#incredible how long this game has stayed in the front of my brain. it's lasted longer than most things.
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i am going to make the general utdr community recognize undertale 2 if it is the last thing i do
#and like man it's not like i'm trying to get everybody to PLAY the game#the nature of a comedy game is that not everyone is going to find it funny that's just the way it is lol#but i REALLY want people to recognize it and know about it. there's far too much effort that went into it for it to be as unknown as it is#bri talks#incredible how long this game has stayed in the front of my brain. it's lasted longer than most things.#you know i was only a wandersong guy for like 3 months? wild. i've been here for five.#every day i look at my legs flowey acrylic stand and i'm like Wow :) that guy:)
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Pedri- Hurt
A/n: my requests are open so feel free to send me more requests.
wc: 1900+
Playing football professionally is great especially when you are at the top of your game but it's also a lot of pressure as you have to stay in peak physical condition and perform every match. I have been very lucky with these things so far as I haven't really had any big injuries and have managed to work hard and work my way to the Barcelona womens team. To start with it was incredibly stressful and I was just really overwhelmed but then I met my boyfriend Pedri and he really helped me become more confident in my ability and I've not looked back since.
With Pedri also being part of Barcelona we often get to go to training together but usually we aren't able to watch each other play as our matches are at different times and in different places but this weekend our schedules aligned and so Pedri is coming with me to my match. Knowing that he's going to be there has had me even more motivated than usual in training as I love to show him what I can do even though he already knows. When we go to each other's matches we are allowed to travel together as we are both part of the team which I love as I really hate flying so having someone to distract me helps. Pedri is really good at distracting me in general as before a match he will have me laughing instead of sitting in a corner panicking which is quite a feat as usually no one can stop my pre match panic.
Luckily this match wasn't too far so the flight wasn't too long but I still spent the entirety of the flight cuddled up to Pedri while we watched part of a movie. We watched the rest of the movie while on the bus from the airport which is normally when I start to get nervous but today I was still quite relaxed and that's all because I had Pedri with me. Once we had arrived there was still quite a while before the game so we had a lot of time to kill which pretty much always means just laying down together as it's relaxing and means we aren't doing anything that uses too much energy. To keep my brain focused on something other than the match Pedri put on our favourite show as he knows that I'll pay attention to that.
After doing nothing for a few hours it was time for us to head to the stadium but first I had to do my hair as I always find it hard to do when I'm nervous as my hands just don't want to work. I had already changed into the clothes we are supposed to wear into the stadium and was standing in front of the full length mirror trying to braid my hair as that's how I usually wear it during a match. Usually I'm very good at doing my hair as I've been doing it for years but for some reason I was really struggling to get it right today. Pedri watched me do the same part over and over again until he had clearly had enough as he got up and stopped me doing my hair before taking over. I just watched him in awe as I didn't think he would be any good at hair but he did it better than I do sometimes. Once he was done we headed down but along the way I had to ask how he knew what to do and he just told me that he's watched me enough that's he's learnt.
When we reached the stadium Pedri had to leave but I knew I'd get to see him before I go out on the pitch which made me feel a bit better. Like usual we did a warm up as a team before properly getting ready which is when my nerves really started to kick in and I took myself off to a corner like usual to try and calm down. My methods didn't work too well but eventually we left the locker room and Pedri was waiting for me right outside so I went straight over to him and he pulled me into a hug. He held on for a little while before pulling away and letting his hands on my cheeks to get me to look in his eyes.
"You got this love go show them what you're made of" he said
"I will" I replied smiling
"Go on I'll be cheering for you in the stands" he said giving me one last kiss and then left to go and sit down
We got out onto the pitch and before I knew it the game had started but I quickly got into the game and was completely focused on looking for space to run into or who to pass to. My methods seem to work pretty well usually and today they seem to be doing the same as after 20 minutes I got the ball and ended up running all the way to the goal and scoring. When I scored I searched for Pedri in the crowd and when I noticed him he was smiling ear to ear and gave me a thumbs up which filled me with even more motivation. Just after half time it happened again there was a whole lot going on but I got given the ball and had no one else to pass it to so I just went for it and the ball went right past the goalkeeper and into the back of the net. This time I decided to do Pedri's usual celebration seeing as he was watching and plus it will give people something to talk about after the game.
Things were going well after I scored as I got the ball again and was making a run but then I was tackled and the other player completely missed the ball hitting my ankle instead. I heard a pop followed my a sharp pain going from my heel all the way up my leg. Right away I knew it was something serious as I've never felt so much pain in my life especially when I tried to move my ankle it was excruciating. I hate crying about injuries while on the pitch but this time I couldn't help it but I covered my face instead so now one could see. The medics were quickly by my side and asking me where my pain was and trying to assess me. They quickly worked out that I was not going to be able to continue so they helped me get up and walk off the pitch and straight down the tunnel to the physio room so I could have my injury assessed to know the extent of it.
I was laying there on my own for a while until I heard the door open so I looked up to see that it was Pedri not the physio. I tried to offer him a smile but I think it was pretty obvious that I wasn't actually happy and really was in a lot of pain. He came and stood by my side taking hold of my hand and rubbing it gently while he leant down to give me a kiss. With both of us being footballers he knows exactly what it's like to be injured and be worrying about if and when you'll be able to play again so he didn't bother asking me if I was alright because he knew the answer would be no. Instead he just sat by my side and had the game on his phone so I could still see what was going on which I appreciated as it distracted me for the pain.
Eventually the physio came in and did all the usual checks on my ankle as well as some other things before telling me that I'd been very lucky as I'd had a few tears in different muscles but my achilles tendon was ok so my recovery will likely be a few weeks instead of a few months. As much as it was nice to know that my injury wasn't as bad as it could be it didn't make the pain I'm feeling right now any better which is what was taking over most of my thoughts. Sadly the physio didn't do anything other than strap my foot up and give me some crutches so as soon as they left I tried to get up so that me and Pedri could go and get some painkillers.
Just as I was about to grab my crutches Pedri stopped me and instead picked me up bridal style so that I didn't have to walk at all. He first carried me to the locker room so I could get my things and see my team as the match was over now and we had won 2-1. When everyone was ready to go he carried me to the bus which was taking us back to the hotel so we could then go back to the airport and fly back home. Once we reached the hotel Pedri left me to pack while he ran and got some painkillers for me so that I could be at least a little more comfortable on the flight back. The entire flight and then drive back home Pedri kept checking that I was ok and if I needed anything and even when I said that I was fine he still melt an eye in me to make sure I wasn't lying.
When we finally got back home I was exhausted but there was still so many things I had to do before going to bed I mean I didn't even shower after the game so that's definitely top of my priority list. Once we got inside I finally got hold of my crutches and used them to make my way up the stairs to the bathroom which was difficult but I eventually made it only for Pedri to join me in less than a second and rush past me to turn the shower on for me. He helped me get ready and then left me to shower by myself but when I came out he had set clothes out ready for me which made me smile as it was some shorts and one of his hoodies which he wore the other day so I knew it would smell like him.
Once I had changed Pedri came back in the room with some food for the both of us which we ate in bed while watching my favourite film which I have seen a million times but I still love watching. After eating Pedri took the plates back to the kitchen but quickly came back and got into bed with me pulling me close to him straight away so naturally I rested my head on his chest so that I could listen to his heartbeat as I find it calming. We laid there in silence as he stroked my hair and I listened to the calming rhythm of his heartbeat for a while before I began to drift off to sleep so Pedri kissed my cheek and started to whisper in my ear.
“Goodnight my love” he whispered
“Goodnight oh and thank you for taking care of me” I whispered back
“No need to thank me I’ll be taking care of you until you are ready to get back to training anyway” he said
“Thank you” I said just loud enough for him to hear before I let sleep consume me
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Meet You After Dark
It’s the Anarcia Knight au with an actual working title! What?! Incredible. Anyway, here’s a long part involving white gown, a cry for help, and a healer in a spooky shack. Also, Knight Sasha!
(Also I could not have done this without @jinkx-monswoon who talked through this with me for sooo long and helped bring this idea from the depths and turn it into something much bigger and better than it initially was going to be. And edited it when my brain stopped working)
…..
“Prince James is a good friend to you.”
“Yes, father. He’s taught me how to climb the big oak by the pond and he never makes fun of me for being slow like the Duke does, and he doesn’t leave me out of any of the games.”
“One day, I expect he’ll be a good husband to you as well.”
Marcia, still with the rounded cheeks and wide eyes of a six year-old, wrinkles her nose at the idea.
“But I don’t want to marry him.” She huffs, crossing her arms over her chest with a pout. “He’s a boy and boys are weird, and then we wouldn’t be able to play games together anymore because he’d just be a boring old husband.”
The king chuckles, lifting his daughter onto his lap with a twinkling eye.
“My little princess,” he coos. “I think that one day, when you’re older, you’ll start seeing things in a different light.”
…
The Queen floats around the room with an unmatched elegance, fair-haired and button-nosed just like the princess standing before her. She smooths back her daughter’s hair in an affectionate sort of pet, crooning with delight at the radiant beauty of the heiress. The princess is laced into an elegant white gown months into the making, a delicate ornate lace with long sleeves and a bodice accentuating her lithe body. She has never looked more like royalty, and it nearly brings the mother in her to tears. The Queen, however, aptly takes over. She tuts.
“We’re meeting within the season to discuss final plans, and then we’re to send the messages out with the official announcement.”
“Alright.”
“The family is coming to stay for a few days, you’ll be able to see James one last time before your wedding day. You’ll get to know his family, father will discuss with him the beginnings of plans for when you take over…”
“Yes, mother.”
She’s apathetic, standing in front of the gold-plated mirror while three girls flit around her with pins and string, shuffling and adjusting. She can’t stand to make contact with herself in the mirror, keeps her eyes trained on the stone wall behind it. She’s counting the loops on the curtain’s ornate patterning, lips moving slightly.
From her place at the door Sasha watches; it’s the first time she’s seen the young, poised princess so shaken. Her skin is pallid, her face stone in an attempt to stop the quiver of her lips. Her big brown eyes are glossed over, shining with unshed tears. She hasn’t looked at herself once, not even to comment on the way their seamstresses have perfected the elegant cinch and flow of the ornate white gown she has on. Her mother stands behind her with a critical eye, doting on her daughter by making sure each adjustment is perfect. She speaks freely—as if unable to see the clear discomfort written in every inch of the princess’s body.
She has known the princess for a good majority of her life, coming into the guard when the blonde was a bubbly, charismatic eight year old with an innate talent for charming a crowd. She’d stood guard through dance lessons, balls, banquets…she’d been able to see a bubbly eight turn into a poised eleven, a magnetic sixteen, and now a refined eighteen. The nerves on full display are not her: the one word answers, the hush of her voice, the way she stumbles over responses with a crack in her tone. Since the idea of marriage had been thrown around, she’d retreated into herself. She’d become someone different.
They’re alone after the fitting, Marcia having asked for a few moments to contemplate the dress without the crowd of seamstresses and her babbling mother getting in her way. They’d filed out of the room rather easily, and once the door shuts Sasha watches Marcia’s shoulders finally drop. The princess takes slow, even strides around the room, the train of the dress trailing behind her like a relentless shadow. She huffs in annoyance more than once, kicking out her feet and twirling in an attempt not to tangle herself in fabric and pins. The third time she lets out an exasperated groan along with it, pressing her hand to the wall with a severely turned frown.
“Your highness, are you alright?”
“I’m going to be okay.” She nods her head, shuts her eyes tight. “I’m delighted to marry James.”
“Mash…” It’s the childhood nickname only Sasha uses that sends Marcia into a fit. She crumbles to the floor, clutching her knees to her chest. The dress billows around her and she swipes angrily at the fabric, frantically trying to sweep it away from her line of vision. She wails, open-mouthed, and Sasha is sure she’s never heard such a gut-wrenching sound.
“I can’t do it, I can’t marry him. I can’t spend the rest of my life without her. To know what it feels to have your heart opened by somebody only to have that taken away? That’s not living.”
“Anetra?”
“She is comfort where everything else is turmoil. From the evening we started walking I have done nothing but fall more in love with her each night, and now I feel as though I can barely contain it. I’m a coward. I do not wish to see her lose the thing she’s worked so hard for if she were to be interested in me, it would be selfish. She’s worked so hard. She loves being here. And even then, the thought of her returning my feelings is just that—a thought.”
“Baby, you are worth every wonderful thing.”
“And she is worth everything she’s worked for. She’s longed for this her entire life.” The gown pooled around her makes her look much like she had when she was a little girl; vulnerable and small, swallowed up by the world. Sasha kneels beside her, waiting for a moment before gathering the princess into her arms. Marcia cries, broken and weak while Sasha holds on tight.
“I can’t love her.”
“But you do.”
The crumpled up blonde picks at the lace on her dress, body overcome with a lack of feeling.
“Am I going to spend the rest of my life like this?”
“We’ll figure things out. I won’t ever let you walk alone, Mash. You have my word.”
…
The princess leaves her new gown hanging in the corner of the room much more wrinkled than when she had first donned it hours before. She’s exhausted, her head spinning with expectation and responsibility. She can still see herself in all of that delicate white lace through the corner of her eyes, her mother’s entire being shining with pride while she wishes she could scratch the memory from her mind completely. She refuses dinner, claiming fatigue from the long day of preparations. In reality, she knows it will be one of the last nights she will have to herself, the days until her wedding severely numbered.
For a moment she lays still on her bed, long legs dangling over the edge, and stares at the ceiling. Every silent comfort is suddenly suffocating, surrounded by the sinking feeling that she won’t even be able to have this privacy anymore. Even if James proves to be a kind husband, the duties of a royal remain.
She’ll have to be his.
She’ll have to bear an heir.
The princess bolts upright in her bed upon the thought, breathing becoming an arduous task. She clutches at her heart, beating erratically as the walls she’d been holding up around herself in the silence finally come crumbling down. Everything she’d been avoiding has snuck in through one big Trojan horse of feeling: fear, sorrow, anger.
Anger. The princess throws her feet on the floor, tossing pillows onto the stone with as much strength as she can muster. She growls, hands balling into fists as she punches hard onto her mattress. She beats on the plush surface until her hands buzz with an unfamiliar type of pain, tender and consuming. Beads of sweat fall from her forehead and she wipes them with the back of her hand, huffing and pacing around the room. Her eyes lock on the earthy green cloak hanging on the wall by her door.
She slips her arms into the sleeves, buries her head in the hood.
The princess takes a cautious glance through her window and makes the treacherous descent to solid ground and the cover of the night.
…
Marcia arrives at the clearing in the woods with a brazen sort of courage buzzing in her head. The light of the full moon as she leaves the castle grounds shifts her rage into a steadily stirred need for a solution. While she has never been in this part of the forest before, she’d heard talks of the little shack and its intriguing inhabitant. This is the healer’s home; a mysterious shapeshifter with a knowledge of medicinal herbs and a knack for playing life’s games. The healer is known to play with fate a bit, bending things with a blend of common flowers and obscure baubles and the power of the human mind. Before, the princess found the talk to be intriguing, but nothing more than a child’s tale of caution. Now, she hopes more than anything that those childhood fantasies may just have some truth to them.
She knocks on the door cautiously, stepping back to conceal herself in the shadows. She is met with a figure as tall as the doorframe and the instantaneous stiffening of her limbs. The healer stands before her with an all-knowing smile, beckoning her in. She hesitates, but the aching of her soul has grown so intense that she takes the step anyway, following the healer into the shack. She is but one second through the door when her mouth falls open, unable to hold in her torrent of thoughts.
“I can’t live like this anymore.”
“Whoa, Princess. Hold on for me there, take a breath.” The healer steps toward the wall of bottled ingredients as if to protect their hoard. She is shaking, her eyes rapidly darting around the little shack, trying to take everything in. She pulls on the hood of her cloak, slightly larger than need be and concealing a good portion of her face. Her slender frame is hidden well beneath the stealthy clothing, but the healer would have known it was her even if her button nose and blush weren’t so distinctive. The healer had known she’d be arriving soon, and they’re both aware of the unspoken knowledge. Keeping her hood up is nothing more than a façade, something to help her keep at least the myth of safety.
Vulnerable under the stranger’s stare, the princess toes the ground with her shoe and attempts the phrasing of her request again, tears following the well-worn path down her cheeks.
“Please, please, I need your help. With full trust in your confidentiality I will only say that I have found myself in love with someone with whom I should not be. I can not continue on this path asking them to choose leaving their dream for me, and I can not imagine living in a world where I am forced to see this person every day while I am an unhappily married woman with obligations. I do not wish to live with this grief for the rest of my life. I will not survive.”
“You’re asking for…”
“For help! For relief! For the mending of my broken heart so that I may do my best to lead this kingdom into an era of peace and love.”
The healer appraises her for a moment, turning their head and widening their eyes, looking her over with a fair level of scrutiny.
“And yet you seem to be unsure.” They mumble incoherently, pacing around her. Marcia wishes she hadn’t come alone. There is a bone-chilling feel about this place, this foreign concept of witchery and potions beyond healing the most common physical ailments. This is not the palace healer with his office of neatly arranged and labeled herbs and bandages. This is a shack-like living space in the midst of the pines, a handmade door leading into a dirt floor and a ceiling of strung flowers, colorful bottles lining dusty shelves.
She pushes the thought aside immediately, even more upset with herself than before; this is a person within her kingdom, someone with a knack for the study of herbs who happens to use them in ways she is not yet familiar with. This is what she’s been working toward, a goal of promoting this understanding to her people. This all starts with her.
“I ask for your forgiveness. I was not raised to know people outside of my walls, and I am looking to change that. If I presented myself as rude or ill-mannered, that was not my intent.”
“You are forgiven. Now, about that problem…” The healer leaps behind a stone counter, fingers pointing along a wall of clumsily arranged bottles before settling on one from the top shelf. Blowing off the dust, they turn to hold a bottle of beautiful pearlescent liquid. It swirls magnetically when moved around, catching and keeping Marcia’s big brown eyes, longing consuming her heart.
“What does it do?” Her mouth moves but she can barely hear the words coming out, focused on the way the light shifts the colors of the liquid in the little bottle, how it doesn’t seem to stay one hue for long. She itches to touch it, to hold the glass in her own hands, take the liquid down her throat and soothe her aching.
“It’s an eraser or sorts.”
“In what way?”
“Drink this before bed while letting yourself feel what you’re so desperately trying to forget. Think of the name of the emotion, let it really settle into your heart. Think of the person; the memories you have of them that attach them to that feeling. When you awaken in the morning, those feelings will be gone. In every interaction with this person you will be left a blank slate, a new woman.”
“I…”
“You say this is an unwanted feeling? This will cure it. You will be left without weight on your shoulders. You talk about carrying on? This will make that possible for you. Trust me, princess. For the good of the kingdom.”
The young princess’s eyes are still trained on the liquid, mesmerized. Digging through the pocket of her cloak she takes out a small drawstring purse and tips out several gold coins. They’re heavy in her palm as she hands them over, the breath leaving her body as her fingers finally close around the little glass bottle. Breathlessly, she thanks the healer.
Her steps back to the castle grounds are brisk and careful.
Anetra’s name sits precariously on her tongue, a well-guarded feeling ready to consume her.
She’s thinking about soft brown waves pulled into a uniform updo while she hangs up her coat. She can practically feel the brush of their fingers while they walk, the frightening spark sent through her bones. The princess closes her eyes only to see the endless depths of warm brown eyes staring back at her; all of their unsaid words, glances across rooms, whispers in the moonlit halls. Her heart flutters, hums in appreciation. Sitting on her bed, Marcia finally allows her mind to wander to the possibility of it all, the unmatched happiness of Anetra’s companionship, the safety. The love.
I love her. The words are delicate on her quiet tongue, her whisper caught by the air and dispersed in the space around her.
I love her. She unearths the cork from the tiny glass bottle with a satisfying pop, an enticing floral aroma filling her senses.
I love her. She takes one last look at the pearlescent liquid and holds on to the image of Anetra burned into her mind, her heart swelled up with affection. She takes the potion in one turn, deftly swallowing it all before casting the bottle beside her on the bed. The knight’s name is a symphony in her head, a melody played rapturously over and over until suddenly, it comes to a screeching halt.
I love her.
Marcia gasps at the sudden pit of swirling heat in her stomach, the way it puffs up like the embers of a fire, spreading in painful, acidic flames through to her toes. She stumbles backward onto the bed, clutching at the clothes on her body, ripping at her gown in a futile attempt to feel some kind of relief. She’s thinking of brown eyes when the fire spreads to her lungs, taking away her breath with a warmth so much more violent than that of her knight’s soothing voice. She is reduced to a desperate flailing of limbs, thrashing and grabbing at herself and choking on her mute, helpless screams. Her hair sticks to the sweat of her forehead, her eyes wide and unfocused. The room spins violently around her, and she is unable to find purchase.
Anetra, I’m sorry.
The princess’s body falls slack against the mattress, succumbing to the pearlescent fire.
#aknightra#the knight au#anarcia#Princess!Marcia#Knight!Anetra#I will post a master post tomorrow with links#i do think there’s only 3 pieces for this au right now though
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König NSFW Alphabet
no one asked for this, enjoy
A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)
- super super cuddly, will snuggle up to you no matter what
- makes sure you’re okay, asking if you need anything (especially if he was dominant)
B = Body Part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partners)
- for himself it’s his hands and thighs. He knows both is incredibly strong and he takes a lot of pride in that
- about their partner: literally everything. He admires his partner all over, no matter what they look like, he literally worships the ground they walk on
C = Cum (Anything to do with cum, basically)
- definitely likes cumming inside you
- he is happy with anything tho, but if not inside he likes to cum on your stomach
- over your hands if you’re topping
D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
- he likes being bitten hard; hard as in he’s bleeding hard
E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)
- doesn’t seem super experienced but absolutely knows what he’s doing, will adapt to what you enjoy too, he’s a quick learner
F = Favorite Position (This goes without saying)
- When he’s topping, missionary
- when you’re topping cowgirl
- in general 69 with you on top, he loves the feeling of you collapsing onto him
G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous? etc.)
- a good mix of both
- smiling a lot, especially when you’re topping
H = Hair (How well-groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)
- a little bit of hair, well trimmed and clean tho
- carpet is a bit lighter. I just know it
I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment? The romantic aspect.)
- lots of pet names
- gentle touches
- hand holding while pinning you down >>>
J = Jack off (Masturbation Headcanon)
- does it only when he’s really needy
- OR together with you/in front of you
- moans his partners name while masturbating
K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)
- getting edged is HUGE
- loves begging, no matter who tops
- again, cumming inside and staying inside after he came
- overstimulating his partner gets him WILD
- soft bondage makes his heart flutter too
L = Location (Favorite places to do the do)
- definitely the bed
- or tied to a chair
M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)
- his partner cumming makes him incredibly horny
- praise, my man has a praise kink you can’t tell me otherwise
N = No (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)
- tbh he would do almost anything for his partner, as long as it doesn’t make him feel uneasy, insists on talking it through very detailed tho
O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
- a literal god at giving head
- eating you out, blowjobs, anything you can name; he’s great
- prefers giving over receiving but absolutely doesn’t mind receiving
P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)
- fully depends on his mood tbh, sometimes he just wants to fuck his brain out, sometimes its just about being close to his partner
-always a little sloppy when he’s close
Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)
- prefers to have more time with his partner
- doesn’t mind a good quickie sometimes tho
R = Risk (Are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? etc.)
- absolutely ready to try stuff, even if he’s unsure he’ll enjoy it
- might get flustered when you guys talk about trying something new
S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?)
- very high stamina when topping, can easily go for a second and maybe even third round
- could give head for hours
- when being topped he cums rather fast, and gets all flustered and embarrassed about it
T = Toys (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)
- has toys but hides them
- enjoys using them on his partner and will shamelessly do it (toys are teammates, not enemies)
- also enjoys them being used on him but is too shy to bring it up mostly
U = Unfair (How much they like to tease)
- unknowingly teases by giving you looks, the way he touches you etc
- does it on purpose sometimes tho
V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)
- loud af
- whines so much it’s insane
- will whisper a lot, no matter if it’s begging or complimenting you
W = Wild Card (A random headcanon for the character)
- likes to act tough and dominant but is definitely more of a sub
X = X-ray (Let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)
- black boxers.
Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)
- not that high, pretty average
- can be easily made horny tho
Z = Zzz (How quickly they fall asleep afterward)
- depends on how exhausted he is
- will definitely fall asleep while cuddling
#könig#konig#cod#call of duty#könig mw2#könig headcanons#könig call of duty#konig call of duty#konig cod#nsft#cod modern warfare#call of duty modern warfare#gothghostiie
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survey #048
(from yesterday, my b)
Do you drink more or less water than is recommended? Way, WAAAAAAY less. I drink practically none; I'm literally only alive because of the water in food, haha.
Do you like taking walks? Sigh, I used to love walking. In my school years back when we lived in the woods, I would walk outside usually at night with my iPod for literally hours on end. I seriously worn down a path in my front yard at night, back yard during the day. Now just walking to the bathroom directly beside my room is incredibly painful because of muscle atrophy.
Do you remember The Land Before Time movies? Who was your favourite character? Oh god, of course, I was OBSESSED. I even had a computer game based on it. Littlefoot was my favorite. It's even a possibility that I'll get a tree star tattoo in remembrance of my mom when she passes.
Are you one of those people who texts back instantly? Usually, yes.
Assuming money wasn’t an issue, what car would buy right now, given the chance? Ugh, I wish. Whatever Mom wants; I don't need my own car. It'd be a fucking dream come true if I could get a nice, new car for my mother. What she has now is hanging on by an actual goddamn thread.
Do you think going to college/university is the best option after you’ve left school? This varies person-to-person.
Do you buy your lingerie at Victoria’s Secret? No, that shit is way too overpriced. I don't know how big their undergarments go, either, but I highly doubt they reach my size.
Do you have a large dog? We have literally the smallest breed of dog, haha. Mom's not a massive fan of small dogs, but Cookie just worked for us.
Have you ever been to Europe? No, but I'm going to Germany one day.
Do you like breaded chicken sandwiches? Love 'em.
When was the last time you bitched someone out? Idr. I actually think the only time I truly did that was on this one occasion with my sister's fucking abusive ex-boyfriend. Maybe. "Bitched out" implies being aggressive and merciless to me and Dustin fucking got it, idk about anyone else.
What does your ex look like? "The" ex is your average height for a guy I think, an olive sort of tan with his Italian blood, underweight (even though he could EAT this mf never gained a goddamn pound), brown eyes, thin black hair (though in some light it looked more dark brown) that was kinda long for a guy, and last I saw a picture of him, he had a full (but not necessarily long) beard and mustache.
What is your heritage? German, Irish, and Polish. We don't know Dad's side, though, other than his last name being Irish.
Is your best friend a virgin? No.
For two million dollars, would you pose for Playboy? Ugh... that would be life-changing but I just really don't think I could. I hate my body so, so much.
Would you accept a boring job if it meant you would make mega bucks? Probably not, because I'd be very depressed. My brain is very bad at confusing boredom for depression, so.
Have you ever used your parents’ credit card before? Not without their express permission.
Are you afraid of plane rides? Not especially. Turbulence can make my heart speed up for a bit, but I'm not terrified.
Have you ever made a turkey dinner all by yourself? Hell no.
Do you have a gay friend? Yep.
How many sex partners have you had? Names? Well I didn't/haven't gone "all the way" with either of them, but I've had two sexual partners, Jason and Girt. I guess maybe Sara, but to be totally honest I'm not sure if I'd count her here. Nowhere near on the level of the other two.
Do you ever feel like people get tired of you? Oh god yes.
Are you good at hiding your feelings? Nope. I feel too strongly and am just too expressive of it at like all times.
Would you rather sleep for 3 days, or stay awake for 3 days? Eugh... I guess stay awake for three days again, even though last time I did that it had a very negative affect on my body. My nightmares are just SO frequent nowadays that THREE STRAIGHT DAYS of sleeping with those going on... oh god kill me.
Whose bedroom were you in last? Besides mine, Mom's.
Are you watching TV? What’s on? No; I don't even have a TV in my room.
Ever made out on a rooftop? Can't say I have.
Would you date anyone you met online? Probably not again, but who knows.
Have you ever made your parents cry? Mom, oh yes. Sadly. I THINK the night I called Dad and made up after the divorce, his voice was shaking/kinda choked, but I don't know if he was tearing up or anything.
If the last person you kissed invited you to a family dinner, would you go? Of course.
Is your hair longer than your shoulders? No.
When’s the next time you’ll be drinking? I don't know, but I want to in a rare instance.
Did you sleep alone the last two nights? Yeah; well, if you're only counting human company. My cat cuddles with me pretty much every night, haha.
Are you dressing up as anything for Halloween? Idk. Most likely not.
Have you met the last person you kissed’s parents? Mom, yes. Dad's dead.
Who is the first person you see in the mornings? Mom, seeing as she's the only one I live with.
Have you ever fallen asleep with the last person that kissed you? Yep.
Are you one of those people who just don’t care? God no, I care too much. I mean, about most things.
When is the next time you will kiss someone? I absolutely hate questions that assume I'm a psychic. But if things go the way I want them to, the moment Girt next steps through my doorway, whenever that'll be since he's kinda sick.
Who was the last person you were in love with for more than a year? Jason.
Do you have a secret life? I guess you could say that, as hardcore of a secret I keep me being an RPer ss.
Who was the last person to call you baby? Girt.
When shopping at the grocery store, do you return your cart? omg yes I FUCKING HATE when people leave their goddamn shopping carts randomly about the parking lot. I can barely walk and I'm not even that fucking lazy.
If abandoned alone in the wilderness, would you survive? There's no way.
If your house was on fire, what would be the first thing you would do? Is my mom out? If so, get Roman out, then Venus. I hate hate hate picking between them, like I want them both out IMMEDIATELY, but...
Who was the last person you shared a bed with? Girt.
Where was the furthest place you traveled? Illinois.
Do you like mustard? Yes.
Do you look like your mom or dad? I've heard both, idk.
How long does it take you in the shower? Not even 10 minutes.
Can you do splits? Hell no.
Was your mom a cheerleader? Oh god I could NEVER picture her as one. I don't think she played any kind of sport growing up, but I could be wrong.
Do you like Care Bears? I think they're cute, but that's the extent of it.
Do you wear your seatbelt? Yes, WEAR YOUR GODDAMN SEATBELT. My own sister would be dead without one. Seatbelt burns ARE worth your fucking life.
Anything big ever happen in your town? Maybe? I dunno. Nothing THAT big.
Is your tongue pierced? Not anymore. :( It was damaging my teeth. Snake eyes were my favorite piercing I've ever had, though, they were SO cute.
Ever been to L.A.? No.
Whose house did you last spend the night at besides your own? Sara's.
Have you ever seen somebody get shot? No, thank fucking god.
Have you ever taken a picture in a bathroom mirror? Ha, yeah.
Have you ever hated someone, but ended up being friends with them? Lmao hi, Rachel. Sara was once this situation too, but we're not friends now.
What are you listening to right now? "Cowboy" by Lindemann.
What’s worse: a headache or a stomach ache? STOMACH. I CANNOT handle stomach pain.
Have you ever drank sweet tea? Did you like it? Living where I do, of course I've tried it, it's like, THE staple drink here, but I hate it to the point I refuse to drink it.
Anybody ever tell you that “you could do so much better” about a person? I feel like someone mighta said this about Jason at some point...
Have you ever kissed an ex after you two have broken up? No.
When was the last time you talked to your most recent ex? Months ago.
Ever kissed someone who smokes? No; someone who smokes kissed ME, but I went full statue.
Do you prefer a window seat or an aisle seat? I STRONGLY prefer window. I've actually noticed that while taking off and getting the plane in position and all, I get fairly dizzy if I can't see outside/the surroundings.
Do you ever wear boots with skinny jeans? UGH I used to love wearing my tall, leather black boots with them in high school, like that was THE LOOK, but I don't wear jeans anymore.
Have you ever showered with someone? Only as a child.
Are you racist to any race? Nope.
What are/would you like to go to college for? I'm never going back to college. I dropped out three times; I can't afford to keep doing that.
What kind of tea do you prefer? None.
Have you ever intentionally hurt an animal? I've given like dogs a mild pop when misbehaving and shit, but nothing beyond that. I never would.
Have you ever read all night long? I don't believe I have, actually, but maybe.
Have you ever "done it" in a hotel room? No. Y'know, I've never even been to a hotel with an s/o.
Have you ever peed in the woods? I'm quite certain no. I remember I really, really needed to once when fishing on the boat with my dad and sister, but I'm pretty sure I didn't/wasn't able.
What’s your favorite love movie? The Notebook.
Do you have any magazine subscriptions? No. Magazines have never been my thing.
What kind of mom are you? Not one.
Where are you ticklish? Like... everywhere.
What hurts your feelings more than anything else? Probably calling me weak.
Do you believe you’ve had a past life? No.
Has a family member ever hit you? My mom has with the excuse of "spanking" when growing up.
When you look back, do you think your life story will be a good one? Who fuckin' knows.
Ever had any drug addictions? No.
Do you have any anniversaries coming up? With Girt in less than a month, yeah.
Who is the most shallow person you know? *shrug*
What was your first intimate experience with a person? That woulda been with Jason in high school, but if I'm being completely honest, I can't really remember the first time we went beyond making out, oddly enough. Like I remember a lot, just... not the first.
Did you ever play Frogger when you were a kid? BITCH I LOVED THAT GAME. I sucked at it except for the first level, but it sure was fun, haha.
When were you at your lowest in your life so far? When my first real boyfriend Jason left me and I was in a constant state of literally wanting to die for over a year.
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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)
#btswritingcafe#btswriterscollective#magicshopnet#taehyung x reader#taehyung x you#bts#taehyung au#bts au#taehyung#kim taehyung#taehyung scenario#taehyung imagine#android taehyung#robot taehyung#taehyung fanfic#bts fanfic#joy.masterlist
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Permanence
corpse husband x fem!reader
summary: you meet corpse on a stream and you’re surprised when he reaches out to you
warnings: cursing, mentions of tattooing
word count: 1.9k
notes: This is proof read but could have missed some stuff. This is my first corpse fic and my first time writing fanfic since I posted that super cringey book on wattpad when I was like 12 or something. I’d appreciate feed back so please reach out to me :)
main blog @itsmysleepover
read part 2 here!
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
You were cleaning up your station so you can get home and stream. You loved your day job as a tattoo artist but you also really enjoyed streaming. It started as a way to promote yourself as an artist and the shop you worked at but it eventually became a really fun way to destress at the end of the week (or day if you were really itching to stream). “Hey Y/N was that your last client?” your boss, KC, asked as she walked to the front of the shop and put new flash drawings on the walls.
“Yes ma’am!” You said back excitedly. You finished cleaning your station and tossed your black gloves in the trash. “And you can’t trick me into staying and taking walk-ins,” you joked with her. She rolled her eyes and walked back into her office “It was one time,” she said as you slid on your jacket. As you walked out your phone buzzed in your pocket and you checked to see who had texted you. It was a message from Sean asking if you were free to play Among Us with him and some other streamers. You replied that you were on your way home right now and totally down. You were excited to see who was playing this time around since their Among Us streams are super entertaining and have gotten really popular.
On your way back you tweeted and posted to your Instagram story that you’d be streaming soon and set up all your stuff once you made it home. After a few minutes, you had a couple of thousand people watching. You entered the discord chat and Sean spoke up. “Everyone this is Y/N she’s sensitive so be gentle.”
“It’s nice to finally meet you guys and I’m not gentle, I'm ruthless,” You say into your mic and notice the chat calling you a liar. Everyone was in the lobby waiting for the game to start. “You sound way too sweet to be ruthless,” Corpse said. The countdown started and you were imposter with Charlie.
“This should be fun,” you told the stream. Yout tried playing strategically but after such a long shift your brain was mush. You saw Poki in nav and killed her then vented into shields. Not long after the body was reported and you were sure you were going to get voted out or at least sussed.
“Where was the body?” Felix asked. “Nav and I didn’t see anyone near there so whoever is imposter must have vented,” Corpse responded. Felix spoke up again. “I think I saw Y/N walk that way and I haven’t seen her since.”
Shit, shit, shit shit. “I’m in shield right now so-” you said trying to defend yourself but Charlie spoke up. “I was doing tasks with her earlier and I saw her walk into shields so she’s safe but I’m still not sure about Rae.” Everyone discussed a bit more and some people, including Corpse, voted for you but Rae got the majority vote and was ejected. You released your breath and kept playing being extra careful.
“Okay, guys that was super close. Corpse knows and is out to get me,” you said to the chat. You were eventually voted off but one round later victory was written across your screen with your ghost and Charlie’s avatar. “Good game guys,” Corpse said.
“I told you guys I was ruthless!”
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
You sat at your station doing nothing because a client had canceled a four-hour session. You were listening to music and sketching some stuff but you were bored out of your mind and you didn’t want to leave in case you got a walk-in. The music got quiet as you received a twitter notification saying someone had messaged you. You reached for your phone and saw you had gotten a dm from Corpse.
C: hey :)
You didn’t know what to respond. You were mostly confused as to why he decided to message you out of the blue. Did he want something? But what would he want?
Y: Hii! This is sudden
C: was i bothering you?
shit sorry!
Y: Youre fine I wasn’t doing anything rn
C: how has your day been
i dont usually do stuff like this
Y: Im glad you did im doing better now I was so bored
C: what were you doing that was so terrible
Y: NOTHING! thats the problem :(
C: im sure youll find something to do
You stared at his message. Unsure what to respond.
Y: Im gonna give myself a tattoo
C: what?
NO!
You tossed the needles you used for your tattoo into the sharps box. “Oh my god you didn’t,” KC said. She noticed the wrap on your calve from the tattoo you just gave yourself out of boredom. “It’s not my fault I didn’t have anything else to do!” You said trying to defend yourself. She sighed and just shook her head. “Just go home business is slow today.” It was raining so the shop probably wasn’t going to get a walk-in anyway and you didn’t have any more clients for the day. It was only 2 pm but you drove home and after making lunch for yourself decided to stream. You weren’t expecting too many people so it was bound to be super chill. Your leg felt sore reminding you of the tattoo. You snapped a quick pic of the fresh jack-o-lantern on the side of your calve and messaged it to Corpse.
Y: [image] it came out nice!
C: thats super cool actually
i was concerned why you would just give yourself a tattoo but i found your instagram and youre super talented
Y: Thank you!
For some reason, it felt strange to just have that be the end of your response.
Y: Im about to start streaming if you wanted to watch
[link]
C: ill be watching ;)
What’s that supposed to mean?
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
You sat in your apartment watching tv, hand lost in a bag of Doritos, and scrolling through twitter. You had stopped paying attention to the anime playing on the screen since you’ve watched it a hundred times and knew you wouldn’t miss anything. It was Saturday and you usually take those days off. Take the time to do chores or meet up with some friends but today you felt like not doing any of those things. As you continue your endless scroll (not helping the twitter addiction you told yourself you’d try to get a handle on) you got a message from Corpse.
C: wanna talk?
You looked down at the message unsure of how to answer. It was a simple yes or no and the obvious answer was yes. You and Corpse had started talking more regularly. You still didn’t have each other’s phone numbers but it was fine. Your conversations weren’t too big-- just you sending him memes, tiktoks, and telling him how much you liked the songs he would drop. Or him complimenting a tattoo you did. Sometimes he’d message you during streams telling you funny stuff his fans would say in the chat and you’d do the same. You learned a bit about each other but nothing too deep or serious. Like how you two lived a few cities away and you both really liked Donnie Darko. When Sean first invited you to that game out of everyone else there you were most excited to meet Corpse. He’s just so sweet and funny. Of course, you’d love to talk to him but you were also itching to talk to him and the last thing you’d ever want to do was make him uncomfortable.
Y: Yeah id love to talk
Here goes nothing.
Y: Wanna facetime or something?
No pressure or anything it could even be a regular call
I think facetime is just my default lol
You sent those last two messages quickly after you had sent the first. You wished you could know what he was thinking. It was killing you to think you had turned him off from talking to you completely. You put your phone down on the couch and went to wash your hand of Dorito dust. When you got back from the kitchen you turned off the tv and tossed yourself onto the couch.
Still no message.
Why am I so fucking stupid?
Just as you were standing up to stretch from sitting on the couch all day your phone buzzed. You reached for it fast and looked to see that it was him. You became super excited still not even knowing what the message said. It could have told you to never talk to him again for all you knew.
C: sure lets facetime
xxx-xxx-xxxx
You had his phone number. You added him to your small but growing contact list and called. You sat on your couch waiting for a response when he finally picked up the screen was black. It didn’t upset you; you kind of expected it and didn’t care what he had to do to make himself more comfortable during this call.
“Hey,” he said. His voice was raspier than usual.
“Did you just wake up?” You asked and looked at the time. It was about a little past noon and you had only eaten Doritos all day. Shit, you should probably make a decent meal.
“Not that long ago but yeah,” he responded and giggled. That giggle.
“Well, I’ve eaten nothing but Doritos all day while rewatching Ouran High School Host Club, so you’re welcome to join me as I make myself something to eat.”
“Sounds like fun; what are we eating?”
“I don’t know yet,” You said as you stood up and made your way to the kitchen. You opened the pantry and looked. You noticed a can of diced tomatoes and reached for it then checked the expiration date. It was still good. On your counter were some onions and garlic. “How about some tomato soup?”
“Sounds delicious.” you smiled at Corpse and your phone screen not knowing if he was also looking at his screen or not. “You’re really pretty-- you know that?”
“Thanks, but you don’t have to--”
“I’ve already told you what an incredible artist you are so many times I bet you’re tired of hearing it, but you already know what a talented artist you are.”
“That is very kind of you Corpse,” you said to him bashfully as you chopped the onion and opened the can of tomatoes. “But once again you don’t have to reach so far to compliment me.”
“I’m not reaching you are talented and beautiful and--”
“I thought I was pretty.” You could hear him chuckle with a smile on his face. “You’re both,” he said. You could feel your face getting warm from blushing.
“Fuck you you’re making me blush. My face is all hot and stuff.”
He laughed at how flustered you got. “That’s the cutest thing ever.”
You didn’t know how to respond so you just put some olive oil in a pot and tossed in your onions. It became silent but it was a comfortable silence. You turned the stove on and watched the flame for a few seconds. “If it was dark we could pretend we were together and having a bonfire or something,” you said to the phone as you turned the camera to show him the flame (still not 100 percent sure if he was looking at you or not).
“I’ll put it on the list of things to do when you visit me someday.”
#corpse husband#corpse husband x reader#corpse husband imagine#corpse husband imagines#corpse husband x y/n#youtubers#caffeinated ramblings
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Never Have I Ever
The Fablehaven gang plays Never Have I Ever. Not really shippy, but will tag for relevant ships.
---
“Never have I ever become an albino courtesy of a revenant,” Seth announced. His face expressed glee as Warren and Tanu each lowered one finger in response. He was down to three fingers left, himself, and Kendra thought he seemed determined to remain in the game.
“Well, never have I ever held Vasilis,” Tanu retorted. The smile dropped off of Seth’s face as he lowered one of his remaining fingers with a quiet ‘nooo’, and Kendra laughed a little as she also lowered one of hers.
“Never have I ever broken my leg by jumping off a roof,” Dale said, which prompted Warren to roll his eyes and lower another finger.
“It’s hard to play this game with people you actually know,” Warren protested. “I was nine at the time, yes it was a stupid choice, thank you for reminding me, now let me think for a minute.” He tapped his chin with the side of his hand and seemed to think for a moment. “Never have I ever… had a body double,” he said as he winked at Kendra, who stuck her tongue out at him and lowered one of her fingers. She had the most points left in the group thus far, so she’d been expecting some targeted statements, but still.
“That’s a cheap shot,” she said as she clicked her tongue in disapproval.
He shrugged. “Hey. There’ve been three of you. It’s not my fault that you’re the only one here who’s experienced that.”
“It’s not as fun as you’d think it is,” she replied.
“My turn,” Vanessa said. “Never have I ever spoken with the Fairy Queen.”
Seth let out a loud, “HA!” and gave Vanessa a high five. Warren applauded. Kendra sighed as she placed another finger down. Bracken followed suit as well. “Clever,” he said, sarcasm laced in his tone.
“Always,” Vanessa responded. “It’s your turn, Kendra.”
Well. Two can play at this game, Kendra thought. And, really, she’d meant for her next statement to be a jibe at Warren and Vanessa anyway.
“Never have I ever been engaged to marry anyone,” she said with confidence.
She’d expected the narrowed eyes from Warren and Vanessa as they each lowered a finger. She’d expected Seth’s guffaws and Tanu and Dale’s smiling eyes.
She had not expected for Bracken to lower one of his fingers, too.
Kendra turned her attention to the young man to her immediate left, who cleared his throat in an obvious - and vain - attempt to move the conversation forward, his face a lovely shade of pink. “Excuse me?” she asked, probably sounding about as shocked as she actually was. She wasn’t the only surprised one, though. Seth shouted, “What?!” at the same time that Warren announced it was story time while positively everyone’s eyes turned to Bracken, whose face flushed a darker shade of pink.
Bracken opened and closed his mouth a few times, unsuccessful at producing any words. “I… it was a long time ago, and an accident,” he said. “I didn’t mean for it to happen.”
“How do you accidentally get engaged to someone?” Dale asked. One eyebrow was pointed upward, and he appeared to be rethinking his entire opinion of the young man in question.
Kendra, for her part, was speechless. She didn’t know what to think. It was most definitely story time indeed.
“I… there was… it was…” Bracken cleared his throat again and scratched the back of his head, his gaze firmly fixed upon the table in front of him. “I was younger then. Still getting used to human socialization, still wandering between the wilderness and civilization. I’d decided to spend some time closer to towns, was low on human currency, and desired to reside inside an inn for a time. There were people in the street who advertised a sword-fighting competition, which offered a cash reward, so I decided I’d participate.”
Still unsure of what to think, Kendra furrowed her eyebrows. Where was this going?
“I’ve… I’m good with swords. The competition wasn’t particularly difficult to win, although the last human I faced that specific day was quite skilled. I digress. I won the contest, was given a large sum of money in a very nice bag, and was also told at that moment that I’d won the hand of the local princess.”
His face burned red. Kendra didn’t know whether to laugh or smack him upside the head. Maybe both? She refrained from reacting for the moment.
Seth, however, was not so well-controlled. He laughed heartily.
“‘The local princess’? When was this?” Warren asked.
“Shhh, he’s still telling the story,” Tanu said. “I want to hear this. Wish we had some popcorn.”
Bracken looked like he was marching toward his death. “A long, long time ago,” he said, “Somewhere in Ireland. Her name was Aoife MacMurrough.”
“So… did you marry her?” Dale asked.
His eyes grew large. “No!” he nearly shouted. He made eye contact with Kendra, who found it awkward to look at him right at that moment, so she diverted her attention to her hands, which still displayed the five points she’d managed to maintain.
“I tried to tell them that I thought this was a competition solely for money, and that I wasn’t interested in marriage, but the king and his vassals wouldn’t take no for an answer. The rules were apparently clear, although they’d somehow flown over my head. I snuck out of town that night and stayed far away from humans for quite a long time after that. I never found out what happened. Of course, I’d also fled to Greece and other countries and did not return to Ireland for a couple hundred years, but that’s a different story.” He reached toward Kendra and lightly touched her shoulder. “I don’t even know what Princess Aoife looked like.”
“How did you not know that you would wind up promised in marriage to a princess?” Vanessa asked, disbelief and disapproval very much evident in her statement. “Did you not listen to the rules? Did the people announcing the competition not make that clear? How is it possible to enter into a contest like that and not know what you’re fighting for?”
Kendra didn’t entirely appreciate the tone of voice Vanessa used, but she was incredibly grateful that her friend had been able to voice even just some of the questions she had on her own mind.
Bracken narrowed his eyes. “I was new to Gaelic, and it was mostly still a spoken language at that point in time,” he replied. “I still don’t know how I missed that bit of information. I blame my empty stomach and longing for a soft bed to sleep in for the night.”
“He was - he was hangry,” Seth said, then rolled off into laughter again. Warren and Tanu joined in a bit as well, the earlier looking up something on his phone.
