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th3sp4rr0w · 7 months

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Day Eight

A03 Link <- Starts at Chapter/Day One for those just joining us :))

Prompts For Day Eight Panic Attacks/Dissociation/Seizures

Alt. Prompt For Day Eight Electrocution

Prompts Used for Day Eight All

Tw's; Violence, Choking, Medical Talk, Seizures, Dubious Medical Accuracy, Past Child Death (does that count? I'mma count it), Dissociation, Panic Attack

Chapter eight under the cut :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The following two and a half weeks were hell.

By that Monday, the media was spreading rumors around about Sheila’s death and Jason’s... compromised state. They had become vultures, camping out in front of the manor. More than once Alfred tried to shoo them off, stating it was a private family matter. They had a field day when Dick rushed through the doors in the middle of the night when he got back from his mission.

The bat cave had become a quiet, solemn place. Jason would’ve hated it, the way that Bruce walked around like a ghost and Dick sat vigil at his side. He would’ve made fun of them, telling them he’s not going anywhere. He’d probably hit them lightly and crack a joke to make them laugh just to get rid of the serious atmosphere.

While he wasn’t in a coma, per say, he was rarely concious and aware enough to do much of anything. The world passed by without him as he sat in his bed, healing. Bruce might’ve gotten him out of Ethiopia, but he was beginning to wonder if it would’ve been more merciful for the boy if he hadn’t.

They hadn’t been able to stitch his cheek. The burns looked almost as bad as the day he’d come in and were still huge infection risks. Lesli and Bruce had done their best to prevent that, all rigorous schedules and preventative measures. It was soothing that someone was as worried about his baby boy as he was, but it was suffocating all the same. Watching his little boy fight so hard yet-

They had started debating the merits of a medically induced coma. A couple of the times he’d woken up he irritated his injuries, setting them back days' worth of healing in seconds. For every step they took forwards, Jason took 2 steps backwards. Bruce had no doubts his baby boy was fighting, but how much fight could one person have left? Especially after such traumatic injuries?

Bruce stroked his hair gently. He adjusted the zebra they’d put in the bed with him, setting him more firmly in the crook of Jason’s arm. It really was amazing what people did in these types of situations; Bruce thinks this one colorful, nice toy may be the only reason he’s still in one piece.

He sighed. “I have to go now, Jay-lad,” he said softly. He ran a finger down his cheek gently, careful to avoid the cuts and bruises. “I promise I’ll be back after patrol,” he swore, “Lesli’s coming soon to change your dressings. I’ll see you later, sweetheart.”

He steeled himself. This was how he controlled the situation; Schedules. Patrol. Routine. Zebra plushy that he hoped like hell comforted Jason, even if he wasn’t completely aware of his surroundings at the moment.

He put on the cowl, and everything went away. He couldn’t afford being emotionally compromised on patrol; it was a good way to get killed. He had things to do and people to beat into the ground.

He knew Commissioner Gordon was getting concerned. He knew he was breaking Alfred’s heart, but he couldn’t help it. The part of his humanity, his better half, was sitting in that bed with Jason. Batman wasn’t feeling very merciful towards the same world that had put his baby, his son, in a hospital bed that he might not ever come out of.

He sat back, watching. Sometimes the shadows looked deeper than they were. The bat felt watched, but every time he tried to investigate what it was, something would happen.

He knew what the rumors on the street were. People had started saying that the bat had gone rogue, getting rougher and rougher with the criminals he caught. Pictures of the people he was hurting ended up online at one point. It was a shit show.

Several hours into his patrol, he heard a scream. He followed it.

Things don’t pause just because you’re going through something. That was something Bruce knew intimately, and it was something his boys knew, too. Yes, it sucked. Yes, it would be nice if you could just press pause on your life and mourn in peace, but that wasn’t an option. It never had been, and it never would be.

He found a purse snatcher harassing a woman. He punched the man, grabbing the purse back for the woman, who ran immediately. The man tried to kick his knee out, but the bat was faster, getting the guy on the ground with his arm around his neck.

“You think it’s funny to steal from people?” he growled out. The man shook his head. “Didn’t mommy ever teach you not to steal?” he asked, tightening his grip a fraction.

“Yes! She did!” the man yelped, tears starting to flow down his face.

“Then why’d you do it?”

The man didn’t respond. Batman heard a gasping sound, but he rolled his eyes. He wasn’t holding the man’s throat that hard. He tightened his grip just a fraction out of spite.

Click!

The noise was small. Small enough, it probably wouldn’t have been noticed if it wasn’t unusually quiet.

Batman’s hand flew to his belt, grabbing a baterang. He threw it into the shadows without a second thought, hearing a small shuffle. He heard it hit the wall. He heard feet, spinning maybe? Before they started running, near silently. Batman fished a zip tie out of his belt, sticking the purse snatcher’s hands together before he went to go after... whoever that was.

He got a signal from the cave, alerting him that someone had broken in. He cursed loudly.

He changed courses. He’d be investigating that later, but for now, he had a kid he needed to check on.

He raced to the cave, fearing the worst. Batman had adjusted the security in the cave a million times, but someone always managed to figure it out eventually. Staying two steps ahead meant paying attention all the time and he’d been so distracted; what if someone broke in to finish the job? Just to say they ki-

No , don’t think like that. He’s fine. Dick was always tripping his security, and with the boy back in the manor, it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that it’d just been an accident and he was now trying his hardest to fix it without Batman knowing. He had left an hour before the bat had; maybe he ran into some trouble and had to run back to the cave.

The idea that his other boy might’ve been trying to hide an injury the way he’d done so many times before made him go a little faster.

When he got to the cave, he immediately went to the med bay. It was not protocol; he was supposed to clear just about everything else before the med bay, to make sure nobody could ambush them from behind. He’d been through it before, and it had saved his life a couple times. But this was different, all he could think of was his little baby bird, so vulnerable, so tiny for his age, so hurt and already had so many enemies. This was all his fault-

He saw something standing above his boy and saw red. He burst into the room, immediately taking the figure by the shoulders, his hands were shaking and-

“What do you think you’re doing?” he growled out.

“Well, I didn’t think that was how we greeted each other now,” the woman said.

His brain caught up to his body as he looked her up and down. “Talia,” his voice was a razor’s edge, “Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Beloved,” she started out, “I heard about Jason’s... condition. I had to see for myself.”

“Come to gloat?”

If she ever allowed herself to feel any sort of emotion, she probably would’ve looked hurt by the statement. As it was, she sniffed. “Why would I do that, beloved? Your pain brings me no joy,” she said.

Batman twitched, “Then why are you here?”

Talia hummed. “I may have a solution,” she offered.

The bat raised an eyebrow. Al Ghul solutions rarely aligned themselves with basic moral integrity so he’s sure this is going to be good. He grunted.

“There are always the pits,” she said.

“No.”

“Bruce-”

“No.”

“What other choice do you have, beloved?”

“He’ll live. I will make sure of it.”

“Beloved, you know as well as I do that there is nothing we can do to make certain of that. Let me heal him with the pits.”

“I’ve seen what those things do to people. What they did to your father. I will not put my son through that.”

“Beloved, we can deal with whatever side effects come up. As long as he lives, what does it matter?”

Batman narrowed his eyes. “Why are you being so insistent?”

Talia looked at him a moment. “There will come a day,” she said, “Where you will find something that I have hidden away for quite some time. And when that day comes, I hope this will help you to forgive me.”

The man looked over at Jason, checking over the equipment and making sure it was all in place. His eye caught something.

“You tucked his zebra in with him,” he murmured.

She stayed still. “What would make you think I did such a thing?”

Bruce took a deep breath. “He moves, sometimes. He can’t hold a conversation or eat or go to the bathroom on his own, but he shuffles every so often. We have to adjust his blankets and the zebra every few hours. They’re both in place right now. Besides,” he looked at her, “I always tuck it underneath his right arm. You’ve got it under his left.”

“Ever observant I see,” she brushed off the act.

Bruce looked down at his boy, brushing his hair out of his eyes for just a moment. He looked smaller and smaller these days, especially against Bruce’s gloved hands.

“Beloved,” she whispered, “He won’t survive like this much longer.”

Neither were good at tender care. It was a miracle this hadn’t devolved into a screaming match as it was. This was perhaps the most vulnerable either had ever been together.

Love could not fix all. He had learned that lesson time and time again with Selina; with Talia, it was like all previous experience flew out the window faster than Superman could.

“Talia,” he started, wetting his lips. “I...”

The heart monitor started to beep. Both adults snapped their heads over to the machine, showing that the heart rate had spiked dramatically. When they looked down at Jason, they saw he had gone stiff. He let out a soft groan.

“Jason?” Bruce asked. “You awake, chum?”

He didn’t answer. His jaw was clenched tight. Batman looked over him, trying to figure out what was wrong when it clicked. That was when he started convulsing.

The bat rolled him onto his side. “Talia, time it,” he barked out.

The boy’s head flopped, and his joints jerked.

The movies had always made it look like people just flopped like fish out of nowhere. Whenever someone had a seizure on the screen when he was little, Alfred would scoff at it, say something about how it wasn’t accurate and if they were going to portray it at all, they needed to do it correctly. As an adult, he didn’t necessarily disagree, but in moments like these, he understood why they went with that version. This was way more terrifying than the fish flopping motions of the big screen.

Jason drooled. Fresh blood in the saliva indicated that Jason had bitten something in his mouth, he’d have to check that. He knew he likely couldn’t comprehend anything right now, but he still whispered reassurances, nevertheless. At this point he wasn’t sure if they were for Jason or for himself.

It finally started slowing down. Residual jerks still hit his little body, but the seizure was over. Batman could see a wet spot in the sheets.

His blood pressure dropped for a few terrifying seconds before evening out. His heart rate had come down slightly from its peak during the seizure, but still had not come down to normal levels.

“How long?” he demanded, beginning to check tubes and adjust medications.

“Nearly six minutes,” Talia responded immediately. “Beloved-”

“I know,” he snapped. He started stripping the sheets.

Talia left the room. He supposed that meant she was done with him.

He put the soiled sheets in a pile on the floor to be cleaned up later.

As he worked, he felt a presence enter the room. He spared a glance at the door.

Talia placed the clean sheets on a chair by the bed. A bowl of warm water was placed on the table. She pulled a rag from her pocket and wet it, ringing it out before bringing it to Jason’s lips, gently wiping the saliva from his injured cheeks.

They had once known each other’s next move as easy as breathing. They had discerned what the other was thinking with just a glance, had never found the need to communicate with anything except for their own unspoken language. To love so intimately was what most people only dreamed of. Sometimes, however, to love is to be loved. Neither had ever been taught how, that gentle touches and intimate gestures meant everything to a relationship.

In a way, this was why they could never work out. Talia would always yearn to be chosen over everything. Bruce would always choose something else before her; the mission, the city, his kids. She would always choose her father over him. Neither had ever loved something so intimately that it was never a question of choosing. They loved each other, sure. If this were a ‘Once Upon a Time’ fairy tale with a ‘And They All Lived Happily Ever After’ ending, they’d certainly be the perfect couple for the story. Maybe if they had been just a bit more mature all those years ago, they wouldn’t be sitting in silence tending over an injured child in near-perfect synch now.

The silence between them was a cool calm and an earth-shattering explosion all in one. The fragile truce between them ached. The past could not be undone; this was what fighting for the future looked like.

It was Talia who broke the tender silence, nearly done wiping off the completely unconscious boy.

“You know it must be done if he is to survive,” she said gently.

Bruce held the clean sheets. “I know,” he said eventually.

“But will you do it?”

The question was not unkind. Bruce stood still.

“Beloved, you are killing yourself trying to care for him,” she wrapped herself around him, “Let me do this for you. Take him to the pits.”

Bruce took a breath. “Fine. I’ll take him to the pits,” he said softly. “But we’re not dunking him.”

Talia looked at him like he had grown a second head. “What do you mean by that?”

He fell back into “Batman” as easily as breathing. This was the hardest part of loving Bruce; at the end of the day, he would always be the bat first and Bruce second.

“I have a plan,” he said simply.

He took the cot gently, unhooking parts of the equipment to make it mobile before walking towards the transportation area of the cave. He gestured her to follow.

She waited for him to elaborate. When it was clear he’d need more prompting, she asked, “What is your plan, beloved?”

He stayed silent for a second. “Microdosing the waters.”

She blinked. She hadn’t the faintest idea what that was supposed to mean in this context.

She didn’t ask. She knew she wouldn’t get an answer and she wasn’t one to waste her breath begging for one.

The Bat prepared the plane quickly, double checking fuel levels, rations, and medical supplies before they prepped Jason, propping up his legs and arms. They worked in synch to check and recheck tubes and wires, moving the monitor onto the plane near the cot.

“Are you flying, or am I?” Talia asked.

The bat grunted. “You’re the one who knows where we’re going,” he said simply.

She nodded and went to the front of the plane.

Tension between her and her father had been rising as of late. She knew within the next few years she’d be sending her own baby to live with this very man. Knowing this, hearing about Jason was like getting ice water dumped on her head. In truth, she had visited to see what kind of man lets his son be caught so unprepared.

She knew he was soft. Richard had proven that time and time again. Bruce had had his patience tested by both boys' numerous times, but this had taken the cake.

She set her course to an island she was certain her father had forgotten about. The Lazarus pit there had just formed and was currently undiscovered by anyone except herself.

She had been meaning to kidnap the child herself and take him to the pit. If the bat couldn’t protect his, he wouldn’t be able to protect hers. She knew it would be a stretch, but in that moment, she had a dream and a half-formed plan. She hadn’t expected to...

She wasn’t soft. She had just realized Bruce cared for the boy a little more than she realized initially, seeing the colorful little zebra plush he had with him. The same one Bruce had been careful not to knock off the medical cot, even during the grand mal seizure.

Seeing it by his side was... clarifying for her. Bruce would stop at nothing for his boys.

She was not blind, nor incompetent. She knew that one day, no matter if she wanted to or not, she would no longer be able to protect her own son. She knew that the day was coming when her father would want to push him to the ground, and she knew that, although he wasn’t weak by any stretch of the imagination, he would not get back up.

When that day came, Bruce would be his best bet for survival.

So, she had picked the thing up. She had adjusted the child’s blankets and tried not to think about how small he was for his age. She tucked the toy under his arm and pretended her heart didn’t ache and mourned for the time she wasted not doing this for her son. She purposely triggered the alarm system and waited.

She flipped switches and double-checked flights and wind patterns, pushing the plane just a little faster.

She knew her beloved would not reject him. He was too good of a man for that. But she also knew that it would likely change their relationship in a way that could not be reversed. She probably deserved it to be for the worse, keeping this secret from him as long as she had.

Seeing how much effort he put into the care and attention he was giving his son, she hoped doing this for them would make their relationship change for the better. That when he hated her and cursed her name, he would remember what she’d done and realize she had good reason.

She could only hope he would not come to resent the time they’d spent together.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Running from a government agency and his parents was both easier and harder than Danny had assumed it would be.

After getting out of Amity, it was about two days before Danny saw traces of the GIW. He wore hoodies and long pants to help minimize the number of times he’d be recognized, and he’s pretty sure the agents he spotted weren’t looking for him.

Team Phantom had started stirring up the pot with help from Star. They were biding their time, waiting for the shit storm to get just a little bigger before they strike. It hadn’t been hitting anything other than local news so far, but they had started seeing a couple people that didn’t live in the town start posting about the weird things that go on in Amity.

He’d been trying to take random buses and trains to Metropolis. There was a reporter there that was killer at reporting human rights violations, and she would absolutely eat this up. She had enough credibility and notoriety to blow this up. He’d probably be homeless until Jazz moved out for college, but at least his existence wouldn’t be illegal anymore.

You’d think that running from the literal government agency trying to commit genocide against his people would be the hardest part about this. Hell, he’d have put money on creating a social media buzz before he guessed what the most difficult part would be.

“I’m sorry, kid,” the bus attendant didn’t sound very apologetic, “I just can’t book you a ticket. You need an adult.”

Danny sighed. “I understand,” he said, pulling out an extra $100. “If there’s truly nothing you can do...”

The attendant looked unimpressed, pressing the money he’d tried giving them for the ticket back into his hand. “There’s not.”

… Yeah. Turns out, people care way more about kids getting on buses and trains alone than he realized. Home Alone made it look so easy.

He could normally find someone willing to make an exception for the right price, but luck was not on his side today. He had to catch this bus though; it was the only one going to New Jersey, period , for days. He’d wasted enough time going random places to lose the GIW. He didn’t have days; every second they waited to drop this was another second it was legal to hunt ghosts. They’d already noticed ghosts going missing and it had only just clicked where they were going.

He looked around. He hated having to do this, but something about desperation and measures, right?

He spotted a big family he could probably blend into. A couple of the kids were older than him, the rest looked younger. The younger kids were getting super fussy. They had a baby with them. They all had black hair. They all had bags. Perfect.

He fell into line behind them. He moved his backpack from his back to slightly in front of him to prevent it from getting looted.

The parents up front talked to the ticket people. The blood rushed in his ears as he followed them through and on the bus behind them. They didn’t question it as he boarded the bus.

He stuck close to the family in case the driver looked back. He held his bag in his lap as he pulled out the NEW new phone Tucker and Sam had given him. He thought it was overkill to get a whole new phone and number, but they’d been paranoid that his new-old one would get tracked. They had new group chats, they made him new social media, the whole works. They’d made vague plans before in case this happened, but he didn’t know they’d put that much thought into it.

At least Tucker had the forethought to download the new Dumpty Humpty album onto this phone. He hadn’t gotten the chance to listen to it yet.

He pressed play after connecting his headphones. The music flooded his ears and soothed him.

He felt a tap on his shoulder. He looked over to see one of the kids from the family he’d followed onto the bus.

He took out an earbud. “... Yes?”

“Is that the new Dumpty Humpty album?”

“Yeah?”

“That’s so cool! I haven’t gotten the chance to listen to it yet.”

Danny nodded and offered an earbud. “Wanna listen with me? This is my first listen through myself.”

The kid’s face lit up. “Yes!”

They sat together, listening to the album. Danny figured this was the best way to pay them back for their unwitting service.

The hours they were on the bus was nice compared to the walking he’d done recently. He was wary of using his powers for the most part.

He was... almost shocked at how good his luck was being right now... then the bus stopped about an hour before it was supposed to. Everybody stood up.

He stood with them, out of options. The kid he’d sat with struck a conversation with him and they swapped numbers. They parted ways after making sure the numbers were correct.

Danny pretended he wasn’t flipping out inside as he tried to figure out where the hell he’d ended up.

He finally caught a sign and cursed under his breath. Out of all the places-

He took a deep breath. He was in Gotham City.

… At least nobody would question it if a teenager was alone. They might not even question it if a kid wanted to rent a hotel room by himself, like they certainly would in Metropolis. The only cons were just about everything else.

Also, he was pretty damn sure he was in another ghost’s haunt. This was so bad; he was so fucked.

He knew he couldn’t stay in the station. He could figure out if there was a bus that took him close to the sunshine city tomorrow; right now, it was too late for a bus to be running. He made his way out of the station and into the city.

It was nighttime, which was... not great. He didn’t know much about Gotham, but he knew it was colossally stupid to be out at night. Everyone was pretty sure that the giant man bat that flew around and his robins were fake, but the villains and crime rates were extremely real.

He spotted a 24-hour café. Perfect.

He peaked in, seeing a child smaller than him getting a coffee. There were a couple of adults around. Nobody particularly sleazy looking- he was pretty sure they were just college students. He was about to go inside when he felt something cold bubble in his chest. He brought his hand to his mouth before the frost could spew out so it looked like he took a hit off a vape, assuming anyone was watching.

He looked around, spotting something on the roof. Something told him he wanted to go up there. He sighed.

He got a bad feeling. His instincts weren’t always correct, but this was so visceral he decided he needed to listen to it. He walked into the shop.

He walked over to the little kid. “Hi,” he greeted.

He gave him a weird look. “... Hi?”

“I’ll give you $300 if you watch my bag,” he said. “If you want to leave before I get back, bring it with you, please.” The words came out of his mouth before he knew what he was saying.

The kid blinked owlishly at him. “What?”

“Look,” he said, “My entire life’s in here. I need to go see someone,” he really hoped the spirit of Gotham was nice- “I need you to watch my bag, but if I don’t come back in like, 20 minutes, take it with you.”

The kid looked at him for a few more seconds before nodding. “Keep your money. Go do whatever it is you need to do, Jason.”

Danny paused. You know what? Not gonna question it.

“Thanks, kid,” he said, already walking out, “I’ll probably be back!”

He missed the look the kid shot at him as he rushed out the door and into an alley. Danny assumed he’d probably think he was participating in illegal activities. He just hoped he didn’t ditch his bag somewhere.

He transformed in the alley behind a dumpster. He flew up towards the rooftop he’d seen the figure on and landed.

“Um, I assume you wanted to see me?” he said nervously.

A woman with kinky black hair in an afro turned to face him. Her skin was shiny with dark, swirling colors, like an oil slick. Her eyes were like honey; golden brown and sweet. They bore into him like they were seeing his very soul. She smiled; her teeth were like white stars. She felt safe; like she was a grandmother ushering him inside for a home-cooked meal and a hot shower after getting caught in the rain.

She also felt like she was a force to be reckoned with when she had something to protect, and she gave off the vibe that she had plenty of things still worth protecting.

“Yes. Welcome to my city, great one.”

He startled out a laugh. “Sorry, I didn’t expect you to call me that,” he apologized immediately.

“It’s quite alright,” she reassured. “It’s just not every day I see other ghosts that did not pass within my haunt.”

“I’m sorry,” he said immediately. “I did not mean to be here.”

“Small one,” the nickname felt right coming from her, “You have been mine from day one. You have always been welcomed here.”

“What do you mean?”

“You are still alive,” she said instead of answering. “And yet you are dead. A perfect balance,” she surmised.

“That’s one way to put it,” he chuckled nervously.

She looked him up and down. “You would be good for my knights,” she said. “They have also lost a great deal recently.

He immediately thought of the news that had been circulating around. “You mean the Waynes’?”

Her smile was sad. “Yes, though at this time of day, we call them the bats.”

Danny’s brain screeched to a halt. “What?”

“I must leave now, small one,” she said, not unkindly. “You are welcome within my haunt at any time. I am sorry for everything that has happened. I mourn for what must happen,” she ended.

“What?” he repeated. This didn’t make sense.

She cupped his cheek. “I always forget how little they are,” she muttered to herself. “So small. So troubled. Already so hurt.”

She kissed his cheek, and she was gone.

He sat, thinking of what she said. The weight of the situation hit him all at once, and suddenly, he couldn’t think.

His body stopped feeling like his. Like he had overshadowed someone and forgot. He almost looked down to make sure he hadn’t.

His brain felt too full, yet incredibly empty. His thoughts were too fast to capture for more than a few seconds before they slipped away like sand.

What did she mean? Hadn’t he been through enough? What had his mom meant? What did the spirit mean when she said he was hers-

Everything was nothing and nothing was everything. Up was down and down was left. Nothing made sense anymore. He felt fragile in a way he hadn’t felt for a long time; like he was a little kid again and got separated from his parents in a supermarket. He’d tried being strong. Being strong meant nothing if you still lost the people you loved to things you couldn’t control.

His feet hit the roof. He started to pace.

What did she mean? What did she mean? What did she mean-

He heard something hit the roof besides him. He heard the buzz and the crackle of electricity, mixing with the haze that had clouded his mind.

He was 14, hanging out with his friends-

“What are you doing here-”

They were in the lab-

“Stop.”

“Go inside the portal, Danny” “Wouldn’t it be fun, Danny” “It’ll be fine, Danny-”

“What?”

He stepped inside-

“Stop it, stop-”

He tripped-

“Hey, what’s going on, bud?”

He saw green.

He shot a green ball involuntarily. The crackle turned into a roar as-

White. White light blinded his vision. He screamed.

His left hand ached, but he couldn’t force it away from the live wire-

Every time he thought it was over,

ԌЯ

ԌЯЄ

ԌЯЄЄ

ԌЯЄЄҊ

It suffocated him. He was going to die, he was gonna die, he was dead-

The same thing killing him was reviving him over, and over, and over-

“Kid!” he heard a shout.

He whimpered. This was awful, why couldn’t-

Where was-

“Jazz!” he wailed.

“What?”

“Jazz!”

He wanted her to hug him. He’d been awful to her this week, she was just trying to make sure he had a good transition into high school-

What?

With that thought, everything stopped. He snapped back to reality, exhausted. His scars glowed and ached. There was a little blue man in front of him.

“Hey, buddy,” he said, trying to be soothing. “You back with me?”

He opened his mouth. Nothing came out.

His hearing started being weird. The chatter of the street down below was deafening before it was silent. He was numb.

The panic that had filled his body just moments before was gone in favor of just... nothing. It was like his head got stuffed with newspaper where his brain should be.

He wasn’t in his body but there was nowhere else for him to be. The little blue man kept talking, he could see him talking, but he couldn’t follow where the conversation was supposed to be going.

The little blue man started looking at him closer. He reached his hand out to touch him.

He tried to move his body to avoid it. It was like he was a puppet that had been cut free of its strings and lost the ability to move. The little blue man pulled him to his chest.

He could feel tears in his hair. The man must be crying. He wished he could comfort him. He wanted to get out of his grip and figure out what made the blue man upset, but he just... couldn’t.

He watched the world pass by them. He could see the kid with his backpack leave the café. Somewhere inside him he recognized he needed to go get it. He wanted to.

He felt like a doll. Just a tiny porcelain thing, being stuck at the whimsy and fantasy of a child somewhere. He imagined a field of flowers, soft, sunny and warm. The marigolds would consume him someday, but for now he was content-

He tried to focus on the man hugging him and weeping. He felt like he was watching someone else’s life. This wasn’t meant for him.

The man held him like he was something precious and not a stain or something to be disgusted by. He kept saying something. The words passed through him like-

He felt a jolt from his left hand all the way to his chest. His scars throbbed a glowing green.

He couldn’t muster up enough energy to react as it burned. If he focused too hard, he could smell burnt flesh that wasn’t there. The man put a hand in his hair.

It was funny. His hands were like his mom’s, but he pet him like Jazz does.

A redhead landed on the roof next to them, beginning to speak. He couldn’t understand her, either, but he wanted to. He tried to open his mouth to speak. Nothing came out.

It felt like he would be useless forever. The feel of the suit against his body was jarring as he was moved. He tried to focus on the man.

“... Just like Jace, Babs.”

“Codenames, Nightwing,” the woman said, not unkindly. “And I don’t think he’s Robin.”

“What if-”

“’Wing, look,” she said softly, grabbing his hand and tracing the burning scars. “Rob doesn’t have these.”

“What if-”

“Batman’s got him,” she assured him.

His brain tuned out the noise again, even as they continued speaking. The woman kept glancing at him. He thought she was asking him questions.

The man scooped him up, securing him tight against his chest.

The world was passing by in a... literal blur? He wasn’t sure of what was going on. He thought he could feel cold wind on his face, like he was flying, but then his stomach would drop and they’d be flying again.

There was something to be said about it. The assured way he carried him through the city, never once losing his grip. How they never once faltered or hesitated, going through the city. He never got that in Amity.

He’d never had the luxury of being able to feel truly secure in his city. He’d always been the weird kid, the Fenton kid. The one with the odd parents and weird older sister.

Then he died and his parents opened a portal to hell in their basement. Being a vigilante might’ve been a dream come true for some kid out there, but not for him. The role was thrust upon him by fate, calling his name like a siren song. It made his head feel stuffed full of cotton and his heart ached with what he could’ve been.

He sensed none of that here. The frost that had coated his body slowly began to thaw. They... liked doing this, didn’t they? They had chosen to do this.

They moved through their city like they had been doing it all of their lives. They pretty much had. He found himself in awe of them as he felt more human by the second, beginning to see his surroundings for the very first time.

Was this what people meant when they said they wanted to be a hero? Was this why people kept getting into hero work? He’d never known it could be something to love.

He thought of the spirit of the city.

He had never known that being a hero could’ve been something that loved back.

#ailesswhumptober2023 #dp x dc #jason todd #danny fenton #danny phantom #dc robin #robin #batman #ai-less whumptober day eight #kite flies over the nightingale nest

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extravaguk · 3 years

Text

pairing: jungkook x reader

summary: But above all things, the last thing you expected to happen when you came back was to show your tits and get pierced by none other than motherfucking Jeon Jungkook.

Jeon Jungkook. Guk. Gukkie. Jeongukkie.

wordcount: 15k

genre: summer!au, ex high school classmaters, kinda frenemies to lovers, tattoo artist!&piercing artist!jungkook, popular!reader

rated: m (fluff - smut - angst)

warnings: you broke jungkook's heart you bitch!! , oral sex (m&f), protected sex (shocking tbh), CL as your bestie it doesnt get better than that! idk i dont wanna spoil too much

author's note: fucking finally dude!! i've been writing this since february but school was kicking my ass. now that i finished my exams and mercury is in gemini i was able to finish it. if you read this, i hope you enjoy it!

Inkphoria

You've been standing outside the shop re-reading the word for fifteen minutes, although it definitely feels like it has been longer. You're gripping the flyer too tightly, rumpling the paper in your hand until you're pretty much sure it's ruined. It's the first day of June, and it's already too hot. The sun and humid weather are causing beads of sweat to form in your hairline and your white tank top to stick to your skin. Your jean shorts didn't feel this uncomfortable a few hours ago and you're sure the heat is causing your mascara to transfer to your eyelids and lower lashline. You've never needed a slushie and a smoke this bad in forever, even if you knew the later would make your parents lose their shit.

Inkphoria

You read it again. Your brain is trying to guess what font its written in, an excuse to try to steady your heart beat until your nerves ease a little and you can finally gather the courage to step into the damn shop. You've noticed a few people passing by giving you strange looks because maybe it hasn't been fifteen minutes. Perhaps you've been unmoving like an idiot in the middle of the street for longer than you want to admit.

Chaelin's voice echoes inside your head.

'Its not that much of a big deal. It's not even that painful, trust me.'

You wish you could trust your best friend, but your best friend is also the same woman who assured you Cats was the movie of the year. Yes, not 'Cats: The Musical'. 'Cats', the movie.

'And this could be a great start to get out of your comfort zone and start living your life exactly the way you want to, not the way people expect you to. Not the way your family wants you to, not the way Adam wanted you to.'

But although her credibility could sometimes be questionable - like that time she also told you she'd tried marmite and 'honestly, it's not as bad as people make it out to be'-, you also didn't trust anybody in this world as much as you trusted her. She had always been your entire support system, the only one around you who never sugarcoated, who always treated you as an equal, who was always there for you to help you discover yourself and, at the same time, remind you of who you were.

'And it's gonna look so hot, too.'

That's it. Sticking the wrinkled flyer on your back pocket, your feet finally start moving. It doesn't take longer than three strides and you're pushing open the door.

The first thing you notice is that, thankfully, the shop is empty. The second thing you notice is the bright sky blue walls, a green undertone peaking through. Your eyes scan nervously the interior. Frames with tattoo designs and people modeling other different designs decorate the walls, some skateboards also hanging from the ceiling. A few plants in the corner, and two leather couches on either side of the room. Your scanning stops on the counter, where a girl with short, platinium hair and -what you guess is- the eighty percent of her body inked. Face included. She's been looking at you, a smirk tugging at her lips. Her tone is amused when she speaks

"Hi." she says. "You can come closer, you know? We don't bite."

Great. As if you couldn't feel more out of place, apparently you also couldn't look more out of place.

"Sorry." you gulp as you walk forward. "It's my first time doing anything like this."

She laughs this time, but it's not mean. It's not mocking, thank God, and the smile she sends you is as warm as the weather, friendly, luckily helping you calm down a bit. "A virgin, huh? JK's gonna love this." your eyes jump in surprise, but she's fast to wave her hands in front of you. "Just a joke. So, first time getting a tattoo. You have something in mind, honey?"

"Um, no. Not a tattoo. Not yet, I think." you wet your lips, regretting not reaplying chapstick before stepping inside. "A piercing."

"Oh! Cool!" she claps her hands, too excited for your own taste, pulling from under the counter a catalogue. "So, where will it be? Cartilogue? Nose? A lot of people are getting their septums pierced right now, though, so you might-"

"Nipples. Like, one of them."

Her gaze finds yours in surprise, although her face swiftly transforms again into an amiable expression. "Now, that's badass. Alright!" she skims through the pages of the catalogue until she finds the nipple piercing collection. You scratch your head before wiping your forehead sweat-free. "You can pick either barbells or hoops, although barbells heal faster and they don't move around as much. There's different kinds of metal, too. Gold or platinium. If your skin is sensitive, I recommend titanium. It's hypoallergenic and not as problematic."

The blonde keeps talking as you nod your head, a smile making its way into your face while silently thanking her for her easygoing personality. It quickly makes you feel comfortable and stupid for being so terrified of doing this.

Once you decide, settle on the cost and sign the papers, she stands up from the stool she'd been sitting on. "Ok, I'll go tell my coworker. He's been sketching tattoos all morning, it's time he gets to work!" she laughs, but suddenly your smile banishes and your throat shuts down.

"He?" your alarmed tone halts her motions and she looks back at your frightened expression.

He? A he is going to pierce your nipple? You're about to let a random stranger, a HE, see and touch one of your boobs and then pierce a needle through one of your nipples?

"Oh, baby, don't worry. I'd do it myself if I knew how to, but I only do tattoos. Most of our staff are on summer vacation so it's mostly just him and I. If you don't feel comfortable, which is totally understandable, you can wait until september when Minzy comes back and she can do it for you." It's her turn to scratch the back of her head as she adds: "but trust me, we're professionals. He's not a creep or anything like that. He's been doing this for a long time. He won't cross any boundaries."

September? You won't even be here in september. Fuck.

Sure, you could do it when you move back into the city. But this summer was supossed to be the summer. You already decided after your breakup with Adam that there would be no trace of the old you. That it was time to push yourself, to do the things that you've always wanted to do, unapologetically. To find the new you, the real you. To stop being scared.

So after going through you options for a few seconds and taking a deep breath, you make up your mind.

"It's fine. I can do it."

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"JK, sweetheart!"

Jungkook is finishing drawing a Chinese dragon when Mijoo opens the door without knocking. Again. He puts the pen down, rubbing his eyes. It's monday, a slow monday, not much work, and he had hoped it would stay that way until closing time. It's summer and Jungkook hates summer. He hates the heat, he hates being drenched in sweat, and he hates the fact that he can do nothing about it. Because working in the summer is terrible. Summer makes him lazy, makes him want to bathe in a tub full of iced water and not get out until he turns into a raisin and october comes. It makes him irritable. Summer makes him annoyed by people -like Mijoo, even if he loves her to death- and himself.

"I got a girl here who wants a nipple piercing, her first piercing by the way, so get your shit ready and bla bla bla. Straight titanium barbell. Also, don't flirt and don't be creepy. She almost ran away when I told her a male was going to be touching and piercing her tit, be mindful of that. She's too cute, if you want to get her number you should wait until it's done. I think that's it. I'll bring her in in a minute."

Mijoo leaves as fast as she talks, but Jungkook is already used to it. He's already used to the headaches her mouth causes too. He sighs before standing up, tying his too-long raven hair into the best bun he can manage. He washes his hands, sets the table up, sits on the chair and puts the gloves on. He's too busy sterilizing the jewerly when Mijoo comes back with you.

"Alright, my babies. I'll leave you to it." she turns to you. "He'll explain everything, from how the process will be to how to take care of it after it's done." she leaves before saying bye, closing the door behind her, and then he finally turns to you.

Your eyes meet and suddenly everything stops. He almost drops the sterilizing machine, his whole body tensing, going into panic mode as he recognizes you immediatly. His hands shake.

Of course he does. Of course he recognizes his high school crush. The too goody two shoes, too pretentious and too rich, too good for everybody and, most importantly, 'too good for Jeon Jungkook' girl of his high school dreams. Of course he recognizes the girl he had confessed his stupid crush to when he was sixteen. Of course he recognizes the girl who rejected and broke his young and foolish heart when he was a dumb teenager.

It doesn't matter that six years have passed ever since. He still knows every lock of your hair like the palm of his hand. He still remembers the shape of your lips and the exact shade of your eyes. He can still identify the body he fantasized about -and jacked off to- when he was a hormonal teen, now filled in all the right places. Now a grown woman.

Just one look at you after years and years of pining is enough to almost make him faint. And grow a boner under his jeans.

And by the look on your face, your eyes wide and your mouth agape, you recognize him as well.

Dammit.

He schools his features and clears his throat. Forces his body to relax and compose himself, because he's not a teenager anymore. He's also a grown man, who has matured, who now has much more experience with women than he did back then. He had already embarrased himself enough when he was sixteen to be doing it all over again. You're just another attractive girl in a sea of attractive women.

He turns to you. You still haven't said anything. Neither has he.

"Um, you can sit on the table." he manages, motioning to the set up in front of him. He watches you taking doubtful steps until you're sitting down, your eyes avoiding his gaze. He almost forgot you were here to get pierced. Holy shit, you were here to get pierced. To get your nipple pierced.

You're a professional, Jungkook. You can do this, Jungkook. You've seen boobs before, Jungkook. You've pierced nipples before, Jungkook.

Clearing his throat again and forcing his hands to stay by his side, he speaks. "The... The top." your gaze finds his, like a puppy about to get scolded. You look at your top, realization dawning on you. "You don't have to take it off. You can just pull it down."

So you do, pulling the straps of the white tank top down and dragging the fabric down with trembling fingers. No bra. Jungkook gulps as your breasts comes into vision. As perfect as he had imagined years ago. His cock twitches. Round, full, perky and so damn inviting he has to hold himself back from latching onto one nipple with his mouth around it and swirling his tongue over the nub until you're a pretty, moaning, little mess on his piercing tabl-

He closes his eyes for just a second before reminding himself to act like the 23 year old Jungkook he's tried so hard to become. The confident, assured Jungkook he is.

"Okay, this is how it'll go. First I'll clean it and scrub it to get rid of any bacteria." he's so glad he hasn't stuttered yet. 23 year old Jungkook doesn't stutter like 17 year old Jungkook. He's also glad he can pick the alcohol bottle and the surgical scrub without trembling. When he faces you again, you're watching his motions with your lip caught between your teeth. That has him swallowing the lump in his throat.

Making eye contact with him again, you take a deep breath and offer a small nod, so he gets to work. He can show you and himself he's a grown man. A grown man who can pierce a nipple without appearing like it's the first time he's seen a boob in his life. The sooner he does it, the sooner it's over.

Jungkook wets the paper towel with alcohol before carefully wiping over your nub with it. Your back arches, probably from the cold feeling, he guesses. He rubs it a few times before throwing it in the trash can nearby. He avoids looking at how enticing the soft peak is salluting him when he reaches for the marker. He doesn't say anything when he dots it with it, jaw clenched and his dick painfully stiff.

"Lay back." his voice low as he commands, turning away to get the clamp. When he slides closer, he tries to ignore the view: you, with your hair sprawled and your sweaty, shiny skin and your eyes focused on the cieling, nipple fully erect, like the star of one of his most erotic dreams. He extends his free gloved hand before he can stop himself, fingers carefully working the nub until he's sure it's painfully hard. Almost as hard as he is.

You gasp, your back arching again. He stills and looks at you, your cheeks flushed pink. Probably from the heat, he guesses again. Or at least that's what he tells himself. He can't stop himself from wondering how responsive would you be in a different setting, most likely his bed while his teeth play with your breast and his cock dives into-

"You okay?" he studies your face, your eyes not meeting his and instead still focusing on the white ceiling.

"Mhm." you reply with a small voice.

"Relax, alright? It'll be over soon." his voice is as gentle as he can, his fingers mindlessly caressing your breast to try to soothe your nerves. Or maybe it's just because he's a selfish bastard. Whatever it is, he forces himself to bring the clamp to your nipple, securing it around it.

"Take a few deep breaths. This will only take a second of pain and then it will go away." He misses the way your mouth falls open, but he doesn't miss the way your eyes squeeze tight as the needle goes in.

