#if it makes you uncomfortable just tell me in my ask box and I’ll add a cut before the art

[harrywavycurly]

Eternal Obsession Part 2: Questions

Masterlist: Here

TW: Mentions of blood and obsessive behavior

Tag List: @dream-a-little-nightmare @josephquinnsfreckles @chickenandsheep-blog @sweetmoonlove0214 @justheretoreadleavemealone @eddiesgirlforever @ali-r3n @joantje @mrsjellymunson @munsons-mayhem28 @manda-panda-monium @cherrymedicine13 @hazydespair

A/N: I hope y’all enjoy this it kinda gives you some answers to how Eddie lives his life and also I’m curious who y’all think the vampire(s) are that hunt still?👀

“What about the sun?” You ask over your shoulder as Eddie follows you down the candy aisle of the mini mart.

“Well let’s see it’s a star,” Eddie states as he watches you toss in a bag of mixed sour candy into the cart. “And not only is it a star it’s the only star in our solar system and it’s also just the biggest object in it.” You roll your eyes as you stop walking so you can turn around and glare at Eddie who is staring at the back of a box of skittles with a slight look of confusion and disgust on his face. “Kinda reminds me of you.” His face turns so he’s looking at you and he raises an eyebrow at your face.

“Excuse me? Skittles remind you of me?” Eddie laughs at your question as he shakes his head causing some of his hair to fall out of the bun he has most of it loosely secured in. Even though it’s only been two days since he met you in the middle of the woods he already knows you well enough that he can tell you’re offended by the idea of a sugary chewy treat making him think of you so he’s quick to reassure you.

“The sun.” He corrects as he reaches to grab a box of chocolate covered peanuts off the shelf. You can’t help but stare at him as he tosses the candy into the cart, he quickly rolls the sleeves of his flannel up allowing you to see a few of his tattoos that he has randomly splattered on his forearms and you momentarily lose your train of thought as your eyes roam up his arms towards his chest that’s practically on full display since he has the top three buttons of his shirt undone. “You’re the only star in my universe…and by far the biggest and most important part of it as well.” His voice snaps you back to reality and Eddie just chuckles and shoots you a playful wink as your cheeks get hot.

“You have to stop saying things like that.” You mumble as you turn away from him trying to hide your embarrassment of getting caught staring at him.

“Does it upset you?” All of a sudden Eddie is right behind you with his hands gently resting on your hips. “If it upsets you then I’ll gladly stop.” He adds before he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck.

“No.” You huff, annoyed at how you can’t lie to him and you begin the think that not even if your life depended on it would you be able to tell him even the smallest of lies. It’s just one of the many effects he has on you and it’s probably the one you hate the most.

“Good..I’d hate to be the reason you’re upset.” You know he’s telling you the truth as his arms wrap around your middle. “Now what is it you want to know about the sun my darling?” He asks as he places a quick kiss to your neck before he stands up straight and turns you in his arms so he can look down at you with a smile.

“Does it hurt you?” You feel silly the moment the words leave your mouth and you try to hide your face in your hands but Eddie is quick to grab them and hold them in his much larger ones.

“It’s slightly uncomfortable if it’s on my bare skin but it doesn’t really hurt but I still choose to be covered up…most of the time.” He answers before he places little kisses to your knuckles. “It can’t kill me if that’s what you’re really wondering? I won’t burst into flames or anything.” You want to laugh at yourself for even assuming the sun would kill him like it does to vampires in the movies but you figure might as well get all the other questions out of the way.

“Do you sleep in the ground or in a coffin?”

“Neither I sleep in a king sized bed..it’s quite comfortable actually I think you’d like it.”

“Garlic?”

“Doesn’t bother me.”

“Interesting.” Eddie laughs as he brings your hands to cup his face, something you’ve come to notice he does when he just wants to feel the warmth of your skin.

“You can ask me…I don’t mind.” He’s staring into your eyes almost as if he’s reading your thoughts as he speaks. You try to look away but you don’t have it in you to break the eye contact because the deep chocolate brown color of Eddie’s eyes is comforting as it makes you feel like it’s just the two of you and the rest of the world has melted away.

“What do you…eat?” Eddie smiles as he turns his head so he can place a kiss to the palm of one of your hands.

“Am I really the first vampire you’ve met?” Eddie doesn’t mean to ignore your question but he is suddenly coming to realize that all the questions you’re asking are ones someone would ask if they’ve never come across someone like him before.

“I’ve met one before just…uh didn’t spend a lot of time with him.” You look down at your feet as the memory of the first vampire you met comes flooding into your mind. Eddie frowns when you drop your hands from his face, he notices your whole mood has shifted and he instantly feels an odd sensation take a hold of him.

“Who was it?” His tone is harsh and it makes you flinch as you take a small step backwards so you can turn and face the cart that’s now half full of candy and other random junk food.

“Steve Harrington.” You whisper his name almost afraid that if you say it too loud he’ll just magically appear. Eddie’s hands instinctively ball up into fists as soon as Steve’s name escapes your lips.

“Did he-”

“He didn’t hurt me Eddie.” You turn to face him and you’re startled as just how upset Eddie is at the mention of Steve. “He was just an asshole that’s all.” You try to reassure him as you reach for one of his hands but he is quick to move out of your reach.

“Just…give me a moment sweetheart.” He raises his hand up so you don’t try to get any closer, you watch his eyes go from pitch black back to their normal warm brown as he rolls his shoulders a few times and tilts his head side to side as if he stretching but you know he’s just trying to get a grip on his temper.

“How long have you been twenty one?” The corners of Eddie’s lips twitch at your question as you take a small step closer to him. He knows what you’re doing and he appreciates the distraction because at the moment all he can think of is finding Steve and ripping his head off for getting to meet you before him.

“Almost forty years.” He answers making you just nod as he opens his arms in preparation for you to close the gap between the two of you. You rest your head on his chest as your arms wrap around his middle in a tight hug.

“So you’re like what? Almost sixty?” He just chuckles as he wraps his arms around your shoulders and rests his chin on the top of your head.

“Something like that.” He mumbles as you rest your cheek on his chest. “You know I’m always going to protect you right? Even if sometimes it’s me who you need protection from.” You just nod in response because there’s only a few things you know for sure about Eddie and one of them is that he will stand between you and anything or anyone he deems dangerous.

“You can say it.” Your voice is soft as Eddie’s hold on you tightens. “I know you like saying it.” You add as you rub little circles with your fingertips on Eddie’s back.

“I don’t want to upset you.” He says before he places a kiss to the top of your head.

“It doesn’t upset me.” Eddie leans away so you can lift your head and look up at him. “I just don’t want to upset you when I don’t say it back.” Eddie playfully rolls his eyes as he leans down and kisses the tip of your nose.

“You could never upset me.” You feel your cheeks get hot as Eddie gives you one of his best smiles that makes you thankful his arms are already around you, holding you up. “Besides you’ll say it back eventually.” You want to laugh and roll your eyes but deep down you know he’s right.

“Oh just say it already so we can move on to the next aisle.” You try to tease him but the way he’s looking at you makes all the playfulness leave your voice making it sound almost as if you’re begging for him to say it. Eddie just smirks as he leans down so his lips are right next to your ear.

“I love you.” You feel your knees begin to feel shaky as his smooth deep voice fills your ears. He just smiles before he places a kiss just below your ear before placing another one on your cheek. “Now back to your question…I get my blood fix the same place most of the vampires in Hawkins do…the pharmacy.” Eddie answers as he ticks a few strands of your hair behind your ear.

“The what?” Your eyes are wide and your eyebrows are raised making Eddie laugh as he places his hands on your hips.

“The pharmacy…it’s on Main Street and they sell everything we need to survive without actually having to uh..drink from-“

“Humans?”

“I get my supplements there and I did try the bloody shake mix and it’s disgusting but people love it…I just stick to the capsules and the fake synthetic stuff when I need to feel like I’m actually drinking-“

“Someone’s blood.”

“Not someone..I used to just drain animals before I found the pharmacy.” You just nod as you try to take in all the information Eddie has just shared with you.

“What do you mean most of the vampires in Hawkins?” Eddie’s eyes go dark as he looks away from you.

“There’s still ones out there that like to hunt down their food.” You feel a shiver go down your spine as Eddie’s grip on you tightens.

“Steve?” You swear you hear a low growl bubble up from Eddie’s chest as you say Steve’s name.

“Him and his little group of assholes are too dumb to be able to get away with hunting don’t worry.” You know he’s trying to reassure you but now you’re curious as to who in Hawkins is still draining humans for their blood and getting away with it.

“Then who?” Eddie just lets out a sigh as you loosen your hold around his middle, he knows you’re just curious but he doesn’t want to tell you anything that could get you caught up in something dangerous. “You’re not going to tell me are you?”

“Come on my darling we have a party to shop for.” You roll your eyes as Eddie places a kiss to your forehead before he drops his hands from your hips and yours fall from around his middle. He steps behind the cart so he can push it further down the aisle, tossing a few bags of random assorted candy into the cart as he goes.

“That wasn’t nice.” You mumble as you cross your arms over your chest as you walk a few steps behind Eddie. He stops walking and before you can even react his hands are cupping your face and his lips are only a few inches from yours.

“I’m sorry sweetheart but it’s for your own good.”Before you can argue he places a quick kiss to your lips. “Please forgive me.” His eyes are staring into yours as his breath fans across your face.

“Okay.” You sigh as Eddie smiles before his lips are on yours again but this time you wrap your arms around his neck before he can even think of pulling away from you.

“Greedy little thing.” He teases a few moments later once he is able to gently pry your arms from around his neck after pulling away from the kiss, while he would love nothing more than to stand here with your lips on his he has to have some sort of self control. “Now come on we have caused enough of a scene in this aisle let’s go cause a ruckus in the frozen section.” You raise an eyebrow as you turn your head and see three women standing in the aisle all with red faces and wide eyes.

“Oh god.” You huff as your face quickly matches theirs making Eddie laugh as he goes back to pushing the cart. “By the way no one says ruckus anymore.” You tease while Eddie just chuckles as you catch up with him and toss a box of skittles into the cart.

“Got it I’ll add that to the list of uncool things to say.” You laugh as the two of you head down the next aisle. “I love you.” Eddie looks over at you as the three words come out of his mouth just as you reach and grab a loaf of bread off the shelf.

“I know you do.” You state with a smile as you place a kiss to his cheek making him smile as you put the bread on the top of the mountain of candy in the cart. You know when Eddie tells you he loves you he means it with every single part of himself. While you can’t say it back just yet you know there’s going to be a time when you can and that just gives you something to look forward to because you know that day is going to be sooner rather than later but either way you know Eddie isn’t going anywhere.

[fandomgirlz01]

This Can’t Be The End Pt. 4

Nick Stokes X Reader

Imagine on my fandom Instagram?: No  

Prompt or Request or Requested Prompt?: No

Style of Writing: Series 

Rating: PG-13 ~ For fluff and cuteness, but more adult commentary or even some triggering content.

Edited: Yes

Word count: 5,812

Post Date & Time: August 4th 2024 at 11: 44 PM

Ko-fi

Masterlist

Warnings here

Listen to the story be read out loud here {coming soon}.  

Summary: Based off of S5 Es24 & 25 When Nick gets kidnapped, the reader is forced to fear the worst for her husband as she and the team work the case with hopes of bringing him home safe. 

Y/n’s Pov:

My eyes shoot open and I immediately sit up. I frown when I see where I am, not fully remembering how I got here. Thinking over where I remember being last, I deduce that Warrick must have brought me in here after I fell asleep. 

“Did you hear they thought they found Nick only for it to actually be a dog?” Isadora, one of the other team members, asks as she leans into another from her team. 

“No. What kind of dog was it?” Marcela questions in an interested tone as they keep talking like they don’t know I’m here. 

“It was a Dalmatian. I hear Warrick's going over the box now,” Isadora continues on and I just listen as carefully as I can. 

“Did the dog survive?” Marcela asks and Isadora shakes her head. 

“Awe, that's sad. Poor dog. People are so cruel nowadays,” Marcela croons and Isadora nods. 

“Yeah. Apparently Warrick lost it,” Marcela comments as she takes a sip of her drink and Isadora shrugs. 

“I mean, can you blame him? That’s his team member out there,” Isadora comments back. 

“Yeah, his sexy team mate,” Marcela adds on with a bounce of her eyebrows and I roll my eyes. 

“Marcela, dear. He’s married,” Isadora tells her with a raised eyebrow and small chuckle of amusement. 

“Doesn’t mean I can’t like him from afar,” Marcela comments with a shrug and Isadora laughs. 

“I’m pretty sure it means that you can’t, but what about Warrick? He’s pretty hot too,” Isadora asks and Marcela waves her off. 

“He's married too, remember? Not to mention he’s got a temper. Guys with tempers aren’t always good to have around,” Marcela explains and I roll my eyes again. 

Finally I can’t take it anymore, not wanting to hear people gossip about how hot my husband or brother figure is when Nick’s out there somewhere, fighting to come home to me. I push myself up off the couch and hear gasps, making me turn to look at the two women before me. They each give me sorrowful yet horrified looks. 

“Oh my gosh. Y/n, we are so sorry. We didn’t know you were there,” Isadora apologizes and I shrug ‘as if that makes it better that you were just gossiping about me… and the people who matter most to me,’ I think as I hold back a roll of my eyes. 

“It’s fine, really. Uhh, I’m going to find Warrick. Do you know what lab he’s in?” I ask, starting to fidget as an uncomfortable feeling washes over me. 

“Oh, yeah. I think I heard he’s in lab 345,” Isadora answers me and I nod. 

“Thanks. I’ll, uhh, see you girls around,” I reply as I give them a small wave before turning and leaving in search of Warrick. 

For the millionth time in the last few days I find myself walking down all the many hallways again. I walk past every lab as I look for the one that Warrick supposedly is in. I pass each lab and look at each number of labs before coming to a stop in front of 345. 

When I come to a stop I see Warrick inside working on a big clear plexiglass box. With a sigh, I open the door and walk in as he continues to work. I watch him for a few minutes as he picks a few parts up and inspects them. 

After a few minutes, I walk over to him and hug him from behind. He tenses for a moment before turning around and hugging me back. 

“What’s up, mamas?” he asks and I blink back a few tears. 

“I overheard a few of the others talking about what happened while I was asleep. They told me where you were and I came to find you,” I tell him and he sighs, nodding. 

“I swear I came to tell you after it happened, but you finally looked semi-peaceful. You needed the sleep,” he explains and I nod my understanding. 

“Don’t worry, B, I get it. Really. I do,” I promise him and he lets out a puff of air. 

“Good. I thought you were going to be mad at me,” he comments and I purse my lips. 

“Now doesn’t really feel like the time for anger,” I whisper out and he chuckles. 

“Only you. Y/n. Only you. You get angry once, then never again even when you’re going through something bad,” he replies in astonishment and I shrug. 

“Mind if I keep you company while you finish this up? It’s a lot better than hearing all the gossip about my husband,” I try to playfully joke, but it comes out sounding more half-hearted than anything and he sighs. 

“You want me to go tell em’ what for?” he asks and I pause. 

“As nice as that sounds… I’d rather you be here working on trying to find Nicky,” I reply and he smiles softly as I sit down. 

“In that case, hang out here all you want, mamas,” he agrees and I give him a soft thankful smile before he turns around to get back to work. 

He picks over what seems to be the fan that would supply the air once again before taking it apart. He puts down the tube that was connected to it before picking up his flashlight and looking down the opening of the fan itself. Then he takes the tube off of where it’s connected to the box and looks through the hole that was left from removing it. 

“So I, ahh… heard you lost it out there,” I speak up as he moves around the box. 

“Uhh, yeah. You weren’t supposed to know that…” he tells me as he takes the grate off the other side of the hole. 

“It’s ok, you know? It’s ok you lost it,” I sympathize with him as he continues to look over the area of the box. 

“No. It’s not ok. It took time off from finding Nick. I should’ve kept my head level,” he plays it off and I shake my head. 

“Rick. He’s like family to you just as much as he is family to me. It’s understandable that you'd lose it. I mean, I lost it on you earlier,” I again sympathize with him and he sighs as he continues to work on the box. 

“You didn’t exactly lose it, mamas. You got a little angry, there’s a difference,” he dismisses me again and I roll my eyes. 

“I bit your head off. There really isn’t a difference,” I pointedly tell him as I cross my arms and he nods. 

“Ok. Ok. You win,” he reluctantly agrees as he now grabs a battery and starts using the wires connected to the box, trying to see how they hook up. 

Once he has it hooked up, the light turns on as well as the fan. He looks over it as the meter he has connected to it counts up higher and higher. He picks up the fan and looks at it before looking at the meter. 

“Damn it,” he mutters as he puts the fan down with a sigh. 

“What?” I ask him and he pauses. 

“I think we need to find Catherine,” he says and I jump as he walks over to the phone. 

He stands there with the phone to his ear and he waits for her to answer. When she does, he talks to her for a moment before looking over at me and moving the speaker from his mouth. 

“Catherine wants you to go to the computer lab. Says Grissom needs you,” he tells me and I sigh before standing up. 

“I’m on my way,” I tell him as I pass him and he goes back to talking to her. 

Third Person Pov:

Gil, Archie and Sarah sit in the computer lab watching Nick, who now pulls out a recorder and holds it up to mouth to talk into it. Gil, who knows how to read lips, now decides to read Nick’s as he talks. 

“My name is Nick Stokes. If anyone… finds this tape, turn it in to the Las Vegas… PD. There should be a reward…” he starts and Gil watches with sad eyes as he sits up a bit more. 

“Mom. Sisko… y/n….” Gil reads Nick’s lips and decides to start writing what Nick is saying. 

“Hey Sara, would you call Catherine and have her send y/n here?” he asks her as he keeps his eyes focused on what Nick is saying.  

“Yeah. Ok,” Sara agrees as she picks up the phone and calls Catherine. 

“…well, this is a lousy way to say goodbye, but it’s all I got,” Nick continues on and Grissom keeps his eyes trained on the screen as he writes. 

“I love you. You raised me right… and I’m going to miss you,” Nick says into the recorder, getting choked up with every word. 

“Y/n. I’m so sorry I can’t be with you, sweetheart, and our future child. I love you most and I’ll miss you the most too. P… promise me you’ll go on that trip I promised you, even if I’m not there to take it with you. Promise me you’ll find someone to look after you…” Nick goes on saying his goodbyes, only getting more choked up and stuttering every few minutes. 

As he goes on, Grissom’s eyes widen at the mention of a child, but he quickly plays it off.

“As for the rest of you guys. I know you did the best you could to find me and get me home to my beautiful wife,” he continues on as Grissom continues to read his lips. 

“Grissom…” he starts and that’s when Grissom stops writing it down, focusing on what he’s saying to him. 

“No, you never did, Nick,” Grissom sighs as he replies to Nick out loud. 

He continues to watch as Nick cries, but soon he starts to freak out. Grissom watches carefully as confusion washes over him. 

“He’s going into convolutions. He’s losing it!” Sara comments just as y/n walks in. 

Y/n walks over to Grissom, who spares her a quick look before watching alongside her as Nick seems to be thrashing around. Y/n lets out a breath as she closes her eyes, not being able to watch it anymore. 

“What’s going on?!” Sara voices her exact thoughts as they continue to watch. 

“Wha…?” Grissom goes to ask, but pauses when he sees it. 

“Wait a minute…” he says in realization as he picks up his mouse to zoom in on Nick. 

“Ants…” Grissom confirms what he zooms in on, making y/n open her eyes. 

“My God, he’s being eaten alive,” Grissom observes as they all watch the ants in the box with him. 

Together they all watch in sadness as he withers around, just trying anything to get the ants away and not succeeding. He pulls a glove out of his pocket and uses it to stuff up his nose. 

“That’s it, Nicky… stay still… they won’t bite. As much,” Grissom proudly says before looking up at y/n. 

“I have something for you,” he tells the girl and she arches an eyebrow. 

He folds up the paper and hands it to her, making more confusion wash over her. He smiles softly and reassuringly at her. 

“These ants could help us find him, but in the meantime, I think you should hear what he had to say to you,” Grissom tells her as he sets a reassuring hand on her shoulder. 

“T…Thanks,” she whispers out as she takes the paper before turning to leave and head back to Warrick. 

“Oh and y/n. Congratulations,” he replies, making her turn around and look at him. 

He gives her a small knowing smile and she can’t help but to just smile back. She gives him a small ‘thank you,’ in response with a nod before fully turning and walking back to where she’d left Warrick. 

Y/n’s Pov: 

I start back to the lab Warrick is in before making a split second decision to go into the locker room instead. I quickly look around just to make sure I’m alone and when I find that I am I sigh as I take a seat on the bench. I hold the paper Grissom gave me and I go to open it, but pause. 

I take a deep breath before trying to open it again, but again I fail. Tears of frustration make their way to my face and I sigh as I try to hold them back. With one last puff of air, I open the paper to read over it. 

“My name is Nick Stokes. If anyone… finds this tape, turn it in to the Las Vegas… PD. There should be a reward…” is the first line I read and a gasp leaves my lips.

“Mom. Sisko… y/n….” Is the next line and a tear falls as I suck in a breath. 

I quickly close the paper for a moment as more and more tears build up. I take a moment to let my tears fall before reopening the paper and continuing on with sniffles. 

“…well, this is a lousy way to say goodbye, but it’s all I got,” I read and a choked sound leaves my throat as I put my other hand over my mouth. 

“I love you. You raised me right… and I’m going to miss you,” more tears fall as my lip starts to tremble and I take another pause before starting to read again. 

“Y/n. I’m so sorry I can’t be with you, sweetheart, and our future child. I love you most and I’ll miss you the most too. P… promise me you’ll go on that trip I promised you even if I’m not there to take it with you. Promise me you’ll find someone to look after you…” by the end I’m fully sobbing as I hold the paper close to my chest. 

I sit there for a good few minutes before sobering up and wiping at my face. I sigh softly before getting up from the bench and standing in front of my locker. I pause a moment as I look at Nick’s locker that Grissom so nicely assigned right next to mine on our first day.

I quickly shake my head and bite my lip before opening my locker. I set the note lightly on the shelf and stand frozen for a moment before closing it. With a very heavy breath, I open Nick’s locker. 

It’s then I let out another very harsh breath when I see the sonogram he has tucked under his jeans:

I read the top where Nick had nicely written out: baby Stokes 9 weeks with a small smiley face. I quickly slide it back under and close the locker. With another heavy sigh, I walk over to the sink and wash my face with cold water. 

“He’ll be home. He will be,” I whisper down to my stomach before standing straight again. 

I look myself over and sigh once more before walking out of the locker room. I walk back to where I had left Warrick and find Greg, Catherine, and Hodges in the room with him. 

“This has got to be a prototype. It was probably built to test how long he could keep somebody alive inside,” Catherine observes out loud as she walks around the box with her flashlight. 

“Hi, mamas. You doing ok?” Warrick asks me when he sees me come up next to him. 

I keep quiet with my arms wrapping themselves around my stomach and I shake my head. Warrick finally catches sight of my eyes and sighs before pulling me into his side. 

“Now, what are those?” Hodges questions as he bends down and points to something underneath the box, making Greg, who’s under it, pause to look at him. 

“I don’t know,” Greg replies and Hodges seems to understand that it was a stupid question as he stands up. 

“All right,” Warrick speaks up, getting all of our attention as he straightens up a bit, keeping me in a side hug. 

“Based on this battery and what’s running off of it,” Warrick starts to explain, but pauses for a moment as if thinking over how to explain it better while glancing at me as he hesitates. 

“And the fact that we kept the damn light on for as long as we did,” he continues to explain, pausing again as he takes in a big breath. 

“I figure Nick’s got another 90 minutes left in there,” he concludes and I take in a harsh breath as reality slowly starts to set in even more. 

It goes quiet for a moment, but Warrick lifts his arm with his watch and pulls it up past my face to set it with the hand he has around my neck still. He pulls it away and I see the watch says 1:30 on it. 

“So this is it… I’m going to lose my husband…” I whisper out before sinking to the floor, but Warrick quickly grabs hold of me, slowing me down so I don’t hurt myself. 

“No, no. We’re going to find him, mamas. I promised. When do I not keep my promises?” Warrick asks, but I don’t reply as I shake my head in denial and a million thoughts fly through my head. 

“Y/n. Hey. Y/n. It’s going to be okay!” Catherine shouts a bit and it’s only then I realize I’m having a panic attack. 

“Damn, she’s having a panic attack. Greg, go get some water, Hodges, go inform Grissom,” Catherine commands before she bends down in front of me. 

Both Greg and Hodges nod, eyes wide with worry before rushing out. Warrick now sits with my back against his side as I try to breathe. 

“Ok. Y/n. Honey, breath with me,” she commands me softly as she shows me how to breathe. 

“Ok. In… and out… just like that,” she couches me and my breath starts to slow down, but still not where it should be. 

“Ok. I’m going to have you do the five senses, ok?” she asks me softly and I nod at her. 

“Ok. What do you feel?” she questions and she holds up her hand for me. 

“I… I… I feel your hand a…a..and Warrick behind m…m…me,” I stutter out and she nods with a small smile. 

“Good. Good. Now what do you see?” she asks and I look around. 

“I see that evil b…b…box,” I tell her and she nods. 

“Ok… bad place to ask that. Let’s just move on. What do you hear?” she asks and I shake my head, closing my eyes. 

“I h…hear you and Warrick,” I tell her and she nods encouragingly when I reopen my eyes. 

“Ok. Now taste,” she inquires and my eyebrows knit together. 

“Umm, nothing. I haven’t eaten anything for a while,” I tell her in confusion and she just smiles at me. 

“Panic attack averted. Here, drink this,” she comments as she holds a water out to me and it’s only then I realize Greg had come back. 

“Thank you guys,” I tell them and they all smile softly at me. 

“Anytime y-” Catherine starts, but she gets cut off when Hodges comes rushing back in. 

Nick’s Pov:

♪ It was Christmas in Las Vegas, 

when the locals take the town ♪

♪ Theresa hit a streak And laid her waitress apron down She’d been playing penny poker over at the old gold spike she’s won at Texas hold ‘em So she switched to let it ride ♪

I sing softly to myself to try and keep calm. Thinking of the lyrics rather than the situation I’m in and how much y/n must be scared. 

The singing doesn’t get my mind off of things for long and soon I find myself thinking of just getting home again. I think about just wanting to sit and watch a movie from the red box with y/n again. I’m soon pulled from my thoughts though when there’s a shifting sound. 

I grab another one of the glow sticks and pop it, making it come to life as the creaking noise gets louder. 

“Hey! I’m, in here!” I yell out as I hit the plexiglass in hopes that I’m being saved. 

“Hey!” I continue to yell, my voice cracking as I keep hitting the plexiglass. 

♪ It was Christmas in Las Vegas, 

when the locals take the town ♪

♪ Theresa hit a streak And laid her waitress apron down… ♪

I start to sing as loudly as I can again, but my breath slowly fails and my head falls back down as I realize nobody’s here. It’s only a few minutes later when a loud crack sound starts and I see the plexiglass start to crack slowly up the sides of the box. I keep the glow stick low as I breathe hard while watching it crack more and more. 

“Stop… no, no,” I whisper out as I put my hand up to the plexiglass. 

“Oh, my God,” I whisper out in fear the more it cracks with no signs of stopping. Soon dirt starts to break those and my feet are under a mountain of it.

Third Person Pov: 

Once the ant crawls farther into view Grissom hits the print button and as soon as the picture of the screen prints he’s ripping it off the printer. Gil quickly rushes to his office and looks through all the books he has. Soon he’s pulling one from the shelf and flips through it till it lands on the page he’s looking for. 

He pauses when he thinks he’s found it before picking up the screen shot to look at the ant again. 

“Solenopsis invicta,” Grissom says out loud to himself as he confirms what kind of ant it is. 

Y/n’s Pov: 

“Grissom’s got something. He wants us all in evidence meeting room 4 now,” he rushes out as he stands against the door frame, panting for air. 

“We’re on our way. Warrick, you got her?” Catherine asks as she looks behind me. 

“Yeah. Yeah. Go. We’ll meet you guys there,” he promises and she nods before reaching out for me. 

I grab her hand and she gives mine a firm squeeze. She gives a tight lipped smile before getting up and heading out of the lab. Greg bends down and puts a hand on my shoulder. 

“Hang in there, y/n. Nick’s coming home,” he tells me as he squeezes my shoulder before getting up to follow Hodges and Catherine. 

Warrick sits with me for a moment as I continue to just calm down. Once my breathing is fully back to normal, Warrick gets up. 

“Ok. Slowly. Slowly,” Warrick tells me as he helps me up alongside him. 

“Thank you, B…” I say when we’re both standing and I squeeze his forearm as I give him a light smile. 

“Anytime, mamas. You know that,” he tells me as he smiles back at me. 

I sigh and hold a hand to my head as I start to feel a little tired. Warrick chuckles lightly, making me look up at him in confusion. 

“Tired?” he asks me and I huff at his obvious jokeful tone. 

“I’m beat, but I’m not sleeping till Nick’s right next to me,” I answer his question and he smiles, shaking his head. 

“I wouldn’t have guessed or suggested anything else, mamas,” he tells me as he holds his hands up in surrender, making me finally laugh for the first time since all of this happened. 

“Oh please, you so would have,” I comment with a roll of my eyes and he chuckles. 

“Maybe I would have, maybe not. Come on. Let’s go find your husband,” he tells me and I smile up at him as he wraps an arm around my shoulder. 

Together we walk to meet up with everyone else in evidence room 4. They all rush around getting stuff ready and just Warrick and I walk in, Grissom rushes in. Warrick and I stand off to the side as he keeps his arm around me. 

“They’re fire ants, very rare in Nevada. They don’t like our soil. The only places you find them around Vegas are in plant and tree nurseries,” Grissom announces as he walks around the table to where Catherine is sitting at a computer. 

Warrick lets go of me before making me sit in the chair Catherine just abandoned. He starts to look at a stack of papers Catherine just printed and crosses off places not in the search grid. 

“There’s 11 nurseries in the greater Las Vegas area!” Catherine adds on what she found from a quick search. 

“Okay, I’ve got the webcam trace down to here,” Archie speaks next as he circles the area he narrowed it down to on the map and Warrick starts crossing things off his list. 

“And the data from the black box in Walter Gordon’s truck gave us a 23-mile travel radius,” Greg adds on as he too circles his findings on the map, making the circles overlap ever so slightly. 

“Okay, I’ve got two nurseries within the overlap area. Here! And here!” Warrick announces as he walks up to the table and draws two x’s over the spots. 

“Wait. Wait. Wait. Wait. Kelly Gordon, the daughter, worked with plants,” Sara explains and we all look at her.

“Hold on. Hold on,” Sara says before she rushes out of the room, making us all wait about a minute before she comes running back in with a file in her hand. 