“It was a poor decision. I know. Go ahead and laugh,” Bracken stated. He once again reached for Kendra. “I’m sorry,” he said in a quiet voice.
Sorry for what? Why should he be sorry? Should she be upset? Did she have a right to be upset? Was she upset? All of those questions and more buzzed about in Kendra’s brain, but she refrained from voicing any of them.
“Wait. Aoife MacMurrough?” Warren asked, his eyes practically bulging out of his head.
“Yes…?” Bracken responded.
Warren chuckled as he read from his phone. “Red Aoife. Married off by Saint Patrick himself. Warrior princess. That Aoife?”
“I don’t know!” Bracken insisted at the same time that Tanu said, “Saint Patrick, huh?”
“Bracken almost married a leprechaun?!” Seth cried out before yet more raucous laughter escaped from his body.
Dale spoke next, after a brief pause to allow for excess joviality from the company who sat around the table.
“Well. That is an odd circumstance,” he said. “I’ve bailed Warren out of quite a few odd circumstances over the years, but never anything like that. Right, Warren?”
Warren laughed. “Nope.”
“Alright then. I think my next move is to say, never have I ever been accidentally engaged to marry someone,” Dale continued. He innocently blinked at Bracken a few times, who looked dumbfounded and then lowered another finger.
“I’m never going to live this down, am I?” he asked.
Everyone shook their heads while Kendra finally reacted in laughter. The rest of the table followed after her example.
“Are you upset with me?” he asked her.
Kendra let laughter take over her body for a minute, then wiped a tear from one of her eyes. “Upset?” she asked as more giggles escaped from her lips. “Bracken. You are the only person I know who could have done that.” Giggles. Somehow, this didn’t seem out of character for him. The poor, oblivious unicorn.
“What other secrets are you hiding?!” Seth demanded.
Bracken folded his arms across his chest and refused to entertain that particular train of thought. “Nope. One story is enough for tonight,” he said. “Come on. Surely all of you have made poor decisions in your young lives as well.”
“Sure, but I never wound up promising myself to someone else by accident,” Vanessa shot back.
Bracken only rolled his eyes at that comment. “I believe it was my turn, next, before Dale stole it from me,” he said as he leveled Vanessa with a cool glare. “Never have I ever controlled someone in their sleep.”
Vanessa ran out of fingers at that one. “Very funny.”
“Always,” he retorted, copying her tone of voice from earlier on in the evening.
Kendra opened her mouth to interrupt them before they could launch into one of their infamous arguments, but Tanu beat her to the punch.
“Never have I ever been near Zzyzx,” he said.
Everyone else at the table groaned and lowered a finger, except Dale, who simply smiled. Warren ran out of points, Seth only had one left, Bracken had two, Tanu and Dale were each down to three, and Kendra still held onto four.
“Your turn again, Seth,” Tanu said once the damage had been assessed.
“Never have I ever… um…” he looked at his sister. “Never have I ever written letters to a dragon prince.”
Kendra could feel her face grow warm as she lowered a finger. “Warren and Vanessa are out, so it’s my turn,” she announced.
“A dragon prince?” Bracken asked. This time, his eyebrows were raised in surprise.
“I knew him as Gavin in his human form,” she said with a sigh. “He was actually Navarog.”
If Bracken’s eyes could have grown larger, Kendra was sure that they would have at that statement. “Excuse me?” he asked, in much the same tone as she’d asked him earlier. “I feel that another story time is in order.”
“Nah, we all know that story already,” Warren announced. “You two talk about that one between yourselves later. It’s Kendra’s turn now.”
“But-“
“Never have I ever drank an enlargement potion,” Kendra interrupted.
Bracken narrowed his gaze at her, but dropped the subject. For the moment.
Tanu lowered one finger. “Ouch, Kendra. I feel like I’ve been singled out.”
“Sorry, Tanu,” she replied with a smile.
Bracken huffed. “Never have I ever been duped by a demon dragon,” he stated.
He was astonished to find that everyone except Dale put their fingers down. Seth ran out of points, Tanu had one left, Kendra was down to three, and Dale and Bracken were still at two.
“All of you?!” he asked.
Dale shrugged his shoulders. “I never met the guy,” he said. “They all went adventuring with him.”
“Except me,” Vanessa elaborated. “I probably would’ve caught on if I had been there, though.”
“Let’s not start this up,” Warren said at the same time that Dale announced, “Never have I ever been in prison.”
Just like that, Tanu was out of points, Kendra had two, and Bracken had only one left.
“Never have I ever been trapped in a barn,” Kendra said. Dale laughed and lowered a finger. One left.
“Never have I ever had coffee,” Bracken said.
“Really?” Dale asked as he ran out of points. “Never?”
“Not once,” Bracken replied.
“How-?”
“You were in prison when coffee as a drink was invented, weren’t you?” Kendra laughed.
Bracken’s ears turned pink. “Maybe,” he admitted.
“You’re getting a cup in the morning,” Dale vowed. “I’ll make it for you.”
“Thanks…?” Bracken asked, sounding unsure whether or not he even cared. He turned toward Kendra, who still had two points left. “No coffee for you?”
She shook her head. “I don’t like the smell.”
“Who doesn’t like the smell of coffee?” Dale asked, sounding utterly flabbergasted.
“Kendra,” Seth, Warren, Tanu and Vanessa all replied in unison.
Dale stared straight at Kendra, who laughed when he whispered with so much melodrama that he could only be Warren’s brother, “But. You were my favorite.”
“Hey!” Warren protested. “I’m your favorite!”
“Well, you might be now,” Dale said. His gaze turned back toward Kendra. “How can you not like coffee? Coffee is life.”
“I… I didn’t realize you liked it so much,” Kendra replied.
“The way into Dale’s heart is a healthy serving of coffee every morning,” Vanessa said.
“She makes the best coffee ever,” Dale confirmed. “No other woman will ever take her place.”
Kendra wasn’t sure what was happening. This game was getting ridiculous. Whose turn was it, anyway? She recounted the latest movies and realized that this game was down to just her and Bracken, he only had one point, and it was her turn.
She smirked. “Bracken,” she began.
“Yes?” he asked.
“Never have I ever won a sword-fighting competition,” she announced.
Bracken lowered his pinky, while Kendra waved her two remaining fingers in his face. “I win!” she taunted.
“That’s not fair,” he playfully complained.
“Totally fair,” Warren insisted.
“I lost three points from one story!” he exclaimed.
Seth shrugged. “It be like that sometimes.”
“Kendra survives the night,” Tanu stated. “Now we all know who to target in the next round.”
Vanessa raised her eyebrows in a somewhat threatening manner which made Kendra wonder what other embarrassing material was going to be paraded about that evening. She looked around to find similar expressions on most everyone else’s faces, too, and laughed when she realized that she would be running out of points very quickly. “No repeats from this round,” she said.
“That’s fine with me,” Tanu said. Everyone else nodded and voiced their agreement.
“Great! I’ll go first!” Seth announced. “Never have I ever run away from a fiancée!”
Bracken planted his face into the palm of his hand while everyone at the table enjoyed a solid laugh.
#fablehaven#aerinm writes#warrenessa#brackendra#again this isn't really shippy so don't come at me with protests about how it's not fluffy enough lol#have some nonsense#it's been a while hahahaha
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Hi! <3 I'm the roomate hc anon again (lol) and can I request best friends to lovers hc for iwaizumi, kuroo and oikawa? Also this blog is gonna blow up soon so remember me when you're famous bro 😌✊️❤️
OMG HI AGAIN! i’m so sorry this is late :( but oh my the excitement that flooded through me when i saw this request hsvhjsd. i really hope you enjoy this!! also vshdks i luv u bb THANK YOU.
iwaizumi hajime
im making these as detailed as fuck so i apologize in advance <3
becoming best friends with hajime was a very out of the blue thing
the two of you shared a lot of classes together, and since you were always seeing each other, you’d choose each other as partners a lot
you’d sit next to him in all the classes that you could
you’d meet up a lot during school breaks and just hang out
you two clicked very well honestly, like you found that it was so easy to talk to him, and it was so easy to lose yourself in the conversation
most of your convos are v mature and sophisticated too like
it’s nice when you can talk to someone on the same brain wavelength as you yk 😼
anyways overtime you’d come to his practice sessions, and even if they were long you’d just stay and watch bc why not
if you had hw to do and he noticed you were a lil stressed about it, he’d tell u to come study while he practiced as a change of scenery and all
he’d walk you home almost every night at this point
oikawa noticing and being jealous <3
“they’re stealing you from me!” “they’re not— what is wrong with you oikawa.”
okay so this best friend stuff has been going on for a long time
long enough for you to realize you wanted more from him
but this is iwaizumi hajime and it’s almost impossible to know what he’s thinking
like
ever
so you just keep it to yourself, thinking it’s just a small crush and it’s not worth ruining what the two of you have at this rate
so all this had happened first year, and when you’re nearing the end of your second year
that’s when you realize that
shit
it’s not just a crush
and when you have feelings for someone, every little thing they do expands a million times in your head
so a hug from him that you’d once never go over twice has you thinking about it as you go to sleep
the hoodies he’d lend you during practice while you stayed in the gym bc it was ungodly cold in there now send tingles down your spine at the lingering scent of him
the way he’d grab your hand to drag you somewhere now leave a heavy effect on your palm, forcing you to trace it once he’s gone
his texts give you butterflies
every time his name pops up on your phone screen you have a mini heart attack
and yeah
those are all symptoms of a crush
but is a crush meant to last this long?
at the start of your third year, you greet him outside of the school gates after not seeing you all summer
he smiles so bright and hugs you so, so tightly
you already are so hyperaware of how strong iwa is
but the feelings you have for him that won’t go away are so not helping your fixation on the feel of his biceps
anyways before this becomes v nsfw
you two catch up like u had met yesterday
and then at the end of the day, after practice, which you stay for bc u missed ur vbc boys 🥺
he walks you home
like always
and as he stands by your front door, in a burst of courage, he takes your hand in his and pulls you harshly towards him, pushing his body against yours and capturing your lips in a heated kiss
it’s so messy and harsh and you pretty much collided
but holy shit
you were pretty sure fireworks erupted when you two kissed
years of pining and what had felt like unrequited love finally being resolved
it’s the most satisfying feeling ever
you never want to stop kissing him
but alas </3
when he pulls back, you’re both breathing so heavily
you’re not sure if it’s the adrenaline or the kiss itself
and he just looks at you and goes “did u tan while you’re away ur eyes look brighter”
no sir i am in love with you
when you two officiate things
he’s actually way shyer than he was as best friends???
like as best friends he wouldn’t feel slightly weird about hugging you in public or grabbing at your hand randomly or being seen alone with you
but now like
people know ??? and somehow that scares iwa
or makes him uncomfortable
idk he just feels iffy
but ur so understanding bless ur heart <3
ur so careful with him and take it at his own pace
zero pda at the start of the relationship
like he won’t even wanna hug u in front of the seijoh team
but slowly he warms up
and he starts getting more comfortable with things like hand holding and occasional pecks on the cheek/lips
your traditions as best friends don’t die as lovers
if anything you believe in them even more
now you watch more diligently during practice
you proudly attend his games in his jersey, cheering the loudest for him (and for the rest of the boys bc they: best)
walks home with you are so much more serene
always gives you a kiss before he parts ways
idk it’s like some sort of commemoration for your first kiss/confession
unless you invite him inside 😏
this is so fucking long im so sorry i just love iwa
anyways anybody want boyfriend!iwa headcanons i got a lot hehe
to conclude, it was so gradual and inevitable with the two of you, and you’re forever glad it happened when it did and you hadn’t rushed anything <3333
oikawa tōru
unlike hajime, this wasn’t something that took one or two years
this bitch couldn’t admit he was in love with you for like 10 years okay
you’ve known him for the majority of your life, because you’d always lived in close proximity to each other
but you were never best friends yk? just acquaintances
it was around the end of middle school when you two got close
cause you saw he was applying to aoba johsai for high school
and you were like !!! i’m going there too
at first he was like stop copying me 😾
you guys had a staring contest bc y’all are idiots and there were legit tears streaming down ur face but u were not about to lose to a pissbaby like him
he blinked 😁👍🏼
and he lost
and then he decided “you’re my best friend now ”
anyways aside iwa, he now had someone else he was going into high school with
like it’s a completely new environment but he had two people he very much liked going with him !!!
when the time came around to like apply for/join clubs, you had been so clueless
but toru stuck by you !! and he was so adamant on helping you !!
he would sit with you after school as he practiced tossing with hajime and just brainstorm with you what you liked to do
it’s what brought you two closer together
cause you realized just how many things in common you had with him
for a full week he tried to help you come up with something
for the sake of this hc let’s say u decide to join the newsletter club
you’re very wary at first but then he’s like when ur part of it you’ll visit the vbc regularly so u can take pictures/observe to write essays
the fact that toru would be there kinda set you at ease
now you’ve never seen toru play properly
he’s practiced in front of you before
plenty of times
but a proper match? or a practice one?
never
so it’s safe to say u were in awe when you got assigned to go watch a practice match against (idk pick a school)
it’s embarrassing to admit but your eyes were on him the entire time
thank god he became the captain later on else it’d be so sus
you really tried to pay attention to anybody else lmfao
it’s kinda what drew you to him more
you still didn’t really have feelings
you only realized just how passionate he is about everything
at some point you had an essay to write for your newsletter about the volleyball club
but you were having a hard time like really getting into it
so you immediately just called toru and were like “help 😃”
he came over and you asked him a bunch of questions, and he would go on deadass 20 min rants for each of them
you were just
so amazed
like how could someone have so much passion for something like this?
you realize how but that’s for later
overtime you two got closer bc of how much your work was associated with him
he’s incredible as a best friend
he’s the first one with the school’s weekly newsletter as soon as it’s out
granted it’s to read the section about him but yk, the sentiment’s there
also love, love, loves lazy days with you
he doesnt even care if the boys know that he worships the chick flicks you two watch
i feel like oikawa would be an avid anime watcher
idk why i just do
so he’d be blasting anime theme songs on a speaker as you’re in the shower and he’s in your room waiting for you and you’re both just singing w the sound of water rushing down
actually it’s not just anime songs it’s all songs
a l l songs
anyways
so you two get really close, and then he has a super important match coming up
let’s say it’s the spring interhigh one against karasuno
the one they won
idk im just choosing at random
and the night before he’s like begging you on text to wear his jersey
he’s like PLEASE NO ONE’S EVER DONE THAT FOR ME
you’re like bruh u have a cult following ?????
but eventually u say yes
ur not really sure where it’s coming from but this is oikawa he’s an unpredictable as can be
when you show up in a jersey he so conveniently left at your house once
he’s so genuinely shocked even though he was the one that asked for this???
gives you the biggest hug like spins you around and just
“you’re my lucky charm”
when he wins
after celebrating with his team
he runs over to you
and just
he kisses you
full on the mouth
it’s probably the rush and excitement of winning that gave him the courage to finally spill all his feelings out into this kiss
you’re in his jersey, in the stands and you genuinely feel like it’s only just the two of you
despite how sudden it was the kiss is so gentle, like he’d been planning it since forever
“i told you you’re my lucky charm” he says as he rests his forehead against yours and kisses you gently again
oikawa had already been affectionate as your best friend
always displaying his love outwardly with like always calling out your name so loud whenever he sees you and giving you bone crushing hugs
deadass his 6’0 self will just jump on you
but now it’s extra
makki always gags around the two of you but you just stick ur tongue out at him and go “ur just mad ur best friend’s getting some pussy/dick and ur not”
makki then proceeds to shriek at you like a fucking banshee <3
anyways
yes
oikawa best friends to lovers excellence is so cute eeeekkk
and now u always wear his jersey at games
(u couldnt make it to the game against karasuno where they lost for whatever reason and he held it against u for the longest time)
(“maybe if a certain someone were there we wouldn’t have lost”)
what a big baby you love him
kuroo tetsurō
AH SEXY CHEMISTRY NERD 👅👅👅
kuroo as ur best friend
im frothing
i feel like you’d grow close after meeting at an event or something
like you’re a friend of a friend of a friend
i see kuroo as someone who’s so suave and cool and flirty with people he doesn’t have feelings for
but put the crush factor in and he’s a mess
like his brain just stops working
so when he first met you
he thought u were so fucking hot
but that’s it
his lower body was doing all the thinking <3
so he was so flirty
and that’s essentially what your friendship is built off of
and when friends are so flirty with each other, they generally grow close and trust each other really quickly
ur not a nekoma student but ur in tokyo so you meet up often
you just
it’s so nice to be around him
you find it so easy to just be yourself around him
going out with him is super fun
and a lot of the times you guys have study dates and you literally don’t talk except during the 10 min breaks you two take
it’s just hyper focus for the two of you which is great
he really channels the best student in you what a man !
i think during your third year of high school you two got insanely close
because you were highly unsure if you were gonna leave japan or stay
so you wanted to make the most out of everything
so you’d go out with him more often
he’d stay during the weekends and you two would like bake christmas goods all night even if it’s literally september lmfao
cuddling is so natural
like you’re both so touchy with each other but not in a weird way just a super comfortable kind of way
like if you’re shorter than him, he’s always leaning his arm on you like you’re his arm rest
it’s a win win bc he gets to touch you and tease you
wow the horny really jumped out in that one
anyways
you go to every single one of his games !!
cheer him on so!! fucking!! loud!!
you probably make a provocative sign and stand a chair and just wave it around and kuroo’s so heart eyes lmfao
the climb up to becoming lovers is so
natural?
i think kuroo first realizes that maybe, yk, he wants those flirtatious comments to mean something and those random touches to hold more romantic value to them, when you two are out together
it’s a completely chill day and it’s not really warm not really chilly. you’re just comfortable
he takes you to a park after buying the both of you ice cream from the stand across the street and sits down at a bench with you
just people watching
and then it kinda goes really silent
but
it’s not awkward??? like at all???
he’s not looking to fill the silence with any random words
he’s just
enjoying simply being with you
and he glances at you momentarily and it hits him like so hard just how pretty you are
his eyes slightly widen like
holy fuck
what the f u ck
remember when i said he’s all cool until feelings come into play
yeah 😼
he literally freezes up and blurts out, without even meaning to, “i think i have feelings for you.”
he really didnt even process he said that
you kinda
pause for a second
and then you realize what you said and you just smile and lean over towards him, lifting your thumb up to the corner of his lips and brushing away some ice cream
“you think?” you tease, and then at the spot where the ice cream was misplaced, you placed a gentle kiss
he kinda relaxes and then eyes you as he says, “i know.”
it is just. heaven after that
i think the two of you would be less flirty around each other once becoming official
like yeah he definitely comments once or twice every now and then and don’t get me wrong, so do you
but it’s just less frequent
like a blanket has been lifted to uncover the true, hidden meanings behind the comments and you can now just breathe easier
you two end up in the same uni on accident hevejsk
like you had a long ass talk about how it’s okay if you didn’t end up in the same uni you’d still make it work
and it would’ve worked tbh
fate just ships you two too much
when you told each other you were literally that spiderman meme of the two spidermen pointing at each other lmao
power couple of the uni
power couple of tokyo
power couple of japan
you’re literally so happy with him you wouldn’t trade him for the world
and maybe you saw it coming
but it still remains a shock whenever you wake up and he’s there laying next to you, smiling lazily at you before reaching over to give you a gentle kiss
anyways happy early birthday king i love you kuroo hehe
end note; i really had a lotta fun w this one omg!! thank you again for requesting, anon, and i hope everybody else enjoyed!! feel free to request, mwah <3
#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu headcanons#oikawa x reader#oikawa toru headcanons#oikawa headcanons#iwaizumi x reader#iwaizumi headcanons#iwaizumi hajime x reader#kuroo tetsuro x reader#kuroo x reader#kuroo headcanons#oikawa x you#iwaizumi x you#kuroo x you
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Moonlight
Just a night at the studio with Yoongi
Pairing: Yoongi x Reader
Genre: fluff, smut (18+ only plz) I love yoongi so much omg
Word Count: 4.5k
A/N: This can be read as a stand alone or as an extension of the FnD series. I am so in love with yoongi it’s insane and, I’ve missed him so much my goodness. I wrote this in like two hours so I really hope you like it ok bye :D
Warnings: explicit smut
“You look good.” You note simply from the pull-out couch in Yoongi’s studio, growing disinterested with the pile of work sitting on the table in front of you
Yoongi looks as though you’ve just shook his hand with a prank buzzer, his body subtly jolting in his desk chair.
“Me? Why?”
His response makes you laugh as you prop your elbow on the arm of the couch, “You just do. I like watching you work, you look cool.”
Yoongi is unable to help the new color present on his cheeks nor is able to help the flutter of desire in his gut.
But all he does his smirk, glancing towards you and then back at his computer screen whilst his long fingers card through his black hair.
“Thanks.” He mutters but there is a renewed sense of light in his eyes as he hits enter on the keyboard.
The sound pulls you towards his fingers, which you have an unnatural obsession with.
They look graceful settled on the black keys and yet agitated all at the same time.
They are unsure of exactly where to go, unflexing and flexing against the plastic before Yoongi drags them slowly back to the surface of the desk.
You’ve been here for hours.
He asked you to accompany him this morning and you eagerly obliged, wanting nothing more than to spend the day with him, even if you weren’t interacting.
The blue light emanating from your phone lets you know what time it is and you have to admit, you’re a little shocked.
12:07am.
You hadn’t even remembered seeing 9 o’clock, how did time pass so quickly?
As if on cue, you yawn, quickly covering your mouth with your hand to avoid alerting Yoongi.
You’re too late.
He sees you out of the corner of his eye and immediately takes out one of his headphones, his eyes holding a bit of regret.
“Yah, I’ve kept you here for so long haven’t I?” His voice is tender and warm, seeping in through the fabric of your hoodie and down into your skin, “I should take you home...I’m sorry jagi. I didn’t even realize how late it was.”
“No no-” You cut in, shaking your head, “You don’t have to be sorry at all- you've been working your ass off. I’m just happy you ask me to come, I’ve never gotten to see you work before.”
Yoongi’s heart skips a bit a little at how genuine you sound. He can’t understand why you’d want to just sit here with while he produces but, he’s touched regardless.
“You’ve been working hard too though.” He points out, nodding his head to the mountain of paper on the table, “I don’t want to keep you up all night.”
“I like staying up late.” You insist, crossing your legs and tucking them up on the futon, “Besides,” The tone of your voice lowers a bit as you feel quite shy about what you’re going to say next, “I don’t like sleeping without you...”
Yoongi is almost certain he made out what you said because the grin on his lips is involuntary. However, he decides to mess with you anyway.
“What was that last part?” He asks, brows raised playfully.
He spins slightly in his desk chair with his legs spread out in a way that shouldn’t be attractive.
But it absolutely is.
With a roll of your eyes, you slump against the futon, shoving your hands into your lap, “I said I don’t like sleeping without you.”
His grin widens, his pretty teeth practically blinding you as he does.
“That shit is cute...” He chuckles more to himself than to you, his teeth securing themselves to his bottom lip, “You wanna stay with me then?”
Yoongi calling you cute makes you want to squeal like a schoolgirl but thankfully, you’re able to refrain.
With an assured nod, you return his grin, “Yes please.” Your reply is delivered musically which causes him to chuckle again.
He shakes his head, practically exploding with fondness before using his fingers to gesture to the screen in front of him.
“I shouldn’t be too much longer, maybe like an hour or so, then we can go to bed.”
With that, your plans for the remainder of the evening are set in place and you decide that you’re going to put away your work for the night and scroll on your phone.
You can only work on something for so long before your brain is fried.
Another hour or so passes and you find yourself growing sleepier and sleepier.
However, your brain quickly finds itself attaching to the only thing in this room that could distract you from the heaviness in your lids:
Yoongi.
He’s dressed head to toe in black: black hair, black sweats, black hoodie and black vans.
The only thing that stands out in terms of color are the many silver earrings adorning his ears.
The way he hunches over the desk, transfixed on the screen shouldn’t be sexy.
The way he manspreads in the chair shouldn’t be sexy.
The way he chews on the tip of his thumb shouldn’t be sexy.
But it is.
Because he is.
You find yourself growing uneasy with the lack of attention.
Not in an emotional way but, in another way entirely.