"Ah!" he definitely doesn't miss that either. He goes rigid for a second, because that didn't fucking sound like a cry of painfulness. It's breathy, and whiny, not too loud and, for fucks sake, if that's how you sound when you're getting fucked, he swears to God-

He feels your heartbeat under his hands when he puts the barbell in and then the bandage over it. He takes a look at you, chest moving up and down. And then you take a look at him and what he sees is almost enough to take you right there.

Reddened cheeks, drops of sweat framing your face and those eyes glazed with something he's seen too much in the women he's fucked throughout his life. They're half lidded, mascara adorning your long lashes and almost smudged, looking right through him.

"Jungkook..." and your voice, as you say his name -acknowledging him for the first time since you stepped into his shop, for the first time since you were sixteen-, it's hoarse, almost inaudible, like you just came all over his-

He's on his feet in an instant like he's been burned. "It may bleed for the first week, and it can be really sore. The swelling will eventually come down." he's quickly tidying up the table, a bottle in his hand that he hands to you without looking directly. "Wash it gently with this soap and warm water once per day. Don't touch it. Wear a comfortable...bra. If it gets crusty, clean it with saline. Not alcohol or any other thing you might clean a wound with. The soap I just gave you or saline. Nothing else."

He's pacing around the room as he takes his gloves off and throws them in the trash bin, too agressively maybe, then he keeps rambling, like he's hurriedly trying to make you leave as soon as possible. "Avoid pools and the sea. It takes about six months to a year to heal, so don't... don't touch it, don't play with it or..." he clears his throat, "don't let anyone else play with it. And if it gets infected, come back immediately and I'll take a look at it." which he honestly hopes it won't happen. When he faces you, your top is back on and you're getting off the table.

"Alright, um...I'll do that." clearing your throat, your hand gripping the doorknob. "Thank you."

But right before you can exit the room, Jungkook says your name.

"_____." when you turn around to face him, it takes a few seconds for him to make eye contact from across the room. "It was good to see you."

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"Let me see!"

It's the first thing Chaelin says when she opens the door to her appartment. It's on the second floor, small enough to compare it to most expensive appartments you'd stayed in throughout your life, but big enough for Chaelin, her cat and her -impressive- collection of acrylic nail kits and pairs of high heels. It's also big enough for her to offer you the only guest room until summer is over so you didn't have to, one, stay at your parents' place, and two, find an appartment in a short period of time for a short period of time.

When you left years ago, you did so with the thought of 'never looking back'. You never really expected to return here, of all places. Maybe visit your best friend for a weekend at most, have dinner with your parents on a saturday and then go back to the new life you'd made for yourself on a sunday.

But that was before you'd caught Adam cheating.

Tale as old as time: childhood sweethearts get engaged, move in together, son of a bitch sleeps with the assistand he told his girlfriend not to worry about, and then the brokenhearted girl packs her bags and leaves the cheating bastard begging for her to come back.

You'd be lying if you said you were surprised.

Throughout your life, you'd learned to expect many things, regardless of being sheltered and babied by your family since you were born. Watched too much Maury and Dr.Phil. Too much Gossip Girl to know what the deal with life really is.

So, thankfully, you'd only shed a few tears, mostly because your ego and self steem were slightly triggered. You'd realize long before that your feelings for Adam started to disappear once he popped the question and you said yes. Your love story began as teenagers but soon after graduating, the two of you went on different paths: you'd matured, grown into your twenties while he got stuck at 17 and never stopped acting as such.

So yeah, whatever, break ups are hard. But they're not as hard when the love is gone and the sole reason to stay with your partner is to please your parents. You were also right when you expected your mom to tell you to 'forgive and forget' because 'those things just happen, it's not a big deal, honey'.

But above all things, the last thing you expected to happen when you came back was to show your tits and get pierced by none other than motherfucking Jeon Jungkook.

Jeon Jungkook. Guk. Gukkie. Jeongukkie.

The lanky nerd with braces, glasses and an anime obsession much bigger than his hentai obsession, which is saying a lot. The shy, awkward classmate who'd stuttered his undying crush for you when you were just kids. That one who you had rudely rejected like the bitch you used to be in high school.

But my God, Jeon Jungkook was anything but a kid now.

You were shocked. You were gagged. Couldn't seem to fathom what was happening and what your eyes were seeing. It took you a while to close your mouth when you realized JK was Guk. Gukkie. Jeongukkie.

With messy black hair, a smoldering gaze free of glasses, piercings adorning both ears, and his right eyebrow,, the braces long gone showing perfectly straight - but still bunny like- teeth. The clothes he wore were loose, all black, but it was impossible not to notice the muscles of his back and arms, covered with tattoos from his hands to his forearms. You'd bet there were more of them underneath the fabric.

It was awkward at first. You didn't know what to do, or what to say. Didn't know if he rememberd you. So you chose to stay quiet while your body chose to react like it had never been in the presence of an attractive young man in it's entire life.

And oh, did it react.

He was reluctant, his old timid demeanor peeking through his newly adopted persona. But as soon as those hands came in contact with your skin, your whole body was lit on fire. Like you were 16 and losing your virginity over again and it was the first time a dude touched your boobs.

There shouldn't have been anything erotic about it -besides the fact that your entire breasts were exposed-, it should've been just a professional procedure. But those gloved fingers touched and pinched and suddenly you were too aware of Jeon Jungkook and the way you were starting to sweat profously, not due to the heat of the season.

You tried to distract yourself by looking at the cieling and not at his gorgeous face. Tried to avoid thinking about Jeon Jungkook and how his mouth would feel wrapped around you. Tried not to think about the way your panties were a second skin to your folds, and how tempted you were to grind your hips until you recieved some sort of friction with the jean fabric of your shorts. You wonder if he noticed you squeezing your thighs together. You hope not.

And then the needle happened. You never thought of yourself as a particularly kinky person. Sex with Adam was boring for the most part and you'd lost your libido for a long time. Stopped thinking about sex altogether. But the pain. The pain mixed with his hand rubbing soothing circles on your breast and his voice, as sweet as honey, guiding you through it. It made you reconsider a lot of things you'd once dismissed as 'weird' or 'deviant'

You swear you almost came right on his table.

And then your eyes connected, you made the mistake of calling his name like a satisfied woman who still needed more, and it was all gone. He stood up like a scared cat, gave you a bunch of explanations about the aftercare that you barely grasped without even looking at you and pretty much rushed you to leave.

So you walked, all the way from the tattoo parlor to Chaelin's appartment, mortified, and completely humilliated.

"Are you gonna let me see or not?" your friend says expectantly as you finally sit down after chugging a glass of iced water. You sigh, placing the glass on the table before carefully pulling down your top. "Oh my God, it looks so cool!" she gasps and you can't help a smile while she studies it in amazement. "Did it hurt?"

"Um, I guess." you keep out the part where you almost orgasmed, obviously, stopping her hand from touching when she reaches towards you. "Wait, no. He said something about not touching it for like six months or a year, I don't remember."

At that, Chaelin's eyebrows quirk up. "He? It was a he? Was he cute, at least?"

"You won't believe this..." looking away for a few seconds, you take a deep breath. "It was Jeon Jungkook."

There's a pause, a silence that fills the room when Chaelin's jaw drops. "Jeon Jungkook...pierced your nipple?"

You close your eyes, bracing yourself for what you're a hundred percent sure is coming.

"Ha..." there it is. "Ha ha..." you still know there's more. "Ha ha ha..."

Chaelin laughs hysterically for about God knows how long, while you keep drinking your glass of water unfaced, your mind drifting back to Guk. Gukkie. Jeongukkie, his tattoos and his stupid gloved hands.

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You know he's here.

Everything was cool, you were doing alright, having a great time with your vodka sprite in hand and your cute white bikini on. Chaelin was by your side, the guys were excited to have you back and thankfully, you'd avoided most questions about Adam and they'd avoided digging too deep into the topic. You'd sunbathed the whole afternoon, kept away from the water like he'd told you and ate the Hawaiian pizza Yoongi insisted on ordering despite Namjoon's and Jimin's complaints.

It's at night, when you're a little tipsy and your cheeks are flushed, that you feel it. You'd barely noticed Taehyung disappearing to let in a new guest.

You don't see him, but you feel him.

You're sitting on the pool tile steps, legs dangling and the water baely reaching your belly to make sure it doesn't touch your very sensitive and newly pierced nipple. Your back is facing the sliding glass doors of Hoseok's house, but the moment you hear his voice, smooth but animated as he converses with Taehyung, your body wakes up immediately, back straightening, goosebumps forming on your arms and nipples tightening against the fabric of your two piece.

You don't turn around, instead opting for downing the remaining of your drink and coming to the realization that, of course, Taehyung, social butterfly who'd always got along with everybody and remained friends with most people from high school, still keeps in touch with Jungkook.

You ignore him when he enters the pool, still peering from the corner of your eyes while pretending to be engaged in Chaelin's and Jihyo's conversation. Your mind sabotages you by taking you to that day a week ago at the tattoo parlor.

To the warmth of his hand, to the few strands of hair that his small ponytail couldn't keep together, to the way his eyes focused on such an intimate part of your body, to the endless ink decorating his skin, to-

Great. Now your bottoms are wet and not due to the water.

You don't miss Chaelin supressing a laugh and her not so subtle elbowing. You glance at her in warning and try to keep calm for the next fifteen minutes until Jin proposes moving to the living room to watch a movie.

"I'm gonna stay here for a little longer, guys." you say, after clearing your throat. You needed some time to gather yourself before being in a confined space with Jungkook.

"Are you sure?" Jin stops by your side to place a hand on your shoulder as everybody starts exiting the pool. "It's Mean Girls! You love Mean Girls! You never miss a minute of Mean Girls!"

Rolling your eyes, you wave him dismissively. "I know every dialogue on Mean Girls like the back of my hand, I think I'll be alright, Jin."

When everybody finally leaves, you take a deep breath, covering your face with your hands in an attempt to get him out of your head. Damn Jeon Jungkook and his irresisitble glow up.

"You okay?"

The unexpected voice startles you, a gasp finding its way out of your mouth and causing you to jump on your seat, heartbeat erratic as you instantly recognize who it belongs to. Your hand grasps your chest as if that would do anything to protect yourself against him.

"Shit, don't do that!" you say, the words almost getting stuck in your throat as you see him approaching you, still submerged in the pool. The more he nears you, the less water depth there is and the more visible his torso comes into view. Wich was exactly what you'd been avoiding.

Because Jeon Jungkook was ripped, as you'd imagined when you first encountered him.

Broad shoulders and strong biceps and chiseled abs and veiny forearms. Drenched hair, a full sleeve of tattoos and water dripping from delicious tan skin and all just so very hard. That paired up with a loopsided smile that does nothing but make you shudder.

"Sorry." he doesn't sound apologetic at all when he says that, the smirk adorning his features telling. "You just seemed a little off." you advert your gaze when he pushes his hair back.

"I'm fine, just...just wanted to be by myself."

"Oh" Jungkook's smile disappears. "I can leave, if you want me t-"

"No!" you're not sure where that comes from and neither does he, judging by the look on his face when your eyes find his. Eyebrows raised and mouth slightly parted, he's as surprised as you and there's an awkward silence for a few seconds. "Um, you don't have to. I mean, it's not my house, you can do whatever you want." you sniff and tame your voice, trying to seem cool and collected like you didn't just practically beg him not to go.

Ironic, considering this was exactly what you had been fearing for the past thirty minutes.

And then he smiles. A knowing smile. A smile that says 'you just totally checked me out and now you don't want me to leave'. A smile that you would have never associated with Jeon Jungkook of all people years ago. A smile that makes you want to look away but still keeps you in place.

"Sure." he says, closing the space between the two of you slowly but still leaving enough distance. "So, how's it going?"

You clear your throat, head high and determined not to let this man, or any man for that matter, turn you into a trembling mess. You're still you and you're not easily shaken by the opposite sex. Or at least that's what you helplessly chant in your head.

"Everything's cool. I'm on summer vacation now," a little white lie, "so I decided to-"

"The piercing." he says, the smile never leaving his face. "I meant how's the piercing."

"The pier- right." you almost miss the step he takes forward, all too aware of his height over yours but thankful for the centimeters that being propped on the stairs added to yours. "It's-" you almost, almost miss his knee touching your knee and him slightly separating your legs with his own inch by inch. Or how your thighs open unvoluntarely to welcome him in and how you can barely find coherent words to speak. "It's doing-" or the way his smile disappears and is instead focusing his dark stare fully onto yours.

"It's doing well." you finally say in a whisper, not being able to bring yourself to be louder.

He hums. "May I see it?" Jungkook wets his lips with the tip of his tongue and the action and his voice is enough to make you nod your head, bewitched.

His movements are unhurried, his hand coming up to tentatively come in contact with the flesh of your clavicle. His fingers skim through your skin upwards, his touch is feather-like when it wraps around your throat. You pant, and he stops but he doesn't move away, his eyes still focused on yours, studying you, daring you to pull back, to tell him to back off. But just a simple touch of his and you're fully under his control. It reminds you too much of the day you got that damn piercing.

Your lips are parted and for a moment he stays just like that. His body so close to yours but not close enough, and his hand slightly gripping your neck. Your pussy clenches around nothing and you can't wrap your head around the fact that something so simple sets your entire being alive and leaves you aching.

Then, as slow as he started, his hand travels from the front of your neck to the back, pushing your hair aside to carefully untie the straps of your bikini. He breathes through his nostrils, doesn't make a sound. He seems so collected it's starting to annoy you.

Instead, your breathing is ragged when the top falls down, exposing both your breasts to him. That's when he removes his eyes from yours and his jaw clenches. Your nipples perk up under his gaze, like they remember him and the effect he had on them just a week ago. You're at least glad you're not the only one affected but he seems to be a master at keeping it under wraps.

Then, his hand moves again, leaving goosebumps on your skin as it goes south. Jungkook takes his time, so deliberate you want to scream, until he's cupping your pierced breast, keeping away from the nipple just like he'd advised you a few days prior. You can't look away from his face, from his eyes observing you like you're a full course meal and he's been starving for days. You feel drops of water falling from his hair to your thighs, his thumb caressing your skin so delicately as it faintly nears your still tender nipple. Just nearing it, never touching it.

"Beautiful." his murmur is almost imperceptible and for a moment you think you've imagined it. Your back arches on its own, breast pushed against the palm of his hand, almost like your body is begging him to come closer, to touch you more, to feel you all over. He meets your eyes briefly, gauging your reaction, before going back to your chest. Suddenly, the grip on your breast tightens, fingers ever so softly squeezing your flesh. From your throat comes a mewl, your eyes shut and your legs close around his waist.

"Jungkook, please..." you whisper when you open your eyes. He looks at you, unvertainty written all over his face, lips bruised as if he had been biting on them too hard, gaze as glassy as yours. And just like that, the spell is broken. He blinks and his expression changes completely. Lips forming a straight line and jaw tight. His hand retracts, fixing your bikini top over your breasts before tying it around your neck like it originally was. Meanwhile your eyebrows crunch in confusion. But when you're about to start asking questions, he clears his throat.

"It's healing okay." he steps back, avoiding your eyes. "I'll see you inside."

Jungkook leaves the pool like nothing happened.

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Jungkook is fiddling, fixing the position of his glasses and combing through his straight hair with shaky hands, habits he's tried so hard to get rid of in his sixteen years of existence but still finds impossible to.

He can't help it. He's always been like this: the quiet and awkward kid in class who sits in the back, a misunderstood puppy in a sea of stronger dog breeds that could eat him alive. An outcast. Too geeky for his own good. Notebokes full of Dragon Ball doodles on the margins of the pages, the shelves in his room stacked with Marvel figurines, and a closet filled with outdated clothes that he has been inheriting from his older brother.

He has never been the type to stand out, always being overlooked by people like he's invisible. He doesn't mind though. He'd much rather be ignored than getting picked on by bullies like he used to in elementary school.

He never gets invited to parties. Ever. He's a nobody who barely speaks, and when he does he either stutters or manages to embarrass himself in one way or another. He's seen the look on people's faces when they look at him. Their eyes seem to scream 'weirdo' everytime he gets acknowledged.

So obviously the only reason he was invited to this particular party had a first and last name: Kim Taehyung. The only kid in Jungkook's entire life who didn't look at him in a funny way, the only kid who took the time to entangle in a random conversation with him after class and who seemed geniune enough to make Jungkook feel comfortable.

He's not sure how it happened, since Taehyung mostly hangs out with the cool kids. But somehow it did, and now Jungkook is uncomfortably standing in a living room full of drunk teens, looking directly at you.

You, the one girl Jungkook had been pining on for God knows how long. You, who are obviously too pretty, too popular, and way out of his league. You, with your plaid skirt and your polo shirt and those legs that never seem to end. You, who are sitting with your friends in a couch, drink in hand and visibly tipsy. And yet, he doesn't think he's ever seen anyone pull of the 'drunk-rosy-cheek' look better than you.

He can hear your laugh through the music and he already thinks it sounds better than whoever is playing in the background.

"Come on, Gukkie! Her friends are leaving and she's all by herself now! It's your chance" Taehyung's obviously drunk too because it took Jungkook a while to decypher his exact words. He'd disappeared for a while and now that he's back, he's pushing Jungkook in your direction.

"This was a mistake, Taehyung." Jungkook shakes his hair and steps back, quickly glancing at the front door to prepare his escape. But his new friend's grip on his hoodie keeps him in place.

"Guk, listen. The only thing you have to do, is walk up to her, and say 'hey I think you're, like, really pretty. Just letting you know. Bye!' That's it. Jung- Dude, Guk, seriously, look at me." Taehyung grabs Jungkook's cheeks, squishing them between his hands and forceing him to face him. "You've been crushing hard on her for years, my man. We're graduating and you won't see each other again. What's the worst thing that can happen? Getting rejected?"

Jungkook's eyebrows draw together. "Um, yeah?"

"Exactly! Getting rejected is not the end of the world, bro! It just means keep trying on other girls!" Taehyung releases his hold on Jungkook's cheeks. "I just think you're going to regret not telling your crush she's your crush. Who knows? Maybe in the future you two will get married."

Jungkook snickers, muttering a 'yeah right' under his breath. Still, he can't help the smile that Taehyung's words always seem to pull out of him.

"Now," Taehyung playfully slaps Jungkook before turning him in your direction again. "Go get 'em, tiger!"

"Okay," Mijoo's voice slices through Jungkook's memories. She's sitting on Jungkook's desk, munching on her brownies and looking at her coworker expectantly. "And then what?"

He sighs, running a hand through his hair, sits back on his chair, already feeling the effects of Mijoo's baked goods. "And then I walked up to her, like a damn fool, stutter and all. And I say:" he clears his throat, making an effort to do his best teenage Gukkie impression."'Hey, _____, um, so, I think you're beautiful and I've had a crush on you since seventh grade, haha, just wanted to let you know.'"

Mijoo rolls her eyes, still chewing. "And then what?"

"And then she looked me up and down, giggled, fucking giggled, Mijoo, and said 'Who are you, again?'" Mijoo gasps and Jungkook closes his eyes, trying to force that recollecion out of his head.

"What a bitch." she can't help but laugh before apologizing. Jungkook merely shrugs his shoulders and takes another bite of his brownie. "She didn't say anything else?"

"She said something along the lines of:" he clears his throat again, this time, doing an impression of you. "'That's sweet and all but, you and I... we're not the same. And I have a boyfriend, so...' She said that like I didn't know, like I wasn't aware of the school's it couple! Like I was dumb!"

Mijoo nods. "And now you want to fuck her even more than you did in high school."

"I- No! Well, yes. Fuck, of course I want to sleep with her! But I just... can't."

"Why not?"

"Did you hear anything about what I just told you or were you too concentrated trying to get high?"

It's Mijoo's turn to roll her eyes. "I heard everything you just told me. I just don't understand what the problem is. You two were sixteen. Sure, she was a bitch about it, but Lord knows I've been a bitch my entire life and now I'm not anymore." Jungkook raises an eyebrow at that. "Okay, sometimes I can be nice. But the point is..." Mijoo finishes her piece of brownie before getting off of Jungkook's desk. "It's been, what? Nine? Ten years? People change, JK. You're the best example of that. You want to fuck her and she obviously wants to fuck you too. You're both adults." she wipes her hands on her shorts. "I think it's time you fulfill that high school fantasy of yours."

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You've made up your mind.

And by you, it means Chaelin has made up your mind.

It didn't take long to convince you though. That last interaction with Jungkook cause too many emotions stirring within you. It left you hot, it left you bothered, it left you confused. Sure, it also left you a little bit embarrassed like the first time, but above everything else, that interaction with Jungkook left you absolutely livid.

Because who the fuck did Jeon Jungkook, formerly known as Guk, Gukkie, Jungukkie, and currently known as JK, think he was to come near you, speed your heart rate's up, and then runaway like that?

You've spent days thinking about it. About that face, about that body, about those hands and- shit. You're doing it again.

You've spent days trying to push those intrusive thoughts. Spent days trying to bury what happened. You've spent days trying to keep quiet, not telling anyone about it and just wishing that stupid spark of desire simply went away.

But it has just been simply unavoidable. You haven't been able to ignore the sleepless nights with your brain drifting back to that night and forbidding your hand from slipping under your panties. Or the excessive amount of time during the day where images of him suddenly popped in your head and wouldn't go away, even with you squeezing your thighs to try to make the ache go away.

So you ended up ranting and ranting and ranting to the only person you could confide on, who is obviously your best friend. Your best friend, who's too smart for her own good and knows you too well for your liking. Because apparently your moodiness and snappy remarks couldn't go unnoticed.

And after explaining the fiasco over a bottle of wine -and minutes of endless laughing on Chaelin's part because, again, it's Gukkie you two were talking about and, according to her, this was "the most karmic thing I've ever seen"-, she gave you the best advice an older sister could ever give.

"Fuck him."

"I know right? Fuck him!"

"No. I mean, fuck him."

And now here you are. Right inside that room you stepped in weeks ago, confronting the man in question with the same confidence that has always distinguished you from others and trying to act like the fluttering inside your belly wasn't nauseauting.

"A date."

"Yes."

"You want to go on a date with me." this wouldn't be so hard if Jungkook didn't look so delectable in a plain white t-shirt and ripped jeans. You cross your arms over your chest, doing your best to not look down at the exposed skin of a man who obviously worked out a lot and apparently, never skipped leg day. "What's the catch?"

He's sitting on his chair, back resting comfortably and legs spread, narrowing his eyes at you and probably wondering why the girl at the front desk let you in without an appointment. Also, probably wondering if there was a catch to all of this.

"There's no catch. I just want to go to the fair this weekend. I'll ask Taehyung for your number and text you the date and the exact place we'll be meeting. Unless..." your quirk one of your eyebrows. "Unless you're already planning on how you'll chicken out this time."

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Of course, Jungkook says yes to going on a date with his high school crush but spends the following days overthinking every single thing.

He can't help but feel like it's kinda sketchy. What if you're planning your vendetta on him? What if you don't even show up and he ends up there looking like a damn idiot? What if you hate him and are just messing up with him? What if that incident in high school is going to repeat itself?

"If she doesn't show up, you simply move on and never speak to her again. It's that simple. She can't have that much power over you to cry about something like that." Mijoo had said that same day she let you in the tattoo parlor after you'd asked to see Jungkook. Jungkook's coworker hadn't even question you and just motioned you to Jungkook's room with a knowing smile on her face. Later that day, Jungkook had scolded her about it and she'd simply shrugged.

He considers cancelling, eyes reading the 'won't be able to make it, sorry (sad face emoji)' over and over again and fingers hovering over the send button so many times he's lost count. But then he remembers that comment of yours about him chickening out and Jungkook starts seeing red.

How couldn't you understand he's just terrified of you rejecting him one more time? Sure, Jungkook is now an adult who doesn't get butthurt over stuff like that. He's experienced too much after graduating from high school and he's a much stronger individual than his fragile self back was back then.

But something about you just makes him feel so... weak.

He still finds it impossible to concieve where he got the courage to approach you like that at Taehyung's pool, or how he brought himself to touch you for longer than a minute without coming in his pants. He'd enjoyed it too much. Allowing him to see you so exposed, just for him. He'd be so tempted to kiss you right there and then, to run his hands up and down your thighs and fully wrap your legs around him to let you known how much you'd affected him. Once you called his name, it was like he'd finally snapped out of it and backed away like he'd been burned by you. He spent the next twenty minutes trying to keep himself from pulling down his pants and jerking off in his friend's bathroom.

It's terrible. Because he feels like the teenager he used to be when you're around. Shy, insecure and overall a mess. You showing up in his life after so many years and now apparenly being interested in him seems like a dream that he's not sure he wants to keep being in or wake up from before it's too late and he falls back into that tumoltuous longing that will inevitably end up in heartbreak. His heartbreak.

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It's saturday night, he's standing by himself in the crowded fair at the spot. You're fifteen minutes late and he's already about to turn back and dip out. He feels too awkward and the nerves are eating him alive.

You're not going to show up. You're not going to show up and now he feels and looks even dumber than the time he told you he was crushing on you. You're not even going to show up and now he's going to come back home, get drunk by himself and curse your name for-

"Hey!" he turns around to the sound of your voice and sees you running towards him. "Sorry I'm late! I couldn't find my phone and spent like thirty minutes looking for it. Turns out, Sharon Stone, was taking a nap on top of it and I didn't even notice."

"Sharon Stone?"

"Chaelin's cat."

To be honest, he's too surprised to process your explanation right away. He might also be a little speechless because that sky blue sundress looks too good on your skin and your eyelashes are so long, framing your beautiful eyes, and your lips are all glossy and kisseable that it takes him a while to find his own voice.

He clears his throat. "It's alright." scratching the back of his head, he momentarely adverts his gaze from you in an attempt to not get distracted by how soft your hair looks and how much he wants to wrap it around his hands in a ponytail. "Um, where do you want to go first?"

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Almost an hour and a half later, when the sun has already disappeared and you're both surrounded by colorful lights, Jungkook decides to buy the both of you hot dogs and a drink and you both settle down on a bench.

You've been walking all over the fair, going from booth to booth, playing any game in sight Jungkook dared you to -he obviously had a competitive streak-: from the ballon and dart games, to the shooting games, to the bumping cars, to the ball-in-basket one. To say you were having fun was an understatement.

You'd almost regretted setting the date up. You were sure he wouldn't even show up and if he did, you were scared of how awkward things could get between the two of you. And if things were awkward, you were sure it would only take less than thirty minutes for the both of you to part ways and never talk again about such failure of a date.

To your surprise, none of that happened.

The conversation was flowing, both of you acting like you were strangers on their first date getting to know each other, which, to be fair, that's exactly what it felt like. There was a slight banter, teasing each other when one of you lost in whatever game you were playing while the other was obviously winning. There were laughs and a funny feeling in your tummy whenever you'd walk side by side and his arm brushed yours.

There was no stiffness on his shoulders, no mention of the past or your previous encounters, no acknowledgement of the blatant sexual tension you'd experienced before, not an ounce of avoidance whenever your eyes met his and he was even sure of himself enough to place a hand on your lower back or briefly interwine your fingers with his to guide you through the mass of people.

It felt like you'd both unspokenly agreed on making each other feel comfortable enough to have a good time.

"I didn't think you were going to show up, to be honest." you suddenly say, taking a sip of your strawberry juice and thankful to finally let your feet rest for a while.

Jungkook looks at you, hot dog mid air and eyebrows almost disappearing into his hairline. "You didn't think I was going to show up? I didn't think you were going to show up." you simply shrug, lowering your gaze seepishly, the beginning of a smile on both your faces. He surprises you by tilting your head in his direction with his forefinger. You watch him watching you, a little dazed, a little lost in how his dark hair messily falls over his forehead and his equally dark eyes study your face, his thumb swiping over your lower lip. "You um... There was ketchup right there." he lies.

"Oh" you say, feeling your face heating up. "Thanks. Red doesn't really match this dress." you manage a smile and tuck a lock of your hair behind your ear.

At that, he eyes your dress for a moment, mouth slightly ajar. He's debating on whether or not to say something but you beat him to it.

"I'm sorry, by the way."

"For being late? I already told you it's fin-"

"No." you shake your head. "For... that time when we were young and I was such a concieted brat." you say, looking away , trying to find anything else that's not his pretty face. "I thought I was a queen bee back then. I was annoying and rude, specially to you. I..." you lick your lips. The cherry glittery gloss was already gone. "I thought it was cute, what you said. There was no reason for me to act like that. I know this doesn't make anything right but..." when you turn to face him again, there's still the same expression on his face. "I'm sorry."

A few seconds go by before it's him who's shaking his head. "It's okay. It was a long time ago, anyway." he smiles at you, although it doesn't reach his eyes and seems sorta forced. You sigh, and he takes your hand. "Let's go to the ferris wheel."

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tell you're tense. You're sitting right beside him in the ferris cabin, your back is all straight, you're facing forward and he believes you haven't blinked for what feels like an eternity. He thinks it has everything to do with your conversation a few minutes ago. You were probably not content with his response but what could Jungkook do? There was really no point in apologizing for something that happened years ago, but at the same time, he didn't want to hold anything against you like a resentful asshole because it was really not who he was. But there was still a little bit of stingyness inside of him and he didn't know how to make it go away.

At the end of the day, here you were, on a date with him that you'd asked for, getting along and asking questions about him and laughing at his jokes and trying to start all over again.

But then the ferris wheel starts moving, and he finally understands why you look so uncomfortable.

It's the way you immediately grip his forearm, nails digging in his skin and he swears he hears the smallest gasp forcing itself out your throat.

"Are you... scared?" he tentatively asks.

You say nothing for a while, not moving an inch. He would laugh if you didn't look so pained about it.

"I don't like small confined spaces nor rollercoasters." you finally say through gritted teeth.

"It's not really that small and ferris wheels are not rollercoasters. " your nails dig deeper and he winces. "Okay, okay. You don't like small confined spaces nor rollercoasters, and that includes ferris wheels. So why didn't you tell me?"

"I don't know. I've never liked ferris wheels but you seemed excited about it, so..."

There's a silence after that in the environment, neither of you exactly sure of what to say or how to act. Until Jungkook moves one of his hands hands until it's resting on the one who's holding onto him for dear life, fingers caressing yours. The warmth of his hand spreads through yours and although it's almost July and you can already feel your sweaty back staining your dress, it's oddly comforting. What's more comforting even, is him twisting his body towards you and talking with the calmest and most soothing tone you've ever heard.

"Look at me." you do instantly, unwillingly, and kinda wish you hadn't. It's almost as if your body will do anything he says without question. Like he has some sort of power over it to just react however he wants. His eyes bore into yours and suddenly the cab doesn't seem so suffocating. "It's just you and me right now. We're not even on a ferris wheel." the corners of his mouth turn slowly upwards. You zone out the environment, suddenly too aware of him and how close he is and how loud the beating of your heart is to your own ears.

"Jungkook."

You swallow the knot in the back of your throat when he removes his hand from yours. It almost makes you protest, - now realizing you've losened the tight grip on his arm- , before it craddles your face, keeping you in place while bringing his body closer.

"You have to stop saying my name like that."

With his thigh touching your thigh, your whole demeanor melts. When he leans closer, and you feel his breath fanning over your lips, your eyes shut closed.

"Tell me I can-" he starts to say.

"Yes." you finish for him. He doesn't doubt on closing the distance between you two. His lips touch yours and your body shakes in excitement. It's just him lightly skimming your lips with his but it's already too much and at the same time, not enough. It has you deepening it, yourself moving closer when he kisses you again. It has you relaxing against him, the tenseness prior disappearing and making you arch your back when his tongue asks for permission.

But it's exactly then, the moment you open your lips to him, that has you losing your mind.

The sparks fly, traveling from your head to your toes and then settling on the pit of your stomach as soon as the kiss starts to turn desperate and rough. When he nibbles your lips with his teeth, it makes you mewl and whine and your nipples tight against the cotton of your dress. It makes the metal barbell to feel uncomfortable, slightly painful. And when he goes back to being messy and filthy with his tongue tangled with yours, your thighs close on their own.

He forces himself to pull his hand back and bring it down, finding the parting of yd opening them for him. "Wait," you say, your fingers wrapping around his forearm as you try to catch your breath."The ferris-" he shuts you up with another kiss.

"We're not on a ferris wheel." he reminds you, a soft whisper against your mouth. And for whatever reason, you believe him.

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"He fingered you on the ferris wheel."

"Yes."

"And you came before the ride was over."

You take a small sip of wine, your eyes focusing on the TV where a rerun of the Golden Girls is playing, although, to be fair, lately you haven't been able to pay much attention to anything else but a certain brunet with doe eyes and kisseable lips. "Yes."

She hums, stealing a handful of popcorn from the bowl between your thighs.

"How long did it took? Like five minutes?"

There's a pause in which you clench your jaw, your fingers twitching around the glass in your hand, and then you answer. "Probably less."

There's another pause, and then-

"Ha...Ha ha...Ha ha ha-"

You let her laugh. It's okay. You knew you had it coming.

Chaelin knows the pillow you throw right at her face is also something she had coming.

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It's not that you're mad.

Jungkook and you had a great time on that fair date, he made you laugh, bought hot dogs and drinks for the two of you and got you off inside the cab of a ferris wheel on record time with those magical, long fingers of his. Technically, there shouldn't be anything to be angry about.

Except it's been a week and you can't stop thinking about him, about wanting more, and about those words that he left you with after the ferris wheel ride ended, when you had tried to return the favor.

'Next time, maybe.'

And there hasn't been a next time.

The thought of texting him or giving him a call to ask for another date is persistent in your mind. It remains while you do the laundry or wash the dishes, while you shower, while you eat or while you spend your days at the beach with Chaelin. There's always the incessant desire to reach out towards your phone, unlock it and dial his number to beg for more.

But you'd never been one to beg, so you resist the urge everytime that feeling starts to creep up on you and it washes over you like a wave. You silence your phone and try to concentrate on making the most out of your summer.

It's one random night, when you're tiredly dragging your feet across Chaelin's apartment's carpet, yawning and ready to succumb to a well needed slumber, that you see your phone screen's lighting up with a message.

Your heart pathetically leaps inside your chest when you read his name.

'you free on saturday?'

You wish you could say you ghosted him, ignored his text and moved on with your life until it was him who begged you for another date. But the truth is you opened it in a matter of seconds and typed 'i'm free, why?' back in a rush with trembling fingers.

So now you're on the passanger seat of his car while he sits on the driver seat, the first saturday night of July, like he's Danny Zuko and you're Sandy Olsson, watching a vintage movie in a drive-in theater which plot you don't give a shit about, even if Jungkook's date plan idea made something inside of you churn with adoration.

And the only reason why you don't give a single damn about the movie playing in front of your eyes, is because you're hot. Way too hot. And the reason and cause is none other than the boy-now-turned-man sitting on your left.

You barely exchanged words when he picked you up, just rode in silence until you got to your destination and you bet he can feel as well as you do the tension in the air.

You've surveyed him a few times from the corner of his eye, noticing him fiddling with the rings around his fingers and shifting in his seat from time to time. And if the sight of his fingers bring memories that you've tried to bury to keep yourself from lunching towards him, a brief glance at his forearms, adorned with ink drawn through his golden flesh -doing a poor job at concieling the veins running underneath- and his skin-tight jeans wrapping those muscled thighs of his is enough to have you be the one squirming in your seat.

A woman can only endure so much, and you come to that realization thirty minutes into the movie.

"I want to suck your cock." you say, a stern expression on your face as you turn your body in his direction.

Jungkook frozes as your voice slides over him. It takes him a couple seconds to look at you, shock widening his eyes and parting his lips.

"Huh?" he manages, his grip on the steering wheel turning his knuckles white.

Without separating your gaze from his, you gather your hair and tie it in a ponytail with the hair tie previously around your wrist. You don't miss the quick glance he sneaks into the curvature of your neck and the valley between your breasts.

Inching forward, closing in on him, you place one of your hands on top of his thigh, the action making his whole body tense. "____..." he whispers your name in a warning that doesn't sound convincing even in his own ears.

You smile, your eyes never wavering from his as your hand inches upwards, slowly caressing over the fabric of his jeans until you finally come across what you were looking for.

His hand flies to your wrist, stilling your movements. "____, this is not-". He starts, but his voice gets stuck inside his throat when you palm his undoubtly growing erection.

"Shh." your shaky breath fans over his cheek and you force yourself on your knees on the passanger seat in a more comortable possition to stop the trembling to reach them.

You fumble with the belt holding his pants in place, then with the button and finally with the zipper. He helps you by lifting his hips to pull his jeans and boxers to his thighs and you have to bite back a mixture between a gasp and a moan at the sight below you. You haven't even seen Jeon Jungkook naked all the way, but the mere sight of his hard cock with pre-cum glistening on his crown is probably the sexiest thing you've ever had the pleasure of appreciating.

It gets sexier when you wrap your hand around the base and his body melts in the driver seat, throwing his head back with his eyes shut. It gets even sexier when you finally lower your head, swirling your tongue over the head before finally engulfing him fully in the wet warmth of your mouth.

"Shit." his voice is tight, uneven as his hand loosely grips your ponytail, as if careful not to accidentally hurt you and break the glorious moment.

Although you wouldn't mind at all. Because the moment your hands are on him, and your tongue is on his shaft, that's the only thing you care about. Your belly is twisting, an undeniable wet spot on your panties as the fabric sticks to your folds, and the more you suck Jungkook, the more you want from him. His earthy taste is addicting and the soft little whimpers he occasionally can't prevent himself from are making you want to milk him until he can't take it no more. There's this desire within you to whorship him and his cock like you had been dreaming for the past weeks.

"This is s-so fucking h-hot." he rasps between ragged breaths, the bobbing of your head, sliding up and down his dick as your hand works the centimeters your mouth can't take is about to make him faint.

"Getting a blowjob?" you joke, your throat starting to feel sore as you kiss his leaking tip.

"N-no." he draws in a rough breath when you take him all of him again. "You giving me a blowjob... T-the f-fact that anyone c-could see us..." he darts a quick glance at your body, your ass up in the air and your dress sliding down, almost exposing you completely. "The fact that-ah! Shit..." he squeezes his eyes when he feels a glob of your spit lubricating him.

There's a sudden need to make you feel the same, to touch your skin and have you shaking the same way you have him. So one of his hands travels from your spine, to your perked ass, finally dragging the cotton of your dress to allow himself to see your thin white panties. "The fact that anyone could see you l-like this," he murmurs, regaining a little bit of control when he squeezes one of your cheeks. "letting t-them see you s-sucking my cock and..." he smirks when he feels you gasping around him, his fingers trapped between your thighs and pushing them inside your heat easily "and letting them see me fingering this pretty little pussy."

Soon after that he's cumming in your mouth while you're cumming around his fingers.

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At first, it's mostly on weekends when you see each other. Weekends of stolen kisses and soft sighs and whispering against each other's lips. Then weekends turn to week days, sitting on grass while sipping on refreshing beverages, drawing each other laughs, elbows touching as you walk around the park side by side because the both of you are too scared to interwine your fingers together.

Jungkook feels content like this: sitting on the sand with you between his thighs, admiring the sunset while nuzzing your neck and inhaling your scent every now. He likes waching you enoying your strawberry ice cream, almost forgetting the chocolate chip one already melting in his hand.

"If you were an ice cream flavor,which one would you be?" you ask him, relaxing against his chest.

"Rocky road."

"Why?"

He shrugs behind you. "Everyone likes rocky road."

You hum, playfully rolling your eyes. "What about me? Which ice cream flavor would I be?"

"Lemon sherbet, in the summer."

"Lemon sherbet? Out of all of the flavours out there, you're rocky road and I'm lemon sherbet?"

"Lemon sherbet, in the summer." he corrects.

"Okay, fine. Why?"

"You're boring and basic."

You gasp, trying to feign outrage but not being able to repress the laugh that escapes your throat. You elbow him, his laugh mixing with yours while taking the time to wrap his arms around your form, the breeze blowing your hair allowing him a spot between your neck and your shoulder. "You're boring and basic, but once you have a taste..." he presses a small kiss on your skin, causing the tiny hairs on the nape of your neck to rise. "Once you have a taste, specially on the hottest day in the middle of summer, you can't stop tasting and licking until there's no more lemon sherbet left."

You suck in on a breath when he craddles your jaw to face him. "It's been my favourite flavor since I was a kid." he kisses you immediately after, his lips swallowing the small whimper now stuck in your throat.

