lets his guard down. You do have a point, maybe he was being a little too overprotective. He gives you a soft smile, you look away.

“You’re right, I am in no position to dictate your decisions and who you choose to hang around with, it was wrong of me to treat you like that. Jin looks out into the pool, watching Jungkook tackle Taehyung. “I’m sorry I was a bit too harsh, Jungkook’s a good kid, he just got into the wrong crowd at first. Although, you gotta promise to tell me if he hurts you, cause he knows I’ll beat his ass.”

You laugh accepting his apology, “are you sure about that? He’s a literal muscle pig.” You both begin to make your way outside and Jin shoves you slightly, “hey! You know I’m right.” Jin shakes his head and brings you into a comforting hug. “Yeah, yeah whatever.” He rolls his eyes, you beam up at him and together you walk out into the warm sunlight.

It hadn’t even been a second since you stepped outside, and already Yoongi’s long term girlfriend, Jieun is squealing your way. “Y/N! I’m so happy you're finally here, the amount of testosterone out here was starting to make me feel faint.” You giggle at her exasperated tone, pulling her into a tight hug.

Nonchalantly you peel off your flowy sundress, it’s stickiness from your sweat making you cringe. “I missed you last week, why didn’t you come to class?” Jiuen pouts, “I'm sorry bub, I somehow caught a cold, but I trust you have some notes for me.”

The way Jieun flutters her lashes at you innocently forces a roll from your eyes. Slathering sunscreen onto your arms, you reprimand her, “I swear you’re only using me for my notes, you literally never listen in class! Can you get my back please?”

She hums while you turn around, her small hands kneading sunscreen from your shoulder bones to the small dip in your back. Jieun continues to blabber on about the joys of life, not even checking if you’re listening to a single word she says. Instead your eyes are zeroed in on a certain someone.

Your staring is blatantly obvious but you don’t care. It’s only when Taehyung spots your burning gaze with a small smirk does he signal Jungkook to turn around to meet your flirty grin.

Holy shit

The sun does a real great job of highlighting the gorgeous curves of your body adorned in quite possibly the smallest baby blue bikini he’s seen on a woman. Your breasts practically spill out of the tiny triangle cups and the pretty colour compliments your skin beautifully.

Whilst Jungkook can admit you have one of the hottest bodies he’s seen in a while, his eyes surprisingly don't linger on your delicious curves for too long. Instead, he finds himself utterly enamoured by the way your eyes crinkle slightly when you smile prettily at him, your cheeks glowing with it.

It suddenly dawns on him that you are the first girl that has truly enchanted him, and no, your ridiculously gorgeous body had little to do with it.

Jungkook does not mind this change one bit.

So, instead of staring at you like a gaping goldfish, he matches your flirtatious body language with a boyish grin and a small wave. His previous nerves dissipating only to be replaced by confidence and polished charm. He doesn’t want to scare you off with his sudden look of epiphany just yet, but the new unfamiliar feeling you give him is surely doing exactly that.

“My, my, Yoongi wasn’t lying.” Jieun stifles a giggle when she notices how Jungkook’s attention has steered towards you and only you. You’re quick to turn around, brows furrowed. “What are you on about?”

“Oh you know… You and Jungkook”

You grimace, tired of the repeated topic of conversation. “Just because I sucked his dick once does not mean we're a thing”

“Oh really? He’s asked me an awful lot of questions about you I was beginning to think otherwise”

“Wait, really?”

Jieun has the widest cheshire grin plastered on her face, it's starting to look quite unsettling.

“Really.”

You’re thoroughly shocked to say the least. You thought your fast, fleeting blowjob, sort of, was nothing special. A usual escapade to get his daily fill. Ordinary. Unmemorable.

However, it seems to be quite the opposite.

Jieun grabs your hand and swings it back and forth, exactly like a mother would do, although she’s merely two years older than you. “I know Jin’s been up your ass about Jungkook and frankly I don’t blame him he’s still a little shit from time to time but, he’s actually quite fun to be around and honestly I think his playboy tendencies seemed to dial down a bit since he met us.” The two of you giggle quietly amongst each other, quick feet making your way closer to the pool to avoid the scorching pavement.

Your toes are the first to dip into the pool and you practically moan at the cold water melting away the blistering haze that sticks onto your skin. The water is icy at your waist and you love it. “So my advice would be not to worry about him, instead it's his little army of plastic bimbos that you should watch out for.”