You can’t help but stare at him and wonder how the hell you got so lucky.
It would be incredibly easy to stare at him all night, marveling at all of the little things that make him beautiful.
However, he doesn’t allow you to because his heighten sense of awareness has finally caught onto the fact that you’re staring at him.
Turning towards you, he smirks and shakes his head playfully, “Yah- “ He jerks his chin at you, “What are you looking at?”
Shamelessly, you giggle and prop your chin up on the palm of your hand, “My insanely hot boyfriend...”
He waves you off, wrinkling his face in mock disgust, “Aish, stop all of that.”
“Why don’t you ever let me compliment you?” You protest, your voice heightening slightly, “If I want to say you’re hot, I’m going to say it- whether you like it or not.”
The apples of his cheeks turn a dusty rose color, his teeth finding purchase on his bottom lip as he forces his eyes to stay put on the screen, “I never said I didn’t like it...”
He smirks at the end of his confession, tapping his index finger against the space bar, letting the beat fill the room for the 1000th time.
It sounds good so you honestly didn’t mind.
Getting to hear Yoongi’s music as it was being made was a privilege you did not take for granted so, you certainly didn’t mind if you had to hear it 1000 more times.
A few more moments pass as the two of you settle back comfortable silence. You don’t refrain from stealing more glances of your boyfriend but, you decide to stop pestering him until his ready to call it a night.
Then it’s fair game.
During a stolen glance however, you notice him wincing a bit as he adjusts himself in his chair. Yoongi has a bad back that he frequently sees a chiropractor for but, it doesn’t stop him from hunching over for hours on end anyway.
“Is your back hurting?” You murmur, trying to keep the concern in your voice at a minimum.
He hates when you worry about him and, you expect him to tell you no but instead he brings a hand around his shoulder to rub at the likely tense muscles.
“Yeah- it’s really sore. I need to get with a posture coach or something because, I’m sure sitting in this chair for hours on end only makes it worse.” He winces again, trying to straighten up in the rickety old desk chair.
You make a mental note of looking into buying him a new chair for Christmas; maybe one of those fancy gamer chairs with all the padding.
“Do you want me to rub it for you?”
Keeping your tone casual is easy enough but it doesn’t stop the excitement from brewing in the pit of your stomach. You and Yoongi often indulge in physical affection (and by often, you mean OFTEN) but it’s been a busy few weeks which has unfortunately lessened the amount of time you were able to spend wrapped up in one another. This has been starting to get to you of course but, the reasonable side of your brain tells you that it’s perfectly normal/healthy to go without sex for a few weeks. However, the less-logical (ie the ridiculously in love) part of your brain tends a signal to the entirety of your nervous system that makes you literally ache for your boyfriend.
The way he’s been acting this evening is only worsening that ache.
Besides, you don’t like the fact that he’s hurting so really massaging him would be a win/win scenario.
A small smirk forms on his lips, as he putters around on his keyboard. He still doesn’t look at you but, the glint in his eyes tells you he likes the idea.
“I wouldn’t mind that - I just need like 15 more minutes.” He murmurs, straightening his back once more, his eyes showing a bit of discomfort.
“You don’t have to stop...” You offer, keeping your voice nice and sweet, “I can just sit behind you while you work.”
He licks his lips, shifting in his chair before finally glancing over at you, the smirk still lingering on his lips, “Is it my birthday or something? Why are you trying to spoil me?”
This makes you roll your eyes, “Because I’m in love with you and I want to make sure you feel good, is that alright? Why are you being so difficult?” You gripe, quite matter of factly.
Yoongi breaks out in a fit of rickety laughter, amused by your annoyance.
The softie in him wants to love on you 24 hours a day but, the brat in him secretly gets a kick out of riling you up.
Plus, annoying you sometimes comes with an added bonus that fuels the less orthodox side of Yoongi’s desires.
“Come here then-” He says in the midst of his laughter, “My aching back needs you...”
You push yourself off of the futon, grumbling to yourself, “This is why I always say you’re like a cat because, I’m trying to love you and you’re asking me if I permit or something...”
Yoongi laughs again, shaking his head and before you can sit down, he’s turning in his chair and grabbing your hand. Despite you pretending to wiggle your hand out of his grip, he interlocks his fingers with yours and places a kiss to the back of your hand.
“I love you.”
These words have been spoken a thousand times but it doesn’t stop your soul from ascending to the tippy top of heaven anyway.
You don’t think you’ll ever tire of him being soft for you.
“Whatever.” You pout, pretending to jerk your hand away once more which causes him to flash that brilliant gummy smile of his. “Just make your stupid, beautiful music, pretend I’m not even here...”
He kisses his teeth and shakes his head, “That’s literally impossible but I’ll try.”
His words may be sarcastic and subtle but you know very well that they have 100 different meanings.
That’s kind of your favorite thing about him.
It’s the fact that he can say so much whilst using his words sparingly. Yoongi has a way of letting you know how he feels without pouring his heart out. Although, there are plenty of times when he does that too and, you love it all the same. But, he’s the type of person to love in secret and, it’s not because he’s ashamed or emotionally unavailable; it’s because he understands how precious love really is and you’re the only one he wants to be vulnerable with.
You bite your lip to avoid smiling and as you try to move away, Yoongi jerks your hand towards his body gently, his pretty chestnut eyes widening a bit.
“Say it back.” He insists, his voice softening to a specific tone that seems to rot your resolve from the inside out.
You can’t tell if he knows what he’s doing or if he is unaware he’s using the same voice he uses when he begs for you but either way: you give him what he wants.
“I love you too.”
This satisfies him beyond belief, his grin returning whilst he tugs you down to his level, his sweet lips awaiting yours.
Despite what he wants to do, Yoongi just pecks at your mouth a few times before releasing your hand.
He knows if he kisses you the way he wants to, it will be game over so, thankfully he manages to control himself.
“This track is called Moonlight right?” You inquire gently, as you take your seat behind him, doing your best to find the right position that won’t limit his movement.
He grins to himself, delighting in the fact that you remembered something he’s only told you once.
“Yeah.” He clicks over his keyboard, trying to prepare himself for your touch. He takes a deep breath, his eyes fluttering a bit when he feels your palms smooth over his aching back.
He knows it might sound excessive but it really isn’t his fault.
The way you touch him has devasting effects on his ability to think clearly. He knows being in love intensifies things yes but, it’s the way you seem to know his body, the way you seem to treasure him and the way you seem to seek out the areas of his skin that are the most sensitive that drives him up the wall.
Yoongi has a feeling that you’d be able to touch anyone this way but, he counts every single lucky star in the sky that he’s the one you want to touch.
“Do you like it so far?” You lower your voice to the precipice of a whisper, not wanting to disturb him too much.
As he readies his reply, you begin gently massaging the parts of his back that you know bother him the most: his shoulder blade, the center of his spine and base of his neck. The close proximity allows you to take in the way your boyfriend smells: like clean laundry and the summer berries. You resist the urge to take a bite out of him as he replies.
“I do but it needs a lot of work still.” He realizes how quick he is to downplay his progress and he amends his response in order to give himself some credit, “I got a lot done today though and I’m excited to see where this track goes.”
His answer makes you happy as it’s not often Yoongi outwardly expresses excitement towards his current projects.
“Do you like it?” He asks you, keeping his tone casual as he turns down the volume slightly, wanting to hear you clearly.
With a kiss to the back of his neck, you smile, “Honestly? I’m already in love with it. It has such a cool vibe. It’s very old school but also very modern at the same time, the lo-fi elements are sending me. I can’t wait to hear the vocals when you’re done with the lyrics.”
Yoongi grins, his features swimming with pride at your compliments. He is addicted to your praise in normal situations but hearing you compliment what he is most passionate about sends him into another world.
“Thank you.” He mumbles warmly, relaxing further into your touch, “I should be starting on vocals tomorrow I think. I don’t have the second verse done yet, but I think once I have everything recorded, it will give me more inspiration.”
You’re working at the tenderness surrounding his shoulder, not pressing too hard but insuring that your fingers are gently working all of the knots that have formed within his muscles. You wonder if it’s helping him at all but the way he sighs and presses against your hands tells you all you need to know. Before you’re able to continue the conversation, your boyfriend chuckles in front of you, almost in disbelief.
“What?” You prod, smiling at the sound of his laughter.
“Nothing it’s just-” He leans back against his chair fully causing you to remove your hands from him for moment, “if you had told 15 year old me that one day I would be working on my music, in a real studio, while the most beautiful girl in the world rubs my back for me, I would have told you to fuck off and stop messing with me.”
Your smile broadens as you lean forward, draping your arms around the back of the chair and resting them on your boyfriend’s chest. You place a kiss on his temple which makes him smile, his hands coming up to rest on top of yours.
“I wish 15 year old you didn’t have to endure so much but,” You kiss his cheek now, your heart filling with joy as his gums once again make an appearance, “I’m glad you’ve let me prove him wrong.”
He turns slightly, his lips brushing against your whilst he does and rather than say anything, he just places a soft kiss onto your mouth.
Despite the awkward angle, you reciprocate, allowing your lips to melt against his, kissing him slowly but deliberately. He tucks his lips between yours, nibbling gently at your bottom lip, a shaky breath escaping his nose. The hands he placed over yours intertwining messily with your fingers, squeezing softly whilst he cranes his neck to continue kissing you. Freeing one of your hands, you trail your fingers up the side of his throat, eliciting a shiver from your boyfriend as you cup his cheek.
It’s not an ideal angle to start making out but something about his throat and chest being exposed to you, makes it 10 times hotter. The beat of his song is still playing softly in the background until his hand suddenly moves from yours to hit the space bar. He doesn’t stop kissing you all the while, only seeking to deepen the motions between your lips. You allow your fingers to run up the side of his neck again as they tuck themselves into his hair, scratching tenderly at his scalp. Yoongi seems to sigh hopelessly into your mouth, unable to resist how weak you make him.
You want to feel his tongue but just as you trace yours against the inside of his lips, he pulls away, a bit of shared saliva still connecting the two of you.
“Let’s go to bed...” He whispers shakily and you know very well what he means by that.
Seconds later, your back is pressed against the sheets covering the futon, your boyfriend quickly descending over you, his lips eagerly seeking yours again.
He resumes his earlier motions with slightly more enthusiasm, sucking and licking into your mouth, his hips pressing down against yours. You can feel how hard he’s gotten, his erection straining painfully against the denim of his jeans. He doesn’t seem to mind though, his focus is on kissing you right now.
You allow your hands to travel to the hem of his t-shirt, slipping your fingers beneath the material to explore the velvety texture of his skin. Yoongi’s hips and stomach are extremely sensitive, he’s told you before that touching him there is almost immediately going to get him hard. Given the fact that he’s already hard, he has no choice but to twitch around in his jeans while you touch him.
In order to distract himself from the possibility of cumming in his pants, he pulls away from your lips momentarily to sit back on his knees. He stares down at you with an intensity he only reserves for performing and fucking, which to Yoongi, they are often one in the same. He pulls his t-shirt off hastily, throwing it behind him and revealing the beautiful expanse of his body to you. The sight of him makes you reach up with grabby hands, wanting nothing more than to feel his weight on you again. Instead of coming back down however, he merely smirks and shakes his head.
“Uh uh, it’s your turn...” He murmurs, his voice deep with the heavy arousal weighing on his tongue.
You pout but otherwise oblige, pulling off the hoodie you’re wearing to reveal the black sports bra you had thrown on before coming to meet him here.
Its nothing fancy or intentionally erotic but it gets Yoongi going anyway, merely because it’s your body.
He makes a small grunt in the back of his throat as he rushes back with his lips. He begins kissing over the swell of your breasts, biting and sucking as he does, his eyes shutting.
“How are you so fucking beautiful hm? Did they make you in a lab or something?” He accuses in his raspy voice, grinning when he hears you giggle.
“Yes actually they did- I've been meaning to tell you for awhile now but, I wasn’t sure how you’d react...”
He bites down harder on you playfully, sucking the skin between his teeth. The delicious sting causes a sharp intake of breath on your part and the sound makes Yoongi even harder. Licking over the purple mark he made, he pulls back to admire his work. With wet lips and dark eyes he looks up at you, a smirk on his mouth,
“I can see why you like giving me these so much...” He raps, his tongue poking out to lick at his bottom lip, “I want you covered in me now.”
His proclamation makes you sick with lust and you’re quick to pull him back over your completely, capturing his lips in a kiss once more.
Yoongi is eager to reciprocate, his technique a lot sloppier now as the need to be inside of you slowly over takes him.
With one hand, he finds the button of his jeans and pops it open, sighing in relief as his dick is allowed the room it needs. Your hand is quick to cover his, searching for his swollen length mindlessly, desperate to touch him.
“Can I fuck you?” He whispers, nudging his nose on the tip of yours, “Please?”
You nod, kissing at his lips still, your breath uneven, “Yes please.”
The giggle that leaves your mouth shouldn’t spur him on but it does and after finally riding. both you and him of the rest of your clothes, Yoongi is lining himself at your entrance.
He pushes inside of you, letting another shaky sigh out of his mouth before covering your body with his once more.
It’s a slow but powerful fuck, leaving no room for the outside world.
He kisses your face, your neck, your chest, your breasts and tells you how much he loves you.
He rubs on your clit when you tell him how close you are, encouraging you to let go.
“Ah there it is- is that good jagi? Is it good? Are you gonna cum for me?” He whispers, his face tensing up with pleasure as you contract around him, “You’re squeezing me so tight, you’re doing so good. Just cum baby, I’ll cum too...I just wanna watch you.”
With choppy breath, you arch your back, your hands clawing at his free arm desperately, clining onto him as your orgasm begins crashing over you.
“Yoongi, I’m gonna cum- fu-fuck, fuck I’m gonna cum...I’m gonna cum, oh god...please don’t stop.” You moan softly and the sweetness in your voice drives Yoongi crazy, his pace against your clit increasing. He stares at you, a small but fucked out smile on his lips,
“Oh I’ll never stop sweetheart, not until you cum those pretty brains out...”
His words send you over the edge, your toes curling against the mattress as you whisper his name once again.
The sight of you cumming is too much for him and although he normally cums inside of you, your post-orgasm haze has a different plan.
“Cum in my mouth.” You plead, tugging at his hips.
Yoongi swallows thickly, nearly blowing his load right then and there, “Really?”
“Yes.” You urge, tugging his hips again, “Please? I want to taste you. Remember you said you wanted me covered in you- cover me. Cover my face please.”
Yoongi’s brain literally short-circuits as he tries his best to process how fucking hot you’re being, his dick twitching inside of you.
“Anything you want remember baby? I’ll give you anything you want...” He grunts, his black hair sticking to his forehead with sweat as he pulls out of you, both of you pained by the loss of contact. He is quick to scoot up the bed until his soaking dick is positioned near your mouth, “I’m going to cum so fucking hard for you- are you gonna swallow it all?”
You nod, wrapping your hand around the length of him, licking at the slit, tasting the mixture of you and him together.
“Until my stomach is full of you.” You promise before sucking him into your mouth
Yoongi finally breaks, whimpering for you as he usually does, his body jerking as the pleasure overtakes him,
“Holy fucking shit-” He whimpers again, his eyes rolling back as he gives you rope after rope of his release.
It’s a lot but you don’t care, you want every last drop of him. Your hand coaxes out the rest of his cum, your mind high off the taste of your boyfriend; there really is nothing better than this.
Yoongi tucks his fingers into your hair tenderly, grounding himself but also because he wants to touch you.
“Oh my god look at you ah- that's my fucking girl isn't it? You’re so pretty down there you know that? Made me cum so good.”
His voice is pitchy and fucked out and his praise makes you wet all over again, despite your need for a break.
Immediately Yoongi leans down, kissing you with everything he has, licking at your mouth as if he wants a taste of himself.
The kissing lasts for another minute or so before Yoongi lays down beside you, pulling you onto his chest.
You burrow into him, soothing yourself with his unsteady heartbeat as he holds you.
Yoongi smiles down at you, despite the fact that you aren’t looking at him, taking a moment to thank all of his lucky stars once again.
You place a kiss to his chest before turning to look at him, rubbing a thumb over his reddened cheek, “I love you.”
He kisses your thumb, “I love you too.”
#yoongi#yoongi smut#bts yoongi#yoongi fluff#yoongi one shot#yoongi fanfics#yoongi fics#yoongi fic recs#boyfriend! yoongi#yoongi sexy#yoongi hot#yoongi cute#bts smut#bts one shot#bts fluff#bts fanfics#bts fanfiction#bts fics#bts fic recs#producer! yoongi#min yoongi#bts#fear and dumplings#smut#fluff
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He’s channeling his energy productively.
Jaune walked down the halls of Beacon backed to his dorm, it had been a long day so far, not a hard day though, just one of those days that kept going and seemed like they wouldn’t end. Making it back to his room would at least let him spend the rest of day how’d like.
The sounds of laughter followed a group of older girls walked pasted him. It was outside of class time so the students could wear whatever they wanted. They wore clothes that were made to go clubbing.
Jaune’s eyes had a life of their own as they stared at the girls walking past, you’d think having seven sisters would make him more respectful wouldn’t you? But, having a lesbian older sister, and a couple others that were bi, all they did was teach him how to peak without getting caught.
That said he’d doubt his friends would call him out for staring, considering some of the girls here had assets that would give Yang pause.
They didn’t notice him pausing and walked by, a fragrant fruity perfume left behind. Jaune couldn’t help but look behind him, watching those girls go, a sway in their step that cause something in Jaune to rise up.
“Dammit,” Jaune cursed as his pants tightened up.
Jaune look around before he adjusted his pants, so that his zipper wouldn’t fly off by accident again, and tucking his erection down his pant leg so that it’d be less noticeable.
Jaune felt frustration well up in him, this had become a reoccurring problem since he started Beacon. The girls here were just too damn hot! It made walking anywhere a damn hassle and a embarrassment, and he had no way to release any of his damn tension in his dorm, Nora had broken the locks to the bathroom and the door; That had probably been the closest he had ever come to killing somebody.
Letting out an other sigh he resigned himself to shuffling back to the dorm as the blood went flowing elsewhere. He should just thank his lucky stars that he’d never popped a boner anywhere near Ruby, Yang would have found out somehow, probably Nora, and then killed him.
Right as he got close to the dorms, Jaune’s blood-flow was back to normal, but he still felt tense and incredibly worked up.
The sound of weights being lifted, treadmills running, and other exercise equipment sounded from nearby.
The gym was only a short walk away from the dorms. Jaune paused for a moment, Nora and Yang always seemed to go to the gym when they go worked up, maybe he should try it, it’s not like he didn’t go often anyway, so what would it hurt to work out so stress?
---------
Jaune stared at the scroll in his hands, ‘10:03′ where did the time go? He went in at ‘4:26′, went to the weight rack, and then everything seemed to go into a blur, and then the next thing he remembered was a upperclassman telling him the gym was closing in soon.
“Guess, I had more stress to work out than I thought I did.” Jaune said to himself walking to the gym showers, suddenly starting to feel exhausted and wanting to jump into bed at the closest opportunity.
-----------
The next morning was agonizing, his arms felt like they were made of pure, while on fire and being pulled apart! Maybe he went too hard last night.
He was also feeling cavernously hungry. No wonder Nora has an appetite like a black-hole.
------
Jaune’s problem came back in full force during lunch when Yang leaned too far back and the top couple buttons of her shirt decided they wanted a life in the air force.
Leaving Jaune with a delicious view of her cleavage.
Yang looked at her shirt, “Shoot, I actually liked this one.” She then resumed eating.
A hand caressing his leg, brought him out of his vision. “Are you alright, Jaune?” Pyrrha’s warm, gentle voice whispered into his ear
A mildly blush went up his face. “Yeah, just, uh, taking in the view.”
“Oh, ok then, but if your not feeling well, I can take you back to the room.”
“I’m good.” Jaune said a little too fast, as his mind started to fill in the blanks of what his monkey brain wanted to do to Pyrrha.
Pyrrha nodded.
Jaune felt thankful that Yang or Nora hadn’t found a chance to tease him about being alone with Pyrrha.
Lunch came and went, and Jaune made sure he was the last to get up, so that his problem wouldn’t be seen. He couldn’t exactly fiddle with himself under the table without drawing attention. So with all the swiftness he had, he tucked himself into his pant-leg while getting up.
In hindsight, maybe walking behind his developed female friends, and especially Blake, was a bad idea. His other head disagreed with him.
The rest of the day went by in a blur, combat class was a mess, but mostly cause he can’t being drawn to his friend outfits, they showed so much leg.
He went back to the gym again after class, he went to the treadmill and leg exercise machine. The upperclassman had to tell him to leave again.
-------
The rest of the week seemed to follow a similar pattern for Jaune, he’d wake up sore, but a little less so each day, go to class, end up aroused, then pent up, then go to the gym when he had the free time, and only when he had free time, going into those workout trances made him lose anytime for studying, hanging out, or training.
Training with Pyrrha was probably the hardest part of his week, literally and metaphorical, because while he loved Pyrrha like a sister, his body constantly reminded him that they were not siblings! It always made him feel disgusted when ever he looked at Pyrrha that way. No way Pyrrha ever looked at him that way.
After training with Pyrrha though, he still had two hours before the gym closed, and he was pent up again.
The upperclassman had told him to get an alarm or something, cause he wouldn’t always be there to tell him to leave.
-------------
Hanging out with team RWBY was always a... Experience, they were fun, don’t get him wrong, but it was like chaos in a bottle. The bottle was also cracked, and there was no cork either.
Today he and the rest of his team came over to hangout, and Ruby insisted they play twister.
Jaune was forming a bridge with his arms bending backwards to stay on there spot, while Ruby was draped across him with one leg over his shoulder and the other over his arm, with her front laying across his stomach, and her arms going in between and around his legs. While Nora lay under him her chest pressing into his back. It was also a really small mat.
Everybody else had dropped out, or refused to play, while Blake controlled the game, and Yang video taped everything.
Then Nora sneezed into his neck. That was the straw that broke the camels back. Sneeze both tickled his neck and scared the life out of Jaune, as he somehow managed to jump a foot into the air from his position, carrying Ruby with him. They landed on Nora with a thud.
Jaune’s position with Nora’s chest on his back and Ruby’s legs on his chest, really wasn’t going to help with his tension, as his lower-body decided to achieve liftoff.
That said he had managed to get a grip on himself lately,. So Jaune calmly got off Nora, and picked up Ruby, putting her next to Nora. All while hiding his full mast, then went to the gym again.
“You think he’s alright?” Ruby asked innocently.
“Probably just rubbing one out.” Nora said full of confidence. “These sweater puppy's of mine are of a quality most women can only dream of, yet here I sit, my majesty a reality, I don’t blame Jaune at all.”
------------
Jaune was watching with wrapt attention as Ms. Goodwitch strode across the arena pointing out several flaws in recorded fights she had on holographic videos. Tapping them with her wand to enhance the smaller images at time.
RIIIP
Her blouse broke, showing off globes of creamy white flesh barely being contained by a purple bra.
Ms. Goodwitch paused, a light blush on her face. “Well, Students this should teach us to be prepared for anything.”
Jaune then got up, walking out the door.
“Mr. Arc, where do you think your going?” His teacher asked severely, as several laughs broke out of the room, many people pointing at him.
“To the gym. I don’t think I’m going to be able to focus much today.”
“Very well, any others who wished to join him?”
The gym was very packed that day.
------
Jaune enjoyed hanging out with Pyrrha, she was probably the best friend he ever had. He just wished she would stop having to bend over so often in front of him, or walking in front of him when she did that he couldn’t help but focus on her swaying hips.
Jaune sighed as he felt a rise tower start to erect. “I’m going to the gym be back later.”
Pyrrha merely looked bewildered. She though she had him for sure this time!
----
The transfer students were interesting people, and he couldn’t take his eyes off of them. They came from all walks of life, all paths, all creeds and kingdoms. From the strictly dressed military like Atlas Academy, to the survival of the fittest types and loosely dressed Shade Academy, or the storied and traditional style of Mistral. They were all interesting, diverse, strong and incredible sexy.
Ever since he ran into that black haired girl and her green haired partner, he somehow kept managing to find them in the most compromising or revealing positions possible.
So, Jaune started hitting the gym harder than ever.