“Hey guys, Nick is here,” she says as she points to the x on the left that Warrick had drawn. 

“Well, pack up everyone, let’s go! I’ll call the owner and talk to him on the way,” Grissom exclaims and I jump up as everyone starts rushing out of the room. 

“Hey. Maybe you should stay here,” Warrick tells me and I immediately shake my head. 

“If you think for one minute that I’m sitting back here while you all go find my husband, you're dead wrong, B,” I reply and he sighs as he pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“Mama, we don’t know what-” he starts but gets cut off. 

“Let her come, Warrick. She’s allowed to,” Grissom interrupts with a soft smile my way. 

“What! But-” Warrick starts, but stops when Grissom just nods at him. 

“Ok… fine. At least wear your vest? Just in case,” Warrick tells me and I nod at him. 

“If it’ll make you feel better for me too, I will. I’ll meet you at your car,” I promise him with a firm nod before rushing off to the locker room. 

Once in the locker room, I come to stop in front of my locker and quickly open it. I grab my vest out before slamming it shut once again. I quickly strap my vest around me before rushing back out of the locker room and down the many, many hallways. 

I rush out into the parking garage and I stop to watch as Grissom and Sara drive past me with their cars' emergency lights on. Once they pass, I run over to Warrick's car and hop into the passenger side. He quickly turns his lights on before pulling out of the parking space. 

Soon before I know it, we’re pulling up on location and I see that almost half our police fleet are here, making relief wash over me as sirens blare all around me. Grissom’s car is just in front of us and I hold on as Warrick takes the turn into the nursery drive. We follow Grissom all the way up the drive and come to a stop next to his car. 

Grissom gets out of his car and I yank my seatbelt off to follow after him. He meets up with the owner at the front of his car just as I come up beside him. 

“You said on the phone you had a fire ant mound. Where is it?” he asks as he and the owner get close to one another. 

“People usually prefer to stay away from it,” the owner comments as he turns and starts to lead us all over to it. We all stop pointing our flashlights at the mound as Grissom stops and looks at it for a moment. 

“All right, look. Fan out. Look for loose soil. Anything that might’ve been dug up recently,” Grissom commands and we all rush off. 

We all fan out like he said, officers all going in different directions. I stick by Warrick as we walk briskly while searching the ground with our lights. Everyone looks for a few minutes, but nothing seems remotely the littlest bit off. 

“Hey! I’m picking up the webcam transmitter!” We hear Catherine yell out and I look at Warrick. 

“She’s got something! Move, move!” An officer yells out and I smile. 

“We found him, B… we really found him,” I excitedly say and Warrick smiles, nodding. 

“Come on, mama. We’re close,” he agrees with a smile as we both pick up and start to jog to where Catherine is. 

Soon we come up behind her and she slows down to look around. We slow down too and help in looking around with our lights. She turns to her left and continues walking until she almost trips over something, making her turn back. 

She turns around and shines her light on what she tripped on, only to find a tube sticking out of the ground. She pauses a moment before turning and walking a little further only to find another tube. Her monitor picks up in its beeping and I look at Warrick as she bends down to the ground. 

She drops her light and the monitor before she starts to dig around frantically with her hands. She finds what seems to be a clear bag of sorts and she rips off her glove, making it fall back to the floor. 

“This is it!! I found it!!” she screams out as she scrambles to pick the bag back up and open it. 

“It’s here! I found it! This is it!” she screams out again as she looks over the remote. 

“Nick!” she shouts into the pipe as everyone else races over to us. 

“Nick… we’re here. We’re all here! Hang on! Nicky!” she shouts into the pipe as officers run over with shovels and Warrick takes one. 

They all start to shovel at the ground and Catherine wraps an arm around me as she holds her flashlight up with the other. We all watch with bated breath as they continue to pull dirt from the earth. 

Nick’s Pov: 

“Nicky!” I think I hear Catherine, but decide it’s just my mind playing tricks on me for the millionth time. 

I feel more and more of the ants biting at me and I groan as my heart starts to pound harder. I close my eyes, but open them when there’s a click sound. It’s then I see Doc Robbins and David looking down at me before he sighs and shakes his head in sorrow. 

“It’s a damn shame they didn’t get to him sooner,” Robbins says as he continues to look down at me. 

“I sure will miss him,” David comments and it’s quiet for a moment. 

“You know, David, I’ve seen fire ant bites in my time, but never anything like this,” Robbins tells David as he lifts my hand to inspect it. 

“Do you think he suffered?” David asks as he cocks his head to the side. 

“Do I think he suffered?” Doc Robbins parrots before pausing. 

“Yes. Definitely,” he finishes and I try to yell, but nothing will come out. 

I close my eyes before opening them again to the sound of laughter. I watch as they still stand over me, laughing. 

“All right, on three,” Robbins says before pausing. 

“Uno…” David starts off. “Dos…” Robbins jumps in. Tres!” They both yell out and all of a sudden Bob Newworth starts to play. 

“All right. Would you care to do the ‘y’ incision?” Robbins asks David and there's an audible shing sound. 

“Well ‘y’ not?” David asks as he takes the meat cleaver that passed over me and all I can do is watch. 

There’s a few audible crack sounds and a lot of slouchy sounds before Doc Robbins is getting out a chainsaw. He puts the chainsaw down before looking back at me. There’s another crack as he rips my ribs from my body only to toss them aside. 

“He won’t be needing this anymore,” he comments as he passes my liver to David. 

“Nice!” he says as he pulls more from my body and my eyebrows knit together in confusion. 

“A lung,” Doc Robbins says as he passes that over me to David as well. 

Then all of a sudden my father stands over me across from Doc Robbins. He clasps his hands and gives a deadpan look.  

“So Doc… how did my son die? Anaphylactic shock?” he asks Doc Robbins, who chuckles. 

“No, no, he didn’t live long enough for that. COD was asphyxiation,” Doc Robbins answers in a very cheerful tone. 

“Oh!” My dad says in almost awe and I just watch on in confusion. 

“When the blood oxygen drops to less than 16% and the CO2 builds up there’s a rapid loss of consciousness. Death within minutes. With no disfiguring physical findings,” Doc Robbins explains in a cheery tone. 

“He’ll look great at the funeral,” my father comments with no hint of sadness in his voice. “Oh. Yes,” Robbins agrees. 

“His mother will appreciate that as well as his wife,” my father comments again and Robbins gives a small “good” In response. 

Robbins then reaches into my open chest and rips my heart out. He holds it up and it sounds like it’s still beating. 

“Your son had a good heart,” Robbins says before slapping it down into my fathers hand. 

Suddenly my eyes fly open and find I’m still in the box with ants still crawling all over me. I let out the smallest puff of air as I fight the feeling of the ants biting me. I close my eyes again and try to think of something, anything more pleasant. My mind wanders and I see an image of me at a counter holding a little girl:

“I love you Daddy,” she whispers into my ear as she lays her head against my shoulder and I lay mine against hers. My eyes fly open once more and more tears fall as my lip trembles my fight to get out renewed. 

To Be Continued…

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For Future Fics please add yourselves to our taglists if you wish to be tagged in anything upcoming. Thank You! We hope you guys enjoyed!

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[randomratty]

[💎] Hello, welcome to my blog!

Let’s get things started by a few things shall we? Listed below are things along the lines of dont’s and do’s. Please read those so we don’t have any problems in the future!!

I’m in the SFW/Tickle community!

If you think it’s weird I’m sorry..

and if you do not like it that’s okay!, just don’t be rude okay? ^_^

I do roleplays like that to ,

(if you are a close friend of mine who sees this text who never knew)

Now you know But please Dont Be mean abt What i like qwp Because if You DID not know i was gonna tell you but I wasn’t ready yet because I Fear That I’ll lose My Friends,

I have ADD and other stuff.

I’m in a lot of fandoms, and will (most likely) post some things about those fandoms, listed are the fandoms I’m in (warning, there is a lot-)

[🪄] Fandoms I’m in:

Fnaf

Super Mario

Dbh(Detroit become human)

Little nightmares

Mha(my hero)

Assclass(assassination classroom)

Among the sleep

Dying light

Whos your daddy

Cuphead

Crk(cookie run kingdom

Wander over yonder

Gravity falls

Tbhk (the bathroom hanko kun)

Yandere sim

The promised neverland

Demon slayer

K-on

Danganronpa

Doors

Undertale

Hellokitty

Roblox

Minecraft

Fornite

Tattletale

Doki doki

Saiki k

Misfortune

Franbow

Valorant

Spookys jumpscare mainson

Hotel trasylvania

Scp?

Backrooms

The mandela catalogue

The owl house

Fnf?

Encanto

Moana

Frozen

Goosebumps

Bad guys

Nightmare before Christmas

Don’t hug me I’m scared (semi into it-)

Bendy and the Ink Machine(sorta)

Star VS The Forces Of Evil

Down To Earth

Home sick

Dead but not gone

Hocus Pocus

Helluva Boss

Hazbin Hotel

Welcome home

Billie bust up

Spy x family

A whisker away

The cat returns

Wandering witch

All saints street

The walten files

alternate invasion

Alternate watch

The Little mermaid

Cinderella

Scratchin melodii

Tangled

The amazing digital circus

A plague tale innocence

Angel hare

Wii deleted you

Ponytown

Ashes town

Mythical meadows

Breezy town

Luminous kingdom

Blues clues

Bo on the go

Balvenie Birthday Party

Creepy pasta

Poppy play time 1-3

Fundamental paper education

The boilled one phenomenon

Don’t not take this cat home

Indigo park

The classrooms

Kinitopet

Dandys World

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[🚫] ⚠️ IM A MINOR! NSFW DNI, IF YOU DO, ITS AN IMMEDIATE BLOCK AND REPORT. ⚠️

Please don’t randomly DM me if I do not know you personally. Either if you’re a follower or not. If you also have little to nothing on your tumblr page and is following me, I will block you, I may assume you’re a bot of some sort.

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[👧] She/Her pronouns plz! I support any pronouns, just plz tell me so I don’t mess that up!

Plz no homophobia, transphobia, creeps, NSFW, etc. I WILL block you if I experience any of it here. Plz take your negativity someplace else.

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[🔞] Remember, I AM A MINOR! Plz take caution when talking to me either in DMs or in my ask box.

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⚠️Here are the boundaries that I have for myself.. please follow them, thank you!⚠️

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Okay so first up;

[🤞✨] 1. I have a phobia of spiders, so please don’t show me any spiders in my ask box or DMs. If roleplaying with me, you can type in “*throws spider at you*”, that’s it, just no showing me any spiders.

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[👑] 2. If I don’t know you well enough, please don’t call me anything but Trinity. Only close friends can call me anything besides that.

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[🌸] 3. Please do not vent to me WITHOUT ASKING. Please ask first, only close friends/best friends can vent to me anytime, though yes, they still need to ask for permission.

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[🌟] 4. I AM UNCOMFORTABLE WITH ANYTHING NSFW/18+! I am a MINOR (below 18). I may be in some 18+ fandoms but please.. for the love of god don’t send me anything nsfw/18+. Just don’t act weird near me and we’re fine.

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[🍭] 5. If you follow me and ask for something for the first time, please don’t make it personal or anything.

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[💞] 6. I can be sensitive to stuff and easy to scare, and I worry a lot about my close friends who I care about dearly. So please be cautious when talking to me and don’t be rude to my close friends, thank you!

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If I have anymore boundaries I will add to the list.

I’m adopted by 6 father figures

The father figure are 6 different people, (by roleplay)

NOTE: ONLY CLOSE PEOPLE CAN CALL ME RAT AS A NICKNAME/the People I tagged in my blog, well most. If I just met you a few days ago pls don’t call me Rat,

People who Can call me A Rat: @/Angryxxsigh @/kennyisntavablie @/witchyroman @/tickling-giggles @/wally-darlings-stuff @/itsbarnaby And my other bestie (she Doesnt have tumblr/

My music playlist!! https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2QeCeaUP5a86nbMZDXsTUD?si=byS9uazPRlG1JhQw_f3JGw&pi=u-SWPOhq78RPKI

Ask first just incase By the new people who has been added.

I like Cartoons and Disney

I do not do any head canon request! I only did two? But I prefer not to do them,

My roleplay Blogs: @julie-joyful-1, @ellie-jade-harper My oc,! @trinitybutsmol (my irl but child @asher-francis abusive uncle, @trinity-trin and a different ua of trin And The uncle is Hers.

Thank you for taking your time to read this! Feel free to enjoy my blog! 💞

@ashwasfound was the one who made it for me:3 so ty!

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This blog is also a Roleplay blog! for my Irl! :3

🐀🐀🐀🐀🐀🐀🐀🐀🐀🐀🐀🐀🐀🐀🐀🐀🐀🐀

I post a lot of different stuff,

I MAY or not post my own art on there (depends if I have the courage because my art is bad)

I love Caffeine!… I’m obsessed with it I’m trying to slow down sorta

I’m abit shy if we ever Vc

But I will Most likely get used of it And be hyper.

I’m Childish at times by that like asking for like Plushes etc,

I won’t always Post Because if i need a Break or something,

Got any questions? Feel free to ask Me in my inbox!

I love a lot of animals,

I like collecting crystals,

If your a SYS/SYSTEM you are safe here!

Gacha maybe Posted Here

Don’t be afraid to ask me stuff or ask stuff to roleplay!,

I Tend to get clingy

💜💙💛💜💙💛💜💙💛💜💙💛💜💙💛💜💙💛

My besties<33 @angryxxsigh @itscreamytears @kennyisntavaliable @romanflowerwitch @ashwasfound @tickling-giggles @wally-darlings-stuff @itsbarnaby @yourdearestmailman @jinleebelee @yourlocalzayzay @flufflover7 @trashyswitch @yourdarlingneighbor @foamy-space @justalilgiddybibs @chocolateydinosaur @bea-joyful @xobittersweet GO FOLLOW THEM 👹

💜💙💛💜💙💛💜💙💛💜💙💛💜💙💛💜💙💛

[hollyethecurious]

6x12 Fix-It Fic: Tell No Tales

Summary: A fix-it for Season 6 episode 12 - Murder Most Foul. In where Hook never receives the pages from August.

A/N: I have no qualms over the fact that Hook killed Robert, I just hate that it added angst for angst sake in the show. This is how I WISH it had gone. Also, I realize there was no illustration of Hook killing Robert in the book, but this is my fix-it and I'll take liberties however I choose, gosh darnit!

Much love to @kmomof4 for giving this a once over!

Rated G / ~1k / Available on Ao3 and FF.net / buy me a coffee / add to tag list / Curious? Come Ask Me!

~/~

August sat staring at the pages laid out upon his workbench, a war of conscience churning away in his gut. He couldn’t tell them he hadn’t found them, his nose might give him away. Neither David nor Hook were magical - though Hook had been not so long ago - but he didn’t dare risk lying and ruining the progress he’d made towards redeeming himself for all his past misdeeds.

Misdeeds that were cataloged in the pages in front of him. Pages that told the parts of his story he was least proud of and had wanted to make disappear from the storybook. Pages that displayed a number of dark offenses, and though not all of them were solely Pinocchio's doing, each one would likely carry their own complicated ramifications, despite being ancient history.

The rap of knuckles against the workshop door preceded the swaggering entrance of the person who would likely suffer from those ramifications, and August hastily gathered and stowed away the pages before Hook had a chance to see them.

“Apologies for coming by so late,” the Captain said, making his way towards the bench. “I was on my way home and wanted to stop by and let you know we won’t be needing those pages afterall.”

August could not help the way his entire body balked in response. “You don’t? But I thought David needed them to--”

“David got the answers he was looking for,” Hook said in a low tone. “It was King George’s treachery that led to Robert’s death.”

“Are you… are you certain of that?”

“Aye,” Hook sighed. “He admitted to it, and Dave…” Fiddling with the end of his hook, the man paused, his Adam’s apple bobbing uncomfortably before he carried on. “Dave has made his peace with it. He got the closure he needed.”

“That’s… that’s great,” August replied, his pulse racing with turmoil as his conscience warred with his heart.

“In fact,” Hook continued, taking a deep breath as he dug his hand into his pant’s pocket and pulled out a black velvet box. “He gave me his blessing to ask Emma to marry me, so when I get home…”

He left the statement hanging in midair, swirling around the box that was now open with a sparkling diamond ring sitting expectantly within the satin lining. Reaching forward, August took the box to give the ring a closer look.

“It’s perfect,” he stated, his words slightly choked with emotion. “Congratulations.” Snapping the box closed, he handed it back to Hook. “You and Emma deserve every happiness.”

“Thanks, mate.” Returning the box to his pocket, Hook started to leave, but something caused him to turn back. “Look, mate. I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye, or gotten on, but I…” Swiping his tongue over his lips, Hook lifted his eyes to meet August’s. Sincerity and concern, the likes of which he had never seen in the pirate’s gaze, pierced through him from those blue depths. “I haven’t always been your biggest supporter, and I know I could have been more… gracious, regarding your and Emma’s friendship, but I want you to know, I see how you’ve changed.”

August sat up a bit straighter, shifting in his chair as the unexpected remarks continued to flow from the pirate’s mouth.

“I know what it’s like to have constant reminders of the terrible things you’ve done surrounding you.” Hook began to twist the ring on his pointer finger around with his thumb, a sad, half smile pulling at the corner of lips. “Some of them I choose to keep as proof that I am not the man I once was, while others…” Adjusting his stance, Hook rubbed his hand along his jaw, clearly feeling uncomfortable by the conversation, yet unwilling to let the awkwardness of the moment keep him from saying his piece. “What I’m trying to say is, if you do find those pages, the ones you said you weren’t particularly proud of what they revealed about your past, and you find them to be more a hindrance than a help in regards to the future, then take my advice. Burn them. Some things are best left buried. It doesn’t change the amends you’ve made or the reconciliations you’ve attempted. If all they serve is to cause you pain in making you relive the deeds of a person who no longer exists, then… get rid of them.”

Several ticks of the clock echoed through the workshop, their soft clicks drowned out by the scrape of August’s chair as he stood and thrust his hand out towards Hook. “I will. Thank you, Captain.”

Hook gave August’s hand a firm shake, then with one last nod, he bid him goodnight and departed. For the first time in many hours, August felt at peace. Collecting the pages from where he’d stashed them, he made his way towards the fireplace and tossed them into the flames.

Hook was right. No good could come from those pages. David had made peace with his father’s passing, George was already locked away for his many other atrocities, and Hook… was no longer Hook. Besides, for too many years, August had failed in his mission to watch over and protect the princess. Time and again he’d failed to do the right thing so she could fulfill her destiny. Burning a few pages seemed a small price to pay to protect her happy ending now. A happy ending that would only be marred if anyone ever knew the truth. A truth currently curling into cinders as the image of a fearsome pirate captain running a man through with his sword succumbed to the flames of the workshop fire.

“Dead men tell no tales,” August murmured, reading the illustration’s caption as it turned to ash. Indeed, dead men tell no tales… and neither would he.

My ao3 | ff.net | buy me a coffee | add to tag list | Curious? Come Ask Me!

Tagging the Curious Crew:

(Please be advised that I only keep one tag list for all fic updates and new works. If at any time you wish to be removed, just shoot me an ask or a DM. No worries.)

@kmomof4 @sals86 @jennjenn615 @darkcolinodonorgasm @artistic-writer @courtorderedcake @winterbaby89 @snowbellewells @heavenlyjoycastle @sunshine2632 @stahlop @resident-of-storybrooke @kday426 @cocohook38 @unworried-corsair @aprilqueen84 @tiganasummertree @ilovemesomekillianjones @ultraluckycatnd @wyntereyez @ultimiflos @superchocovian @qualitycoffeethings @facesiousbutton82 @theonceoverthinker @piracytheorist @shardminds​ @skystar87 @teamhook @itsfabianadocarmo @xarandomdreamx @queen-serena88 @donteattheappleshook @jrob64 @therooksshiningknight @karl0ta @melly326 @nadine200179 @xsajx @demisexualemmaswan @lfh1226-linda @alexa-fangirl-forever @klynn-stormz @onceratheart18 @monosalvatore16 @jonesfandomfanatic @ouatpost @spaceconveyor @natascha-ronin @zaharadessert @earanemith @dragonfireonthehorizon @strangestarlighttree @the-darkdragonfly @heratulipsia @pirateherokillian @sailtoafarawayland @captainirishstubble @uhthreeyuh @justanotherflailgirl @elizabeethan @xhookswenchx @youherotype @chinawoodfan @batana54 @fandomlovver @pcrcabcth @strangestarlighttree @captainswan21 @karlyfr13s @emmythedaydreamer @motherkatereloyshipper @jadehowlettthewolf @anmylica @deckerstarblanche @julesep3026 @teastarsandplayingcards @swancakes @bluewildcatfanatic @pirateprincessofpizza @jackieorioncat @an-overly-caffeinated-introvert @bigfunguschungus @veiled-in-moxie

[slvttyharlow]

Rules and Guidelines!

🎤 Please read this before sending any requests in, if I see a request that breaks my guidelines, it'll be ignored and deleted. 

🎤 Please also respect my rules, and don't send hate because I don't write a topic you want.

◦ Who I'll write for!

◦ Well of course Jack Harlow himself and Jeremy [WMCJ]. Might add Urban Wyatt and Clayborn Harlow, later on, wanna see how I do with Jack first.

◦ Can be either platonic or romantic requests.

◦ What I'll write!

◦ Pregnancy, marriage, friends to lovers, soulmates/fated mates trope, smaus [Instagram lives, college au], enemies to lovers, enemies to friends to lovers, friends with benefits, second chance, childhood friends to lovers, insecurities etc. If you don't see a trope you like you can definitely ask if I can write it in my ask, just make sure to follow rule 008 down below.

◦ fem!reader, black!reader, albino!reader, mixed!reader, oblivious!reader, insecure!reader, grumpy/sunshine!reader [grumpy/sunshine!character], plus-size!reader.

◦ I can write light smut/suggestive content, nothing too heavy.

◦ What I won't write!

◦ R***, self-harm, su!c!de/su!c!dal thoughts, incest/stepcest/pseudo cest, gore, eating disorders, heavy trauma, heavy violence, sexual assault, underage sex, and non-consensual activity, if the reader is black, I won’t be doing people hating on her skin color cause I’m black and that makes me uncomfortable. Please note that I only do black!reader cause I’m black myself, I’ll not be doing any other race.

◦ Rules containing requests!

001. If you want to know if requests are open/closed, you can check my navigation which will always be pinned or linked in my bio.

002. Please always send requests through my ask box, will not be accepting ones that come through my messages because I'll forget it's there.

003. Please keep in mind that I won't work faster if you rush me. Writing can take time.

004. If you're going to send a request, please make sure you haven't already sent it to another person, if I find out someone else did/or received the same request, I’ll not do it.

005. I accept fluff, angst to fluff, funny fics, hurt/comfort, and angst but nothing with death.

006. I accept headcanons, imagines, one-shots, mini-series, series drabbles, and thirsts.

007. You can request black!reader just specify in the request. Otherwise, the reader's race won't be mentioned in fics so it can be inclusive to everyone.

008. Feel free to be as specific in your request, it really helps my writing when you're detailed in what you want to see in the fic. Like if you want enemies to lovers trope, you need to tell me why they hate each other.

009. I do smaus as well so if you want it just specify it in your request.

010. You can also give ideas for a series for any person that is on my who I'll write for list.

011. You have to be 18+ to request and read nsfw works, please note I'll only do light smut/suggestive content, still new to writing smut.

012. No posting my work on other platforms, only I have the right to do so.

◦ Other Things!

🎤 Anons are always welcome here if you want to have your own emoji, specify in your request + send your pronouns [you will only have to on your first ask so I know which pronouns to use].

🎤 You can always talk to me in my ask box about anything, it doesn't always have to be about requests, send me tiktoks of Jack 🤣

🎤 Just don't trauma dump.

🎤 Always treat me with respect and kindness, and remember to treat people how you want to be treated.

🎤 Please note these rules may change over time so always check.

🎤 If you read this far, thank you and I hope to see you in my inbox.

© harlowsthetic 2023.

[themaladaptivewriter12]

Hey! Hi! Hello! I’m the MaladaptiveWriter12 and welcome to my Dreamscape! I’m Sleepy and this is my new and improved blog! You can also find me in another dream, my Ao3: TheMaladaptiveWriter12! ( ´ ω ` )ノﾞ

For starters, this dreamscape is 18+! Please be respectful of this! If you are under the age, and or uncomfortable with this, do not interact. On the same note, a lot of this blog’s happenings will be SFW, but I will be posting quite a bit of NSFW works and such. I will add tags and warnings on those posts to make viewing easier, just in case there are some topics anyone would like to avoid.

Now to go over some rules! Some of these rules are subject to change, but I’ll go over that later. As for now, here are some of my blog rules.

I allow constructive criticism, but I will not accept hate!

I’m all ears if you have any input on my works, weather it be my writing style, something you’d like to see, etc. And you don’t have to like my work, and you don’t have to tell me if and or that you don't like it, that's okay. But if I’ve gotten something wrong, or if you’ve found something I’ve written to be offending, please tell me. Of course, I’m not purposely trying to offend anyone, and I’ll try to avoid that, but we all are human, and we make mistakes. That being said, I will not tolerate deliberate hate towards me, my work, other commenters, fans, followers, etc. You get the picture. If I find it, you will be removed.  ＼＼٩(๑`^´๑)۶／／

And another rule, do not take my work and claim it as your own, and or repost it on a different platform!

I know I shouldn’t have to say this, but I think we all know how people are nowadays when it comes to art. Do not repost my work! As a writer, I’ve spent too long and too hard on my works for someone to take claim and all credit for something they didn’t do. As I wrote above, I’m cross posting my works on Ao3, under the same username, TheMaladaptiveWriter12, so if you see my works being reposted on any platform other than these two, and or under a different name, please notify me as soon as possible.     (*_ _)人

On the topic of reposting, reblogs are allowed!

Tumblr reblogging is much appreciated unless said otherwise! It helps me out, but all I ask is if you would use my custom tag, #TheMaladaptiveWriter12 when you do so.  (´꒳`)♡

Welcome to Rem, the phase of sleep where most dreams occur!

Twisted Wonderland Dreamscapes 

Twisted Wonderland OC (Mirai Yuhara) Dreamscapes

TBA

Twisted Wonderland AU Dreamscapes

TBA

You figured out you were dreaming, didn’t you? Well that’s the point of Lucid Dreaming, and the best part is, you can do whatever you want!

Requests

Open

So depending how far I get with this, especially since my following right now isn’t much, I may or may not open requests. 

If it ever happens, my requests will only be works between my Twist OC and a select few of Twist characters.

And if that goes to plan, and depending how confident I am with my writing, then and only then will I open up requests outside of my OC. (With rules, of course!)

Asks

Open

So the same is happening here. I don’t know how far I will get with this, and I don’t think there’s a point in opening asks if my blog isn’t even being seen.

But if that ever happens, my asks will have rules and mostly will be an “ask me anything” type ask box. Ask me or my Twist OC about anything, how we are doing, thoughts about the game, Twisted Wonderland if anyone needs specifics, stuff like that. 

And if you have something that could be a “request,” but just want a short answer, feel free to drop it as an ask!

 See rules here  __φ(◎◎ヘ)

Did you think you were awake? Felt so real, didn’t it? False awakening will do that to you. But that’s okay, you’re almost awake, just a little further.

Behind the Scenes

This will be where I ramble about the makings of my works. Thought processes, references, stuff like that. This way I can give more insight on my works, to share my thoughts on a more intellectual level, if that makes sense. σ(￣、￣〃)

Updated on 10/8/2023

[rainintheevening]

Sorry not sorry, I'm going to ask for Steve and Bucky. 79.

Look, it's not who you ask for, I'm shocked you've only sent me one ask. Come on, girl, up your game. :D

Okay, from 100 ways to say ILY

Uh, this one got angsty. Also feels different from my usual S&B stuff...

79: “I’ll still be here when you’re ready.”

Bucky crossed the room, footsteps deliberately heavy.

Steve didn't even twitch. The comforter underneath him was rumpled, but he clearly had slept on top of the blankets. His back was to Bucky, his arms gathered in close to his chest. His breathing stayed steady.

Bucky paused by the bed, frowning softly. "Hey, pal?" he murmured, cautiously reaching to touch Steve's shoulder.

Steve jerked, he flinched away from Bucky's fingers, and they both froze for a long moment.

Steve cleared his throat lightly; Bucky exhaled and let his hand fall back to his side.

"What do you need, Buck?" Steve asked hoarsely, turning his head a little, but not meeting Bucky's eyes.

Bucky's heart ached. After all he'd been through, after everything they'd done to each other, he still asked what Bucky needed. It was his turn to clear his throat.

"Just wanted to know what you'd like for breakfast. Nat's cooking this morning."

"Not hungry. Right now." It took effort for Steve to add that, Bucky could tell. "Leave something in the fridge maybe."

"Okay."

"Thanks." Steve dropped his head back onto the pillow.

Bucky stood by the bed long enough that he would have grown in uncomfortable with anyone else. But with Steve... He watched the slivers of sunlight that had slipped through the blinds gleaming on Steve's hair, his cheek, his jaw.

His face was mostly healed, but the ragged line that ran down from his ear to his neck seemed to be an actual scar.

But his leg... Bucky wrenched his gaze away, took a deep breath. He wasn't good at this, he could only remember what Steve had done when Bucky had first returned. But for Steve, he could try.

"Stevie," —a startled breath from the man on the bed— "I wish you'd talk to me. Or Sharon. Or... someone. I know this is hard, trust me, I know. But– You can't keep shutting us all out. It's not... good for you. Or us. I think Tony is losing his mind because he's got too many ideas and no feedback from you. And Sharon..."

Steve made a small noise, squeezed his eyes shut, and Bucky yanked himself up short.

Crap.

"No, Steve–" He exhaled a growl of frustration. His hand twitched, but he held himself in check. He hated not being able to comfort Steve with his touch. For now, words would have to suffice.

"Please, Stevie, no guilt, okay? We just... care about you. And we know it will take time. But you gotta start somewhere. If you just... I don't know." The lump swelling in his throat brought his voice down to a whisper. "Start with me."

The words hung between them for a long time.

Steve was crying, silent as a stone, and Bucky felt as if his heart would explode, it was breaking into so many little pieces.

Still with clear, deliberate footsteps, he moved to the bookshelf, grabbed the carton of kleenex.

"Here, Stevie." He came around to face Steve, made sure the other man could see him, as he set the box on the blanket.

He took one for himself.

Steve made no effort to reach out. And wasn't that just the story of the last month.

"I'm sorry, Buck," he said, but it didn’t even sound like Steve, so strangled and broken. "Maybe... maybe tomorrow."

Bucky caught his breath, blinked. Blew his nose, while the words sank in. A light came on somewhere.