“Ahh, internalised misogyny. We love to see it.”

Jieun acknowledges you with a hum as the two of you float around the calming abyss. She then swims closer to you, nodding her head into the direction of a lonely Jungkook, who lazily stares at your alluring form. “I think your loverboy over there wants to talk to you.”

Jieun swims away before you can protest, leaving you to face the handsome man before you. His eyes are round and docile, yet his stare is tantalising, it pulls you in as if he’s slowly reeling you in with a rope.

The water delicately ripples around your body when you approach him and you internally sigh in awe at the striking features of his stunning face. You want to use this opportunity to finally get to know him, and perhaps form a new friendship.

You take note of the lack of Jin’s hawk-like eyes or for better the lack of any eyes on the two of you. You’re alone, huddled into one of the far corners of the pool, your conversation private, just for two pairs of ears.

You open your mouth to speak, “So-”

“I-”

An uncomfortable silence stills the air and you both halt your words to giggle quietly amongst yourselves. God, this is awkward.

“You go first”, You offer, tucking a wet strand of hair behind your ear. Jungkook follows the subtle movement of your fingers before taking a deep breath.

“I feel like we should discuss the elephant in the room”

You're stunned. “Huh?”

“You know… That Friday night?”

Of course you knew what he was referring too, yet you wondered why as you honestly didn’t think that night had much impact on the man.

With a raised brow you ask, “What about it?”

“I’ve just had a lot of... thoughts”

You scratch your head feeling puzzled. You’re sure Jungkook has had better blowjobs in his lifetime. Hell, Jungkook did most of the work that night. “Do you usually discuss the past hookups you have, or am I just lucky today?”

You’re teasing him, nevertheless Jungkook tilts his head back towards the sky. All he wants is clarification, only this conversation is heading down an awkward path, so he decides to spit out what’s been bothering him for the past few days.

“Okay listen, I know this is odd to say, but ever since that night, It’s like I can’t get you out of my head.”

Your ego inflates at his statement and you smirk. You knew you could suck dick well, but according to Jungkook you seem to have quite the talent.

You smile proudly, “damn, look at me go, I can’t believe I have the campus playboy wrapped around my finger.”

Jungkook scoffs, both in annoyance and embarrassment because shit, he could have worded that differently, now he sounds like the clingy girls he fucks.

“Yeah, yeah let’s not pretend like I was the only one enjoying myself here. Weren’t you the one practically begging to be touched?”

You’re amused. “Weren’t you the one who couldn’t make me cum. Yet came from their own handjob?”

Jungkook tongues his cheek and looks away. The way you speak so casually intimidates him. No girl has ever spoken to him this way, in fact, Jungkook’s the one who usually likes to tease. He can slowly feel the creeping heat alighting his cheeks and God does he hope you don’t notice.

You patiently wait for Jungkook’s reply, a sly grin adorned on your pretty face. However, Jungkook doesn’t say anything, rather he frowns and immaturely splashes water at your face.

“Jungkook!” You sputter, wiping at your face to rid of the chlorine in your eyes. “What the fuck was that for?”

He shrugs, “sorry my hand must’ve slipped”

You don’t take that for an answer, your petty nature crawling out as you splash him back harder than he had done. “Hand slipped, my ass.”

You cross your arms smugly, a small laugh blossoming out of your mouth when Jungkook cutely rubs at his eyes.

It’s after a minute when you realise Jungkook hasn’t stopped furiously rubbing his eyes. The circular motions of his hand move so intensely that it begins to look painful and irritating. “Fuck, it stings”, he exclaims in agony.

Shit, you inwardly curse, gently touching his wrist, concern lacing your features because you didn’t think getting chlorinated water in one's eye would sting that much. You analyse his facial expressions closely and you wince at the redness surrounding his eyes from his harsh rubbing.

On the contrary, Jungkook knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s competitive and won’t back down from a fight, even if it’s just fun banter, so he continues his little scheme just for the fun of it and hides his small grin under his large hands.

You’re now slightly panicked, “fuck, Jungkook I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hit the water that hard I-”

Jungkook cracks.

Ever so slowly, he peeps his eyes out at you and watches with a mischievous smirk as your face morphs from alarmed to annoyed in less than a millisecond.