--------------
1 Year later....
----
With a slight shaking arms Jaune pushed the loaded bar back up, exhaling. Then he took a slow, deep inhale as he lowered it down to his chest, then exhaled rising it up again. Inhale, exhale, till he finished his rep.
He rose up from the bench with a grate moan, feeling the warm soreness across his body. It hurt, but in a good way. In a way he couldn’t have appreciated a year ago.
Grabbing his towel he wiped the sweat off his face, and then cleaned off the bench. Treat the gym right, and it’ll treat you right back.
Jaune paused as he walked toward the shower, he had gotten into a habit of showering here so he didn’t have to make his teammate's rush to clean up, there was wall of mirror he looked himself over finding nothing of note, beside himself sweaty and his hair kinda sticky looking.
The water was cold, but high pressured, helping unwind any knots on his back and wash off grime better. He had started taking cold showers more frequently as in the field your rarely got to wash off in general, and if you did, it’s not likely you’ll get hot water, so it he thought it was probably best to get into the habit now.
Working out felt good, taking a shower afterword was just perfect. The only thing that would make it better was wearing his onesie, he had a right to comfort! But, it had gone mysteriously missing after he met Coco on his walk back from the gym half a year ago. So, for now he was stuck wearing white tank-top, and a pair of cotton shorts back to the dorm.
He waved by to the upperclassman about to close the gym, and left for his dorm. He may not have started going to the gym for the right reason, but over the course of a year, he felt like he had grown from then. In fact... what was the reason he started going to the gym? Something about women? Eh, must have been nothing. Ever since he started taking his training double seriously during the Vytal festival, it was like he just didn’t feel dating anybody till he around to being a huntsman, like that there was more to life than dating or stuff.
Jaune ran a hand through his hair, he had started growing it out at the beginning of the second year and now Pyrrha and everybody else vetoed him getting a hair cut!
“Hahah, jokes on them though, they have to brush the knots out of my hair!”
Walking back to his dorm a fruity perfume pasted his nose, a vaguely familar laughter along with it. Then a slightly familar group of girls were walking in the opposite direction as him. They looked like they came back from a night on the town. He liked the way they dressed, it complimented themselves very well.
As he walked pasted them they paused and stared at him, Jaune paused too, but shrugged, giving them a broad smile and a wave before walking back to his dorm.
Jaune failed to miss the women eyeing fucking him as he walked away, all of them red face and heavy breathing.
“Hmm, why do I feel like I’m in danger?”
----------
Jaune wasn’t sure when, but he had grown into a morning person. It was fun to get up in the morning now, he liked watching the sun rise, seeing the sky change colors on his morning runs.
Being team leader meant having responsibilities, so being a early riser now meant getting up his team, they were going to be third-years in a not small amount of time. So he made sure that they got up at a reasonable time to prepare for the day. Along with the fact on mission they would have to get up before the sun rise on most days.
Also, he especially liked to watch his teammates get up, it was entertaining in different ways from Nora crashing out of bed, to Ren rising from a blanket cocoon, and Pyrrha’s silly little death threats to any man stealing bitches out there.
He tended to wake them up with a gentle approach putting hand on there shoulders and carefully shaking them awake. He had forgotten how strong he was a couple of months ago when he sent Nora flying into a wall by accident, so had tried to be gentle.
The rest of Team Jnpr had learned a couple months ago that they no longer had a choice in waking up early, the only choice was before the sun was up or after.
Jaune put on his uniform for class, he frowned a little bit, as it was tighter than it was yesterday. Maybe it’s new? Guess it needs to be broken in.
Team RWBY met them at breakfast, Ruby refused to let her other bestie get ahead in the leader game by letting just JNPR get up early! Jaune didn’t notice but he often got murderous glances from Blake.
Eating breakfast Jaune felt a crick in his back so he leaned back.
Pop-pop-pop-pop, RIIIIP!
His buttons on his shirt fired off like a machine gun shattering against the walls of the cafeteria, and then his shirt fell to pieces, revealing his sculpted torso, arms and abs.
“Ahh man, I liked that shirt.” Then continued eating, not aware of the stares his friends, other students, and Ms. Goodwitch were giving his body, eyeing him up as much or more than he used to do to them.
AN: If this Jaune was ever put into a situation where couldn’t exercise for like a week, his libido would come back with vengeance and make him a unstoppable sex monster. That said, what are the odds of that happening?
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Chase You/Chase Me (Pt. 4)
Part 4: The truth will never lie to me
Catch up here: Series Masterlist
Chapter Summary: Trapped in a conference, Gabe and Alex bask in the afterglow of their interrupted moment by the lake. But before Alex can fully comprehend how she felt, she unravels a truth that may cease the chase altogether.
Book/Pairing: Choices - Laws of Attraction / Gabe Ricci x MC (Alex Keating)
Words: 1.8k+
Rating/Warnings: Mature (16+) / alcohol consumption, language, implied sexual content. Reader discretion advised.
Author's Notes: Surprise! Yep, it's an early release! I made revisions to fit the ongoing narrative and ended up breaking it down into two parts. Also, this series may span longer than I originally intended it to be, not wanting to rush things. It will probably extend until Part 7, depending on what happens at the finale. I do hope you'll still stick around. If not, I'll totally understand. 😉
Disclaimer: Most of the characters as well as some dialogue belong to Pixelberry. I am merely borrowing them.
Late night, Boston
Shoe laces, cool wind and the darkness of the forest enveloping them. His breath shuddering with how close her lips was. His throat running dry.
Wanting, longing.
Just a little taste to find out how intoxicatingly delicious those cherry lips would be in his mouth and to feel the heat of her body against his.
And then a splash.
Gabe blinked as he felt ice cold liquid pouring over his crisp white shirt. He wasn't sure if he was having déjà vu.
"Oh, sorry mate," a man standing nearby had bumped into him, making the glass of scotch he was drinking shake and spill into his impeccable suit. He forced down the tasteless curse words forming in his mouth, groaning in frustration at the dissipating sensations from what he had been imagining.
His mind was stuck in an endless loop, replaying the romantic encounter with Alex just the night before. But very much like after Beau's dive into the lake, his consciousness whipped achingly back to reality.
Gabe was leaning on the mobile bar, set in the middle of the conference reception. Did he just lose himself in a daydream like a fool? He wondered, murmuring through his madness.
The time alone with her provided him a glimpse of what could be between them. And oh how euphoric it had been to have her so near, to watch his body respond to her like no other.
It left him just craving for more.
He was lying to himself if he continued to deny that he has feelings for Alex, and how deep he was already in for her. But he knew it wasn't meant to be, at least until after he admits the truth. Until then, he had to pull away.
Easier said than done.
For now, he settled for a view of her, his eyes scoured the room for the subject of his fancy. When he found her, Gabe couldn't stop his smile and the fluttering of his heart, or the warmth growing between his legs.
There she was, in the far side of the room, shining brighter than any star that they had seen in the night sky. Her audience completely captivated as he was with her.
The sight of her in that blue dress swept Gabe back into his fantasies, and how infuriatingly near he was to giving into them. He had to clench his fist around his tumbler, suppressing any trace of his earlier wild thoughts.
Apparently sensing the weight of his gaze, Alex turned to him, their eyes meeting in silent conversation. He watched as she excused herself before making her way towards where he sat.
Half-smiling, Alex's confident expression as she approached him made him swallow hard.
Gabe summoned all his willpower to rein himself in as she got closer. He plastered his usual cocky smile, once again putting up a wall of professionalism. They were in a conference, he reasoned.
"Still watching your wards, old man?" Alex chuckled as she reached a seat beside him.
"Working the room like a pro like that? Very hard to ignore," Gabe interjected, shaking his head. "Had to say Alex, I'm impressed."
"Glad you noticed," she smiled, clearly enjoying the compliment.
"Frankly, you charming the top tier lawyers were hard to miss," he said, with lips quirking into a grin.
"Were you watching the whole time?" she asked.
"Difficult not to, seeing how you're the best-dressed lawyer in the room," he continued, savoring the easy conversation.
She scoffed before turning around, grabbing a napkin from a bartender. Alex offered it to him, pointing at the light stain on his clothes.
He finally muttered a curse, realizing he had been too distracted not to notice the result of the spillage from his own drink. This was one of my best suits.
Gabe almost jumped when Alex started to wipe the front of his suit.
His eyes narrowed, unable to process what was happening. On impulse, he reached out to her, encircling his palms around her wrist. Alex snapped her head up at the touch, the intensity of her gaze enchanting him.
It took all of his strength to break free from it. He cleared his throat and looked away, before grabbing the napkin from her grasp without warning.
It had always been like this. At first, there was this fluidity, a natural attraction between them while they interacted. Then another goddamn minute passes and it all becomes downright complicated.
Gabe wasn't having it.
He briefly shut his eyes closed and released the breath he was holding. When he opened them, he focused his attention on wiping the stain from his jacket, avoiding Alex's questioning gaze. He decided to divert the conversation, robbing her of any opportunity to re-capture him in a trance.
"Don't worry, I don't judge potential partners solely on congeniality. Though I can't speak for Sadie." He then turned and discarded the cloth on the bar. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'll have to speak to a friend who I'm sure will be thrilled to know I'm now a partner."
He finally dared to look at Alex with almost apologetic eyes, before swiftly walking away towards a sea of unfamiliar faces.
Alex was left gaping at his hasty departure, uncertain how it all went south so quickly. She wanted to grab his arm and pull him to her so badly, to pick things up from where they left off last night. From that moment when his lips was inches away from taking hers, before they were interrupted.
Her body ached to be near him. Then again, that's not how she usually operates, so she let him be.
She had never thought her idol was such a tease. Or perhaps, traditional? Alex snickered. Oh how I'll make you beg, Gabriel Ricci. She exhaled, the sultry thought of the man on his knees in front of her suddenly hiking up the temperature in the room. Alex had to fan herself to cool down.
Along with the idea of finally spending some alone time together, conjuring the image of waking up beside Gabe excited her. Well, if ever this chase between them actually culminates to something.
But why was she following this trail of thought? In all her conquests, she had never stayed for what came after. She had that with Julian, and look how that ended. For her, it was always just for the fun. So why does she suddenly liked the notion with Gabe? She shuddered. Ugh, weird.
Maybe it's because it's taking the long game with him? Alex didn't want to know.
Leaving that for now, she resorted to ordering another shot of patron to drown the remnants of her heated thoughts. On her third glass, Alex heard a familiar voice ordering a shot of bourbon. She swiveled towards it and caught sight of Lina Reyes, the opposing lawyer from the Willow case.
"Fancy meeting you here," Alex smiled lazily, remembering how temptingly attractive she was. She also recalled the offer of a hook-up, which she politely declined out of courtesy.
But now, seems like she's getting another chance. And with Gabe being annoyingly hard to get, Alex had to have fun somewhere else. It's not like she and Gabe was committed, right?
Lina scooted closer to her, smelling of a heady mix of alcohol. "Speaking of fancy, damn. You look more incredible than I can remember, Alex," she teased, provocatively arching her brows at her.
Alex quickly picked up Lina's attempt to flirt, stoking her bruised ego. "Gotta be dressed to impress, right?" she waved her fingers as if in curtsy. "Enjoying the conference?"
"At this point, things tend to devolve quickly. But I do plan to have a nightcap back in my room," Lina smirked, Alex feeling the heel of velvet pumps brushing along her bare leg. "Maybe you could join me?"
The woman wasn't exactly subtle, though Alex had to give props to her for her confidence. She liked that in anyone. So Alex returned the gesture, letting her fingers hover an inch over her arm while batting her eyelashes. Two can play that game.
"I think we should stay here."
Wait, what? Did she just say no? Subconsciously? Did hell just freeze over? Or did her brain left her head?
Both women blinked, unable to determine who's more mortified between them. They were both quiet, until Lina broke the awkwardness by a chuckle.
"Had to try, didn't expect I'd be turned down twice," she said consuming the rest of her drink in one gulp. "Worth it though." she shrugged, ordering another round for herself.
Alex struggled to compose herself, brows furrowed in confusion by how that went down.
"Oh don't be so bothered, you're not my first rodeo." Lina poked at her jokingly, clearing up the air. Alex thanked her, and the conversation went smoothly from there.
Several more drinks in, the two women chatted on, venturing into a variety of topics in law and in love. It didn't take long before Lina started to slur in her words, to which Alex found amusing.
"Looks like someone didn't pace herself," she observed as she sipped her cocktail.
"Ah don't mind me, had to cleanse my palate after all the boring sessions earlier," Lina toasted her glass on hers, wobbling as she shifted to face her. "We are a rare breed, us fighters," she leaned towards Alex, lowering her voice to a whisper. "We like-minded women should just stick together, you know?"
Alex was relieved she turned her down the second time. Barely listening to her, she started to drift off as Lina continued rambling on, turning around to face the crowds as her eyes tried to locate that handsome man. Alex smirked when she found Gabe's sexy outline.
"Lot of ungrateful dipshits being freed from prison, even after we work our asses off proving they deserved an earlier release. Khan, Kozlowski, those celebrities involved with the Ivy League admission scandal? Hell, even small town criminal Cornell was released in the last five years alone!"
And with that last statement, Alex froze. "Say that again?"
Confused, Lina stuttered as if she can't remember what she was saying. To Alex's annoyance, she went silent, apparent that more humiliation was on the way. Lina abruptly stood, covering her mouth with her hand as she sprinted to the bathroom. Alex let her pass.
Assured that she'll be fine with her colleagues flanking her, Alex started to obsess over Lina's last sentence.
Was that just the patron? Or am I getting too drunk and starting to hear things? She asked herself, bewildered at how randomly Lina mentioned a Cornell.
With an exasperated sigh, she decided it wouldn't hurt to check. She pulled out her phone from her purse and fired up a search engine, where she typed in the godforsaken name. Alex tapped enter.
As soon as the results loaded, she felt the world crumble beneath her.
No, no, no, no, no. This fucking didn't happen.
She clicked on one of the articles from a local news outlet. The picture beneath the headline shoving her nightmares front and center. There it was, the title written in bold stated loud and clear: Cornell Son Gets Early Release.
Alex bit her lip as she fought to gather herself together, speed reading through the article. This was definitely a surprise, but what really got her reeling was the figure of a man walking behind Maximilian. She'd pick up who that was from anywhere within a mile radius.
Alex tried to keep herself rational, but the shock rippled through her, enough to shake off the alcohol in her system. And why did her stomach churned like she was punched in the gut a hundred times over? Why did she felt fucking betrayed?
Unexpectedly, she knew it wasn't discovering Cornell was now walking freely in the streets.
Deep down, Alex was aware it was because Gabe Ricci was involved. Either way, it looks like her high and mighty boss has some explaining to do.
Her blood boiled, a myriad of questions went through her mind. Resolute, she wanted those damn questions answered. Tonight.
She downed her drink and slammed the empty glass on the bar, sending a text to draw Gabe's attention.
She looked over where he stood, watching the frown in his face as he read her message. She clicked her head, beckoning him outside.
Even he can't fathom the fire storm that was about to come his way.
Author's Notes 2: Thank you for your continued reading! 💖 How do you think things will go down next? Let me see your reactions on your comments and reblogs!
Tag list: @adiehardfan @pixelnutrookie @starryjieun @latinagiraffe @sarcastic01lily @spookycolorpeanut @ophrookie @suitfer @thegreentwin @mkatschoicesblog @made-of-roses @lillijill
@choicesficwriterscreations
#laws of attraction#laws of attraction fanfiction#choices laws of attraction#gabe ricci#gabe ricci x mc#choices loa#choices loa fanfiction#choices laws of attraction fanfiction#fics of the week#choices fic writers creations
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Headcanon of the day: Loki x Mystic!Reader
This sort of acts as context for a fic I have coming out in the next day or two. I thought I'd release this first as a kind of shittily-written backstory for it, so that the relationship dynamics make sense :) Enjoy!
UPDATE: the fic is all done! you can read it here
(this is quite long and the Keep Reading option won't work, dammit. my apologies 😅)
You know something's wrong as soon as Stephen bursts into your room, a troubled look in his eyes
"They're here."
Stephen had been talking about this for a while -- it was just a matter of time before Thor and Loki arrived in New York looking for their father
He told you from the start that they were going to need help; your help
At first you protested because you were still in the midst of learning everything there was to know about the mystic arts.
you weren't a beginner by any means, but you definitely didn't feel you were at a level where you could just... fight the goddess of death
Now, you realized as Stephen rushed out of your room as quickly as he came, you were out of time to prepare: you had to use what you knew and hope it was enough
You stepped down the stairs into the main entrance of the Sanctum just as Stephen brought Loki back from the void with a thud
"Right, I'm sending Y/N with you. The two of you are going to need help with this whole... situation."
"We don't need help, especially not from a mortal, you second-rate-"
Stephen sends all three of you through a portal before Loki can even finish pulling out his knives
at first, you really can't stand either of them
Thor is... too much muscle, not enough brain
while Loki on the other hand is half part brain, half part whining weasel
You honestly feel like you got stuck babysitting the two of them, and there's a part of you that hopes this mission Stephen sent you on won't be so bad after all
Of course, everything sort of went to shit when you found yourself on Sakaar
You were the first to arrive, and were admittedly terrified when you came face to face with the Grandmaster
you had powers and were strong enough to defend yourself, sure, but this seemed like a whole other ball of wax entirely
You chucked a few illusions here, as well as a couple fancy tricks you learned from Stephen there, and soon enough you became the Grandmaster's... magic show.
It was disappointing really, to know that your powers were being used to amaze three headed ogres and other folks who looked like they walked straight out of the Capitol from The Hunger Games, but at least you weren't fighting in the arena
or worse... dead.
to your surprise, Loki showed up a week later -- escorted to your room by none other than the Grandmaster himself
"Y/N, I've got another wizard for you!"
(you swear you can see Loki's jaw clench at the Grandmaster's term, and it takes all you can not to laugh)
"He can do illusions too. Maybe you two can, y'know, think up a big show for us tonight."
Loki's surprised to see you (and also relieved to see a familiar face, finally), but he quickly disguises his relief as disgust before you can think anything more of it
"I'm not sharing my bed." You say tightly, and Loki shoots you a glare before settling down on the couch in the corner of the room
At first, the two of you barely talk to each other despite sharing a room
You really just throw some illusions together during your show, and then head back to the room to sulk in silence
It honestly starts to feel like you're living the same day over and over, that is until you wake up to the sound of screaming
You rush over to Loki, to find he was having a violent nightmare
When he finally wakes up, terror in his eyes and not fully registering his surroundings, you place a hand over his forehead gently
You remembered an incantation you read once while at the Sanctum, one that could calm even the most restless mind, and you mumbled the words to the best of your ability
To your relief, Loki's breathing slowed as the last of his nightmare faded away
"You okay?"
You don't know why, but you find yourself reaching to hold Loki's hand in both of your own
His fear, his memories... you could almost feel them physically reverberate in you
maybe your initial conceptions about Loki were wrong, after all. Maybe he wasn't nearly as bad as you thought
you go out of your way to try and be a little nicer to him, sneaking in drinks and other treats you managed to grab on your way out of the Grandmaster's parties for him to try
sometimes, the two of you would even stay up until the early hours of morning, sharing stories and laughing together and actually feeling happy
for a garbage planet, maybe things weren't quite so bad.
until the night you had a nightmare. you could've sworn it was real, the way everyone in your dream seemed to dissolve into ash right in front of your eyes
you didn't realize you were crying out in your sleep until Loki woke you up, the entire situation reminiscent of when you first caught him having a nightmare of his own
you see the worry in his eyes, and you can't stop yourself from crying as the events from your dream played through your mind
"It's alright. It's not real. You're safe, Y/N. You're safe."
Loki repeats those words quietly like a lullaby until your breathing calms, and you grab his wrist before he can retreat back over to the couch
"Please stay."
the two of you don't realize just how touchstarved you are until you're both lying together, holding each other as if the world were about to end
(i'm getting Pompeii-esque visuals, am i crying??? maybe)
as your relationship progresses into purgatory-type territory -- somewhere between friendship and romance -- you realize the connection between the two of you grows stronger
specifically, the telepathic connection
before you know it, you can hear Loki's thoughts, and he can hear yours
you suspect it has something to do with the incantation you used to heal him after his nightmare
(you never did read the warnings on that one. oops.)
after a while, the two of you managed to control your telepathic abilities, to the point where you didn't hear the other's each and every thought
there was only a soft buzzing noise in the background of your mind, as if Loki's energy was gently reminding you he was there
Loki found your thoughts incredibly irritating at first
especially how you never seemed to shut up when you were nervous
there was a certain comfort in knowing you were only a thought away, though. especially when the day finally comes when you have to battle Hela
there's a moment when you're convinced Loki had died -- when he ran back into the palace to summon Surtur -- and your breath stops all together in your throat
for a few seconds, you couldn't hear his thoughts anymore. the constant white noise in the back of your mind was gone
when it suddenly resumes out of nowhere as you flew away from the remains of Asgard with Thor and everyone else, you couldn't help but make a run for Loki
you found him in one of the sleeping quarters on the ship, and before you could think twice, you kissed him. hard.
"You idiot! You could've died!"
You can't stop the tears of relief and the smile that lights up your face as you take him in
"I didn't die, however. I'm still here."
All you can do is laugh, and to your utmost delight, Loki pulls you in for another kiss
except this time, you freeze.
"Do you have the Tesseract?"
the way Loki's hands tense around your waist tells you everything
"...why would you think that?"
"I'm a mystic, you idiot! I practically pick up on energy for a living!"
Realizing he really can't hide anything from you, Loki materializes the Tesseract and holds it out to you carefully
"What were you hoping to achieve with this?" You ask, your voice nothing more than a horrified whisper
the lost look in his eyes tells you everything: he wasn't really sure, himself.
you conjure a portal and send the Tesseract far, far away from the two of you, and you can almost see the relief visibly fill Loki's eyes as that temptation disappeared
You realized as you landed back on Earth that the two of you were finally safe. You were home, and you had Loki now, too.
Things were going to be okay.
Until of course, the day your visions started.
#headcanon of the day#loki x reader#loki x gender neutral reader#loki x reader headcanon#loki laufeyson#loki imagine#loki x reader headcanons#the avengers#thor ragnarok#doctor strange#mcu loki#loki hc#loki x reader hc
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Every Story Is Us (CH 5)
(AN: I was convinced by Jess to post this here. IDK why Jess but you work in mysterious ways. To read this in AO3 and my other drabbles, visit here.)
“What you seek is seeking you.”
~Rumi
Penelope choked on her the tiny sip of wine she took. She started coughing but her date carried on like nothing was amiss.
“Yeah, you remind me so much of her. You should meet Mother. I just know she will love you,” he gushed further. He gave her an expectant grin.
She gaped at him in astonishment. They literally just sat down not fifteen minutes ago, yet he was already talking about her meeting his mother on their first date. She knew it was a bad idea to trust Eloise and Fran’s idea. Tinder dates were really not her style. And, based on her first date, she felt vindicated.
She was about to set the record straight when the server came to their table and took their order. She opened her mouth to speak but her date was a lot faster.
“She’ll have the Steak Diane. You don’t mind me ordering for you, right?” he asked as he turned to her.
Penelope was too dumbfounded to respond. He was hitting all her red flags and he was completely oblivious to her irritation, which was awfully apparent since the server’s professional smile turned into a wince. She only raised her glass of wine to the server, who understood immediately her need for more booze. If the server were considerate, she would bring an entire bottle for her.
“Oh and separate bill,” he added before explaining to her with a hint of condescension, “I like to go Dutch on the first date. You don’t mind, do you? Of course you don’t!”
Honestly, she didn’t mind at all. If anything, she would have insisted on it. She felt that he was the type to lord it over after dinner, expecting for something in return. But the way he went on another tangent about his mother, she just knew she was not going to last the appetizer course.
She cursed Eloise and Fran heavily in her head. They insisted she try out the app and look where it got her. She should have followed Daphne’s instructions, to never get caught up in her younger sisters’ shenanigans. As she listened to her date drone on and on, one thing became clear in her mind. She needed new friends.
Nay, better friends.