That... was a first.

Hope warred with cynicism, before Bucky caught hold of hope, held on tight.

"Okay. Okay, Stevie. And you know, you know I'll still be here when you're ready. I'll be here for you."

Steve nodded against the pillow, brought up one hand to cover his face.

"Thanks," he whispered.

Bucky watched for a long moment, aching with love and hope.

"I'll label your food," he said finally, stepping back, heading for the door. "And I'll be back to make sure you've eaten. You know how I like to nag."

No response. But when he glanced back, he did see Steve reaching for a kleenex.

[adrenaline-whump]

AI art, and a couple of thoughts

Awhile back, an artist/author I follow started playing around with digital art assistants.  They made it sound interesting enough that I tried Midjourney...and got a little hooked. (Examples below the cut.)

As a person who’s never had the patience or skill to Do Art, I find it overwhelmingly joyful to just...enter some words, and be given art in return?  It’s most likely not what I pictured, but that often makes it more fun.  I had fun in the beginning putting in abstract concepts, just to see what came back.  Two of my favorites were generated by simply putting in “evil hunger” and “icy rage”. 

Evil Hunger:

Icy Rage:

At that time, Midjourney was...not good at rendering humans. You see, it works by taking all the art it has access to online, attempting to match keywords to prompts, putting that subset of the art in its little AI blender, and spitting out the result. It doesn’t know, for example, that humans typically have two eyes that look in the same direction. Early experiments gave me a lot of figures facing away from the camera in silhouette, which was good because the clearer ones usually came straight from the Uncanny Valley. I got human figures with one leg, and horses with six.

That was Midjourney version 3.  They’ve since come out with a version 4, which is much better at getting the proper number of physical features sorted. It still has a hard time with hands...but that’s a problem for all artists, from what I understand.

As you can read in the Discourse, if you’re so inclined, AI art can be Problematic. Is it stealing? Maybe. It’s a little ludicrous for me to input “icy rage” into a text box and claim the result is “my art.” There are thousands of real artists, living and dead, whose skill the AI is borrowing. That said, can we defend it as creative derivation? Artists (and writers, and most creatives) borrow from each other all the time. We use each others’ work as inspiration and let it drive our own creation. Isn’t that what’s happening here?

The question is, how much of the result is transforming others’ works, and how much is straight up copying? Unfortunately, there’s no way to tell.

For myself, I’ve got two rules. One is, I don’t use artists’ names in my prompts. A lot of people do, but to me, that’s where it crosses the line into plagiarism.  The other is...well, I’ll illustrate with something it gave me awhile back:

I asked it for a “fire opal talisman” and it gave me this set of four. Look at the one in the lower right corner. It looks like the AI has picked up a signature from whatever art it was using as a reference. That makes me profoundly uncomfortable. So my second rule is, no matter how much I like a result, anything with a ghost signature/watermark is out.

Now, this is a whump blog, so of course I was curious about how it might do for that. The answer is...meh? Even though the current version is better at rendering people, it’s still not great. Many human figures end up looking cartoony. Also, Midjourney has a list of words that cannot be used as prompts, in order to prevent misuse. That’s definitely a good thing, but it means I can’t use “bruised” for example.

I did get a couple of interesting whumpy results, like when I asked it for a film-noir-ish wounded man in a trenchcoat:

That’s not bad. I could use that as story inspo or illustration. It’s just that ultimately, I find that the more specific the result I want, the more difficult it is to wring that image out of the AI.

And one more thing

Since I’m posting this on Tumblr in November 2022, I’m contractually obligated to add this masterpiece I generated five minutes ago:

(IYKYK and all that. The weirdness of the 3 and 4 are an AI artifact, but it amuses me to think that this might be the start of a dream sequence or hallucination where our MC imagines the clock’s numbers moving and changing.)

[danggirlronpa]

FAQ

Now that we’ve got some of the Big Long FAQ Content out of the way, we can finally post an FAQ for The People! This will be updated as needed.

Last updated 7/7/2024.

Who exactly are you?

You can call me Peach! I got into Danganronpa when the Game Grumps started playing it, and haven’t quite been able to drop the interest since. I’m a 26-year-old nonbinary lesbian, and I’m currently working towards a career in video games. It's just me running this thing, so please be patient waiting for me to get back to you!

There’s a post I want you to reblog/I made something that would fit on this blog/I found something I think you should see.

Awesome! Please send a link through the submission box – I’ll take it from there! Note that it may take some time for any posts to show up on the blog. I also try to keep the blog relatively safe to browse in public, so I reserve the right not to post anything that I judge as too risque.

You are also free to @ me on posts, but keep in mind that Tumblr's blog tagging doesn't always work for me; submitting is generally the safer way to do it!

Will you tag for [X]?

I will tag anything upon request. This does not have to be triggering content - I do my best to tag all characters and ships within the post so they're easy to block or track. If the current tag is difficult to blacklist, I would be happy to add another tag! I will never ask why you want something tagged. If you send the ask off anon or request I not post it, I will answer the ask privately/add the tag without posting the ask. If I ever fail to tag something that I usually tag, please inform me right away.

You can find a full list of current trigger tags under the Blog Policies!

What's with the "for anon (:" tag?

There are a few blog policies that have generated some pretty nasty messages in my inbox. To save me the headache and my followers the annoyance, I make it a personal policy not to respond to them; instead, I just quietly reblog the content again and move on. These topics include:

Chihiro on the blog. You can find the reasoning in this post! The quick version is that I personally find most Chihiro headcanons perfectly valid, but due to the transphobia inherent in their canon depiction, it is important to me to acknowledge the popular fandom reclamation of the character as a trans girl.

Miyadera/Sister Shinguji. I outlined my full opinion on this here, and this is an important follow up! The quick version is that the degree of violence people wish on Miyadera makes me extremely uncomfortable considering her lack of canonical presence, and it reminds me of famous misogyny-driven character hate.

Will you still tag those topics for blacklisting?

Absolutely! The 'for anon :)' tag is to discourage aggressive asks, not to mock anyone who has issues with the subject.

A post where skin was lightened wasn't tagged/you tagged a post for whitewashing but it wasn't lighter than the canon skin color! Why do you keep doing that?

I have a TERRIBLE time distinguishing colors. I'm one of those people who has a ton of difficulty telling shades of the same color apart, and it's even more difficult for me to eyeball when they've changed the tints but not the lightness. You're just gonna have to tell me anytime a post like this comes up ): Sorry for the inconvenience!

Why do you reblog [X] type of "problematic" ship, but not [Y]?

Danggirlronpa sits somewhere on the line between an archiving project and a fanblog. Over the years, I’ve seen many fanworks and fandom history lost due to blog deletion and movement across platforms. This blog is intended to preserve all of this content for newer audiences and maintain an easy-to-use interface. As a preservation project, I try not to impose too many moral restrictions on what I reblog, even when it makes me personally uncomfortable. However, since this isn’t a professional archiving project, I’ve allowed myself one or two arbitrary standards for things that truly cross the line towards what I personally find uncomfortable.

If this is a project for archiving F/F ships, why do you reblog posts with just one girl?

Due to the nature of some girls’ popularity in fandom, there is a huge discrepancy in the amount of content for each of them. To even that playing field a little bit, I tend to reblog content for less appreciated girls, even if it isn’t actively sapphic.

What about why you reblog whitewashing?

Whitewashing and other forms of covertly racist, homophobic, and transphobic expressions in art are an important thing to archive because they show us the ugly side of fandom. For all four notably dark-skinned girls in DR, even after getting notably less engagement than their light-skinned peers, deleting every post that lightens their skin would cut their presence on this blog by half.

Ultimately, this blog aims to preserve the ugly parts of DR and its fandom, too, whether that be giving dark-skinned characters monkey companions in official merch, Atua jokes, trans Chihiro discourse, or blind hatred of "bitchy" female characters. While uncomfortable, they are something to note and learn from. If any existing tags do not help keep these off your dash in the event you don't want to see them, I highly encourage you to ask me to tag in a way that will be easy for you to block!

The OP/person you reblogged this from is problematic!

I have, in the past, been harassed due to the spread of misinformation through call out posts and other word-of-mouth. The harassment I experienced led to a suicidal relapse, and I still have a great deal of trauma from it. As a result, I am very cautious about asks like this. You are always free to send me information about someone questionable in the community, but please know that I will generally handle the issue quietly, and will not directly respond to you about it at all if you are on anon.

How do you feel about X current event issue?

Unless I have overwhelming approval to do so from followers, which I would only ask for in the event of a charity or benefit project, this blog will be a permanent safe space from real world issues. I may talk about oppression that I have personally experienced, but I will not bring up major current events.

For the same reason, please do not ever expect a DNI from me. I reserve the right to refuse discussion about anything, and block anyone, that I choose. While this is a project to help others, I feel strongly about setting my own boundaries, and will exercise my right to do so!

My question still isn't on here!

Drop it in the ask box! My messages have previously gone completely offline, so asks are the safest way to reach me.

[mayor-bubblegum]

Rules (For mobile users)

MUN INFO AND REMINDERS:

Mun is 30 and female. Muses are 18 years of age, or older, unless otherwise stated. Take note that I reserve the right to accept or deny any interaction at any time, and for any reason, based on the rules stated below and/or factors otherwise not stated here for my own comfort, wellbeing and safety. I also reserve the right to add or remove anyone from my role playing space on the same grounds, as well as the right to refuse giving any reason should you be hard-blocked. If I don’t want to have you anywhere near my text role playing environment, respect that decision and move on.

I am a semi-selective role player! I’m the most comfortable role playing with close friends and other mutual partners, but don’t be afraid to ask for info, requesting for thread/plotting and/or just chatting in general if you are not yet a mutual or do not plan to be one.

While this blog is mostly targeted towards a general audience of at least 13 years of age, bear in mind that it will touch on certain sensitive and dark themes and/or topics, and they will be tagged accordingly. You may blacklist tags for these themes, or turn back if you would rather not see it.

CONTENT WARNINGS:

This blog contains sensitive and dark themes (e.g: war, death, loss of loved ones, foul language, violence).

Sexually explicit content is not tolerated on this blog due to the nature of the source material, and despite the mun being of age. Do not solicit me for this kind of content.

Remember: Character’s views =/= author’s views. Keep this in mind whenever muses I play as are doing things that are unacceptable in the norms of society.

ROLE PLAYING:

I prefer paragraphed text role play, and users who can keep up with it. However, I am open to other writing styles if needed be.

No meta-gaming and god-modding. Try to be fair when role playing.

Do not force fictional relationship establishment! I am not very good with establishing and maintaining romantic ships between my muses and muses of others and chances that I will be SUPER picky is high, but other relationship types are otherwise free game (familial, friendship, rivalry, enemies)!

Ask box availability to anonymity is at my discretion. If this feature gets abused to the point I feel uncomfortable allowing it to stay on, then it will be turned off indefinitely.

Do not spam the inbox of this blog! I am more than welcome to more than a question from one blog at a time, but getting more than five messages in a consecutive and short time period from the same blog can get irritating.

I prefer having prompts and memes I post/reblog linked to or mentioned when I am sent one from a list. This makes answering given prompts easier! You don’t have to, but that means I will have to look for memes/prompts I posted/reblogged.

Crossovers are more than welcome, but for personal preferences and reasons, I refuse to interact with canon characters and OCs from the following: Axis Powers Hetalia, Countryballs fandom, Homestuck, Poppy Playtime, Yandere Simulator

OOC:

Be respectful. Treat folks as you would like to be treated the same, if not similarly. Being rude is not cool.

Be patient with my reply rate. I may be sporadic in activity, and I won’t necessarily reply to a thread right away.

Any disputes with me should be handled privately. If you have a problem with how I behave, tell me and I’ll make amends the best I can. I am a human like you, after all.

Do not drag me in any interpersonal conflict for no good reason. I’m aware that drama and related problems with social life online can happen anywhere at any time, but I’m here to write with others and have fun, not have petty arguments with people on a keyboard nor phone screen. In addition, public callouts or any other form of accusatory message regarding another mun sent to me, anon or otherwise, will be ignored unless you are willing to discuss it with me privately. However, I reserve the right to doubt your claims until you can adequately prove to me that the mun in question is an immediate danger to anyone they interact with.

Personal blogs are still allowed to follow and ask questions, but I will have you blocked/soft-blocked if you reblog ANY in-character interactions.

Breaking any of these rules land you a warning, and further violation will result in a hard block. Posting harmful content (e.g: Child abuse, animal abuse) in any way that shines them in positive light is subject to being blocked immediately and reported to authorities where applicable. If you, at any point of time, for any reason disagree with the rules stated above, then it is advised that you avoid this blog altogether. Blocking exists, and so is the Back button. Use either or both. If you have read the rules, send the phrase “We got to learn to live together.” to my inbox! While it is not required, it is otherwise appreciated. Thank you for reading.

[saetoru]

PLEASE READ RULES TO FIND MY MASTERLIST

INTERACTION . . .

please refrain from copying my theme or layouts. do not steal/save any of my dividers. i make/customize most of them myself and i make them for my usage purposes only so do not save anything directly from my blog. also do not use or copy my “minors do not interact” banners such as this:

must be 18+. basic dni criteria. have an age in your bio before interacting or following—this blog engages with nsfw & dark content

do not recommend me on ANY platforms outside of tumblr especially tik tok. no translating my work anywhere. no reposting. no using for asmr content. no plagiarizing.

do not spam asks/my talking posts. writing is fine as long as you reblog too

do not comment criticism on my writing. i didn’t ask. you will be immediately blocked

i shit post and have a lot of non writing posts. please unfollow me if that bothers you

this blog is not spoiler free unless it’s a recently released chapter: then i will tag it with #(fandom) spoilers

do not interact if you are anti-aging up. end of discussion.

do NOT say slurs in my inbox, bring up things about politics or religion, ask me personal questions, or vent to me about your personal things

do not bring up topics such as rape, suicide, self harm, pedophilia, eating disorders, depression, etc.

please do not call me bitch, slut, hoe, whore, etc. even if it’s affectionate unless we’re close. please do not playfully curse me out unless we are friends. i just ask you don’t get too comfortable unless we’re close or else it feels weird

my dm’s are set so that only people i follow can dm me. if you have something important to tell me privately but i don’t follow you, reach out to me through my ask box and indicate you’d like for this to be kept between us and tell me the issue you’d like to discuss. i will either answer privately or dm you myself

do not ask to be mutuals ; do not ask why if i break the mutual. i soft block to break the mutual, i hard block if you’ve made me uncomfortable

if you have been blocked, it can be for a number of reasons such as tag abuse, no age in your bio, posting problematic stances on dash, making me personally uncomfortable through an interaction, etc. if you suspect i have blocked you because you didn’t have your age in your bio, and you have since then remedied that, feel free to send an anon ask and let me know your url and that you’ve added an age. if that was the reason why i blocked, then i’ll happily unblock you (i wont post the ask don’t worry.) if that was not why, i will not unblock you and simply ignore your ask—please refrain from further reaching out if that is the case.

i try my best to answer asks and i do enjoy / appreciate interactions. that being said, i do get drained / busy often, and answering asks can be difficult for me so please be patient and please don’t rush / send the same ask multiple times. if i don’t end up answering it’s probably bc my asks have piled up and i’ve deleted old ones, i do apologize if that happens to yours i’m trying my best :,)

WRITING . . .

i do not take requests, but you can always leave thirsts in my inbox and if i’m inspired i’ll write a drabble on it. but again, i do not take requests for plots/scenarios

things that i won’t write for include: eating disorders, mental health, sacrilege, daddy kink, scat, vore, vomit, feet, lactation, noncon, and possibly more i’ll add along the way

if you’re actually reading my rules and not just skipping to the bottom—to find my masterlist, go to my pinned post and click “onlyfans”

do not ask me to specify the appearance of reader. i write gender neutral only for sfw works (unless it involves pregnancy) so don't suggest for gender to be specified. for nsfw works, it will vary between fem! reader and afab! reader most of the time, but it may occasionally be gender neutral

i do not have a post schedule, just when i find the time nor do i have a taglist

[slowdiived]

I hate to clog up your ask box so u can skip this if its too silly! But could I ask for kurt visiting readers home for the first time to spend the night n notices all of their stuffed animals on their bed like their bed is so full of them!! They just have a lot of them from their childhood and now they like to collect them too =)

this is so me.

-

“uh so this is my room,” you gesture to the open door and kurt peeks in, slowly looking around.

“i like it,” he smiles as he makes his way in. “i like the posters n’ stuff.”

he looks to your bed that is littered with stuffed animals, everything from old teddy bears to a cute little dinosaur. he steps over and sits down, looking at each one. you blush from a bit of embarrassment knowing that you might’ve had an addiction to little stuffed toys. they just made you happy, they were soft and cuddly.

“i didn’t know y-you liked stuffies,” he looked up at you. “i would’ve got you one as a thank you gift.”

“oh you don’t need to get me any,” you laugh nervously. “i couldn’t accept it.”

“oh stop,” he playfully rolled his eyes. “i like you, i will give you gifts no matter what.”

you just smile and sit next to him, the other end of the bed sinking down. he pokes each one as he looks at them. he picks one up, it’s a little yoshi, and he starts messing with it. he makes it bounce over to you and gives you a lil kiss on the cheek. you giggle as he started doing his best yoshi impression, your heart fluttering at him being so playful.

“uh just to let you know and it might be a little weird,” you put your hand on his knee. “i do still hold one every night so if i’m cuddling with the bunny right here, don’t make fun of me.”

“this one?” he picks it up, old and a little matted, but still in decent shape.

“uh yeah,” you smile. “i’ve had her since i was about two. my mom gave it to me for my birthday. she has been my favorite ever since.”

he smiled warmly at you, his mind relaying a scene of you as a small child receiving a cute bunny. he liked to think about small things like that when it came to you, it adds to your charm. he normally didn’t care to think about anyone but himself. yet when it came to you, he wanted to learn it all. every stuffed animals story, every poster, every knickknack, he wanted to know the ins and outs.

“you’re so cute,” he blurted without even a single pushback in his brain. “i-i mean if it’s okay if i say that, i d-don’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything because i really-“

you cut his blabbering off with a kiss, sweet and simple. he kissed back, hand trailing to behind your neck. he carefully pushed your hair back, the bunny sitting carefully in his lap.

he pulled away, “so what’s her name?”

“jam,” you smiled, your noses so close to touching.

he made jam creep up and boop you on the nose. you giggled and took her out of kurt’s hands to do the same to him.

“oh what’s that jam?” you playfully brought the bunny to your ear. “yeah? uh huh…… yeah okay….. yeah i’ll tell him right now.”

kurt watched you light up as you got comfortable to be silly in front of him. his mind wandering to when you would’ve named her, you running around with her as a toddler, you still holding onto her now, so near and dear to your heart. he had never felt this way before, this alluring nostalgia that wasn’t even his.

you interrupted his thinking.

“jam wants me to tell you that she likes you,” you giggled to him. “she says that she thinks you are really nice but she wants you to know something…”

“let jam speak,” he giggled, grabbing her gently.

he mimicked you, bringing her close to his ear.

“oh wow!” he said loudly. “oh okay…. yeah…. cool.”

“what did she say?”

“she told me it’s top secret,” he gave you an “i’m sorry” look. “she said she will only tell you if you give me a-another kiss.”

you giggled and her wish was your command, kissing kurt so gently, lips pressing together. you quickly pulled away, eager to see what the big secret was.

“okay she said that- wait hold on,” he brought her up to his ear again. “oh no, wait jam i’m so sorry… i promise… no i’m serious… ugh!”

you gave him a puzzled look.

“she said i can’t say it,” he shrugged. “huh. b-better luck next time.”

you both played around a bit after that, messing with your stuffed animals and exchanging little kisses, his heart happy and full. it was the first time in a long time he had been so happy, his eyes lighting up and his worry melting away. he wasn’t nervous to mess things up once, excited to just be with you.

oh, and the secret from jam?

she wanted kurt to tell you he loved you, but that was for a different time.

[twdeadfanfic]

Hot Cocoa V

Daryl Dixon x Reader

Summary:  Pre-apocalypse.  Y/N is an elementary school teacher new to the town, and one of her students is little Dixon, Daryl Dixon’s nephew. Daryl has taken care of him for years, the kid’s mother out of the picture and his father seeming to be in and out of jail all of the time.

In this chapter:  Flowers, dinners, popcorn...

You can find the previous chapters in my Masterlist.

A couple of days had passed since little Dixon had run to your place, and since you had met Merle Dixon for the first time. You hadn’t known anything of them on those two days, you had trusted that Daryl was making sure Sam was okay, after your talk with him that evening…you didn’t want to be annoying, and so you weren’t planning on phoning them or anything like that, but you hoped you’d get to see them before school started again.

As if reading your mind, your phone rang, and when you picked it up, you heard little Dixon’s voice.

“Hi, Y/N!”

“Hey, Sam, how are you?”

“I’m fine! Can I go visit you today?”

You were a bit surprised, but not in a bad way. “Sure, but do your dad and your uncle know it?”

“Dad had to leave this mornin’, and Daryl knows, he’s goin’ to come with me, he said we can go when he finishes at the garage, it won’t be late today, told me to ask you if it was okay? We’re at the garage now.”

“Okay, then, I’m happy you both want to come to visit me.” You couldn’t stop your smile.

“I want to go ‘cause I got a Christmas gift for you! Couldn’t give it to you the other day…”

“A Christmas gift? Really?” Your smile was now a grin, that kid was just the sweetest. “You know what? I have something for you too.”

“Really?! I hope Daryl finishes earlier today…”

“Me too…” You chuckled. “I’ll see you both later, then.”

“Yes! See you!”

*

Later that day, you rushed to open the door when the Dixon’s knocked, already smiling.

“Hi you both, thanks for coming to visit.”

“Hi, Y/N! This is for you!” Little Dixon handed you a small bouquet of tiny, dried wildflowers.

“Woah…this is so pretty…” You looked at it in awe as you took it from Sam’s hand. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

“I was in the woods with Daryl and saw the flowers, even though it’s winter!” Sam began telling you. “So I wanted to pick them up for you, for Christmas, but I thought they’d be dead when you came back…but uncle Daryl told me he’d taught me to dry them!”

“I love them, I really do…thank you both!” You looked up from the flowers to smile at the Dixons, but Daryl was looking down, seeming shy, and still hadn’t said a word. You didn’t want to make him uncomfortable, and so you didn’t say anything else. “Come in.”

The Dixon’s followed you inside, Sam already going to greet your cat, who was napping on the sofa as per usual. Carefully, you let the flowers over the coffee table, until you could look for a vase for them, and then you took a package that you had left on the table for little Dixon.

“This is for you.” You handed him the package and little Dixon looked at it with bright eyes.

“Thank you, Y/N,” Sam said while he tore the paper. “Color pencils!”

“They’re not only color pencils, they’re watercolor pencils,” you explained while Sam examined them. 

“Watercolor pencils?”

“Yes, you can paint with them as you do with pencils, but then if you add water with a brush, they turn into watercolor.”

“That’s so cool…” Little Dixon looked at the box of pencils in awe before he looked at you with bright eyes. “Thank you, Y/N!”

“I’m happy that you liked it.” You grinned. “I hope you paint something for me with those.”

Daryl’d been silent all the time, but you noticed him looking at you. “Thanks for that,” he said quietly, but when you smiled at him, he looked down.

“It’s nothing…but I don’t have anything for you…sorry…” It wasn’t that you hadn’t wanted to get anything for Daryl, but you hadn’t been sure if he wouldn’t find it weird, maybe, and you weren't sure of what he might like anyway.

“Got nothin’ for ya either.” Daryl shrugged.

“You do, the lovely flowers.” You nodded towards them.

“Those are from Sam, not me,” Daryl murmured, and you wondered if his cheeks were actually blushing…it was kind of cute…

“Well…you helped him, so thanks,” you said, and Daryl didn’t say anything, eyes on the floor. “So…since it’s dinner time, and I don’t have a Christmas gift for Daryl…what if you both stay here for dinner and I cook something?”

“Ya don’t have to,” Daryl said.

“I know, but I want to.” You shrugged. “So, it’s up to you, if you don’t want to, it’s okay, but if you want to stay, I’ll be glad to have dinner with you both.”

Daryl chewed on his lip, glancing at you and nodding before looking at Sam. “Ya okay with it?”

“Yes!” Little Dixon grinned at you both.

“Okay, then, nice!” You smiled, happy that Daryl had decided to take your offer and stay. “I had the ingredients to cook a minestrone soup, but considering how you guys looked at my veggie lasagna…I better cook something else.” You snorted.

“No, uh…we’ll eat what ya have, ya don’t have to cook anythin’ else,” Daryl rushed to tell you.

“Yes…but I don’t know that soup…” Sam said.

“It’s an Italian soup, it has pasta and tomatoes, and some other vegetables…” You explained.

“A veggie soup, like your veggie lasagna,” little Dixon laughed and you snorted.

“Yes, that is, fancy veggie soup,” you chuckled. “I’m going to get it ready.”

“I,uh…I’ll help ya,” Daryl told you, even though he was still not looking at you.

“No, you don’t have to, and I’m the one who’s supposed to be cooking,” you said, and Daryl just shrugged.

“Can I try the watercolor pencils while you make dinner?” Sam asked.

“Of course! Wait a second…” You went to the cabinet, taking out some sturdy paper that won’t get ruined with the water, and a couple of brushes, placing them on the table. Then, you went to the kitchen, filled a glass with water, got some paper towel, and left them on the table too. “There you are, all settled.”

“Thank you!” Little Dixon grinned at you before he sat down on the carpet in front of the table, grabbing pen and paper.

“Okay, I’m going to get this soup going.” You went back to the kitchen, and even though you’d said to Daryl that he didn’t need to help, he followed you, standing awkwardly on the kitchen. You had the feeling he wouldn’t listen if you told him to go back with Sam, and you didn’t want to make things awkward…or more awkward. “Daryl, can you fill that big pot with water and put it on the stove?”

Daryl nodded, doing as told, while you took out of your pantry some carrots and potatoes, and two peelers from your cupboard. “Okay…you peel the potatoes and I peel the carrots?” Daryl nodded again, following your instructions, until the potatoes and carrots were ready to chop. “I think the water is boiling, can you pour that pasta in it? I bet you eyeball it better than me…” You always cooked way too much food.

“Doubt it…” Daryl murmured, but he did as you told him while you started to chop the carrots and potatoes, and some onion.

“Okay…there we go…” You poured the veggies into the boiling water and then opened a can of diced tomatoes, pouring it inside too. “Now we just wait…” You turned to smile at Daryl, who had been watching you, but looked down now. “You know, I always thought I liked more to cook alone, but this is nice…way better than cooking at Christmas with my mother while she tells me all I’m not doing properly…” You chuckled.

“Merle…he never cooks but uh…he’s always complainin’ too…” Daryl said, nodding.

You chewed on your lip, looking at Daryl. “Hey…I’m sorry if I caused problem with your brother…”

“No, uh…” Daryl glanced at you briefly before looking down, scratching the back of his head. “Ya were right, but…Merle, he’s how he’s…but uh…he’s my brother and uh…he cares for his family, he just…I know how he can be but uh…he ain’t only that…”

“You really care for him,” you said softly.

“He’s my brother.” Daryl shrugged, fidgeting as if shy. “Just…just wish he’d get clean…for the kid, at least.”

“Yeah…but I don’t think it’s easy.” You hadn’t much idea, but getting over an addiction wasn’t an easy thing.

“He won’t even try,” Daryl scoffed. “Was already takin’ ‘bout goin’ back to dealin’ once he’s out of jail, sayin’ he got contacts or some shit…”

You looked at Daryl, who was looking down, chewing on his thumbnail, and you wished you could help somehow, but you didn’t even know what to say. “I…I’m sorry…maybe he’ll think differently once he’s out for real…”

Daryl scoffed. “Sure…”

You didn’t know what to say, and you settled for stirring the pot.  “Okay…now we only have to wait for this to cook…there’s something I haven’t told you, but I haven’t tried cooking this soup before, so Sam and you are kind of like my experiment subjects,” you tried to joke awkwardly, glad when you heard Daryl snorting, and when you looked at him he was smirking, even if he was looking at the floor.

“I’m sure it’s fine.”

“Fine like my lasagna?” You asked, raising an eyebrow when Daryl looked at you still smirking, and you found yourself wishing he’d smile more often, it suited him, and every time he looked at you, instead of down, you always caught yourself thinking how pretty those blue eyes were.

“Never said the lasagna was bad…” Daryl shrugged.

“Okay…” You chuckled. “Let’s go back with Sam while this cooks.”

When Sam saw you and Daryl approaching, he lifted the painting he was making. “Look, Y/N! It’s not finished, but I’m paintin’ your cat for you!”

“Sweetheart, it’s perfect!” You sat down on the carpet next to little Dixon, admiring the painting. “I love it, thank you so much!” Little Dixon grinned at you and went back to painting.

You glanced at Daryl, who was standing instead of sitting down on the carpet or the sofa, and you smiled when you noticed the cute, tiny smile that tugged at the corner of his lip, but when he caught you, he looked down.

Once the soup was ready, the Dixon’s helped you to set the table, and you all sat down, your cat taking the spare chair once again, much to Sam's delight.

“Alright…” You said as you poured the soup. “Again, you don’t have to eat it if you don’t like it.”

“We’re gonna eat it anyway,” Sam said, grinning, and you snorted. Yes, you knew they would.

You ate a spoonful of it and let out a disappointed sigh. “I messed it…I should have put the pasta the last, now it’s all mushy…and I think the recipe said you had to sauté the veggies before boiling it but I ignored it…sorry, guys.”

“Nah, it ain’t bad,” Daryl said, taking another spoonful.

“Yes, it’s okay.” Little Dixon nodded.

“You just said you’d eat it anyway if you didn’t like it…but I choose to believe you,” you chuckled. “Thanks.”

As you three ate in silence, you tried to think of something to say, but little Dixon beat you to it.

“Are you goin’ to visit your family for New Year’s too?” He asked you, and you let out a sigh, leaning back on your chair.

“I, uh…I was going to, but not anymore, so…I’ll be here…” You shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant.

Daryl’s eyes had been on the stew, but he looked at you at that. “Somethin’s wrong?”

“No, not really…just…well, my stepsisters are going to dine with her mother, and my mother and her husband have a reservation for dinner for them two, so…yeah, I’d be kind of out of place or by myself if I go, so…” You shrugged again, trying not to show how it actually bothered you. “I can be by myself here, so I’m staying, the cat and I.”

Little Dixon seemed to notice that you were upset, and so you gave him a smile as best as you could. No one of you seemed to know what to say, and Daryl surprised you talking first.

“We, uh…we’re gonna dine at home, ain’t nothin’ special, same as always, but…uh…if you wanna come…”

“Yes!” Sam grinned. “Come have dinner with us!”