You tighten your grip on his wrist and attempt to slap his hard chest with your free hand, however Jungkook’s reflexes are fast and he grasps your hand tightly, a teasing glint in his eye.

“You little shit-”

All of a sudden a loud holler is heard from the front door, rousing a relaxed Jin out of his chair as he sprints while simultaneously yelling at the ruckus being made. It’s then a stampede of both familiar and unfamiliar faces come crashing in. Some jump straight into the pool to cool off from the blazing sun while others rush to the table of assorted alcohol, desperate to get an ounce of it in their system.

Word seemed to go around about Jin’s supposed small get-together unbelievably fast, causing the once tranquil Kim Seokjin into a raging volcano.

You’re pressed right up against Jungkook’s solid chest and he surprisingly pays you no mind, even though your perky tits are deliciously pushed up perfectly against his body. Jungkook’s eyes are not settled on them, rather he pays close attention to the amount of people dangerously plunging into the pool at a fast rate.

Jungkook protectively hugs your shoulders to shield you from the rowdy party goers who definitely do not understand the definition of personal space. Your heart swells when he then delicately places your head in the crook of his neck and wraps an arm around your fairly exposed body, essentially guarding you from frantic wet limbs and ignorant individuals.

You feel comfortable and safe, so comfortable that you wouldn’t mind staying like this for a while if it weren’t for the throng of college students delving into the cooling water.

Jin’s house begins to fill with unexpected guests very quickly and you wonder how Jin is handling the situation. You suppose not very well when you see him whipping people with towels, red ears making an appearance and his booming voice following him.

Jungkook wants to get out and he’s sure you feel the same way which is why he smoothly slots his hand into your own, long fingers wrapping around your hand to carefully pull you through the growing crowd of people in the pool.

Whilst pushing past a variety of college students you are met with many stares, even worse, numerous envious eyes and whispers of possible gossip. You try your best to avoid their gazes, the hard stares reminding you of the last time Jungkook held your hand to push through groups of people.

Water drips down the curves of your body and lands in little pools around you when you step out of the pool. At this point you’ve garnered even more turning heads that examine every inch of your skin closely. Their stares itch your skin and you feel akin to an animal kept in a zoo enclosure, curious eyes breaking down your confidence, you want to hide.

You usually like to pride yourself on your confidence because you know you’re hot and you know your worth. It had taken many failed relationships to build up your self love and nourish the scars and memories of questioning if you’re good enough.

You fight on and squeeze Jungkook’s hand, mostly for some sort of reassurance. It shocks you when he astonishingly squeezes back and softly rubs his thumb over the back of your hand. It’s almost as if he knows how you’re feeling.

You glance up at him shyly. Jungkook keeps his eyes straight ahead. He smiles a different kind of smile than the one he had directed to you a few hours ago. His lips are in a permanent smug smirk. His usual playboy smile. He flashes it at everyone as if he’s asking for their approval and even goes in to high-five a few people who are unrecognisable to you. You soon realise that this is what Jungkook thrives on. People, validation and his notorious reputation he’s created for himself.

Jungkook lights up at the presence of crowds, flirty smiles and people calling his name, whereas you want to crawl into your skin and run away because from the perspective of outsiders it looks like you’re just another one of Jungkook’s flings that will soon be forgotten by next week.

Well, you hope you won’t turn out to be one of them.

At last you find yourself away from the heart of the party, your dress in hand but your body still wet nonetheless. Jungkook is in the same state as yourself, droplets of water dribbling from his dark hair and onto the timber flooring. He leans into your ear, “I’ll go get us some towels, stay here.”

He’s gone before you can reply, making small conversation when he passes by various people, his boisterous laugh echoing down the halls.

You’re alone now, and defenceless at that. There’s not many people you know here, besides the few odd people you share a class with and some sleazy frat boys that hold a similar reputation to Jungkook. You want to find Jieun so you can hug her or maybe ask her if she can take you home, but she is nowhere to be found.

Fuck, You remember leaving your bag on the kitchen table, unsupervised with many personal belongings stowed away inside. Using your dress to cover the most of your exposed skin like a blanket, you stride over to the kitchen and sigh in relief when you find your bag untouched and in perfect condition.

Snatching up your bag, you grab your phone and immediately text Jieun to find out where the fuck she’s hiding, but there’s a part of you that knows she’s probably fucking Yoongi somewhere. Traitor.