She just moved from Ireland to London for work. And she met Eloise, a fellow teacher, not too long ago and they clicked immediately. Soon, she was invited to all their brunches and dinners. She fell in love with her family instantly, all eight of them. Although, there was a Bridgerton brother she has not met yet. Seemingly, that Bridgerton was off traveling the world and was on a lengthy tour this time around. And, if he was anything like his siblings, she knew she would come to love him too. But, right now, that love she felt for all things Bridgerton started to wane. She said she didn’t want a date but no, Eloise and Fran had to drag her kicking and screaming into one.
She was pulled out of her reverie when her date grasped her hand. He gently caressed her with his clammy hand and she nearly shivered from disgust because why was his hand so wet?
“I just knew as soon as I saw your picture you’d be the one. Even mother said you’d be a good wife with your wide-set hips,” he beamed at her.
“Oh my god,” she gasped out loud. She tugged her hand back and excused herself to the restroom. She needed to get out of this date. Never in her life had she felt so uncomfortable. She frantically dialed Eloise to come save her but there was no reception at all. Her annoyance reached an all-time high. Was there a fucking signal blocker installed in this facility? She lingered outside the restroom, hidden by the stately plants decorating the restaurant, and repeatedly scrolled through her phone for a miracle. She was close to screaming in frustration.
It was then she felt a finger lightly poke her back. She swiveled around and saw the most gorgeous man she had ever seen. He was exactly her type: tall, dark and handsome. He was incredibly fit, and wearing clothes that highlighted his muscular body. He had on a sympathetic smile and lips that were begging to be kissed. Well, hello there. Maybe his attractiveness short-circuited her brain because she just stood there gaping at him like an idiot.
“Sorry,” he modestly started, “I couldn’t help but notice. Are you alright?”
Penelope nodded, heat spreading on her cheeks. She must have looked like a mad woman, pacing to and fro in front of the restroom. She smiled weakly at him.
“Are you sure?” He glanced in the direction of her date and she grimaced. Her date was openly picking his nose in public at the moment. Penelope had to close her eyes in an effort not to shudder in repugnance. “Anne told me you might need saving.”
She perked up at the name of her server. She might have found her salvation after all. “I…actually, I might,” she bashfully admitted. “I need rescuing from my date. It’s a Tinder date.” She felt the need to explain why. Obviously, this handsome man in front of her probably think she was crazy for going on this date in the first place. And, just in case he might be interested, she wanted to make herself appear saner.
“No worries. I’m your guy,” he reassured her. When he grinned at her, she swore it went straight between her legs. The pull of her attraction to him was insanely intense. She had never felt anything like this before with other men.
“Colin, by the way,” he held out his hand, which she met coyly. “Penelope.”
She marveled at how long his fingers were compared to hers, how rough his skin was against hers and how dry his hands was compared to her date. Her mind started to wander to more wanton thoughts as he shook her hand. His fingers should be illegal, she mused. When he let go, she already mourned the loss of contact.
“Alright, Penelope. I’ll be your knight in shining armor tonight,” he stated excitedly.
Ugh, and he’s charming too? How the hell was he real?
He urged her back to her date without a game plan, only a wink. She got too pre-occupied with said wink to even ask about how he planned on rescuing her. She reluctantly sat down across her date again.
“You sure took your time there,” her date stated said evenly. “I hate waiting. Be more prudent next time.”
She almost threw the basket of breadsticks to his face. Colin better come right away or else, she will stab the man in front of her in the eye with a breadstick. Before she could openly berate him, Colin marched to their table purposefully. He stopped with a loud dramatic gasp.
“Penelope, how could you?” he bellowed scandalously. “After ten years of marriage, this is what you’re doing?”
“What the fuck…” she mumbled in shock at his theatrical display. Her date appeared to be equally confused at the scene in front of them.
“And you left Colin Jr at home by himself to meet up with this man?” Colin continued his melodrama without pausing. “What does he have that I don’t?”
“Wait, you have a kid?” her date’s furious question jerked her from her bewilderment.
“I-“
“I thought you were a virgin!” he cut her off, for the nth time this night.
“That’s where you draw the line? Me not being a virgin?” her incredulous voice was shrill in affront.
Even Colin stopped with his dramatics with a revolted, “Dude.”
Thankfully, this was the moment her date decided to storm out. “Mother was right, after all. Never trust anyone from the internet,” he spat at her before he left.
Penelope hissed back, “It goes both ways!” She clutched her wine glass and chugged the contents in one go.
Colin took her date’s seat and stared at her, eyes twinkling in amusement.
She glared at him. “And you, Colin Jr really?” she asked with a huff.
“I got carried away. You should have seen your face!” He laughed out loud. But she had a sneaking suspicion that he planned it all from the start. She supposed, once that her outrage had passed, it was hilarious. She started giggling with him.
He was about to stand when the food came out, along with a bottle of wine. Penelope stopped him from leaving. “It’s a shame to waste all these food I’d end up paying for. And really want to thank you for saving me from that horrible date.”
He appeared hesitate so she added further, “After ten years of marriage, this is the least I could do.”
He laughed out loud again. It definitely was her libido acting up because she felt herself swoon slightly to his baritone laughter. She found herself wondering if he had a Tinder account. He gestured for her to pick which plate was hers. She gratefully took her previous date’s salmon dish and pushed the steak towards him. They ate, happily chatting about everything under the sun. He regaled her with stories of his vast travels, one story similarly exciting as the next. She offered her childhood tales from her Irish motherland. He started talking about his work, and how he just came back from Morocco after missing his boisterous family. And she started opening up about her insecurity of being in an unfamiliar country all by herself. He held her hand in consolation as she admitted succumbing to homesickness sometimes. He comforted her by recounting comical anecdotes from his travels.
If she was awestruck by his good-looks, she was even more enamored by his wit and sense of humor. He made her laugh so hard but he also made her think. There was nothing sexier than a sharp intellect. He was becoming more dangerous to her as more times passed.
They stayed together until it was closing time. And she barely noticed the passage of time. It wasn’t until Anne cleared her throat in front of them that they noted that they were the only patrons in the restaurant left. She awkwardly asked for the cheque but Colin stopped her.
“This one’s on me, Anne.”
Their server nodded and bid them a good night before leaving.
“What? Wait, Anne!” She tried stopping her but her pleas fell on deaf ears. “I was supposed to treat you,” she grumbled lightly to Colin.
He shrugged. “How can I ask the mother of my child, Colin Jr, to pay for our date?”
She paused, blushing profusely. “Even if she dared to date someone else tonight?” she teased playfully.
He leaned in, whispering conspiratorially, “Even when she tried to date someone else tonight. And might I add, she looks absolutely lovely tonight.”
Smooth like fucking butter. Her face must be red as a tomato right now, she reckoned. “Well, Colin Jr’s dad is not bad looking either.”
He beamed at her. She wanted to look away because he was too beautiful, it’s just not right. But he gently grasped her hand and asked softly, “Can I have your number? I really liked our time together and I really like you.”
“I like you too,” she replied, breathless.
He started leaning towards her, eyes locked on her lips. She did the same, magnetically slanting her body closer to his. Just when they were a fraction of an inch away, the kitchen door busted open with Anne bustling out.
“Boss, do you want-oops! My bad!” She retreated as fast as she came.
Damn it, Anne! Her scowl must have been a sight since he started chortling. He kissed the back of her hand reverently after to assuage her.
“Wait, she said boss?”
It was his turn to be sheepish. “I own this place.”
She blinked. That explained his intervention. “I clearly chose the wrong place to cheat on Colin Jr’s father.”
“I don’t know. I thought you were at the perfect place and time. I think I’m plenty lucky tonight,” he said sincerely.
She didn’t think she should voice out that if he kept on being sweet like that, he will get even luckier tonight. She only replied, “I’m glad.”
She exchanged numbers with him eagerly before bidding him a good night. But before she could step out from the restaurant, he gathered her in his arms and crashed his lips against hers. And it was magic and satisfaction and bliss and release all rolled into one. She clung to him, desperate against the tide of overwhelming emotions. When his tongue slipped into her mouth, she was completely swept away. It felt as if she would come undone with just a flick of his tongue. When they broke apart, they were gasping for air and sporting giddy grins.
“Good night, Colin,” she called out sweetly.
“Good night, Penelope.”
She didn’t sleep at all that night. The butterflies in her stomach were too flighty. And her excitement could not be abated, even as she knew she was attending a Bridgerton brunch the next day. She was groggy when she came in but a smile could not seem to leave her face.
Eloise pulled her aside to interrogate her about her Tinder date last night but the flurry of excitement filled the room. Everyone was enthusiastic for some reason. “The long lost Bridgerton is finally coming home. The prodigal son has returned,” Eloise said wryly. But Penelope detected her friend’s delight beneath all the sarcasm.
“Oh, that’s good,” she could not help but mirror her friend’s pleasant demeanor. She was already riding the high from last night. Another cause for celebration was just the cherry on top.
“Yeah, apparently he came back yesterday from Morocco in secret so he could surprise us. But Hyacinth still can’t keep her trap shut, ruining the surprise.”
“Morocco?”
It was then that she heard a familiar voice bellow out his greetings. She whipped her head fast and her eyes met his across the room. It was cliché but she would swear to anyone who would listen that at that moment, time slowed down. When their eyes met, it felt like nothing else mattered. And her heart leapt in anticipation as he crossed the sea of people to meet her.
“Penelope?”
“Colin.”
“You two know each other?” Eloise asked, awed.
She smiled brightly, eyes locked onto Colin. “Of course! We’ve been married, what…ten years now?”
He snickered harder upon seeing everyone’s bewildered faces. “Colin Jr missed you last night.”
Eloise interrupted again, “Is he talking about his dick?”
Penelope chose to ignore her friend now that Colin intertwined his hand with hers. “Did he now? I should go visit him some time.”
“I’m sure he’ll be ecstatic with your visit.”
“So how does tonight sound?” she asked, playful in her inquiry but nervous with his answer.
He kissed the back of her hand sweetly. “Perfect. I know a place. They serve the best Steak Diane.”
She laughed.
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The Duff || Fred Weasley
pairing: Fred Weasley x reader (any house)
summary: your life became too stressing lately, and Fred Weasley, although generally very annoying, manages to distract you just enough when he stops talking.
A/N: completely based on the book The Duff. Like completely. So reader may have some issues with her appearance. Sorry about my other fics! It’s just that, when an idea pops, I have to write. It’s a big fic. (feel like it’s one of my brightest works)
words: + 11k
warnings: insinuations and mentions of sex; body insecurities; sick father, etc
Harry Potter Masterlist || Musical Hogwarts Series
You couldn't understand what could be the fun in going to Three Broomsticks to party. The place is one of the oldest bars in Hogwarts, but not long ago, Madam Rosmerta decided to add a dance floor in one of the darkest sides of the pub, and she got one of those muggle music machines. It was very nice if your thing was dancing in sweat and rubbing your body in people.
Easy to say it was most definitely not your thing.
"Okay, that's it for you," said Madam Rosmerta, taking your mug away. It once was filled with butterbeer, but the barmaid seemed to think you had gotten it filled way too many times for a night.
"Oh, come on," you complained, "there's no alcohol on those."
"I know. But it has sugar, and you had one too many," Rosmerta said, ignoring your pout and walking away from your side of the counter so she could serve other costumers.
Your brain fought a battle to decide if it was worth contesting and explaining that not offering you more butterbeer was causing the barmaid to lose money when the stool next to you cried with the weight that was jumping on it.
"Good evening, y/n," said the boy who now sat next to you.
It was inevitable when your eyes rolled just by smelling his cologne. There was no need for you even to turn to know who it was. Only one boy in the whole Hogwarts was confident enough to wear such cheap cologne as if it was holy water.
"Get the hell away, Weasley," you cried, wishing, profoundly, to have another butterbeer with you.
Madam Rosmerta noticed the new client sitting close to the counter, and she quickly came back to serve him.
"Fred Weasley," she greeted him with her playful smile. She knew the Hogwarts teenage boys only flirted with her in hopes of a discount, but she enjoyed it, considering it rather fun. "What can I get you?"
"My usual butterbeer, Ro," he said, charming her with his smirk. She chuckled, while he passed her a coin.
"If you're getting him one, you're getting me one too," you warned the barmaid, raising a brow. Your serious approach worked because, with a sigh, she walked back with two drinks.
You tossed her your coin.
"That is officially your last one, young lady, so you better enjoy it," she threatened before leaving and playing with her hair solemnly for Fred to see.
He was still smiling when you decided to look at him. He was a bastard, but, boy, was he handsome.
"You have five seconds to disappear from in front of me now that you have your drink," you warned. Even though Fred's eyes followed the back of Rosmerta, yours was still staring at him. Maybe the amount of disgust you felt for him could pass on with a look.
"Chill, would you?" Fred took a sip from his mug, supporting his arms on the counter, finally looking at you. "If you're so bothered, the dance floor awaits."
You chuckled, frowning right after. "Look, Weasley, don't you have any other girl to fuss around?"
He smirked, thinking you were falling for his game. "Do you have friends you'd like to suggest?" he played, raising his brows. "Is Jess still single?"
"I'd be dead if I let you stay even one meter close to my friends, do you hear me? I don't want them catching any diseases," you shivered just with the thought of how many girls (and STDs) this boy before you might have encountered.
"So they are here," his eyes narrowed as if he was scanning the dance floor, searching for your girls.
"Go away, Fred," you sighed, tired of that conversation. You took one sip of your mug, but the butterbeer was no longer enough to keep your mind away from Fred Weasley's affairs. "And stay away from Jess and Casey."
"Oh, y/n, just put a good word for me, please. I mean, it is your job," Fred leaned in, closer to you and his scent attacked your nostrils again, making you lean back.
"It's not my job to help you, Weasley."
"Well, as their duff, I think it is," he drank from his mug, ignoring your confused look.
"Duff?"
Asking him what the word meant called his attention back to you, but he seemed surprised you hadn't heard about it yet. "You know, designated ugly fat friend," he replied, making a peculiar gesture with his neck as he spoke the last term.
You couldn't possibly have heard him right. "Excuse me??"
"Look, I don't mean to offend," he shrugged his broad shoulders, a gift from all his years playing Quidditch.
He noticed how fast your expression was changing.
"It's not like you're an ogre or anything, but in comparison…" his eyes wandered back to the dance floor, this time yours followed, seeing Jess and Casey — your longest-time best friends — dancing with some other students. "Think about it. Why do they bring you here if you don't dance?"
"Shut it, Weasley. They bring me here because I'm their friend; stop with your nonsense," your mind was working incredibly hard to stop you from believing that you were the ugly friend. Because that could not be the truth. Especially if everyone already knew and the one to tell you about it had to be the most annoying Gryffindor.
Fred had the nerve to reach over and pat your knee, but you jerked away from him. "Look," he said, "you have hot friends… really hot friends."
All the butterbeer you had drunk was starting to make you sick. Perhaps Rosmerta had been right, but if you had to bet in a guilt part, you'd bet on the ginger.
"The point is, in a group of friends, there's always a weak link, a Duff. And girls respond well to guys who associate with their Duffs."
"Where are you getting this info? The Quibbler?" you never meant to offend the Lovegoods, but Fred Weasley was speaking rubbish at this point.
"Don't be bitter," Fred pressed his lips together, pausing. "What I'm saying is girls find it sexy when lads show some sensitivity and socialize with the Duff. So, please, help me here, and just pretend to enjoy our talk."
There it was, in front of you, the living, redheaded proof that stupidity is capable of making people persevere for years. You already knew that Fred was a womanizing asshole, but it was unexpected to find out how worthless as a human being he is, too. Pretty faces definitely aren't everything.
With one swift motion, you jumped to your feet and flung the contents of your mug in Fred's direction.
The remaining butterbeer flew all over him, splattering his striped polo collar shirt. The liquid got his ginger hair wet entirely, which surprised you because, usually, you wouldn't have such great aim.
His face burned with anger, and his chiselled mandible clenched angrily. "What was that for?" he snapped, wiping his face with the back of his hand.
"What do you think it was for?" you snapped.
"I have no possible idea."
Madam Rosmerta appeared again, giving Fred a white cloth to dry himself, but it wasn't enough. Part of you wanted to be mad at the waitress for helping Fred, but you knew she just didn't want him to ask her to take you out.
"If you think I'm letting one of my friends leave this place with you, Weasley, you're very, very wrong, " you spluttered, staring at him with fire in your eyes. "You're a shallow jackass, and I hope that we never cross paths again."
The stupid muggle music played so loud that no one but Rosmerta overheard you, and she probably found you awsome. She loved some teenage drama.
You grabbed your friends as quickly as you could. They were about protest all the way to the secret passageway back to Hogwarts, so you decided it was best to explain what was happening.
"What's wrong?" Casey asked. Her once perfect dark hair was now wet — part of you wondered if the sweat even belonged to her. For such a smart Ravenclaw, you expected more of her.
"Let's get back to school; I just can't stand to be in this hellhole for one more second, " you said, dragging their reluctant bodies along behind you.
"Why are we leaving so early? It's only, like, nine-fifteen," Jess asked, frowning a bit, looking at you with her sad big blue eyes. Her Hufflepuff charm was about to work on you when you remembered why you were living.
"I got into an argument with someone, " you said, and Jess puppy eyes quickly disappeared, opening the place for her angry face to emerge. "I threw my Coke on him, and I didn't want to stick around for his response."
"Who?" Casey asked. You'd been dreading that question because you knew the reaction you'd get.
"Fred Weasley." two girly sighs followed your answer. "The guy is a man-whore. I can't stand him. He sleeps with everything that moves, and his brain is located in his pants—which means it's microscopic."
"I doubt that, " Casey said with another sigh.
"He's a jerk," you said, hoping your voice sounded like it was final. The tunnel back to Hogwarts seemed endless.
"That's not true," Jessica inserted. "Katie Bell told me he talked to her when she was alone at the Yule Ball. She was with Angelina and Alicia, and she said he just came up and made conversation, really friendly."
That made sense. Katie was definitely the Duff if she was out with Angelina and Alicia. And you knew for a fact that Angelina left with Fred that night.
"He's charming, " Casey said. "Give him some credit." Her smile slowly faded when she remembered that you threw at him your beer. "But what the hell did he do to you tonight, huh?" Now she sounded concerned. Took her long enough.
You sighed, noticing that saying something would only make their worry and you really wanted to avoid their pity. "Nothing, " you lied, "Fred just pisses me off."
Duff. The word bounced around in your mind as you three reached Hogwarts. When you took a last look at your friends before each parted to your houses, Fred's statement that you were the unattractive, undesirable tagalong seemed to be confirmed.
Jessica's perfect hourglass body and big brown eyes. Casey's athlete's features and impeccable skin. You definitely weren't like them.
"Well, see you tomorrow for the feast?" Jess asked the two of you.
You and Casey shared tired smiles. Although Casey would've like to stay a little longer at the Three Broomsticks, she welcomed extra sleeping hours. Her Quidditch player schedule didn't leave her much time to rest.
"See you," you stated, walking away slowly, letting your feet lead the way to your dorm where you'd try extra hard to forget the whole Duff thing.
-
You picked your blanket up to your chin, not wanting to get out of bed so soon, even though you could very much get late for Snape's class.
Fred Weasley words were hunting you like a ghost. They shouldn't be, because you sure didn't care about his opinion. But the courage he had called you that disgusting abbreviation and how you seemed to find the one out from every single group of friends you walked past.
It had been a week and a half, so why did his words bother you? You were brilliant and a good witch, always there for your friends. Thus, who cared if you were the Duff?
If you were charming, you'd have to deal with lads like Weasley hitting on you. Ugh! That could be a Duff benefit, right? Being unattractive didn't have to suck.
Damn Fred Weasley! You couldn't believe he managed to pack your head with such superficial bullshit. Getting out of bed with a jump, you were committed.
You wouldn't think about Duffs ever again.
-
Thursdays were homework day, at least for you and your best friends.
When classes were over, the three of you would meet at the library for a long late afternoon, reading through books and doing assignments. And, of course, spilling some tea with whispers.
That afternoon was being way bored than you expected. It was like Jess and Casey interrupted your reading all the time to tell you something new, but that day they seemed to have nothing to say.
And when I say nothing, I mean nothing.
Suspicious.
You stared at them, who pretended they hadn't been facing you all along and turned back to their essays.
"Okay, what is it? You two are awfully quiet," you whispered, leaning closer to them, scared the librarian could hear you.
They exchanged looks before, sighing, Jess gave up on her silent treatment.
"Remember when we planned on going to Three Broomsticks tomorrow?" she pouted, trying to work her big eyes on you.
"You two planned, you mean. I never agreed on it."
"We kinda find dates to go with us," said Casey, ignoring your comment on the matter.
You stared at your two best friends, holding yourself to not laugh.
"Thankfully. I never said I wanted to go," you pointed out with a smile, turning back to your book.
Jessica didn't seem satisfied with you looking away just yet.
"We can find you a date," Jess suggested.
You chuckled. "Alright," you spat — the possibility sounded ridiculous; principally when Fred's words still echoed in the corner of your mind.
"y/n, you have to come," Casey's tone was more serious. "You never go out unless we force you. So, if you don't want a date for yourself, you are thrid-wheeling."
"Not in Askaban, I am not!" you protested, raising your voice way too much but thankfully nobody was around.
Jess tried to work her puppy eyes again. "Please," she sobbed. "If you don't come, I'll feel guilty. Do you want me to ditch Cormac?"
"You are going with Cormac??" you asked, genuinely concerned because he was younger than you, but then you recalled he wasn't younger than her.
"Just show up," said Casey, not really allowing you to object. "I'll pay you a butterbeer."
Her offer was very, very tempting. You had no idea if one could become addicted to butterbeer since yours never had alcohol, but you're getting closer to that.
"But I'll only stay 'till nine," you informed.
The two girls smiled, and Jess had to hold herself from clapping in excitement.
"That'll be enough," said Casey.
-
"Is your father okay?" Casey asked you as soon as Jess left, and she had the open opportunity to corner you.
She was the only one in the school that you were brave enough to confess what was happening to your father. He had been recently attacked by some Death Eaters, and the Cruciatus curse left him with severe brain damaged.
It happened during the summer, before the start of your seventh year, so you had a couple of weeks to recover from that news before going back to school.
But when your mom's first letter arrived, saying your father was getting more insane with time, no amount of preparation was enough to hold back your tears as you ran out of the Great Hall.
You were able to lie to Jess, but with Casey, you weren't so lucky. Besides, her mom worked at St. Mungo's, so she already knew about your dad way before you told her.
It had been two months since you've been ignoring your mom's letters, all of them. You are too scared to read what they've got to say, and she doesn't let you go back home anyways.
You wanted to be with him, your father, hold his hand, make him better. But your mom was firm on her decision about you graduating Hogwarts.
So, when you stared at Casey's beautiful face, you had no idea what to answer.
"He can't get better," you said, in tone way harsher than you were planning. Who knew that not speaking about a matter would make you feel more painful towards it?
Casey gulped — she was always like that: she would touch the wound, but she had no idea what to do about it later.
"Do you want me to write to my m..."
"No," you quickly answered, not even letting her finish. "I just need to graduate — then I'll deal with my dad."
"It will take longer while 'till graduation, y/n," Casey pointed out. She knew you were convincing yourself it was just a couple more months, but that was a terrible lie you no longer could satisfy yourself with.
Casey wanted to do something, but taking you out was all you allowed the girls to do to you. You hated the new club atmosphere of Three Broomsticks, but you had to admit, it was pretty distracting.
"Promise I'll see you tomorrow night?"
"Promise," you said, before leaving your best friend alone in the hallway.
-
Snape's latest assignment stood before you, with a lot of notes from the Professor, pointing out all of your mistakes.
And there were a lot of them.
When class ended, you walked up to the Professor, gulping and shaking. You knew he didn't dislike you, but you were never too careful with Severus Snape.
"Professor, can I talk to you for a minute?"
"Yes?" he turned to face you; his black robe swirled with his movement.
"I just want to know if this essay was, hm, a big part of this year's grade?" you asked, avoiding looking in his dark eyes. "If so, can I do something else to improve my grade?"
He swallowed before answering, his serious tone implicating he didn't want to be having this conversation.
"You used to be my best student, Miss y/l/n, but this year you turned into the worse," he said, pausing in that terrible way only he knew. If your last year's grade hadn't been an Outstanding, I would have written you off my class by now."