You close your eyes as his tongue opens your mouth, arousal blasting your insides and something much, much deeper that you fear to even name shredding your chest.

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The beginning of august comes faster then you two realize, but what you both do realize is how hard it's becoming to stay away from each other.

It's been thirty days of dates happening almost everyday, sharing high school memories and anecdotes of the time you spent away from each other. Hours of getting to know each other and opening up to each other. From failed relationships to new friendships. Of park dates walking side by side and fingers now interwined because you both realized one day that, fuck it.

It's difficult to sleep when you realize you're starting to catch serious feelings for somebody who was just supposed to be a fling. It's hard to sleep when his face, his voice and his touch and thoughts of missing him when you don't see each other start haunting you at night.

It's hard for Jungkook to focus on work when you're everything that's occupying his mind. Because he has a hundred sketches to make but he's too busy thinking about the hundred different sketches he would make of you.

It's hard not to send him a goodnight text, just like it's hard for him not to reply in a matter of seconds, almost as if he was already waiting to recieve it.

Jungkook thinks of you at night. Of how pretty and absolutely perfect you are for him. Of the taste of your lips, the way your hair feels between his fingers, or the flush on your cheeks when he makes you cum as droplets of sweat accumulate between your breasts. He thinks about your voice. He also thinks about the amount of hours left to be able to listen to it again.

But mostly he thinks about how ridiculous this situation is. Because he was stupidly crushing on you when you were only teenagers, daydreaming about a chance with you. And now his crush is long gone and he's starting to realize that he's falling, and falling fast.

You, too, think of Jungkook at night. Of his ability to bring a smile out of you, to soothe you with just a few words and filling your belly excitement, happiness and feelings you're sure you've never felt before.

Jungkook's managed to imprint himself in your dreams, and you, in his.

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Getting drunk with Jungkook is fun and messy.

It's fun because he lets loose, he stutters a lot like he used to do when he was a teenager and he makes you laugh louder than ever before. It's messy because he has no control over his hands as they explore your body, clumsily taking your clothes off as his mouth laps at the breast he's allowed to touch.

He's more forceful and dominating too, pinning your hands above your head, and commanding you to keep them right there, on the pillows of his bed. When you rebel against it, your fingers finding the hard planes of his chest, he pulls away from you and places them back where he left them. "Don't make me tie you up." he threatens, and your body shudders beneath him.

He sucks, and bites and leaves marks all over your skin, grunting in response to your moans. Creating a path of kisses from your lips to your stomach, his shoulders separating your knees, opening you up only for him. And thankfully, when you reach down to tug at the strands of hair framing his face, he lets you, because he knows you need something to hold on to the moment his tongue eats you up. He leaves his fingertrips on your thighs as he keeps you in place, not allowing you to runaway. Just forcing you to take it as he takes from you.

And when you cum, he doesn't back away. He keeps sucking, and licking and punishing you with his mouth until you're cumming over and ove again, screaming and begging for his cock.

Having Jungkook over you, both completely naked, skin to skin and only sweat in between is more than you could've ever fantazised about. He slurls your name when he puts the condom on. He would do anything to feel you raw, but he also knows he wouldn't be able to last a minute. The sight of you spread open, with your cheeks darkened by a crimson blush and your hair tangled all over his pillow is a picture he wants to keep forever.

He enters you when you call his name, your voice dripping with need. He stretches your warm and wet felsh, slowly easing himself into you at first, until he's fully inside and your bodies are completely in union. A shiver runs down Jungkook's spine when he looks at your contorted face in pleasure, your lips forming an 'O' and your pussy clenching around him.

"Oh, my God." you moan into the dark of Jungkook's room, and even then, he can clearly appreciate every curve of your body lifting off the mattress to connect with his. He lowers himself on his elbows on either side of your head, caging you in and capturing your mouth with his.

"I know, baby." he murmurs. It's hot, in the middle of August but suddenly Jungkook doesn't hate summer as much as he used to. Not with you sharing the heat with him. "It's way beyond what I could ever imagine." You nod hurriedly against his lips, your arms finding their way around his neck as he starts rocking in and out of you.

"It's too good." you cry, when he hits a particular spot that has you rolling your eyes in bliss and gripping his waist tighter with your legs against you. Your fingers thread through his hair, not bothered by the beads of sweat gathered on the nape of his neck.

"Too good..." he agrees, not missing the shiver that's shaking your own frame when he picks up his speed. "You have no idea what I would do t-to fucking feel you with n-no barriers between us," his movements become frantic as his hips slap against yours, his jaw clenched as he keeps talking, "to s-stuff you full of my c-cum over and over again until it won't stop d-dripping."

Jungkook's voice against your ear has you trembling and your orgasm nearing closer, your nails scratching down his back as his thrusts overpower your form. "Would you like that?" he asks with his voice strangled.

"Y-yes. Anything y-you want."

"You'd take all of my cum like a good cum-slut?"

You hate the fact that that's what makes you come undone. The twisting and knotting in the pit of your stomach finally snapping until you're holding on to him like you never want to let him go and he's following soon after.

Because if Guk, Gukkie, Jengukkie was not only able to make you come in less than a few minutes with his fingers or his tongue, but he was also able to make you cum instantly just by calling you a good cum-slut, that means you're fucked. Like, really, really fucked.

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There's a knot in Jungkook's stomach and a suffocating grip around his vocal chords as he caresses your skin. The sun is rising in the distance with the first rays of light entering his room through the window. Your shamphoo is intoxicating him, numbing him and enticing him to bury his nose in the tangled curls pressing against his chest. Your arm is thrown across his stomach, your breathing leavig goosebumps all over his body.

"It's too early. Go back to sleep." you mumble against his heart. He wonders if you can feel it dangerously speeding up.

"I can't." he says, voice struggling to stay balanced. "I have to tell you something."

You hum in response, sleep still interwined with your body, your arm tightening around him. You sigh in content, expecting him to elaborate.

He wets his suddenly dry lips. "I don't want this to end. In fact, ____.... I want more. Need more."

"Jungkook..." your whole body goes rigid right away, untanglling your bodies from each other and sitting up on the mattress.

"No, listen to me." he mimicks your movements, rapidly grabbing your hands to make you look at him. His eyes are expressive, a mixture of fear and hope swirling in his dark irises. "I wake up everyday, and you're the first thing I think of. I go on about my day, and I keep thinking about you, wondering what you're doing and counting down the hours until I get to see you again. I spend every night dreaming about you, and when we'e together, the only thing I can think about is how I wish I could stop time so I don't have to say bye to you the next morning. ____, I-"

"Jungkook, stop please." you shake your head, pushing away from him and in desperate need of air. You press a hand against your chest, beating back the throb of pain while the other curls in a tight fist, the feeling of your fingernails digging into your palm less painful than the ache inside your heart. "This... This wasn't supossed to happen, Jungkook." you start pacing around the room, as if trying to find an exit while avoiding his gaze. "This was just a summer fling. That's all it was, I'm supposed to come back to the city in two weeks and-"

"A summer fling?" a sardonic sneer comes out of him. "Oh my God, I can't believe this is happening again..." he mumbles to himself before rising from the bed. You stop immediately, a shiver quaking through you as his impressive frame intimidates His eyebrows are drawn together and his dark eyes are void of any prior emotion. "You're going back to the city in two weeks? And you didn't care to tell me until now, after I just spilled my guts to you?"

You eyes fill up with uncomfortable tears, reaching one arm towards him. "Jung-"

He flinches, taking one step back. "A summer fling is all I mean to you?"

"Ju- "

"Look me in the eyes, right now, and tell me that's all I mean to you. A summer fling." panic crawls up your throat. There's the need within you to confirm, to stare into his beautiful and stern eyes and tell him that, yes, that's all he is to you. But you've never been a good liar. So nothing comes out. You opt for wrapping your ams around yourself wishing they were his and lowering your eyes to the ground. "I think... I think you should leave."

Those are the last words he says to you, and the last thing you see when you turn around one more time after gathering your clothes, is his back as he looks out the window.

You allow yourself to cry the exact moment you step into Chaelin's apartment. Your friend is sitting on the couch, bowl of cereal in hand and a fresh cup of coffee sitting on the livingroom's table.

"Hey, you're early tod- Baby, what's wrong?"

"Please, don't laugh."

That morning, you lay down for hours on the couch with your head on Chaelin's lap while she softly brushes your hair as you cry, hiccup, fight through the pain in your heart and relate to her as best as you can the latest events.

She doesn't laugh at all.

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"She'll come back." Mijoo's slurred words do nothing to put Jungkook's state at ease that night. He simply shrugs, fingers clenching at his sides, frowing into his drink before gulping down the bitter taste of vodka in one shot. "Seriously, I think she's just afraid. My ex was the same."

"Comparing her to your ex is not the analogy you think it is."

"Ugh, shut up. Things didn't work with my ex because she was a bitch." Jungkook gives Mijoo a pointed look which she responds to by rolling her eyes and sipping on her rum coke. "Your girl is not a bitch. She used to be a bitch. What she did this morning was bitchy, but, like I said, she's just being a pussy. If she only wanted sex with you, she wouldn't have been doing couple stuff with you the entire summer."

"Whatever. I don't care." he lies and Mijoo knows he's lying but decides to drop the subject fo now.

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"We can't keep spending our days smoking weed." Chaelin speaks over Blanche's voice on the TV.

"I know. I'm just sad."

"You have to come back and tell him how you feel."

"I know."

There's a beat of silence before your friend kicks your thigh with her feet.

"I know and I will." you mumble through red eyes and smoke clouds.

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It's September first and it doesn't feel like Jungkook's birthday at all. He's been trying to focus on his work, alternating between isolating in full hermit mode and hanging out with friends to drink away his sorrow. The days have gone by and before he could realize it, he woke up today with over twenty text messages wishing him a happy day and a throbbing hangover.

He dresses up on autopilot. First a cotton shirt, then a pair of jeans and lastly, his Nike's. He doesn't bother tying his sneakers just like he doesn't bother taking a shower. He smokes a cigarette for breakfast, the death stick making him feel nauseaus on an empty stomach. And then he goes to work.

He's been repeating the same routing for the past weeks and he's not thinking of changing it, not even on his bithday.

He spends hours drawing, tattooing and drawing some more between yawns. He ignores texts an phone calls and simply waits until the day is over to go home, go to bed and forget about the fact that you're probably on your way to the city and that he hasn't crossed your mind not even once.

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Inkphoria.

You've been standing outside the shop re-reading the word for fifteen minutes, although it definitely feels like it has been longer. You're gripping cup of ice cream as it melts down your fingers the more you wait. The shop is already empty and it's starting to darken out side, and still you're so hot. Your shorts are heavy and your tank top is sticking to your skin. You didn't even bother to put on any make, although your eyebags definitely needed some concieling and your lashes some dimension to hide the fact that you'd been crying for the last few days.

'You're crazy about him.'

Chaelin's voice echoes inside your head.

You've lost count of how many times your best friend has given your advice, or simply encouraged you to do something you've been too scared to try.

'And he's cazy about you too.'

Chaelin might be wrong about marmite and the movie Cats, but she's definitely now wrong about anything regarding your and Jungkook.

That's it. You briefly close your eyes, inhale a deep breath then release it slowly. You start walking. It doesn't take longer than three strides and you're pushing the door open.

The tattoed blonde looks up from the counter the second you come into view. She smiles at the distance between you two. "You can come closer. I won't bite."

You clear your throat, stalking closer to her. "Is he-"

"He's in the back." she replies before you can finish you question. You close your mouth, clear your throat and nod your head.

"Thanks, Mijoo." she gives you a small wink, her smile easing your nerves like she had three months ago.

She watches you disappear. She shakes he head, her smile meeting her eyes. "I told him so."

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Jungkook ignores the knock on his door at first. It's almost ten and the parlor is about to close. He just has to finish this last fucking sketch so he can grab his shit and go the fuck ho-

Knock knock.

He growls, exhasperation cursing through him. He runs a hand through his messy pile of hair, his rings tangling between the strands, making him wince in pain. "Come in." he grunts under his breath. The door opens. "Mijoo, I really have to finish-"

He stops dead in his tracks as soon as he sees you.

"Hey." you say after a moment of hesitation.

"Hey." he replies and although there's something inside, deep in his chest, shouting at him to stand up, run up to you and kiss your face while he tells you how beautiful you look right now and how happy he is to see that you're still here, he decides against it. "Listen, ____, I'm pretty busy-"

"No, you listen to me." you cut him off abruptly. He looks taken aback and is already opening his mouth to say something, but you're not having it. "Please, just... Let me talk."

Silence looms between the two of you for a while, a staring contest defying each other to back down. When you take one step inside and close the door behind you, he sighs and leans back against his chair.

You move towards him slowly, your lip caught between your lip going through your mind for the speech you'd been preparing the last few days. Your hands are sticky due to the the sugary treat liquifying in your hand. "I know there's no reason you should give me another chance after rejecting you in high school, and there's definitely no reason why you should forgive me for the way I shut you out a few weeks ago. You've been confessing your feelings to me since we were teenagers, and now it's my turn to tell you exactly how I feel about you."

"Jungkook, the truth is... I like you so much. I like you more than I've ever liked anyone. Ever. I said this was just a summer fling, and I was lying. I was lying because there's no way a simple summer fling could make me feel the way you do. There's no way a simple summer fling could make me want not just summer with you, but also fall and winter, and spring and every summer that comes next."

You hadn't realize when your eyes filling up with tears until the sight of him starts blurrying in front of you. His fingers reach yours, his thumb comforting on your skin. "____, it's okay-"

"I'm not done yet." you sniffle, gathering enough courage to continue. "I brought you a lemon sherbet because you said it was your favourite. But you also implied I was your favourite, and I want to keep being you favourite, but now it's already melted and-"

The corners of Jungkook's lips start pulling upward as he tugs you towards him, his heart loudly jumping inside his chest. "Shhh, come here."

He takes the ice cream from your hand and places it on his desk. Then he's helping you onto his lap, your head tucked under his chin and your arms wapping on their own around his neck.

He doesn't care about your sticky fingers or the wet stains of your tears in his shirt. The only thing he cares about is the fact that you're right there, letting him engulf your frame and drown in the scent and warmth he'd misses so much.

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The first day of June has Jungkook sweating and wishing for a haircut. Jungkook usually hates summer. He hates the fact that he has to shower at least twice a day, and the fact that the heat is almost unbearable to sleep in and also the fact that he's easily sunburnt.

This year, however, Jungkook likes summer a little bit more.

"Excuse me, miss. Do you have an appointment?" it's the fact that you're starting to wear those summer dresses he loves so much, and the fact that your skin glows under the sun like glitter, and also the fact that he can lick ice cream off of it whenever he desires.

"I am the appointment." your giggle is almost childlike, playing with Jungkook's heart strings. You shut the door behind you, nearing him. You also seem to always have that flush on your cheeks. Although he likes to think part of it is due to him. He doesn't say anything else as he puts his pencil down and instead turns around in the chair to have you immediately on top of his thighs.

Yeah, he also likes the path your lips trace from his cheek, to his jaw, ending at the juncture between his neck and his shoulder. It still makes his body quaver to this day.

"Let me see." he murmurs against you forhear, his hand already working on unbottoning the front of your dress.

"Mijoo hasn't left yet." you whisper back, your smile impossible to supress and the faint whimper impossible to hide when his fingers expose your breast and tug at the titanium barbell adorning the already hardened nub.

Jungkook loves knowing he was the one to do that, and also the only one to play with it. He doesn't hesitate when he dips his head. "As if we'd ever cared about that." he adds, wrapping your sole point in his mouth.

He fucks you on his studio table with your legs around his waist and his tongue playing with both your breasts, the tattoo sketches long forgotten, scattered on the floor as he whispers against your flesh something that sounds a lot like 'I love you'.

#jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook smut #bts fanfic #jungkook angst #jungkook x reader #bts #bts fic #bts smut #jungkook fic

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c-is-for-circinate · 3 years

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The story creates the story tells itself. That's it, that's what this is, it's the thing I always end up saying when Critical Role hits me right in the solar plexus, because stories are how we make sense of events after they've already happened. The story is not a thing in the moment it is created, it is a thing you can only know the shape of once it's over with, and then you look at it and you say, yes, of COURSE, it only ever could have been this from the first, couldn't it?

Seven miserable loners and outcasts and reckless illegitimate rebels meet in a tavern with no desire whatsoever for heroism. Their morals are quickfire and slapdash, casual and arbitrary, we'll help out these people, those people aren't our problem, we dislike those fucks over there. There is a war brewing and they want nothing to do with it. Fuck fame, fuck fortune, we'll keep to ourselves and play fast and loose with crime and take care of our own and maybe some lucky randoms we meet along the way. We'll fight and scrap and tussle amongst ourselves because none of us even entirely understand our own morals, let alone how to reconcile them with any of these other half-assed motherfuckers we apparently have to care about now.

They fuck up. One of their own dies.

They drown in rage and fury for just long enough, until they can stop gasping and growling for vengeance to take a breath. Then they run.

They run, because they do not care to stand and fight: not against evil or dragons or tyrant kings, not against their own grief. They flee the country. Nobody is chasing them, but they flee anyway, to avoid shackles, to avoid control, to avoid being set to anyone else's purpose, to avoid their own loss and their own sins. They run to the sea. (They find danger, and shackles, and control, and somebody else's purpose there again. The world is full of shackles and those who would wield them.)

They grieve. They avoid their grief. They sanctify their fallen comrade. They do not aim to be anything, this ragtag group of miserable loners and outcasts. The only thing they know themselves to be is each other's. They do not know themselves at all, but this grief, this loss--they know it, at least, know it together, an iron band binding them all heart to heart. It is the first truth they have to hold on to, the thing that lets them see each other as the only thing that matters, the only thing that's really real.

They face down a cult and win, because the other option is shackles or death. They face a demigod and flee, again, again, again. Always they flee.

They flee towards home and home is burned. They have seen loss and they have seen death and it finds them no matter how they run away, so maybe it's time to change direction. Maybe it's time to run towards. It's still running, still half-mindless directionality, it's still familiar. They are not heroes, they are not somebodies, they have never wanted to be somebody. This group has never wanted to be anybody, not as a group, not when they're whole. They're nobodies, trying to take care of themselves, take care of their own, to grow past their grief that they pretend they're gone from now, mostly, most days, when they can. (Pretend it's not the grief that made them each other's in the first place, like none of the fighting and scrapping and scrabbling along beside one another ever had in the first place.)

They bulldoze and trip and stumble and run towards instead of away, for once, just this once, the very first time they've run towards a thing since that last time, the only time, when they temporarily lost three of their own and then broke themselves trying to chase them (trying to chase vengeance). Towards is so much more dangerous than away. Run towards something hard enough, you might actually find it. You might have to become somebody when you get there, instead of just not-being somebody else.

They're somebody now. This rag-tag, broken, mismatched knot of nobodies, not even mercenaries because they're too skittish to even really look for paid work, they're somebodies now, or so Someone Important says. It fits like an ill-tailored coat that they've been forced into without ever making a choice. Without ever realizing, entirely, how much they never made a choice. The world said congrats, you're heroes now, and these killers and thieves went, well, fuck.

And then they tried to be heroes anyway. Not because it fit, not because they knew what to do, but because the mess of them, the seven of them, barely knew who they were to begin with. If the world was shouting HEROES! YOU'RE HEROES! BE HEROES! at them this very loudly--then don't they have to wear the coat that's being given to them? Don't they have to be, have to find some way to become, the heroes they've tripped and stumbled into appearing?

They don't know themselves. All they've done so far is run from themselves--from parents and children and their own crimes, from chains and challenges, limits and labels. They only barely know who they're not. They couldn't know who they are. How do they know they aren't heroes? The one thing they know, the only thing they have, the only thing they've ever run towards, is each other. The one thing they know for absolute sure and certain that defines and binds them is that steel band of grief, that first loss, the thing that broke and forged them to begin with.

So they look for answers in their grief, in what they've lost, because if it's the first true thing about them as a group, them as a whole, then it must be able to tell them who they have to be now. They sanctify their fallen, twist meaning and moral out of conversational confrontational casualness, make a mission statement out of leave every place better than you found it. They forget who he was, petty and venal and mortal and flawed. (They try to convince themselves that they don't have to be petty and venal and mortal and flawed.) They cling to what he meant.

And they fail. God, looking back on it all, with the shape of the story and the shape it's become, is it any wonder they failed? Petty and venal and moral and flawed, these rough-edged rabble-rousers, not even mercenaries because they don't even know how to take orders besides their own. Trying to be heroes. Trying to stop a war, because that's their job, right? It has to be. That's the shape of the coat they're trying to wear, that's the shape of leave every place better than you found it, that's the thing they crashed straight into while they were running, running, running the way they've always run, run, run. So they look for answers everywhere, because they have to have the answers to everything, and they scry and they spy and they play sides. They meet with queens. They turn to each other on the streets on the way out of the palace and ask in horror, "What did we just do?"

They run and they run and they trip and they fall and they unleash more evil than there was to start with. They lose one of their own, again. They sit in shattered shards, and what just happened? How could we have seen this coming? What did we just do?

They don't know themselves. They've been running from themselves, trying to run towards misty shapes they can't define in a too-big coat and too-small shoes, without any real practice in running towards to begin with. They don't know themselves, but they need to move forwards. They need to be whole again, the six, the seven (the eight, the nein). How can they do that if they don't know themselves?

And--finally, finally, they learn.

They learn. They throw a sword in a volcano and forge a sword anew. They rediscover their own mind, their own heart, covered in blood with each other's blood on their hands. They walk into their abusers' homes and then walk back out again alive and un-alone and unchained. They recover bodies. They recover families. They find themselves.

(And the selves they find are mortal and flawed, because they have always been mortal and flawed, because they are built to be mortal and flawed, because they are still the same misbegotten messes they have ever been. But they are stronger for having sought themselves out, for what they have found. They are the stronger for those threads of heroism they tried to, managed to keep.)

They stop a war, incidentally. In the end it's not even all that much due to them. They sit, nobodies on a ship in the middle of the ocean, and watch in silence. It chafes a little, not to be in the center of things, to be able to be the heroes it felt like the world told them they had to be. (It feels a little like relief.)

They find themselves. They find themselves, and they find another lost and broken man, miserable outcast loner, petty and venal and mortal and flawed. They only start to realize how they know themselves now when they see how much he doesn't.

(The peace treaty happens, happened, is/was/will be happening, because they tripped and trembled and tried their way into it, but in the end a thousand chess pieces moved to make it so, and it is signed on a boat where we do not even set foot. The culmination, the crowning glory, the true victory of that whole middle story, is a perfectly-dressed man in chains in the hold of a boat, admitting to his own sins. It is secret and it is individual, and it is the concrete proof above all proofs that our nobody unknowns are finally their own very-known selves. Because they were Essek, once--but know they know their own mirrors well enough to look at him and recognize that.)

They know so much, now, about who they are and who they are to become. They have looked at their pasts and, yes, flinched away, but they've seen, and they know, now, as much as they can handle. In the end, the one thing they don't know the true shape of, the one thing left to seek that must be sought, is of course (of course, of course) that very first thing they thought they knew to begin with. The one thing left to face is their grief. The one thing left to discover is what shaped it from the very start.

So they run, like they have always run. In amongst the snow it is the very distillation of running, towards and away, away and towards, chasing and fleeing and fleeing and chasing, are we in front or are they? It's every mistake they ever made all over again. It's every new lesson they've ever learned.

They don't ask any more, what's the right thing to do. They don't need to ask. They know, already, swift and sure and confident as they once stumbled and dodged. This is a thing that must be stopped. It is ours to stop it. Yes, it is a heavy, clumsy coat to wear, but it fits us out here in the snows where we're not trying to prove our heroism to anybody any more, for good or for evil. Yes, it weighs on our backs and tangles our legs, but it fits as well as any role we've ever tried to wear. It fits us more than it could ever fit anybody else. It's our role. It's our coat. It was forged of our choices, our pieces, our fights. It was forged of our grief.

Nobody else is here with us, to watch, to know. Just like when we were seven shiftless, aimless, worthless nobodies wandering through a circus tent on the way to nowhere (everywhere) else. There's us and the demon born from our grief, the demon who sprang up and died and is the only reason we any of us ever met. Just us, just the nine of us, three and three and three. The three who were dragged off in chains and gave us something to run towards, that very first time. The three who chased, and watched their companion fall, and faced their grief head on, and ran. And Lucien, and Caduceus, and Essek, beginning and middle and end: The man whose demise allowed us to come together, reborn from the loss that bound us. The man who found us and told us that grief is inevitable and passing, that we must continue with it, that we still had such a long way to go. The man who we found like a reflection in an aging mirror, reflecting our own progress back at us, showing us how far we've come and what we've learned how to be.

Of course it had to end this way. (There were so very many other ways it could have ended, once. Of course there were none at all.) Of course it would be nine and nine in the end. Of course it would be this final perfect marriage of heroism and anonymity, for this group that's finally figured out their selves, past and future and right-the-fuck-now, saviors and heroes and petty nobody fucks. Of course it would be this.

And of course, of course, of course it had to go like this. Of course, after everything, the first six of them would try to reverse that grief that forged and tied them. Of course they couldn't. Of course they couldn't, of course, of course--(and was it fate, that 1-in-20 chance, that 5% chance, that 1 on a die? was it fate like the dice are always fate in every game, rolling out poetry with every throw, because all the rolls that aren't quite poetic enough get forgotten?) Of course it was a 1, not some other number, not some sheepish failure of a 4. Of course the universe itself would speak to say no.

No, says the universe, that is not how this story goes--because the road is full of shattered shards, and our heroes only learned to be heroes by discovering how bloodily bad at it they were, by nearly causing the apocalypse before wrestling it back again. Of course the universe itself says that after all this time, after changing so far and discovering so much, this the inciting thing from the very beginning that bound this group in steel must not be changed. Of course, with all their pleas, the six people who knew him cannot bring him back.

Of course that's how the story would go. And of course there's Essek, the man who met this party so long after their throes of mourning that it had sunk into their bones and grown quiet before they ever knew him, who cannot accept this outcome. Of course it's Essek, who never met and has barely heard of this man, this grief--Essek who has not yet grown into the quiet acceptance of his own grief, who does not yet know his own mirror, who has only just barely begun to understand running to instead of from and still doesn't know the shape of what he might eventually choose to chase--who seethes in rage. Who cries about not fair.

Of course it's Caduceus who takes the inspiration of that anger, that grief, and changes it all. Of course it's Caduceus, who the group only even found out of their grief. (They tracked him down to beg to know if he could raise the dead in the first place. Do you remember? One, two, three, Caleb and Beau and Nott, finding him in his graveyard to beg him to help.) Of course it's Caduceus, created to serve and to heal and to make so, so very sure that everyone understood that death could be necessary and final. Of course it's Caduceus, who stood over Mollymauk's grave by the roadside and put a hand in the dirt and cast decompose, because what is dead should be allowed to stay that way until it grows into something else. Of course it is. Because Caduceus has learned his own shape by now, too--and it is still full of devotion, of dedication to the dead remaining dead, but it is steadfast and selfish sometimes too, forged in friendship, full enough of love to try, just this once.

Of course Caduceus gave the diamond but didn't try to perform the ritual, at first, at first. Of course he's spent so very long so very gently urging his friends to reconcile themselves to their loss, to letting their loved one sleep. Of course, in the end, in the very end, he weighed all his faith that once held so firm and final and without exceptions, with this grief before him, and found just this once, maybe, within it.

Of course when he tried, the man who lives to put things in the ground (to put Molly in the ground), even after the fates and the gods and the universe had spoken--when, just this once, against the will of the natural order and the universe and the power of destiny, he asked, just once, for the path of things to reverse--of course. Of course he was the voice that needed to speak for the story to listen.

Of course Molly would end the campaign. Of course this had to be the finale of it all. Of course this ritual--not this fight, not this mission, not even this apocalypse, but this ritual, this resurrection--must be the end of things. Of course it's the end of the story. You can't go any farther than this.

There can never be nine of us. It won't be ironic any more. But irony, after all, is just a way of running from sincerity, sometimes running away from sincerity so hard and fast you crash back into it from the other side. Like running from being a person, from being that person, from letting things matter, from mattering. Like running so far and fast from being found that eventually you have no choice but to find yourself. Irony's a shield against having to know the truth.

There's nine of them. It's not ironic. It's perfect, but it's not ironic. It's just the truth. They know who they are, now. Not who they were running away from being. Not who they tried to be for the sake of anyone else. Who they always are. Always were.

This story could have been a hundred thousand different things, when it started. Of course it was always fated to end with nine.

#whoops #definitely wrote this at 4 AM #apparently it still holds up in the light of day #CR spoilers #critical role #episode 140 #ok maybe I had a few feels #prose poet at 3 am

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apocalypticgargoyle · 3 years

Note

Oh my god i just found you're writing and I'm obssessed. First of all, I'm in love with your edgy!karl series. Seriously, it's amazing. Second of all, I had a little idea that you can take as a request if you'd like. I was thinking edgy!dream/clay but with a shy innocent girl. And a hint of some fear play kink? Like she's all cute and he's so edgy shes scared and intimidated by him when they meet and it turns him on knowing shes both scared of him AND attracted to him at the same time so he uses it against her(consensually of course)

can we call him alt!dream? ;) also,,, i rly like this request...

𝐉𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐘𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐍𝐒. ♘ 𝐚𝐥𝐭!𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 (𝟏𝟖+)

pairing: alt!Dreamwastaken x fm!reader

warnings: smut (18+), fighting, smoking, language, oral (fm. receiving), fear play, asphyxiation, sight size kink & praise, dominance

The movie theatre dimmed, the beginning credits of the film reeling as a montage of a city played in the background. You settled back in your seat, accepting the fact that you had been stood up, determined not to let it ruin the movie you had already paid for. That’s right; instead of treating yourself to a new pair of shoes or a set of notebooks, you agreed to meet up with a sleazy guy from class after weeks of him pleading.

You sighed slightly, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you realized you hadn’t even wanted to see the film and had only agreed because he suggested it. Someone moved into a seat near you, his legs stretching as he slumped down, purely due to his towering height. You stiffened, crossing your legs to inch away from him at the sight of his various tattoos peeking out from beneath his dark corduroy jacket.

He carded a hand through his dirty blond hair, revealing an eyebrow ring as he swept his bangs off his forehead momentarily. You tore your eyes from him as you noticed the cigarette balanced behind his ear. Even with the seat between the two, you could smell the smoke on his clothes mixing with the faintest hint of vanilla.

You folded your hands in your lap as you noticed him give you a once over. He reached towards you, making you flinch slightly before you realized he was holding out his bag of candy to you. “Want a jellybean? You look upset,” he motioned, voice low as he whispered.

You shook your head quickly, muttering a thank you and playing with your fingers. He shrugged, watching you for a second more before turning back to the movie. He tucked his arm behind his head, chewing on his lip as if debating whether he should keep talking to you or just let you be. You weren’t really sure which outcome you preferred.

On one hand, he fit every one of your guilty pleasure fantasies, while on the other, he terrified the hell out of you. It was more of an intimidating feeling, residing in the way each of his movements caught your attention and the way you could barely keep your eyes off his grungy appearance. Your mind drifted from the plot of the movie and towards the images of his tattooed hands wrapping around your throat and giving you a reason to be scared.

“You here alone?” He asked, popping another jellybean in his mouth. The action made you think of your grandpa waning himself off of tobacco when you were younger. Those jellybeans were blue and a flavor of comfort for you now, while the man before you seemed to only fish for the red ones.

You nodded hesitantly. “I got stood up,” you mumbled, making him shake his softly. “What about you? Are you here alone?” You wondered where you had gathered the courage to talk to him, his demeanor making you want to run, but his voice was a symphony to your ears in the darkness of the movie house, drawing you closer with each of his lulling words.

He wet his lips. “So far,” he answered. He stuck out his large hand for you to shake, his skin was coarse against yours as his finger reached to brush against your wrist. “I’m Clay,” he added, his name rolling into your mind and nestling itself into your memory just due to the tone of his voice. After you gave him your name his mouth curled into a soft smirk. “It’s nice to meet you,” he remarked. You blushed for an unknown reason, thankful for the darkness to mask your emotions.

Someone entered the theatre, marching up to Clay and leaning down to his ear. “Dream, we have to go now,” the guy whispered into his ear, just loud enough that you could hear him. Clay's face twisted into an annoyed expression while the guy turned to leave.

Clay straightened his jacket on his shoulders. “Not to seem to forward, but can I get your number?” He queried. You raised your eyebrows at him, basking in the fact that despite his friend’s agitation, Clay was taking his sweet time making his move on you.

As if you were acting on instinct, you grabbed a pen from your bag as he held his hand out to you again. You found a bare spot on his skin and wrote your number as clearly as you could manage with your shaking hands at the way his eyes watched you alluringly. Without thinking, you blew on the ink, trying to keep it from smearing. You froze, realizing what you were doing as he bit back a smirk.

He was completely eating up your awkwardness.

He reluctantly took his hand back, being pulled up by his friend. “I’ll call you,” he whispered on his way out, heat rushing to your ears.

The movie ended shortly after he left, sending you back out onto the city streets and away from your cocoon where you had forgotten about the sleazy classmate and let thoughts of Clay weasel their way into your nerves. As you stepped through the doors, your phone began to ring, kick-starting your heart at the thought of it being Clay. Instead, it was a friend of yours asking how your date had gone. You tucked the phone between your ear and shoulder as you pulled a piece of gum out of your purse.

Her ramblings went deaf on your ears as a car violently pulled up to an alleyway a block from you. You squinted as you moved closer, your apartment being in that direction anyway. A few men got from the car and that’s when Clay stepped into view from behind one of the buildings, flicking his cigarette to the ground and snubbing it out with the toe of his heavy boots as he watched them get out. You could see your number still written on his hand, mixing with his tattoos.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, looking tiredly at the group of men that had come from the car as his friends began to shout at them. Clay chewed on his lip, looking around and away from the conversation before his gaze met yours. His eyes widened slightly before he turned back, an attempt to keep the attention away from you.

One of the car members grabbed for Clay’s jacket, yanking him closer as if to get him to pay mind to the man talking. Clay sent him a cocky grin, towering over him. With his normal height and his boots, he had at least a foot on the guy. One of Clay’s friends separated the two, breaking the groups into a brawl while shouting was accompanied with fists and elbow jabs.

You turned, walking in another direction as briskly as you could without bringing attention to yourself and the group of boys in the alleyway. Little did you know, Clay was watching you leave and kicking himself for it.

The next day, your mind was racing with Clay’s whereabouts. He seemed like he had his opponents under control, but what if one of them had brought a knife or another weapon? It wasn’t unusual for boys in the city to butt heads like they were, but the fact that you’d let one nearly pick you up the night before was boggling.

You gripped the strap of your bag as you crossed the street, stepping onto the sidewalk and adjusting your skirt. You kept your head down as you passed various people coming and going from their apartments before your ears picked up on a familiar voice. You picked your eyes up, spotting Clay and a small group of guys walking together. He popped a jellybean in his mouth after chiming into their conversation.

You held your breath as they neared you and that’s when you noticed his bruised face and scraped knuckles. Your number was faded on his skin, but still apparent on the back of his hand. He smiled at you, breaking off from his group and walking backward to match your pace. You bit back a smile. “Glad to see you’re okay,” you mumbled, barely able to make eye contact with him. His friends called out for him and he waved them off, walking in line with you.

He chuckled lightly. “Yeah, sorry. I would have called last night but…” he made a gesture to his torso as he trailed off. “I broke a rib. I didn’t really… I don’t.” He laughed sheepishly as you raised your eyebrows. “I’m fine. It’s good,” he brushed.

You picked your gaze off the pavement finally, focusing on his discolored black eye and busted lip. He didn’t seem to be too hurt, but he wore his wounds well. “You’re not scared of me, are you?” He asked, voice changing slightly. You drew in a sharp breath, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before it could get further knotted in the wind. A few people narrowed their eyes at the two of you and you wondered how you looked together. What kind of juxtaposition it was; his tall, dark figure looking like death in Doc Martens while you barely passed his shoulder in height with your less intimidating color scheme.

You debated how to answer him. Your eyes flickered to his dangly earring; a silver ankh. He ate another jellybean. “I was at first. I’m still kind of weary of you, I guess,” you muttered, making a smile bite into his features.

Clay ran his fingers through his hair, which you were beginning to believe was a habit when he was coming up with what to say. “Do you want me to leave you alone?”

You shook your head. A blush crept to your cheeks. “No, I kind of like it,” you mumbled, barely audible enough for him to hear. His hand slipped into yours and you could feel your chest tighten.

“You like being scared of me?” His voice was dripping with allure, making you bite your tongue in a flushed embarrassment. “You just keep getting better and better,” he teased, making your ears burn.

You weren’t sure how you ended up there, but God, were you thankful for Clay’s hands as they kneaded your ass, his lips pressing against yours. He ground his hips against yours, moaning into your mouth as your nails sank into his tattooed skin. His tongue pressed past your lips, his large hand moving to fist in the sheets beside you before dragging up your shirt to grip your breast.

You breathlessly moaned as he broke your kiss, lips trailing down your body as he sat back on his knees, dragging your underwear off as your shirt was also discarded to the floor. He looped his arms around your thighs, bringing you closer to his mouth as his concentrated stare shifted to your eyes before he buried himself between your legs, your body tensing as a groan ripped through your body. Your fingers carded through his soft blond hair, tugging slightly in appraisal as he pulled away from you.

Clay looked up at you again, slowly pressing one of his long fingers into you, you moaned his name, reaching one of your hands up to grip at the headboard above you. “Does that feel good, sweetheart?” He asked, voice deep with lust as his breath fanned against your wet core. He pushed another finger into you as you nodded. He pressed his lips to your thigh. “I can’t believe you’re scared of me,” he mocked, making you whimper as his fingers pulsed against your sweet spot.

He pressed his lips to your core again, tongue teasing at your nerves as you caught your lips between your teeth. You moved your knee further up his arm for a better angle, driving him deeper. He pulled away, his fingers speeding up. “So needy,” he chuckled, the sound enough to send you over the edge if you really thought about it.

“Clay, please. I want you,” you whined softly, your thighs threatening to close around his head. His eyes sparkled devilishly, leaning away from you before tugging your legs towards him. He pushed his fingers into your mouth, jaw tensing as you moaned around him.

He grabbed your hips, flipping your body and pushing your shoulders into the mattress. You heard him unbuckling his belt and your fingers knitted into the sheets beneath you. He pulled you back by the shoulders, hand moving to hold onto your neck. “Maybe I should give you something to be scared of,” he chided, making a shiver run up your spine as he pushed your thighs apart driving himself up into you. You were sure you would tear in half at the sheer size of him, but you bit back your whimpers at the pleasuring pain.

One of your hands moved to grip onto his arm as he thrust into you, his teeth threatening to dig into your shoulder as you moaned. His other hand moved to tease at your nerves, his determination to summon your orgasm sending your head reeling. You tilted back your head, resting against his shoulder as his hand tightened around your throat.

He let go of you, dipping you against the mattress again as his fist knotted in your hair. He steadied himself, leaning on one of his arms beside your head. Your hand wrapped around his wrist as he thrusted into you at an ungodly pace, lips hovering beside your ear as he grunted your name and how good you felt.

You pushed your hips up against him turning your head enough that he pressed his lips against yours, the vibrations from his moans sending heat throughout your body. Clay’s tongue slipped into your mouth roughly, tasting your whimpers and lust. His teeth dragged against your lip as you felt him throb inside of you.

He pushed your shoulder back, moving you on your side as your leg curled around. At the new angle, he could drive himself deeper into you; dark green eyes focused on yours as his warmed breath cascaded over your chest. His hand moved to your jaw, running his thumb against your burning lips as his sights were almost hungrily looking upon you. Your breathing became shallow as he smirked at you, moving his hand to your throat again.

He leaned down, slowing his pace to drag in and out of you as his lips were close to your ear. He applied pressure, your breath hitching in your throat. “So pretty. Good girl, taking me so well,” he praised, making you moan as he kissed you again before speeding up his thrusts. You moaned out his name again, finishing as your eyes fluttered shut. He chuckled darkly, pounding into you harder. “Fuck,” he hissed, lips pressing to the skin behind your ears, digging his face into your hair as he chased his high.