Jungkook finds you to be in a completely different part of the house than where he asked you, one towel wrapped around his neck and the other draped over his arm. You haven’t noticed him yet, your frantic fingers texting a treacherous Jieun, “princess, didn’t I tell you to stay put?”

You’re startled. Switching your phone off you stick your arm out, waiting for Jungkook to pass you the towel but he doesn't. Jungkook gently pushes your shoulders so that you turn away from him and carefully wraps the towel around your body like a cape. You hold the edges of the fabric to help him hug the towel around yourself, keeping it tighter to your body.

Your voice is quiet, “thank you.”

Jungkook leans down to meet your face, “What was that?”

Even though Jungkook had been in the pool longer than you, his cologne still sticks to his skin and you kind of want to breathe more of it in, but that would be weird.

“Oh, I said thank you.”

You’re close to him again, although this time he towers over you with a look almost identical to a predator meeting its prey.

Jungkook’s eyes flirt around your face and descend. He shamelessly drinks up the swell of your breasts and whatever skin is visible amidst the fluffy towel around you. It’s strange. You had noticed Jungkook doing the exact same thing when you were alone with him. The difference though was that his looks were cursory as if he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. Now, It's like a new persona had taken over him and he was ready to pounce at any sign of a green light.

He’s stuck in a trance, fuckboy tinted glasses fogging his vision.

You force out a giggle and playfully shove his shoulder, “my eyes are up here, you know.”

His reply comes lighting fast, he’s definitely been in this position before. “I know, just admiring them.”

Jungkook wants to hit himself the second his reply spewed out of his mouth. He desperately wants to reassure your unimpressed (though also very cute) face, because goddammit he wanted to be respectful. Jungkook knows he has a tendency to slip into a new personality when the right amount of people hyped him. Call it being two faced, he knows it's one of his fatal flaws.

“I'm sorry.”

He says it genuinely.

Jungkook only just got to properly meet you, he doesn’t want to give you the wrong impression! He can admit, your first ever official meeting (moreso hookup) wasn’t ideal, yet the way Jin dragged him through the mud undoubtedly made him understand that you weren’t the type of woman that should ever undergo the treatment he puts his hookups through. Scratch that, any woman shouldn’t be treated the way Jungkook treats them.

You're now fully covered under the towel, not a sliver of skin on display. You don’t know if his apology was genuine. “It’s ok I guess, I expected nothing less from you anyways.”

“Right.” He’s messed up.

You clear your throat, “I’m gonna go get changed, maybe look for Jieun unless-”

Jungkook finishes your sentence, “-she’s fucking Yoongi.”

You exhale, “yeah.”

“Jeon Jungkook!”

The voice makes you halt at its familiar tone. Jungkook doesn’t notice your growing panic as he too freezes in his spot.

No, it can’t be.

The world plays in slow motion when he walks into your line of vision. His assertive stride, smug smile and sharp eyes.

Jeong Suho.

His name explodes inside of you like a blistering fire yet your heart feels ice cold. He is the very man you have spent weeks trying to avoid and even more trying to get out of your head.

The world plays at a normal speed when he approaches Jungkook. Their facial expressions are the same, the way they greet each other is the same. They’re practically the same breed of fuckboy, born from the same mother.

“Been awhile since I’ve seen you around.”

Jeong Suho was a person that Jungkook didn’t really mind, In fact there was a point in Jungkook’s life where he would’ve considered Suho to be one of his closest friends. They were two peas in a pod freshmen year of college. Never giving a fuck about their education and always present for any opportunity to get completely wasted with as many girls they could possibly seduce. Nowadays, Jungkook would rather keep his distance from him.

On the contrary, you were one of the many girls that had fallen deeply for Suho’s alluring charm. You fell so hard, you thought that maybe just maybe there was a possibility that you could secure a future with him. Obviously that was not the case.

You thank your lucky stars that Jungkook was there to distract Suho while you make your haste escape. All you need to do now is somehow locate an unoccupied bathroom, preferably without having to walk in on someone getting it on, and then you could get the hell out of there.

You must admit, you look quite ridiculous right now. Navy blue towel wrapped tightly around your body, your small head peeking through. You could probably pass as some form of E.T cosplay right now. You don’t care if you look rude, pushing and shoving whoever stands in your way. You only have one goal and you’re so so close to succeeding-

“Wait, Y/N! Is that you?”