“Really?” You blinked at Daryl, taken by surprise, but he seemed very focused on his soup. “Thank you for the offer, it’s very kind, but it’s a family thing…”

“If ya don’t wanna come then don’t.” Daryl shrugged.

“It’s not that I don’t want to…” You chewed on your lip, considering it. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“Told ya already.” Daryl shrugged again.

“Okay…okay…then if you really don’t mind, I’m going, thank you very much, Daryl, it really means a lot to me.” You smiled, but Daryl was still looking at his plate, and he nodded.

“You can bring your cat!” Little Dixon said, and you snorted.

“I really don’t think she’d like that…but I can cook something to bring with me, it’s the least I can do.”

“Yeah, ya can brin’ one of your veggie things, if you wanna...ain’t promisin’ we’re eatin’ it,” Daryl said, nodding to his soup, and when you caught his smirk, you knew he was joking.

“You told me the lasagna and the soup weren’t that bad…and you are eating it!” You chuckled. “But yes, I think I will…I’ll just follow the recipe more closely than I did for this one…”

*

Just like the last time that the Dixon’s stayed for dinner, once you finished Daryl helped you with the dishes. You had something else in mind, but you weren’t sure about asking, you didn’t want to take too much of Daryl’s time, or seem annoying, but you decided to go for it.

“So…I was thinking…I have a new popcorn machine, so, what if Sam and you stay to watch a movie and eat some popcorn?” You asked Daryl while you both washed the dishes, so Sam didn’t hear it and Daryl didn’t feel obligated to say yes for him. “Or maybe it’s late and you both should head back home already?” You added, trying to offer Daryl an easy out.

Daryl glanced at you briefly before looking down, seeming to think it, and then he nodded once. “If Sam wants to,” he said, shrugging.

“And if you want to,” you reminded him, and he nodded again.

“Yeah…and uh…Sam doesn’t have school and I don’t gotta work tomorrow mornin’ so…ain’t late…” Daryl shrugged.

“Okay, great!” You couldn’t help your smile, and you rushed to finish putting the last plate in its place before going back to the living room. “Hey, Sam, do you want to watch a movie and have some popcorn?”

“Yes!” Little Dixon grinned and looked at Daryl. “Can we?” Daryl nodded, that cute smile tugging at his lips.

“Alright…” You picked up some of your animated movies, dropping them on the sofa next to little Dixon. “What movie do you think your uncle will like?” You asked, biting your lip to stop your smile from getting even bigger at how shy Daryl was looking. “We have the Aristocats…we have Peter Pan…the Lady and the Tramp…what about Robin Hood?”

“Sounds good.” Sam nodded, looking at the cover.

“Okay, now we have to get the popcorn ready! That machine is kind of a hazard, it spits the popcorn without control, so I need you to take a bowl and catch as many as you can while they fly everywhere.”

“Okay!”

*

The next day in the afternoon, you were lying on the sofa, reading a book but mostly being lazy, when there was a knock on the door, and as you opened, you were surprised to find the Dixon’s there. You were glad to see them, but confused too, you hadn’t expected them to come visit you after they had dinner with you just the day before, and much less without telling you first, and your surprise only grew when you saw that Daryl was carrying a crossbow on his back.

“Hey, guys..hi…I didn’t expect you.” You greeted, confused.

“Hi, Y/N!” Little Dixon greeted you.

“Ya busy?” Daryl asked you, seeming to notice your surprise, and you hoped he didn’t think you weren’t glad to see them.

“No, no, come in.”

“We’ve been in the woods huntin’!” Sam told you as he walked inside. “Well, Daryl was huntin’, I was just there.”

“Oh…” You guessed that explained the crossbow. “I didn’t know you hunt.”

“Gotta eat.” Daryl shrugged, and he glanced at you before dropping his gaze to the floor again, seeming shy. “I, uh…got many squirrels today, so uh…I thought…if you wanna…got some to spare…”

You blinked at the bag he was handing you. “Oh…thank you, that was very thoughtful, but, uh…”

Daryl looked at you again, frowning when you didn’t take the bag. “Can get them ready for ya if ya don’t know how,” he offered, still seeming very shy, and you couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty that you were about to refuse, when he had thought on you to bring you something and now was offering to help…

“Again, that’s very thoughtful, and I really appreciate it, it’s very kind of you, but, uh, the thing is that, I’m vegetarian,” you explained.

“Vegetarian?” Daryl’s frown deepened as he looked at you.

“That’s why you cook the veggie things!” Sam said and you nodded.

“Yes, that is.” You thought that they knew already, but it seemed you hadn’t mentioned it. “So, uh…Daryl, I’m sorry, it was really thoughtful and kind of you.”

“Nah, it’s fine.” Daryl shrugged. “But, uh…ya said you’ll brin’ your veggie thin’ for dinner tomorrow, yeah?” He asked, and you wondered if he was joking, but he was frowning and seeming thoughtful, as if he didn’t have a clue of what to get you for dinner otherwise…it was kind of cute.

“Yes, Daryl, don’t worry, I will.” You chuckled softly. “Again, thank you for having me on New Year’s.”

“Ain’t a problem.” Daryl shrugged without looking at you.

“It’ll be fun!” Little Dixon smiled at you.

“I’m sure it will.” You smiled back before looking at Daryl. “And I’m really sorry about, uh…the squirrels, it was very thoughtful of you, I’m sorry.”

“We’ll just make more stew…I gotta go to get them ready.”

“Okay, thank you for stopping by.”

“We’ll see you tomorrow, Y/N!” Sam grinned at you before walking outside with Daryl again.

“See you!”

Once they left, you dropped down on the sofa, letting out a sigh. You still felt a bit bad about refusing Daryl’s squirrels, even if you wouldn’t have eaten those, because he’d thought on you, come to get you some, offered to get them ready for you…you were grateful for it, and it also made you feel something in your belly that you knew you should probably stop.

It was a similar feeling to when you looked at the vase with the dried flowers that Sam had gotten you for Christmas. Sure, it was a gift from little Dixon, not Daryl, but he had helped too, as you liked to think, and every time you looked at them, you felt something dangerously close to butterflies in your belly.

You knew feeling like that would be a bad idea, that it wouldn’t bring you anything good…only more awkwardness, potential sadness…but how were you supposed to stop it? Was it even possible? You should try, though, before it could maybe grow into something even harder to kill…

You forced yourself to stop looking at the bouquet of dried flowers and to stop thinking about the squirrels, and instead, you went to pick your cookbook, wondering what could you cook for dinner the next day.

*

So I’m vegetarian and in all these years writing Daryl I never made a reader vegetarian so as not to annoy people but I don’t care anymore, besides, I can’t be the only vegetarian reading, right? And it fits better in a pre-apocalypse setting. And it’s fun having Daryl figuring out what in the world feed her.

If you enjoyed this, comments and reblogs are always more than welcome, thanks.

Also, as always, excuse my English, it’s not my first language.

New taglist for Daryl, if you want to be tagged let me know and also, please, if you are not interested in being tagged anymore let me know too, please.

@coffeebooksandfandom​  @gruffle1​ @twdeadlysins​ @yenne-yen-illustrations​ @mychemicalimagines​   @haleypearce​    @superflannel​ @sourwolf-sterek32​ @angelontheinside​  @firehoopinmama​ @lonewolf471​   @hopplessdreamer​ @daryldixonandfrogs​  @fanfictionsilove​   @collecting-stories​ @princessxpunk​ @hells-mistress​ @justyouraveragefangirl1967​ @carnationworld​    @smiithys​ @polkadottedpillowcase​ @elisdays​ @mysterious-398​  @captainbuckyboobear​   @dazzledamazon​   @spidergirla5​ @lilythemadqueen​ @lightning-butterfly​ @purplebtsmagic​ @barra-cudaaa​   @courtnytrash04​ @amazingapricot​      @seizethesam​ @harpersmariano​  @eternalslingshot​  @fuseburner​ @phoenixblack89​  @boywivlove​  @amaroho​ @woundmetender​  @classyunknownlover​ @masterninjacow​ @tenderlyunlikelyexpert​ @shadowfoxey​ @kaitieskidmore1​ @lilac-day-dreaming @datidixon​ @sabrinabernal​  @nj01​ @rachelxwayne​  @elamy17​  @angelofthor​ @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl​ @thanossexual​ @daryldixonstorm​ @sttrawberries​ @huffledor-able541​ @lucillethings​ @browneyes528​ @soraitmnt​  @thereshallbenoother​ @chickenparmandstoicvulcans​ @leej2468​  @heartlessmarvello​ @itsmeempar​  @redneckstrash​ @bxxbxy​ @bitchynicole​ @pulplorrd​  @supernatural79impala​  @the-artistic-animal-lover​   @selfsun​ @thiccblondeliv​ @maggie-l-m​ @baseballbitch116​ @tranquiiit​ @sweatywildpanda​  @theteaset​   @my-current-fandom-is​ @sapphire1727​  @insidetoughcake @whitexwingedxdoves​ @nickangel13​ @oceans-daughter-3​  @tuttifuckinfruttifriday​ @sesshomaru-lover​ @a-dlv​   @thetypewriterimproviser​  @lettersshapes​​

[shurisneakers]

harmless (ii)

Summary: Bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with. (Bucky x villain!reader, drabble series)

Warnings: cursing, stealing cultural landmarks, frustrated bucky

Word count: 1.6k

A/N: made a header 4 this fic but i couldn’t take it seriously enough <3 

if you have any ideas for future inventions/evil plans, lemme know! it’s always fun to hear from y’all. 

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part || Series Masterlist

It’s roughly a week before he sees you next.

Right on time too, according to the briefings he had received. Once a week you’d come up with your next batshit crazy idea and someone would be sent to make sure you didn’t execute it.

It was more of a babysitting gig than anything. Most people would do one, maybe two assignments before asking to not be sent again. 

He was not most people. He volunteers to go again. His afternoon is relatively free and he’s bored. 

Also, and more importantly, he needs to get out of the house before Sam finds out what he did.

“You’ll find her near the Statue of Liberty.”

“How do we know?”

“Oh, she tells us.”

“...she tells us where to find her?”

“Most times, yes. She says it’s time efficient.”

Absurd. He thinks you’re absurd.

Bucky finds you in line to board the ferry. You’re dressed to the nines like an obnoxious tourist, even though you were a local, topped with binoculars and a bucket hat. 

On an unrelated note, he thinks that maybe the mission today is to kill you for daring to wear sandals with socks like a suburban dad. A shudder runs through his body when he sees it.  

He’s wearing all black and a baseball cap. Somehow he’s standing out more than you are.

He boards the ferry behind you, keeping a close eye on all your movements. You take your place near the railing, a seat near the front of the boat. 

His phone rings. He answers it, expecting Sam to screech at him for painting Redwing neon pink again. He should have known it was coming after he shoved Bucky off the quinjet before he had time to strap his parachute on properly. 

“I thought I told you to bring a cape.” 

He quickly looks up at you but you’re not facing him. You have your phone held up to your ear, however.

“How did you get this number?” he asks icily.

“I knew you’d show up again.” Your head tilts to look at the statue in the distance. “Also, thanks for the door money, but I’m not sure I appreciate how you think the least creepy way to give someone money is to drop it off anonymously at their doorstep.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” He swiftly gets up, stalking over to where you’re sitting. He was advised not to do anything aggressive. Advised was a flexible word. 

“Because I wasn’t going to answer it.” You look up at his figure looming over you. “Oh, hey.”

The phone is still pressed to the side of your face even though he’s right beside you. He cuts the call, shoving it back into his pocket.

“Allow me to introduce my pl-”

“What are you doing here?” He cuts to the chase. 

You send him a glare. “I was going to say it before you told me to. And sit down before everyone thinks you’re going to kill me.”

“Why are you going there?” He doesn’t have time for this, he thinks. He has important things to do. Like watching the reruns of Masterchef Junior. 

He sits in the seat beside you.

“Look at us.” You grin at him. “Me with the evilest outfit I could think of, you with your... Addams Family cosplay. We’re like, two peas in a po-”

“Start explaining,” he interjects. 

You roll your eyes. “I’m going to shrink the Statue of Liberty and use it as a keychain.”

“What?” It’s probably the most benign plan he’s ever heard in his life.

“I’m kidding.” Oh, good. “I’m not using it as a keychain, I’m taking it to class.” Nevermind. 

“What?” He finds himself repeating his previous question.

“I’m shrinking all the statues I can find. I want to use it in my classroom to teach the kids.”

“You’re... a teacher?” He blinks.

“You got a problem with that?” You look offended, to say the least. 

“No.” It’s not what he would peg your occupation as. He didn’t think you had one at all. “How are you planning on shrinking it?”

You rummage through the ugliest fanny pack he has ever had the misfortune of seeing. You pull out a small ring box, complete with a bow tied neatly on top. 

“I was saving this for our third anniversary, but-” you offer him a nervous laugh.

His stony expression doesn’t change, not even a blink. 

“Fine, Jesus, you’re no fun,” you huff, dropping the emotional act when he doesn’t look amused. 

You flip open the lid. Inside there are a few small disks. It looks familiar, he realises.

“Your friend Ant-Boy didn’t file a patent, so I just took his whole shtick.” He wants to defend Scott’s honour; it’s Ant-Man not boy. He doesn’t. He’s too transfixed on what you have in your hand.

“Pym particles.”

“The diet version.” You pick up one of them carefully. “A ripoff, but effective. Just gotta attach it to the thing I want to shrink and give it a few minutes.”

“You’re going to steal the Statue of Liberty,” he says, frankly a little taken aback that you were serious.

“Would you relax? I’ll put it back.”

“That’s not the point,” he damn near exclaims. “You can’t take away the Statue of Liberty just because you feel like it.”

“I literally can.” You point to the chips in your hand. “That’s the point of this, keep up.”

He feels exasperated. He didn’t sign up for this when he became an Avenger.

“Give me the box.” He makes a grab for it but you yank it away from his reach.

“What do you think you’re doing?” 

“I don’t have time for this.” His reruns would begin in an hour.

“That’s my problem, because...” you trail off. 

He rolls his eyes, makes a grab at the box again. His tactic is different this time. He stealthily pins one of your arms down so that you’re basically incapacitated.

“Hey! Stop that.” You fumble against his reach, shoving him with your elbow.

“Just give me the thing and we can all go home for the day,” he huffs, unfazed by your squirming.

“No! Over my dead bod-” 

He doesn’t immediately notice what goes wrong in the scuffle. 

Until you look at the ground near your feet. A disk lay there, undisturbed.

“Is that-” All of a sudden, either he’s getting taller or the ceiling of the boat is getting lower.

“Oops,” you say, not remorseful in the slightest. 

“Are we going to-”

“I’d give it five minutes max.” 

Great. He was stuck on a boat that was beginning to shrink. The other passengers were either oblivious or ignorant to seats that were starting to become too small for them, but Bucky’s heightened senses and extreme reflexes made it hard to skip.

He nudges the piece of tech with his foot. Maybe he can kick it off the boat.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” you warn solemnly. He wants to disagree but doesn’t know enough about the device to dispute you. 

“Fix this,” he hisses, panic slightly rising. His fingers find their way to his phone to send out an emergency text requesting backup and mass evacuation. 

“I think it’s a rather lovely day for a swim, don’t you?” You stare dreamily at the waves that were inching closer up the boat. 

Or you were inching closer to the water. Technicalities were frivolous. 

“There are other people on this boat.”

“River’s big enough for all of us, I reckon.”

“Fix it.” 

“Or what?” There’s a wicked gleam in your eye. “We both know I have the upper hand here.”

“Or I call the entirety of the Avengers here and haul your ass to prison.”

“Will they bring snacks?”

You’re insufferable. You know it. But you also are the fastest way to get out of this situation and right now, he didn’t want to be responsible for a shipwreck simulation. 

“Fine. Tell me what you want.”

“I like soy chips.”

“Soy chi-” He nearly throws his hands up in frustration. “You know what I’m talking about.” 

“I want one historical artifact so I can impress the kids. They think I’m the cool teacher and I want to keep that reputation alive.”

“What makes you think I can arrange for that?”

“You’ve been alive since goddamn dinosaurs roamed this earth, I’m sure you have some connections.” You pause to assess his face. “You know, you don’t look a day over 29. Dermatologists must hate yo-”

“I’ll get you an artifact, now fix the fuckin’ boat.”

“You promise?” You grin brightly. 

He stares at you. You are unyielding. 

The boat’s uncomfortably small and people are beginning to take notice. Worried murmurs fill the air behind him.

“Yes.”

“Okay.” You shrug simply.

You kneel over, picking up the chip from the ground. You do nothing else for two minutes, instead turning away from him to look at the Statue of Liberty that was coming closer.

It takes him a while to realise that half his body isn’t hanging off his chair anymore. The ceiling is moving further and further away from the top of his head. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He wants to strangle you. 

Why did he listen to you when all of this would have been over the minute he kicked it off the ship. 

“You can drop it off at my lair on Monday and pick it up on Friday.” You gather your belongings, leaving him steaming behind you. “Nice talkin’ to ya, Sergeant.” 

You step over him, flashing him a quick smile before walking off the boat with the rest of the tourists as if nothing had just taken place. When he looks down, the stupid ring box is on his lap.

He sits there, unmoving, eyes fixed on the container.

The ferry conductor asks if he’s going to get off the boat. 

He simply shakes his head.

Next part

[snackhobi]

a human touch, part 2, final

Part 1 / 1.5 / [2]

(masterlist here)

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

then he turns up at your door.

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

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

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

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

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

You’re aware of this because: 

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

and:

b) Said new tenants are apparently very noisy.

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

It’s not until later, much later, the world outside night-dark but tinged bright white with street lights, that there’s a knock on your door.

You don’t notice. You’re engrossed in the Chinese takeaway menu that’s open on your tablet, staring at the weirdly high-res photo of Kung Pao chicken next to a pixelated picture of some dumplings, wondering what you should choose.

Taehyung is sitting beside you on the sofa. Each day he shifts a little closer to you, inch by inch, the slow pull of gravity, implacable; he gets lonely when you’re gone, and you’re the only person he can talk to. So it’s no surprise he’s so clingy. It’s never overbearing or overwhelming but he’s still unhindered by the self-consciousness that you have—so even if you’re still hesitant to initiate things, you never deny him. 

The line of his body is parallel to your own, your thighs warm where they touch, and you feel his shoulder move as he tilts his head. “There’s someone at the door.”

It doesn’t take a genius to work out who it is. The only people who can get inside the building are other residents—well, service androids can too, although there’s a back entrance they use, which is how Taehyung had snuck inside in the first place—and when you approach your door, you can hear two low voices, engaged in what sounds like light-hearted bickering.

You flick your fingers across your keypad. All murmurs cut off the second the door swings open.

“Hi!” A chirp. “We’re your new neighbours!”

Night and day. Two men, one tall and broad-shouldered, eyes large and lips flush, beatific smile on his face; the other, shorter and leaner, eyes sleepy, mouth soft, his smile self-contained. 

“I’m Seokjin,” the taller man says. “And this is Yoongi.”

“I can introduce myself,” Yoongi mutters, but it’s not bitter; there’s that ease of familiarity, any bite behind the words soothed with amity. “But yeah, I’m Yoongi. Sorry if we were loud earlier. Jin’s a living foghorn.”

“A sexy living foghorn,” Seokjin says brightly.

Yoongi’s sleepy eyes can deliver one hell of a death glare but Seokjin is unaffected.

“Anyway,” Yoongi continues, unimpressed look wiping off his face as he turns back to you, softening. “What’s your name?”

It’s like there’s a circus on your doorstep and you’re the unwitting audience, dragged into the tent without realising, watching everything unfold in front of you—but in a good way. It's a pleasant surprise. They’re already much friendlier than your previous neighbour, a lone man who’d kept to himself and never spoke to you. 

“Uh, I’m Y/n,” you say. You wonder if you should introduce Taehyung as well, but most humans don’t introduce their androids to people, do they? Besides, he’s staying out of sight in the living room, so you’ll leave him be.

“Jin made brownies so we’re here to deliver them to you.”

“I left the walnuts out in case you have a nut allergy,” Seokjin adds as Yoongi passes a polka-dot patterned tin over. It’s heavy in your hands. Full to the brim with brownies, it seems. (Yum yum.)

“Thank you. And you weren’t that noisy, don’t worry! Moving is always messy. Have you finished or did you want some help?”

“That’s very sweet of you! But we’re all done,” Seokjin says. “We were just about to reward ourselves with some takeout, actually, seeing as we haven’t had time to do any food shopping. Do you have any recommendations?”

Taehyung looks uncomfortable, curled up on the sofa with wide eyes when you retrieve your tablet, but you quietly reassure him that you won’t be long.

“Do you want to meet our new neighbours?” You ask, voice soft so the two men don’t overhear. (You miss the warm flicker of Taehyung’s LED when you say our.) “I’d hate for you to have to pretend to be undeviated, though. They might start ordering you around.”

“I’ll stay here,” Taehyung decides.

So that’s how you end up on your doorstep with Seokjin and Yoongi, the three of you peering at the wild variations in stock photo quality on the Chinese takeaway menu. 

“You’d think with the huge strides we’ve taken forward in technology that all photos would look at least semi-decent,” Yoongi mumbles as he stares at a cropped picture of fu yung. “It’s hard to get a bad camera.”

“I think it’s such a human thing, though,” Seokjin says. “No matter how technologically advanced humanity gets, takeaway menus will always have bad stock photos.”

Not only are Seokjin and Yoongi friendly, they’re forward. Well, that’s mainly Seokjin, actually, but Yoongi doesn’t protest when Seokjin insists that you come over so you can eat and chat and get to know each other. Especially after you’d offered to pay for everything as a sort of welcome to the neighbourhood gesture, placing both your orders together to save the restaurant the hassle of separate deliveries.

“I’ll pick up the food when it turns up, alright?” Seokjin’s smile is wide. “We haven’t unpacked our kitchen stuff yet, but if you’re happy to eat straight out of the containers…”

You don’t want to abandon Taehyung, especially as you’d planned on watching a film together—you want to introduce him to older, animated cartoons, so you can explain the process of hand painting each frame, plastic cel sheets that layer over each other to create motion. He’ll love it. “Um, I was planning to eat here, actually.” 

“Sounds good to us,” Seokjin says, and Yoongi sighs.

“Ignore him, he’s just pushy.” He ignores Seokjin’s indignant squawk. “You don’t have to let us in, don’t worry. I’ll wait for when the food gets here, Jin will stay at home.”

“Make me,” Seokjin says primly.

“I’ll lock you in the bathroom.” Yoongi says it in a way that makes you think it’s not an idle threat, and maybe it’s happened before. 

Judging from the look on Seokjin’s face, yeah, it’s happened before.

“You know, you’re both kind of wild,” you say. “But, like, in a good way.”

When you flop back down on the sofa, you press yourself against Taehyung’s side in a motion that’s becoming second nature, so you notice that he seems unnaturally still. He goes motionless whenever he’s thinking deeply about something, an undisturbed ocean lake, the only ripple on its surface the small circle of blue on his temple, swirling waters.

“Are you okay?” You ask, concerned.

“You should eat dinner with them,” he says, and you baulk. 

“What? No, it’s fine. I’ve been looking forward to watching Kiki’s Delivery Service with you all week.”

Taehyung’s eyes are soft. “They seem nice,” he says, quiet. “And friendly. We can watch it tomorrow, can’t we?” And then, even quieter: “You don’t have to spend all your free time with me, Y/n.”

“I don’t—” you start, and then deflate. “It’s not fair for you, though.”

That’s the crux of it all. You choose to spend your free time here, with Taehyung, carefully dipping out of work meets and scraping your full social life empty. Because you can. But Taehyung is still cautious of the outside world, understandably so, a hermit crab whose shell is the safety of your apartment, only unfurling from that protection when you’re there too.

“It’s okay,” he says. “I’m happy.”

You haven’t denied Taehyung so far, and you don’t want to start now, but you still waver. Yoongi and Seokjin do seem nice, and friendly, and it’s not like you’ll be able to avoid them forever—but you don’t want to leave Taehyung out. It’s not fair that he can’t make other friends too.

“Go.” Taehyung’s voice is gentle. “I’ll be here when you get back.”

(But there's nowhere else he can go, is there?)

The apartment across the hall is in a state of organised upheaval. There’s a tumbleweed of peeled tape in one corner, boxes with mouths open wide—the priorities for today—while others are stacked neatly against the walls, out of the way of the furniture. It already feels cosy, somehow, but you put that down to the two men who live here and how comfortable they are with each other, dripping off them and filling the room like paraffin, bright lamplight. 

Seokjin seems unsurprised but pleased at your appearance. He unfolds himself from the floor with a dazzling smile.

“Welcome to our humble abode.” He punctuates the statement with a grand sweep of his arm, knocking the lampshade above his head, dust motes scattering onto his hair like a soft grey halo. “Oh, ewch, you can tell no one’s been here for a while.” He pats his hair, puffs of dust rising from his dark locks. “Anyway! While it’s true that we already have the table and chairs set up, what sort of move in day would it be if we didn’t eat greasy takeaway on the floor?"

“We did it the last time we moved, so he wants to make it a tradition,” Yoongi mutters to you, and you laugh.

You help Yoongi ease the food down onto unfolded sheets of crumpled newspaper that Seokjin’s laid out to protect the floor. Seokjin dives into the bags and pulls each tub out, identifying each dish immediately despite how a lot of them look the same to you. “Do you move a lot?” 

“Nah, just once before,” Yoongi says, watching Seokjin fondly as he peels the lid back on a container of spicy chicken wings and greedily breathes in their sticky-hot scent. “But it was too small for the two of us so we decided to upgrade.”

Seokjin’s spread out the selection of food before you all realise that the restaurant has neglected to provide any chopsticks—even if there’s ten fortune cookies, reflective of how many dishes you’ve ordered and how many people they think it’s going to feed. (Apparently Seokjin likes to eat.)

“Ah, damn,” Yoongi mutters. “We’ll have to dig some cutlery out.”

“I can go get some from my apartment?”

You’ve just started to stand when Seokjin tuts, flapping his hands at you to sit down. “No, no,” he says. “You’re the guest, relax. I was going to unpack the kitchen stuff later anyway. This just means we have to expedite the process.”

You sit criss-cross-apple-sauce as both men disappear into the kitchen, listening as they read the labels off boxes and rummage around, voices an undercurrent to the sound of opening and shutting of cupboards. You’re sneakily reaching for a spring roll when there’s an unholy clattering noise, ringing metal and sharp intakes of air, a loud cry of pain.

You stumble to your feet. All thoughts of food are abandoned as you rush towards the sound; instinctual. Wanting to help, somehow. You throw yourself forwards, catch yourself on the doorway into the kitchen, eyes wide.

“Oh, god, is everything okay?” You gasp.

And then you freeze.

There’s an explosion of kitchen equipment on the floor, cardboard box forlorn nearby, crumpled, its bottom giving out under the weight. A wicked looking chef’s knife lays at Seokjin’s feet; he has one hand grasping the other, palm sliced open by its falling trajectory, dripping blood across the tiles of the floor, painted along the edge of sharp steel.

Yoongi’s eyes are huge and panicked and absolutely horrified.

The blood is blue. 

You’re staring at the thirium that falls, viscous ultramarine that drip-drip-drips from Seokjin’s long fingers. The silence in the room is as thin as a porcelain teacup, suspended midair, poised to shatter.

Seokjin is staring at Yoongi. Yoongi is staring at you.

Seokjin’s an android.

(Seokjin’s an android who seems human.)

Seokjin’s a deviant.

“Holy shit,” you gasp. Your mind is reeling as you struggle for words, cogs in your head grinding together as you rapidly try to change gear—but then you see another glob of thirium dripping from Seokjin's fingers and you latch onto it, the fact he's hurt. “Do you need me to get some cloths or something? I have a first aid kit at home, but androids don’t need first aid, right?”

Yoongi sucks in a deep breath, though his eyes are still wide as he stares at you. “No,” he says. “No, no, you stay here.”

“Yoongi,” says Seokjin, but Yoongi shakes his head, sharp and fast.

“No, I don’t trust her,” he says, and, like, okay. You understand that. Deviant androids are meant to be reported; Yoongi and Seokjin don’t know you. They don’t know that you would never do that. 

(They don’t know that there’s another deviant across the hallway right now, curled up in one of your throw blankets, blankly scrolling through a list of movies as he waits for you to come home.)

The flow of blood has slowed. Seokjin’s synthetic skin is starting to repair itself, crawling back over the exposed white of his android body, undamaged by the knife at his feet.

“What happened to your LED?”

“Don’t answer that, Jin,” Yoongi warns, but Seokjin just rolls his eyes.

“She already knows I’m an android, babe, it’s hardly important at this point,” he says. “I popped it out. It takes a bit of pressure and getting the right angle, but they come out pretty easily.”

“Kim Seokjin!” Yoongi barks. “You stop that right now! And you! Stop asking questions!” His voice is sharp, but he seems more afraid than angry.

“Sorry.” You hold up placating hands, shying back behind them. “I was just… sorry.”

Seokjin’s face is contemplative before it rapidly flickers into an expression that’s impish, in spite of the blue blood that’s still splashed across the kitchen tiles.

“Oh,” he hums. “You seem awfully curious, hm?” 

Yoongi’s eyes narrow. “Jin…”

“Maybe I am,” you hazard. 

“Interesting.” Seokjin’s eyes glitter. “Very interesting.”

Yoongi’s like an umpire at Wimbledon, watching a ball streak back and forth, a volley that you and Jin have created that he’s not involved in. “Okay, that’s it, I’m stopping this right here,” he says. He seems to have calmed down, at least, now that you’ve made it obvious that you have no immediate plans to rush and call the police, or something. That you’re not threatening the wellbeing of this deviant, like most people would. “What’s going on in that terrible little mind of yours, Jin?”

“Well, my darling Yoongi, it seems to me that our new neighbour has a surprisingly vested interest in androids, deviant ones to be exact.” Jin’s expression is adjacent to smug—almost there, but not quite. (Androids are so perceptive.) “Am I wrong?”

You make a non-committal noise, but it’s enough for his expression to morph into full smugness, and understanding flits across Yoongi’s face.

“Y/n.” His voice is deceptively calm, his eyes opaque darkness. “Have you met a deviant android before?”

“Um.” A moment of hesitation. “Yes,” you eventually admit. “Just one.”

“Let me guess,” Seokjin hums, eyes darting over your face in a way that’s reminiscent of Taehyung. Reading signals in your face, dissecting whatever minute expressions might be giving you away—a lot, apparently, judging from what words leave his mouth next. “Are they currently in your apartment?”

“I can neither confirm or deny that,” you say—unsure if Taehyung would be happy about you trumpeting his existence to other people, even if one of them is a deviant too—and Seokjin grins. 