You stared at Snape, unsure of what to do next and terrified of the man before you. He never treated you that way.
"Sorry to bother, Professor," you said, leaving right away, knowing very well that he had just ruined your rest of the day, including the night with your girls.
But what would you tell them? They would say that Snape was always like that. And even Casey, who was bloody smart, didn't have classes with Snape anymore. She would say for you to drop it too.
Your mind led your feet to the Moaning Myrtle's abandoned bathroom. There, your cry could be confused with hers by those who passed by. Thus, no one would disturb you.
The ghost wasn't even startled when she heard you come in, crying, and throw yourself on the floor near the sinks. Myrtle has seen you there since the school year started when you read your mother's first letter.
You usually went there at night, when you were sure you wouldn't see anyone. But after years of trusting Professor Snape — and believing that he would never mistreat you — what you heard today was the culmination.
When you decided you had cried enough, you headed out of the bathroom, holding your Potions (terrible) essay closer to your chest. You walked around the castle, but, perhaps, your eyes lost contact with your brain — the next thing you knew, you ran smack into Fred Weasley.
As if I needed more reasons for wanting to die.
You stumbled backwards, and your essay slipped from your arms, heading straight to the floor.
The ginger boy grasped you by both shoulders, his big hands catching you before you had the chance to slip over your own feet.
"Watch it," he said, steadying you.
You two were standing way too close to each other, and once again, you could smell his cheap cologne, this time it seemed to spread all over your body. Bloody hell, am I gonna smell like Weasley now? You shivered with disgust, but he misread it.
"Trouble standing up?" he joked, looking down at you with a cocky smirk.
He was really tall — you'd forgotten that, sitting next to him at the Three Broomsticks that night.
"Do I make you weak in the knees?"
Ignoring his stupid question, you knelt down to get the essay, and he did the same, grabbing it first. You forgot how to breathe for a second, hoping he wouldn't try to read it — and notice all the corrections Snape had made with permanent ink.
However, as soon as he grabbed it, he was handing it over to you.
You took it and brought it back closer to your chest, stepping away from him and his stupid perfume and stupid touch that sent weird and uncomfortable chills through your spine.
You were starting to walk away, leaving him behind when you heard:
"Thank you, Weasley," he attempted to copy your accent. "See you around, Weasley."
But you rolled your eyes and didn't even venture to look at him again.
-
How you managed to get out of your dorm and show up was all Jess and Casey's fault. If they hadn't been talking about you going out all week, and then Jess almost crying for you to appear, you would've rather very much stayed in bed.
You drummed your fingers on the wooden surface of the bar, your mind far away from the muggle music and your very dance-pants friends.
Your mind was tricking you in remembering about your father, something you were really trying to push away. Why hadn't you insisted on staying with Dad? Why hadn't you read mom's letters?
You kept imagining your dad, wallowing in his misery… alone. You wondered if at least your mom would visit him at St. Mungos. They were never the clingy type of couple, but maybe now she could be more sentimental.
But neither you were sentimental. So why now? Why care so much for your dad when he was never that much of an extraordinary parent?
"Evenin', Duffy."
Why did that nitwit have to sit next to you?
"Go away, Fred," you scolded, looking down at your fingers, playing with your empty mug.
"I can't, " he said. "First of all, the only reason you're here's that I taught you and your friends how to scape Hogwarts," you rolled your eyes while he continued, "besides, I'm not one to give up easily. I am set to snog one of your friends," he shrugged as if he was the biggest gentleman on Earth.
"Then go talk to the one," you suggested, not even turning to see his face.
"I would, but Fred Weasley doesn't chase girls. They chase him."
His sentence stayed in the air around as for a second before you burst in laughter. He couldn't be sober to say something like that. You faced him, finally, and confirmed — he very much had just arrived, so he wasn't drunk. He was just stupid.
Handsome, but stupid.
"Til they come to me, you get the honour of my company," he said, and then he took your mug away from your restless fingers. "Lucky for me, it doesn't look like you're armed with a beverage tonight."
You awaited for his laugh, but it never came.
"What is it with you today?"
"Already told you I'm not in the mood, Weasley," you reminded him.
"What's wrong?"
"Go...away," you warned, slowly.
You no longer good handle the tension burning inside you, it had to be released in some way, and it needed to be right then. But you didn't want to cry, not in front of a bunch of students partying, and there was no way you were going to vent with the dimwitted next to you, and punching someone would just get Rosmerta disappointed.
"Are you okay, y/n?" Fred asked, touching your shoulders carefully. He was forcing you to face him, even though he was being too gentle for his usual. "y/n?"
Then it was like your systems had stopped working — like a magic spell went wrong. Your only excuse is that you were under an unbelievable amount of stress, and you detected an exit.
You needed a distraction, and your chance was staring at you with sparkly eyes. Regret was the last thing you were thinking about.
An opportunity sat on the barstool beside you, and you lunged at it, literally.
You kissed Fred Weasley.
You grabbed him by polo neck of his red t-shirt, pulling him closer and locking your lips on his. He froze at first, but it didn't take him more than three seconds to understand what was happening, and the hand once on your shoulder was now on you cheeks.
Fred returned your urge, biting your lower lip, making his way inside your mouth with his tongue. Your hands left his neck and went to his hair, surprised to find soft hair.
His hands flew to your sides and pulled you toward him as if his hair was the secret to his horniness. As you wrapped your fingers in the strands of red hair, his fingertips dug into your waist.
It worked better than punching someone would have. Not only did it help you release the tension, but it distracted you. It's hard to think about your dad when you're making out with somebody.
He leaned into me, and I hauled at him so hard that Fred nearly fell off his bar stool. At that moment, both just couldn't get close enough to each other. Your separate seats seemed like they were miles apart.
Nothing existed, but the physical connection — there were no emotions in the way. It was amazing not to think. Nothing! Nothing… until he screwed it up.
His hand slid up from your waist, lingering along your back, and came to a stop around your boobs. Everything flooded back, and you suddenly remembered who had his lips on yours.
As fast as you jumped on him, you leaned away, taking your hands from his hair and shoving him away.
His hands dropped, one landing on your knee, as he pulled away. He looked astonished but weirdly pleased.
"Wow, Duff, that was—", but he never finished. You were already gone, running out of the bar and rushing to get to the secret passageway.
You didn't look back. If Fred followed, once you got to Hogwarts, he turned around.
When you reached your dorm and jumped on the bed, your heartbeat was impossible to keep track. You told yourself it was because of the run back to the school, but your mind was still playing flashes of the snogging session that had just happened.
It wasn't fair to remember his touch and how out of limits he was —good kisser, but still a jerk.
You didn't want to admit it, but you were madder at yourself than at him.
-
Two days.
That was the amount of time you managed to stay away from Fred Weasley since the little "incident".
One thing was for sure: it had numbed completely any stress your father situation was afflicting him. It had even made you forget about your recent bad grades.
Now, every time you got distracted, the only thought that filled your mind was a non-stop replay of the kiss you and Fred shared. It made you feel weirdly sick in the stomach, and you swore you could feel his disgusting touch as if it dirtied your body forever.
Jess and Casey didn't even bother arguing with you about leaving early that night — they felt guilty because they left you alone at the counter. Of course, you didn't tell them about the whole Weasley situation, but, even though Jess seemed clueless, Casey noticed your change in action.
How defensive you were towards their questions, more than usual. How you avoided spending too much time at the Great Hall.
So, when she purposely asked you to watch her Quidditch practice, you knew she was testing you. Perhaps Casey thought something worse was happening to your dad and if that was her bet, you wouldn't be the one to make her see the other side of the coin.
"Came to watch me play?" an annoying voice asked, calling your attention to your left where Fred Weasley stood flying up in his broom. His torso was tilted towards you, who was sitting in the stands.
One look was all you took for your mind to fill with disgusting memories, and your stomach was killing you once again. You faced back the field, where Casey was supposed to be practising, but, apparently, the thing was over because she and her teammates were nowhere to be found.
That explains the Gryffindor in his robes, you thought, sighing and gathering your things before getting up.
Fred was still staring at you, analyzing, expecting.
"I'm not here for you, Weasley," you spat.
Your temper surprised him, but he managed to recover before you could notice.
"What a pity," he sighed, letting the corner of his lips turn up. "I thought you wanted a second dose of fun."
You stared at him, with your angry issues burning up. If before kissing him he already had his ways of pissing you off, now it was like he was power was ten times stronger.
Your first thought was to hex him right there and then, but he wasn't worth that much worry.
"That wasn't fun, Weasley," you decided to state the obvious; something Fred seemed to have been having trouble understanding.
"You seemed very entertained twirling your fingers in my hair," he smirked, holding a chuckle while your eyes widened and you closed your fists.
"That was a mistake; I wasn't in my right mind," you said, clenching your teeth in rage. That boy was driving you crazy.
From behind him, you recognized Casey, walking on the field, already out of her Quidditch robes and holding her broom with just one hand. You knew that was your way out.
"Fine, blame it on the butterbeer," he sighed, "if it's what makes you sleep at night."
"What makes you think, Weasley," you paused, stepping closer to the end of the stands and closer to the ginger, "that I think about you at night?" you raised your tone involuntarily, letting your emotions get the best of you.
"Your body language, for one, Duff," Fred smirked again, feeling his win just because you were getting out of control.
Last time you were raged like that you had kissed him, so perhaps it could happen again.
But the nickname set you back. You were still bitter, but now you remembered why — it was because of that shallow nickname and that stupid boy.
You turned around and stepped away, to the end of the stands. You needed to get out of there as fast as you could.
"See you around too, Duff," you heard Fred shouted, but you didn't dare look back.
Casey met you at the end of the stairs, where a bunch of Gryffindors were crossing paths with the Ravenclaws leaving.
"Was that Fred Weasley? Talking to you?" was the first thing Casey asked when you were close to her enough to hear.
"Yep," you sighed, still tense because of your conversation.
"Godric! Is he hot in his Quidditch uniform!" she gasped, but different from you, she had that romantic, girly look on her face again. It made you wanna vomit.
"Please, Cass, you can find someone hotter than him," you protested, frowning.
"Someone hotter doesn't take Fred's hotness away," she argued, raising a brow towards you. She was messing with you, of course, but knowing it didn't make it easier. She didn't know about the kiss, so for all purposes' sake, she still thought you would never even touch him.
"Can't you just pine over — hmm, I don't — George Weasley, his twin?" you said, sarcastically. "If you think Fred's hot, George is too, and I'm pretty sure he's a better person."
"Too vanilla," she replied as if it proved her point.
"How would you know?" you asked, but couldn't help but burst in laughter with her, both very sure this conversation wasn't going anywhere.
Casey was right again. Not about George being vanilla — that you couldn't be sure, being that you had never talked to the chap. You couldn't manage to say more than three words to George, his presence always made you kinda weak in the knees.
But George didn't know about it, and neither did your best friends, and you intend in leaving thing at that. George was kind of your platonic crush, it was healthy to have one (probably), and he was never cross that line.
Funny, huh, how George made you feel starstruck, and Fred made you wanna kill yourself.
The thing Casey was right was about Fred being hot and charming. He was appearing more times than often in your mind, and for the rest of the week, he no longer popped as a replay of a kiss. Fred was appearing in your mind as new sexy scenarios, things a deep part of you wanted to experiment. And apparently, with him. Yikes.
You tried to convince yourself that those scenarios were with George (had happened before) but, at this point, you knew how to differentiate the two very well. And, deep down, you knew who was the ginger biting your neck and intertwining his legs in yours.
And that infuriated your guts.
-
"You did that for what?"
Your question echoed to the Great Hall, with a dozen of heads turning to what the little show you were putting on.
It was not your intention to make a scene, but, at that moment, you were more enraged than you'd ever been your whole life. Casey was your best friend, and you knew sometimes she was bold for the greater good, but you doubted that doing what she did was for the greater good.
Because you were feeling like shit.
She had intercepted your owl with your mom's letter about your father's condition. Casey had observed that you were ignoring your mom's messages — last night she went to your dorm room with Jess for a girls night, and ended up finding accidentally a box packed with the parchments unopen.
So she planned on getting your owl before it dropped its letter over you and she managed to sit next to you and starting reading it aloud, without telling you what she was reading.
It was only when she got to the second line of the thing — "they say they are doing everything they can and they don't want to raise our hopes, because his chance of recovery is almost none"— that you realized that it was your mom's words.
You got so angry as never before, shouting at Casey to shut up, and without overthinking, you cast a fire spell on the thing. Thankfully she dropped the parchment before it burned her hands, but that doesn't mean that she didn't get angry at you too.
Jess watched and came closer, trying to find words to say, but she didn't know what was happening and she didn't want to side with anyone.
You felt the urge to cry, but, not in hell, you were doing it in front of the whole school. You gathered your bag and ran out of that place, not looking back — even though Casey was screaming "I'm sorry", and Jessica was asking you to wait.
"Hey, wait up," a voice called, this time it didn't belong to a girl.
You froze at your spot, your feet slowly turning to face the boy following you in the empty hallway. Traitors, you wanted to say to your feet.
"Not now, Weasley," you said, trying hard to look away, but once his dark eyes met yours, you just couldn't bring yourself to walk away.
"Then, when? You need to talk," he pointed out, taking his hands out of his pockets, not yet breaking the eye contact. It was like he knew that he looking at you was the only thing keeping you there.
"You heard the show, huh."
"Just saw you, angrily walking away," he said while you nervously grabbed your bag's handle. "Thankfully, there was no butterbeer in your hands."
His attempt to joke went not as smoothly as he expected. You faced your shoes, biting your lip with the stupid idea that popped in your mind. You knew what you planned wasn't right.
But when he stepped towards you, it felt natural.
"Just shut up, Weasley," you said, before getting on your tiptoes and leaning in to kiss him.
He was surprised, again, but this time he was quick to respond and somehow smarter — he grabbed your waist and guided you to a door that only he knew existed in that hallway.
It was a broom closet, probably the brooms first-years use to train flying.
This time there was no inhibition. Fred's mouth in yours was not going to be enough to forget you fighting with Casey and your mom's words about your dad. You needed more. Thankfully, Fred Weasley was more than pleased to serve, fastly taking your white shirt off while you unbuttoned his pants.
"Are you sure of this, Duff?" he asked before pulling your black skirt up.
"I said shut up, Weasley," you reminded him, in a bossy tone. And in case he tried to open his mouth again, you locked it with yours.
-
Things were worse than ever before.
After Casey's episode, you hadn't talked to her ever since. She tried, the first few days, but she saw you were ignoring her and with time, she gave up. Jess attempted to convince you to talk to Casey, and for that, you started ignoring Jess too.
Your grades weren't getting better any time soon — Professor Snape was now no longer the only one complaining to you about it. Thankfully, the other Professors were more understanding about it than Severus — the school knew about your father situation.
Oh, yeah. About your parents: since Casey attempt to read you a letter, you haven't touched one yet. And you weren't going to do it anytime soon.
The only person you were hanging out with — by Merlin, you never thought that would happen — was Fred Weasley.
It was easygoing with him because there wasn't much talking to do. He knew better than to ask you anything related to your personal life — even though he tried, a lot.
You two would meet primarily at the Room of Requirement — it usually provided a bed for you, so that was more comfortable than any broom closet. If he ever attempted to make conversation, you'd shut him up with your lips and locking your fingers in his hair — that was his soft spot for sure.
You noticed he was trying to be your friend, more than just a hookup because he was lately scheduling your meetings in places where more people were around — therefore you couldn't just kiss him.
Today, you two were meeting after his Quidditch practice. In his defence, you had indeed mentioned how hot after-trainings sex could be, and that was, probably, where he got the idea.
You were waiting for him in the ground leaned in the entrance to the stairs to the stands, laughing with yourself, because, not long ago, when he mentioned you waiting for him at the Quidditch field, you thought the idea was absurd.
"There he is," you said, placing your hands in the back pockets of your jeans, walking side by side with a just showered Fred Weasley.
"You came."
"You said for me to come," you replied, tilting your head towards him and chuckling. It wasn't like you and any other places to be, but he didn't need to know.
"Hey, Fred, what are we..." started George, rushing to Fred's side and gasping at the notice of you. "Oh, hey, y/n."
So nice to have a Weasley calling you by your name instead of the stupid "duff" thing Fred seemed to love.
But that was George — the George Weasley — and all you managed to do was blush and nervously say hello back.
"Well, brother, got do something with y/n first, but, later, we can..."
"— don't bother with me! I'm sure we can hang out the three of us," you interrupted Fred, glad this time you didn't stutter.
Fred practically spat out a laugh, looking at you like you were crazy. "We? With my own twin?"
You pushed Fred by the shoulder, disgusted by the bullshit he had suggested.
"We can change our plans," you elaborated. "That's what I meant, Fred."
George's eyes went from you to Fred, not sure of what to say next. He didn't know what was going on between the two of you — you'd threatened Fred that you'd kill the whole Weasley family if he decided to say something.
"Are you sure? Fred and I can do the prank later."
"It's a prank? Then count me in!" you smiled, pushing Fred's shoulder again. "Why didn't you tell me?"
There was one exact reason why Fred didn't tell you — it's because you weren't interested, especially in personal stuff and principally in pranks.
"Wow, y/n, I reckon I've never seen you so excited," George commented, smiling.
The three of you started walking away from the Quidditch field while Fred mumbled something about him being the reason for your excitement — for that you replied with pinching his left arm.
-
You had never laughed so hard in your life. Fred, George and you were sitting on the floor of the empty library, leaning your backs against a dusty shelf in the dark corner of the room.
"Did you see his face?" George giggled, placing a hand over his chest where his heart was beating extra fast.
All of the hearts there were beating fast.
It was almost midnight, and by the school rules, you three should be in bed, but the amount of enthusiasm you were feeling was convincing you being a reckless student wasn't so bad.
You were sitting in the middle of the twins, your hands tossed on the floor — the left one just a couple of centimetres away from Fred's. He was watching you, paying very close attention at how the red slowly painted your face back, since it had been white because of all the running from Filch to not get caught.
"Thanks for tagging me along," you said, with a small smile, looking at George.
"Anytime," George said, thinking it was the right thing to do. "You're fun to be around. I see why you wanted to hang out with her, Freddie."
You would've teased Fred about the silly nickname if it wasn't gonna ruin the beautiful moment you and George were having.
Fred watched his twin and you, giggling with each other, talking about random funny stuff related to Argo Filch, but he couldn't hear the conversation quite well. He could only focus on how you were leaning towards George, and how, involuntarily, your hand ran away from his.
"Well, chaps, I've gotta keep going," George announced, getting up and shaking the dust out of his clothes. You pouted, saddened by the departure of your favourite twin.
Fred didn't even breathe, scared that would make his brother want to stay. It wasn't like he was addicted to you — Godric, no! — but he was really looking forward to spending some time with you. Just with you.
"So soon?" you replied, noticing that one prank and you now could speak perfectly well with George. You had no idea why it became uncomplicated, but spending time with him only made you notice what you already knew — he's very different from Fred. "See you later, then."
"See ya," George then turned around and walked out of the library, making sure he wasn't being heard.
As soon as George was away, Fred turned to you, using his hand to bring you face towards him. You allowed it, not really having much choice when he touched you like that.
"Why did want to prank with us?" he asked, looking straight into your eyes.
You shrugged, saying nothing. But something in your expression — maybe the quick thought of George — gave you away.
"George," Fred sighed, surprisingly angry, but not enough for you to notice. His hand fell from your face to his side. "You like him."
"Puff! What? No. What?"
Yeah, your reaction wasn't the best. But Fred shrugged, letting his jealous side hide and acting like a jerk because it was so much easier than caring.
"Are you only with me because I look like him?" he asked, making sure his tone sounded like he was playing with you instead of really curious.
"No!" you replied, faster than you expected. "First of all, I'm not with you. Secondly, no, Freddie," — you used the nickname to mess with him — "I didn't pick you because of George. I picked you because you were there."
Fred stayed in silence, absorbing your answer.
You were suddenly lost in your thoughts, remembering that first kiss not so long ago. And then you remembered all of those lonely nights at the Three Broomsticks, where your only companies were Rosmerta and... Fred.
"You are always there."
"Yeah," Fred sighed, not sure of what you meant with that. However, he was still in jerk mode, and for that, his hand flew back to touch you, this time choosing more sensitive regions, like your belly, particularly, above the waistband of your jeans, a place that Fred had already learned to be one of your weak spots. "So, is now when you're doing what we had scheduled to do?"
You turned to face him, making it easier for him to reach your abdomen.
"Do you only think about that?"
He pretended to be thoughtful.
"Yes."
-
It came as a hell of a surprise when you were called to the Headmaster's office. You had been doing nothing — aside from escapades with Fred, and trying to get back to your studies, you haven't been doing much — so you didn't stall to see why they needed you.
You were even more surprised when the person awaiting fro you in the office was your mom.
"Hi, sweetie," she tried to smile but failed.
You didn't move since you opened the door and saw her, because her visit probably meant something you didn't want to be true.
"Is he dead?"
"What, sweetie? What did you say?" she asked.
"Dad. Is he...?" you whispered again, not brave enough to say it too loud.
"Oh, Merlin, no! That's why I'm here, actually. He called for you yesterday," she explained, stepping closer to you since you haven't been moving. "I sent you a letter, but you didn't reply, and I was so anxious..."
"Father called me? He said my name?" you were shocked because last time you saw him, he had no idea who you were.
"Yes, sweetie. I guess he remembers you," she smiled. "And me," she added.
"Can I see him?" you were fighting tears at this point.
"Of course, sweetie! That's why I'm here," she smiled, and opened her arms, knowing very well that all you wanted to do was bury your face on her chest, just like when you were little and scared. But this time, all you felt was happiness.
-
Returning to Hogwarts was hard. Not because you were sad — Merlin, that had been your best weekend ever! You father was almost completely recovered, although now and then he was saying some gibberish.
It was hard to come back because you wished you'd stayed longer with your dad, but your mom knew you needed to finish your school year before anything else.
A conversation that you had with your father kept replaying in your mind since you walked in the school. It was before you left when he encouraged you to enjoy your life because he wished he had enjoyed his more — especially when he thought he was dying, having Death Eaters play with his mind.
So when you saw George in the hallway, you knew you had to do something about your whole starstruck situation.
"Hey!" you called him.
"Hi, y/n," he faced you, a smile appearing in his lips. "Haven't seen you all weekend."
"I had to be away. Dad's stuff," you really didn't want to tell him about it right there. "Anyway... I don't know how to say this, but I've been feeling incredibly confident lately, so here it goes... Would you like to go on a date with me?"
You had no idea how you manage to say it. Perhaps pranking someone together does change a person, but while you waited for his reply, George didn't seem so hard to talk to.
"You want to go out... with me?" he played with his hair while saying it.
"Yep," you gulped, suddenly regretting you recently discovered confidence.
"Okay," he frowned for a second before smiling lightly. "Three Broomsticks, Wednesday?"
"Perfect. See you there?"
He shook his head in response, then turned and walked away. You stayed there, expecting a wave of happiness to come, but it never did. That's odd, you thought, before heading to your dorm, which, weirdly enough, you had missed.
When you pushed the door open, you saw the two figures sitting on your bed, as if they had been waiting for you for a long time. Jess and Casey looked at you as you walked n, with sympathetic smiles on their faces.
"What are you two doing here?" you asked, but you weren't mad. Just curious.
You had missed them too.
"I'm here to apologize. Should've done it sooner, but you didn't allow me," said Casey, getting up and stepping closer to you. "I now know your father is better, but you were right, that letter could have something horrible written on it and had no right reading it."
You stared at her, unconsciously reaching for her hand, anxious to meet her hot touch again. You were still happy, of course, but that talk made you bit sentimental.
"I'm sorry, y/n," she said, allowing you to hug her and hugging you back in the way only she knew how. Jess jumped out of bed and embraced the two of you; although you couldn't see her face, you'd bet she was smiling and crying at the same time.
The three of you stayed like that for a while.
"But, thank Merlin, he's okay now," Casey continued, slowly pulling away from the group hug.
"How do you..."
"Fred told us," said Jess, sitting back on your bed and suggesting you two did the same.
"Fred? Fred Weasley? How did he know?" you were completely startled.