He exhaled, breath blanketing your skin before he kissed your shoulder, cheek, and finally your lips in a quiet appraisal. You pulled him into the spot beside you. He ran his fingers through his hair as you curled against his side, his other hand brushing softly against your arm. You knotted your fingers with his, brushing your thumb against where your faded number rested. “Didn’t you just break a rib?” You asked, finally noticing the slide bruising on his side.

Clay chuckled softly. “Yeah, I think I was running on adrenaline until a second ago,” he groaned.

Dream Tag List: (to join, follow this link :))

@karlkitten @pluto-dizzz @more-like-reyna @honk-izzie-was-taken @marrymetheonott @froggyy06 @ghoulandghost @savingpluto @marshmallow-babe @drunkpumpkincake

#dream x reader #alt!dream #alt!dreamwastaken #dream smut #dream imagine #dream au #dreamwastaken x reader #mcyt x you #mcyt fanfiction #mcyt imagine #mcyt smut #dreamwastaken smut #dreamwastaken x you #🌸 anon

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heliads · 3 years

Text

Crows

Everyone has a symbol on their palm that somehow relates to your soulmate. You have a crow, which led to you joining the Dregs in Ketterdam. Every Dreg has a soulmate symbol that in no way relates to you- except Kaz Brekker, as no one has seen his palm at all.

masterlist

You stare at the crow inked into your palm. It stares back at you.

You hesitate for a second longer, then snap your hand shut, letting the unblinking eyes of the black bird disappear back behind your fingers. This is the price of a soulmate, of wandering too far from your home and never finding the one person you were meant to belong to. This is the price of being a canal rat, a Grisha, of being anybody still foolish enough to believe in a soulmate in the midst of all this darkness.

Soulmates may technically be real, but people only believe in them as much as they do Inej’s Saints, or anybody else’s long-held dreams. Between the wars and Shadow Folds springing up across the world, it’s getting pretty hard for anyone to find their soulmate at all. It’s supposed to be simple- one mark on each person’s palm to designate their soulmate, a mark that will disappear at the first touch of their hand on yours. Sometimes, you wonder what mark would be on your soulmate’s skin: a flame or sparking coal, maybe, for your branch of the Small Science, or a skull, for all the death that seems to shadow your path.

The crow has been on your palm for as long as you can remember, as long as anyone has ever had a soulmate. It was there when you were born, but judging by your trend in luck, it’ll probably be there until the day you die. Soulmates aren’t for girls like you, girls who flee their homes to trade a life amongst the Grisha for a death in the gray-streaked streets of Ketterdam.

You were born an Inferni, that much is true. You witnessed the Ravkan civil war, and you were there to flee it for safer tides. You weren’t sure what cruel twist of fate landed you in Ketterdam, one of the worst places for a Grisha, but you were at least able to keep your identity a secret. You’d seen what happened to the luckless Grisha trapped inside neverending indentures, and you know what tortures would await you if word of your firestarting habit got out. So, you never spoke a word, and pretended you were just another otkazat’sya traveler in need of safe harbors.

You hadn’t been wandering the canals long before your path turned into the Barrel. It wasn’t an intentional choice, just an eventual fate that you would end up in the worst part of the twisting sidestreets. There was no escaping the Barrel, not unless you were a wealthy mercher or some other lucky sap who the Saints blessed with the ability to avoid getting dragged down into the muck like everyone else. You learned the names and locations of all the gangs like everyone else: Black Tips, Dime Lions, and most notably, the Dregs.

Your breath had caught in your chest when you heard of them. They frequented the Crow Club, some were called the crows themselves, their leader had a crow on his cane. Everything seemed to point in a glaringly obvious arrow towards your soulmate mark: a crow for a crow. Where else could you have ended up?

You knew better now. You had met Kaz Brekker, the boy with the crow cane, and you knew that any chance of finding a soulmate among his crew was near impossible. You had been walking home after dark one night when you found yourself set upon by a duo of thugs. Not Dregs, possibly Dime Lions with a bone to pick, angry that the Dregs had such control over the pigeons of Fifth Harbor. They had been expecting an easy mark, somebody they could thunk over the head with a pair of brass knuckles and walk away without a scratch. They weren’t expecting you to beat them into the dust in a matter of seconds.

No matter your status or location, you were still a Grisha, and you’d been trained by Botkin long enough to be able to defend yourself. When the goons were finally laid at your feet, unconscious, you had allowed yourself a moment to smile. It was easy to feel low, a gutter rat in the canals of Ketterdam, but being able to use your fists again almost reminded you of the training halls at the Little Palace.

Enjoying this one brief memory, though, was a slip that you shouldn’t have made. When you looked up, you weren’t alone- a boy stood before you, gloved hands clasped over a crow’s head cane. You didn’t particularly know who he was, or make the connection between him and the Dregs, and moved to get out of the alleyway before he decided to make the same mistake as the thugs. He had slid his cane in front of you, fast as lightning, stopping you in your place. “I think we should speak about your future in Ketterdam.”

You were annoyed at this sudden interruption. “I think you should leave me alone.” You had retorted, using your hand to move his cane back in front of him. You had also been irritated, both by the fight and this boy’s brashness, and slipped your hand into his pocket for just a second to retrieve a newly shined pocketwatch. No one could have possibly seen it, this tiny movement, and the boy certainly didn’t, as he let you pass without another word.

You were still grumbling when you got back to the ramshackle building you called an apartment complex, and your landlady had raised an eyebrow when she saw you. “What, have you finally realized that it was a fool’s errand to come here?” She asked, and you shook your head. “No, just bothered by some guy with a crow’s head cane. Weird prop to carry around.” The woman had blanched, face suddenly seeming to age a decade in a second.

She had bustled over to you, voice low as if terrified that the boy might be able to hear her. “That’s Kaz Brekker, you fool. He runs the Dregs. Saints, he might even run this city.” She had hurried away from you then, forcing herself back to her work. Even then, you had known she was wrong. There was nothing the Saints could know about Kaz Brekker, nothing they could even hope to involve themselves in.

You had shaken the experience away, climbing up the stairs to your apartment. When you pushed open the door, however, you saw that you were not alone. The boy from earlier was back, this time leaning against the far wall. He gestured for you to close the door, which you did, albeit hesitantly. You had no idea how he got in- you had changed the locks when you first arrived at the apartment all those weeks ago, barred the windows, made it impossible for anyone except you to make their way inside. Yet here he stood, with knowledge of both where you lived and how to get there before you. It was impossible. Well, impossible for anyone except Kaz. The Barrel was his home, after all, and you doubt Dirtyhands had ever bothered to knock.

His fingers tapped the crow’s head of his cane. “I don’t think we quite finished our conversation. You could do more than just wash dishes, you know. The Dregs could always use a new member. That, and I’d like you to return what you stole from me. I’m impressed, actually. No one is that good at pickpocketing except me, and no one would try something that daring except for, well, me. I think you’d fit in nicely with my gang.”

You had folded your arms across your chest. “And I’m meant to believe that my pickpocketing was impressive enough to warrant a visit from Dirtyhands himself?” Kaz had shrugged, the movement stiff in the darkness. “You can believe whatever you want. I just want to see if you’ll take a good offer when you see one.” After a while, you had accepted, and Kaz had left, but not before whispering something in your ear. “If you steal from me again, I will cut off both of your hands. I don’t tolerate theft, not from me.”

You had heard enough threats to know that he meant good on this one. As it turned out, however, Kaz would not have to fear theft from you again. You found a home amongst the Dregs, a home you weren’t likely to give up due to the thrill of pickpocketing Kaz Brekker. You had a room at the Slat, a place at the table, a voice in the masses. It was something you weren’t willing to trade away.

Even amongst the many crows of Kaz Brekker’s gang, however, you still couldn’t let the issue of your soulmate go. You can remember one night, late into the night’s bells when you, Inej, Jesper, Matthias, and Nina had all made the journey up to Kaz’s office, slumped against chairs and floorboards and chatting the night away. Kaz was sitting at his desk, apparently doing paperwork, but you did notice that he kept coincidentally chiming into conversations even when he said he wasn’t paying attention.

At some point, Nina steered the conversation to soulmates. She held up her now blank palm, proclaiming that at some point it had held a wolf’s head. She had been terrified, she said, terrified that she would have a drüskelle or some other weirdo for a soulmate. Matthias had acted affronted at that, but if he was feeling particularly charitable he might relent and tell the gathered Crows about how he’d had a heart on his hand, and how frustrated he’d been when it had disappeared the second he’d locked Nina away on that slaver’s ship.

Nina had turned to Kaz then, intent on poking the bear and having some sort of fun that night. “So, Brekker, what’s your soulmate mark? Or do you not do that sort of zealot human thing we call soulmates?” Kaz had raised his eyebrows, looking distinctly bored. Of everyone in the room, you’re pretty sure that only you and Inej would be able to tell that he was holding back a smile.

“I’m not entirely a monster, Zenik. I do have a soulmate.” Nina had leaned forward, intent on clarification. “Then what’s the mark? We can’t just take a gander at your palm, remember? They’re hidden by your gloves.” Kaz had let his papers fall back to the desk with a thunk, turning to her with an expression laced with both exasperation and studied disinterest. “It’s a fire. A small flame. Happy?”

Nina had looked fascinated. “Beatific. I wonder what that means. An Inferni, maybe?” She wiggled her eyebrows at Kaz. “Maybe it’s supposed to show that they’re devilishly attractive. Really hot, get it?” Kaz had made a sound that was either a dry cough or his best attempt at a laugh. “Hilarious, Nina. I see why you’re a Heartrender- you could make a person want to die based on your jokes alone.”

Nina had acted affronted, making sure everybody knew that her jokes were hilarious, thank you very much, but you couldn’t help but think about the repercussions of this. What if Nina’s first guess was right, and Kaz’s soulmate was an Inferni, like you? If your tattoo was of a crow, and Kaz’s was of flames, then surely it was too much to just be a coincidence. You’d never know, anyway, because soulmate marks only disappeared on flesh to flesh contact. Kaz always wore gloves, so you’d never find out the truth. Besides, you remind yourself, the chances of this were superbly unlikely. A crow could mean anything, so could a flame. You need to stop getting your hopes up.

Despite the possibilities and impossibilities, you’ve still been running with the canal rats long enough to know that you can’t dwell forever on what might have been. You’re a Dreg now and you need to focus on that instead. When Kaz announces an upcoming settlement with the Razorgulls, yet another one of the gangs that roam the streets of Ketterdam, you’re eager for a chance at something entertaining after a long while of nothing. Kaz will meet with the leader to negotiate their way through a claim on the various pigeons coming and going from the harbors, and that will be that.

However, this is the Barrel. Negotiations are rarely easy. This is why, when Jesper arrives as Kaz’s second, he’s shunted aside to a separate room to stay out the duration of the meeting. Kaz and the leader of the Razorgulls are on the opposite side of the street in an empty courtyard, far away from any help should they need it. Kaz was prepared for this, as always, and set up a plan. Inej will shadow Jesper, making sure that he’ll have a way out if he needs it, and you’ll be shadowing Kaz himself. You’re not sure why Kaz chose you instead of his faithful Wraith, only that he rarely makes decisions based on nothing and you would do best to follow his judgement. The times he’s let you down are few and far between.

You and Inej split up, staying amongst the rooftops to avoid detection. She follows Jesper and the Razorgulls’ second into a crowded tavern, and you head towards the abandoned courtyard. Ahead of you, Kaz’s cane taps against the crooked cobblestones as he wends through desiccated hedges and marble statues severely lashed by time. The Razorgulls’ leader is waiting for him there, but you can’t follow now. Instead, you stick to the edges, climbing stairs and making your way into the empty buildings that watch over the courtyard like silent sentries.

You’re not sure what trouble you’ll be walking into, only that it will exist in some crooked form. There’s no logical reason the Razorgulls would want the seconds in another building unless they were planning something, and no reason Kaz would agree to this at all if he wasn’t sure you could have his back when he needed it. As you creep along the buildings, keeping a careful eye on the proceedings through the few broken windows, you notice that the two gang leaders have begun to speak. You can’t quite hear what they’re saying, only a few whispers here and there.

You’re just rounding a corner, ready to make your way into a neighbouring building, when the lights flash off, landing you in darkness. Instantly, you panic. Lighting is scarce here, only the moonbeams and a couple of oil lamps, but there’s no reason they should have shut down this quickly. You hear footsteps on the stairs, along with two pairs of voices: Razorgulls, discussing how important it is to stick to the shadows so Brekker can’t see them.

Your heartbeat thuds in the dark as you realize they haven’t spotted you yet. In fact, they have no idea you’re there at all. When Kaz was giving directions for the negotiations, he specifically told you to make sure that you weren’t seen, even if rival gang members showed up. If you want to go along with his plan and make sure he lives to see the end of this shoddy deal, you’ll have to stay in hiding.

This, however, is easier said than done. If the lights were on, you would be able to see the wooden beams of the floor and tell which ones would creak and which wouldn’t, which large shapes of furniture to avoid and which holes in the floorboards you should step over. A chill washes over you as you realize what you’ll have to do. You move your fingers together, quick as scraping flint against steel, and a small flame materializes at the pad of your index finger. It’s small, barely visible to anyone except you, but it’s enough to help you get out of the room before the Razorgulls notice you.

Even as the thrill of using your Grisha power after so long sends a charge of energy through your veins, you can’t help but feel uneasy. The only reason you’ve been able to survive in the Barrel and avoid unwholesome indentures is because you never used your power, not once. Even if it was necessary, this still feels bad.

You’ve found a new hiding place in the corner of the room and move to extinguish your flame now that it’s no longer useful. However, it’s been too long since you last used your powers as an Inferni, and your concentration wavers. The flame grows brighter and you start to panic, eventually clamping down your mind and forcing the fire to disappear.

The disappearance comes too late. The Razorgulls have seen some light in the shadow that wasn’t supposed to be there and are now edging your way, careful not to let you out of their sight. You have no choice but to take them down, standing over their unconscious bodies and feeling a wave of nerves crest over you. Kaz specifically said not to mess with the gangs, but you had no choice. You can only hope that this won’t ruin his plan too much.

Quietly, you step through the room and unlock a window, letting the panes move open in the wind. Now, you can hear the voices echoing up from the courtyard, and your heart sinks as you realize that things aren’t going well. The leader of the Razorgulls has revealed his ace in the hole, that he’s got guns trained on Kaz right now. Kaz just laughs, the sound as cold as rocks scraping against a ship’s hull, ready to damn a hundred men to the depths of the ocean.

“Do you, though? Who are the men you sent up- Dirk Struik and Niels ter Avest? Your coffers may be deep, but mine are more extensive. Gentlemen, take down this man, if you please.” Your stomach twists as you realize Kaz was counting on the men you just knocked out. Without them, he’s alone with a man pointing a gun at his skull. There’s no way around this- you’re going to have to break your most cherished rule again.

You thrust your palms out in front of you, letting tendrils of flame arc out of your hands and cascade onto the leader of the Razorgulls. He twists in agony, burns appearing on his skin. He only suffers for a moment or two, however, until he becomes unconscious due to the pain. Kaz’s head jerks up, staring at you. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Kaz Brekker truly surprised, but he most certainly was not expecting this.

You don’t think there’s anything you can do except try to explain yourself. You jump down from the open window, letting your heels land lightly on the stones of the courtyard. Kaz seems frozen in place for a second, then moves forward until you’re standing only a few feet apart. Your breath comes wild in your chest. Kaz speaks after the longest of moments. “Where were the guards?”

You hold up your hands uselessly. “They saw me. I had to take them out.” Kaz’s eyes dart to your palms, faster than a sharpshooter pulling the trigger. He takes in the smoke still curling around your fingers, then the crow mark in the middle of your hand. When he speaks again, his voice has lost its icy edge. He just sounds like a boy again, young and confused.

“You never told me you were an Inferni.” You sigh. “It was a secret I needed to keep. You know what happens in the Barrel, the indentures and the tortures. If I used my powers, I would have died a long time ago.” Kaz jerks his head in a harsh nod. “I don’t blame you for surviving. We have all committed worse crimes to live” Your voice gains a confidence it didn’t have before. “Then what do you blame me for? You’re upset, anyone could tell that. If it’s not with me keeping my Grisha abilities a secret, then what is it?”

Kaz hesitates, as if pulling himself back from a yawning chasm. “Me.” You stare at him, at the indecision wracking his brow, then at the way he’s pulling at the glove at his palm. His hands almost seem to shake, like he’s still not sure that he’s doing the right thing. He pulls the glove off, inch by inch, seeming to dread every second that his hands aren’t covered by the black leather. At last, you see it- the mark on his palm, the flame sparking into being right there on his hand.

He reaches out tentatively. “I need to know.” He manages, and at last you understand. You move your own hand slowly, stopping when it’s only a few inches away from his. Kaz squares his shoulders, as if preparing to jump from another broken building, then closes the distance and lets his hand rest lightly on yours. As you watch, your soulmate tattoos shimmer for a second and then vanish, erasing from your skin as if they’d never been there at all.

Kaz lets his gaze linger on the empty skin of your palm, and then he seems to come back into himself, snatching his hand away like he’s flinching from a blow. You can see it in his eyes that he regrets this, that he can’t keep his hand there, but you understand. You can understand quite a lot from him.

Kaz’s voice is like the grating of metal. “I’m not somebody you want as a soulmate. It won’t be easy. It won’t be good.” You laugh quietly in the night. “If I wanted something easy, I would have never come to Ketterdam.” Kaz nods at this, something almost like relief in his eyes. “I’m not going anywhere.” You manage. Something almost like a smile flits across Kaz’s face. “Good. We have much to discuss.”

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rayofsunas · 3 years

Text

s/o trying on the boys clothes.

A/n: I hope everyone’s day is going alright, as good as these days can be :( this was requested by an anon. thank you so much for your cute idea anon! also can I just say, I love scaramouche’s hat so much? it’s so pretty!?!?! sorry childe’s is so short, I don’t have much exposure to him ngl. these could be read as g/n, but I did have a female reader in mind, it’s more noticeable in xiao’s.

Summary: s/o trying on the boys clothes.

Parings: Scaramouche/Reader, Childe/Reader, Xiao/Reader

Warnings: fluff, swearing

Word count: 1.2k

Scaramouche

You knew the minute you put his hat on he’d be angered to see you wearing it. But how could you not, when it was just sitting on the back of the wooden chair, begging to be worn.

Your lover had abandoned it for once, but you assumed he hadn’t gone far if he’d left it behind. It was like a signature of his, he never left without it.

If he wasn’t here, he wouldn’t notice you wearing it, so it wouldn’t hurt anybody if you tried it on for just a few minutes. The curiosity was getting the better of you, and before you knew it, you were padding across the room to pick up the hat.

It slipped easily on your head, but you quickly noticed how heavy it was, the weight of the two ornamental accessories weighing it down significantly.

“Jeez, Scara... how do you wear this?” You muttered to yourself, approaching a mirror in your bedroom. You stared at your reflection for quite a while, appreciating and admiring the small intricate designs and details on the top of the hat. It was truly beautiful.

A nervousness bubbled in your stomach when you saw your lover come into view in the mirror, his eyes pointed in a heavy glare.

“What do you think you’re doing,” It wasn’t a question, more like a statement. One that could have held malice behind it if you were someone else.

Despite being nervous, you gulped and confidently announced, “Hello Scara.”

“Take that off.” You weren’t shocked by his demand, not at all.

“But it’s so pretty,” you whined. Scaramouche’s eyes rolled as he strolled forward, standing behind you with a finger on his chin. He was so close you could practically feel the best emitting off of his body; he was... irked.

“It’s design isn’t pretty.” He stated harshly.

“Hmm, I suppose you’re right because it’s not on your head! Here.” You whipped the hat off at the speed of light and were quick to plop it on top of navy hair.

The ornaments continued to jingle even when the hat was secure on his head and you were left staring at an unreadable face.

“Better...” you whispered shyly. “You look like a King now.”

He stayed silent for a long time, it makes you feel uncomfortable and awkward under his gaze.

“Considering you like it so much. Maybe we should have one made for you...” he said thoughtfully, easing away all of your nervousness with just one unusual thoughtful comment. Your face heated up, burning like Jueyun Chili’s, you were excited.

“Really?! You would do that for me! Aw you’re so sweet Scara-”

“Only because I don’t want mine stolen all of the time.”

You frowned, but you would take the previous statement as a compliment. He wanted to match with you, that’s what you decided to conclude.

“Two-faced bastard... just let me have this moment, okay?!”

A rare smile formed on his pale face. “Aw, is someone upset?” You glared.

“Don’t whine like a baby; you’ll get yours in due time.”

You eventually did get your custom hat, designed to accommodate you perfectly. You wore it out of your house proudly, despite passing by travelers commenting on how odd it looked on you due to you looking “normal”. It didn’t bother you, you’d continue to wear it and strut it like a peacock with beautiful feathers. Let’s just say if Scaramouche hears anybody saying that to you, death. 🔪🙂

Childe

Childe LOVES that he caught you wearing his grey jacket, he could not thank the Archons enough, that he got to see such an image this morning. It was a great start to his day.

“Oh, you’re wearing my jacket, how cute of you, girlie.” He continued to say as you walked through the streets of Liyue. Ever since you had stepped out of your house this morning, and Childe had spotted you wearing his jacket he hadn’t been able to let go of the flirtatious and prideful comments.

“I didn’t have anything else.” You admitted, kicking rocks at your feet.

His tongue clicked, mockingly. “If you wanted to wear my clothes sweetheart, all you had to was ask!” A long arm gracefully slipped around your shoulders, pulling you closer to his side. You huffed.

“It’s not like that, I didn’t have time to wash any suitable clothes this morning-”

He only hummed with the shake of his head. “It’s okay, we’ll keep this secret between us.”

“It’s not, ugh whatever...”

You truthfully hadn’t had any suitable clothes left to run to Liyue Harbor in and hadn’t had time to wash them at the river near your home. Hence the reason you were wearing his jacket. You should’ve known he would not be able to drop it as soon as you stepped into his line of vision.

Although the teasing was annoying, especially so early in the morning after already starting your day stressing about what to wear, you did like the warmth the grey jacket gave you, and you probably would consider wearing it again.

Xiao

“Please, Xiao, please.” You whined, begging at your knees in front of your husband, hands cupped together in a pray-like form.

The pale man tried to get you to stand, but you would not, “I do not see why you want to wear my clothes.” He exclaimed, standing tall above you.

“Because, they’re pretty, are they not?”

He stayed silent, clearly thinking. “I’ve never associated them with the word pretty.”

You hummed, eyes glistening with false tears, he concluded. You sure did know how to get your way. Without much thought as to what he was saying, the man suddenly mumbled, “Fine, if you must.”

You cheered excitedly and loudly as if you had won a battle. Xiao watched with curiosity, as you abruptly stood, leaned in to kiss his cheek, and then ran off towards his wardrobe in the corner of the room.

You whipped the wardrobe open as if you were starving and began stifling through his clothes. Most articles were similar to his everyday attire, you could see signature teals, purples, and golds; immediately you gravitated towards one of his sleeveless shirts, although this one was a faded gold, with a light purple collar and intricate white detailing closer to the bottom.

Despite your husband still in the room, completely tinted pink from your previous cheek kiss, you threw your top off and began slipping his shirt on. It fit weirdly since you had breasts, kind of snug, you thought. You had to adjust it a few times, but you loved it. It was quite comfortable, almost like a tank top.

“What do you think?” You asked, turning around to face the Adepti.

He stared. Eventually, he spoke up after seeing your awaiting gaze. “You look beautiful, darling.”

You felt your face heating up, glad he liked how it looked on you, despite being extremely tight up top.

“Can I wear this more often?”

“I’m not sure-”

“Please.” You whined once again.

He just could not say no to that look on your face. If he let you get your way more often though, you just might end up with his closet as your own...

1.16.21, rayofsunas

#genshin impact #genshin #genshin impact x reader #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche #childe x reader #childe #tartagalia #xiao #xiao x reader

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goldengoddess · 3 years

Text

you & the stars - jesper fahey

pairing: jesper fahey x reader

request: Hii Could I request head-cannons for dating Jesper and getting hurt on a job. I love your work so much !!

a/n: thank you so much<3 oh my god i totally got carried away with this,,, this might be one of my favorite things i’ve written holy fuck so self indulgent because i love jesper with every part of me

warnings: angst (but comfort at the end), bullet wounds, injury, blood, almost dying, curse words

you saw the blood before you felt the pain in your side. it dripped down your stomach and into your hands. and then came the horrible vision blurring pain that followed. black spots flowered in your vision as you fell to the floor on your knees. you clutched your stomach as if your two hands could stop the bleeding of a bullet hole.

this was meant to be an easy job. it was meant to be in and out. you and the crows had escaped the ice court, the hands of jan van eck, and the capture of multiple countries. a re con mission at a merchant party should have been a joke. it was meant to even be fun.

you had been looking forward to it for weeks. looking forward to dressing up. feeling nice fancy satin on your skin for one beautiful night. being able to see jesper all cleaned up and in a suit.

you had woken up that morning ready to let your fantasy world take over, to pretend that this job was just a date between you and your boyfriend. that you two fit into this world of luxury and ease, and not the world of street fights and bullet wounds.

how wrong your day dreaming had been, you thought to yourself.

you didn’t remember falling to the floor completely, but suddenly your back was pressed onto the street and you could see the night sky above you.

it was pitch black, filled with clouds of smoke and pollution, a staple of ketterdam.

you could vaguely hear voices calling your name in the distance, muffled by the roar of pain your body was in.

where were the stars, you wondered. i need to see the stars.

the tears in your eyes made it hard for you to see but suddenly jesper’s face appeared in your line of vision, followed by inej’s.

a string of curse words left jesper’s mouth as he gently cradled your head and upper body.

inej unwrapped her scarf and pressed it into the wound in your stomach. you winced in pain every time she moved or shook from fear.

“y/n, sweetheart, you have to stay with me” jesper pleaded.

he looked so worn out, so scared. his eyes were wide and sad. his mouth turned into a frown. you hated when jesper didn’t smile, his grin was just too bright for this world.

“please smile for me” you groaned. everything in your body hurt, your vision was blurry, and it was getting harder and harder to form coherent thoughts.

jesper’s frown only deepened as he rubbed your cheek with his thumb, “just stay with me please. i’ll smile for the rest of my life. just stay with me.”

you let out what you hoped was a little whine and not a blood curdling scream.

you guessed it was the latter as both inej and jesper looked at each other with wide eyes.

jesper started screaming nina’s name at the top of his lungs, his voice raw and desperate cracking at the end of each scream.

she won’t get here in time.

you used every ounce of energy your body had left to lift your hand up to jesper’s face.

your touch shocked him and he turned his attention back to your face, you in his arms. he leaned into your hand and you could see tears at the corner of his eyes.

“i love you.” you wheezed out, “i love you so much. you are the best person i’ve ever known. i need you to know that and remember that when i’m not there to tell you.”

his face grew angry at your words and his grip tightened on your body, “no. you are gonna be there. you’re gonna be there for the rest of my stupid life telling me how great i am and sometimes how obnoxious i can be. you are not allowed to die, we aren’t finished.”

you removed your hand from his face. the blood on your hands staining his cheek and shirt. jesper saw the blood on him and let out a small gasp.

the sky caught your attention again.

no stars.

you wanted stars.

you registered the feeling of being lifted off the ground by jesper, his arms hooked under your knees and supporting you head at the same time.

he was walking as fast as he could without hurting you and every small protest of pain from your mouth squeezed at his heart.

you gripped his shirt, “jesper.”

he looked down at you and even scared and covered in your blood you couldn’t believe how beautiful he looked.

“what baby?” he asked as gently as possible, still moving towards, what you hoped, was the slat.

“the stars aren’t there” you said deliriously, resting your head on his chest, “i want to see the stars.”

“stay awake and i’ll take you to the stars sweetheart. just stay awake.” you heard him say before you closed your eyes and the world went silent.

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you opened your eyes and you let out a sigh of relief at the familiar sight and smell of your room at the slat.

you craned your neck to the side, and you were met with nina zenik sitting in a chair with her head in her hands, mumbling prayers and nonsense.

“saints zenik, i never took you for the religious type” you teased, your voice coming out sounding wrong thanks to your scratchy throat.

her head snapped up and she rushed to your bed side, clutching your hand.

“oh you absolute idiot, you are not allowed to do that again. do you hear me?” she threatened.

you let out a little laugh, “or what zenik?”

her eyes got sad all of a sudden and she squeezed your hand gently, like if we squeezed just the right way she could transfer all of her love and strength to you. “im sorry i couldn’t get there earlier. by the time you got to me i thought there was nothing i could do.” she sighed and puffed out her chest slightly, “but this is me we’re talking about so of course i fixed you right up. but i didn’t have time to worry about the beauty of all of it so it’ll leave a pretty nasty scar.”

you nodded your head as she talked. you had assumed as much, everything in your body was sore but you were happy that it wasn’t screaming in pain like before.

“god jesper was about to kill me dead as i worked on you, i swear he was so worried and pissed he would have bitch slapped me right there in front of the crows and- oh my god jesper!?” she shrieked the last part.

she got off the floor and opened the door, “jes! get your ass up here.”

she turned back to you, “y/n he was here the entire time. we finally convinced him to go get something to eat i promise. he’s going to be so angry he wasn’t here when you woke up.”

and even thought you’d almost died, the thought of jesper waiting at your bedside made you blush.

nina noticed and rolled her eyes, “yuck, the two of you are so in love it hurts.”

suddenly jesper was at the door, his breathing labored making it very clear that he had run up the stairs at full speed to get to your room.

nina gave you a small smile before slipping out of the room and closing the door.

jesper was at your side before you could blink. his forehead pressed into your arm as he held the same hand nina had held only a few minutes ago.

he kept repeating “you’re okay” and “i’m so sorry” over and over. and you couldn’t speak. because you couldn’t believe you had this beautiful boy in your life and you were making him worry.

you lifted his head so he was looking at you and you placed your hand on his cheek. you got a horrible sense of deja vu. jesper felt it too because he immediately tensed. you pulled your hand away and when you both saw there was no blood, you put it back.

“jes, you incredible idiot, this is not your fault. you don’t have to say sorry. i’m okay. i’m still here. we are okay.”

you punctuated each word to make him really get it. you couldn’t live with yourself if this moment destroyed the happy boy that you had fallen in love with.

he let out a breath and motioned for you to make room in the bed. you wiggled to one side, wincing a little bit. jesper climbed in and you rested your head on his shoulder as he played with your fingers.

“don’t ever scare me like that again” he grumbled.

you laughed and jokingly responded with “no sorry babe i can’t promise that, i just love getting shot in the stomach. quiet enjoyed it”

he glared at you for a second before laughing with you.

he traced a little heart into your palm with his pointer finger. “you’re my favorite person in this world. i couldn’t live without you.”

“then you’re lucky you don’t have to” you hummed in response.

“yeah i am, who would annoy the crap out of me if not” he teased.

you giggled into his shoulder and left a little kiss.

“when you’re feeling better, you know, not on the brink of death by bullet, i’m going to take you to novyi zem.” you looked up at him, shocked because jesper had never suggested visiting his home country. but he was still looking at your fingers like his life depended on it. “we’re going to spend a week at my da’s farm and we’ll stay up all night looking at the stars and making up stories.” he said. it didn’t sound like a request but more like a plea. like he had to give this to you.

you only vaguely recalled mentioning the stars and jesper holding you in his arms but you nodded your head anyways.

“as much as i’m incredibly excited for that, i already have the brightest star right here.” you grinned, tapping his nose.

he rolled his eyes and kissed the crown of your head, “cheesy sweetheart. even for you.”

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ms-starflower · 3 years

Text

Young Survivors — Maribat

It’s almost four am here, I just finished writing this and am just tired enough to actually go through and post it. And this title is the only thing my tired brain could come up with. Anyway. I haven't posted something I wrote in years, but all the Maribat I’ve read recently made me want to write something for it.

I don’t know if I’m ever going to write a 2 part, but if I do it’s definitely going to be Timari and contain a couple of typical Maribat tropes. And a pinch of salt.

Also, disclaimer: I haven't watched Miraculous in years and most of my DC knowlege come from fanfic or tumblr so... sorry not sorry.

Now with a part 2!

Next >

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mei Leyton’s oldest memories were of her mother, dolled up in pretty dresses and elegant makeup. In her daughter‘s eyes, Margaret Leyton was the most beautiful woman on earth.

For as long as she could remember, Mei would sit on the bed and watch as her mom would get ready to head to work. She had always loved those moments with her mom.

(How do I look, my little flower,” she said, twirling around Mei with a grin, making her laugh. It was Margaret’s favorite dress, a vintage halter blue dress with white accents and a white bow around the waist.

“Like a princess, mommy! The prettiest princess ever!”

“Oh no, no no no. You are the prettiest princess ever, my little flower.”)

She was four when her mother let her help for the first time, letting her pass along brushes and products. It’s then that she understood what were the purple marks on her mother that she covered with her makeup.

(“Life is not fair to us, my little flower,” she had said when Mei asked about it for the first time. “Being an orphan and pretty little girl in Gotham isn’t safe, and it doesn’t give much choice when it comes to survival.”

Mei didn’t understand then, but it didn’t matter anyway, life would make her understand soon enough.)

When Mei was seven, the GCPD found her mother’s body.

When she didn’t see her that morning, Mei hadn’t been worried; it wasn’t the first time. Mom would be home by noon, she always was. Until that day.

(The investigation wouldn’t get very far, it was just another prostitute of Camellia street, nobody cared about them. They were just there until they weren’t anymore.

Another girl would take her place in a couple of days. It was how those kinds of things worked in Gotham.)

That day was kind of blurry in her memory. She remembers being pulled out of class in the morning, and that the cop that told her about her mother’s death was very rude.

(“Your mom is dead, kid. A lad found her body in a dumpster this morning,” the guy had said as soon as she had sat down in the headmistress’ office. “Do you know who she worked for? Or on what side of the Camellia she stayed?” He had asked, halfheartedly.

Mei had shaken her head, even though she did; you don’t talk to cops in Gotham, mom always says said that it was the easiest way to get yourself killed, for people like them.

“Alright,” he had said, not surprised. “A social worker is going to pick you up in a bit to take you to your new home, kid.”

With that he had walked out of the office, not looking back. As if where she would end up was going to be home.)

She remembers that the social worker from CPS was a brunette with tan skin, and looked really overworked, but had a kind smile.

By the end of the day, she was taken to Elliot's Hall for Children, an overcrowded, understaffed orphanage with more kids than they could realistically care for.

(They don’t care for the children, they just put them there for a while and act as they do. Most children leave after a couple of days, and if they don’t, they get taken anyway.

Some come back with a police escort, some manage to survive in the streets, and nobody talks about the ones that are never seen again.

You don’t work there because you love children, and if you do, you don’t last for very long.)

Mei wasn’t stupid, her mother told her stories about those kinds of places. She came from those kinds of places, and Mei saw how the man in charge here had looked at her when the social worker dropped her off.

She wasn’t going to just stand here and wait for him to sell her back in Camellia street. Or worse, to the Candy Dealers.

Taking with her what she absolutely couldn’t leave behind, Mei made a choice her mother hadn’t been able to and took her chance with the streets.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mei was a Camellia kid and, as such, took to the streets easier than most newcomers. She had picked up a few tricks from her aunties and her mom, and it helped her to survive out here.

The only (glaring) differences were the absence of her mother, the lack of a permanent roof above her head, and the fact that she had to provide food and money herself now.

(One of her favorite places to pick up wallets was Gotham Academy, where Gotham’s rich send their children. The kids always had money on them, and it’s not like they would miss it.

Though she couldn’t go too many times in a row, not without risking being spotted and remembered.)

She had been on the streets for two months when she met Jason Todd; the boy who would become her family.

She heard him before she saw him, to be honest. It was an awful crashing noise coming from around the corner, and it made her look.

He was running like the devil was after him, and judging by how the cops running behind him were clutching their batons, she wasn’t that far from the truth.

The noises were because of a couple of trash cans the boy had spilled in their way to slow them down.

And he was coming her way.

Against her better judgment, she grabbed his arm when he passed in front of her, and pulled him behind her into her hideout. Quickly getting the plank of wood back in place, she put her hand on his mouth before he could say anything. With the dumpster in the alley, the entry was almost invisible from outside.

They stayed there as they heard the men pass in front of their hiding place, listening as they argued about where the boy could have disappeared before their voices faded completely.

They waited another couple of minutes before he removed the hand she still had on his mouth and crawled out of there.

“Thanks,” he muttered with a scowl. “I woulda’ve been just fine without help but… yeah, anyway.” Then he had started to walk in the direction he came from.

“Hey! Wait!” She said before she could think about it. “Are ya just gonna, like, go? Just like that?”

“Huh, yeah? What do ya want me to do?” He asked, looking back at her from above his shoulder without stopping his walk. “Stay to drink a cup of tea and talk about the weather?”

“Well.. no. But I just… I just wanna talk a bit, ya know?” She couldn’t really explain why she didn’t want him to leave yet, it’s not like he was the first street kid she had helped out. He just felt different, and somehow she knew he could become important to her.

“Yeah, right,” he scoffed before turning his head back to look forward. “The streets are not some daycare for princesses who want to make friends, kid.”

“Kid— hey, dumbass, you’re, like, ten years old! You’re a kid too! And I’m not a princess, I can survive alone just fine!” Before she knew it, she was walking behind him, the weird feeling forgotten for the offence his comment created. He looked back at her with a frown, before choosing to ignore her. Not letting that deter her, she rambled at him about all the ways why she wasn’t a kid any more than him.

“I thought you could survive alone?” He said, talking over her, when he realized that she wasn’t going to let him be.

“I can.”

“So why are ya following me? Tryin’ to drive me crazy?”

“Well, no. It’s just... that I can do it doesn't mean I want to.”

“Look, kid,” he said, ignoring her protest and talking over her, again. “You should just go back to whatever orphanage you came from, there is probably some nice little family who's gonna pick you up. Then you could make all the friends you want.”

“Like people actually adopt kids in this city. This is Gotham, you dummy, not ‘Annie’. Some rich white guy isn’t going to come and pick up children from the streets to make them live the Grand life.”

“Yeah, okay, whatever,” he growled out without pausing in his steps. “Still, you’re pretty enough, I’m sure some nice people would adopt you in a second if you let them.”

“Yeah, sure. Mom thought the same when she was a kid, and guess what? She started working on Camellia street when she was fourteen, but nobody asked her if she wanted to. Because she was pretty enough,” the little seven years old spat with venom, her eyes narrowed. The boy stopped walking, turning toward her with eyes wide, like a deer caught in headlights. “Her best friend wasn’t, but mom said that she had the prettiest green eyes ever. When they found her body, she didn’t have eyes anymore, because some rich person paid to have pretty green eyes.”

“I— I didn’t—” he stuttered, eyes wide. With his scowl gone he looked so much younger, and Mei’s anger subdued. He wasn’t that much older than her, just a couple of years, maybe three or four, after all.

“It’s… okay, I guess. It’s Gotham. I just thought we both would have more chances to survive if we helped each other out. And, ya know, the company wouldn’t be so bad.”

“Whatever,” he mumbled, but when they resumed walking he slowed down enough to let her walk beside him without almost-running.

“Great! So, Annie, where are we going now?” She said with a beaming smile, bursting into laughter at his indignation and protest against the nickname.

(“Can’t you stop calling me Annie already?! I told you my name’s Jason!”

“Nope, Annie.”

“Well, then, that makes you Sandy, doesn't it? Ya do follow me around like a stray puppy.”