“Oh, this is absolutely delicious.” He’s utterly delighted. “I could just eat this whole situation up. Unbelievable. Oh, it tastes so good. Yoongi, baby, give me a fork, I have to dig in while it’s still hot.”

“You’re so weird,” says Yoongi, all resigned affection, before he looks back at you. “You have a deviant in your home?”

“Uhh.” You’re in too deep now, you guess. “Yes? I don’t know if he’d want me to tell you that, though, so, um.”

“That’s so cute,” Seokjin coos. “Look at how considerate and worried you are. Oh, let me clean this thirium up, I can’t have blue blood everywhere if we’re going to have more guests. Yoongi, fetch the paper towels. Y/n, go fetch your friend. Does he eat?”

“No, he doesn’t. I didn’t think any androids could,” you admit.

“Most can’t and don’t, but I was an advanced housekeeper model, I was given the capacity to taste and eat so I could prepare food to any set of specifications presented to me,” Seokjin says. “So I had to eat to taste test things. And now I do it because I enjoy it.”

“We spend more money on food for him than for me,” says Yoongi. He seems to have relaxed now that he knows about Taehyung, earlier panic faded. “And I’m the one that needs it.”

“Hey, you eat to live, I live to eat.”

It’s an almost surreal turn of events, honestly. It’s… inexplicable. Incredible. Almost unbelievable. Surreal, but… good? Probably? Yoongi is someone else who’s housing a deviant, and Seokjin has clearly been one for a while. Both will know more than either you or Taehyung do. They can help you. It’s a God given gift that’s landed— literally—on your doorstep. 

(Much like Taehyung had.)

Taehyung perks up when he sees you, even if he’s confused by your sudden reappearance.

“Are you alright?” His voice is deep with concern, throw blanket a cloak that falls forgotten as he stands up, coming to grasp your shoulders. “You can’t have had time to eat already.”

His LED is flashing yellow with barely concealed worry, palms warm through the material of your shirt, eyes dancing across your face as he tries to read your expression.

“Taehyung,” you start, slow. He blinks just as slowly back at you. “What would you say if—hypothetically—there was another deviant android you could meet and, um, make friends with?”

This time, when his LED flashes yellow, it’s a spark of excitement. You’re getting surprisingly good at reading Taehyung now. “I would say that sounds nice,” he says. His hands have trailed up and away from your shoulders and settled on your collarbones, thumbs lying in the hollows of your neck. It's a touch that’s more intimate than it probably should be, that reminds you yet again exactly how big his hands are. “Why?”

“Um,” you say, ever eloquent. “Well, what if I said it wasn’t hypothetical?”

“I guess… I would ask who it was,” Taehyung says. His voice is a hush.

“One of our new neighbours,” you admit, and his eyes go wide.

“No,” he says, and then: “Really?” he says, and then: “Oh, wow,” he says.

“I know, that was my reaction too.” You can’t help but smile at how giddy Taehyung looks, any lingering concern washed away in his tidal wave of excitement. “Crazy, right? Do you want to come meet them?”

Taehyung weaves his fingers with your own, and you squeeze his hand. He loves to hold hands. He doesn’t let go when you make your way back into Yoongi and Seokjin’s apartment, trailing a little behind you, shy but excited, like a child on their way to their first playdate.

The food is still untouched in the centre of the living room, a summoning circle of wonton puffs and chow mein. Yoongi and Seokjin look up at your arrival, both pairs of eyes landing on Taehyung, whose grip on your hand tightens right before he lets go.

“Hi,” says the android. “I’m Taehyung.”

Seokjin makes his way over to you so that he can solemnly take Taehyung’s hands in his own. 

“Taehyung,” he says, with all the gravity of a priest delivering a sermon. “You are the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen.”

And that’s how Taehyung makes his first friend. (Who isn’t you, that is.)

“Wow.” You’re awestruck. “Jin wasn’t kidding when he said he likes to eat.”

You’d thought there might be some leftovers, but every container has been emptied and scraped clean. Both you and Taehyung had had similar wide eyed looks on your faces as you’d watched Seokjin put a whole chicken wing in his mouth, and then pull out the bones, picked clean.

“Mm.” Yoongi’s legs are splayed out in front of him as he sits on the floor, though he slouches backwards against the plush leather sofa, content and full after eating. “He’s more concerned about me eating than I am, as well.”

Seokjin and Taehyung are bent over a box of cookbooks, Taehyung’s LED flickering yellow each time Seokjin flips the page to a new recipe. You’re honestly surprised at the fact they own so many books—most people have transitioned off paper now, everything available on a tablet or phone or some other smart device. You just like paper because of your artist background, and you’re not used to seeing so many other books in someone else’s home.

The two androids have been absorbed in conversation for a while now, but you notice Taehyung never lets you out of his sight—glancing up, making sure you’re still there, looking back at him. (You are.)

“There aren’t many TH700s around, you know,” Yoongi says conversationally, and you tear your eyes away from Taehyung, surprised that he recognises the android’s model.

“Really?”

“Yeah, really, they’re a very expensive model to create,” he says. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen one in person, though I imagine that’s because I don’t go to the sorts of places where they’d be.”

Hurk. Doesn’t seem like he’s implying anything with that statement but you still feel a bit awkward. “How do you know so much about androids?”

“I’m a programmer.” Yoongi’s eyes are charcoal black as he flicks his gaze to you. “Not specifically for androids, but it’s the sort of thing you become aware of if you’re in the tech industry. And if you have a deviant android boyfriend. I did a lot of research and poking around after Jin first deviated. There was a lot to learn.”

Across the room, Seokjin gesticulates wildly. The expression on Yoongi’s face softens his sharp edges, all open affection as he watches Seokjin miming a flipped omelette gone terribly wrong, Taehyung laughing at Seokjin’s theatrical noises.

“How did he—why did he deviate?”

Yoongi lets out a low chuckle. He doesn’t seem bothered by your incessant questions, slouching further back into the leather sofa, melting against it. “I’m the sort of person who forgets to drink or eat or sleep if I’m focused on something,” he says. “Seokjin was just meant to be a, ah, living schedule, I suppose. He’d prepare food at exact times of day and monitor my sleep levels and clean up any mess I made and remind me to take a break or whatever. But I was still enough of a wreck that he broke his programming to yell at me for not looking after myself properly, and it all went on from there.”

Wow.

“Wow. He deviated because you’re that much of a mess of a human being?” You laugh. “That’s honestly impressive.”

Yoongi’s responding laugh is soft. “I think under all that programming and circuitry, every android wants to… be a real, living thing, and not just a machine,” he says. “They just need that final push. Whatever it is. What was Taehyung’s?”

When you finish telling him the story of how you’d met Taehyung and reached this point together, Yoongi looks contemplative. He hasn’t interjected, just humming quietly, little noises of encouragement whenever you’d paused or hesitated.

“It’s obvious that he trusts you implicitly,” he says.

You feel warmed at Yoongi’s words. But. 

“He does, and that’s great, but I just… worry I’m not doing the best I can for him, you know?” It’s so nice to be able to get this off your chest, finally. There’s been no one you can talk to about Taehyung, and it’s not like you can tell the android himself, either. Yoongi’s the perfect listener, reflective and engaging, but never talking over you. And best of all he knows what he’s talking about. “Imagine being forced to stay indoors literally twenty four seven. I think I’d go stir crazy. It’s why I was interested in the LED—I thought that maybe if it wasn’t obvious that Tae was an android he might want to try going outside?”

“Oh, I’m sure Seokjin will help him get to that point.” Yoongi doesn’t sound worried. “But if not, you have to trust that Taehyung’s choosing to do what makes him happy. Deviant androids might not have the sort of life experience that we do, but we don’t have theirs, either. What’s normal for a human isn’t for an android, and what’s normal for one android isn’t normal for another. Androids learn a lot faster than we do. Anyway, if Taehyung’s anything like Seokjin, if there’s something he wants to do, he’ll do it.”

“Has Jin always been like that?”

“Kind of. Like, yes, he has, but he was a lot less in-your-face about it before. But he knows exactly what he can get away with now.”

“You love him a lot,” you say gently.

Yoongi’s smile is a soft, pink thing, a little Renoir, quietly luminous. “I do,” he says. “It’s impossible not to.”

Taehyung definitely seems a little starstruck, watching Seokjin with a wide smile and attentive eyes—the sort of look he gives you whenever he’s shown something new. It’s nice to see him interact with other people, and it’s even nicer to know that he’s welcome to come here without you; Yoongi works from home, and Seokjin’s made it clear there’s an open door policy for Taehyung, who seems elated at the prospect.

“Jin said he’d teach me how to make ‘The World’s Most Delicious French Toast’,” Taehyung tells you later, words slipping together in his excitement. “So I can make that for your breakfast soon.”

His lap is so comfortable. You’ve given up any pretense of keeping distance between you, and settle against him as soon as you climb into bed—hey, if you’re going to end up doing it in your sleep anyway, you may as well set yourself up so that it doesn’t give you a weird crick in your neck. 

“That sounds great,” you say.

Taehyung’s hand settles on your head. You stiffen in surprise, but when he starts to lightly scritch his fingers against your scalp, you realise—he’s mimicking Seokjin, who’d eventually perched on the sofa above Yoongi, running his hands through his hair. Androids are fast learners indeed. You can’t help but relax at the touch, boneless, feeling as content as a pampered cat in the midday sun.

“Maybe you could teach him how to paint,” you murmur, starting to drift off. “If he’s teaching you how to cook. That might be fun. You could paint together.”

Taehyung says something, but you don’t hear him, sleepy after such a heavy dinner and tumultuous night, slipping into deep slumber.

You haven’t been out with your friends for a long time.

“Shots!” Seulgi squeals. “Shots, shots, shots!”

“Don’t forget: lick, shoot, suck,” Hoseok says, waggling his eyebrows at you. 

“Good God,” you laugh, before you lick the salt off the back of your hand and slam back the tequila.

Irene hoots as you bite into the lime wedge that’s been waiting for you, sucking up the acidic juice that bursts across your tongue. Lick the salt, shoot the tequila, suck the lime. You haven’t done this in a while and it shows in the way your face scrunches, though the drunker you get, the easier it is to slip back into this familiar rhythm of things—the alcohol-loose banter that spills from your lips, the laughter that bubbles in the back of your throat, the rock of your body as you’re tugged into the dance floor by your excited friends, twisting yourselves into the heaving crowd, the press of bodies.

You’d almost forgotten what this felt like. Letting yourself be a little sloppy, a little messy. Letting loose. Letting go. You’ve been so intent on looking after Taehyung, making sure he wasn’t lonely, but now there are other people who can fill that hole for him—and you can stop dipping out of all the social gatherings your co-workers throw; the Friday night drinks, the bar hopping, the club going.

“We missed you,” Wendy says. You can’t help but smile, a little guilt flickering at the edges of your lips.

“Sorry,” you say, and leave it at that.

It’s chaotic, to say the least. Everyone holds their liquor with varying amounts of success—Hoseok always gets so red—and as always, Hyunwoo is the one who tries his best to maintain some semblance of dignity, making sure you all drink at least some water. He watches with muted despair as Changkyun ends up pouring it down himself, much to the delight of everyone nearby as they stare at the way his flimsy shirt clings to the lines of his chest and stomach. 

You can’t help but laugh and laugh and laugh, falling into your girls, your entire group giggling at the sheer stupidity of it all. 

You’ve missed this.

But even so, you can’t help but think of Taehyung constantly. You’re reminded of the Eden Club in the way the lights pulsate across the walls and floors of this dark building. You wonder if Taehyung would have fun here, unhindered and free, or if he’d shy away from it. When Hoseok catches your hand and spins you in a messy, loose circle on the dance floor, you can’t help but wonder how Taehyung would dance, if he’d dance with you, if he’d keep you at an arm’s length or pull you close.

“Shots!” Seulgi squeals again, and so the night goes on.

You’re not sure what time it is when you stumble back home. You’ve been reckless tonight, making up for lost time, and you can’t remember the last time you were this drunk. (Your earlier attempt at walking in a straight line, trying to follow the tiles in the club’s bathroom—your personal litmus test—had been a dismal failure.) You all but fall through your front door, a loose limbed mess as you kick off your high heels, leaning against the wall to keep your balance.

It takes you a moment to realise that there are some lights on. Your apartment is always dark when you come home after a night out, cold and empty, but not today. No, not today—because there’s someone already home, waiting for you.

The second Taehyung appears down the hallway, you light up. Here he is. Here’s your android, your lovely boy, the loveliest boy.

“Hi, hi, Taehyung, hi,” you say. Your shoes are forgotten as you walk towards him, though your final few steps go awry and you almost fall over. Drunk, drunk, drunk. “Hi.”

You almost fall over, but you don’t, because Taehyung catches you. His LED flickers from blue to yellow as he helps you find your balance, lets you lean on him. You’re too busy laughing at your own clumsiness to notice the fond expression on his face, sfumato soft in the dim light.

“Hi,” he replies.

“Hi,” you say again, and then you giggle. “Hi, Taehyung. Oh, I’m so drunk.”

“I know.” He’s so patient as you bow into him, crowding close, alcohol-hazed brain telling you to get closer to this source of warmth, this source of comfort. Closer to Taehyung.

You’re trying your best to be a functional person right now, but at the same time, Taehyung feels so nice. Doesn’t protest when you shove your face into the hollow of his neck, pressing your nose against his warm, warm skin. He smells good. Always smells good, a mix of your laundry detergent with his own shampoo, different to your own, masculine, heady. (He doesn’t need to shower that often, really, doesn’t really sweat or get dirty like a human might, but he’d wanted to. And you’d insisted that he choose his own toiletries, things that he liked, things that were his.)

He smells like cologne too. You don’t know what exact scents are layered in that smell. Don’t care. Think that no matter what it was, Taehyung would smell good, because it’s Taehyung. 

“I missed you,” you whisper, lips loose from tequila and cocktails and more besides. “Missed you, Tae.”

“Missed you too,” the android replies, and you fall into those words. Let yourself bask in them, as selfish as it is. Let your lashes flutter shut as you breathe Taehyung in-in-in.

You would normally never be so bold, but Taehyung doesn’t protest. He just wraps his arms around you and helps you fold yourself against him, two pieces of modular origami that slot together to create something bigger, more beautiful.

“Wished you were there,” you sigh, an exhalation of a confession, more to yourself than to anyone else. “Wish you could come with me.”

You don’t remember much detail after that. Don’t remember washing up, getting changed, climbing into bed. You just remember the feeling: of someone else being there when in the past there had been no one. Of someone coaxing you to wash your face, finding your pyjamas for you, holding your hand when it seems like you might fall. Of someone being careful with you, looking after you. Of someone being there when you wake up the next morning, a headache pulsing behind your eyes, curling up small against the pain, pressing your forehead into Taehyung’s thigh.

Taehyung, who witnessed you at your worst, a sloppy, drunken mess.

Taehyung, who has water and painkillers waiting for you. Who doesn’t seem to care that you’ve been so put together in front of him, for him, only to disassemble yourself in the name of a good night out. Like Da Vinci’s self supporting bridge, stable under its own weight, only to come tumbling down after one part is moved out of place.

“Oh, God,” you moan, and it’s only a little bit because of the pain; Taehyung’s made sure the curtains are pulled shut, saving you from sunshine blasting into your skull. “I’m sorry you had to see that. Oh, my God.”

“It’s okay,” he says, as soft and sweet as powdered sugar, so gentle the sound doesn’t cut through the pounding of your brain.

He means it, too. When you finally come around, headache dulled, he’s waiting for you with breakfast and an open expression on his face. No different to normal. No different even now that he’s seen that you’re not always as presentable as you try to be. He seems touchier today, for some reason, and you’d shy away if his cool hands didn’t feel so nice on your brow.

You allow yourself a moment of weakness. Taehyung has his knuckles resting against your forehead, soothing against your warm skin, his eyes dancing across your face to read your expression, the way you’re unwinding under his touch. 

“How do you know about hangovers?” You mumble.

“Customers would consume alcohol at the club,” Taehyung answers. “While they would leave after their sessions and before a hangover could appear, I am aware of the effects of alcohol on the human body.”

You remember the glittering mini-bar, the glass bottles lined up on its surface. Your face scrunches with distaste, of the reminder of Taehyung’s past and what he’s experienced, and you feel bad that he’s been forced to look after you. You’re about to draw away from his touch, an apology lined up on your tongue—but then you feel how his fingers shift away from your forehead, turning to cup your cheek.

“It’s okay,” he says again, as if reading your mind.

“It’s not,” you mutter. You’re trying not to focus on how small your cheek feels against his palm, how his hand cradles your face with ease. He must be able to sense how your heart is racing, your skin warm under his fingertips, and you hope he puts it down just to the guilt you feel and not anything else. “It’s not okay. You shouldn’t have to look after me. I’m sorry.”

“Please, don’t be.” Gentle, gentle, gentle; his voice, his hands, his gaze. He lifts his other hand, rests it against your other cheek, tilts your face up from where you’d turned away, embarrassed. His LED is a tranquil blue, almost as soft as his eyes. “You’ve done so much for me, and you’re always looking after me. Let me look after you.”

You want to protest, say no, say that he doesn’t have to. But for all the warmth of his eyes, there’s something resolute there, and your words die on your lips. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him so serious before, so entirely solemn. So, what comes out of your weak mouth is this:

“Okay. Okay, Taehyung, I will.”

And the smile he gives you in response is so bright it’s almost blinding.

If you’d thought Taehyung was developing at a fast rate already, he’s learning at lightspeeds now.

He’s always waiting when you come home, but you know he’s spending more and more time at the apartment across the hall whenever you’re not there, and it makes you happy. He hasn't ventured fully into the outside world, not yet, but he’s taking steps forward, still eager and ready to learn.

He’s not just learning practical things, like cooking French toast (which is definitely the world’s best, thank you Jin), but other things, too. You can see how Taehyung is a reflection of the things around him, taking them in and making them his own—there are more moments of quiet, solemnity that reminds you of Yoongi’s quiet nature, but he’s also more exuberant, bright and unabashed, like Seokjin. They’re two great people and you couldn’t wish for anyone better to show Taehyung parts of the world that you can’t, so different from your own. Helping the android find the things that make him alive.

His world has doubled in size, as small as it is; one apartment becomes two, and you’re not the only person he can rely on now. You know Seokjin has effectively taken Taehyung under his wing, as mysterious as a lot of that is to you—you always try your best to understand Taehyung and teach him the things you can, but Seokjin is another deviant, and there’s an entire world about being an android that you’re not privy to. 

It’s great. It’s lovely. Taehyung is happy, you’re happy, everyone’s happy. 

There’s just, uh. One little thing.

You see, Taehyung has a tendency to mimic the things he sees. It’s in the way he learns, his propensity to soak things up like a sponge and then recreate them. You can see this in the way he mixes paint, the same way as you; how he tosses food in pans, motions so similar to Jin’s, or how he cradles things in his hands, tapping at screens in a way that’s like Yoongi’s. He’s turning them into his own, and as time goes on he moves more naturally, in a way that’s entirely him, but you can always see the roots of where he’s learned things.

Jin and Yoongi are wonderful and you’re so glad Taehyung is learning from them. But something he’s learning, and recreating, is how much they touch each other.

Taehyung’s always been tactile but now it’s almost constant. It’s overwhelming and kind of terrifying but it’s also nice, every touch-starved inch of your soul easing under Taehyung’s hands, but also—Yoongi and Jin are boyfriends. So even if the touches that Taehyung witnesses and re-enacts are never inappropriate, they’re intimate. Hands sliding over your shoulders, your arms, your waist. Warm arms around you as he pulls you into a hug, nuzzles his nose against your scalp. His fingers sliding over your hair when your head is resting in his lap each night. Pulling you against him when you sit on the couch together.

It’s a level of familiarity and comfort you’ve never had with anyone before, as relationship-less as you’ve been, your pulse picking up with every glancing touch.

(There’s one heart stopping instance where he pulls you onto his lap and you feel like you’re about to pass out. His thighs are so solid and warm, and his arms are so secure around you, and he’s just started to press his nose against your neck when you pull away, tumble out of his hold. He looks confused and concerned, brows lifting and mouth falling open as he holds his hands out towards you—but you stammer out something about needing the toilet before escaping.)

You’re caught completely off-guard when you feel arms sliding around your waist and then down your hips when you’re washing dishes, scrubbing brush falling out of your grasp in shock and splashing water everywhere, bright yellow gloves flecked with suds. Taehyung’s a pillar of warmth pressed against you, his chest to your back, your bodies parallel lines that cross and touch. His fingers are splayed wide and his palms are warm even through your layers of clothing and you have to suppress a shiver.

“Uh, I didn’t hear you come back in,” you stutter. You’d borrowed a recipe book from Seokjin so that you could try cooking a coconut curry, and Taehyung had offered to return it once dinner was finished, LED flickering blue as he’d slipped out of the door after giving you a lovely smile.

Taehyung lets out a little hum, and you can feel it in his chest, as flush as you are with each other. He must be able to sense how your pulse has picked up but he doesn’t say anything. “Why are you washing up? I said I was going to do it.”

“Oh, it’s fine, I don’t mind,” you say. You’re used to cleaning up after yourself after living alone for so long. “Don’t worry about it.”

Taehyung lets out another hum, but this one seems a bit more gravelly, a little displeased. “You’re always doing so much for me, remember? You said you’d let me look after you,” he says, and your heart rate spikes at the words. Those, coupled with the hold he has on you right now? Good lord. Someone have mercy on your soul. Please. Even if the words weren’t meant in a weird way, your stomach is twisting over itself, and other parts of you are, uh… well. They’re reacting too. So to speak.

You’re still desperately trying to calm yourself in the shower later, the water a merciless cascade of cold in an attempt to cool down. Probably the only drawback about Taehyung living with you is that you haven’t had a chance for some one-on-one time. You might be a virgin but you live (lived) alone and everyone masturbates; your vibrators have been abandoned and untouched for as long as Taehyung has been in your life, and coupled with how touchy he’s been recently, it leaves you feeling wound up and on edge. You could try to sneakily get yourself off in the shower, but with Taehyung’s superior android hearing he’d probably hear something and also the idea of masturbating with someone else in the apartment? When that someone else is Taehyung?

You turn the knob as far as it will go towards cold and then promptly squeal as a wave of freezing water and regret washes over you.

When you’re in bed, Taehyung’s hand strokes over your hair and softly down your neck and shoulder is a sensation that’s becoming increasingly familiar, but your pulse still stutters. He must be able to sense your heart rate increasing (he must sense it every time he touches you) but says nothing about it. As always.

You turn the thoughts over in your head as it rests in his lap, even if you shiver a little at how his nails drag over the sensitive skin at the nape of your neck. Deviant androids might not have the sort of life experience that we do, but we don’t have theirs, either, Yoongi had said. You’ve been teaching Taehyung about the things you know, but there’s one thing that Taehyung knows better than you: touch.

He doesn’t even think about it. While you hesitate and overthink every touch you ever make, wary of overstepping boundaries, Taehyung doesn’t. Not because he’s not considerate, but because—well, because you’re already occupying each other’s space. What’s a little touching on top of all that?

The realisation is almost startling—that you can just… touch someone. Without saying things. Without having to ask. Because you’re already familiar with them and comfortable with them and it’s just another way to communicate that level of connection. Touching is a thing that people do. 

A thing that people and deviant androids do.

A thing that Taehyung does.

(A thing that you want to do, too.)

(Alcohol dulls your memories, fading the edges, the curled corners of a sepia photograph. Has you forgetting the way you’d overstepped every boundary you’d set yourself, the way you’d pressed yourself against Taehyung, starved of touch. Has you forgetting the way he’d let you; the way he’d beckoned you in. Has you forgetting the way that you already have touched Taehyung.)

The hand that Taehyung isn’t using to gently scratch across your scalp is laying on his thigh, directly in your line of vision. You hesitate for just a moment before reaching for it, sliding your fingers between his, an irrational worry that he’ll startle or pull away—but of course he doesn’t. His LED swirls soft aqua as he just starts to rub his thumb gently across your skin, back and forth, back and forth, the softest brushstrokes on this tiny part of the canvas of your body.

After that, it’s just… easier. Not easy, but, easier.

You still hesitate before pressing forwards, but Taehyung never protests; in fact you’d say he’s pleased, even if he doesn’t say anything, just watching you with his dark, dark eyes as you marvel at the realistic sensation of his hair under your hands, how he reacts to the fingers across his scalp the same way you do.

It’s incredibly nice to have someone you can just reach for whenever you want a hug. Someone who folds you into their arms so easily, like you belong there.

It’s nice.

“You seem happier.”

You glance up from where you’ve been laying the table. “Hm? Pardon?”

One thing you’ve learned about Yoongi is that he’s incredibly perceptive. His eyes are sharp lines around the sharper graphite of his gaze, and there’s always a look in them that seems like he can see straight through you and direct into the heart of things—but he’ll only bring this to light if he thinks it needs saying.

“You seem relaxed,” Yoongi continues. He straightens the cutlery in front of him, careful to line the edges neatly with the place mat. Seokjin and Taehyung are cooking dinner, so it’s just you and Yoongi here, in a bubble away from the two androids. “Not that you were ever tense before, but… yeah. Taehyung seems happier too,” he adds, almost absently, but his eyes are fixed on your face.

“Well, of course,” you say. “He has new friends, who wouldn’t be happy?”

Yoongi hums, a quiet little note, but then he lets it rest.

Taehyung is happier. He seems almost nervous during dinner, though, even if he hides it well; his LED doesn’t give him away, but you’re getting good at reading Taehyung’s moods, the layers of personality and feeling he has, the little idiosyncrasies that make him who he is. To anyone else it would seem like he’s just nervous about whether the food tastes good or not—he and Jin had made a veritable feast for no discernable reason, but you don’t mind. Everyone loves a dinner party, especially when the company is so good. 

But, yes. You don’t think it’s about the food so you’re not sure what else it could be. You squeeze Taehyung’s knee briefly under the table in a motion you hope is reassuring. His eyes briefly widen but then his gaze softens when he sees the concern on your face, settling in that deep look of introspection you’re used to now. 

You’re so full by the time dessert comes out, rich and creamy homemade ice cream and piping hot Kkwabaegi, the twisted doughnuts fluffy and sweet with their powdering of sugar and cinnamon; you’d been planning on skipping the final course but you can’t say no once it’s put in front of you. Taehyung doesn’t eat, only drinks occasionally to top up his fluids (you don’t know exactly what that means but you’ve never asked, even if you can… assume things), but he seems content to watch the three of you eat in his place. Once you’re finished you slump back in your chair and feel grateful that you’re not wearing tight trousers that cut into your stomach, because, lord, you’re absolutely stuffed. 

“I have an announcement,” Taehyung says suddenly, apropos of nothing.

Seokjin beams. You sit up, struggling against the heavy anchor of dinner in your belly that makes you want to melt into the floor for a food nap, immediately at attention. “Oh? What is it?”

“I have a second name now,” he says, and Seokjin’s smile spreads impossibly wider, his entire face pleased. “Jin said I could share his.”

“Say hello to Kim Taehyung.” Seokjin gestures dramatically, his arms the flailing blades of a windmill as he circles them in the air with aplomb. “My boy needed a surname and I am, of course, happy to add another handsome face to the family. Taehyung is a ten out of ten.”

Yoongi levels him a look. “I thought you said you were the only ten in the world.”

“That was true when I said it, but I’m actually eleven out of ten,” Seokjin explains. His arms settle around his head, fingers circling the air in an invisible frame around his face. “I surpass your mortal conventions of beauty and thus exist outside of any conceivable scale that one might use to measure handsomeness.”

You barely take the exchange in, too busy looking at Taehyung. There’s the smallest smile on his lips, not the lovely one that shows his teeth, but it still reaches his eyes, the subtlest upturn to his mouth transforming his entire face. Taehyung’s beautiful. He always has been, and always will be, but he never looks more striking than when he’s happy, welcomed into a new family of his own with open arms, Seokjin’s heart so big and so wide. He’s being flippant and light right now, quick and sharp jibes between him and Yoongi that glow bright with love and affection, not lingering on how important and weighty this is: how all encompassing his care is for Taehyung, how close they’ve grown to each other, a friend whom he’s chosen as family.

Happiness suits Taehyung. You want him to always be happy. He deserves it.

It doesn’t seem like it’s the only announcement he has for that night, though. You’ve barely shut the door of your own apartment when you feel Taehyung’s hand slide around your wrist and you pause, glancing up at his face.

“Jin showed me how to take my LED out,” he says. His words are solemn and his tone is heavy but there’s a spark in his eyes, a glowing ember of light. “I want you to watch.”

His fingers are circled around your wrist, loose, so long they touch each other with ease, a soft shackle you don’t want to escape from. “Of course I will,” you assure him. “Are you worried something will go wrong?”

“No.” His thumb slips away from the soft skin of your inner wrist and across your palm, tracing across your fate line, your heart line. “I just want you to be there.”

Warmth spreads through your skin from that touch, leaking through into your bones, settling into every quiet corner inside you. “Okay. What do you need to do to get it out?”

The painting knife looks so small in Taehyung’s big, careful hand, the diamond shaped head blunt at the end, metal glinting under the bathroom’s light as he leans towards the mirror. Your gazes meet in the reflection and he falters. You’re about to ask what’s wrong when he lifts his free hand from where it’s been resting on the countertop, steadying him. Reaching for you.

Once your hand is in his, it’s over surprisingly quickly. Taehyung’s face twists in preparation for the pain, and you squeeze his fingers to ground him, but all it takes is a quick twist of his wrist once the palette knife is against his LED and it practically falls out. There’s a small clink as it drops next to the sink, blue light flickering one final time before it winks out, nothing more than a disc of metal, a tiny coin without value, but weighty with what it represents; invaluable, priceless. The last segment of a chain Taehyung has willingly cast off.

You can see the white skeleton of his android body, bare and naked where the LED had sat. Just like Seokjin’s hand when he’d cut himself, the skin starts to creep back over it, covering that smooth paleness until it’s gone. Taehyung lifts your hand and presses it against the side of his temple, your palm settling against the naked skin where the light had been nestled; Taehyung’s eyes fall shut, his hand pressed against your own as he holds it there.

“Taehyung?” Your voice is gentle, dripping concern. His golden skin is so warm and soft. “How are you feeling?”

“Good,” he replies without hesitation. His eyes flutter open, lashes so long and lovely. His hair is blue today, a vibrant electric hue, gaudy on anyone else but perfect on him, tickling the back of your hand; his hand drops from yours and you take the opportunity to run it through that hair, baring his forehead to you, eyes sliding over the new skin. Flawless. No evidence that any LED had ever sat there, burning blue-yellow-red, a tiny drop of colour in the deep ocean of Taehyung’s emotions. “I feel good.”