Fuck.

Do you run? Maybe duck behind some poor innocent student looking for a good time? You huff, you're already sticking out like a sore thumb, there’s no use in trying to hide when the enemy has already spotted you. Even worse Jungkook motions you over with a wide gleaming smile. If only he knew how much you’re dreading this interaction.

Grudgingly, you walk over, looking like an irritated gremlin with your towel still firmly secured around you. Jungkook makes matters worse by pushing the towel off your head, releasing your scruffy ball of hair. You grimace.

“I didn’t know you knew Y/N?”

Suho sends a smirk your way. You however, glower.

“Yeah we go way back, don’t we baby?”

You force a tight lipped smile, howbeit you look as if you have a mild case of constipation.

“Sure.” It comes out rough through gritted teeth.

Suho notes your frustration, a sly grin carving onto his punchable face. He turns towards Jungkook, seemingly blocking you from their conversation, yet you know Suho wants you to hear what he has to say.

“You know it’s a shame. Y/N’s gorgeous, ten outta ten body, knows how to put it to good use, however she never let me fuck her. Don’t you think that’s weird?”

Jungkook stays silent for a minute, eyeing your shaking fists and angry eyebrows. Jungkook may be dumb, but he sure knows how to read a room, thus leading him to the conclusion that your relationship with Suho isn’t something you’re very fond of and that he should probably get you out of here.

“Uhhh no, that’s not weird at all actually. What I think is weird is the fact that you think you have this sick claim on every girl you’ve defiled and even worse, you’ve always had this strange need to chase after every virgin you see like some perverted cherry picker. Yeah, that’s weird.”

Suho laughs right in his face, spit grossly tickling his skin. “That’s rich coming from you Jeon, weren't you quite the cherry picker in your freshman days, no?”

Jungkook doesn’t know what he expected from this conversation. It definitely wasn’t this.

It's obvious that Jungkook isn’t a saint, he really fucking far from it. Although, one thing's for sure, it’s his absolute hatred for the way his brain was wired in his freshman year of college. Yes, Jungkook still remains as one of the standing campus fuckboys but he’s gained a few more brain cells since then.

Jungkook opens his mouth to retort, only to be met with Suho’s back as he turns his attention towards you.

“Y/N, darling if I were you i’d make a run for it, ya know keep your chastity intact or whatever.” His smile is saccharine sweet, though his words are sickly sour.

The months of pent up anger stored within your being bubbles and overflows like a bad science experiment. You’ve quickly decided that now’s that time to expose the shitty excuse of a man, and quite frankly you don’t care that you have an audience. Actually, an audience would make this all the better.

Your finger is strong, pointing accusingly at his broad chest. “You know what you stupid motherfucker? Don’t waltz in here with that dumb smile of yours when you know you have some disgusting cheesy infection growing down there.”

Suho’s eyes widen slightly. It was no secret he was a walking STD, just about infecting every girl that was naive enough to sit on his dick.

Everyone at the party has definitely stopped to listen to what you have to say. You even spot Jin from the corner of your eye sending you a proud smile. “And while we're on the topic of cheese, Learn how to wash your fucking dick!”

You don’t let him have a moment to speak, grabbing Jungkook’s hand and pulling him out of the house.

A few people applaud, some girls praise you on your way out. You give them no mind, you’ve had enough for tonight.

Jungkook starts his car, no questions asked. It’s obvious to him that there’s bad blood between you and Suho. What you don’t know is that Jungkook can also relate.

Technically there was no bad blood between them, moreso the hurtful memories and manipulation Suho put him through. To put it simply, Suho was probably the worst influence Jungkook could ever have as a vunerable freshman.

The crunch of gravel and soft melodies that spill out of Jungkook’s radio converse with eachother and fill the defeaning silence that sits between you and Jungkook.

Jungkook doesn’t even know where he’s going, he just drives.

Every so often he checks up on you from the corner of his eye. Your knees stick tightly together and point away from him. Your fingers curl and uncurl, leaving cresent moons in your skin. And to finish it off, your face remains still, hostility completely washing over your features. If Jungkook didn’t know any better he would think you’d jump out of his car and make a run for it at the chance of him stopping the car.

It’s seven sniffles later when Jungkook decides he knows where he should take you.