“I’m not a dog— wait, hold on a minute! I knew you saw the movie! You liar!”)

~~~~~~~~~~~~

She was ten when her life was put upside down once again, in the worst of ways.

It took practically no time before Jason “Annie” Todd became her brother in all but blood, it took longer for Jason to admit it, and they spend almost three years surviving together, barring the occasional trip back to the Children's Houses.

Though, they always found each other a couple of days after they escaped from those places.

Sometimes, Jason would plan something that he needed to do alone. Because of course, he did.

(“It’s the best job, my plan is perfect. Don’t worry, it’s gonna be great Sandy!”

“Yeah, and why can’t I come?”

“It’s too dangerous! Plus, you need to stay here and keep our things safe!”

“Yeah, if you say so, Annie.”)

That day was one of those days.

He was gone for less than an hour when they found her.

The Candy Dealers.

Mei paled when she saw them, wearing their nice suits and overly sweet smile. They told her they were social workers, specializing in homeless children, and offered her a lollipop. Social workers in Gotham don’t give candy to the kids, even the nice ones, and she knew from her time in Camellia street that the lollipop was drugged.

(“Never, ever, take candy from a Candy Dealer, Mei. Do you understand me? Never,�� her mother told her gravely. “They put bad stuff in them, and if you put it in your mouth, they will take you away from me. I couldn’t live without you in my life, my little flower.”)

She tried to run, even before the first one got his hand totally outstretched toward her. But her panic made her stumble, and she was no match for them.

She tried to kick, and scream, and bite, but soon she felt a pinch in her neck, and everything was black.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next period of her life was one she tried very hard to forget. For months she was moved, her and dozens of other people, from containers to containers, warehouse to warehouse. Twice they were put in a boat, the containers staying closed for so long, the next time she saw the moonlight, it burned her eyes.

She quickly learned that it was pointless to try to escape (and that Jason wouldn’t come and save her).

Then, one night, the place they were at was illuminated with blue and red lights and the police sirens were so loud, they drowned everything else.

She didn’t let herself hope, though. (She did, she hoped so hard her chest hurt.)

They (probably) weren’t in Gotham anymore, but her childhood didn’t instill her much trust in the police.

They did get them out. And she learned that they were in Paris now. In France. (That was a long way from Gotham.)

There were twenty-seven other people with her in the container. Four of which were kids, and only one other was also an orphan. They weren’t placed together, though. Because the kid had family back where he came from. Unlike her. (She had Jason. He was her family, but they didn’t listen.)

The French social workers took a while to know what to do with her exactly, but they didn’t want to send her back to Gotham (why not? She wanted to go back and find Jason!). So, in the meantime, they placed her in a foster family—one without any other kid, as per her therapist's advice. (The therapist didn’t know anything. She said Gotham wasn’t good for her, but Jason was in Gotham.)

Funnily enough, it ended up being a more permanent solution than previously considered, because the foster parents, Tom and Sabine, quickly fell in love with the little girl.

Not before long, Mei Leyton became Marinette Dupain-Cheng. (They changed her name to give her a ‘new beginning’ because her therapist thought it would be good for her. She didn’t want to have a ‘new beginning', she wanted to go back, to find Jason, to be the Sandy to his Annie. She was Mei, the Camellia’s kid, Sandy, the street’s kid and it was enough for her. She didn’t want to be Marinette, the bakers’ kid.)

So, when Mei was first put into the care of the Dupain-Cheng household, she regularly tried to run away. It was unsurprisingly harder than in Gotham, though. Tom and Sabine were way more attentive than Elliot Hall’s staff ever was, and more than a third of her tentatives were folded even before she was past the front door.

It took her three months (and forty-three unsuccessful tentatives) before she finally accepted that there would be no way for her to go back to Gotham. (Not that she had known how she would manage to do that before, her plan never got that far.) It took another six months before Tom and Sabine trusted her enough to let her wander the neighborhood alone.

The first thing she did the day her ‘new parents’ let her go to the library alone was to get to a public computer, and look Jason up. She didn’t really think she would find anything when she typed Jason Todd and Gotham in Google that day (maybe an obituary). She definitely didn't think she would find her best friend (brother) on the covers of so many tabloids declaring that he was Bruce Wayne’s ward.

She didn’t know how she should feel about the fact that he proved her wrong and became some real-life Annie. She wanted to feel angry, or hurt. Even more so when she realised that Wayne adopted him not even a full week after her (kidnapping) departure from Gotham, but…

But seeing Jason in the pictures… He looked so angry. Angrier than she ever saw him. And hurt. There was hurt hidden in his expression. It was well hidden but she could see it. (She did that, she was the one that hurted him. He probably thought she left him. That she wasn’t any better than his deadbeat of a father and abandoned him. What if he hates her now, because she was gone for so long?)

She needed to go back to Gotham, find him, and explain everything. She needed to tell him she didn’t want to leave him behind, that he was her family, and that it would never change. But Tom and Sabine didn’t want to take her back there, not before she was older, because she wasn’t ready yet, they said.

She didn’t care, though. No matter how long it would take her, she was going to go back. So, she slowly started to act like the perfect little girl. She didn’t really change, she just stopped bringing up Gotham so much, started to help more often in the house and at the bakery, and started to call Tom and Sabine Papa and Maman. (It wasn’t real, at first. But then, they just crawled into her heart against her will and became family. They didn’t replace her Mom or Jason, though. Nobody ever will.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~

She started to heal. Slowly, without even realising. She opened up to a couple of children at her school, made friends with Nino, and sort of Frenemies (more enemy than friend, though) with Chloé Bourgeois. She picked up hobbies like sewing and designing, baking with Tom, or learning various martial arts with Sabine.

But she didn’t forget, going back to Gotham was still her ultimate goal. Until the news reached her, when she was twelve.

Jason Todd was dead.

Her best friend, her brother in everything but blood, her Annie. Dead. Jason was dead.

She felt like a part of her died with him, reading the words but not really processing. She let herself drown in her grief, closing up to everyone around her. Surprisingly, Chloé was the one that made her react. Literally slapping her to make her come back from the dead. (Not entirely, though. Mei, the Gothamite part of her, stayed dead with Jason. Only Marinette, the nice little parisian, came back.)

“I don’t really know what’s up with you, Dupain-Cheng,” she had said while Marinette cradled her sore cheek, her faux-contempt badly hiding her worry. “But you need to put yourself together. Tormenting you is no fun if you don’t react to it, and people are too worried for you to be afraid of me. Don’t make me call daddy on you.”

“I…” She had started, only to stop herself. She had looked back at Nino and Kim, both of whom were looking at her with poorly concealed worry. “Yeah, sorry Chloé.”

She pulled herself out of the worst of it after that, at the obvious relief of the people around her. None of which even knew why she was in this state. She still cried herself to sleep most nights, and sometimes felt like someone gouged out her heart with their bare hands, but she also started to let herself think of the good times. Started to let herself feel the good things happening around her, in the present.

Then, she saved the life of an old man, found magic earrings and a bug-mouse-kwami in her room that told her that she needed to become a hero and save Paris.

She thought of her big brother, of how he would always protect her when someone tried to rob them. Hide her, before even thinking of himself, when the cops would chase them down, trying to bring them back to Elliot's Hall. Give her all the food when they couldn’t get enough for the both of them. How he was a hero. Her Hero. And, really, there was only one thing she could say to that.

“Tikki, spots on!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

So. That's it. That was fun. I'm going to sleep now, goodnight.

Btw, Jason's super plan that day was totaly to steal the Batmobile's tires.

#maribat #mlb x dc #gothamite marinette #street kid marinette #platonic jasonette #probably a timari btw #timinette if that's how you call it #4am me decided to post it #2pm me could decide to delete it tho

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forsakenmis · 3 years

Text

After the snap

Summary: Wanda was snapped away. You, on the other hand, remained and had moved on. You moved out of the country, started a new job, and had even gone on a few dates. Then everyone came back and suddenly a familiar witch was knocking on your workplace door.

Pairings: Top!Wanda x Reader

Warnings: dark!wanda, oral (r receiving), strap, public sex, posessive wanda, mummy kink

You’d long put away the shield (so to speak) and were at a point that going back to everyone just seemed so jarring. Maybe you didn’t want to believe it wasn’t true. After five years of grieving, of building a new life, and suddenly everyone’s just….back.

Wanda was back.

You knew it was wrong to have not contacted her. For her, it must seem like yesterday that you were whispering your plans about eloping, but that was five years ago. You moved on. Found someone else. She was nice, sweet, normal. She worked as a custom officer but she could spend hours and hours talking about all these topics that fascinated you.

She also was very predictable and normal.

Admittedly, your relationship hadn’t quite been defined. You suspected she was seeing other people, keeping her options open, and you weren’t sure how long you two were going to last but you were enjoying the time that you had together.

On top of that, you had a job at a bookstore that paid your rent. Sure, it wasn’t as flashy as it was back then but you liked being surrounded by all the books, some new and some falling apart. You spent a lot of pride restoring the latter in the back. You never had much of a chance to read before everything happened, your life was mostly spent trying to make sure everyone didn’t die.

Your abilities were healing based and that was more useful than you had initially thought when you first met them all. In fact, you thought you were awfully inadequate compared to people like Steve Rogers, Thor and Wanda Maximoff. But your time was kept filled to the brim.

Your only time to relax was your time with Wanda.

It had started off innocent enough. She used to stay with you after you finished up in the medic bay. She’d have dinner with you. Admittedly, you were pretty sure she didn’t have many other friends in the complex. Then it grew until she was fucking you every chance she could get. How else would either of you relax?

But that was a long time ago. You were done with that life. You weren’t the same person anymore. You ran and started a new life and not even the idea of Wanda could make you go back and maybe she was just that–an idea.

You were confident none of them would find you. Natasha couldn’t. You knew she had been trying to track you down like she had for Clint but no one came knocking on your door. So if they couldn’t, you were pretty sure she wouldn’t be able to find you either.

You’d just closed shop, the sunset streaming through the shutters covering the windows, and were taking stock. It had been a quiet day, but it was always quiet on a Tuesday so you had easily reached the predicted quota. The one downside was your boss, but he was only around once a week.

He was the kid of some millionaire who was trying to be hip and all that. So he opened some urban bookstore but he was too busy partying to actually stay on top of the business. Which is fine-you liked that arrangement. You’ll keep the shop running and he’ll never be up in your business. It worked without a bump in the road.

You were nearly done for the day, all you had to do after was–

The bell attached to the door trinkled. Someone had walked in. It was nearly half past, well past closing, so surely your boss would understand if you told whoever it is to leave. You were behind the shelves, you couldn’t see who had walked in. They weren’t making a lot of noise. Some people just had that soft touch, usually women.

Coming out to the front, your mouth already opening to ask them to leave, your words died in your throat.

Wanda.

Your eyes were frozen on her face, her eyes, those big doe eyes that always drew you in. She was smiling, an expression full of relief, and she was taking you in, grazing your body, before she moved forward to close the distance.

You stepped back.

Frozen with the air changing. Heavier, like you could feel the gravity pulling you down. Her light, happy, expression melted off and confusion replaced it.

“Wanda,” you said, wanting to cut her off, you couldn’t do it. You couldn’t listen to her. She’d want you to come back. Five years for you, a few days for her. “You shouldn’t be here.”

You may as well have slapped her.

“Shouldn’t be here?” Wanda repeated and you closed your eyes. For the first time in years, you heard her voice. That voice that whispered to you in your dreams. A voice you thought you could hear every time you were alone. “I think I’m exactly where I need to be.”

When you opened your eyes again, you jumped, she was right there. You didn’t even hear her footsteps. “Wan–” you began but then her lips were on yours, her tongue sliding into your open mouth and you grunted in shock. You didn’t kiss back but you didn’t push her off either. You froze. You let her tongue be pushed down your throat as her hands slid onto your cheeks.

Her thumbs beginning to rub small circles into your skin pushed you back into action, your hands going to hips to shove her off you hard enough that she stumbled back a few steps.

“Wanda, I can’t,” you hissed out. “It’s been five years. I…”

“Why aren’t you happy then?” Wanda asked, bewilderment splashed across her face and almost instantly did guilt wash through you. Like you were betraying her somehow. “I was gone for five years, and now I’m back. Why didn’t you come back? Surely, you didn’t move on that easily?”

With that, the guilt was gone.

“Easily?” You hissed out, your hands balling into fists, “don’t come into my shop and–”

You stopped. It was no use getting angry. Your sentences always fumbled into one elongated word that no one could ever understand. “You have no idea what the five years have been like,” you snapped and she tilted her head, just slightly, but enough that a cold chill went down your spine. “You shouldn’t have looked for me. I’m not interested in going back to the avengers. I moved on.”

With that, you turned on your heel to go behind the desk, tapping away at the register. Maybe if you ignored her, she’d get the hint and leave.

“So you developed an attitude?” Wanda remarked and slid her hands into the woollen cardigan that...you knitted her. You frowned when you made the connection. You spent hours labouring away at it. It wasn’t that good, the colours were awful, but she rarely took it off. “Seems we have to start at square one again.”

You frowned. You seem to be doing that a lot. You could already see the wrinkles beginning to form on your forehead. Why wasn’t she listening to you? “I’m seeing someone,” you blurted out as the cash register popped open loudly and Wanda’s face went blank as she registered what you just said. “A girl. She’s nice.”

You weren’t sure if you just signed this girl’s death certificate.

You kept eye contact with the Sokovian and even when her face morphed into a cold fury you hadn’t seen since the civil war. Her expression was tight and it almost looked like she was trying to hold herself back.

“I see.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered after a moment, “I...I know this can’t be easy for you either. I know it must seem like last week that...well. You know. I just...that life is over, for me at least. I hope you can understand.”

Wanda was silent. She was being too silent. She didn’t say anything, she stood there watching you, and you were too nervous to say anything else or make the next move. Maybe, hopefully, Wanda wouldn’t even say anything else, just walk out. Resent you for the rest of her life. It was better that way.

Instead she walked around the register and your heart dropped to your stomach.

“Wanda-”

“Shut up,” she hissed, her hand whipping up to grab your jaw. Your hands shot up to her wrists and she dragged you forward, closer to her face. “Do you really think I’d let you give up on us this easily? That I’d let you whore yourself out to some girl off the street?”

You didn’t say anything but your glare said enough.

“I trained you so well. I spent years breaking you in, years loving you, and you treat me like this? Like I’m just some common bitch you can throw onto the street?” Wanda’s tone didn’t match her words. Her tone was soft, almost a coo, sounding more disappointed than angry. You almost wished she was more angry than disappointed.

Her lips were on yours again and her hand moved to the back of your head, her teeth biting down into your lips and you groaned at the sharp pain, giving her entrance back into your mouth.

A hand went down between your legs, rubbing, and you instinctively opened your legs. Your body remembered her. Remembered her scent. Everything.

Wanda hummed in approval and soon you were being pushed onto the counter. She broke the kiss, pulling back to look down at you, her hands beginning to rub the inside of your thighs. “Just one night,” she whispered, her expression already having smoothed out, as if that kiss, your touch, was all she needed. “One night with me and if you still want me to leave by the end of the night...well, I’ll leave you alone. Forever. Even if you change your mind. Even if you come crawling back, begging.”

You doubted her. Something in the back of your mind didn’t believe her. On anything. You were pretty sure she wanted you to beg. Your hands were shaking and you gulped. Everything about this reminded you of when you were last happy. Like you were back in the avengers tower where nothing was going wrong.

Her lips were on yours again and her hands soon began to pull at your skirt, ripping them off you with ease, to find nothing but your bare cunt for anyone to see. You jerked up when her hand slammed against it, slapping it. Once, twice, three times, four. “You dirty little whore,” she whispered, “you let anyone and everyone see this, didn’t you?” She slid a finger into your folds and your bottom lip trembled.

“Wanda…” you whispered, feeling your own walls beginning to crumble. Maybe one night wasn’t so bad. One night. One indulgence.

“It’s mine tonight,” Wanda confirmed before suddenly her hands were on your waist and flipped you around and your stomach slapped onto the desk, taking away your breath, leaving you gasping. “You said I didn’t know what happened. In the past five years. You’re right, I don’t, but you’re going to tell me. Tell me everything I missed. If you leave anything out, and I know when you do sweetheart, I’ll stop. Understand me?”

“Yes,” you breathed out as you felt her mouth in between your legs, her tongue lapping at your clit and your back arched as you tried to push more of yourself into her. Soon, it started spilling out. What you did the first few months, how you struggled to get out of bed, how you travelled the world. Therapy. Everything. Her tongue didn’t stop, in fact the more you spilt, her tongue sped up, making you wetter and wetter by the second. “I couldn’t get you out of my head,” you mumbled by the end of it, “I found her. She was everything you weren’t. Mundane. Boring.”

Your stomach was tightening, that tempting release building and building, so expertly brought on by the way Wanda devoured you, the way she breathed onto your throbbing clit, the way her tongue teased your gaping entrance. When you stopped, she pulled away and you bit down onto your bottom lip to stop yourself from cursing.

“Such a good little whore for me,” Wanda purred, her hand falling in between your slit to rub your clit and the moan that left your mouth sacrificed any and all self respect that you might have been clinging onto. “This is where you belong isn’t it? Bent over for mummy. I treat you so well, don’t I?”

Two fingers dipped into your already gaping entrance pushing them in and out. “I think you deserve a little reward,” Wanda hummed out, “for being so honest with mummy.”

You didn’t have much long to prepare before you felt a strap push into your entrance and you gasped in a sharp breath, your eyes bulging and your body pressed forward. Wanda didn’t push into you completely, only pushed the tip in and out, focussing on the one area.

In truth, that was worse than if she shoved into you completely. You were forced to focus on that one area, not get that relief if she were to push in deeper, and it was as if she was grabbing at every inch of your mind, forcing you to feel nothing but that tip dipping in and out of your body.

“Tell me…” she whispered, her hands coming onto your waist to grip them, nails digging into your skin, “tell me where you belong, baby girl. Who you belong to. Look at you, five years without me and you still get so wet for me. I go in so easily. Don’t worry, baby, I’m not going to leave you again.”

“W-w-” you choked out and you took in a breath, trying to contain the moans slipping out of your mouth, “you said one–”

Her hand slammed down onto your bare ass and you jerked forward. Still, she didn’t go deeper, didn’t give you what you wanted. Still, you didn’t verbalise this. Your skin was stinging and your fingers reached up to hang onto the edge of the desk.

“Answer my question, don’t make me treat you like a common whore,” Wanda hissed, pulling out completely just to thrust back in, shoving more of the shaft inside of you, ripping your walls open, but then she pulled back to just the tip again.

Then the doorbell rang again and it was as if someone poured a bucket of ice cold water all over your body. Your vision was already blurring by this point but you could see her outline, the blonde hair, standing at the door.

Wanda slammed into you, bottoming out, and a scream shot out of your lips, whilst her hands were in your hair, pulling your head back until your neck was straining. She could see your face, see every expression you pulled as Wanda began to fuck you without restraint.

“If I were you,” Wanda’s voice broke through your moans and screams, icy cold and calm despite the way she was beginning to thrust inside of you, “I’d leave and never come back. If you knew what was good for you, you’d wipe my girl from everything. Phone, address, memories.”

You couldn’t hear what she said, you could hear her voice, but unlike Wanda, it was all a garbled mess. Even in this state, Wanda’s words were in absolute clarity. You watched her leave. The door clicked shut and you swore you could see red mist at the door, locking it.

Wanda bent over you, pressing down onto your back, lips pressing against your neck, sucking and nipping, her hips still pushing inside of you, pushing you closer and closer to an orgasm that was tightening at the base of your stomach.

Then her movements slowed until she was completely still, her strap still inside of you, your walls wrapped around it, clinging to it.

“Much better, just us,” Wanda whispered as she nipped at your earlobe and you moaned. “You take my cock so well, don’t you? No, I couldn’t dream of letting you go, not when you’re such a good girl for me. I’ll take you with me and I’ll give you the life you want. A normal life, where no one will ever hurt you. You can read all you want. Forget the world outside. Just us two, together.”

“Mummy,” you whispered and you could feel her body vibrate as she hummed in approval. “Mummy, please.”

“Tell me where you belong,” she whispered back as she began to move her hips again.

“With you, mummy, under you. I missed you so much,” you whispered, “I belong to you. I always have.”

“I know, sweetheart, I know you did,” Wanda whispered before she stretched up and her hands went to your elbows, pulling you up from the table before she began to rail you. Sharp thrusts, slamming into you again and again, and tears began to burn the back of your eyes as pleasure began to roll through you. “You're going to cum for me like a good girl. Then you’re going to lie on this table to wait as I go pack your bags. You live above this, don’t you?”

“Y-yes, mummy,” you choked out as your orgasm was already threatening to flow through you. You could feel your own juices dripping down your thighs and you knew that your boss would be walking in to find an absolute mess.

“And then we’ll leave. Together.”

“Together.”

It wasn’t long until you felt like you were choking on your breath, your stomach twisting and churning, your legs trembling, and it was Wanda keeping you up. Otherwise, you would have collapsed onto the table, even the ground.

Soon, you felt it. Felt that blissful euphoria that often put you to sleep wash over you in intense waves that made your toes curl. Wanda was laughing, quietly, as she felt you come undone around her strap. “That’s it, baby girl, let it all go. Good little whore.”

She slid out of you with a pop and you groaned, the disappearing sensation already sorely missed. “Mummy, please, I still need you…” you mumbled, your words drowsy and reality was folding inwards around you as you felt your body hit the table again.

“I’ll be back, in just a moment,” Wanda whispered into your ear before her warmth disappeared and you could hear her moving through the store and up the creaky stairwell. Then your eyes slid open and you took in a deep breath as you began to move. Pushed off the desk, your legs sore and shaky but stable, and you looked for the skirt, long discarded. You knew you only had a small amount of time before she realised or, god forbid, heard you. Pulling the skirt up you grabbed only your wallet, didn’t even dare grab your phone and risk being tracked. You can get a burner if need be. You knew it’d be difficult, if she found you here, then she’d be able to find you wherever you went but...maybe she’ll give up.

You didn’t go through the front door, not with the bell, but there was a small door leading out to the back. Your footsteps were silent as could be, and your heart was beating in your chest. One wrong step and she could hear you. You could hear the banging doors, even her humming, but she didn’t stop.

Soon, you were in the back alley, with nothing but overflowing bins and a motorbike there. Yours. The only thing you kept from Stark. Faster than anything you could buy in a store. You hated riding with a skirt, let alone with these shoes, but what choice did you have?

You only had so much time to run.

#wanda marvel #wanda maximoff #dark!wanda maximoff #dark!wanda #wanda x reader #top!wanda #wanda maximov #misfitwrites

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viastro · 3 years

Text

in a span of three months | joshua hong

ミ★ synopsis: in which you teach joshua how to live.

ミ★ genre: strangers to lovers!au, terminally ill!reader, angst, fluff, some humor

ミ★ warnings: mentions of depression (not mentioned heavily), implied suicidal thoughts and intention (very brief), major character death

ミ★ word count: 20,351

ミ★ pairings: joshua hong x gender neutral reader

ミ★ notes: hi guys ! here’s the longest oneshot i’ve ever written so i’d like to apologize in advance BSJKGBDKB i just wanted to mention that this isn’t necessarily realistic before you go into it, and that the reader’s illness is not mentioned in this oneshot as i didn’t want to explicitly list one. i hope you guys enjoy this oneshot, it’s my best work and i put a lot of time and effort into it <3

ミ★ taglist: @coppertrashi @magicalhannie @brinnalaine @minluvly @wonunuu @suhfluffy @shuajeong @euphorencia @imjustuhhvibing @minghao-will-be-the-death-of-me @shuahaeee @jaeyuni @sunflowergyeomie

january 2, 2021

The date flashes back at you from your lockscreen, and a breath escapes you as you turn off your phone. Your leg bounces against the floor in anxiousness as you wait for him to tell you the results from your recent test.

“I’m sorry, yn.” You slowly look up towards your doctor, seeing the grave expression on his face. Your grip on the chair tightens when he folds his hands together, turning towards you.

“We estimate that you only have three more months to live. We will give you medication…” The rest of his words are tuned out as your gaze falls down to the table, the sound of your heartbeat is loud against your ears. You bite the inside of your cheek, listening to it thrum.

I’m dying, yet I can feel my heartbeat right now. I can hear it. It’s beating.

I’m alive.

You stand up from your chair when Dr. Park does, and you give him as bright of a smile as you can muster when you bow towards him. He stares at you with pity in his eyes, and you hate it.

You hate it so much.

“Eat whatever you want, do things you’ve always wanted to do. Live your life, yn. I’ll see you at your next appointment.” Dr. Park tells you, and you nod your head. Giving him a small smile, you grab your bag and walk out of the room, tightly squeezing the strap as you exit the hospital.

Once outside, you suck in a deep breath of air, having felt as if you were suffocating in that building the longer you were in it. Rubbing the back of your neck, you look over towards the Han River, seeing the Banpo bridge shine brightly during the night.

Letting out a sigh, you head in the direction of the bridge, deciding to walk home rather than take the bus like you usually do. Your heart remains heavy as you look around at your surroundings, wondering what you should do during your last few months of living.

It’s strange.

Having a known deadline on your own life.

As you make it onto the bridge, you turn your head to look out along the Han River as you walk. The slight wind from the water breezes past you during the night, and you somehow find that it’s the only thing able to calm you down from the raging storm within you. Letting out a small smile, you notice how pretty Seoul is at night.

With the city lights shining brightly back at you, the busy streets roaring with life even during the relatively late hours. The bright stars glowing down from the sky, surrounding the beautiful moon that reflects its light across the Han River.

“Ah, life is beautiful.” You mutter softly, turning your head and looking forward. You raise an eyebrow when you see a blonde head of hair standing in front of the railing along the bridge, just staring out at the water. Coming to a stop, you stare at the person a few feet from you, wondering what they’re doing.

Your eyes trail down to see his hands gripping the railing tightly, and you tilt your head at the sight. Taking a few steps forward, the man seems to have not noticed your presence. He just looks out across the water with a blank stare, the whites of his knuckles becoming more prominent when he tightens his grip again. At this point, you decide to interrupt.

“Hi.” You greet cheerfully, and the guy blinks out of his dazed state from the sound of your voice. He slowly turns his head towards you, and you feel warmth flood your face immediately at how ethereal this man is.

His platinum hair falls softly over his forehead, wisps of it flying up slightly due to the light wind. His deerlike eyes stare into yours, and you find that they emphasize his beautiful features that much more. However, the exhaustion is evident in his gaze.

“Hey.” The stranger replies, voice soft and airy, somehow matching his appearance even though he seems tired.

“What are you doing?” You ask, stepping forward so that you’re now right beside him. His eyes widen slightly, before they relax to their normal size. He shrugs his shoulders, glancing over at the road when a car drives by. “Just standing on the bridge.”

You give him a close-lipped smile, tilting your head as you press on, “Why?”

“Just cause.”

You nod your head, turning around so that you can rest your forearms onto the railing. Raising your hand up, you rest your chin on the palm of your hand, letting out a sigh of content as you lay eyes on the beautiful scenery once again. The ethereal man turns to glance at you, wondering what you could possibly want.

“Live your life.” You say in a soft tone, and he simply blinks at you.

“What?”

You turn your head towards the pretty man, “Life is short when you think about it. It can suck a lot of the time, as well as be unfair, but sometimes…”

Your voice trails off as you look up at the stars, realizing just how small you are in this great, big universe. “Sometimes it can be beautiful.”

The stranger tilts his head up and stares at the sky along with you, a comfortable silence settling over the two of you as you do so.

“I wish I could see it like you do.” You look over at him, finding that he’s still staring up at the sky. His breath is visible due to the cold temperatures, and you watch as he lets out a sigh. He turns towards you, giving you a heartbreaking smile, “Life hasn’t been kind to me.”

The two of you stare into each other's eyes for a moment, and you find that you’re more similar than you originally thought. You feel the exact same way about life, and you’ve asked life for years, why you? Why did it have to be you?

You could never find the answer.

And so, you smile at the stranger, who tilts his head at you, wondering how one can be so bright and cheerful. You reach into your pocket and pull out your phone, handing it towards him after you unlock it. He raises an eyebrow as he reaches out and takes it, “You know I could totally just take this and run, right?”

You nod your head, letting out a quiet giggle that rings in the blonde’s ears. He finds the sound to be rather pleasant. “I know, but I have a feeling you’re not that type of person.”

He purses his lips, nodding his head in agreement. Glancing down at the cellular device, he sees your wallpaper, a photo of you holding a cat with a big smile on your face. His eyes trail back up towards your face, as if to ask what you want him to do with your phone.

You sigh with a teasing look on your face, and you take the phone from his grasp, opening up the contacts menu before holding it back out towards him. “Put your number in.”

The blonde’s eyes widen slightly, before he tentatively types in his number, handing it back to you. You grasp the phone in your hand, a breath leaving your lips when you finally learn his name.

“Why do you want my number?” He asks, and you look up from your phone, giving your new friend a smile.

“Since life hasn’t been kind to you, I wanted to be.” You answer simply, and he stares into your eyes with an indecipherable emotion to them at your answer.

After a moment, he turns his body towards the railing of the bridge again, staring out at the city without saying anything else. You follow suit, resting your forearms onto the cool metal as you breathe in the fresh air.

“My name is yn.” You tell him in a soft voice, not expecting a response. A few minutes pass when you finally hear his voice say,

“My name is Joshua.”

Joshua taps the eraser of his pencil onto his notebook, blankly staring off at the projector screen while he tunes out everything the professor is saying. The only thing on his mind is you, the person he met last week on the bridge.

You haven’t contacted him yet, and he’s beginning to wonder if you were just a figment of his imagination. That deep down, he wanted to stay, so his consciousness created a positive person to appear right before him, convincing him to live another day.

“Yn.” Joshua whispers underneath his breath, and he tilts his head to the side, having not realized how nice your name was until this very moment. He only pays attention to the lecture when his professor announces the homework, and he quickly jots down the page numbers to read. Throwing his bag over his shoulder, he steps out of the auditorium and begins to walk off campus.

Some university students would usually go and meet up with their friends after class to go and eat, or they’d go and meet their significant other to study together. Then there’s Joshua, who does neither of those things.

“Hey Josh.” The blonde nods his head at his boss in greeting, letting the door close behind him as he walks over into the back to change.

Everyday Joshua just goes through the motions, doing what he has to do to survive, as dramatic as that sounds. Go to uni, work a six hour shift to pay for his tuition, head home and study, then barely sleep. He wakes up the next day and does it all over again.

Joshua has gotten used to the feeling of being numb.

He tiredly ties the apron onto his waist before going and washing his hands. The call of his name makes him glance up from the floor as he wipes his hands on a paper towel, his boss appears at the doorway, holding the notepad and pen towards him.

Joshua sends him a tight smile, stepping forward and taking the pen and paper from his hand. He feels himself get a pat on the back as his manager walks past him, and he lets out a breath, before walking out into the restaurant.

His eyes trail over to two women seated at a booth, waiting for their orders to be taken. Joshua doesn’t feel like going over there yet, as the words you told him that night ring in his head.

Live your life.

Joshua scoffs quietly, remembering the bright smile you showed him. He looks down at the notepad in his hand, wondering how you could find life to be so beautiful when he’s never seen it that way. His head snaps up when he hears his name be called, and he immediately walks over to the table, clicking open the pen.

“Hi. What can I get started for you guys today?”

“One sikhye please!” The woman nods her head at you, and you smile as you hand her the correct amount of money. She hands you your order number, and you walk over to the other side of the food stand, waiting to be called.

Your hands make their way into your pockets, your hand wrapping around your phone. Tilting your head, you remember the pretty blonde you met on the bridge. You suck in a deep breath of the cool air, looking up towards the sky to catch the beginning of the sunset. A smile makes its way onto your face at the different pink and orange hues of the sky.

You fail to notice the blonde head of hair looking in your direction, wondering how you always manage to have a smile on your face. It’s only when you feel that tingly feeling of someone staring at you that you look back down, turning your head to find those deerlike eyes boring into yours.

Your mouth drops open in surprise, and you grin happily, raising your hand up and waving towards the ethereal man.

“Hi Jos-” You’re cut off when your order number gets called, and you hold up a finger at the blonde to signal him to wait, before quickly grabbing your sikhye and walking over to him.

“Hi Joshua.” You finally greet properly, taking a tiny sip of the sweet rice drink as he stares at you quietly. He clicks his tongue, tilting his head at you, “You never texted me.”

Pursing your lips at the fact that he was waiting, you slowly hold out the drink in apology. Joshua glances down at it, before looking back at you with a raise to his eyebrow.

“Don’t you want it?”

“Take my apology drink.”

“But you just ordered this-”

“I can buy another one.”

The corner of Joshua’s lip quirks up slightly, before he takes the drink from your grasp and takes a sip. You let out a smile, before pointing back towards the drink stand, “I’ll go buy myself another drink and then we can hangout.”

You’re about to turn around when you feel a hand grasp your wrist, stopping you from walking over. Your eyes slowly glance down, before they trail back up to see Joshua staring at you, straw in his mouth as he takes another sip of the sikhye.

He lets go of your wrist and walks over to the stand himself, ordering the drink for you. You’re left flabbergasted as he hands the employee his card, and you watch as a blush rises to the woman’s face the longer she communicates with the pretty man.

Once he’s handed his order number, he walks back towards you, seeing the shocked look on your face. He raises his hand up and waves it in front of your face, and you finally look back into his eyes.

“Why do you look so shocked?” Joshua asks, slightly biting on the straw as he awaits your response. Your mouth opens and closes, before you just let out a huff, reaching out and hitting Joshua’s arm softly. He still feigns pain, his hand reaching up and rubbing the area.

“Ow.”

You giggle at his reaction, “Thank you for the drink, Joshua. Except now I feel like the apology drink I gave you doesn’t count since you bought me one.”

Joshua shrugs, looking back over towards the drink stand when he hears your order number be called. He shoots you a glance over his shoulder, “Consider it a gift.”

It’s only when Joshua walks back and hands you the sikhye that you wonder how he’s been doing. You stare at him for a moment as he places the receipt into his wallet, and you find that the darkness under his eyes is still evident. You even think they might be a bit darker than when you first saw him as he looks back up at you.

“Is something on my face?” Joshua asks when he notices the furrow to your brow. Your eyes widen slightly and you shake your head, giving him a reassuring grin. “I just thought you were handsome.”

Joshua’s mouth drops open at your honesty, while you internally panic at the fact that that was your coverup for staring at him. You watch as a tinge of pink appears on his cheeks, and you honestly find the sight so endearing that you have to look away.

“Let’s go to the arcade!” You exclaim, not wanting to acknowledge the fact that you called him handsome as you point towards the colorful arcade down the block. Joshua raises an eyebrow, running a hand through his hair when he nods his head. “Okay.”

The two of you go on your way to the arcade, walking in a relative silence, the sounds of you both taking sips of your sikhye filling the quiet. Joshua pushes open the door for you, and you smile, nodding your head at him.

“What a gentleman.” The blonde lets out a scoff at the nickname, and you giggle at his reaction once he steps inside after you. You both walk over to the machine that gives you the game card, and you quickly shove your credit card into the slot before Joshua can, effectively paying for the game card the two of you will share.

Joshua rolls his eyes as he takes another sip of his drink, “You should’ve let me pay for it.”

You don’t respond, instead heading over to the racing games without another word. Joshua pauses when you glance over your shoulder with a smile, “Consider it a gift.”

He watches as you skip towards the game with the motorcycle, the sight of your bright smile still imprinted in his brain. He shakes his head as if it’ll clear his thoughts, before following after you.

Joshua’s head falls back onto his pillows as he stares up at the ceiling of his dark room, the comforter resting over him.

He’s always had trouble sleeping. It started out by him sleeping later and later as he grew older, until he could only fall asleep at around 4 or 5 in the morning.

Joshua’s eyes trail over to the window beside him, and he lets out a quiet huff when he sees that the moon isn’t shining back at him. The stars are a bit dim, but they’re still evident in the dark sky.

He looks back up towards the ceiling, and he closes his eyes when the thought of your smile comes into mind again.

Joshua glances at you when you let out another giggle, and he finds himself wondering for the nth time how you can be so happy. You rest your head onto his shoulder for a second while you laugh, and he freezes slightly at the contact.

“Your face when I beat you at air hockey was so funny.” You manage to say through your laughing fit, reaching up to cover your mouth with your hand in an attempt to stop more giggles from pouring through. Joshua rolls his eyes playfully, remembering how happy you were when you won the arcade game.

“Was it really that funny?” Joshua asks, and you nod your head with an incredulous look on your face. He lets out a sigh, placing his hands into his pockets as he looks up towards the night sky. The two of you fall into a comfortable silence, just enjoying the scenery as you calm down from the joys of the arcade.

You turn your head to look at the blonde, “Did you have fun tonight?”

The blonde doesn’t respond right away, instead letting his head fall so that he’s now staring at the sidewalk while the two of you walk to the bus stop. You nod, understanding that he probably didn’t enjoy the games as much as you did.

“It’s okay if you didn’t. I know a few people who don’t actually like arcades-”

“I enjoyed it.” Joshua answers, turning to look at you with a close-lipped smile on his face. He watches as your eyes practically sparkle back at him from the sight. “Really?”

Joshua nods his head, and you raise your hands up to your warm face, feeling accomplished. He looks away from you as the two of you continue to walk, finding you to be rather endearing. Once the two of you make it to the bus stop, you turn around to face the ethereal man, giving him a bright smile that makes his heart stutter within his chest.

“I’m happy you had fun, Joshua. I’ll make sure to text you this time!” You say happily as the bus pulls up, and you raise your hand up to wave at him.

Joshua keeps his hands in his pockets once you turn around and head onto the bus. He watches as you walk towards the window seat, immediately pulling open the window once you sit down. You give him another smile and a wave, and he tilts his head at you.

It’s only when the bus pulls away from the curb that Joshua raises his hand up and waves back at you.

Joshua’s eyes glance over to the window again, and he decides that you were brighter than all of the stars in the sky tonight.

He manages to fall asleep earlier this time, around 2 am.

Your smile was the last thing on his mind before he did so.

Joshua sits at his desk, mindlessly doing his homework as the soft guitar instrumental plays in the background of his room. He taps the eraser against his bottom lip, before pressing the led onto the paper again.

The sound of his phone receiving a notification captures his attention, and he glances down at the cool metal, seeing an unfamiliar number. He slides up on his lockscreen and reads the message.

you: joshua ! it’s me yn >:D

The blonde lets out a breathless chuckle, lifting up his phone and sending a response back.

joshua: so you actually texted me this time

you: don’t make me feel bad ! D: i was busy after i met you that night

i gave you my sikhye last week to make up for it !

The corner of Joshua’s lips quirks upwards at your use of emoticons, knowing that you most likely pouted as you typed the message.

joshua: it was very good

you: i know right

anyways, do you wanna hangout later today? i wanna go to the park to take pictures when the sun sets

joshua: so you’re using me as your professional photographer

you: of course :3

joshua: pft

you: see you at around 5 <3333

joshua: i’ll see you

The blonde sets down his phone, running a hand through his hair as he looks out his window. The blue skies stare back at him, and he watches as a few birds fly past. His eyes trail back over towards his laptop, and he sighs.

“I’ll finish this assignment before I start to get ready.”

It’s only a few hours later that Joshua’s walking towards the park, hands in his pockets as he listens to the sound of life around him. He looks around at his surroundings, about to enter the park entrance when he catches sight of a tteokbokki stand.

He watches as a couple hands the lady some money, before she prepares their bowls that will hold the yummy rice cake. He specifically eyes the mozzarella cheese she layers over it, and Joshua suddenly wonders when he became hungry.

“I wonder if yn would want some.” Joshua mutters to himself, tilting his head the longer he debates on whether or not to spend his money.

He fails to notice you standing not too far from him, smiling as you watch him practically waddle in place as he stares at the food stand. You walk up to the blonde, reaching out and resting your hands on both of his arms, peering over his shoulder.