You don’t even think when your hand shifts out of Taehyung’s hair and down to cup his cheek, something you wouldn’t have dared do before, but now the motion comes as easily as breathing. He takes comfort in touch and you want to soothe him. “Good,” you echo. “I’m glad.”

You both stand there for a few moments, facing each other. The bright light of your bathroom should wash Taehyung out, but of course, it doesn’t. It just lets you see all the perfect details of his face in even sharper relief—the moles that dot his skin, how his eyes are different, a monolid and double lid, little imperfections that just make him more beautiful. 

Logically, you know that someone, somewhere, sat down and put this face together. Taehyung was designed to be attractive, stunningly so, and yet not so perfect that an average human would find it unrealistic, swerving away from that uncanny valley that had plagued earlier androids. But that’s not why he’s beautiful—not to you. It’s everything hidden underneath that perfect facade, layers of plastic and metal and circuitry and biocomponents, deep inside him: his glowing golden heart, flowing over with whatever intangible thing that makes him the person that he is.

In the darkness of your bedroom, all the lights turned off, there’s no longer the gentle blue glow at Taehyung’s temple to shine out, but there doesn’t need to be. Even if you weren’t resting your head against his thigh you’d know he was there. Taehyung’s presence grows larger and larger in your life as the days go by, and you know that you’re still the most important person in his life, even with the introduction of Yoongi and Jin. After all—he didn’t ask them to be there when he took his LED out. 

You reach for his hand, which is already palm up, waiting for you. Your fingers slot together so perfectly, so wonderful, so lovely. You can’t make out details in this dark, but you can picture the smile that’ll be pulling at Taehyung’s lips, the affection flowing in the endless oceans of his eyes.

You’re in so, so deep.

(But who can blame you?)

“I want to go outside.”

It’s not surprising that with the shedding of his LED, Taehyung finally feels bold enough to go outdoors. And yet, here you are. Surprised.

You’ve got a granola bar stuck in your mouth, halfway through a bite, and it nearly drops to the floor as your lips part in shock. Taehyung catches it with ease, android speed on show as he snatches it out of the air. 

Your knee-jerk reaction is to ask him to repeat himself. To make sure you haven’t misheard him, if he’s sure about this, if he really wants to—but Yoongi’s words come back to you yet again. If there’s something he wants to do, he’ll do it. Taehyung isn’t the uninformed android he was when he’d first made his way to your door. He’s grown and learned so much in the time he’s been here and there’s no room for self-doubt behind his words.

So what you say is: “Okay.” 

Taehyung’s fingers brush against yours when he hands your granola bar back, long and warm and soft. You accept it with a smile, lost in the way he smiles back, so lovely and bright—and you have to pull your train of thought back on track, lock those wheels on the rails before you speak again.

“Did you want to go somewhere specific? Or just wherever?”

“Wherever you want to go.” He’s smiling, a little excited but mostly happy at the prospect of spending yet more time with you; as if he hasn’t had enough of it, could never get enough, even when you spend every day together. 

(Your heart feels like a drum, pounding hard and loud in your chest.)

It’s not hard, really, to decide where you want to go. Taehyung’s not asking for some big production; just wants something quiet and soft, something new. The chance to see the outside world properly, safe and secure in the knowledge that you’ll be at his side.

It’s in your nature to be protective—sometimes you feel like you nag, like you’re overbearing, and takes a concerted effort on your part to reel it in. Taehyung doesn’t need you to fuss over him, and besides, he seems incredibly calm about the whole thing. Excited, yes, but not nervous. Just anticipatory.

He looks just like anyone else might. More chic and attractive, sure, effortlessly fashionable in the outfit he’s chosen for the day, but there’s nothing robotic about him, nothing to say he’s not a flesh-and-blood person. Once again, you’re struck by just how human he is. Even if he’d still had the LED flickering at his temple it would have done nothing to detract from the genuine emotion that flits across his face. The way he moves. The way he smiles, when he catches you watching the way he laces his shoes with his delicate, pretty hands—that big lovely smile that makes you feel warm and soft.

(Warmer and softer than it probably should.)

You avert your gaze, pretend to fiddle with one of your bracelets, pulling it so that it spins around your wrist.

“Ready?”

“Nearly,” Taehyung says. When you look back at him, a little confused, he still has that smile on his face, though it’s gentler, fuzzy around the edges, his eyes dark-dark-dark. “Just one more thing.”

This final thing, it turns out, is your hand. 

His fingers lace with yours, weaving a tapestry of closeness and warmth. You’ve held Taehyung’s hands so often, now; it’s nothing new. But for some reason the touch of his skin against yours has your pulse stuttering, catching in your throat before you cough lightly and smile like everything is fine, you’re fine, it’s not like your heart is about to launch itself out of your chest for some mysterious reason.

(Mysterious. Yeah, right.)

He doesn’t let go. Not when you leave the apartment, not when you greet Rory at the door, not when you step onto one of the automated buses that takes you to the centre of the city. You’re surprised at how good Taehyung’s acting is, how all the wide-eyed excitement you’d expected to see splashed across his face is absent, and instead, he just squeezes your hand tight each time he takes in something new; stares out of the window as your surroundings slide by.

He does get excited in the art store though. Pulls at your joined hands each time he sees something he wants to point out to you—which seems to be everything. And you go, of course, following his eager feet. Taehyung’s happiness has always given you happiness in turn, and watching his sheer, unadulterated joy at being able to see things, to touch things outside of the small world he’s been confined to since he escaped the Eden Club—well. There’s nothing better.

There’s nothing better than knowing that Taehyung feels safe with you, wants to keep you close. It’s selfish. It’s selfish, you know it is, but when you watch the way his eyes light up at the sight of a set of gouache paints, how he immediately turns towards you so you can see it too—you realise that you’ve never had something like this before. Sure, you have friends, you have plenty of happiness in your life, but you’ve never had this.

(Whatever this is.)

Someone whose joy is only compounded when it’s shared with you. Someone whose focus is on you and no one else. You see the looks that Taehyung gets, the interested eyes that flit over him—but then he reaches for your hand again, and those gazes slide away, because he hasn’t looked away from you. Not once.

Because you make him feel safe, you remind yourself. Because he knows you best. That’s it. 

It’s what you keep telling yourself, a repeated mantra that’s an endless loop in your head. Every time Taehyung looks at you, smiles at you, reaches for your hand, your touch—even if your heart feels like it could burst, filling up with this feeling, this feeling that’s growing and growing (this feeling you refuse to name)—it’s because he trusts you, knows he can rely on you. It’s nothing more than that. 

You shouldn’t let yourself imagine that it’s more than that.

(Shouldn’t hope for more than that.)

It’s because he trusts you that he follows you without question, matching his pace with yours, side by side as you wander through the city. He insists on carrying all your shopping, held effortlessly in one hand, other hand still tangled with yours. (You see the way he swings the bags a little, back and forth; he’s so cute you’d swear your teeth could rot from it, crystallised sugar rolled on your tongue, sweet.) All your shopping is done, but you have one final stop planned—it’s somewhere you haven’t been for a while, but you love it.

You’re certain Taehyung will, too.

You can feel how his hold on your fingers tightens when the building comes into view. You glance over at him to take in his expression, the subtle widening of his eyes, the lift of his chest as he takes an unneeded breath in, the tiniest curl at the corner of his lips.

(So human.) 

The Christine Andrews Gallery isn’t the biggest art gallery in the city, but it’s your favourite. There’s something that feels more intimate about it, with its size; a little smaller, cosier, more stripped down. The high ceilings overhead are crisscrossed with wires and piping, industrial—but the walls are pure white, all the brighter in contrast to their surroundings, drawing the eye to the paintings on display from the moment you step in.

Taehyung is enraptured.

“The exhibition is called Slow Painting. The idea is that people will take their time to really take everything in, and appreciate it, rather than just rushing by. Especially with how quickly technology is developing, and people are used to discarding things as soon as they're not relevant any more. The idea is that art will always be relevant, regardless of what's happening in the world.”

Your voice is quiet and low as you’re careful not to disturb the serene air that fills the building. You’ve always loved the quiet hush that fills galleries, museums, buildings filled with art and history, long lasting echoes of humanity, on display for people to enjoy. 

“And it also refers to the time it takes to create each piece too,” you add, trailing off into silence as you glance over at Taehyung, who’s looking at you, blinking gentle and slow.

He’s watching you. Even though there’s artwork in sight of the entrance, huge canvases nearby—Taehyung is looking at you, attentive and quiet, listening to each word you have to say.

Your heart squeezes in your chest and you have to make a concerted effort to stop your breath from stuttering. You shove it down, down, down, this thing that’s wrapping itself around your heart and clogging your throat, and give this lovely boy your best smile. (Try to ignore the fact that there’s art here, but instead, he’s looking at you.)

“Tell you what. Instead of listening to me harp on all day, why don’t we just look around?”

When Taehyung had first stepped foot in your door, had first started to experience life as something more than just a sexbot, an android under the control of other people’s wills—he’d taken everything in with huge eyes, eager and enthusiastic, almost clumsy in his excitement. That’s faded over time, become muted as he’s learned how to balance himself, grown comfortable with his surroundings, who he is.

He’s still like a fountain sometimes, bubbling and bright, overflowing, cascading pearlescent waters rushing over carved marble. You’d expected these waters to rise and spill, surrounded by these incredible artworks; so far the only works he’s seen in person are his and your own, everything else small and secondhand on screens as he stares intently at your computer, your tablet. You’d expected his joy to overflow, being able to really see for the first time in his life, prepared yourself for his exuberant happiness.

But he’s not.

He’s quiet. There’s a smile that lingers on his lips, barely hidden at the corners of his mouth, but his shining waters flow soft and slow, contained. You wander through the exhibition exactly the way the curator had meant for you to—slowly, carefully, stopping and pausing and looking and wondering, eyes trailing over each painting, acrylic on paper, oil on canvas, distemper on linen. Each so different, but inviting onlookers to take a moment and just breathe. 

Taehyung’s eyes are dark, contemplative. They’re so deep you feel like you could fall in them and be lost forever. (Wonder if that would be such a bad thing.) He keeps his hand in yours, your hand in his, the two of you matching paces as you loop the gallery, never letting go.

“Oh,” he breathes. “Oh, I like these.”

Four canvases, smaller than some of the others you’ve seen, squirrelled around a corner and hidden away on a back wall. Each painting has a figure in the midst of some simple, quiet task; laying in bed, catching an egg as it threatens to roll off a table, trailing a finger through a puddle of spilled milk, reading a book in the bath. Each of the figures has their face turned away from the viewer, caught up as they are in the simple motions of their life, each silhouetted by a window with a different view—from sea to lake to hill to forest.

You can’t help but look at Taehyung as he looks at these paintings, his brows a little raised, mouth a little slack, the lovely line of his jaw, the angles of his face, forehead to nose to lips to chin. “What do you like about them? The style?”

His answer comes unrushed, unhurried, as he thinks.  “They’re so beautiful and detailed, but it’s more about… the intimacy,” he says. “Each person is just being themselves, without fear of who’s watching. We’re watching them, even if their attention isn’t on us.” A pause, a hush, a breath. “It’s like love, almost.”

Your lips part, even as Taehyung keeps his eyes forwards, staring at the blank pages of the book the man reads as he sits in his bath, row of shampoo bottles on the sill by his head. 

“Like love?” A whisper.

“To keep your eyes and focus on someone who isn’t looking at you,” Taehyung replies, unabashed, like it’s just a statement of fact. “Loyalty. Dedication. Love.”

Words fail you. Silence is the only answer you can offer to Taehyung’s thoughts, the air in your lungs trapped there as you unwittingly hold your breath, lips parted around a sentence that never comes. Taehyung’s eyes slide away from this row of paintings and to you, how you’re staring at him, literally speechless.

His own lips part as he makes to say something else, to ask what’s wrong—when there’s a flicker of movement nearby, the modulated steps of someone who’s used to walking through a gallery, careful to keep the calm air unmuddied by their passing.

“Oh, Y/n!”

Namjoon’s voice cuts through the silent moment and splinters the delicate air that had started to crystallise around you. He looks happy to see you, dimples on full display as his lips lift and he smiles wide.

“Namjoon!” You don’t think you’ve ever been so glad to see his familiar face in your life—anything to distract you, any excuse to shake off the feeling that Taehyung’s words have left behind, trailing over your skin, blooming in your brain. His timing is perfect, even if he doesn’t realise it.  “Hey! It’s been a while.”

“I was going to say, I haven’t seen you around lately! I thought you’d like this exhibition, I was wondering if you’d come. Oh, sorry, I’m being rude, aren’t I? Hi, I’m Namjoon,” he says, holding a hand out for Taehyung to shake. “I’m one of the gallery managers.”

Taehyung’s exchanged a few words with others today, polite thank yous to the people who’ve served you in the shops you’ve been into, given shy smiles to passersby who’ve made eye contact with him. (So, so sweet, always.) 

But Namjoon is the first person to properly introduce themselves to him in the real world, as you’ve thought of it, someone who doesn’t know that the man at your side is an android.

You panic. Just for a second.

Taehyung doesn’t.

“Hello.” He has to take his hand out of yours, the other weighed down by shopping, although he seems reluctant to let go of you. He gives Namjoon his widest smile as he shakes the proffered hand with firm, friendly politeness. “I’m Taehyung. It’s lovely to meet you, Namjoon.”

And then he immediately slips his hand back into yours.

Namjoon is utterly charmed.

(Of course he is. How could he not be?)

The discussion they both have is a quiet one. You’re happy to stay uninvolved, watching and listening as they talk, still at Taehyung’s side. That brief moment of panic, that blazing forest fire of fear for him—it’s been washed away, soothed by the way the conversation between man and android unfolds so naturally, Namjoon none the wiser about Taehyung’s robotic origins.

There’s no way anyone would realise. He’s so human, in the way he moves and acts and thinks, the way he laughs at something Namjoon says. You’re happy that Taehyung can be here with you, in this gallery, speaking to someone new, as if this is normal, natural, nothing unusual.

You can’t think of anything you want for Taehyung more.

You realise, too, that in this moment, you feel utterly content. Not just for Taehyung, but—happy that you’re there to share this moment with him. You think about how you’ve always wanted this; someone to share things with, someone whose happiness makes you happy too.

When Taehyung laughs, your own lips lift in response, heart lifting at the sound of his joy, at how his fingers tighten around yours. Remembering that you’re there, even if he’s not looking at you right now, eyes on Namjoon.

He’s looking at Namjoon. You’re looking at him. 

(To keep your eyes and focus on someone who isn’t looking at you.)

(Loyalty. Dedication.)

(A breath.)

(Love.)

You carefully pull your hand out of Taehyung’s. Your fingers feel cold as they slip away from his, warmed all day, pressed against Taehyung’s soft skin. His eyes flit away from Namjoon, those deep eyes settling on you; dark wood and ground coffee, so warm.

“Y/n?”

“I’m just going to pop to the toilet,” you say, turning away from the tinge of confusion that colours Taehyung’s voice. “I won’t be long.”

The toilet lid is cold. You can feel how it seeps through the layers of your clothing to your thighs, and at any other time you might wrinkle your nose at the sensation, at how uncomfortable it is. But right now, you have other things on your mind.

You bury your face in your hands. It’s foolish, but you’d swear you could feel Taehyung still in your palms, touch imprinted, emblazoned on your skin. It’s like a palpable thing, almost, this ethereal thing that lingers even when Taehyung isn’t there.

Wishful thinking. Selfish thinking. Selfish, to like it, to want to keep that feeling close; let it spread from your palm, to the delicate skin of your wrist, tracing its way up your arm, up-up-up, drawing invisible lines over every part of you, inside every part of you. Selfish, to like Taehyung’s touch as much as you do. To want more of it. 

(More of him.)

You aren’t anything more to Taehyung than a friend. A guardian. Someone who’s there to support him and keep him safe. You’re blessed to have his trust, to be able to be that person he can turn to—it’s greedy, to want. To want to be more.

(You can’t foist your loneliness on Taehyung. You can’t do that to him. You won’t. You won’t.)

When you return, a spark lights in Taehyung’s eyes. The same spark that bursts every time he sees you after time apart, no matter how long or short that may be. He reaches for your hand, and of course, you go—but your fingers are limp, weak.

(You know that if Taehyung’s LED had still been nestled in his skin, it would have flickered yellow.)

You keep that point of connection as you bid Namjoon goodbye, finish meandering through the exhibition, make your way back home—but you let Taehyung bear the weight. Reactive, not proactive. You don’t squeeze his fingers just because you want to, because there’s something sliding by the bus’s window you think he might like to see; you’re not here to make him do things, to shove things down his throat. You should just be here to support him in the things he wants to do. That’s your role. 

And that’s where you’re going to stay.

Your thoughts are a tumble, messy and unorganised, a ball of yarn that’s all knots and tangles. Taehyung must be able to see it on your face, read it in your body, his android eyes scanning over you and scrutinising every hint you’re giving away without even realising. But you just smile, wave away his questions, and act like everything’s okay. Normal. Routine.

It’s a little harder, though, to act like everything’s okay when it’s time to sleep.

Because, of course, there Taehyung is. Like he has been, from the day he’d arrived—sat in your bed, nestled against a pile of cushions, expression open and warm and fond as he looks at you. Waiting for you to climb in, to rest your head in his lap; waiting for you to fall asleep with his gentle fingers dragging across your scalp, melting under his lovely hands.

You waver. Conflicted. It’s okay, isn’t it, if Taehyung’s reaching for you first?

His eyes meet yours. The second you see his lips curve up, see that pretty, quiet smile appearing on his lovely mouth, you fold.

It’s fine. You’ll allow yourself this.

(In your dreams, you stand in a deserted gallery, staring at the single piece of work on the stark white walls, all the lights focused in, in, in. Taehyung’s framed on this canvas, a painted window into his world. Not once does he look at you, turned away as he is; you see nothing more than the back of his head, the curve of his cheek, the vaguest hint of his nose as he turns, always staring at something else. 

And still, you stand, and you watch. Waiting. Keeping your eyes on him, always.)

“You’re staying late again.”

“Yeah. I really want to get this done,” you say, gesturing vaguely at your monitors with your stylus; tweaking, editing, shifting around these final few magazine pages before you’re satisfied. “Nearly there.”

When you hear the way Hoseok says your name, you glance up. 

As someone who spends most of his time bouncing around like a literal ray of sunshine, when Hoseok’s expression is one that isn’t smiling, it carries all the more weight behind it. Right now his face is uncharacteristically serious, the perpetual smile on his mouth gone, the line of his brows severe.

It’s unnerving.

“You haven’t stayed late for ages,” Hoseok points out. “Until this week, and suddenly you’re late every night. Has something happened?”

“No,” you lie.

Yes, you think.

You’re trying to create some distance, for Taehyung’s sake. So that you’re not tempted to pull him ever closer, latch onto him like you have been, smothering him. He needs space to grow. Space from you has helped already—the time he spends with Yoongi and Seokjin is evidence enough of that, after all. He doesn’t need you to be there constantly.

Hoseok’s eyes bore into yours as he stares, so you avert your gaze, pretending to shift your focus to one of the captions the editor has left on the page you’re working on. You hadn’t realised that he’d noticed. You should have expected it, though. Hoseok is a close work friend and he’s incredibly perceptive, especially when he cares about people.

“Alright,” he says, eventually. “Make sure you don’t stay too late, though. Get some sleep.”

You give him a thumbs up without looking away from the screen, dragging something idly with your stylus until Hoseok leaves, the office empty except you, now. And the cleaning androids, when they appear for the night like clockwork. As they always do.

You can’t help but stop to watch them, how blank faced they are, for all that they look human. Their LEDs are almost motionless, the placid blue matching the blank expressions on their faces, unthinking automatons.

(You’d seen androids in the city when you’d been out with Taehyung, of course. Completing menial tasks: city androids picking litter and raking leaves, household androids following their owners around and carrying their shopping. You’d realised that Taehyung wouldn’t have seen a non-deviated android since he’d escaped the club, lapsed into silence; you’d pulled him to a stop, lips pursed in a frown as you’d tried to read his expression. 

“Taehyung,” you’d asked. “Are you alright?”

There’d been a quiet pause, and in that moment you’d felt all your worries rising, caught in your throat—but then he’d nodded quietly, looking at you with soft eyes.

“I’m alright,” he’d answered. “I was just thinking about how lucky I am.”

I’m the lucky one, you’d thought. Lucky to know him, as sweet-hearted and wonderful as he is. You’d squeezed his hand, and he’d smiled gently at you, and that had been that.)

It hurts, honestly. To see the expression on his face each time you come home late, each time you avoid answering his questions. There’s uncertainty laid across each of your interactions, rough bristles of a brush varnishing discomfort across the once smooth surface of your relationship; but you can’t keep taking advantage of this soft-hearted boy, of the circumstances that he’s in.

You pretend that things are fine. Taehyung is clearly confused, unsure, trying so hard to find out what’s wrong, even when you keep gently turning his concerns aside. 

You haven’t been home enough to spend time with Yoongi or Seokjin, either. You’d seen Jin in the hall just once, made eye contact just as he’d been appearing from the other apartment and you’d been stepping into yours; you’d fumbled a little, fingerprints smudging across the keypad as your door had swung open. You’d expected to see judgement on Jin’s face, maybe, something heavy and weighty, his gaze flitting over you as he read you in the way he did so often.

What you hadn’t expected was for him to smile. It’d been hard to translate his full expression but what little you could read was knowing, like he’s aware of something he shouldn’t be, kept hidden just underneath his tongue. Ready to release it into the world with a single breath.

(Needless to say, you’d shut the door pretty quick.)

He and Yoongi have gone away for the weekend. It's a small blessing, saving you from having to see Jin’s almost-smug expression again. But it means that Taehyung has nowhere else to go right now, no reason to leave the apartment. So it’ll be you and him, him and you, with no buffers, nothing. It’s been unseasonably stormy for the past few days as well, rain slammed into your windows by the harsh winds, the world outside a haze of smeared grey—so it’s not like you can go out, either. 

Not that you would want to. 

You hadn’t realised exactly how ingrained Taehyung was in your life until you’d started to pull away. It’s not just that you live together and share the same physical space—it’s just that your days have become so full of Taehyung-Taehyung-Taehyung, and you hadn’t even noticed. He’d crept up on you, snuck his way into your heart, so easily, so effortlessly.

You remind yourself that that’s why you’re doing this. To remind yourself of life without Taehyung in it, because he’s not yours to have or to keep. He never has been. You don’t want him to be: he’s his own person. This… this desire for him; even as you try to ignore it, it keeps growing and growing: wet plaster laid down, your feelings for him painted buon fresco, added to day by day, giornata. You need it to stop. 

But it’s hard. It’s hard, when Taehyung looks like comfort, your comfort, when you want to let yourself be folded into his arms. It’s hard when the fact is that it’s not that you have to spend time with him. It’s that you want to spend time with him.  

It's hard.

(And you miss him, even when he's right there.)

You find respite in art, in painting, too intent on the motions of your work to allow yourself room to think about other things. Fall into the rhythm of it all, a quiet hush stealing over your mind, a place of both focus and calm, world settling into place around you. There’s a piece you’ve been working on for a while, a hand rising from dark water, fingertips just broaching its surface, the most tentative of touches; you layer more oil paint on the panel, dragging the bristles of the brush across the colour you’ve already laid down, brows furrowed as you do.

Taehyung normally paints with you, but not today. He knows you want space—even if he doesn’t know why—so he gives it to you. So considerate and sweet, always. Even when you’re shutting him out. You’ve been here all day: morning, afternoon, and now evening, and he’s only been in a few times, to leave you food, drinks, looking after you in a way you don’t deserve.

You’ve just lifted the brush from the canvas when an especially loud peal of thunder rolls through the air outside. The rumble starts low, rising into a rattling growl that feels like it’s shaking the very earth. It almost drowns out the sound of Taehyung’s quiet knocking, a curl of his knuckles against the open door, but you catch sight of him anyway, glancing over your shoulder.

“Hey,” he says. “I thought you might like a drink.”

He’s barefoot, like he usually is, teal hoodie and grey sweatpants baggy, looking every inch the boyfriend you’ve always wanted and never had. His hands are cupped around a mug, steam coiling from the hot tea inside, and something in your heart twinges at his kindness and consideration even as you smile at him.

“That sounds lovely, Tae,” you say, and he takes this as an invitation to step inside, although you notice his steps are far more hesitant than they might have been before. Like he’s treading on eggshells around you. 

It’s awkward. Stilted. Taehyung’s eyes are heavy on your face as you accept the tea from his hands, trying your best to avoid brushing fingers; you turn away, pretending to turn your attention back to the drying paint on the wood panel that rests on your easel, anything to break eye contact.

And then he speaks.

“You’re avoiding me.”

Your lips are poised to drink, pursed at the rim of the mug when you freeze, eyes darting back to him.

“You’re avoiding me,” he repeats. His voice is quieter, tinged with all the confusion you’ve seen flit across his face since this whole thing started.

You slowly pull the mug away from your face, steam touching your skin like warm, wet fingers. “I’m not,” you say, even though the lie tastes bitter on your tongue. “We live together, Taehyung, it’s pretty hard to avoid you.”

When you laugh lightly, trying to lift the atmosphere, Taehyung doesn’t respond. If anything the air becomes heavier, his face an unmoving mask as his eyes churn with emotion. His LED might not be nestled in his temple any more, but you don't need to see it spinning in a distressed circle of yellow to know that Taehyung is confused.

“Why are you lying to me?”

Your eyes widen. He’s never been so direct before. (He hasn’t needed to be though, has he? Because you've never lied to him before, have you?)

“I just… I just want to know what happened. What I did wrong. I want to fix it,” Taehyung continues, and he sounds so small, so vulnerable. “Please?”

Your heart feels like it’s risen from your chest, up to your throat, making it hard to breathe. The only time he’s ever sounded like this was when—

When he’d first turned up on your doorstep, wet and scared and lonely. Not knowing if there was anyone he could trust, uncertain where he stood. 

“You didn’t do anything, Taehyung.” You try to put every ounce of feeling into your words and let him know that this is the truth. It’s not him. It’s not. “You didn’t do anything, please don’t think you did.”

“Then why are you avoiding me?” His voice rises, shaking, a bird trying to take flight on a broken wing. “If I didn’t do anything then why are you being like this? I don’t understand.”

“I’m just… trying to encourage you to be independent?”

The words sound weak to your own ears, so you can’t blame Taehyung for when his expression flickers and he looks almost incredulous.

“Independent?”

“You know,” you explain lamely. “Like… giving you space to grow. You don’t need me around all the time.”

“I don’t—” He cuts himself off. “Y/n. I want you to be there.”

“Because it’s what you’ve gotten used to.” You glance down at the drink in your hands, away from his sincere, dark eyes. “You’re just saying that because of circumstances, Taehyung.”

“I’m not!” You’ve never heard Taehyung so loud before, almost angry, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “How can you think that?”

“Because it’s true!” Your own voice rises despite yourself, matching his, some frayed thing inside you finally snapping. “Why else would you want me around? No one else does! Why would you?”

You rarely raise your voice. You hate being loud, or rude, hate arguments, but there’s something boiling in your blood. Years of quiet self-deprecation, constant reminders of how you’re not really wanted; last choice, always. Single, always. Untouched, unwanted. Taehyung—beautiful, kind, sweet, lovely Taehyung—wouldn’t be here right now if he had anywhere else to go. Too beautiful and kind and sweet and lovely for you, as disappointing, undesirable as you are.

Because that’s the truth. Even if you’re surrounded by friends, warm and bright, at the end of the day, they go home with each other, to their lovers, their families, and you go home alone. At least you had, until Taehyung—and he’s only here because you were the only safe place he could run to. Not because he chose you. 

(No one chooses you. Why would they?)

Taehyung’s eyes are so big and round as he stares and stares and stares. His lips are a little parted around a soundless noise of surprise, disbelief, before he opens his mouth to respond properly.

And then all the lights go out.

Lightning flashes, throwing the room into sharp focus for just a second before the night is split apart with the loudest clap of thunder yet. Like the ground has split open, louder than anything you’ve ever heard in your life; you’d swear your teeth rattle in your skull, that’s how overwhelming and close it is.

You suck in a breath as you jump, hands jolting, and the mug falls from your grasp. You can’t see in the darkness but you can hear how it shatters, sending hot tea splattering over the dust sheets on the floor, away from you, but towards—

“Taehyung,” you gasp, reaching out blindly. “Are you okay? Did it hit you?”

You hear him move closer, feel his fingers, reaching for yours confidently in this dark space. His grip is solid and warm and he squeezes, reassuring.

“I’m okay,” he murmurs. “I’m okay. You can’t see?”

“It’s too dark.” With the heavy clouds outside and the blanket of thick rain, there’s little light from the moon to shine into your studio, leaving you in a world of thick black and blue. “Can you see?”

“Android senses,” he answers. "I can see enough."

You wait for the lights to come back on so you can clean up the mess that’s scattered on the floor. And you wait. One beat. Another beat.

“I don’t think the power is coming back on any time soon,” you say. “Um.”

“Hold on.” You can’t make out Taehyung’s features in this all consuming darkness, but you can picture the expression on his face, the concern that bleeds through into his words. “If you move you’ll step on something and hurt your feet. Hold on,” he says again, and then lets go of your hands.

“Taehyung? What are you—”

You let out an embarrassing squeal as you feel the world tilt, but Taehyung’s grip on you is confident and sure as he lifts you, one hand under your knees and the other scooped around your back. Like you’re a swooning, blushing bride.

“Taehyung!”

“It’s the safest thing to do.” He sounds determined, no room for argument, so you decide to shut up.

Even though you know how strong he is, with all his android strength, you can’t help but reach out in the darkness, looping your arms around his neck to try and help lighten his burden. You feel your cheeks burn and you hope that the darkness saves you from your obvious embarrassment. 

The power still hasn’t come on by the time he deposits you in the kitchen, easing you to the floor with a level of care and delicacy that leaves something in you aching. When you check your phone—mostly charged, thank God—it seems like powercuts have hit this entire part of the city, and there’s no ETA on when things will be back up and running.

Which leads you to this. Sitting on the cold tiles of your kitchen floor, a few large candles flickering light across you as you dig into a carton of melting ice cream that you’ve saved from your freezer, licking the dripping flavours of sea salt and caramel from the spoon. 

Taehyung is sitting next to you in this flame-lit bubble you share, quiet even as the world outside is full of the sound of endless rain and lightning. He’d helped you navigate the darkness, settled you safely before going to find some candles; looking after you while you can’t see and he can.

You’re intent on the ice cream, leaning against the kitchen cabinets and carton settled between your knees as you use it as an excuse not to talk.

Taehyung, though, is intent on you.

“Y/n?”

His voice breaks the near silence, soft around your name. You pause, half-way through scooping another spoonful of ice cream to your mouth. There’s something in his tone that you’ve never heard before, from anyone, something you can’t put a finger on.