The night sky is clear and the stars burn brightly to accompany the full round moon. It’s the perfect setting for release and maybe a screaming session if you’re up for it.

Jungkook makes a stop behind a forest of tall trees and a dirt path. You sit up immediately.

“Where are we?” Your eyes are rimmed with tears, “I want to go home.”

Jungkook shuts the engine off, “you never told me where you live.”

“Well you never asked!”

Maybe you shouldn’t have yelled because from the looks of it, Jungkook just wants to help you out and clearly you’re not being the friendliest right now.

You curl back into yourself, “sorry”, another sniffle.

Jungkook brings your fists into his hands and warmly opens them up. You refuse to look at him, it doesn’t deter Jungkook one bit.

Tenderly he brings a finger under your chin, gradually bringing your eyes up to his. Jungkook takes his time with you, careful to not set you off until you’re face to face with his warm eyes.

“I brought you here because it’s apparent we both need let out some pent up steam.” He drags his fingers delicately across the curve of your chin and back into his lap. His touch is fleeting, you miss it already. “I just thought you may want to vent or just shout out into the void, it’s up to you.” You nod, fully trusting Jungkook’s intentions. “And at any time you feel like going home just say the word and I’ll take you there, okay?”

Your heart swells in adoration at his caring nature, though you can’t help but wonder how he can have such a sudden change in personality depending on where he is and who he’s with. It’s unnerving.

Jungkook clicks his seatbelt off and heads out the car, “put your dress back on princess, I’ll be out here waiting for you.” You mutter your confirmation and do as he asks.

The cool summer air kisses your skin and runs through your hair as you step out of the car. Jungkook is already by your side dressed in an oversize hoodie with another in his hand as well as a fuzzy blanket.

Jungkook steps closer to you, holding the hem of his hoodie to slip over your body. Without a second thought you raise your hands causing Jungkook to chuckle at how cute you look dwarfed in his clothes.

The same cologne you smelled on his skin earlier lingers on every fibre of fabric around you. His scent is everywhere, swirling around your head, instantly calming down your anxieties. You smile at him, “Lead the way Jungkook.”

Jungkook leads you up a small hill and you notice the trees opening up to display a lush field of grass. However, the sight before you leaves you in absolute wonder. You stand completely still and take it all in.

The night sky is dark but the city below illuminates is beautifully. Your gaze bounces over all the buildings, skyscrapers and their dazzling bright lights. It’s peaceful up here, you decide as you take a glimpse of the hundreds of tall structures looking so tiny, so ant-like.

Jungkook is settled behind you, his legs comfortably folded underneath himself. He remembers what it was like the first time he saw the view, which is why he doesn’t blame your stunned silence and glazed eyes.

“How did you find this place?”

You find your way towards Jungkook and plant yourself right beside him. “I don’t know, I was just driving aimlessly one night and found it, It’s nice right.”

You hum, “it’s beautiful.”

Jungkook murmurs in agreement as you lie down on the woolly blanket beneath you. The stars twinkle and glimmer amongst the deep blue sky, creating a serene experience. You shut your eyes.

“I hate him.”

Jungkook looks down at you, you don’t see him though. “Suho?”

“Yeah”, you exhale deeply, “I can’t believe I had to see him again.”

Although Jungkook knows you can’t see him, he swivels his body around to face you properly. “Did you guys date or something?”

You scoff, “pffft you know Suho doesn’t date anyone.” You open your eyes, meeting a pair of round docile ones. You continue, “Suho was the first guy who every gave me an ounce of attention. Before him guys never looked my way. Jungkook remains silent, letting you pour out what’s on your mind.

“Suho had me fooled, I thought I was special to him, thought he saw something in me that was different from the others. Turns out that was his game after all”

You speak so animatedly, your hands wave around in the air, your eyebrows scrunch when the memories come back to you. “It’s stupid really, how I used to gush to him about finding the one person in the universe that was created just for me. I guess he used this as my weak point.”

Inhale, exhale.

“He made me believe he was that special person for me, used it as an excuse to pressure me into sex.” A tear rolls down the side of your face, falling perfectly in a straight line. “I almost gave in, but something just felt so wrong. Every time I said no he would call me terrible names, tell me that no one would want me if I never gave them what they wanted. And I believed him.”

Another tear escapes your wet orbs, Jungkook is there to wipe it this time.