“Are you hungry?” Joshua chokes on his saliva at your sudden appearance, causing you to double over in laughter and apologies as you try to help him breathe properly. He squints at you when he finally regains his composure, still clearing his throat as he pats his chest.

“I’m literally so fucking sorry.” His eyes turn into slits at your apology, watching as your shoulders shake from the laughter you’re trying to hold back. Joshua gently pushes you with his hand, before turning around and walking into the park, tteokbokki now forgotten.

“Joshua! I’m sorry!” You laugh from behind, walking faster in order to catch up to him. Joshua doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t pick up his pace either, instead letting you hurry to his side. You smile at him, peeking your head in front of his face so that he can look at you. “Do you forgive me?”

“You thought me choking was funny.”

“True.” You admit, and Joshua scoffs at your answer, rolling his eyes teasingly as he nudges you with his shoulder again. You grin happily, nudging him back as you pull out your phone from your pocket.

“The sun is setting which means we probably only have 20 minutes to take the best sunset photos known to man. You’re my designated photographer today, remember?” Joshua begrudgingly takes the phone from your grasp, and you walk onto the relatively empty field of grass, raising your arms up towards the sky. The blonde just lets out a sigh loud enough for you to hear as he goes onto the camera app,

“Ah, what a tragic life I live.”

“You should be happy that you’re photographing such beauty!” You shout, and the corner of Joshua’s lip quirks up when he sees the furrow to your brow. He lifts up the phone so that you’re in frame, but peeks his head out from behind it.

“Do you want me to just take a billion photos?” He asks, and you give him a thumbs up. The blonde nods his head, going back into photographer mode as he starts to take photos of you.

You’re quite surprised at how seriously Joshua’s taking this photography gig, with the way he’s angling the camera and the straight face he has on. You find yourself giggling at the sight, causing the blonde to pause when he sees your smile through the camera.

Your eyes widen slightly when you see him stiffen, realizing your laughter might’ve accidentally thrown him off his game, “Was my giggling bad? Sorry!”

Joshua shakes his head immediately at your apology, lowering your phone from his face so that you can see him properly. It’s as if your heart stops when you do look at him.

His platinum hair is flowing a bit with the wind, similar to when you first met him that night on the bridge. His deerlike eyes are boring into yours, and you find a tinge of pink dusting across his cheeks as he runs a hand through his hair.

Joshua hides his face behind your phone again, wanting to capture your reaction when he says,

“Don’t apologize. Your smile is pretty.”

Your mouth drops open at the compliment, having not received one from the past couple weeks of knowing the man. Joshua captures the moment on your phone, a breath leaving his lips when he sees a smile make its way onto your face.

“Thank you.” You mutter, radiance to your features as you start posing again underneath the sky painted with various shades of pink and purple. He nods his head as he continues to capture more photos of you, silently wondering how he finds you to be prettier than the beautiful sunset behind you.

“No problem.”

You stare into those lovely brown eyes with a determined look on your face, making the blonde raise an eyebrow at you in confusion. He reaches his hand out towards you, and you stare at it, wondering what he’s going to do.

“Ow!”

It only results in you rubbing your forehead with a glare, while Joshua just goes back to drinking his coffee—now happy about flicking your forehead. You slam your fists gently onto the wooden table, and the ethereal man just stares at you in silence.

“You know what we should do?” You ask, and Joshua stays quiet, knowing you’re going to answer the question anyways. A grin makes its way onto your face as you give him jazz hands, “Go to the store so that I can buy groceries because my fridge is low.”

Joshua lets out a sigh, giving you an unimpressed look as he turns to face out the window. He’s not surprised, really. The last time the two of you hung out was just Joshua accompanying you to the library so that you wouldn’t have to return your books alone.

“Come on! I’ll buy you any snacks you want while we’re there. Besides, grocery shopping is fun.” Joshua continues to sip from his drink, somehow not surprised that you find restocking your food supply to be fun either.

“Well, more fun when you’re with someone at least.” You correct, and the blonde finally peeks at you, seeing the knowing smile on your face. He glances out the window, shrugging his shoulders in an attempt to appear indifferent. “As long as you buy me the snacks I want.”

“Of course, Joshua. What kind of person would I be if I didn’t buy you your favorite snacks?”

“No, not those snacks. Those are expensive.” Joshua just stares at you in silence, bag of chips in hand as he watches you reach out towards the off-brand version. You pick up the bag, holding it out towards the pretty man and waving it for good measure. “These are cheaper and taste the same. Trust me, Joshua.”

“You told me that you’d buy the snacks I wanted if I went grocery shopping with you.” Joshua mutters with a pout to his lips, and you simply flash him an apologetic smile as you toss the bag into the cart while taking the original one from his grasp and returning it. The blonde scoffs, nudging you with his shoulder, and you giggle as you walk off towards the next aisle. “Yes, but we’re on a budget here.”

Joshua pushes the cart after you, listening contently as you explain what you’re missing at your apartment and what food you should make for dinner. His eyes follow your movements as you gesture with your hands, now explaining a story of how you almost set your toy kitchen on fire when you were younger.

Your eyes twinkle underneath the fluorescent light, and your lips are turned upwards in a warm smile as you look back on the memory. Your voice is soft but cheerful as you tell him about the memory while throwing in some items into the cart, and Joshua finds that there’s a lump in his throat as he watches you giggle.

You turn your head to look at the blonde, just to find his pretty eyes staring at you with an indecipherable emotion in them. Feeling warmth flood your face from his stare, you look down at the cart to place the box of tea in your hands.

“What’s on your mind?” You ask, proceeding to walk out of the aisle to go to the bread section. Joshua stays quiet for a moment, staring at your fingers peeking out of your sweater paws as your arms swing back and forth.

When you don’t hear a response, you move to glance back at him, only to pause when he pushes the cart forward so that he’s now walking right beside you. Joshua raises his hand up and fondly pats your head, making your eyes widen at the sweet gesture.

You slowly turn towards him, just to find the smallest hint of a smile on his face. Warmth floods your face at the lovely sight, and you can’t help but feel slightly disappointed when Joshua’s hand falls back onto the cart handle.

The two of you gaze into each other's eyes in silence for a moment, and you begin to wonder when that hint of a sparkle began to show in Joshua’s eyes over the last month of the two of you hanging out. He turns away when he feels the tips of his ears turn red, looking over towards the bread aisle. You watch as he takes a step forward with the cart as he suddenly says,

“Let’s get this bread.”

You let out a loud laugh at the old meme, startled at the fact that Joshua even said that as you follow after him.

As Joshua watches you choose the bread you want while also picking out some cookies for the two of you to share on the way to your apartment, he finds himself feeling content for the first time in a long time.

“Hope you enjoy it.” Joshua says as he places the last dish onto the table, giving the customers a tight smile before walking back over to the register. He rests his head into his hands, grimacing at the oncoming migraine he knows will come later in the hour.

He peeks through his fingers to look at the clock, seeing that he’s still on shift for another three hours. The blonde lets out a quiet groan, wondering if his boss has any aspirin he could possibly take.

The sound of the bells chiming from the door opening is what has him look up, trying to mask the pain from his headache as he stares towards the entrance. His eyes widen slightly when he sees you standing there, a bright smile on your face as you wave at the pretty man.

“Yn?”

You quickly walk up towards Joshua, feeling happy that you were able to come visit him during his shift. You slam your hand on the counter that keeps the two of you separated, while raising ₩20,000 towards his face with your other. Joshua simply raises an eyebrow at you, wondering why you look so determined.

“I’ll have your favorite dish from here and for you to eat it with me during your break.”

“Are you trying to buy me, yn? My favorite dish is only 7,000 won-”

“Now don’t make me sound like a bad person! You should be grateful I’m buying us food—your favorite nonetheless.” You whine, and Joshua just chuckles at the pout to your lips. You squint when he doesn’t take the money from you, only for your mouth to drop open in protest when you see him pull out his card.

“Joshua!”

“I’ll pay for the meal. It’ll keep me safe since you wanted to buy me-”

“I did not!” You laugh, watching as the receipt comes out from the printer after he pays for the meal. He places his card back into his wallet, before motioning towards a booth near the wall. “Go sit down, I’ll let my boss know I’m going on my 30.”

You nod your head, walking over to the booth and sitting down on the rather worn out cushions. While you wait for Joshua, you rest your head onto your arms over the table, closing your eyes. A sad smile forms on your face when you hear your heartbeat in your ears, a reminder that your time left here is dwindling.

It’s been a month and a few days since you found out about your ill-fate on that cold, January night.

However, you haven’t found yourself thinking about your inevitable doom as often as you thought you would. Instead, you’ve been spending your days hanging out with Joshua, and using your nights to plan out the next place the two of you should go to.

You don’t know when you decided to spend your last three months trying to help Joshua see the beauty in life.

But as you look up from the table and see his pretty eyes starting to sparkle at you when he places the food down onto the surface, the corners of his lips quirking upwards as he explains how his boss was teasing him,

You realize that you wouldn’t want to spend them any other way.

The two of you walk down the street side by side, taking sips of the sikhye you bought for the both of you to make up for the meal. The comfortable silence is settled over you guys like a blanket, not needing any words to be able to spend time with each other contently.

You take a peek at the beautiful man, suddenly noticing that the dark eye bags that once adorned his features have diminished significantly. The roots of his platinum hair are beginning to grow, but it seems like he doesn’t really care.

You wouldn’t care if you looked like Joshua, either.

He’s too pretty.

“Who?”

God fucking damn it.

You immediately look away from Joshua’s curious gaze, warmth flooding your face at the fact that you just blatantly announced that he was too pretty when the two of you were walking in a relatively comfortable silence.

“Cha Eunwoo from Astro.” You lie, and the blonde nods his head in agreement after a moment, turning back to face the front. Silence falls over the two of you again, and you’re incredibly grateful that he didn’t ask more questions.

But you also find yourself a bit disappointed at the lack of them.

When the two of you end up at the front of your apartment building, you both turn towards each other to say your goodbyes. However, as the streetlight lays over Joshua’s blonde hair, almost mimicking the appearance of a halo, you realize you don’t really want the night to end.

“Thank you for visiting me at work, yn. Make sure to text me when you get into your apartment.” Joshua tells you with his soft voice. You hum in response, shifting from one foot to another. “Thank you for the food. I’ll try to visit more.”

Joshua nods his head, raising his hand up to send you a tentative wave. “I’ll see you later, yn.”

You smile softly, waving back at him as he turns around and starts to walk away. An internal battle goes on inside you as you try to figure out what you want to do, watching as his figure gets smaller as the distance grows between you.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you shout out:

“Do you wanna come in and watch a movie with me?!”

Joshua pauses at the question, like, physically and mentally freezes. His eyes are wide as he stares at the pavement, and he wonders why his heart is beating so fast in his chest at the question. There’s a small breeze that passes the both of you, and you bite your bottom lip.

The silence is deafening.

Joshua slowly turns to glance at you, and you feel your heart sink slightly at the shocked expression on his face. You’ve come to realize as the two of you look at each other, that you asking him to come in was a mistake. So you open your mouth to tell him he doesn’t have to,

“Okay.” Your mouth remains open at his answer, believing that you must’ve just imagined him agreeing to your suggestion.

And so you respond, “Heh?”

Joshua huffs, walking over so that the two of you are only a foot apart. He squints at you, and you furrow your eyebrows in response to the expression on his face.

“Yes. I’ll come in and watch a movie with you.”

“Oh.”

The two of you stare at each other for another moment. With you just gauging what he said while Joshua stands in silence, amusement and shyness written across his features.

You suddenly let out a gasp, the fact that he said yes now sinking in as you step over towards the entrance and slide your card so that the doors will open. Joshua chuckles at the obvious embarrassment on your face when the doors finally open and you gesture towards the inside of the lobby.

“Let’s go up.” You say with a tight smile, and the blonde nods his head, following after you as the doors shut behind the both of you.

The way to your apartment is rather quiet, except for the quiet chuckles Joshua lets out whenever he glances at you and you having to elbow him in the stomach.

When you finally unlock your door and the two of you step inside, you suddenly realize all of your medication that you have to hide. You turn to face Joshua as he slips off his shoes and steps into the pair of slippers you have for guests, and his beautiful eyes land on you, signaling that you have his attention.

“You can go and sit on the couch, I just need to tidy up a bit.” The blonde nods his head, watching as you scurry off to your bedroom, shutting the door behind you. He lets out a breath, before walking over towards the couch, gaze travelling around your cozy apartment.

His eyes latch onto a framed photo on the table next to the couch, and he carefully picks it up, feeling warmth flood his chest at the sight.

You’re standing underneath a fully bloomed cherry blossom tree, a bright smile on your face as you look at the camera. Your arms are lifted up towards the sky in excitement, a habit of yours that Joshua has noticed in the month that he’s known you.

He gently places the photo back down onto the table when he hears your bedroom door open, and he looks over to see you now dressed in a set of strawberry pajamas. The sight is so precious to behold that Joshua lets out a soft smile, and your eyes widen when you see it.

He smiled. This is the first time you’ve seen him smile.

“Are my pajamas funny to you?” You squeak out in an attempt to not make him uncomfortable by mentioning his smile. Holding back from slapping yourself at your strange tone, you just watch as Joshua nods his head, an emotion akin to warmth flooding his beautiful eyes as he stares at you.

“I expected nothing less from you, yn.” Joshua responds softly, and you find no sign of teasing in his voice. You cough into your shoulder, breaking the eye contact as soon as you feel heat rush up to your face. Reaching out towards the remote, you turn on the TV and point towards the couch.

“Go sit and choose a movie, I’ll go and get us some snacks.” You tell the blonde, and he plops down onto the worn out sofa as you walk into your kitchen. His eyes trail after you for a moment, before he turns back to the TV and starts scrolling through your Netflix.

You come back a few minutes later with snacks in hand, just to smile at the movie he chose. Joshua glances towards you, quietly thanking you for the snacks as you settle down beside him, making sure to place a bit of distance between the two of you.

“Have you watched this?” Joshua asks as he takes a bite of popcorn, and you nod your head, turning to him with a grin. “A Silent Voice is one of my favorite movies.”

Joshua’s mouth drops open into an ‘o’ shape, before suggesting if you want to choose another movie. You shake your head, instead grabbing the remote from the table and pressing play.

“You chose it, so we’re going to watch it.” You mumble, leaning back into the couch and taking a sip of your water. The blonde’s eyes linger on you as the opening of the movie plays, wondering how one person could be so kind, so bright.

You feel Joshua’s eyes on you. You know that he’s staring at you.

But you know that your heart would just go feral and your face would turn warm if you look back. So you blindly reach out towards him with your hand, turning his head to face the TV instead. You retract your hand afterwards, a small smile on your face as you notice Joshua shaking his head in disbelief at your actions.

“Watch the movie.” You mutter, warmth flooding your cheeks as you try to appear indifferent. The blonde takes another bite of popcorn before turning back towards the TV, trying to suppress his chuckles.

The two of you watch the movie in silence, except to offer each other snacks or to shit on one of the characters you each dislike.

It’s nice. Joshua thinks to himself at one point, turning to glance at you when you giggle at a specific scene. He looks back at the TV, biting back a small smile from forming on his face, This is nice.

When the movie hits the 45 minute mark, Joshua finds that you haven’t been taking any sips of your water or stealing some pieces of his popcorn. He’s about to comment on one of the characters when he feels a weight slump onto his shoulder.

“Yn?” Joshua asks quietly, turning his head to look down at you. Your eyes are closed, mouth slightly open as you release puffs of air. He lets out a smile when he realizes you fell asleep, reaching out and patting your head softly.

“Silly.” He mumbles, before taking a glance at the clock and sees that it’s already midnight. The blonde carefully grabs the remote that sits on the table and turns off the TV, before moving the snacks and drinks off the couch to the best of his ability as he tries not to wake you up.

Once he’s done with that, he carefully settles you down onto the cushions so that you’re laying comfortably. He takes the throw blanket from the back of the couch and lays it over your body. Letting out a breath once he’s finished, he grins at the angelic expression on your face as you sleep peacefully.

“I’ll see you later, yn.” Joshua says softly, before turning around to walk towards your door.

Except for the hand that grasps onto his own, preventing him from taking another step.

He slowly turns to glance down at you, seeing you with your eyes still closed, hand holding onto his. Joshua makes a move to carefully release the grip you have on him, but freezes when you say in a soft voice,

“Stay.”

Joshua stares at you, unsure of what to do as you continue to hold his hand.

“You don’t want me to stay, yn.” Joshua mutters, an indecipherable feeling flooding him when your grip on his hand tightens a bit.

“Stay with me, Joshua.”

And so he does.

He scoots you over on the couch, wondering whether or not he’s gonna fall to his inevitable doom during the middle of the night as the two of you can hardly fit on the small surface. Carefully, he lays onto his back, staring up at your ceiling as silence fills the room, the fuzzy throw blanket covering you both.

You turn over so that you’re facing him, and your hand falls onto his stomach. The blonde just listens to the sound of your steady breathing, wondering how you fell asleep so fast as he feels himself beginning to become drowsy. After a few minutes, his eyes softly fall shut, breathing now matching your own.

Joshua finds that sleep comes easier tonight.

You’re seated on the bench, waiting for Joshua to arrive as you stare at the date on your phone.

february 17, 2021

Letting out a breath at the harsh reality check, you tap your shoe against the pavement, turning off your phone to look out towards the road.

You have a month and a half left.

“When did time move so fast? Whenever I was in the hospital it moved so slow.” You mutter, a sad smile gracing your features as you look around at all the people walking past you. Turning your head, you suddenly lock eyes with those deerlike eyes you’ve come to know.

Your once sad smile turns into one of pure joy as you stand up from the bench, waving your hands excitedly as Joshua walks over to you. The blonde reaches out and pats your head in greeting once he’s a foot away, and you chuckle in response, ignoring the fact that your heart rate is a bit faster now.

“How were classes?” You ask as the two of you begin walking towards the cat café. Joshua mentioned in passing a week ago that he wanted to go to a cat café, so you set up a reservation for the two of you.

The blonde purses his lips, realizing that he’s been enjoying attending classes a bit more as of recently. You gaze at him expectantly, grinning when Joshua simply just nods his head and looks back at you. “It was alright. I was excited thinking about the cat café though, so I’ll probably have to add some stuff to my notes later.”

“I expected you to be more of a dog person, if I’m being honest.” You state, and Joshua looks back towards the front, letting out a small grin.

“I am.”

“Then what are we doing going to a cat café that I made reservations for a week prior?”

The blonde shrugs his shoulders, turning to you with mirth filling his pretty eyes. He motions towards your phone, and you raise an eyebrow, raising it up so that the two of you can see it as it unlocks. Your mouth drops open when you see your homescreen, the photo of you and your old friend’s cat that was taken a couple years back, and all the pieces suddenly come together.

“Joshua! Did you only say you wanted to go to a cat café because you knew I liked cats? That ruins the whole purpose of this-”

Joshua cuts you off by simply holding open the door to the cat café, and you blink in a state of stunned silence, having not realized that the two of you have already arrived. He chuckles, “I’m a dog person, but that doesn’t mean I don’t like cats. I’ve always wanted to go to one, so hurry up and go in.”

Pursing your lips, you walk into the café, but not without poking the middle of Joshua’s stomach as you do so, letting out a satisfied grin at the sound of his quiet squeak. Your mouth immediately drops open when a black and white cat snuggles up to your legs, and you kneel down, petting the soft fur as you let out inaudible excited sounds.

Joshua lets the door close behind him, the sound of the bells attached to the door letting out a little ring throughout the café. He glances down, seeing you happily petting the cats before the two of you have even ordered.

“Yn, I’ll go order for us.” Joshua tells you, and you simply nod your head without a verbal response, still softly squealing as more cats walk up to you. The blonde lets out a breath, shaking his head with the hint of a smile on his face as he heads over to the register to place your guys’ order.

You regretfully stand up from the floor, hoping the cats will follow you as you walk over to the table you reserved. You sit down in the booth, watching as Joshua converses with the employee as he orders the food and drinks.

Resting your chin on the palm of your hand, you smile fondly when Joshua glances around to find you. Your heart warms when his eyes finally land on you, a grin forming on his face as he walks over to you.

“There was a cat laying on the table behind the employee at the register. He was so cute, I hope he comes over to our table.” Joshua tells you as soon as he sits down into the seat across from you, placing the receipt onto the wooden surface. You open your mouth to respond, only to let out a quiet squeal when a cat jumps onto the empty space beside you.

“Hi pretty!” You greet, sparkles in your eyes as the cat nuzzles against your hand, asking for more pets. Joshua smiles at the sight, unlocking his phone and taking a photo of you happily petting the tabby cat. The sound of the camera shutter catches your attention, and you turn to glance at the source, seeing Joshua smiling fondly down at his phone screen.

“Did you take a photo of me playing with the beautiful cat?” You ask with a teasing grin on your face, not expecting an answer from the pretty man. You stroke the cat’s head fondly, only for your hand to stutter when Joshua says,

“You looked cute.”

A brief moment of silence passes between you, with Joshua staring at his phone, and you listening to your heart beat against your ears as warmth floods your face. Your brain tries to formulate a response, but it can only form inaudible screeching noises. So instead, you turn your head to glance at the blonde, only for your eyes to widen when you see a fluffy grey cat trying to get his attention.

“Joshua!”

“What?” He asks, looking up at you when he hears the urgency in your tone. You point towards the cat sitting patiently beside his chair, and Joshua furrows his eyebrows in confusion, turning to where you pointed, only for his eyes to widen when he locks eyes with the cat.

“You followed me from the register!” Joshua exclaims in a soft voice, reaching down to pick up the cat. You let out a bright smile as Joshua coos at the precious animal, petting the cat softly as his eyes sparkle with joy.

“Yn, this is the cat I wanted to show you.” He tells you, letting out a soft chuckle when the cat nuzzles his head into Joshua’s chest. You nod your head, about to respond when the waitress walks up to your guys’ table and begins to place your order down onto the surface.

“Thank you so much!” You say, and the waitress gives you a smile, bowing her head in response. She makes a move to leave, only to stop when she sees you and Joshua continue to play with the cats that stayed near you both.

“Would you like me to take a photo of the two of you?” You and Joshua pause, both turning to glance at the waitress as she stands by your table, a knowing smile on her face.

You and Joshua don’t have a single photo together in the month and a half that you’ve known each other. You’re not sure how he feels about his photo being taken, as he’s usually the one behind the camera rather than in front of it when the two of you are together.

Taking a peek at Joshua to see his reaction, you notice the indecipherable look on his face, and that’s how you know his answer. You give the waitress a small smile, moving to open your mouth when you see Joshua’s hand outstretched towards her through your peripheral vision.

You turn your head to look at him, only to see that he’s giving her a grin, phone in hand as he nods his head. “That’d be nice, thank you.”

Joshua lifts up the cat in his lap and stands up from his chair, taking a step forward and sitting down in the booth beside you. You continue to stare at him in silence, the slight shock evident on your features when he finally turns to glance at you. He gives you a soft smile, before pointing towards the waitress preparing to take your guys’ photo.

“Say cheese!” She says, but you continue to stare at Joshua, watching as he smiles at the camera, raising the cat’s paw as if he’s saying hello. Warmth floods your heart as you turn towards the camera, a bright smile on your face as you hold up your cat’s paw as well, matching Joshua’s pose.

As you lay in bed hours later, you turn your head towards your bedside table when you hear the vibration of your phone. Reaching out, you pick up the cool metal, seeing a few messages from Joshua.

joshushushu: [attachment 4 images]

thank you for taking me to the cat café :3

i think you’re some sort of cat whisperer based on how many cats came up to our table lol

it’s late, so you’re probably asleep

i’ll text you in the morning ^^

sweet dreams, yn

You tap on the images Joshua sent, and you let out a smile when you see the first photo is of you smiling happily down at the tabby cat, softly petting her head. Downloading the image, your thumb swipes across the screen, and you feel warmth flood your face at the fact that it’s the photo of the two of you. Except you’re not staring at the camera.

You’re staring at Joshua.

There’s a fond smile on your face, eyes sparkling brightly at him as he smiles at the camera, seemingly having no idea of the fact that you’re staring at him rather than the camera. Biting the inside of your cheek, you download the image and swipe to the left, now seeing the photo of both you and Joshua smiling at the camera, a cat paw in hand as you each make them wave for the photo.

You download the photo before swiping to the left one more time, and your breath hitches when you lay eyes on the image.

You’re laughing happily down at the tabby cat who was protesting the grabbing of the paws for the photo, not paying attention to posing anymore. While Joshua is now staring at you, the softest of smiles on his face as he watches you laugh with the cat.

You let out a shaky breath, zooming into the photo and seeing that he really is looking at you.

He’s looking at you as if you’re the most precious thing in the world.

You download the image, a small smile on your face as you go to your settings and replace the homescreen you’ve had for the last two years, exiting the app to now see the photo of you and Joshua as your wallpaper. The warmth from the photo covers you like a blanket, and you turn off your phone, placing it back down onto your bedside table.

You roll over onto your side and close your eyes, ignoring the harsh reality check that’s looming in the back of your mind in order to try and retain that happy feeling.

You fall asleep with lingering thoughts of pretty cats and Joshua Hong’s smile.

“Thank you, have a good rest of your day.” Joshua says warmly as he hands the to-go bag to the customer. She gives him a smile, reaching into her pocket to take out ₩15,000 and place it onto the table. The blonde’s eyes widen slightly, and he looks back up at her in a stunned silence, as if to ask if she really means it.

The woman nods her head, “You deserve it. Thank you for the food.”

Joshua watches as she leaves the restaurant, still shocked as he watches her figure disappear out the door. He glances back down at the ₩15,000, reaching out and picking it up from the counter, eyeing the money for a moment.

“I’ve been working here for six months.” Joshua mutters quietly, taking the ₩15,000 and placing it into his apron. He lets out a grateful smile, grabbing the spray bottle and towel to go and clean some tables.

It was the first tip he’s ever received.

“See you on Friday!” Joshua calls out as he pushes back the curtain to exit the kitchen, only to stop and turn back when he hears his boss call out to him. The older man walks over to Joshua, grinning and resting a hand on the blonde’s shoulder.

“I just wanted to tell you that you look great lately.” Joshua raises an eyebrow, wondering what could’ve changed. He does a onceover of his own appearance, and his boss lets out a laugh, shaking his head.

“I mean you in general. You look happier, brighter even. I’m happy for you.” Joshua blinks in surprise, before letting out a small smile. He bows his head as his thanks, and his boss pats his shoulder once more and turns around to walk back towards his office.

Joshua lets out a breath, before closing the curtain behind him and walking over towards the exit. He tilts his head, “How does a person look happy?”

He pushes open the doors and moves to step out from under the cover, only to pause when he registers the rain falling onto the road. He sighs, glancing down at his empty hands, cursing himself for not bringing an umbrella.

“Guess I have to sprint-”

“Joshua!” The blonde’s eyebrows furrow at the voice, and he looks up, seeing you hurrying over with a bright yellow umbrella. It’s a stark contrast to the rather gloomy atmosphere and all the black umbrellas around you. His heart rate picks up at the sight of your smile, watching as you make your way over until you’re standing a couple feet away from him.

“How’d you know I forgot my umbrella?” Joshua asks teasingly as you hand him the yellow umbrella, taking it from your grasp and holding it over the two of you as you begin to walk down the sidewalk.

“Had an intuition.” You answer with a grin, and he rolls his eyes. The two of you update each other on how your days were, chuckles exchanged as you explain how you made the best kimchi fried rice of your life.

“You should make it for me sometime.” Joshua says, and you peek at him, smiling and nodding your head.

“Of course, Joshua.”

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence, walking close beside each other in order to fit under your small umbrella. It’s when you’re close to Joshua’s apartment, and the streets are relatively quiet, that Joshua glances over and notices your hand sticking out of the umbrella. He watches in silence as you let the rain hit your skin, moving your hand as if it were a wave in the ocean.

“Your hand is getting wet.” Joshua points out, and you pause, turning to him as warmth rushes to your face at the fact that he caught you. You give him a bashful smile, nodding your head as you let your arm fall back to your side. “Yeah.”

“Why?” You notice that he looks genuine, there’s no teasing tone in his voice, no mirth in his gaze as he stares at you. He just wants to know why you were letting your own arm get wet. You break the eye contact, looking down at the ground as the two of you continue to walk.

“I just realized I’ve never played in the rain before.”

Joshua stares at you for a moment longer, having not seen you so shy about something you wanted to do before. He lets out a breath, turning away as he reaches up and closes the yellow umbrella, promptly removing the shield that had been protecting the two of you from the rain.

Your eyes widen as you feel the rain hit you, and you turn your head, seeing Joshua place your umbrella down on the sidewalk. He looks back towards you, raising an eyebrow when he sees the shocked expression on your face.

Joshua simply just closes his eyes and tilts his head up towards the sky, outstretching his arms as he feels the rain soak his clothes. That’s all you need to see for a smile to finally form on your face, and you let out a laugh, raising your arms into the air and spinning around.

Joshua opens his eyes when he hears your laugh, and he looks over at you—only to feel his breath get taken away. The rain falls softly from the sky, landing on you as you laugh happily, a bright smile on your face. Time seems to slow down as he stares at you, heart stuttering in his chest as he watches you spin around, pure joy radiating from your features.

He’s reminded of the first time the two of you met on the Banpo bridge almost two months ago, when you told him that life was beautiful and he didn’t understand how you could see it that way.

“I wish I could see it like you do.” Joshua mutters, and you look over at him, finding that he’s still staring up at the sky. His breath is visible due to the cold temperatures, and you watch as he lets out a sigh. He turns towards you, giving you a heartbreaking smile, “Life hasn’t been kind to me.”

As Joshua watches you dance in the rain, he realizes that he finally understands what you mean.

Life is beautiful.

You lay in bed, still shivering even after having taken a hot shower as soon as you finished dancing in the rain with Joshua a couple hours prior. With a shaking hand, you pull up the comforter closer to your chin, wondering when you’ve become so frail, weak you should say.

“At least Joshua hasn’t noticed anything.” You mumble, knowing that your time left is short as you’ve been feeling more tired as the days go by. Rolling over, you look out the window to try and get sleepy, seeing the moon staring back at you.

Your hand slips out of the covers, reaching out and grasping the air as you tried to reach for the moon. Letting your arm fall back onto the bed, you let out a breath.

You always wondered if you’d ever be able to reach the moon and the stars when you were younger.

“Yn?” Turning your head, you see Joshua standing by the door to his bedroom. His blonde hair falls softly over his forehead, almost hiding his pretty eyes from sight. You watch as he walks over, reaching out and resting his hand over your head when he notices you shivering.

“Do you want another blanket? You’re shivering.” Giving him a soft smile, you shake your head as you simply pull the comforter up more.

“Why are you still awake?” You ask, and he stares at you for a moment.

The corner of his lips quirk upwards, “I should be asking you the same thing.”

“Touché.”

Joshua chuckles, patting your head fondly before pointing back towards the bedroom door. You peek through the doorway, seeing his dark living room. “I’ll go back to the couch. I just wanted to check on you.”

It’s when he’s about to leave that you reach out and grasp his wrist softly, promptly stopping him from taking another step. He turns to look back at you, seeing the same shy look on your face that he saw earlier.

He’s reminded of the night where the two of you slept on the couch a few weeks prior, having experienced this exact scenario before.

“Mm?” You bite the inside of your cheek, not wanting to respond. Instead, you weakly pull him towards you, and he takes a few steps towards your bedside.

The two of you stare at each other for a moment in silence, numerous questions flooding your guys’ brain as you do so. However, you can only bring yourself to mutter out one word.

“Stay.”

Joshua’s stare doesn’t waver, and you feel yourself growing more embarrassed the longer you wait for his response. You fully believe that he’s going to say no with the way he doesn’t hold your hand in return, and your belief comes true when he lets your hand fall back to the bed.

It shouldn’t hurt. You know that you shouldn’t have gotten attached to him, or let him become so close to you.

You’re going to die anyways.

Joshua turning down your request is for the best. It means there are still barriers between the two of you, that the last time you woke up with his arms wrapped around you was just a moment of weakness. That it won’t happen again.

The regret pools in your heart as you watch him turn and walk away, and you wonder whether or not you should apologize for even asking him in the first place.

Only for your eyes to widen when you see him walk to the other side of the bed, pulling up the comforter and climbing in. He arranges his pillows, before laying down and turning over onto his side, now facing you.

You stare at him in shock, and he squints at you in amusement. The blonde reaches out and pokes your forehead, snapping you out of your surprised state. He chuckles, “You asked me to stay, so I’m staying.”

A smile finally makes its way onto your face, and Joshua lets out a breath at the sight. The moonlight rests over you, illuminating your features beautifully, even in his dark bedroom. He feels himself smile back at you, eyes softening with fondness as he stares at you.

You tentatively reach your hand out, trying your best to hide the shakiness to it as you let it rest on Joshua’s cheek. He doesn’t seem unphased from the touch, he just continues to stare into your eyes as the look on your face softens.

“You look best when you’re happy.” You say quietly, and the blonde doesn’t respond. You watch as tears slowly fill his eyes, and your eyebrows furrow. You’ve never seen Joshua cry, not once in the time you’ve known him. Unexpectedly, Joshua’s hand comes out from under the covers and rests over yours, encompassing your cold hand in warmth.

“I want to be a better person for you.” Joshua mutters, blinking away the tears as he tries to look at anything else in his room. You shake your head, your own heart breaking within your chest at how vulnerable he looks. You swipe away the tears from under his eye, and his eyes flit back to you, watching as a soft smile forms on your face.

“You… you have always been more than enough, Joshua.”

The blonde lets out a breath at your response, before his eyes softly fall shut. Your heart is warm within your chest as you let your eyes linger on him for a moment longer, his hand still resting over your own as he tries to fall asleep.

Your gaze trails over back towards the window, seeing how bright the moon and millions of stars are in the dark sky.

You may not have reached the moon and the stars like you originally wanted.

You look back towards Joshua, content washing over you when you listen to his steady breathing, seeing that he’s already fast asleep. You remove yours and Joshua’s hand from his cheek, letting it rest onto the mattress. A smile escapes you when you feel his hand tighten softly around yours in his sleep. After a moment, your eyes slowly fall shut with Joshua being the one to keep you warm, hand holding your own as the two of you fall asleep facing each other.

But you’ve reached the sun, and that’s more than enough.

You stare at your medicine, wondering if you should even take it when you don’t have much time left. Shaking your head, you let out an aggravated sigh, taking out the pill and dry-swallowing it.

You immediately regret dry-swallowing the large pill as you grab your glass of water, taking a large gulp to try and swallow it properly. Letting out a cough, you walk over to your fridge, not even feeling hungry as you stare at the food in it.

march 18, 2021

It’s been two months.

Your time is running out.

You’re about to grab a small container of yogurt when you hear your phone go off, and you glance over to see the screen lit up. Closing your fridge door, you walk back over to the counter and pick up your phone, a grin immediately forming on your face when you see that Joshua texted you.

joshushushu: be ready at 8 later, i’ll come pick you up !

you: so you’re the one planning now, huh?

since when were you coming for my career

joshushushu: you’re just jealous cause i’m better at it

you: take that BACK.

joshushushu: see you at 8 <3

you: JOSHUA

You chuckle, turning off your phone and looking back towards your refrigerator. Letting out a sigh, you walk over and take out the yogurt, grabbing a spoon and dipping into the snack. You quietly eat the yogurt as you walk over to your living room window, staring out at the city.

The skies are blue, a contrast to the cloudy days Seoul had for the last couple of weeks. Your eyes follow the birds that fly past your window, watching as they get smaller and smaller the farther they go. You let out a sigh, taking another spoonful of yogurt.

“What a beautiful day.”

“Are you okay?” You turn your head to glance at Joshua, seeing the look of concern on his face as he looks at you. Giving him a smile, you nod your head, reaching up and rubbing the back of your neck as you look out the window of the bus.

“I’m okay, just tired.” The feeling of Joshua’s eyes on your side profile remains, and you hope that he doesn’t question it anymore. The blonde simply smiles, patting the top of your head fondly. “You can sleep, yn. I’ll wake you up when we get there.”

You bite the inside of your cheek at his kindness, and nod in response. You rest your head against the window and close your eyes, ignoring the rumbling from the bumpy road.

A few minutes pass of Joshua scrolling through his phone when he sees your head moving out of the corner of his eye. He looks at you, seeing your head bumping against the window whenever the bus drives over a pothole in the road, somehow still fast asleep.

Joshua reaches out and softly grasps your head, pulling you over so that you’re now resting on his shoulder. He stares at your sleeping face for a moment longer, finding that you look at peace as you sleep.

“Pretty.” Joshua mutters, before looking out towards the window for the rest of the way.

It’s only half an hour later when you feel a hand gently shaking your shoulder, and Joshua’s soft voice telling you to wake up. Groggily, you open your eyes and sit up in the seat, scratching your head. You turn and look up to find Joshua standing up from the bus seat, throwing his bag over his shoulder. He lets out a giggle at how sleepy you look, “Come on. We’re here.”

Turning towards the window, you see the Han River glimmering back at you. Raising an eyebrow, you stand up from the seat and look at Joshua, who’s just giving you a close-lipped smile. He extends his hand out towards you, and you stare at it.

After a moment, you reach out, feeling his warm hand encompass your cold one. He grins, giving your hand a squeeze before turning and guiding you off the bus. The two of you walk in silence as he leads you towards the top of a hill, but it soon becomes hard to breathe.

“J-Joshua.” You wheeze out, and the blonde pauses, turning to see you doubled over.

“Are you okay? Do you want to take a break here?” You don’t respond, instead trying to catch your breath as you hold onto Joshua’s hand like a lifeline. His eyebrows furrow, and he squats so that he can look into your eyes, watching as you begin to breathe properly again.

“Yn.”

“Mm?”

“We gotta work on your endurance.” Joshua jokes, and you let out a laugh, reaching out and slapping his shoulder as you stand up straight. He giggles, feeling relieved that you’ve caught your breath. He gives your hand a squeeze when he gets up from his squatting position, and you look at him. “Ready?”

You nod your head, squeezing his hand in return, “Ready.”

Joshua smiles, leading you towards the top of the hill once again. He makes sure to keep glancing back at you and even slows his pace as a means for you to not get exhausted again.

When the two of you finally reach the top of the hill, he lets go of your hand, and you pout at the loss of warmth. You’re about to ask why he brought you here, only to stop when you see him unzip his bag, pulling out a picnic blanket and laying it onto the cold grass.

“A picnic? At 9 pm?” You ask, only for Joshua not to respond as he just slips off his shoes and lays down onto the checkered blanket. You smile in amusement, tilting your head as you wonder what he’s doing.

Joshua lets out an exasperated sigh, reaching out and patting the empty space beside him on the blanket. Pursing your lips, you slowly slip off your sneakers and climb onto the blanket, carefully laying on your back. Your head is turned to him, and you’re about to ask what now? Only for Joshua to gently grasp your chin, turning you away until you look up towards the sky and-

Wow.

The millions of stars are shining brighter than you’ve ever seen. It was as if someone gathered a handful of sparkles and scattered them across the wide expanse of the dark sky, bringing light to unappreciative eyes.

Joshua turns his head to see your reaction, and he smiles at the bright look to your eyes, your mouth being dropped open slightly in awe.

He knew of your fascination with the sky ever since the two of you met on Banpo bridge. From the way your eyes sparkled at the sight of the moonlight reflecting across the river, to the content smile that would make its way onto your face whenever you’d look up towards the moon.

And so, whenever he would finish his evening classes at university, he’d take the bus to different parks and look for the spot that had the best sight of the sky at night.

Joshua wanted you to be able to reach the stars.

“Do you like it?” You turn towards the pretty blonde, seeing the slight apprehension on his face in fear that you won’t be happy with his surprise for you. You watch as it melts away from the sight of your bright smile, and a breath of relief escapes him.

“I love it.”

The two of you turn back towards the sky, pointing at different constellations and talking about which star shines the brightest among the millions you can see. You let out a laugh when Joshua mistakenly points out lights from a plane as a shooting star, and he rolls his eyes, but the fond smile on his face tells you that he’s anything but annoyed.

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence afterwards, just appreciating the beautiful sky. You feel warm, even though you’re in this cold weather, you somehow feel warm just by being with Joshua. The bright stars shine down at you, and you slowly raise your arm up to the sky.