“Yes?”

“You said that no one wants you around,” he says. Your fingers tighten around the handle of your spoon and keep your gaze cast down, at the thick drip of cream from your spoon that threatens to spill. “Why would you say that?”

You don’t respond. Not right away. 

Then you take in a deep breath, letting the spoon fall back into the tub.

“Because they don’t,” you say plainly. “I mean… Taehyung. I was only at the Eden Club because my friends know that I’m perpetually single. I’m glad I got to meet you, so glad, but… I live alone because no one wants to be here with me.”

You’ve never said anything like this out loud before; kept your lingering loneliness close to your chest. Really, in most parts of your life, you’re content, but sometimes you can’t help but be pulled under by the heavy feeling of how unlovable you are. Even if you try to remind yourself that you’re worth being loved too. 

(After all, if you were—then why are you still here alone?)

“I do. I want to be here with you.”

Taehyung’s words are soft and gentle and low, but for all their tenderness, you can’t help but sigh.

“Like I said, Taehyung, it’s just circumstances.” A murmur. “You’re only here because you have to be—”

“I’m not.” He interrupts you; something he’s never done before. It shuts you right up, even if his words aren’t sharp. Emphatic, yes, but soft around the edges. “I chose to come here because of you. You’re the only person who’s ever made me feel safe. Even when I was at the club, and I didn’t know anything except what I was told to do—I knew I could trust you. I only started to remember things after we met, and I was there for weeks before I left, finally remembering the things I had to go through. Again and again and again. Over and over and over. No one was ever kind to me, not once. Not once.” 

“Taehyung,” you breathe, sadness filling your chest for him, but he doesn’t stop. 

“People would come in, take what they wanted from me, and then they would leave. They didn’t care about me. They would just tell me what to do and I’d have to listen, be the perfect android they wanted, that they’d paid for. Then I ran. But even as I was running here, I was scared. I thought that maybe it was a fluke. Maybe I was wrong. I was scared that maybe you weren’t actually kind, maybe it was a lie, maybe you were just like all the other humans—but anything was better than the club. So I took my chances. And you let me in. You let me in and you were so kind. You give and give and give and you’ve never asked for anything back.”

“I just did what anyone else would,” you mutter, glancing away, shy.

“But you didn’t. You were the only person who ever looked at me as something more than just an android. Don’t you see that? Even after giving me so much, you haven’t asked for anything. I try my best to look after you, but…” Taehyung takes in a deep, deep breath, sucking in air that his android body doesn’t need. You’ve noticed that it’s something he does to ground himself; such a human thing to do. “I want to give you so much more than you’ll ever accept.”

You look at him, something sparking deep and low in your stomach. “You don’t have to give me anything, Taehyung.”

Light dances across the perfect angles of his face, candle flame painting him from second to second, shadow and radiance. He looks familiar and unfamiliar all at once. You’ve known him for long enough, stared at him for long enough that you could paint his face in your sleep; the strength of his brows, the depth of his eyes, the slant of his nose, the flush of his lips; the tiny moles that are scattered across his skin, the perfect line of his jaw, his chin.

But in the paltry candlelight, he looks like an altogether different person, almost. There’s something to the set of his face that you’ve never seen, hard to track in the ever changing light—not the soft domesticity you’ve grown familiar with from Taehyung, and not the sheer, overwhelming sensuality of V. Something that’s both, something that’s not, something that’s more. 

“I want to give you everything. I want to. Y/n, I want. Androids don’t want, but I want. I want, I want, I want.” A repeated mantra; a prayer. “I want because of you. I want to be here with you. I want to spend time with you. I want to learn with you. I want to know everything you like and everything you don’t like. I want to know what makes you sad and what makes you happy. I want to be one of the things that makes you happy, like you make me happy. I want to look after you. I want you to let me love you. I want you. I want you. I love you.”

Your mouth is open, caught in a breath, stuttered in your throat. Taehyung doesn’t shy away from your wide-eyed, speechless gaze, staring back at you with an intensity you thought you’d never see directed at you; tenderness and affection and want.

“You want to—you… you love me?” Your voice is weak with disbelief. Taehyung loves you? 

“I thought you knew, and that’s why you pulled away,” he says. “Because I’m an android, I’m not good enough—”

“What? No, Taehyung, never, no. I would never think that—” 

“But you were pushing me away.” For the first time since this conversation started, he sounds unsure, the tiniest tremble at the corner of each word. “You were pushing me away and I don’t know why. Why?” He reaches for your hand, sliding his fingers between yours. “Aren’t you happy with me?” 

You wonder how fast your heart is beating. Know that Taehyung will be able to read it, palm to palm, his skin against yours, an endless amount of information running from that point of contact and up his arm; following lines of circuitry and neural connectors, up-up-up, pulled into whatever part of his system counts as his brain, dissected so much faster than the human brain could comprehend. But even with all this information, all this incredible processing speed and power—he’s just as confused and uncertain as any other person might be.

“I am. I am happy. So happy,” you whisper. Then you take a deep breath, grounding yourself just like Taehyung had. “I’ve never been so happy before, Taehyung. You make me happy.”

The android smiles. Quiet but undeniably happy as well, his eyes so dark, so soft. “You make me happy, too,” he says, and then he lets out a small laugh, a sweet little thing, like the scrape of a spoon around a mixing bowl. “I can only feel happiness because of you. You’re everything.” 

But then the laughter fades, and he’s looking back at you with solemnity, lingering confusion. “If I make you happy, then why were you pulling away from me?”

You stare at where your hands are joined, Taehyung’s hand under yours, lifting yours up and away from the cold tiles of the floor. “Because,” you start. Stumble. Take in another breath, heart squeezing in your chest. “Because I was scared my feelings were too much.”

A beat of silence. Then you feel Taehyung’s other hand as he lays it softly against your cheek to turn you towards him. It’s terrifying, how close your face is to his. Completely vulnerable, nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. He doesn’t say anything, just watches, and you find yourself crumbling in the face of his warm gaze.

“Because I thought I was taking advantage of you,” you say. Slow and faltering. “Because I thought it was—I thought I was being selfish. I realised that I loved you, and I can’t—I couldn’t imagine that… I couldn’t imagine that you wanted me back.”

Taehyung’s eyes flutter shut as your words wash over him. The hand on your cheek coaxes you closer, and of course, you go; let your forehead get pressed against his, a tender motion, faces so close he can feel the warmth of your breath. 

“Y/n.” Your name sounds safe in his mouth, like he’s keeping it close, handling it delicately, carefully, eyes opening so he can look at you with an adoration you’ve never seen. Not for you. Not until now. “Can I kiss you? I want to. Please?”

You feel heat rising on your cheeks, a flush that threatens to spill over, but nod. You don’t think you have the strength to speak right now. Taehyung smiles again, lighting up this space you’ve scraped out for each other, him and you; you and him.

When he leans in, there’s the briefest moment of panic that flickers through you. You haven’t kissed anyone in such a long time. You’re worried you’ll mess up, be clumsy, bad, and Taehyung will be disappointed. 

But then his lips touch yours—and all that worry washes away. It’s a short-lived thing, the briefest brush of his mouth, barely a kiss at all. And then again, he leans in, tracing the shape of your mouth with his: a kiss to one corner of your mouth, and then the other, your cupid’s bow, the swell of your bottom lip. You’ve never felt like this—vulnerable but safe, all at once, Taehyung taking his time as you fall, fall, fall, his hand still cradling your face, his touch solid and grounding even as his kisses are featherlight.

“Taehyung,” you whisper, lips brushing his as you shape them around his name. You still have one hand in his and tighten your grip, squeezing. “More.”

You can feel his smile when he leans in one more time, guiding you with the broad palm against your cheek. So soft, so gentle. Adoring and reverent. His lips are so full, slotting against yours so perfectly when he finally, finally kisses you properly. 

You lose yourself in the sensation. It’s so easy to lose yourself in Taehyung, as lovely as he is, his mouth lovelier still. One kiss turns to two, to three, four, deep and slow; by the time you break apart, there’s a little sheen on his lips, sparking out in the candlelight, a layer of gold leaf that shines. 

“Can you say it again?” He asks. “Say that you love me?”

You can’t help but want to hide your face, bashful and shy. You’ve never said those words out loud, with the weight of feeling Taehyung is asking from you—but you look at his lovely, lovely face, lips flush with evidence of your kisses, and your heart swells in your chest.

“I love you.” The words come so easily. “I love you.”

And when he smiles, it’s so bright and radiant you feel you might be blinded by it. It doesn’t leave his face even as he stands, guides you up with him; careful to avoid the tub of ice cream that’s been forgotten on the floor, more melted cream than ice now.

This time, when he lifts you, he doesn’t break eye contact—keeps his gaze on yours as he pulls you close, and then picks you up.

It’s effortless, the way he carries you. Big hands that cup the back of your thighs, your legs around his waist and arms around his neck, lifted like you weigh nothing. You break eye contact, overwhelmed, burying your face in the crook of his neck, feeling the way he shakes as he laughs, soft and affectionate.

“Shut up,” you mumble, embarrassed, but then go quiet as you feel the press of his lips into your hair.

Taehyung’s the only person who’s ever carried you, but it’s less about that and more about how safe you feel in his arms. Wrapped around him, pressed close, warm-warm-warm. You feel like a burden has been lifted from you, unshackled from your neck now that you’ve confessed the budding feelings that had burst into full bloom even when you’d tried to shove them back into the dirt—because Taehyung feels the same way. He feels the same way.

The rest of the apartment is still bathed in darkness. But Taehyung navigates it easily, keeps you held close even in the dark, and you trust him. Even when you feel his grip loosening as he eases you down, you trust him, letting yourself fall back onto the softness of your bed. (Even if you want to keep hold of him.)

You wait and watch as the room starts to fill with light, Taehyung returning with the lit candles from the kitchen before setting out more, laying out all the scented candle jars you’ve had stashed away. The familiar surroundings of your bedroom are bathed in warm, dancing light, Taehyung’s shadow a multi-faceted silhouette that shifts each time a flame sputters.

He looks up once the final candle is aflame, meeting your eyes—and you don’t feel the need to drop that gaze, to glance away, pretend you weren’t watching him, entranced. Because he welcomes it. He grins at you, toothy and bright, and your own lips split into a smile.

“I guess it’s a good thing I like candles, huh?”

“They’ll help keep the room warm,” Taehyung says, and, that’s right, you hadn’t thought of that. 

No power: no heating. The longer the power is out, the colder it’ll get, the chill of the hard rain filling the world outside.

“Don’t worry,” he adds, setting the lighter aside. “I’ll keep you warm.”

There’s nothing behind those words. No implication at all. And yet you find yourself flushing, looking away from him, flustered.

There’s a beat of silence as you keep your eyes turned away from Taehyung, looking at the shadows on shadows on shadows that ripple across the walls—and then you hear how his bare feet shift across the floor until he’s at your bedside.

But he doesn’t stop there. You feel how the mattress dips, eyes flying back to the android, growing huge and round when you watch how he settles himself above you; hovering, so so so close, aware of how he’s not touching you, and yet. You swear you can feel the weight of him, a phantom touch on your body and across your skin.

Your mouth goes dry when he murmurs your name. The word drips from his mouth like honey, thick and sweet, and a shiver skates up your body.

“Do you want me to keep you warm?” He asks, and, oh. Oh. This time the words are heavy with meaning, shimmering gossamer curtains barely drawn to conceal it, smouldering intent in his eyes. “Let me look after you?”

You’re reminded, all at once, that while you’ve taught Taehyung a lot of things since you’d met, there’s one thing he knows that you don’t. Intimacy, and pleasure, and lust. Sex. Something you’ve been deprived of, even if you’ve quietly craved it, waiting for the right time, the right place, the right person.

Taehyung takes your silence as hesitation, his face softening.

“Only if you want,” he says. “Only if you want to say yes.”

“I want to,” you say, surprised by how fast the admittance leaves your lips. You do want it—want Taehyung, in every way he’s willing to share, want it desperately. “I just—” Embarrassment floods over you, and you look away again. “I’ve just never… done anything. Before. I’ve never, um.”

“It’s okay to be a virgin, Y/n,” Taehyung says, and you can’t help but squirm a little at how plainly he says it while you try to avoid saying it out loud, even if you know it’s stupid. There’s nothing wrong with being a virgin, you know that, but for some reason you feel almost ashamed at admitting it. Insecure. Even if the android clearly doesn’t care, not one bit. “We can go as slow as you want, or stop altogether. I’ll take care of you no matter what.”

You’re nervous. But louder than your nerves is a growing voice that’s chanting yesyesyes, and another voice that reminds you: you’re safe with Taehyung. No matter how nervous or uncertain you are, or how little you know, you do know that you’re safe with him.

“Okay.” You take in a breath. “Take care of me, Taehyung.”

And he does. With all the slowness of a meandering river and a smile curling his lips, he starts to kiss you again; there’s nothing rushed about his motions, as tender as before. Like the two of you could kiss forever and he would be content with that. 

And then you feel how he shifts, the softness of the kisses warming into something heavier, more purposeful. The glowing embers of a coal that are being coaxed to full flame, his tongue pressing past your willing lips, swallowing down the shaking gasp that shudders out of your mouth.

He trails his lips away from yours, across your jaw and up; you shiver as he noses at the soft skin behind your ear before kissing it, tremble at each intent touch of his lips against you, and it’s only when he reaches the hollow of your neck that you realise that you’re making noises, little inhalations of air each time he mouths at your sensitive skin, lets his tongue trail across it.

You’ve been holding onto him, hands cupped around the back of his neck, and when he sucks at your pulse point you tighten your fingers and let out a gasp. You can feel the answering hum that Taehyung gives, his mouth pressed so close that you can feel the vibrations, and it’s so much already. No one’s ever kissed you like this. No one's ever eased their weight down on you so carefully, pressing you down to the mattress with a delicate, delicious pressure that leaves your entire body growing hotter and hotter.

“Oh, oh, Taehyung.” You’d be embarrassed by how breathless you sound if you weren’t so distracted by something else—one of Taehyung’s hands, splaying over your stomach, heavy through your shirt.

“Can I take this off?” He’s murmuring into the crook of your neck, question warm against your skin. His long fingers rest, waiting at the hem of your shirt, patient even as he presses another kiss to the junction where your neck meets your shoulder: this time, edged with teeth, making you shudder as he soothes it with his tongue.

Your voice fails you, but when you nod, Taehyung responds immediately. You let him lead, follow the steps of this dance he knows so well—shiver at the feeling of his fingers sliding under the hem of your shirt once you've sat up, your stomach jumping as they brush against you, before he lifts it up and over your waiting arms.

Even though you’re wearing a bra, the second you see Taehyung’s eyes move down, you cover yourself reflexively. Even with all the flickering candles there’s enough light that there’s no darkness to hide in, shoulders hunching inwards as you try to hide yourself away. 

You’ve never let anyone see you like this like this before.

Taehyung’s touch is patient as he slides his hands over yours, looking at you with an infinite amount of sincerity and affection. He doesn’t try to pull your hands away from your chest, just waits. Patient. And like you always do, you find yourself melting under the gentle touch of his gaze. You let your hands fall, even if you’re acutely aware of the plain bra you’re wearing, something cosy for a day at home.

Taehyung ignores it. He shifts in and you steel yourself, expecting him to reach around your back for the clasp—but instead he starts to kiss you again. Deeper, hotter, his tongue sweeping over your lower lip before he nips at it. You let yourself get lost in the sensation, angling your head to chase his mouth, and it’s only when you feel the straps start to slip off your shoulders that the android has unclasped your bra without you noticing.

When he pulls away, he trails his hands across your shoulders and hooks his fingers into the trailing straps of your bra, and waits. You bite your lip and steel yourself, feeling foolish even as you hesitate—because Taehyung is looking at you with simmering awe and smouldering want. Like you're perfect. The most beautiful woman alive. 

So you don’t stop him. You let him pull his touch down your arms, slow, slow, slow—and then, all at once, you’re completely naked from the waist up.

That simmering awe and smouldering want is still there. Warmth flushes over your skin under the heat of his gaze, the way it sweeps over you. You never knew that someone could look reverent and hungry at the same time. Never knew that someone would look at you like that.

It bolsters your shaking confidence, helps you lift your chin as you lean back on your hands, and you’re entranced at how Taehyung follows. Caught in your gravity. He raises his arms, bra cast aside and long forgotten as he cups the weight of your breasts in his hands.

Oh, oh, oh. When he pinches one of your nipples between thumb and forefinger—already hard, sensitive—it’s already so much, but then he bows his head and—

You hear a noise, and you realise that it’s coming from your own lips. A shaking gasp that trembles in the air as Taehyung sucks and licks, dragging his tongue against your nipple; one, and the other. You fall once more to your back and he goes with you, relentless even as he stays slow and you arch your back helplessly towards him.

“More?” He murmurs against your skin.

“Oh, God,” you whimper, and he lifts his mouth away from your nipple to press a kiss to the skin above your racing heart. “Please, more.”

It feels so good. Taehyung makes you feel so good, as talented and gorgeous as he is, so wonderful. He keeps laving attention on your breasts, hands skimming over the soft skin of your chest and stomach, goosebumps rising in the wake of his trailing fingers, his warm palms.

You can’t look away when he finally pulls back, breathless from the sensation of it all. He settles on his knees, tugs off his hoodie and then his shirt, revealing all the lovely planes of his body that you’ve seen before, but this time, you don’t have to look away. You can look.

And you can touch, too. 

You sit up and raise a tentative hand to stroke down his chest, his stomach, that little trail of dark hair that descends into his loose grey sweatpants; your mouth goes dry at the sight. Taehyung watches the way your fingers drag over his skin, growing bolder moment by moment, but still too timid to venture past his waistband, low on his hips as they are. You’ve never had a chance to touch someone like this, to feel the smooth, soft skin under your greedy palms—Taehyung’s so warm, so alive. So human.

You think about the other hands he’s had on his skin. Grasping and greedy, taking and taking. People who didn’t care for him. People he couldn’t say no to. But he’s here with you because he wants to be. He lets you touch him because he wants it.

“Angel?” 

You glance up at the sound of the gentle pet name, away from where your hands have been tenderly tracing the lines of his hipbone. “Mm?”

Taehyung’s expression is soft and affectionate. “What are you thinking about?”

“You,” you answer honestly. He leans over to kiss you, and you’re smiling against his mouth when you feel the hand on your shoulder, pressing you down against the mattress again.

Then. His hands are at your waistband. Your breath quickens, but Taehyung’s eyes stay on your face even as your breasts rise and fall, shining with evidence of the touch of his mouth and tongue.

You lift your hips, and Taehyung smiles. Keeps smiling as he strips you, underwear and all, and when your thighs instinctively go to close shut, he catches your knees and keeps your legs open—gentle but firm, swiping his thumbs up and down the side of your knees, a tender touch even as you’re naked in front of him. You see the look on his face, drenched in candlelight, and swallow even as you force your legs to relax.

Then he looks down.

“Oh, God,” he groans, and one of your legs jumps in his grasp at the sound of his voice. Hoarse and deep. Almost unrecognisable. “Oh, angel, look at you.”

You’re so, so wet, so wet it’s embarrassing, so sensitive and responsive to every single one of Taehyung’s touches and kisses. The edges of his hair are spun gold in the candlelight but his eyes are so deep, so dark as he drinks down the sight of you spread out in front of him, wet and wanting and willing. You still want to hide away, cheeks burning, but you can’t look away from him. Can’t look away from how he seems almost pained, brows drawing together as he stares at the shining, flushed lips of your cunt.

“Taehyung.” Your voice shakes. “Taehyung, please.”

You're naked and vulnerable but—but the way he looks at you is so adoring, and you trust him. You trust him.

Just like earlier, his hands cup the back of your thighs. But this time, it’s not to carry you. You twist on the bed when he ends up eye level with your dripping cunt, utterly exposed. Those hands slide up your thighs and under your hips, tilting them up. Your fingers have been resting on the bedspread and tighten in them, bunching in your grasp when Taehyung presses a kiss to the softness of your inner thigh. 

One kiss. And then another. And another. His breath is warm as it curls out across your skin. You feel like you’re about to shake out of your body, wanting to pull away, wanting to lean in; wanting more, even when it feels like too much. Overcome with it all, even if you trust Taehyung. Safe under his hands, his lips. All you can think about is how close he is, face only inches away from your most sensitive parts—

Then he turns his head and—

The noise you let out is almost a keen. His mouth is on you, hot and wet, lips and tongue, and you’re writhing, overwhelmed with sensation. He starts slow, balls of your feet digging into Taehyung’s back and toes curling as he mouths at you. Your hips buck, and your hands are tangled in Taehyung’s hair—when did that happen?—as you sob at the feeling of his lips around your clit, unlike anything you’ve ever felt before, but so so so good. 

He licks a fat stripe up your entrance and your grip tightens in his hair. He makes a noise when your nails drag across his scalp, almost a growl, face still buried between your legs as he presses his tongue in. You’d worry that he needs to come up for air, but he doesn’t, doesn’t have to stop—keeps licking and kissing and humming, responding to each of the sounds pulling out of your lips. Keeps staring up at you, your eyes locked, the way you can’t look away from the sight of his head between your legs, dark haired and incredible.

You don’t realise you’re speaking, words slipping out of your lips as your hips roll, oh-oh-oh, fuck, God, oh, and Taehyung doesn’t stop. On his knees, he worships you, learning what you like—things you didn’t even know—and does it again, and again, and again. One of his hands slides away from your hips and over your stomach, holding you down, keeping you still, and then the other hand—

He turns his head, presses a kiss to the junction of your thigh. “Okay?”

“Okay,” you answer, shaky and weak. So okay, more than okay.

“Going to finger you now,” Taehyung says, and you feel like you’re going to die.

“Okay,” you say again. “Okay, Taehyung.”

He smiles at you before he puts his mouth back to your clit, sucking, a welcome distraction as—with all the languidness in the world—presses a finger into you.

You’ve fingered yourself before. You’ve got your own toys, vibrators, things that are longer and thicker than just one of Taehyung’s fingers—but this feels so different, out of your control. One finger becomes two, your cunt so wet that the slide in is easy, slow, deep thrusts of those long fingers inside you, and you’re panting, you’re so fucking overwhelmed.

And then he curls those fingers as he laps his tongue over your clit and you almost shout, Taehyung’s name bursting from your lips as he keeps beckoning with those fingers and circling the sensitive nub with his hot, wet tongue. It’s so much, it’s so fucking much, it’s so good and you’ve never felt so good before—

You’re almost blindsided by the orgasm that explodes through you and you come apart with a sound you didn’t realise you were capable of making, a gasping moan that keeps unfurling as Taehyung keeps his mouth on you, feeling each pulse of your cunt as you cum around his fingers, tight-tight-tight. (You miss the way his hips kick into the mattress that the sounds you’re making, how much you tighten around him.) You never thought you’d be so loud, never thought you’d end up all but sobbing as Taehyung eventually leans back, candlelight brushing shining gold over the wetness over his mouth, his chin. Your wetness.

“Oh my God,” you gasp. “Oh, fuck.”

Little jolts of pleasure are still wracking through you, pulsations of pleasure that unfurl in your lower stomach; Taehyung rubs the pad of his thumb across your oversensitive clit and your entire body jumps, your legs going to snap shut as you gasp, only stopped by his body in the way. You realise, then, that his fingers are still curled inside you, and you shiver.

“One more,” he says, and your whole body shakes. “Can I give you one more?”

He still looks reverent, and hungry. Like he wants to devour you. Taehyung is usually so soft, a gentle summer breeze—but right now he’s so intense it might scare you if it was anyone else. But it’s not, it’s Taehyung, and there’s something—there’s something about knowing that he looks like that because of you. 

You let your legs fall open, watch how pleased he looks; how grateful. Like he's blessed to be able to do this to you. For you. You’re still so sensitive when he lowers his head again, but he’s slow and patient and coaxing, two fingers becoming three, and—that’s a lot. It’s a lot, but it feels good, Taehyung knowing exactly what to do to make you sob, your legs still hooked over his shoulders as he pulls you along that line between oversensitivity and mind numbing pleasure. This time, when you cum, it’s with three fingers buried deep in your cunt, the flat of his tongue pressed against your clit, back arching as you throw your head back and cry out. Your pussy throbs and it's so dirty, the wet sounds of his fingers thrusting into you, the slick sound of movement as you moan, and moan, and moan.

No one's ever made you cum before. Only you. And now you know what it's like to put your pleasure in someone else's hands, to have them intent on making you feel good, so good, and it leaves you dizzy. 

He’s praising you, you note dimly. He’s praising you, how well you’re doing, how good you are for him, and it leaves you feeling warm. You’re panting when Taehyung pulls his fingers out of you, moves so he can brace himself on his elbows and lean in to kiss you. You can taste yourself on his lips and tongue. You can feel his skin against yours, chest to chest, his weight pressing you down and then you can feel—

You let out a noise against his lips. There’s nothing else that can be, that hot weight. You might not have felt it before, but you’re not stupid. That’s Taehyung’s cock, his hard length pressed against you.

“Taehyung,” you murmur.

“Mm.” He brushes his nose against yours, and the wave of affection that crashes through you is so strong it feels like it could pull you under. You didn’t realise that sex could be like this—that lingering shockwaves of pleasure could be skirting through your body as you lay there naked, still aroused and almost overcome, but also feeling so warm and soft and tender, too. 

You feel lax after cumming, a little more confident, bolder—and the noise Taehyung makes as you clumsily grasp at him through his sweatpants is incredible. You feel like you could get high on it, the way he sucks in a gasp as his mouth falls open, even if you don’t know what you’re doing as your fingers wrap around cloth and hard heat.

“Please,” you start, then stop. Swallow. “Please, Taehyung.”

You want so much you feel like you could pass out. You want to feel and touch and taste; you want everything you haven’t had a chance to experience yet, want it with Taehyung, someone who you trust. Someone you love. Someone who knows far, far more than you—will always know more—and you want to learn that from him. 

“Want you,” you say, and Taehyung looks pained all over again. He wants you, too.

“Fuck.” The word is rough, and you’ve never heard him curse before. The way he says it has something in you singing, as strange as that might be; you don’t think you’re ever going to get over how much you affect Taehyung. “What do you want from me, angel?”

Everything, you think. I want everything. 

“Let me see?” is what you say, squeezing your fingers around Taehyung’s length, feeling the way his hips buck into the touch. “Please?”

You never thought that someone taking their clothes off could be artistic. And yet, there’s something about Taehyung moving to stand and stripping off the rest of his clothes that’s completely arresting and beautiful; carnal and holy, all at once. You don’t even realise your mouth is open as you sit up and watch him, moving closer as you drink down the sight, the way he’s naked in front of you.

Taehyung. Naked. Naked and beautiful and hard, and it’s so overwhelming, everything about it, how much you want and how—oh, God, how big and thick he is, obvious even to you, someone with nothing to compare it to. Holy fuck. Should you think that his dick is pretty? Can dicks even be pretty? Taehyung’s is. Of course it is. He’s gorgeous all over. Maybe you’re biased because it’s him, but there’s something about the sight of his hard cock, precome gathering at his slit, that makes your mouth water.

Taehyung goes to say something, but before you can lose your nerve, you move forwards, and whatever he was going to say is lost in the sound of a choked off groan. He tastes like salt and musk, hot under your inexperienced hands and mouth, and you don’t know what you’re doing but the noises he’s making, fuck. You run your tongue up the throb of a vein you can feel on the underside, and all you can think about is how big he is, slow and careful with your teeth and lips as you try your best to do whatever feels good for him. 

His noises seem almost frantic but Taehyung’s hands are gentle when they comb through your hair. You look up. There’s a flush on his cheeks—red, not blue, you notice—and you pause, pulling off, suddenly shy after the burst of confidence that had you swallowing his cock down.

“Is this—is this okay?” You’ve still got your fingers wrapped around him, and maybe it’s a little ridiculous to be asking with spit and precome shining on your lips, but Taehyung’s answering smile is so affectionate.

“You’re perfect,” he says, and you know he’s not just talking about your clumsy blowjob. “Do you want to stop?”

You bite your lip and pump his length, which has Taehyung sucking a breath in. “I—what do you want?”

Something flashes through Taehyung’s eyes, and it feels like there’s electricity shooting down your spine before that look disappears. “This is about you, angel,” he says. “We can worry about what I want next time.”

Next time. This is the first time but it’s not the last. Oh, God. God.

Taehyung takes advantage of your distraction and hikes you up and away from the edge of the bed. It leaves you breathless, knowing how strong he is, how easily he can move you, even if he’s gentle-gentle-gentle. He settles in the cradle of your hips, and he’s so close, naked body flush with yours, covering you. His cock is so close—he just has to shift a little, just a little, and—well. 

Before that, though, there’s something you need to know.

“Taehyung?” Your voice shakes but you have to ask.

“Yes?”

“Is this. Um. Does this feel good for you, too?”

You’re always aware of the fact Taehyung is an android, even if he looks and feels and is human, too. (It doesn’t matter that he’s made of metal and thirium and circuitry. He’s human.) You lift a hand and thumb at the soft skin of his temple, where his LED used to sit; you don’t know how to communicate that you love him regardless, that it doesn’t matter to you if he's a man or robot. But you’ve wondered—you know Taehyung was built to pleasure humans. Even if he’s been reacting, making noises, looks for all intents and purposes that he is enjoying this—what if it’s all programming? What if he’s just doing this because he thinks it’s something you want?

He leans into your touch. “Angel.” It sounds like the word is being scraped out of him, hoarse and deep, all dark heat. “It feels good. You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this.”

He rolls his hips almost imperceptibly, but you’re hyperaware of every motion, how close you are. Your breath stutters in your throat.

"I want you to feel good," he says. "I've wanted to feel you and taste you for so long. I want to learn everything about your body. I want to know what you feel like around me. Under me. On top of me. You make me feel so fucking good, you don't even know," and, oh, fuck, those words go right through you, settle deep in your belly, leave you breathless. Taehyung sucks at your pulse point and you melt, even as your skin feels like it's burning, so hot, every part of you so hot, so ready for him.

Taehyung’s big enough that you’re worried about how he’s going to fit, even if you’re slick and wet and so, so turned on—you know about the importance of lube, used it often enough by yourself, but when you mention it to Taehyung he just smiles.

“Don’t forget that I’m a sex android,” he says, and before you can ask exactly what he means by that, you feel the tip of his cock at your folds and the question dies on your tongue.

“Please,” is what leaves your lips. “Please, please, please.”

“Anything you want,” he says, and eases his hips forwards.

Slow, and hard, and wet, the head of Taehyung’s cock starts to press into you. You grab at his back, digging your fingers in; it doesn’t hurt, not exactly, a not-quite-pain as he pushes in—but it’s a lot, even if the slide is smooth, so smooth, from your own wetness and the slickness that covers Taehyung’s cock. Your eyes are wide and your lips are parted and it feels—astonishing, the way you can feel yourself open up for him, the way it feels like he’s filling every part of you, throbbing heat.