“I broke it off after I found out he fucked my roommate and gave her some disease.” You chuckle, “I guess I’m lucky I never let him fuck me huh?”

Jungkook’s heart breaks at your saddened eyes and the way Suho treated you, he sweeps a stray hair out of you face. “I think you dodged a bullet there princess, what he did to you was pure evil, no one, and especially you don’t deserve that”

You sit up, wiping remaining tears and thanking him as you go, “It’s your turn now.” You pat his thigh, “tell me why Suho got you so riled up tonight.”

Jungkook shuffles in his spot, “It’s actually kind of similar to you.”

You gasp sarcastically, “no way he pressured you into sex too?”

He laughs, eyes squeezing shut, “No, no, nothing like that.”

You lean closer to Jungkook, giving him the same attention he had given you. “My father left when my mother found out she was pregnant with me, so growing up I had no male figure present in my life. My mother stopped at nothing to give me that to the point that almost every week I’d wake up and see a new man drinking out of my favourite mug. I didn’t mind it because I was only a child and some part of me always hoped they would stay, but they never did.”

“My mom was a hopeless romantic. She held so much sentimental and idealistic views on love that it stuck to me. She always told me that there was someone special out there just for me.” You smile at the similar belief, Jungkook sighs.

“Cut to college, Suho was the first friend I made. I had no experience with girls whatsoever, and I still held on to my mother’s faith. Whenever I talked to Suho about it he would always shut me down or make fun of me.”

“He told me that all my feelings are bullshit, and that I only felt that way because I’ve never hooked up with anyone before. Next thing I knew we were going to parties every week getting absolutely shitfaced and fucking every girl I laid eyes on.”

You nod, listening intently. “And tonight, he hit a nerve. What he said made me realise that I’m just as bad as him. He moulded me into this person and now I have a reputation.”

Jungkook’s eyes drop, “he broke my concept of love before I even got to experience it.”

You never knew Jungkook was in a place like this. You always thought he was like Suho, built to break hearts and show no emotion when it came to love. Jungkook was nothing like that. His heart was truly big, desperately longing for someone.

Placing your hand on top of his own you comfort him as best as you can, “oh, Jungkook, trust me when I tell you this, the love in your heart is not broken. Think about it, most people you’ve met have been through college right?” He nods, “there are so many other people out there that you’ve never met, soon you’ll be able to find that someone and learn how to love. I know you present yourself as this emotionless playboy, but once you let that part of you go it’ll feel so freeing.”

Jungkook stares deeply into your eyes, he’s so thankful that he decided to bring you here, he can’t contain his happiness.

“Can I like, hug you?” Jungkook asks shyly. You smile, and it’s so big and bright Jungkook might as well be staring at the sun. Before he knows it, you’re tackling him into the most wholesome hug he’s ever had. You’re warm and you smell like vanilla, It feels like home.

“Get up”, he says abruptly, extending his arm to pull up your confused self.

“What-”, Jungkook cuts you off, “have you ever just let yourself scream?”

Jungkook has intertwined your hands together, and your heart pounds at the realisation of how well they fit together. “Well, no but I assume that’s what we’re about to do right now.”

He pulls you closer to the edge of the small hill, the view of the city sparkles right in front of you. “On the count of three, one- two- three!”

You scream, you let it all out and God does it feel refreshing.

The two of you sound utterly insane, but none you give a single fuck. You scream until your lungs burn and your throat itches you to stop.

The volume of both of your voices ring out into the night sky only for the moon, stars and yourselves. The night is still young but Jungkook wouldn’t have it any other way.

With you he lets go of everything, all the past mistakes, all the hurt because at this moment he feels like he could fly, soar into the clouds.

He feels infinite.

Taglist <3

@zibermuda @uskookie @jeonscandies @melaninkpops @apollukee @hollowtree10 @liliskies @madygswich @pjmochii @eggbutnotyolk @gyukult @yukiehyukie @purplepearl07 (couldn’t tag) @tae165 @youurkryptonite @94ser0da @french-myfries @zippytheshark37 (couldn’t tag) @we8joon @tearvantae @emrysts @inspinkyring

#ficswithluv #h0neypjm #mine #jungkook #Jungkook Fanfiction #jungkook smut #bts #bts fanfiction #jungkook x reader #bts x reader #jimin #taehyung #hoseok #seokjin #yoongi #namjoon

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snackhobi · 4 years

Text

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.

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