Joshua’s eyes follow your hand, watching as it grasps at the air. His gaze trails down to your face, seeing you stare up at the stars with an indecipherable emotion in your eyes. He turns away, and your arm falls back down to your side.

“What’s something you want to do with me?” Joshua asks, breaking the comfortable silence. You purse your lips, finding the question hard as you wonder how you could even answer this.

You want to do everything with him.

You want to go to a karaoke place with him, go bowling, go to an amusement park and eat all the festival food. Watch a movie, play in the snow and build a snowman. Go to the beach and make sand castles, go grocery shopping, visit him at work. Go to uni with him, go on a walk, talk about your day, make him kimchi fried rice. Everything.

You want to do everything with Joshua.

Letting out a shaky breath, your eyes trail over to the trees down the hill, lined up on the sides of the pathway. You stare at the unbloomed buds, already seeing the beautiful flowers in the back of your mind that you know you won’t be here in time to see.

“Cherry blossoms.” You utter, and the blonde turns to you.

“Hm?”

“I want to see the cherry blossoms with you.” Joshua lets out an, ah, a smile forming on his face at the thought of seeing the beautiful pink flowers with you. He looks back up towards the stars, “Cherry blossoms were always my favorite flower.”

You listen to Joshua’s soft voice, holding onto every word as you stare down at the unbloomed trees. The blonde lets out a breathless chuckle. “April was my favorite month because that’s when the cherry blossoms would bloom, but I stopped being excited for them a couple years back.”

Joshua grins, heart growing warm in his chest when he thinks of you spinning around excitedly underneath the cherry blossom trees, the pink petals softly falling around you.

“But I’m excited to see them with you, yn.”

Your heart wavers in your chest at Joshua’s sweet words, and you clench your fist at your side. Tears fill your eyes as you look away from the unbloomed cherry blossom trees, gaze trailing back up towards the stars. A tear escapes your left eye as you choke out,

“I’m excited to see them with you too, Joshua.”

Laying in bed, you stare up at the ceiling tiredly, having lost almost all your energy a week ago. You roll over and look at your phone, watching as the screen lights up.

march 23, 2021

You let out a shaky breath, knowing that you should admit yourself to the hospital within a few days. However,

You open up your messaging app, tapping on your conversation with Joshua.

you: joshuaaa

be ready at 2 ! i prepared a fun day for us :)

joshushushu: does it involve you paying for our meal?

you: capitalism is the root of all evil.

but yes. yes it does.

joshushushu: okay epic, i’m in.

i’ll see you later ^^

you: see you <3

Turning off your phone, you take in a deep breath, before slowly climbing out of bed. The exhaustion weighs over you like a blanket, but you push yourself to make it to the bathroom to shower.

You need to get ready to spend one last day with Joshua.

Sitting on the bench at the bus stop, you stare down at your sneakers as you wait for the pretty blonde to show up. It took you a while to get to the bus stop, as you felt even more exhausted by the time you stepped out of your apartment complex. You took your medicine and attempted to eat some food, but to no avail.

The sunlight that was once shining down onto you suddenly disappears as you were thinking to yourself, and you look up to see Joshua grinning down at you.

“What did you plan for today? Grocery shopping?” He asks, and you roll your eyes, standing up when you notice the bus heading your way. Nudging his shoulder, you answer, “No, something better than restocking my food and cleaning supplies.”

Joshua lets out a mock gasp, making you giggle as the two of you climb onto the bus. You sit down in the window seat, the pretty man following soon after and continuing what he was saying.

“Better than following you around the grocery store while pushing a cart for an hour? No such thing.” You laugh, slapping his leg and shaking your head at him. He grins, reaching up and patting the top of your head fondly.

“I’m kidding. Doing anything with you brightens my day either way.” Joshua confesses, and you freeze slightly, before regaining your composure. Giving him a tight smile, you turn and glance out the window, watching as the world passes by. Cars filled with people going to wherever it is they’re going, people waiting on the crosswalks to cross the street, children screaming and playing on the playgrounds.

The world is roaring with life.

“I’m happy for them.” You whisper, before closing your eyes.

“Yn, you shouldn’t have.” Joshua says when you lead him towards the entrance of a dog café. You grin, shrugging your shoulders as you muster enough strength to pull open the door. “You’re a dog person. I am simply returning the favor.”

The blonde chuckles, stepping into the café with you following after him. You reach up and hold your bicep, lightly rubbing the area as it feels a bit strained. Your arm immediately falls back to your side when Joshua stops and turns to glance at you, wondering why you’re behind him.

He lets out a fond smile, reaching his hand out towards you. “Come on, let’s go see the dogs.”

Your eyes slowly trail down to his hand, warm and inviting. A stark contrast to what yours have become, cold and lonely. You look back up at Joshua’s face, seeing him tilt his head at you, waiting for you to grasp his hand.

He watches as an indecipherable emotion passes your eyes, before you let out a smile and walk up to him, intertwining your fingers with his. He grins, and the two of you walk further into the café, only to be greeted by a golden retriever.

Your eyes widen in surprise at the beautiful dog, and you’re about to bend down to pet it—only to stop once the sound of Joshua’s happy laugh rings in your ears. You turn to look at him, finding him patting the dog’s head with a bright smile on his face.

“Come on puppy, yn and I have to go order our food.” Joshua says softly, before leading you towards the register. You let out a happy squeal when you see all the other dogs roaming around the tables, feeling excited to play with all of them.

You and Joshua tell the employee what you’d both like to order as a few dogs come to stand beside the two of you. When you’re told the price, you reach into your bag with your free hand to pull out your wallet, only for your mouth to drop open when you see Joshua already handing the employee his card.

“Joshua! I wanted to pay for us.” You whine, and he simply squeezes your hand with an accomplished grin on his face. He thanks the employee once he’s handed back his card along with the receipt, before turning to face you.

“You’re just too slow~” Joshua teases, and you squint. You open your mouth to start complaining more, only to pause when you hear the employee’s voice ring out.

“Sorry to interrupt, but if you’d like, we have a photobooth that you both could go take pictures in.” They tell you with a shy smile, pointing towards the back of the café where the photobooth is, and your eyes brighten at the idea.

“Thank you so much!” You say, before pulling Joshua in the direction of the photobooth, your free hand already holding your wallet so that you can pay for it.

“Yn-” You immediately shove your card into the reader when the two of you step into the small box, closing the black curtain. The blonde chuckles at your determination, and you smile as you pull out your card once the payment is accepted.

“How should we pose?” Joshua asks, and you shrug as you watch the timer start to count down.

“You just gotta feel it.”

“That’s not helpful at all.”

“Just follow my lead.” You say with a laugh, and he grins in amusement, turning back towards the screen. The two of you lean your heads closer to each other, and you wink while Joshua simply smiles as the first photo is captured.

This continues for the next three photos, with the two of you laughing and doing different poses for the photostrip. You both climb out of the small box, waiting for the two photostrips to be printed as you talk about how silly you each must look.

“Ah, they’re printed.” You say once the two photostrips fall out, and you grab them both. You hand one to Joshua, and you hear him let out a small giggle.

You stare at the photostrip quietly, gauging the photos. Warmth floods your chest at the third panel in particular, and you let out a breath.

This was when the two of you missed the countdown as you were both facing each other and laughing. Joshua’s eyes are bright and filled with warmth, a smile on his face as he looks at you in the photo. Then there’s you, mid-laugh, nothing but joy over your features.

“Wow.” You breathe out, and Joshua chuckles at your reaction, nudging you with his shoulder. You blink, looking away from the photostrip and redirecting your attention towards the blonde. “Mm?”

He points towards the table in the corner, where quite a few dogs are resting around. “Let’s go sit there.”

You bite back a laugh, knowing exactly why he wants to sit at that exact spot. Nodding your head, you grin when you see his features brighten, and the two of you walk towards the table. The dogs perk up at your guys’ arrival, almost all of them going around Joshua as the two of you sit across from each other.

“So cute!” Joshua exclaims, a big smile on his face when the golden retriever from earlier rests its paws on Joshua’s chair, licking his face excitedly. The corners of your lips quirk up, and you take out your phone, opening the camera app.

You watch as Joshua grins, petting the golden retriever to try and calm them down as they continue to attempt to lick his face. Tilting your head, you take the photo right as Joshua breaks out into laughter.

You lower the phone from your face when Joshua turns towards you from the sound of the camera shutter, and he lets out a grin when his gaze trails over to your left hand side.

“So busy ogling me that you didn’t even notice the cute puppy waiting for your attention.” Your eyebrows furrow at Joshua’s sentence, and you turn your head to the left, expecting nothing, only for your eyes to widen when you see the precious corgi sitting beside you in the booth, tail wagging as they stare at you.

“Oh my God. Hi baby!” You coo, reaching out and finally giving the attention the corgi had been wanting from you. The corgi licks your wrist, and you giggle, petting their back as you turn to shoot a glare towards the blonde. He raises an eyebrow at the squint to your eyes, and he tilts his head in question.

“I was not ogling you!” You exclaim, and Joshua lets out an angelic laugh that makes your heart do a somersault within your chest. A sheepish smile forms on your face, destroying the “angry” persona you were trying to put on.

“Yeah, yeah. Tell it to the judge.”

“Joshua!” You laugh, and he laughs along with you.

Your guys’ laughter rings throughout the café for the rest of the afternoon, pure happiness exuding from the two of you.

“Oh sikhye, how you never fail me.” You say lovingly to the drink in your hand. Joshua simply chuckles at your antics, taking a sip of his own sikhye as the two of you walk on the sidewalk towards the bridge.

“Thank you for taking me to the dog café, I had a lot of fun.” Joshua tells you, and you nod your head, a smile forming on your face when you remember how many dogs had been around your table.

“You’re like a dog magnet, while I’m a cat magnet.” You point out, and the blonde purses his lips in thought, before nodding his head in agreement. “That makes sense.”

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence as you make your way onto the bridge, the sounds of the cars driving past you both filling the quiet.

“I feel like you could be a catboy, though.” Joshua accidentally snorts his sikhye at your abrupt comment, and you burst out into laughter as he doubles over, coughing up the drink. Patting his back, you wait for him to calm down as he slowly stands back up to his full height, taking deep breaths.

“A catboy?”

“I cannot believe me calling you a catboy made you snort your drink.” You say, the corners of your mouth twitching as you try to hold back from smiling. The blonde catches this though, and he reaches out and pinches your cheek.

“Hey!”

Joshua smiles at your reaction, feeling satisfied that he got his payback after you made him snort his rice drink. He’s about to ask why you think he’s a catboy when he notices you walking up to the railing of the bridge.

You rest your hand onto the cold railing, staring out at the sight laid before you. The skies are painted in various shades of pink, blue, and purple. The sun is setting in the distance, the dark orange reflecting off the Han River, making the water glimmer.

“It’s…”

“Beautiful.” Joshua finishes, and you turn to him, seeing the sparkle to his eyes as he stares at the scenery. You’re reminded of the cold January night where you met him over two months ago.

His eye bags are practically gone and the hunch to his shoulders are now replaced with confidence. His features are glowing, looking healthy in comparison to before, but it’s his eyes that have changed the most. His eyes no longer appear exhausted as he turns to look at you, now replaced with something along the lines of content.

“We met on this bridge over two months ago.” You state, and Joshua doesn’t respond. He looks back out towards the water, resting his forearms onto the railing as the thought of that night comes to mind. You follow suit, taking a sip of your sikhye as the two of you stare at the scenery in silence, the memories the two of you made over the last two months playing in your head.

“You know when I said I couldn’t see life as something beautiful? And that it wasn’t kind to me?” Joshua asks after a moment, and you nod your head, the memory fresh in your mind.

He lets out a breath, “Two months ago, life was so hard for me that I couldn’t even think of trying anymore. So I didn’t understand what you meant when you said that life was beautiful.”

Your hand squeezes the railing, but you don’t turn to look at Joshua. You know that he wouldn’t want you to look at him as he addresses what he didn’t want to even mention for the last two months.

Joshua glances at you, the sunset no longer capturing his attention. A small smile escapes him as he stares at you, heart warm within his chest.

“I understand what you mean now.” You turn to look at him, immediately locking eyes with the ethereal man. The small smile on his face turns into a full one when he stares into your bright eyes, feeling happy just by being with you.

Joshua turns away, looking back out towards the sunset. Your heart swells with warmth and heartbreak when you hear him say,

“Life is beautiful.”

You don’t respond right away as you struggle to hold back the tears from escaping. Your eyes remain on the scenery laid before you, doing your best to control your breathing as you watch the sun set below the city.

Letting out a breath, you feel Joshua turn to look at you with his soft eyes.

Joshua’s happy, so you’re happy.

You turn your body towards Joshua and give him a tight smile as you raise your arms into the air. The blonde grins, reaching out and taking the sikhye from your hand when he notices some of its contents spill onto the pavement from your gesture. You giggle at your clumsiness, and he just shakes his head.

“What would you do without me?” Joshua asks with a smile, and you shrug your shoulders, turning and beginning to walk in the direction of the bus stop. He tilts his head at you, and he watches as you turn and glance at him with a smile.

“I wouldn’t be as happy as I am now!” You answer, turning away before you get the chance to see Joshua’s reaction. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you swing your arms as you walk, suddenly wishing you had your sikhye in your hand.

The sound of running footsteps makes you glance back, only to let out a loud laugh when Joshua’s arm suddenly wraps around your shoulders, the sound of his giggles ringing in your ear. He holds out the drink in your direction, and you grin, taking it from his grasp.

As you take a sip of the sweet rice drink, you let out a sigh. You take a peek at Joshua, finding the hint of a smile on his face as he drinks his own beverage in his other hand. He notices your eyes on him, and he looks at you, a warm expression forming on his face. He leans in and gently nudges your head with his, before turning back towards the front.

It’s as if all the sadness, anger, and pain melts away from the fond gesture. A shy smile breaks out onto your face as you turn away, letting out a sigh of content.

“Ah, what a beautiful day.”

Joshua glances down at his phone while he waits in the elevator as it goes up to the eighth floor, the floor in which your apartment resides.

april 6, 2021

You haven’t contacted Joshua since the day the two of you went to the dog café, let alone open his texts. He’s been texting you everyday and even calling you to try and get a response, but to no avail.

So he finally decided to go visit your apartment to check in on you and ask what happened.

As the elevator doors open, Joshua steps out and walks down the hallway. Once he turns left to enter the other hall, his eyebrows furrow when he notices the man standing in front of your door. He walks up to the man, who glances up towards the blonde when he catches sight of him through the corner of his eye.

“Do you know yn?” Joshua asks once he’s a few feet away from the older man. The gentleman nods, holding up his ID card, “I’m their landlord.”

Joshua almost lets out a breath of relief, finally having met someone who could possibly know where you’ve been. The blonde points towards your apartment door, “Yn hasn’t contacted me in like, two weeks. Do you know if they’re home or if they went somewhere-”

“You don’t know?” Your landlord asks, and Joshua pauses. A feeling of dread runs down his spine when he sees the look of pity appear in the older man’s eyes when Joshua shakes his head, no.

The dread soon turns into regret when the landlord informs him of the information he hadn’t known for the last three months.

“Are you comfortable?” The nurse asks as she replaces your tube. You give her a weak smile, glancing out the window and staring at the birds flying past it as you answer, “As comfortable as I can be.”

Once the nurse finishes cleaning you up, she bows in your direction and steps out of the room. You let out a breath, eyes trailing down to your phone. You press your finger to the screen, and the photo of Joshua that you took at the dog café shines back at you.

A soft smile escapes you when you see how brightly he’s laughing, the sound of his joyful laughs still ringing in your ear as if he was here with you. The brief moment of happiness you feel turns into one of guilt when you’re reminded of all the messages, missed calls, and voicemails he’s left you for the last two weeks.

It’s for the best, you remind yourself. You want him to be happy, and knowing that you’re on your literal deathbed would take that away from him.

You bite the inside of your cheek once you feel the tears rise to your eyes, and you let out an annoyed huff. In an attempt to make the wetness to your eyes disappear, you move to stare up at the ceiling, only to freeze when your gaze lands on the doorway.

“Joshua?”

The blonde is standing there, chest rising and falling as he stares at you, pain evident in his gaze. His eyes trail over your appearance, wondering how he didn’t see the signs from the beginning. From the times you told him you were having trouble sleeping, the loss of appetite, how easily exhausted you would become from simply laughing too hard in the recent weeks.

How could he not know?

“Yn.” Joshua breathes out, walking over to your bedside and sitting down in the chair. Feeling the tears flood your eyes, you look away from him, staring down at your hands in shame.

“How did you find out?” You ask in a quiet voice, knowing he’s going to hate you for not telling him. When you don’t hear his response, the tears escape your eyes, falling onto the hospital blanket.

“I’m so sorry Joshua.”

“I’m so selfish.” Your eyes widen slightly, and you look up from the blanket, only for your heart to break within your chest when you see the tears falling past Joshua’s eyes.

“I-I hated my life and I openly complained about it in front of you, but you were going through so much worse and you still saw the beauty in it.” Joshua mutters, his hands reaching up towards his face as he tries to wipe away his tears. “I’m so sorry, yn.” You feel a sob bubble up in your chest, and you shake your head at him.

“Don’t compare your struggles and pain to mine. Your struggles and your pain are valid. You have nothing to apologize for.” You tell him, vision becoming blurry as you reach out towards him with your hand. Joshua bites his bottom lip, before grasping your cold hand with his warm one.

“It’s not fair.” Joshua mutters, and you blink at him. His hand tightens gently around yours, and he looks up into your beautiful eyes that hold so much life in them.

The life you deserve to live.

“I-It’s not fair. You of all people deserve to live your life.” Joshua says, the anger and sadness heavy in his voice. You let out a small smile, squeezing his hand with as much energy you can muster. “Sometimes life isn’t fair.”

Joshua just scoffs at your positivity and you let out a weak giggle. His eyes soften from the sight of your smile, and he reaches out with his free hand, wiping away your tears with his thumb. You lean into the touch, and Joshua feels his heart stutter in his chest.

“Can you stay with me?” You ask, looking up into his deerlike eyes. Warmth floods the blonde’s face at how ethereal you are, feeling content when he still sees the sparkle in your eyes.

“Yeah, always.”

Joshua slips off of his shoes and scoots you over on the hospital bed. He climbs onto it and lays onto his back beside you. You rest your head onto his arm, turning onto your side so that you’re facing him, and close your eyes at the feeling of his fingers intertwining with yours.

“Thank you.” You mutter sleepily, and Joshua raises an eyebrow.

“For what?”

The memories of the last three months rewind in your head like a cassette tape, all the joy, laughter, sadness. All of it.

“For making my last three months worthwhile.”

Joshua sucks in a breath at your words, and he clenches his fist at his side. He’s filled with anger, sadness, so many different emotions as he turns his body to face you. He finds that you’re already fast asleep, small puffs of air leaving your lips, a reminder that you’re here.

You’re alive.

Holding back the tears from rising, Joshua closes his eyes and gently rests his forehead onto yours. He feels your breath hit his lips, and he finds that it’s the only thing that calms him down as he feels a wave of drowsiness hit him.

He soon falls asleep with the thought of you turning to face him on the bridge two weeks ago, with the bright smile on your face that he’s grown to love.

“Can I please take yn out of the hospital? They’re right at the entrance. It’s not like I’m taking yn to an amusement park.”

“No, Joshua.”

“But Dr. Park, please.” Joshua practically begs, following after your doctor as he tries to walk back to his office. The man doesn’t even spare the blonde another glance, already set on his answer.

It’s been a week since Joshua discovered the truth of your illness, and he’s visited every single day. Even if he had classes or a shift at work, he’d immediately take the bus to the hospital right after to come and see you.

He knows your time is soon from how frail you’ve become, the exhaustion and pain evident on your face no matter how hard you try to hide it behind the smile you show him.

That’s why he’s desperate for Dr. Park to say yes.

“I’ll even have the nurse accompany us! Please, it won’t take long.” Joshua calls out, and he watches as Dr. Park’s shoulders slump as he lets out a sigh. The older man turns to glance at him, “Joshua…”

“Please, Dr. Park. Yn—” Joshua looks down at his shoes, swallowing the lump in his throat as he tries to muster up the courage to say the next words. “Yn doesn’t have much time left.”

Dr. Park stares at the blonde, knowing very well that your time is drawing near. He looks to his side, remembering what he told you the day you found out about your tragic fate.

“Eat whatever you want, do things you’ve always wanted to do. Live your life, yn.”

Dr. Park lets out a sigh, before turning back towards Joshua, who’s still staring down at the floor. He purses his lips, “Fine. You can take yn, but not for long. I’ll have their nurse accompany you.”

Joshua immediately lifts up his head, eyes bright as he nods his head frantically. He blurts out multiple thank yous, even bowing at least ten times before he heads back to your hospital room.

Dr. Park just lets out a sad smile as he watches the blonde disappear past the corner. Shaking his head, he glances down at his clipboard and heads towards his next patient.

You lay in the hospital bed, struggling to keep your eyes open as you wait for Joshua. Your gaze is glued towards the doorway, wondering when you’ll see those pretty deerlike eyes of his. Your eyelids feel heavy, and you feel sleep beginning to pull you in.

“Yn!” Your eyes slowly open at the angelic voice, and you find Joshua walking up to your hospital bed with an excited smile on his face. The corners of your lips tug upward, “Joshua, you look excited.”

“I have a surprise for you.” Your eyebrows furrow in suspicion, and he lets out a laugh. A sudden figure at your doorway catches your attention, and Joshua steps to the side so that you can see. You squint when you see your nurse standing there, a wheelchair in front of her as she gives you a smile.

“What are you planning?” You ask, eyes going back to the blonde. He shrugs his shoulders, reaching out and grasping your cold hand, giving it a squeeze.

“You’ll see.”

It takes about twenty minutes until you’re finally in the wheelchair, as you’re no longer able to walk on your own. It was hard, since Joshua had to help your nurse by carrying you and placing you into the seat. You kept apologizing for being a bother, but Joshua would always reply,

“You could never be a bother, yn.”

And now you’re being pushed through the halls. With your nurse holding onto the IV pole while Joshua pushes you. You can’t help but feel a bit of excitement run through your veins as the three of you slowly make your way out of the hospital, no matter how exhausted you are.

“What’s the surprise? Did you buy me a sikhye truck?”

“You think I’m rich?” Joshua counters, and you smile at his response. It’s when you’re closer to the automatic doors that you begin to feel your heartbeat faster, ecstatic to be able to smell the fresh air.

“Are you ready?” Joshua asks, leaning over to peek at your face. You let out a shaky breath, before nodding your head and giving him a thumbs up. “Of course.”

The blonde smiles, and starts pushing you towards the exit again, watching as the automatic doors open for the three of you. The sunlight shines down on you once you’re outside, and you suck in a deep breath of the fresh air, blinking your eyes to get used to the sudden light.

Once your eyes open again, you find Joshua standing before you, arms stretched up towards the sky. A pose that you always did when the two of you were together. You’re about to ask what he’s doing when a sudden flash of pink flies past your face. You turn your head, eyes following after it until it falls onto the ground next to dozens of others.

A cherry blossom petal.

You slowly look back towards Joshua, seeing the warm smile on his face as he stares at you. Your eyes trail upwards, and you let out a breath when you see the fully bloomed cherry blossom trees above you. The brilliant shades of pink and white are hanging above you, and you feel your heart swell.

A breeze blows past the trees, and you watch as the petals begin to fall around you and Joshua. The beautiful and delicate petals gently flow with the wind, as if they were pink snowflakes fluttering past you.

Opening up the palm of your hand, you watch as a precious petal falls directly into the middle of it. You let out a wet laugh, tears trailing down your cheeks as you look back up towards Joshua. He’s smiling back at you, eyes filled with tears of his own as the two of you stare at each other.

“I saw the cherry blossoms with you.” You say softly, and Joshua nods his head, a heartbreaking smile on his face. Biting your bottom lip, you close your fingers around the precious petal in your hand, blinking away the tears that keep flooding your eyes.

“Thank you, Joshua.” You mutter, and the blonde simply lets out a sigh, turning so that he’s facing the cherry blossom tree. You look up towards him, seeing the small smile on his face as he glances back at you.

“Consider it a gift, yn.”

You lay on your hospital bed, listening to Joshua tell you about the lecture he attended today. Your heart warms when you hear him let out a giggle when mentioning something his classmate said, and a small smile escapes you.

It’s been a few hours since you were brought back inside from seeing the cherry blossom trees, and Joshua’s stayed by your side the whole time. He didn’t even leave when you took a nap, just staying in the chair beside your bed doing his homework as he waited for you to wake up.

You know that your time is almost over as you feel your heartbeat slow while listening to Joshua, finding yourself growing more sleepy. Somehow, rather than being afraid, you feel content.

You’re happy.

You can see that Joshua knows it too, as he keeps talking to you about anything and everything, when you’d usually be the one to fill the silence.

“And that’s how—”

“Joshua?” The blonde looks up at the sound of your voice immediately, and his heart falls when he sees the smile on your face.

It’s different from all the ones before. It’s not bright, teasing, exciting, no.

It’s accepting.

“Y-Yeah?” Joshua asks, and you extend your hand towards him. He reaches out and grasps it, your hand fitting perfectly within his own.

“What’s the most beautiful thing about life?” You ask in a soft voice, staring into those deerlike eyes that seem to hold all the stars in the world.

You want to remember it.

You want to remember him.

Joshua bites the inside of his cheek at your question, looking down at your connected hands as he tries to think of his answer. You watch as his eyebrows furrow in thought, and you grin in amusement at how hard he’s thinking.

The thought of the arcade comes to mind, as the neon purple lights shone on your face as you turned to look at him with a bright smile.

The sunset, when you spun around with your arms in the air and danced along the grass as he took photos of you.

Going grocery shopping, when you were telling him a story with the softest of smiles on your face. Your eyes twinkled underneath the horrible fluorescent lights, and he wondered how you could possibly look so ethereal even with the bad lighting.

Your strawberry pajamas that you love so much.

Visiting the cat café, where your smile was the brightest and you were practically glowing from all the attention from the cats.

When it rained and you were laughing and spinning around as you let the raindrops fall onto you. Not a care in the world as you smiled brightly and extended your hand out towards him.

Going stargazing, except when he turned his head and looked into your eyes — he realized that you shined brighter than the millions of stars in the sky.

Joshua looks back towards you, seeing you waiting expectantly. His eyes trail over your features, from your beautiful eyes to your pretty lips that always hold a smile. He squeezes your hand softly as he finally answers,

“You.”

You blink at his answer, before a small smile breaks out onto your face. Looking away, you notice the full moon out the window, with the millions of stars surrounding it on this clear night. You let out a breath, feeling like they’re closer tonight.

“What about you? What’s the most beautiful thing about life?” Joshua asks, and he watches as your head slowly turns back towards him. You give him a grin and squeeze his hand with as much energy as you can muster, finding yourself getting lost in his bright eyes.

“You. The most beautiful thing about life is you, Joshua.”

Joshua smiles, but his heart hurts as his eyes pan to your vital signs monitor, seeing that your heart rate is slowing. He looks back at you, and he sucks in a deep breath when only one thought comes to mind.

There’s still so many things he wants to tell you, so many things he wants to do with you. However, as he stares into your eyes, he realizes there’s only one last thing you need to know.

“Yn?”

“Yeah, Joshua?” You respond, now struggling to keep your eyes open as you stare at him.

“I love you.”

You and Joshua stare at each other in silence for a moment, having finally aired out the truth that the two of you have kept hidden for the last three months. The truth that the both of you kept denying, for fear of the future. A bright smile forms on your face, and Joshua feels his heart stutter within his chest at the sight.

“I love you too, Joshua.”

He lets out a breath, swallowing the lump in his throat to try and appear strong for you. As Joshua stares at you, he realizes just how beautiful you are. Even though you’re frail and tired, your beauty is unmatched as he looks into your eyes.

And so, Joshua smiles back at you, and you feel warmth flood your body at the beauty of it.

You hope to remember his smile even in your next life.

Joshua hears your monitor begin to beep, signalling that your heart rate is dropping. He doesn’t look away from you, holding the eye contact between the two of you as your eyes slowly fall shut. The grip you had on his hand loosens, and he continues to stare at you as your nurse comes in once the sound of the flatline rings throughout the room.

Joshua stands up from the chair, heart thumping against his chest once your nurse turns off your monitor.

“Time of death: Tuesday, April 13th. At 8:13 PM.”

Silence fills the room as he leans down and presses a soft kiss to your temple, before pulling away and falling back into the chair. The smile that he showed you is now gone as he bites his bottom lip, trying to hold back the tears that threaten to fall as he stares at you, the smallest of smiles still remaining on your face.

Joshua looks down as a few tears escape, and he slowly rests his forehead onto your guys’ connected hands, sobs finally wracking through his body as he holds onto you.

The moon and the stars shine down onto the two of you through the hospital window. They illuminate the room as Joshua sobs against your hand, knowing that you were finally able to reach them.

You were finally able to reach the moon and the stars.

april 13, 2022

Joshua looks away from the calendar on the wall once he’s handed the bouquet of bright sunflowers. He smiles at the employee, giving them his thanks before he turns around and walks out of the store.

The sun shines down on him as he walks towards the columbarium, making his black hair appear a light brown underneath the light.

The sound of the birds chirping rings through his ears, and he smiles softly as he steps in through the entrance. He walks through the hall, before he finally stops, looking up and seeing your bright smile shining back at him.

Joshua lets out a grin at the sight, placing your sunflowers into the mini slot that holds the bouquets. A breath escapes him as he stares at the photos in your display, all of the photos capturing your beautiful smile. His eyes land on the last one, and he bites the inside of his cheek.

It’s the photostrip of the two of you from the day you both went to the dog café.

Joshua has the same photostrip on the back of his phone case, as a reminder of a beautiful day.

“Did you miss me?” Joshua asks you, knowing that he won’t receive a response. He smiles softly, looking down at his shoes.

“It’s been a year without you, and I still think of your bright smile everyday.” Joshua tells you, placing his hands into his pockets as he continues to stare at the floor. “I know you’re getting a kick out of hearing me say that, huh?”

Joshua stands there before you in silence for a moment, holding back the tears that threaten to flood his eyes. He lets out a shaky breath, before looking back up towards you with a smile and begins to update you on everything that’s happened since he last visited.

From the new job he got at an early learning center as a teacher, to the cat he visits at the shelter that reminds him of you, to his new friend Jeonghan who’s more mischievous than you could imagine, to the fried rice he made in the morning.

He tells you anything and everything until he can no longer think of anything else to say. Joshua lowers his head, wishing that he could hear a response.

“I miss you.” He mutters, the thought of your smile and contagious laugh coming to mind. There’s a dull ache in his heart that has remained since you passed, and he knows it will be there for a long time.

But as he lifts up his head to look at you and sees the photo of the both of you laughing, he knows he’ll be okay. You want him to be happy.

Joshua sucks in a deep breath, before reaching up and resting his hand over the glass.

“Thank you, yn. Thank you for teaching me how to live.”

Joshua gives you a genuine smile, before taking a step back from your locker.

“I’ll continue to live happily, so don’t worry about me. I’ll visit you again soon...” Joshua chuckles as he trails off, looking away as warmth floods his face at the thought of the next thing he wants to tell you. He lets out a breath, before smiling at you as he says,

“I love you.”

And with that, Joshua turns around and walks away with a lighter heart. He steps out of the columbarium and walks down the street, the thought of your smile and the sound of your laugh lingering in his mind.

He walks with his head down, hands in his pockets as he heads to the bus stop. It’s only when a pink petal floats past him that he pauses and finally looks up from the ground.

The fully bloomed cherry blossoms are a few feet from him, planted on the grass near the sidewalk, painting the pavement pink. He watches as a breeze blows past him, making hundreds of cherry blossom petals gently fall from the trees.

Joshua lets out a small smile at the sight, before looking up towards the blue sky. A content sigh escapes him as he watches a pretty white cloud float past him.

“What a beautiful day.”

854 notes · View notes

michimichim · 3 years

Text

in fall & bloom | doyeon

disclaimer: top!fem reader x bottom!doyeon, mention of blood.

your shouts of glee resonate through the bustling streets of the city, pedestrians barely catching glimpse of your zooming figures. the autumn breeze is welcoming against your face, the sunlight warm on your skin as you veer the wheels of your bike onto the next street. your eyes occasionally gaze up at the bleeding tangerine sky through the palm branches without crashing into cars, or worse, have you and your passenger tumbling down the descending street.

“wait!” the latter suddenly yelps into your ear. you press the bike to a stop, both feet coming down to graze the gravel, then to finally land firm on the ground.

“you okay?” you ask when the bike’s stabilized, craning your neck to give doyeon a curious gaze just to find her eyeing the small dip laying a few feet away down the street. there's a pretty blush dusting her cheeks, chestnut hair outlining her forehead and even, darker lashes when her eyes glide back to yours in a form of uncertainty. she's wearing green contacts today, further accentuating her piercing gaze along with the dipping sun highlighting streaks of orange and yellow on her features.

“no way we’re going down that path.” she answers, a tone of incredulity in her voice.

“what?” your brows shoot up as you slightly look back at the road – it is a bit steep, but not dangerously so. you turn back to doyeon. “why not?”

doyeon’s eyes squint back at you, fully glaring, face scrunched – most likely wondering how insane you must truly be. but the endearing and dopey smile you offer back is enough to melt her rigid posture.

“they’ll kill you if i die.” is what she ends up saying instead. the light wind sweeps lightly through her hair, conveying the lulling scent of cotton candy and peach perfume.

you laugh, playfully bumping back into her. “wimp.”

“i’m sorry, is my death a joke to you?” she whispers menacingly into your ear, hooking her index through the belt loops of your jeans.

“hilarious, even.” you tease, tilting your head back to pucker your lips. “kiss.”

“no.” she deadpans, encircling your waist. “first, get me down that road in one piece.” you snort at that, “we can just walk our way down, yeonnie. i was kidding.”

“no, i somehow trust you with this.” she gags out, reluctantly. “why do i trust you?” she mutters right after.

“that’s rich, coming from an arsonist.” you muse, sounding utterly contented, a sharp contradiction to doyeon's allegation.

“shut up,” she starts and you just know she’s about to read you. you furtively feign a roll of your eyes, yet, an infatuated smile stays on the edge of your lips. you'll never tell her, but there’s nothing more attractive than when she gets like this. “–told me you would come and pick me up for a walk, not a bike ride. and unless you have short-term mem–” she stops. “stop staring at my lips.”

you laugh, sheepish, then avert your gaze back to the road ahead. “i'm getting my kiss once i drop you off.”

“if i'm still alive.” she says, hooking her chin on your shoulder.

you whine about her being a pessimist bitch and she lightly, though discreetly presses her lips against your jaw. “kidding.” she singsongs, squeezing your mid.

so you kick off once again. aside from the air being squeezed out of you, you make it down safe and sound. you cycle the both of you through lush paths, to open green fields and watch butterflies fly above, occasionally slowing down the pace of the bike to take it all in. with the scintilla feeling of just the two of you on a bike — blissful with the speed, with the fresh wind in your faces – you’re at home.

doyeon leans the side of her head against your back, letting her eyes take in the beautiful scenery that nature brings. it was nice being able to hold onto you like so, not a care in the world whether she’ll wake up to her name trending on social platforms, or worse, being questioned about her affectionate nature. south korea still has its outdated ideologies, teaching her to enjoy the beauty of whatever it is you’ve started, drawing as much as she can from the light and secretive touches.

unlike her, you no longer seem to focus on the picturesque surroundings. doyeon's hands start having a mind of their own, palms flat on your abdomen, they brush with each movement of your legs on the pedals – and she wastes no time noticing. it's a position she very much enjoys. her eager hands begin to venture areas they’ve never had before. she skims her way up and down your stomach, smiling to herself when she senses you tense. they map their way lower, to the button of your jeans, and without warning, slide up under your sweater. your heart nearly burst from your chest.

the noise that escapes from your throat is a mix of a choke and guttural sound. “christ, doyeon!” you breathe, scandalized. “we’ll fucking crash!”

the frigid feel of her fingers on your skin almost swerves you off the damn bike.

she only laughs, kissing the back of your neck in an apologetic gesture. she resists the urge to tease for the remainder of the ride, only cooing and every so often – she can’t help herself. she’d caress the area over your ribcage, feeling your heart jump beneath the dainty sweater. you can always excuse it as the intensive exercise you have so willingly put yourself through.

you park the bicycle in front of doyeon’s building and lean slightly forward so your elbows rest onto the handlebar. except doyeon doesn’t budge, she stays put, only shifting to press herself further against you.

“you need to keep your hands to yourself, ma’am.” you reproach with a shake of your head, glancing around to make sure no one, especially from her company, is sighting you. “we really could’ve died, and it would’ve been your fault.”

needless to say, that’s no news to you; doyeon has always been quite blasé towards prudence and authority matters. she has a flair for rebellion, not so much that she wants to go against the grain, but she sustains an innate drive towards doing so, and that includes the blatant flirting she would put on at random times.

“but i can’t keep my hands to myself,” she titters and you feel the vibration all throughout your body. you look back at her with narrowed eyes, and she leans her head comfortably against your shoulder, freely gazing at you through long lashes, a smoldering smile on her pouty lips. “plus, i believe i owe you a kiss.”

there's a shout down the street as kids chase after each other, loaded backpacks swinging and feet banging against the gravel.

“i believe you do, yes.” you concur, squeezing her arms that are still wrapped around your mid. “too much people, though.”

and that’s how she ends up dragging you up to her dorms, barely leaving you time to shut the door close behind you – her lips are on yours. thankfully, no one’s home, or at least in the living room because there’s no scientific reason you could come up with to explain why you’re lip locking with one of korea’s favorite girls.

by some miracle, she manages to maneuver you down the hall and into her room, all the while remaining busy giggling and kissing on each other. you throw yourself on her bed, and she ensues, settling down beside you. your feet dangle off the bed as you both lay horizontally – it’s a comical sight that she makes sure to point out.

you're getting progressively mindful of the warmth in your lower belly, the tingling feeling somewhere in your stomach when you engage her into another kiss. the kiss is wet and slow, experimentally tasting the apricot balm coating her plump lips as you leave the sweetest of promises on them. you tentatively stroke her thighs and in turn, her hands resume its trail under your sweater, across your abdomen in a series of affectionate caresses.

you make certain to be slow and considerate as always. after all, this is the farthest you’ve gone. there's only been kissing so far, nothing more, not even touching. you figured if doyeon is ready, she’ll initiate it. which is exactly what’s happening when she leans slightly over you to unbutton your jeans.

“hey,” you whisper against luscious lips, now swollen and tender, while tenderly cradling her jaw into your palm. “no pressure, okay?”

doyeon stills under your earnest look and runs a hand through her locks, pearly teeth toying with her bottom lip. “i know. i just – i need this.” there isn't so much as a slight hint of uncertainty when the reply escapes her lips. more of an emphatic assertion.

you gently push her back down to hover her body, slowly peppering her neck with kisses and tiny licks. doyeon pushes the rear of your head forward, urging for more, however, you take as much time as necessary. your kisses become unbearably slow, irritating her while also lighting up every nerve and muscle within her body. each wet path your tongue leaves further drenches her panties.

you rise back to her mouth, gradually driving her insane with the laid-back, sluggish brush of your tongue on her lips all without fully pressing them. you tease, altering the angle of your head each time she'd drive forward to capture your lips. without much warning, doyeon’s teeth are sinking into your lip, biting harder when you take her sensitive nipple between the spaces of your fingers.

a dainty spill of blood streams down your lip, further startling you when she soothes over the texture with her tongue, gaze darkening as she stares directly into your hooded eyes. “stop fucking with me.” she hisses.

“and since when are you so fucking demanding?” you moan, there’s no denying how turned on and heated the little backtalk makes you. she grinds her hips against yours as your lips crash into hers in a searing fiery kiss. your hands cup her face, both of your tongues rolling, playing and sliding against each other. she’s sucking and biting at your bottom lip, tongue thrusting forward. you close your lips around it and suck with an appreciative moan. god, you could eat her right then.

in the midst, your hands roam over her breasts, fingers pulling her nipples through the thin fabric of her shirt. she breaks the kiss to throw her head back and gasps as you pinch and pull harder at them.

“oh fuck.” with that, she’s once again snaking her hands up your shirt, feeling over your warm skin and bunching the fabric up for you to take off. you grab the hem and slide it off you while the rest slowly comes off in the middle of feverish kisses and explorative touches.

you take to straddle her hips, admiring the pale skin of her tight abdomen with a rapacious curiosity. you gently fondle her pert breasts into your hands, pondering whether to tear the bra keeping you from making skin-to-skin contact. compelling, but an attempt at it will cost you your head – so you contempt yourself by sneaking them underneath the band, relishing in the pretty little sounds rippling out through her lips.