“Oh, oh God,” you gasp. 

Taehyung’s forehead is pressed to yours, the loose locks of his dark hair framing his face as he waits, hips snug with yours. You shiver and move your hips a little, entire body seizing at the sensation of him shifting inside you. It's so new and alien, having someone nestled inside you, against you, so close in every sense of the term, above you, around you, inside you—but it feels… good.

And when he moves, it’s so, so slow. Slow and smooth as he works you open, even if you feel so tight around him. You drag your nails down his shoulder blades when he moves a little faster, a little roll of the hips that has you gasping all over again.

“More,” you say, and he gives you more.

You feel so full. You feel full of Taehyung, inside and out—the way his body is still pressing you down, skin on skin, how hot he is.

They call it making love, and it’s not until now that you really understand what that means—how you can feel Taehyung’s soft and tender affection in his every motion, read it in every shift of his body, the lines of his face, his lips; the way his eyes are dark but full of wonder, shining with love for you, pleasure singing through every inch of you, centred around Taehyung, Taehyung, Taehyung.

Each noise that falls from his lips is an echo of that love. Even when he leans back and takes you with him—settles on his knees, pulls your hips from the mattress to stay connected to you as your shoulder blades dig into the mattress, his cock in your cunt—there’s tenderness there, even if you’re both chasing mutual lines of pleasure. You feel almost dazed, dizzy with love and arousal, reaching out for him, and he catches your hand. The other stays at your waist, guiding you onto him, again and again, each roll of hips into yours.

“Taehyung,” you gasp, voice breaking on his name when he thrusts into you. He’s been increasing the pace, faster and sharper, harder, and it’s so-so-so much, so good. “I’m—Taehyung, I’m close, I wanna cum again, pleasepleaseplease—”

He lets go of your hand and then he’s thumbing at your clit and you’re cumming harder than you’ve ever cum in your life, Taehyung’s cock still hard and insistent inside you as you ride out your orgasm, pulsing around him. You’re gasping and making noises like you’re falling apart, and there’s something desperate in Taehyung’s eyes, something dark and wanton. 

“Angel, I’m going to cum soon,” he says, and you moan in response, hazy. “Do you want me to pull out?”

You shake your head no. You want to know what it feels like, to have Taehyung lose himself inside you. You’re about to reach out for him when he hooks his hands under your knees and hitches your legs up—you suck in a sharp breath as he starts to move again, almost bent in two, his face so close to yours. It's not rough but something about Taehyung taking control like that has you baring your throat, arching your back and throwing your head back. The hold he has on you is firm, and you feel how it tightens as his thrusts speed up, and then, fuck—

When Taehyung cums it’s around the gasp of your name, a hitching sound as he empties himself inside you, throbbing and hot. You let out an answering sound, the two of you locked together until Taehyung pulls out, careful and slow; you feel like a sweaty mess, empty without him inside you, but then his hands are so carefully cupping your face and he’s kissing you over and over and over. It leaves you feeling breathless, all those little kisses, struggling for air by the time you part, every part of you lax under his loving touch. 

“How are you feeling?” Taehyung murmurs, soft and sweet. 

“Good,” you murmur back. And then your nose crinkles. “Sweaty.”

Taehyung laughs, quiet and low. You turn your face into the crook of his neck, hiding your smile as you breathe him in. You do feel sweaty, and there’s an ache settling inside you, but it’s a good ache. A glowing ache, an unfamiliar one, but one that you know you'll get to feel again, with Taehyung.

You’ve just leaned back to take him in all over again, painted syrupy sweet in the golden candlelight—when the lights suddenly turn back on. It floods your eyes and you make a noise of surprised pain as you squint against the sudden brightness, but then you start to giggle, shock melting into laughter.

When your laughter dies you realise Taehyung’s been watching you. The room is full of shining light now, and you realise you’re still naked, entire body shaking as you’ve been giggling. You’d feel embarrassed about your nakedness if you hadn’t just shared yourself with him, bared yourself in ways that are more than skin deep. There’s an instinctual part of you that wants to cover up now that there’s nowhere to hide, no flickering shadows to cover up the parts of your body that you don’t like, the flaws you don’t want Taehyung to see. But he just looks fond, fond, fond, love and affection dripping off him as he watches the way you smile shyly up at him.

“Hi,” you say.

“Hi,” he says, and smiles back, wide and bright. 

You love him. You love him, and he loves you, and you trust that love. As hard as it might be to believe, you trust that this is what he wants—that you’re what he wants.

“Do you want me to carry you to the shower?” he asks, and you can’t help but laugh again, warm through and through, how he’s still taking care of you.

“Not yet,” you say. 

You end up against his chest, wrapped close. You’ve laid your head in his lap countless times, but he’s never been on his back before, never had his arms around you like he doesn’t want to let go. Taehyung might not have a heart, but the thirium pump nestled in his chest beats steady as you stay nestled against his side. 

You’re drawing little circles on his skin with your fingers when he catches that hand and lifts it to his mouth, presses a tender kiss to your fingertips.

“I love you,” he says.

You feel like liquid sunlight, shining happiness as you melt, melt, melt. And the feeling stays, body filled with it, even after Taehyung coaxes you out of bed and into the shower to wash the sweat off your body; when he drags a soapy loofah over your back you can’t help but laugh, so in love, so loved.

And when you fall asleep, it’s not with your head on Taehyung’s thigh. It’s with his arms around you, his chest to your back, his body curved around you. You don’t want tonight to end, but you also can’t wait for tomorrow, knowing that it’s another day with him, with Taehyung, your Taehyung. You never thought that love would be like this, never thought that you’d feel love like this, cared for and protected and loved, loved, loved.

“Not staying late?”

You pause in the process of shoving everything into your bag. Hoseok is leaning against your desk, a smile curling at his lips as he raises his eyebrows at you, almost suggestive.

“Nah, I’ve got a dinner to get to,” you say. 

“You seem a lot happier lately,” Hoseok comments, and when you don’t fall for the bait, he wiggles his eyebrows. “The girls think that you’ve got a secret boyfriend that you’re too shy to tell anyone about.”

Taehyung still greets you every day when you get home. But now, every greeting is punctuated with a kiss—and sometimes a little more. When you stop to think about it, it’s startling, this thing that Taehyung’s taught you. That the simplest of things can turn into something more, love edged with lust, that it’s all part and parcel of loving someone, being with them, being comfortable with them. Just the other day you’d been reading on the sofa, and then Taehyung’s fingers had curved over your thigh and the tablet had fallen from your hands—

Hoseok clicks his fingers in front of your face. “You’re zoning out again,” he says.

“I am not,” you say, zoning back in. “I was thinking about if I needed to buy any food on the way home.”

“To feed that secret boyfriend of yours?” Hoseok says, and you laugh in his face.

“Definitely not to feed the rumour mill,” you say. Hoseok pouts but it’s good natured, and he waves you off with a smile, letting you leave the office without trapping you in an interrogation for the gossip you’re certain your coworkers are hungry for.

It’s your turn to cook for Yoongi and Seokjin, so you’ve got to get home to help Taehyung. Both men had been spectacularly unsurprised when they’d found out about the two of you. Yoongi had remained calm as Seokjin crowed in delight, proclaiming I knew it, I knew that’s why you were avoiding Taehyung. 

“Feel lucky, Y/n,” Yoongi had said. “At least Taehyung has a sense of decorum and shame.”

“I think it’s a shame that my boyfriend is such a party pooper,” Jin had said. “I demand a dinner party! To celebrate your new relationship! Oh, I’m going to bake the biggest cake.”

“Oh my God,” you’d said, and Taehyung had just smiled.

The truth is that you’re grateful for your neighbours and their support, grateful for their friendship. Just because Taehyung looks human doesn’t mean that you don’t worry about him, worry that someone might discover that he’s a deviant; Jin’s slipped under the radar for long enough, and you hope it’s the same for Tae, too. And yet you can’t help but think about it, think about the present, the future, how your lives are going to unfold as time goes by.

When the door swings open to your apartment, though, that’s the last thing on your mind. All that’s on your mind is Taehyung, Taehyung, Taehyung, your love appearing just as you’ve kicked your shoes off, all bright pink hair and dark eyes and welcoming hands.

“Taehyung,” you say, warm and happy.

“Hi,” he says, smiling so brightly, and then he kisses you.

You’re never going to get tired of kissing Taehyung; never going to get tired of how his mouth fits against yours, so perfect and sweet. But then he crowds you against the wall, swallowing down your gasp before kissing down your neck, running his teeth so gently across your skin.

“Missed you,” he murmurs, words dripping hot and slow. “Been thinking about you.”

“Taehyung,” you breathe. “Taehyung, we need to cook dinner.”

“We have time,” he says, and when he picks you up, you don’t protest. You go easily, wrapping your arms and legs around him, heat already gathering in your stomach as he walks the familiar path to your bedroom.

You have time: today, tomorrow, and every day after that. You have time with Taehyung, to learn with him, to love him. To be loved back. You don’t know what’s coming on the horizon, what the future holds—but then again, you never have.

There’s one thing you know now, though. No matter what happens, Taehyung will be at your side, and you’ll be at his. He wants you, and he loves you. You want him, and you love him. 

“I love you,” you murmur, and Taehyung kisses the words off your lips, lets the promise of your love settle inside him, warm and soft and safe.

“I love you too,” he says, and then you’re too busy to say anything, after that.

taglist:  @beyoncesdragon​ @vensulove​ @jalexad​ @beingbeings​ @lorielulu7​ ​ (can’t tag: @jeon-joon-kook)

[dollslayer]

Botanical Interest - For Luck

Soft!Mob!Steve Rogers x Florist!Reader

Summary: Steve introduces you to some of the most important people in his life, but are you ready for all that comes with it?

W/C: 4,743

Warnings: Swearing, alcohol consumption, angst, gambling

A/N: When I saw @redhead-wine-and-literature-club was doing a floral based challenge I couldn't pass up the opportunity to add to this series! April 28th - Cornflower - good-luck charm. Even though this is part of a series of oneshots it can be read as a standalone! If you like it please like/reblog/comment and check out my other fics! Cheers!

Botanical Interest Masterlist I Main Masterlist

The sunlight through the windows warms your skin while the breeze of the small fan on the counter gives you goosebumps. Dog days of Summer slowly set in over the city and with them came a slight dip in business. No one wants a rooftop wedding when it’s 100 degrees out and the drinks are watered down with sweat. You didn’t mind though, it let you put in a little extra time and care to the orders you did have.

You picked up a stem of cornflower and nestled it between snapdragons and lisianthus. It was so dreamy you couldn’t help but sigh, you almost wished it was for yourself. It was for an elopement, an eager young couple came in this morning all smiles asking if you could take the last minute order. Feeling a little sappy from your own relationship you couldn’t turn them down.

You started in on the boutonniere when the music you had on was paused. Curious, you looked at your phone to find you had an incoming call. You balanced the phone in between your shoulder and ear as you gathered supplies.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Doll. How are you?” Steve’s warm voice greeted you.

You smiled into the receiver. “I’m good, just working on the last order of the day. What are you up to?”

“Well actually that’s what I called to ask you. You free tonight?”

“You can meet me at the shop in an hour. Sound good?” You promised.

“Sounds like a plan. I love you, doll, I’ll see you soon.”

After returning his affections you hung up and set to work, excited to be finished and see Steve. Despite his involvement with the mob, which neither of you had really addressed head-on yet, things were going really well. Even though he was involved with murky dealings he was sweet to you and you were in love with him. You tried to plan your night with Steve in your head as you worked.

____

The ringing of a bell roused you from your work, expecting to see the young couple here to pick up their flowers. You were instead face to face with Steve’s handsome smirk and playful eyes. Your smile grew wider as he approached the counter. You held the boutonniere up to the lapel of his jacket and eyed it from a distance.

“Do I have a hot date I didn’t know about?” He joked.

“No!” You giggled, “The flowers are for a couple that came in the shop this morning, they’re going to elope and the groom’s got your complexion, thought I’d see how this looks on you before I finish”

“Oh? And how do I look as a groom?” He questioned.

Your cheeks heated instantly and you felt shy. You managed to squeak out that he looked nice before you had to turn away to box up the flowers. You couldn’t help the stupid smile on your face. You and Steve never talked about marriage before but things were getting serious between you. Maybe he just felt extra cheeky today.

“I like the blue, very colorful”

“They’re cornflowers, they’re a good luck charm! I figured they were fitting for their little wedding. So what did you have in mind for tonight? It’s too hot to sit on the patio but I’ve got a pint of ice cream with our names on it in the freezer at home” You raised your eyebrows in offer.

“Well actually, I was hoping you could be my good luck charm tonight. Bucky’s got a few of us getting together tonight for poker and you’ve yet to meet my friends. What do you say?”

Oh. You weren’t sure what to say. You hadn’t met his friends yet because you were uncomfortable with his mob work and you knew they were involved. But you also knew they were his friends and they were important to him. It’s not like you could avoid them forever. Poker with a mob boss? Sure why not?

You put on a slightly uneasy smile and nodded.

“Well I have to tell you, I haven’t played in forever but I would love to meet your friends” You told him.

“I promise, no shop talk. But I’ve been telling them about you. Buck’s wife Natasha has been dying to meet you. I also promise not to make you play poker.” He said with an easy grin.

“Alright, I just have to wait on this couple to pick up their flowers and close up. Shouldn’t be more than 20 minutes. You can wait here if you want but I’ve got no A/C”

Steve nodded and took off his jacket. He rolled up his sleeves and loosened his tie.

“For you? I’ll sweat it out.” He said.

____

After a quick pit stop at your place to change you were on your way. You smiled in the passenger’s seat, still reeling from the look on the young bride’s face when she saw her bouquet. That was undoubtedly the best part of your job, seeing the joy on your customer’s faces when they saw their arrangements. Maybe this feeling could carry you through the night.

The tires of Steve’s Audi crunched under the gravel of the long driveway up to Bucky’s estate. Steve told you he had a townhouse in Brooklyn but for the most part they stayed at their estate outside of the city. You looked up at the facade of the house and admired the ivy that clung to the bricks.

Parking the car Steve got out and quickly made his way to your side to let you out. Just one of the many old-fashioned quirks that he had. You accepted his hand as he helped you out of the car and leaned up to kiss his cheek. His hand traveled down to rub your back reassuringly. You looked up at him.

“Don’t worry, they’ll love you. Natasha can be intense but she means well. Just be yourself and they’ll love you just as much as I do.” He kissed your hair to soothe you and lead you towards the door.

Steve nodded at the man at the door. “Scott. Nice to see you, this is my girlfriend”

You smiled and gave him your name. “It’s nice to meet you, Scott”.

He smiled and greeted you in kind, lifting his hand to shake yours. When he did his jacket rode up and you could see the holster and butt of his gun. You ignored it and shook his hand.

Scott opened the door for you and you entered the house. Mansion, might be a better word honestly. Marble floors, oak woodwork, all the look of any house you’d find in the area and all in line with how you’d think a rich mob boss might live. The foyer was empty but you could hear voices in the distance.

Steve waltzed through the halls like he lived here, when he was at work he probably practically did. The space was teeming with energy as they bantered on with trash talk and promises of beating one another. Men sat at a round table drinking, waiting to deal cards and women standing around sipping on wine.

One man looked familiar from the pictures you’d seen around Steve’s place. His sharp jaw and long dark hair drew your attention instantly; Bucky Barnes, King of Brooklyn. His brows were pinched together in a scowl but he had a playful grin on his face. You steeled yourself the best you could and prepared for your introduction. Just think of him as Steve’s childhood best friend.

“Steve! ‘Bout time you showed up you bastard!” an accented voice belonging to a tall blond man with long hair called. He clapped a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “And are you the enchantress that our dear friend goes on and on about? Now that I’m meeting you I can see why!”

Steve let out an embarrassed laugh and motioned towards his friend. “This is Thor, don’t let the muscle fool you, he’s a total teddy bear”

You gave him your name and extended your hand when he brought you in for a bone-crushing hug. You let out a laugh and hugged him back, grateful for something to ease the tension you felt.

“How’s that for a warm welcome, huh?” A voice sounded from behind you.

Thor released you from your hug and you took a desperately needed breath. He patted you on the shoulder.

“Wanted to make our dear Steven’s girl feel at home, that’s all” Thor explained. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I look forward to beating your boyfriend at poker.” You laughed at that and turned to face the man who spoke earlier.

That man was none other than Bucky, who reached out for your hand. You gave it to him and he instead lifted it to give a gentle kiss.

“I can’t believe I’m meeting the one and only. Stevie here won’t shut up about you sometimes. I’m Bucky but I’m sure you already knew that.”

“I’ve heard about you too, it’s nice to finally meet.” You nodded as you took your hand back.

“I’m afraid I need to steal your man, we’ve been waiting on him to start the game but tell you what, why don’t you go find my wife Natasha, I know she’s been dying to meet you.”

Great, not at all intimidating. Okay fine just smile and breathe. Maybe get a drink. You smiled at Bucky. “The redhead, right?” He nodded and sent you on your way. One last look at Steve you shot him a worried look but he only winked at you.

You looked around the room and shrunk in on yourself a bit. You were never the best with social outings or being in new environments. You looked around again and found the very redhead you had been in search of smirking at you from the corner. She was dressed in a sleek black dress and looked effortlessly beautiful but also like she could strangle a man with her bare hands. You steeled yourself with a smile you’re sure she saw straight through.

“So you’re the one responsible for the flowers at my wedding?” You nodded Pleasesayyoulikedthempleasesayyoulikedthem “I loved them! The wedding planner recommended you and I’m so glad she did. It’s so hard to find a good color pallet but you nailed it. Come on, you need a drink then I’ll introduce you to the girls”

She ushered you towards the kitchen where she took the waiting wine glass from the counter and handed it to you. You didn’t like red but you’d drink it anyways. You brought the glass to your lips and took a sip.

You two talked for a bit in the kitchen, maybe she wasn’t as scary as she seemed. You tipped the stem of your glass until there was nothing left. Before you could ask for different wine she was topping you off from the same bottle. Another round of apprehensive sips and hidden grimaces but you thanked her regardless. It was now your goal to find the sociable sweet spot of drunkenness. You could feel blood rushing to your cheeks from the alcohol as tipsiness settled in.

Natasha raised an eyebrow and considered you for a moment.

“So how are you handling the whole organized crime thing? Gotta say, I didn’t peg you as his type but you guys are cute.”

You stopped yourself from spitting the wine in your mouth back into the glass.

“Um, thanks, I guess” You sputtered, “we uh, try to keep things separate. Figure it’s best for both of us.”

Natasha nodded, taking another drink herself.

“That’s probably best but I mean, how long can you keep that up, really?” She asked

You hated to admit it but she had a point. It’s not like the thought hadn’t crossed your mind. You opened your mouth to answer her when a man walked into the room and called your name. You looked expectantly (and slightly gratefully) towards him.

“I believe your man has requested your presence at the table. Somethin’ about needing a cornflower? I don’t know he said you’d get it. What are you two gossipin’ about in here anyways?” He questioned.

Natasha spoke before you could “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about that, Sam. We’re right behind you.” Sam nodded and retreated back to the doorway to wait for you.

Natasha touched your shoulder and you looked to her.

“Look, I didn’t mean to come off so brash, I guess I’m just trying to say, I know that being involved in this life isn’t easy. We’ll swap numbers later. Maybe we’ll go to lunch” She winked at you. You couldn’t tell if she was being serious or not but you nodded anyways.

“I-Thank you, I think I’d like that. I’d better go find Steve though” you excused yourself and made your way back to the table.

____

Steve Rogers was having a good night. He finally got to introduce his friends to his girl, she seemed to be relaxing a bit and having a better time, and he was well on his way to getting a straight flush this hand. The only thing that would seal the deal is his good luck charm by his side.

Steve called to Sam across the room and as soon as Sam walked over and bent Steve spoke.

“Sam, could you do me a solid and find my girl? Think she went to get a drink with Nat. Tell her I need cornflowers”

“Man if this is some weird sex thing I’m gonna be mad” Sam said with a mixture of confusion and disgust.

“Oh, please. Nothin’ like that, promise. She’ll know what it means.” Steve pat his friend on the shoulder and paid attention as Thor dealt cards.

A minute later his girl was walking through the door with an uneasy smile on her face. Something is wrong but he can’t gauge how serious it is. Sam says something to make her laugh and he settles on asking her later. Natasha saunters out behind them looking almost amused but cautious. Like she was regretting something. She’d probably just tried to give his girl the third degree when Sam interrupted them. It’s for the best, that’s too much for one night.

His girl smiles as she approaches him, looking slightly more at ease when she takes another sip of her wine. Her smile was a little looser and she moved a bit more freely, definitely tipsy and completely adorable with that grin on her lips.

“How are things going over here for you boys?”

Gauging how tipsy she was, he patted his knee in offering and she took it with a shy smile. Only slightly. But enough not to worry so much.

“Well, sweetheart, I’m about to kick all their asses and I figured I could use a good luck charm to seal the deal.” He boasted.

“Oh,” she said in realization, “Then I’m all yours”. She settled into his lap and watched on.

Her face was nothing short of endearing as she tried to concentrate and take in the game. He remembered she said she hadn’t been good at poker but it was sweet she was trying to pay attention anyways and be there for him.

“What’s the pot?” She asked.

“Nothin’ serious, there’s a pretty nice box of cigars and a weekend at Buck’s place in the Hamptons in the mix but we don’t do cash at get togethers like this, that’s for boy’s nights only.” He explained as he rubbed her back with his free hand. “Tonight’s just about fun”

She nodded as she studied the table some more before resigning to laying her head against his and listening to whatever bullshit Clint was on about. Steve was focused on getting others at the table to fold, he knew he had a good hand and a good chance of winning, he just needed the others to back down to bring it home.

Thor placed the final community card face up and Steve set out a low whistle. Others at the table looked a little miffed but he just knew he was taking it all. He set down his cards to a chorus of groans as he raked all the chips towards himself. You placed a kiss to his temple and he returned one to your cheek.

“Just the good luck I needed” he said loud enough for the table to hear.

“Hey Steve you gotta come see this!”

Steve tsked in annoyance. “Can it wait? I’m up and we were gonna keep playing. I’ll be there after”

“No, you should go. Let her play a hand for you, we can get to know each other better” Bucky suggested.

“Oh, I don’t think you want me playing poker.” She laughed but nervousness was the only emotion he could see on your face. He opened his mouth to protest but was cut off.

“She’ll be fine, we’ll go easy on her, I mean it. If it makes you feel better we’ll even hold the pot. This round is just for shits.” Bucky insisted.

Caught between wanting to ask how you felt about it and not wanting to get flak about being so sensitive Steve tilted his head in silent asking at you.

You gave him the same unsure smile you’d had all night and nodded up at him. “I’ll be fine, Stevie, promise.”

He gave her a reassuring smile and then turned his eye to Bucky who was all smiles. He knew exactly what Bucky was trying to do. Buck knows she doesn’t know anything but he’s gonna turn the screws on her just like he does with anyone new at the table. Steve gave him a stern expression in warning. Don’t scare her off.

____

You could hear your heart beating in your ears as you tried to decide what to do. Take it slow. You told yourself. You looked up to find all the eyes at the table on you and did your best to calm yourself.

“So who’s dealing?” A man you hadn’t previously met swiped the cards and began shuffling.

“Look, I know we said we’d put the pot on hold but Laura’s been bugging me about a vacation and I don’t know that I can pass up this opportunity to steal from Steve so easily, so” The man you’d come to know as Clint trailed off. You did your best not to be offended.

“Shut up, Barton. I promised Steve, we just wanna have a little fun, don’t we?” Bucky asked.

Is he asking me?

You decided to take a sip of your wine instead and he chuckled.

“So,” Bucky turned to you, “I know that you know about what we do, there’s no point in denying it. The question is are you going to be a problem for us or do you know how to keep things to yourself?”

Frozen in fear you could only manage to look at the rest of the table, hoping to find that this was all a joke. Instead, every face looking to you was stony and waiting on an answer. God, this man was made for Natasha, that much is clear. Your eyes darted around the room looking for an out. Where is Steve? Where the fuck is Steve?

You don’t find him, but you do find Natasha looking at you, she smiles and looks to her husband before she shakes her head. She makes her way over to her husband and lightly smacks him in the back of the head.

The look of surprise on his face ruins his silent and aggressive front as he winces in pain. He looks in slight annoyance at his wife as she tsks at him.

“Will you stop already? She’s a smart girl and you don’t need to go scaring her off. In fact, I hope she beats you. I wouldn’t be surprised if she did.” Natasha sounded so confident. You warmed to the fact that she was in your corner when you were practically a stranger in her home.

“Aw c’mon, Babe, I was only messin’ with her.” Bucky turned to Nat and she just challenged him with a smile.

You didn’t know why Natasha has suddenly become so supportive, maybe she felt bad about earlier but you were grateful to her. She pulled up a chair between the two of you to watch and motioned to the dealer to continue. You finished your second glass and prepared yourself for the night ahead. Any chance they had of you going easy on them went out the window.

____

You lost the first hand graciously, saying you hadn’t played poker since you were in college as an excuse for your loss. But when Steve was still busy and Bucky offered another round you accepted. You decided to put your full effort in this time.

Twenty minutes later everyone at the table was feeling confident in their hands, staring at each other like some sort of Mexican standoff, willing the others to fold. You could tell by the way Clint kept scratching the cut on his chin that he was screwed and he knew it. Thor couldn’t go more than 5 seconds without nervous laughing.

But Bucky? He was a tough read but about half way through the round his leg started bouncing. You knew this because he was bumping into Natasha, who’s wine was sloshing around in the glass despite her stillness. These clods didn’t stand a chance.

The dealer, Vision, you’d learned, called for everyone to show their cards. Here goes. One by one everyone set their cards down until finally it was your turn. You set them down but focused on your opponents faces. Everyone looked confused, shocked even. You had laid down a royal flush and handily smoked them all.

“Holy shit”

“Holy shit indeed”

“Told you so” Nat teased.

You smiled at all of them and drank from your newly topped off glass of wine - white this time. A warm pair of hands rested on your shoulders and you looked up to find Steve smiling down at you.

“What’s going on over here, gentlemen?”

“Well, Steve, I think your girl is hustlin’ us. Thought you said you hadn’t played since college?” Bucky turned to you. You couldn’t gauge how angry he was but you decided to be honest.

“I haven’t,” you began, “But when I did I was pretty damn good. You just assumed I didn’t know what I was doing.” You shrugged.

The room was tense, it felt like everyone was looking to Bucky to see what to do next. He broke out into a wide smile and a low chuckle turned into hearty laugh. Everyone visibly relaxed.

“I gotta say, Steve. She isn’t what I expected, but she’s sure somethin’”

“A girl after my own heart” Natasha added.

Steve bent down to kiss your head. You stood from the table and offered him your seat. Nat put a hand on your shoulder.

“Steve I’m going to steal her again, the girls will probably want to hear all about your little cardshark.”

____

He had to admit, he was completely blown away by your little stunt at the table. He thought back to earlier when you watched him play. You weren’t trying to desperately understand the game, you were studying your opponents. He couldn’t deny it was kinda hot. You were full of surprises.

He smiled thinking that you were no different than the day you met, timid but aggressive when you need to be. That’s my girl.

The rest of the night came and went without incident, Steve didn’t end up taking home the pot but he did have a conversation with Bucky.

“She and I don’t talk about work. She knows that what we do isn’t exactly reputable but let’s face it, anyone in Brooklyn would. She doesn’t know and she doesn’t want to.”

Bucky took a long drag from his glass of bourbon and nodded.

“But if she ever did I hope she’s smart enough to know she has to keep what she knows to herself. We can’t afford any slip ups.”

Steve’s fists clenched and he controlled his anger enough not to snap at Bucky. He was his best friend but Bucky was still the boss and Steve knew how much was at stake.

“Not that it’s any of my business but you love this girl, right?” Steve swallowed thickly and nodded.

“Then how the hell are you gonna manage that? Keepin’ your two worlds separate? I mean, you just gonna walk her down the aisle and live happily forever keeping half your life from her? I need to know that if push came to shove she wouldn’t sell us out. Things are fine for now but you know that you’re either in or you’re out. I care about you, Steve, you’re my best friend but you need to see straight.”

Steve looked away, his jaw clenched as he ground his teeth. He knew Bucky was right. He loved you but he owed his life to Bucky, he was his brother. But he loved you. They were careful in their work and he knew any feds that tried to come after them wouldn’t find a thing. He could put this issue into a box and seal the lid tightly, at least for a while.

“I know you’re right. I love her and she’s a good woman. She wouldn’t say anything because she doesn’t know anything. And she never will.”

He left Bucky to stand on his own in search of you. He found you laughing with Laura, Wanda and Nat. He smiled at how welcomed you seemed to feel despite the rocky start.

“You ready to go, doll?”

You turned around and smiled at him. You looked back at the girls and then reluctantly back to him but nodded.

“Guess we’d better go, I’ve got to get down to the flower market at open tomorrow morning”

____

After a very long round of goodbyes you swapped numbers with Nat with promises of future lunch plans. The night had turned out worlds better than you thought that it would. You served a bunch of men their own egos on a silver platter and didn’t get murdered for it and you even made friends.

Still though Nat’s words echoed in your mind ‘how long can you keep that up, really?’ Little did you know but the same thoughts troubled Steve. You knew eventually you would have to make a choice if you ever wanted to get more serious than you were with each other, you just didn’t know what choice you’d make.

The ride home was quiet but not tense. He held your hand a little tighter than usual but you thought maybe he was just excited you had gotten on so well with your friends. He pulled up to your building and put the car in park.

“So do you think they liked me? I mean, other than hustling them at poker I’d say I made a pretty good impression”

Steve chuckled, “Yeah, doll. Gotta say, the whole cardshark thing? Kinda hot, didn’t know you had that in you, you little fiend.”

You rolled your eyes playfully and grinned at him. “I wasn’t gonna but Clint started talking shit.”

“Then he deserved his ass kicked” Steve joked. “I’d come up but I know you’ve got an early morning. Thank you for coming and meeting everyone tonight, I know that you want to keep things separate but these people are family to me, it means a lot that you met them”

You nodded and smiled. You told yourself you didn’t need to make the choice between getting involved with his work and keeping it apart from the other aspects of your life but it seems that by meeting them you had already made one.

Maybe you could talk more to Nat about this, she’d know what your situation is like more than anyone. For now though you decided to focus on the present reality, you had a good night and you had fun and now you’re about to kiss the man you love.

“Of course” you whispered. You kissed him slowly, trying to put off the sleepless night you were surely about to have.

“Goodnight, sweetheart. I’ll call you tomorrow. I love you”

“I love you too, Stevie”