"He asked about you. The three of us were confused because, well, he was right, nobody had seen you," Jess explained. "Long story short, McGonagall told him about your dad, and he told us."
You gulped, taking in that new information. Fred worried about you, that was new. Well, you did leave with no warning, but for a not-a-friend with benefits, you never consider he would care if you disappeared.
"Did he say anything else?" you rounded, suddenly worried he could have told them about your little escapades.
"Should him? Your father is okay, right?" Casey entered a worried-mom mood, and Jess seemed to be concerned too.
"My father is getting better, yes," you replied, but now it was too late. They were curious, you sighed, knowing very well that, as your best friends, they had all the right to know what was going on. "I may — or may not — have started a no-strings-attached relationship with Fred Weasley."
"You did what??" Casey widened her eyes towards you.
You spend half an hour explaining to the girls what was going on in your sex life, and they were good listeners, never interrupting unless you paused. You missed those girly talks so much that you wondered how you managed to spend weeks not talking to them.
"Wait. But your date for Wednesday is George?" asked Jess, clearly confused with the end of your story.
"I never had the guts before," you said, remembering how only the idea of asking George out would've made you weak in the knees a year ago.
"But you like Fred," she stated, convinced she was correct.
"What? No. Why did you...? Merlin, no," you rambled. You thought you had made it clear that being around Fred longer than necessary made your stomach sick and everything.
Jess and Casey exchanged looks as if they knew something you didn't.
"Fred's repugnant. He still calls me Duff, can you believe it? I mean, 'hello, honey, if I'm such the disgusting, ugly friend, why do you sleep with me?' " you said, laughing with yourself, imagining you facing Fred and telling him that. But the girls kept with their suspicious stares. "I did explain what is Duff, right?"
"You did," said Casey.
"Still not convinced you don't like Fred, though," added Jess, raising a brow towards you.
"I don't! Besides, now, I don't need him. I'm going on a date with his brother, and my father is fine. I have no worries," you reminded them, getting up from your bed. "Well, maybe one problem. I still need better grades."
"That I can help," said Casey, allowing her nerdy Ravenclaw shine.
-
You tried to corner Fred the whole Tuesday, but he seemed to be nowhere to be found, until after dinner, when you approached him when he was leaving. Thankfully, he was alone.
"So you are back," he said, looking you up and down in that way that only he knew. You looked around the hallway, scared that students leaving the Great Hall could hear you two talking, so you gesticulated for him to follow you to the broom closet — coincidently, where it all started was going to be its end too.
"Fred, we need to talk," you said, closing the door behind you and trying to find the light switch.
"You finally realized?" he sounded hopeful, with a playful smile on his lips.
"Realized what?"
He was set back with your response. Fred was thinking of something else when he asked you that, but he wasn't going to let you win. Although you really didn't have any idea what he was talking about.
"Realized you can't live without me."
"HA! Very funny, Weasley," you said, rolling your eyes.
He stepped closer to you, expecting you to do what you generally did in that closet, and, even though, his perfume made you lose your senses for a second (that didn't use to happen before, did it?).
"Well, I brought you here because... You see, we aren't doing this anymore," you swallowed after saying it — it was as if a knife was held in your neck.
He leaned in, looking down at you. His playful smile was long gone.
"You want to do it the right way. I get it," he said, pressing his lips together for a pause. "We could just jump to the fun part."
"Fun part? There isn't a...", but you weren't able to finish. His lips met yours mid-phrase, and as usual, you couldn't care about anything else but his lips.
What was the thing I need to tell him? Never mind now.
Your hands were playing with his hair, but something was different this time. There was still an urge — one that shouldn't be there, giving that you had no problems to forget right now — but you two were acting slowly, appreciating every touch.
When with Fred, you never felt ashamed of your body, but somehow this time you were very self-conscious, afraid that he wouldn't like you. Which was stupid — he had been... with you for too long to now started caring about your form.
What you didn't know what was that, if anything, he was finding you even more beautiful tonight, with the weak light of the closet highlighting every gorgeous curve of your body.
While you two undressed (with his lips away from yours), you were able to remember you shouldn't be there, snogging him and well, about to do other things with him. You had gone there to end this thing.
You sighed, too perplexed at the view of the ginger boy's body. The light was also highlighting his best spots.
A good-bye, you concluded with yourself. You were allowing yourself one last night, before staying away from Fred.
And if it was going to be a good-bye, you were sure you wanted to make it the best yet.
-
When you asked George out, he had been puzzled, and really scared of what to do next.
You had never jumbled him with Fred before — and after spending so much time with his twin doing Merlin knows what he expected you to never do it.
He thought it was rather cute that you took the first step and asked Fred out. Well, you did confuse the twin, but George assumed you probably were too nervous with your own feelings.
So using his best "hey, brother, this is gonna sound funny" voice, he went to find Fred to tell him that he had a date with the girl he had pining over for the last month.
George had never seen Fred say no to other girls, neither had George seen Fred stay in the castle for a Friday night, then a skip a Hogsmeade trip. You had changed Fred, even though George was sure Fred had not noticed it yet.
"What is it, George?" Fred asked, anxious to leave and meet you, no matter where you could be. He had heard that you had just got back in the castle and he just... he wanted to make sure you were alright.
"y/n, she... well," George nervously giggled. "She mixed us. She thought I was you."
"Really?" Fred was not expecting at this stage for you to mix him with his brother.
"Yeah, and hm, this is funny," George gulped before continuing. "I think she asked you out. On a date."
"She what??"
"Yeah, I guess she was on a rush, because of her father, and she said something about feeling confident," George went on. "Anyway, I said yes because I knew you'd have said yes. It's Wednesday. At the Three Broomsticks."
Fred stared at his brother as if he had solved all the problems in the world.
"She really did that?"
George shook his head yes and pointed out: "Don't mention she mixed us. It will probably make her feel worse."
"Are you sure she thought you were me?" Fred asked, overthinking it.
"Well, of course. Why else would y/n ask me out?"
-
You had to borrow a foundation from Jess (your skin tones were not so similar, but it was enough) because on the last night, Fred had exaggerated a little.
He never left a mark on his body, but yesterday he had overcome himself. As the brush rubbed the foundation on your neck, you remembered the night before.
"You are mine, Duff," he said, between one hickey and another. "Just mine."
Unintentionally, you lost yourself in thought, your mind continuing its replay from the night before, as you brushed your sensitive skin.
"Only I can make you feel this way; only my touch makes you shiver," whispered Fred, and incredibly, it was true. But he was Fred, and it couldn't go on.
So when it was over, and you both were too tired, you got dressed and stared at him, knowing what was coming next.
"Thank you, Fred, seriously. For everything," he watched you as you gulped nervously. "But this really can't go on. I have a date tomorrow."
"I know."
You were about to leave, but you immediately turned, facing him with wide eyes.
"You asked George out. I know," he seemed sad. And you have never seen Fred sad before. You wanted to do something, but what could you do really?
"Fred, I..."
"Look, you had your good-bye, y/n. You can get out now," Fred said. "Go hide. It's what you do, right?"
"Hey, don't turn this on me!"
"Somehow, this is my fault?" Fred asked while putting on his pants. Although angry, he didn't seem scary. "What you want me to do, y/n? I'm the jackass womanizer, aren't I? Go get the better twin."
"Fred Weasley!" you shouted his name, trying to shut him up. "We were never a couple; don't act as if you care now! Don't act like you're jealous!"
"Why? Because I can't be jealous of you? I can't care about you?" he shouted back.
"Care about me? You call me Duff, Weasley. All the damn time! How am I supposed to know you care about me if you keep reminding me how ugly, fat and disgusting I am?"
Silence fell upon the two of you.
That was the knife in your neck all along. The stupid nickname, it all came back to it. Fred had no idea how much power that nickname had over you.
"I never meant it that way, y/n," he said, gulping slowly.
"No?" you asked sarcastically. "Really? I remember you telling me I have hotter friends."
"But that was before!" he protested.
"Before what?" you asked, but his reply never came. The words he couldn't say died in his chest — buried forever. "See you around, Weasley, " you said, before opening the door and leaving, without looking back.
You shook your head, slowly coming back to reality. The hickeys were enough hidden. It didn't look perfect, but the Three Broomsticks had terrible lighting, so it would be okay.
You wanted to stay in, curled up in bed, playing in repeat your good-bye, and blame yourself for that sadness in your chest, but you were too embarrassed to dump George.
The place was crowded — Hogwarts older students were practically all there, having the time of their lives on the dance floor. You wished George could never find you, so you went to the counter to hide behind a mug of butterbeer.
"Hey there, pretty," said Madam Rosmerta, who have missed you all those nights without you. "Butterbeer?"
"You know it," you said, about to throw her a coin when someone pressed a hand on your shoulder.
"Make it two," he said, and he didn't even need to speak to you know who it was. That cheap perfume was going to be the death of you. "It's on me," he told you, tossing his own coin to Rosmerta who disappeared to get the mugs.
"He's not coming," he added a second later, hating the silence around you two.
"I figured it. When I saw you," you explained, gulping.
Rosmerta brought two mugs back, and both of you took a sip from it, unsure of what to say next.
It wasn't like you two fought last night because you hated each other. In fact, it was probably the complete opposite, but both looked like stupid cowards, afraid of your own feelings.
"Look, I..." he started, but you interrupted him, placing your hand on his arm over the counter.
"Let me say this first," you said, locking your eyes on his. "I shouldn't have asked your twin out. Even if we were just friends; what I did was a jerk move."
"You liked him first," Fred pointed out, trying to defend you from yourself.
You chuckled. "Oh, Merlin, no. I thought he had a pretty face," you explained, tilting your head towards him, and he understood your joke right away, joining in the laughter. "And he seemed like a nice guy. Like, huh, I thought he could treat me nicely," you looked away from his big eyes, facing the shelves with liquor.
"But?"
"What?" you asked him, turning to face him once again.
"I feel like there was a 'but'."
You smiled.
"But you also have a pretty face, and recently, you've come to treat me nice too," you said, and he pressed his lips together while slowly shaking his head up and down. "Well, actually, if it's just between you and me, your face is prettier."
He raised his brows. "Is it?"
"And your body too," you added, just to make him smile.
"Is mine bigger?" he asked, back to his normal joker self.
You pushed him lightly by the shoulder, not hard enough for him to fall off the stool.
"Never saw his, sorry," you decided to tease, and you both giggled.
"I'm sorry. About the Duff thing and all," he said, swallowing. "I kept the nickname because I thought it was cute. If I knew it bothered you so much, I'd have stopped. And I wouldn't have used it during sex."
"I'm okay with it now, I guess," you said. "It wasn't that bad hearing it during sex if I'm honest."
You tilted your head to the left, biting your tongue to not laugh because it was not funny. But Fred just had a way to ease your mood.
You thought silence was going to hunt you two again when Fred spoke.
"Is this the part where you admit you have feelings for me?" he smirked, placing his hands on your knees, relaxing you even more.
"Maybe," you chuckled. "Is this the part where you admit you have feelings for me?"
"Yes," he said, surprising you. "I have feelings for you."
"Well, I have feelings for you too, Freddie," you smiled, passing your fingers through his strong arms.
"You're not gonna forget that nickname, are you?" he faced away while asking.
"Nope."
"Fine by me, Duff," he replied, messing with you too. He then leaned closer, pressing his lips on yours, and it didn't take long for his hands to find your waist and bring you as closer to him as the stools allowed.
"But we are going slower this time, Weasley," you warned, parting your lips for just a second.
He smiled in the kiss.
"It's always better that way," he replied, probably remembering the soft, slow sex from last night because you were sure remembering that too.
You slapped his arm just strong enough for him to pout, but you kept kissing him anyway. When you two kissed, nothing else mattered— it was only the two of you in the world.
#fred weasley#fred weasley x reader#fred weasley x y/n#fred weasley x slytherin!reader#fred weasley x ravenclaw!reader#fred weasley x hufflepuff!reader#fred weasley x gryffindor!reader#george weasley#Fred and George Weasley#Fred and George#george weasley x reader#harry potter#the duff
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I write sins not tragedies - Andy Barber smut
The one where you’re Andy’s sugar baby and he loves seeing you in lingerie
Warnings: rough sex, daddy kink, sugar daddy relationship, infidelity (reader is the other woman), throatfucking, curses, some degrading name-calling in a very loving way
A/N: Day 5 of kinktober and I can’t believe I’m still keeping up with this! Prompts for today were daddy kink and lingerie!
Y/N’s P.O.V.
I didn’t even notice him entering the apartment, that’s how focused on my study session I was. But then two strong arms wrapped themselves around my torso and before I could even consider tensing up from the surprise, his cologne calmed my brain down and I was automatically melting against him.
“Hi, daddy.” I turned my head to the side to meet his eyes, but no such luck. He had buried his face against the crook of my neck, and his delicious beard was tickling me, making me thrash around in his arms.
“Hi, princess. I thought you’d missed me,” he mumbled against my skin, making me giggle. For someone who was constantly accusing me of being dramatic, he could be so much worser than me sometimes. Especially when he had a hard day in the office or in his family life.
“You know I always do. Did you have a rough day?” At that, he finally released me, allowing me to turn around on the bed so I could look him in the eye, taking notice of the dark patches underneath them. “Oh, Andy. I wish you’d take better care of yourself.”
My words brought a little smile to his face, and his eyes shined with a particular light as he looked at me, his hands cradling my cheeks. “You’re the only one who can take care of me properly.”
I tried not to show how he made me feel warm inside with just that one sentence, because I was honestly very worried about him, so I simply rolled my eyes. “Then I guess you have to move in, so I can take care of you 24/7, huh?”
It was just a teasing remark, I honestly didn’t have any second intentions with my words. I knew what I was getting into when Andy approached me with the proposition to become his sugar baby. I knew he was married and had a kid not that much younger than me and I never deluded myself into believing he’d simply abandon everything for me.
But when things got bad and I couldn’t be there for him when he actually needed me, that was the only time I second-guessed this entire arrangement. Because the truth was, I had fallen for him, hard. And it was difficult to remember he wasn’t mine to take care of most of the time.
“Please, ignore what I said. I didn’t mean it like that. Come here,” I begged, wrapping my hands around his suit’s lapels and pulling his weight down on the bed, so he’d be on top of me. Even frozen from the shock provoked by my words, he still easily followed, allowing me to cradle his face and kiss him all over until he was comfortable enough to talk again.
“Y/N…” He suddenly started, trying to push himself away from me, his voice in such a serious tone that I immediately knew what he was going to say, but I didn’t need to hear it. So I followed his movements, sitting up on the bed too, before covering his mouth with one of my hands, climbing on his lap.
“Please, Andy, don’t. Really. All I meant was… It doesn’t matter, you just don’t need to worry about it. I love what we have. I’m not asking for more. Promise.” He didn’t look like he trusted me that much, but then again, it could also be a bit of his own guilt as he stared me down with those expressive brown eyes of his. But I wouldn’t let him get dragged into that useless whirlwind, at least that I could do for him.
“Here, let me take your mind off of it. Wanna see something nice?” He still looked wary as he watched me get out of bed until I was standing in front of him, but after a few minutes and a sigh, he ran his fingers through his hair and nodded.
“If it comes from you, always.” The tiny smile he gave me had my heart doing backflips in my chest, and I returned it with a much bigger one, hoping to show him that I really was fine. And then I started to push down my sweatpants, wiggling out of them before taking off my sweater too, until I was left with only my latest purchase.
The sound of Andy’s breath hitching was everything I needed to know I was in the right direction. The piece I was wearing was yellow with white little daisies that covered the places there were supposed to be lace or any sort of fabric. It was ridiculously expensive for something with so little, but the way Andy was looking at me made it seem worthy.
He always did have a thing for seeing me in lingerie. Well, I didn’t know if it was me, specifically, just that it was the first thing he started to gift me just as soon as he covered all the essentials I needed to live.
For a long time, they were all that I had except for his impromptu gifts that always consisted of new lingerie pieces and some other frivolous thing, like a designer bag or some jewels, and I always accepted it with gratitude but insisted that he didn’t have to bother. I liked him and all I needed was for his help with the bills, but still, he wouldn’t have it.
He’d say that spoiling me was the best part of his week and that me accepting what he got me was one of the things I needed to do for him in return, so really, what could I do? The problematic part was when he started to include in the allowance money that he gave me to buy groceries a few hundred dollars supposed to be destined for me to buy some new pieces myself.
He wanted to be surprised, he said. As much as he loved to pick out some pieces for me and imagine me in them before actually getting to see them against my skin, he also wanted to have me amaze him once in a while. And this was the first time I finally got the courage to do so.
“Babygirl, you look so…” Immediately jumping back into the mindset that I wanted him to be in, I silently congratulated myself not only on being able to distract him but also for my choice in underwear. “Delicious,” was the word he settled in, the hand that was holding mine as I twirled around for him to get a full-view suddenly disappearing as he stood upright in front of me, towering over my scantily-clad body with his full height while still wearing his suit.
The way he was looking at me had me shivering under his gaze, and he smirked when he noticed, just before dropping to his knees and grabbing one of my legs to put it over his shoulder. “In more ways than one…”
And then his tongue was right over my pussy, a single finger from the hand that wasn’t helping me stay up curled against my underwear to allow him to move freely. He hummed at my taste, making my knees instantly buckled. “How the fuck are you so delicious, huh, babygirl?”
Before I could even consider answering, he sucked on my clit, making me release a strangled gasp as I tried to keep myself up, a hand on his hair and the other on his shoulder. He knew how hard it was for me to do anything when his face was buried against me, knew how talented he was with that tongue, but still, he didn’t have any pity for me.
“Answer daddy,” he admonished, slapping the back of one of my thighs, almost making me fall to my knees. “C’mon, sweet girl. You know how much I hate when you leave me unanswered.”
Taking a deep breath to try to gather my thoughts, it was hard for me to even remember what it was that he’d asked me in the first place. Finally, after another slap, this one over my ass, which he took the opportunity to grab after, I managed to spill out an “I-I don’t know, daddy.”
It wasn’t the answer Andy wanted, that much I knew, so it didn’t surprise me too much when he detached myself from my pussy after one last lick, before getting up to his full height, his hands immediately going to his belt.
“You know that’s not good enough, baby. Get on your knees for me.” I bit on my lower lip to stop a smile from appearing on my face, for the sake of our game. This was supposed to be a punishment, I knew that. I couldn’t very well just show him how eager I was to have his taste on my tongue again.
But the smirk he sported as he slapped his cock against my cheek let me know he was well aware of the fact. The number of times I’d been called his cockslut, after all, couldn’t very well be forgotten by the very man who had trained me to take him like a pro.
“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re thinking, sweetheart,” he warned, making me bite the inside of my cheek to stop the giggles that I could feel rising through my chest. “But if you let daddy fuck your throat the way he likes, he just might give you what you want. Open up,” he orders and I, ever dutifully and simply his, do exactly as he says, my tongue sticking out to welcome his weight on my mouth.
“Shit, baby, I always forget how incredible you feel,” he comments mindlessly, and despite knowing it was nothing less than a compliment, it hurts my chest for a moment the possibility of him going home and simply pretending that I don’t exist, ignoring how great I can make him feel.
Blinking away the tears that were already rising under my eyelids, I couldn’t really attribute them to the lack of oxygen yet, but I was hoping the excuse would fit if one managed to escape. So I blindly reached out for Andy’s ass and pulled him to me, effectively choking myself on his dick.
“Jesus fucking CHRIST, what has gotten into you today?” He asked as he pulled me back from his cock by my hair, and I coughed a bit as I gathered my breath, before shaking my head as well as I could while he kept his grip on me.
“Nothing, daddy. I just really want to pleasure you.” He looked suspicious again, but now wasn’t the time to inquire about it. Not when his cock was throbbing, the red tip leaking precum drops that you were too eager to lap up. “Fuck, okay. But stay put, alright, princess? Let daddy decide the pace.”
Your mouth-watering at the sight of him helped the blowjob immediately become sloppy, just like he liked. “Fuckkkk. Just like that, baby girl. Now, relax your throat, okay?” I did as he said, allowing him to dip my head back as I reminded myself to breathe through my nose before he immediately started to fuck his cock on my throat, provoking my gag reflex to act up and the tears to start again.
“Hold it, baby. We both know you can. Don’t you like it when daddy’s cock is nested inside your pretty throat? When you can’t breathe and it’s all because of me?” His hand gripped my neck, aiding the asphyxiation as he felt himself inside of me. “Oh, yeah. See? This is why daddy loves coming to see you. Only you can treat him so. fucking. well.”
After a particularly hard thrust that left me coughing out my lungs, he pulled me to my feet by my hair before throwing me on the bed, face down. “And since you’ve been such a good little girl for daddy, he’ll give you what you want.”
I could feel my wetness dripping down my thighs as I heard him open the condom packet. Just the sound of the foil was enough to make me whimper. Behind me, I could hear Andy chuckle at my eagerness.
“Such a good little princess for me. So crazy for my cock, huh?” The blunt head of his length rubbing against my throbbing clit was exactly enough to get me even needier for him. I sucked in a breath as he teased me for a little while, rubbing himself over my opening but never actually pushing in.
Andy’s P.O.V.
“Y-yes, daddy. Only for your cock.” Fuck, she just knew exactly what to say to make me lose control. This was precisely why I needed her so much. Why I couldn’t even feel bad about what I was doing. Not when she was the only one with whom I could actually be myself.
Thrusting inside of her for the first time in a night was always the best feeling, probably akin only to walking through the gates of heaven, perhaps because that’s what she was to me: my own little piece of heaven, my angel on Earth.
“You okay, sweetheart?” I asked, my heart overflowing with emotions I couldn’t allow myself to feel as I carefully brushed the strands of her hair away from her face, so I could hold them all in my makeshift ponytail. When she hummed in agreement, that’s when I felt comfortable enough to start thrusting in and out of her, appreciating the wet sounds of her pussy trying to keep my cock inside of her.
“Daddy… please…” She begged, her hands reaching forward to hold onto the duvet of her bed while I abided by her desires and started to fuck into her harder. She really was my other half, the only one who understood and reciprocated my needs.
“Daddy got you, little one. Just hold on tight.” Her hands practically curled into fists, I started to fully pound her against the mattress, one of my hands coming around her to hug her back to me, while I played with her clit. “Such a perfect little girl for your daddy. Now daddy needs you to cum around him, can you do that, princess? Can you be a good girl for me?”
The dirty talk always got to her, and within seconds she was trembling in my arms, gasping in need of air as her pussy milked my cock until all of my cum was safely inside the condom.
I could still remember when we had that discussion. I obviously had wanted to fuck her raw, but that was one of the only limits she established right away. “You’re still gonna be fucking your wife, I need to be safe.”
The fact that I hadn’t felt anything when she pointed out that if I was cheating, Laurie could very well be doing the same, should have shown me just how screwed up I was. “Princess…” I started after cleaning us both with a wet towel from the bathroom. She looked up at me expectantly, obviously curious about what I had to say, but the seconds our eyes met, she already knew the subject I was going to approach.
“No, Andy. Let it go! We’ve been through this already.” Sighing, I couldn’t help but smile as I sat down by her side on the bed, as always fascinated by the fact that she could so easily read what was on my mind.
“As incredible as you are, baby girl, I don’t think you know precisely what I got to say, and the truth is, I need you to hear this.” She shut her mouth at that, but still pouted, showing me how skeptical she was.
Chuckling softly, I held her hands in mine before caressing her cheek, trying to show her through the intensity of my gaze that my words were 100% honest. “The reason I got so shocked by what you said was that I was overcome with the desire to do just that. To move in here, with you.”
For a few seconds, no one said anything. It was just her and me, her eyes twice their usual size as she blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of what I had just said. “But, Andy…” Sighing, I already knew what she was going to say, so I just squeezed the hand I was still holding, signaling that she didn’t need to say anything yet.
“I know, baby. I know.” I wrapped an arm around her shoulder, hugging her to me and giving a kiss on her forehead, hoping that she could once again understand what I wanted to say, even if I couldn’t yet put it into words. “I just wanted you to know.”
#andy barber#andy barber smut#smut#my fics#andy barber fanfiction#andy barber fan fiction#andy barber one shot#andy barber reader#andy barber one-shot#andy barber x reader#andy barber imagine#andy barber imagine fanfiction
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