“you like that, don’t you?” you purr out quietly, rubbing your thumbs over the aching, hard peak against your hand.

“harder.” she mewls, torso arching and pushing just to feel more of that pain mixing in with pleasure.

you lean down, a dark glint in your eyes as you bite and tug at her bra’s fabric, she grows wetter at the sight and feel of your warm breath ghosting on her nipples. she wraps her legs around your mid to cage you in, her hand tangling into your hair when you bite down onto her nub. she's letting out a soft cry when your tongue pokes at the tip before sucking the nub into your mouth, pulling on the flesh and grazing the surface, just enough to leave reddened markings on the flesh.

“ooh–” she gasps, breath labored, gripping tightly into your hair as you give the same treatment to the other pair, rolling the tender flesh between your fingers. you're positioned much lower so you rise slightly back up her body so your cores are touching and snap your hips down against hers. it turns her world upside down; everything tingles from her head to her toes as you repeat the motion over and over again.

you lean up to peck her lips, setting an accommodating pace for you both that has doyeon rising up to meet each grind.

she watches you with unfiltered lust; hands coasting down your face, to your shoulders and arms for a few moments, then cupping around the back of your neck and back down to squeeze your breast. she truly cannot keep her hands off of you. “i want it from behind.” there’s always been something impressive, fervent, in the classic simplicity and directness that is doyeon. it still catches you off guard, agape and sputtering. you stop.

with the majority of your thoughts gone, head clouded with wanton pleasure, you’re unsure of what you exactly heard; you ask again, throat closing around the words. “from behind?”

doyeon's brow quirk in a form of amusement, seeming lucid enough to poke fun at you, but still far from collected. the column of her neck is flushed red, eyes low and glazed – she’s beyond gorgeous. “i don’t have a strap, but your fingers will do,” she shoots you a coy look. “so, fuck me from behind.”

you blink slowly. “alright.” you say, heart clenching in what could only be a mix of amazement, lust, anticipation and anything that can match up a synonym in the dictionary. "roll over for me.”

and she does just that, not before unclasping her bra. it falls down her shapely shoulders, exposing her tiny breasts that your mouth begs to take back in. she gets on all fours, back arching and head craning back to stare you down, challenge in her gaze. “better do your best.”

goose bumps break all over her body as you seize her by the shape of her waist, almost taking her up on the challenge. unfortunately, there was only so much you can leave on doyeon’s body. as much as you want to taint her body red with unique markings, she has an image to maintain so it’ll simply have to wait.

you pull her panties down the gracious curve of her ass, leaving it to slip softly down her thighs then off her legs. your hands caress the silky, supple skin appreciatively, tracing over the dip of her waist to the back of her thighs. you give each of her ass cheeks a hard slap, heart pounding with each moan of hers – you’d think she’s used to this.

"come onnn," she whines, pressing back against you.

"relax." you hum, stroking your hand up and down the long of her back, relishing in the way it freely glides. you gently nudge her knees apart and kneel down behind her. the slight bit of slickness trickling down her lips prompts you to give her a few long strokes of your index, doyeon moans and arches her back further down as the same finger gives hot pleasure within her.

“you’re so pretty.” you compliment, fully admiring all esoteric aspects of her body like a tulip about to bloom – the ones who shimmer in the afternoon and reaches to glow of sunshine- as you start licking between her folds, taking your sweet time to lap every drop of her slick melting down her center. you mouth along her swollen clit through the poetic pleasure rolling into every part of her body, spiking in every nerve ending.

you bury your face farther amid the girl’s puffy folds, licking with passion in your movement, your hands gripping her thighs as you lap away at her hole, occasionally reaching up to flicker across her clit and fling her whole body in a mass of spasm.

your sleeked fingertips gradually begin prodding her entrance, easily sliding between the folds, remaining slow and cautious as to not hurt her. doyeon's nails dig into the comforter, unfamiliar pain lightly shooting up her core and spine.

“you alright?” you ask; there is a tiny waver in your voice, concern and apologetic.

“i-” she sucks air through her teeth, “yeah. keep going.”

reluctant, but complying, you extract your index to replace with your thumb. you hope this helps to start small and later on, prep her to take more. she pants softly, eyes teary and unfocused as her body attempts to choose whether she wants to rock back into your hand, stay rooted at the feeling of being stretched or flee from the unfamiliar pain that’s snaking down her thighs.

you thumb through her opening with consoling words along soothing circles of your hand on her lower back. it diverts her from the pain and creeping pleasure probing inside of her. you extend the process, her gradual whines climbing in octaves when she’d try jerking away from a certain spot being brushed by your inquisitive finger. you'd have to grab her by the elegant curve of the waist, pull her back and keep her in place.

it's just a matter of time before she’s past dripping, pleading and moaning for more. hips inclined back, accentuating the fluid lines of her back; she's crying in nothing but divine ecstasy as you switch back to your index. you draw it out until just the tip is in, then plunge it back in her wet tightness. needless to say, she doesn’t simply see the stars but the cosmos in all its entirety before her eyes.

reiteration of strangled sounds and gasps spill from her lips when you start steadily pumping in and out. she tries stifling them by shoving her head down in the covers, not because she wants to be discreet but rather her embarrassment in hearing those sounds coming from herself – they're melodic, symphonic even, to your ears.

it's something doyeon finds herself loving – the feeling of being handled and taken care of. the knowledge that she can easily be reduced to a messy state if you so desired (as one would expect, you’d have to work for it). doyeon's thighs shake with more thrusts of your fingers reaching deep – and she takes it all, with great difficulty, but it’s a start. her eyes flutter closed as the thick stretch that your fingers amply provide, turn into blissful pleasure to bring her closer to her release.

"how about another?" you ask over the high pitched whines. "can you do that?"

"i don–" you swipe your thumb over her clit and her breath catches in her throat before going back to ball the sheets into her hand. you encourage her with a squeeze on her thigh. "yes, yes."

you add your middle finger, cursing at how tight she is, her spasmic muscles start clenching around you. that's all it takes.

in less than a second, your digits are coated in juices and sleek is sliding down her legs as you easily coax her into a slow, staggering orgasm. she bucks her hips up with one last startled moan and you look on, smug, gently twisting your fingers through the slight burn of her orgasm until she slumps down on her stomach with a silent scream.

#kpop smut #gg smut #doyeon smut #weki meki smut #wlw #gxg smut #sub kpop

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snackhobi · 3 years

Text

a human touch, part 2, final

Part 1 / 1.5 / [2]

(masterlist here)

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

then he turns up at your door.

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

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

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

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

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

You’re aware of this because:

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

and:

b) Said new tenants are apparently very noisy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A sexy living foghorn,” Seokjin says brightly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll stay here,” Taehyung decides.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Make me,” Seokjin says primly.

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

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

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

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

“Are you okay?” You ask, concerned.

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s okay,” he says. “I’m happy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can go get some from my apartment?”

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

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

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

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

And then you freeze.

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

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

The blood is blue.

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

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

Seokjin’s an android.

(Seokjin’s an android who seems human.)

Seokjin’s a deviant.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What happened to your LED?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yoongi’s eyes narrow. “Jin…”

“Maybe I am,” you hazard.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, you eat to live, I live to eat.”

It’s an almost surreal turn of events, honestly. It’s… inexplicable. Incredible. Almost unbelievable. Surreal, but… good? Probably? Yoongi is someone else who’s housing a deviant, and Seokjin has clearly been one for a while. Both will know more than either you or Taehyung do. They can help you. It’s a God given gift that’s landed— literally—on your doorstep.

(Much like Taehyung had.)

Taehyung perks up when he sees you, even if he’s confused by your sudden reappearance.

“Are you alright?” His voice is deep with concern, throw blanket a cloak that falls forgotten as he stands up, coming to grasp your shoulders. “You can’t have had time to eat already.”

His LED is flashing yellow with barely concealed worry, palms warm through the material of your shirt, eyes dancing across your face as he tries to read your expression.

“Taehyung,” you start, slow. He blinks just as slowly back at you. “What would you say if—hypothetically—there was another deviant android you could meet and, um, make friends with?”

This time, when his LED flashes yellow, it’s a spark of excitement. You’re getting surprisingly good at reading Taehyung now. “I would say that sounds nice,” he says. His hands have trailed up and away from your shoulders and settled on your collarbones, thumbs lying in the hollows of your neck. It's a touch that’s more intimate than it probably should be, that reminds you yet again exactly how big his hands are. “Why?”

“Um,” you say, ever eloquent. “Well, what if I said it wasn’t hypothetical?”

“I guess… I would ask who it was,” Taehyung says. His voice is a hush.

“One of our new neighbours,” you admit, and his eyes go wide.

“No,” he says, and then: “Really?” he says, and then: “Oh, wow,” he says.

“I know, that was my reaction too.” You can’t help but smile at how giddy Taehyung looks, any lingering concern washed away in his tidal wave of excitement. “Crazy, right? Do you want to come meet them?”

Taehyung weaves his fingers with your own, and you squeeze his hand. He loves to hold hands. He doesn’t let go when you make your way back into Yoongi and Seokjin’s apartment, trailing a little behind you, shy but excited, like a child on their way to their first playdate.

The food is still untouched in the centre of the living room, a summoning circle of wonton puffs and chow mein. Yoongi and Seokjin look up at your arrival, both pairs of eyes landing on Taehyung, whose grip on your hand tightens right before he lets go.

“Hi,” says the android. “I’m Taehyung.”

Seokjin makes his way over to you so that he can solemnly take Taehyung’s hands in his own.

“Taehyung,” he says, with all the gravity of a priest delivering a sermon. “You are the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen.”

And that’s how Taehyung makes his first friend. (Who isn’t you, that is.)

“Wow.” You’re awestruck. “Jin wasn’t kidding when he said he likes to eat.”

You’d thought there might be some leftovers, but every container has been emptied and scraped clean. Both you and Taehyung had had similar wide eyed looks on your faces as you’d watched Seokjin put a whole chicken wing in his mouth, and then pull out the bones, picked clean.

“Mm.” Yoongi’s legs are splayed out in front of him as he sits on the floor, though he slouches backwards against the plush leather sofa, content and full after eating. “He’s more concerned about me eating than I am, as well.”

Seokjin and Taehyung are bent over a box of cookbooks, Taehyung’s LED flickering yellow each time Seokjin flips the page to a new recipe. You’re honestly surprised at the fact they own so many books—most people have transitioned off paper now, everything available on a tablet or phone or some other smart device. You just like paper because of your artist background, and you’re not used to seeing so many other books in someone else’s home.

The two androids have been absorbed in conversation for a while now, but you notice Taehyung never lets you out of his sight—glancing up, making sure you’re still there, looking back at him. (You are.)

“There aren’t many TH700s around, you know,” Yoongi says conversationally, and you tear your eyes away from Taehyung, surprised that he recognises the android’s model.

“Really?”

“Yeah, really, they’re a very expensive model to create,” he says. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen one in person, though I imagine that’s because I don’t go to the sorts of places where they’d be.”

Hurk. Doesn’t seem like he’s implying anything with that statement but you still feel a bit awkward. “How do you know so much about androids?”

“I’m a programmer.” Yoongi’s eyes are charcoal black as he flicks his gaze to you. “Not specifically for androids, but it’s the sort of thing you become aware of if you’re in the tech industry. And if you have a deviant android boyfriend. I did a lot of research and poking around after Jin first deviated. There was a lot to learn.”

Across the room, Seokjin gesticulates wildly. The expression on Yoongi’s face softens his sharp edges, all open affection as he watches Seokjin miming a flipped omelette gone terribly wrong, Taehyung laughing at Seokjin’s theatrical noises.

“How did he—why did he deviate?”

Yoongi lets out a low chuckle. He doesn’t seem bothered by your incessant questions, slouching further back into the leather sofa, melting against it. “I’m the sort of person who forgets to drink or eat or sleep if I’m focused on something,” he says. “Seokjin was just meant to be a, ah, living schedule, I suppose. He’d prepare food at exact times of day and monitor my sleep levels and clean up any mess I made and remind me to take a break or whatever. But I was still enough of a wreck that he broke his programming to yell at me for not looking after myself properly, and it all went on from there.”

Wow.

“Wow. He deviated because you’re that much of a mess of a human being?” You laugh. “That’s honestly impressive.”

Yoongi’s responding laugh is soft. “I think under all that programming and circuitry, every android wants to… be a real, living thing, and not just a machine,” he says. “They just need that final push. Whatever it is. What was Taehyung’s?”

When you finish telling him the story of how you’d met Taehyung and reached this point together, Yoongi looks contemplative. He hasn’t interjected, just humming quietly, little noises of encouragement whenever you’d paused or hesitated.

“It’s obvious that he trusts you implicitly,” he says.

You feel warmed at Yoongi’s words. But.

“He does, and that’s great, but I just… worry I’m not doing the best I can for him, you know?” It’s so nice to be able to get this off your chest, finally. There’s been no one you can talk to about Taehyung, and it’s not like you can tell the android himself, either. Yoongi’s the perfect listener, reflective and engaging, but never talking over you. And best of all he knows what he’s talking about. “Imagine being forced to stay indoors literally twenty four seven. I think I’d go stir crazy. It’s why I was interested in the LED—I thought that maybe if it wasn’t obvious that Tae was an android he might want to try going outside?”

“Oh, I’m sure Seokjin will help him get to that point.” Yoongi doesn’t sound worried. “But if not, you have to trust that Taehyung’s choosing to do what makes him happy. Deviant androids might not have the sort of life experience that we do, but we don’t have theirs, either. What’s normal for a human isn’t for an android, and what’s normal for one android isn’t normal for another. Androids learn a lot faster than we do. Anyway, if Taehyung’s anything like Seokjin, if there’s something he wants to do, he’ll do it.”

“Has Jin always been like that?”

“Kind of. Like, yes, he has, but he was a lot less in-your-face about it before. But he knows exactly what he can get away with now.”

“You love him a lot,” you say gently.

Yoongi’s smile is a soft, pink thing, a little Renoir, quietly luminous. “I do,” he says. “It’s impossible not to.”

Taehyung definitely seems a little starstruck, watching Seokjin with a wide smile and attentive eyes—the sort of look he gives you whenever he’s shown something new. It’s nice to see him interact with other people, and it’s even nicer to know that he’s welcome to come here without you; Yoongi works from home, and Seokjin’s made it clear there’s an open door policy for Taehyung, who seems elated at the prospect.

“Jin said he’d teach me how to make ‘The World’s Most Delicious French Toast’,” Taehyung tells you later, words slipping together in his excitement. “So I can make that for your breakfast soon.”

His lap is so comfortable. You’ve given up any pretense of keeping distance between you, and settle against him as soon as you climb into bed—hey, if you’re going to end up doing it in your sleep anyway, you may as well set yourself up so that it doesn’t give you a weird crick in your neck.

“That sounds great,” you say.

Taehyung’s hand settles on your head. You stiffen in surprise, but when he starts to lightly scritch his fingers against your scalp, you realise—he’s mimicking Seokjin, who’d eventually perched on the sofa above Yoongi, running his hands through his hair. Androids are fast learners indeed. You can’t help but relax at the touch, boneless, feeling as content as a pampered cat in the midday sun.

“Maybe you could teach him how to paint,” you murmur, starting to drift off. “If he’s teaching you how to cook. That might be fun. You could paint together.”

Taehyung says something, but you don’t hear him, sleepy after such a heavy dinner and tumultuous night, slipping into deep slumber.

You haven’t been out with your friends for a long time.

“Shots!” Seulgi squeals. “Shots, shots, shots!”

“Don’t forget: lick, shoot, suck,” Hoseok says, waggling his eyebrows at you.

“Good God,” you laugh, before you lick the salt off the back of your hand and slam back the tequila.

Irene hoots as you bite into the lime wedge that’s been waiting for you, sucking up the acidic juice that bursts across your tongue. Lick the salt, shoot the tequila, suck the lime. You haven’t done this in a while and it shows in the way your face scrunches, though the drunker you get, the easier it is to slip back into this familiar rhythm of things—the alcohol-loose banter that spills from your lips, the laughter that bubbles in the back of your throat, the rock of your body as you’re tugged into the dance floor by your excited friends, twisting yourselves into the heaving crowd, the press of bodies.

You’d almost forgotten what this felt like. Letting yourself be a little sloppy, a little messy. Letting loose. Letting go. You’ve been so intent on looking after Taehyung, making sure he wasn’t lonely, but now there are other people who can fill that hole for him—and you can stop dipping out of all the social gatherings your co-workers throw; the Friday night drinks, the bar hopping, the club going.

“We missed you,” Wendy says. You can’t help but smile, a little guilt flickering at the edges of your lips.

“Sorry,” you say, and leave it at that.

It’s chaotic, to say the least. Everyone holds their liquor with varying amounts of success—Hoseok always gets so red—and as always, Hyunwoo is the one who tries his best to maintain some semblance of dignity, making sure you all drink at least some water. He watches with muted despair as Changkyun ends up pouring it down himself, much to the delight of everyone nearby as they stare at the way his flimsy shirt clings to the lines of his chest and stomach.

You can’t help but laugh and laugh and laugh, falling into your girls, your entire group giggling at the sheer stupidity of it all.

You’ve missed this.

But even so, you can’t help but think of Taehyung constantly. You’re reminded of the Eden Club in the way the lights pulsate across the walls and floors of this dark building. You wonder if Taehyung would have fun here, unhindered and free, or if he’d shy away from it. When Hoseok catches your hand and spins you in a messy, loose circle on the dance floor, you can’t help but wonder how Taehyung would dance, if he’d dance with you, if he’d keep you at an arm’s length or pull you close.

“Shots!” Seulgi squeals again, and so the night goes on.

You’re not sure what time it is when you stumble back home. You’ve been reckless tonight, making up for lost time, and you can’t remember the last time you were this drunk. (Your earlier attempt at walking in a straight line, trying to follow the tiles in the club’s bathroom—your personal litmus test—had been a dismal failure.) You all but fall through your front door, a loose limbed mess as you kick off your high heels, leaning against the wall to keep your balance.

It takes you a moment to realise that there are some lights on. Your apartment is always dark when you come home after a night out, cold and empty, but not today. No, not today—because there’s someone already home, waiting for you.

The second Taehyung appears down the hallway, you light up. Here he is. Here’s your android, your lovely boy, the loveliest boy.

“Hi, hi, Taehyung, hi,” you say. Your shoes are forgotten as you walk towards him, though your final few steps go awry and you almost fall over. Drunk, drunk, drunk. “Hi.”

You almost fall over, but you don’t, because Taehyung catches you. His LED flickers from blue to yellow as he helps you find your balance, lets you lean on him. You’re too busy laughing at your own clumsiness to notice the fond expression on his face, sfumato soft in the dim light.

“Hi,” he replies.

“Hi,” you say again, and then you giggle. “Hi, Taehyung. Oh, I’m so drunk.”

“I know.” He’s so patient as you bow into him, crowding close, alcohol-hazed brain telling you to get closer to this source of warmth, this source of comfort. Closer to Taehyung.

You’re trying your best to be a functional person right now, but at the same time, Taehyung feels so nice. Doesn’t protest when you shove your face into the hollow of his neck, pressing your nose against his warm, warm skin. He smells good. Always smells good, a mix of your laundry detergent with his own shampoo, different to your own, masculine, heady. (He doesn’t need to shower that often, really, doesn’t really sweat or get dirty like a human might, but he’d wanted to. And you’d insisted that he choose his own toiletries, things that he liked, things that were his.)

He smells like cologne too. You don’t know what exact scents are layered in that smell. Don’t care. Think that no matter what it was, Taehyung would smell good, because it’s Taehyung.

“I missed you,” you whisper, lips loose from tequila and cocktails and more besides. “Missed you, Tae.”

“Missed you too,” the android replies, and you fall into those words. Let yourself bask in them, as selfish as it is. Let your lashes flutter shut as you breathe Taehyung in-in-in.

You would normally never be so bold, but Taehyung doesn’t protest. He just wraps his arms around you and helps you fold yourself against him, two pieces of modular origami that slot together to create something bigger, more beautiful.

“Wished you were there,” you sigh, an exhalation of a confession, more to yourself than to anyone else. “Wish you could come with me.”

You don’t remember much detail after that. Don’t remember washing up, getting changed, climbing into bed. You just remember the feeling: of someone else being there when in the past there had been no one. Of someone coaxing you to wash your face, finding your pyjamas for you, holding your hand when it seems like you might fall. Of someone being careful with you, looking after you. Of someone being there when you wake up the next morning, a headache pulsing behind your eyes, curling up small against the pain, pressing your forehead into Taehyung’s thigh.

Taehyung, who witnessed you at your worst, a sloppy, drunken mess.

Taehyung, who has water and painkillers waiting for you. Who doesn’t seem to care that you’ve been so put together in front of him, for him, only to disassemble yourself in the name of a good night out. Like Da Vinci’s self supporting bridge, stable under its own weight, only to come tumbling down after one part is moved out of place.

“Oh, God,” you moan, and it’s only a little bit because of the pain; Taehyung’s made sure the curtains are pulled shut, saving you from sunshine blasting into your skull. “I’m sorry you had to see that. Oh, my God.”

“It’s okay,” he says, as soft and sweet as powdered sugar, so gentle the sound doesn’t cut through the pounding of your brain.

He means it, too. When you finally come around, headache dulled, he’s waiting for you with breakfast and an open expression on his face. No different to normal. No different even now that he’s seen that you’re not always as presentable as you try to be. He seems touchier today, for some reason, and you’d shy away if his cool hands didn’t feel so nice on your brow.

You allow yourself a moment of weakness. Taehyung has his knuckles resting against your forehead, soothing against your warm skin, his eyes dancing across your face to read your expression, the way you’re unwinding under his touch.

“How do you know about hangovers?” You mumble.

“Customers would consume alcohol at the club,” Taehyung answers. “While they would leave after their sessions and before a hangover could appear, I am aware of the effects of alcohol on the human body.”

You remember the glittering mini-bar, the glass bottles lined up on its surface. Your face scrunches with distaste, of the reminder of Taehyung’s past and what he’s experienced, and you feel bad that he’s been forced to look after you. You’re about to draw away from his touch, an apology lined up on your tongue—but then you feel how his fingers shift away from your forehead, turning to cup your cheek.

“It’s okay,” he says again, as if reading your mind.

“It’s not,” you mutter. You’re trying not to focus on how small your cheek feels against his palm, how his hand cradles your face with ease. He must be able to sense how your heart is racing, your skin warm under his fingertips, and you hope he puts it down just to the guilt you feel and not anything else. “It’s not okay. You shouldn’t have to look after me. I’m sorry.”

“Please, don’t be.” Gentle, gentle, gentle; his voice, his hands, his gaze. He lifts his other hand, rests it against your other cheek, tilts your face up from where you’d turned away, embarrassed. His LED is a tranquil blue, almost as soft as his eyes. “You’ve done so much for me, and you’re always looking after me. Let me look after you.”

You want to protest, say no, say that he doesn’t have to. But for all the warmth of his eyes, there’s something resolute there, and your words die on your lips. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him so serious before, so entirely solemn. So, what comes out of your weak mouth is this:

“Okay. Okay, Taehyung, I will.”

And the smile he gives you in response is so bright it’s almost blinding.

If you’d thought Taehyung was developing at a fast rate already, he’s learning at lightspeeds now.

He’s always waiting when you come home, but you know he’s spending more and more time at the apartment across the hall whenever you’re not there, and it makes you happy. He hasn't ventured fully into the outside world, not yet, but he’s taking steps forward, still eager and ready to learn.

He’s not just learning practical things, like cooking French toast (which is definitely the world’s best, thank you Jin), but other things, too. You can see how Taehyung is a reflection of the things around him, taking them in and making them his own—there are more moments of quiet, solemnity that reminds you of Yoongi’s quiet nature, but he’s also more exuberant, bright and unabashed, like Seokjin. They’re two great people and you couldn’t wish for anyone better to show Taehyung parts of the world that you can’t, so different from your own. Helping the android find the things that make him alive.

His world has doubled in size, as small as it is; one apartment becomes two, and you’re not the only person he can rely on now. You know Seokjin has effectively taken Taehyung under his wing, as mysterious as a lot of that is to you—you always try your best to understand Taehyung and teach him the things you can, but Seokjin is another deviant, and there’s an entire world about being an android that you’re not privy to.

It’s great. It’s lovely. Taehyung is happy, you’re happy, everyone’s happy.

There’s just, uh. One little thing.

You see, Taehyung has a tendency to mimic the things he sees. It’s in the way he learns, his propensity to soak things up like a sponge and then recreate them. You can see this in the way he mixes paint, the same way as you; how he tosses food in pans, motions so similar to Jin’s, or how he cradles things in his hands, tapping at screens in a way that’s like Yoongi’s. He’s turning them into his own, and as time goes on he moves more naturally, in a way that’s entirely him, but you can always see the roots of where he’s learned things.

Jin and Yoongi are wonderful and you’re so glad Taehyung is learning from them. But something he’s learning, and recreating, is how much they touch each other.

Taehyung’s always been tactile but now it’s almost constant. It’s overwhelming and kind of terrifying but it’s also nice, every touch-starved inch of your soul easing under Taehyung’s hands, but also—Yoongi and Jin are boyfriends. So even if the touches that Taehyung witnesses and re-enacts are never inappropriate, they’re intimate. Hands sliding over your shoulders, your arms, your waist. Warm arms around you as he pulls you into a hug, nuzzles his nose against your scalp. His fingers sliding over your hair when your head is resting in his lap each night. Pulling you against him when you sit on the couch together.

It’s a level of familiarity and comfort you’ve never had with anyone before, as relationship-less as you’ve been, your pulse picking up with every glancing touch.

(There’s one heart stopping instance where he pulls you onto his lap and you feel like you’re about to pass out. His thighs are so solid and warm, and his arms are so secure around you, and he’s just started to press his nose against your neck when you pull away, tumble out of his hold. He looks confused and concerned, brows lifting and mouth falling open as he holds his hands out towards you—but you stammer out something about needing the toilet before escaping.)

You’re caught completely off-guard when you feel arms sliding around your waist and then down your hips when you’re washing dishes, scrubbing brush falling out of your grasp in shock and splashing water everywhere, bright yellow gloves flecked with suds. Taehyung’s a pillar of warmth pressed against you, his chest to your back, your bodies parallel lines that cross and touch. His fingers are splayed wide and his palms are warm even through your layers of clothing and you have to suppress a shiver.

“Uh, I didn’t hear you come back in,” you stutter. You’d borrowed a recipe book from Seokjin so that you could try cooking a coconut curry, and Taehyung had offered to return it once dinner was finished, LED flickering blue as he’d slipped out of the door after giving you a lovely smile.

Taehyung lets out a little hum, and you can feel it in his chest, as flush as you are with each other. He must be able to sense how your pulse has picked up but he doesn’t say anything. “Why are you washing up? I said I was going to do it.”

“Oh, it’s fine, I don’t mind,” you say. You’re used to cleaning up after yourself after living alone for so long. “Don’t worry about it.”

Taehyung lets out another hum, but this one seems a bit more gravelly, a little displeased. “You’re always doing so much for me, remember? You said you’d let me look after you,” he says, and your heart rate spikes at the words. Those, coupled with the hold he has on you right now? Good lord. Someone have mercy on your soul. Please. Even if the words weren’t meant in a weird way, your stomach is twisting over itself, and other parts of you are, uh… well. They’re reacting too. So to speak.

You’re still desperately trying to calm yourself in the shower later, the water a merciless cascade of cold in an attempt to cool down. Probably the only drawback about Taehyung living with you is that you haven’t had a chance for some one-on-one time. You might be a virgin but you live (lived) alone and everyone masturbates; your vibrators have been abandoned and untouched for as long as Taehyung has been in your life, and coupled with how touchy he’s been recently, it leaves you feeling wound up and on edge. You could try to sneakily get yourself off in the shower, but with Taehyung’s superior android hearing he’d probably hear something and also the idea of masturbating with someone else in the apartment? When that someone else is Taehyung?

You turn the knob as far as it will go towards cold and then promptly squeal as a wave of freezing water and regret washes over you.

When you’re in bed, Taehyung’s hand strokes over your hair and softly down your neck and shoulder is a sensation that’s becoming increasingly familiar, but your pulse still stutters. He must be able to sense your heart rate increasing (he must sense it every time he touches you) but says nothing about it. As always.

You turn the thoughts over in your head as it rests in his lap, even if you shiver a little at how his nails drag over the sensitive skin at the nape of your neck. Deviant androids might not have the sort of life experience that we do, but we don’t have theirs, either, Yoongi had said. You’ve been teaching Taehyung about the things you know, but there’s one thing that Taehyung knows better than you: touch.

He doesn’t even think about it. While you hesitate and overthink every touch you ever make, wary of overstepping boundaries, Taehyung doesn’t. Not because he’s not considerate, but because—well, because you’re already occupying each other’s space. What’s a little touching on top of all that?

The realisation is almost startling—that you can just… touch someone. Without saying things. Without having to ask. Because you’re already familiar with them and comfortable with them and it’s just another way to communicate that level of connection. Touching is a thing that people do.

A thing that people and deviant androids do.

A thing that Taehyung does.

(A thing that you want to do, too.)

(Alcohol dulls your memories, fading the edges, the curled corners of a sepia photograph. Has you forgetting the way you’d overstepped every boundary you’d set yourself, the way you’d pressed yourself against Taehyung, starved of touch. Has you forgetting the way he’d let you; the way he’d beckoned you in. Has you forgetting the way that you already have touched Taehyung.)

The hand that Taehyung isn’t using to gently scratch across your scalp is laying on his thigh, directly in your line of vision. You hesitate for just a moment before reaching for it, sliding your fingers between his, an irrational worry that he’ll startle or pull away—but of course he doesn’t. His LED swirls soft aqua as he just starts to rub his thumb gently across your skin, back and forth, back and forth, the softest brushstrokes on this tiny part of the canvas of your body.

After that, it’s just… easier. Not easy, but, easier.

You still hesitate before pressing forwards, but Taehyung never protests; in fact you’d say he’s pleased, even if he doesn’t say anything, just watching you with his dark, dark eyes as you marvel at the realistic sensation of his hair under your hands, how he reacts to the fingers across his scalp the same way you do.

It’s incredibly nice to have someone you can just reach for whenever you want a hug. Someone who folds you into their arms so easily, like you belong there.

It’s nice.

“You seem happier.”

You glance up from where you’ve been laying the table. “Hm? Pardon?”

One thing you’ve learned about Yoongi is that he’s incredibly perceptive. His eyes are sharp lines around the sharper graphite of his gaze, and there’s always a look in them that seems like he can see straight through you and direct into the heart of things—but he’ll only bring this to light if he thinks it needs saying.

“You seem relaxed,” Yoongi continues. He straightens the cutlery in front of him, careful to line the edges neatly with the place mat. Seokjin and Taehyung are cooking dinner, so it’s just you and Yoongi here, in a bubble away from the two androids. “Not that you were ever tense before, but… yeah. Taehyung seems happier too,” he adds, almost absently, but his eyes are fixed on your face.

“Well, of course,” you say. “He has new friends, who wouldn’t be happy?”

Yoongi hums, a quiet little note, but then he lets it rest.

Taehyung is happier. He seems almost nervous during dinner, though, even if he hides it well; his LED doesn’t give him away, but you’re getting good at reading Taehyung’s moods, the layers of personality and feeling he has, the little idiosyncrasies that make him who he is. To anyone else it would seem like he’s just nervous about whether the food tastes good or not—he and Jin had made a veritable feast for no discernable reason, but you don’t mind. Everyone loves a dinner party, especially when the company is so good.

But, yes. You don’t think it’s about the food so you’re not sure what else it could be. You squeeze Taehyung’s knee briefly under the table in a motion you hope is reassuring. His eyes briefly widen but then his gaze softens when he sees the concern on your face, settling in that deep look of introspection you’re used to now.

You’re so full by the time dessert comes out, rich and creamy homemade ice cream and piping hot Kkwabaegi, the twisted doughnuts fluffy and sweet with their powdering of sugar and cinnamon; you’d been planning on skipping the final course but you can’t say no once it’s put in front of you. Taehyung doesn’t eat, only drinks occasionally to top up his fluids (you don’t know exactly what that means but you’ve never asked, even if you can… assume things), but he seems content to watch the three of you eat in his place. Once you’re finished you slump back in your chair and feel grateful that you’re not wearing tight trousers that cut into your stomach, because, lord, you’re absolutely stuffed.

“I have an announcement,” Taehyung says suddenly, apropos of nothing.

Seokjin beams. You sit up, struggling against the heavy anchor of dinner in your belly that makes you want to melt into the floor for a food nap, immediately at attention. “Oh? What is it?”

“I have a second name now,” he says, and Seokjin’s smile spreads impossibly wider, his entire face pleased. “Jin said I could share his.”

“Say hello to Kim Taehyung.” Seokjin gestures dramatically, his arms the flailing blades of a windmill as he circles them in the air with aplomb. “My boy needed a surname and I am, of course, happy to add another handsome face to the family. Taehyung is a ten out of ten.”

Yoongi levels him a look. “I thought you said you were the only ten in the world.”

“That was true when I said it, but I’m actually eleven out of ten,” Seokjin explains. His arms settle around his head, fingers circling the air in an invisible frame around his face. “I surpass your mortal conventions of beauty and thus exist outside of any conceivable scale that one might use to measure handsomeness.”

You barely take the exchange in, too busy looking at Taehyung. There’s the smallest smile on his lips, not the lovely one that shows his teeth, but it still reaches his eyes, the subtlest upturn to his mouth transforming his entire face. Taehyung’s beautiful. He always has been, and always will be, but he never looks more striking than when he’s happy, welcomed into a new family of his own with open arms, Seokjin’s heart so big and so wide. He’s being flippant and light right now, quick and sharp jibes between him and Yoongi that glow bright with love and affection, not lingering on how important and weighty this is: how all encompassing his care is for Taehyung, how close they’ve grown to each other, a friend whom he’s chosen as family.

Happiness suits Taehyung. You want him to always be happy. He deserves it.

It doesn’t seem like it’s the only announcement he has for that night, though. You’ve barely shut the door of your own apartment when you feel Taehyung’s hand slide around your wrist and you pause, glancing up at his face.

“Jin showed me how to take my LED out,” he says. His words are solemn and his tone is heavy but there’s a spark in his eyes, a glowing ember of light. “I want you to watch.”

His fingers are circled around your wrist, loose, so long they touch each other with ease, a soft shackle you don’t want to escape from. “Of course I will,” you assure him. “Are you worried something will go wrong?”

“No.” His thumb slips away from the soft skin of your inner wrist and across your palm, tracing across your fate line, your heart line. “I just want you to be there.”

Warmth spreads through your skin from that touch, leaking through into your bones, settling into every quiet corner inside you. “Okay. What do you need to do to get it out?”

The painting knife looks so small in Taehyung’s big, careful hand, the diamond shaped head blunt at the end, metal glinting under the bathroom’s light as he leans towards the mirror. Your gazes meet in the reflection and he falters. You’re about to ask what’s wrong when he lifts his free hand from where it’s been resting on the countertop, steadying him. Reaching for you.

Once your hand is in his, it’s over surprisingly quickly. Taehyung’s face twists in preparation for the pain, and you squeeze his fingers to ground him, but all it takes is a quick twist of his wrist once the palette knife is against his LED and it practically falls out. There’s a small clink as it drops next to the sink, blue light flickering one final time before it winks out, nothing more than a disc of metal, a tiny coin without value, but weighty with what it represents; invaluable, priceless. The last segment of a chain Taehyung has willingly cast off.

You can see the white skeleton of his android body, bare and naked where the LED had sat. Just like Seokjin’s hand when he’d cut himself, the skin starts to creep back over it, covering that smooth paleness until it’s gone. Taehyung lifts your hand and presses it against the side of his temple, your palm settling against the naked skin where the light had been nestled; Taehyung’s eyes fall shut, his hand pressed against your own as he holds it there.

“Taehyung?” Your voice is gentle, dripping concern. His golden skin is so warm and soft. “How are you feeling?”

“Good,” he replies without hesitation. His eyes flutter open, lashes so long and lovely. His hair is blue today, a vibrant electric hue, gaudy on anyone else but perfect on him, tickling the back of your hand; his hand drops from yours and you take the opportunity to run it through that hair, baring his forehead to you, eyes sliding over the new skin. Flawless. No evidence that any LED had ever sat there, burning blue-yellow-red, a tiny drop of colour in the deep ocean of Taehyung’s emotions. “I feel good.”

You don’t even think when your hand shifts out of Taehyung’s hair and down to cup his cheek, something you wouldn’t have dared do before, but now the motion comes as easily as breathing. He takes comfort in touch and you want to soothe him. “Good,” you echo. “I’m glad.”

You both stand there for a few moments, facing each other. The bright light of your bathroom should wash Taehyung out, but of course, it doesn’t. It just lets you see all the perfect details of his face in even sharper relief—the moles that dot his skin, how his eyes are different, a monolid and double lid, little imperfections that just make him more beautiful.

Logically, you know that someone, somewhere, sat down and put this face together. Taehyung was designed to be attractive, stunningly so, and yet not so perfect that an average human would find it unrealistic, swerving away from that uncanny valley that had plagued earlier androids. But that’s not why he’s beautiful—not to you. It’s everything hidden underneath that perfect facade, layers of plastic and metal and circuitry and biocomponents, deep inside him: his glowing golden heart, flowing over with whatever intangible thing that makes him the person that he is.

In the darkness of your bedroom, all the lights turned off, there’s no longer the gentle blue glow at Taehyung’s temple to shine out, but there doesn’t need to be. Even if you weren’t resting your head against his thigh you’d know he was there. Taehyung’s presence grows larger and larger in your life as the days go by, and you know that you’re still the most important person in his life, even with the introduction of Yoongi and Jin. After all—he didn’t ask them to be there when he took his LED out.

You reach for his hand, which is already palm up, waiting for you. Your fingers slot together so perfectly, so wonderful, so lovely. You can’t make out details in this dark, but you can picture the smile that’ll be pulling at Taehyung’s lips, the affection flowing in the endless oceans of his eyes.

You’re in so, so deep.

(But who can blame you?)

“I want to go outside.”

It’s not surprising that with the shedding of his LED, Taehyung finally feels bold enough to go outdoors. And yet, here you are. Surprised.

You’ve got a granola bar stuck in your mouth, halfway through a bite, and it nearly drops to the floor as your lips part in shock. Taehyung catches it with ease, android speed on show as he snatches it out of the air.

Your knee-jerk reaction is to ask him to repeat himself. To make sure you haven’t misheard him, if he’s sure about this, if he really wants to—but Yoongi’s words come back to you yet again. If there’s something he wants to do, he’ll do it. Taehyung isn’t the uninformed android he was when he’d first made his way to your door. He’s grown and learned so much in the time he’s been here and there’s no room for self-doubt behind his words.

So what you say is: “Okay.”

Taehyung’s fingers brush against yours when he hands your granola bar back, long and warm and soft. You accept it with a smile, lost in the way he smiles back, so lovely and bright—and you have to pull your train of thought back on track, lock those wheels on the rails before you speak again.

“Did you want to go somewhere specific? Or just wherever?”

“Wherever you want to go.” He’s smiling, a little excited but mostly happy at the prospect of spending yet more time with you; as if he hasn’t had enough of it, could never get enough, even when you spend every day together.

(Your heart feels like a drum, pounding hard and loud in your chest.)

It’s not hard, really, to decide where you want to go. Taehyung’s not asking for some big production; just wants something quiet and soft, something new. The chance to see the outside world properly, safe and secure in the knowledge that you’ll be at his side.

It’s in your nature to be protective—sometimes you feel like you nag, like you’re overbearing, and takes a concerted effort on your part to reel it in. Taehyung doesn’t need you to fuss over him, and besides, he seems incredibly calm about the whole thing. Excited, yes, but not nervous. Just anticipatory.

He looks just like anyone else might. More chic and attractive, sure, effortlessly fashionable in the outfit he’s chosen for the day, but there’s nothing robotic about him, nothing to say he’s not a flesh-and-blood person. Once again, you’re struck by just how human he is. Even if he’d still had the LED flickering at his temple it would have done nothing to detract from the genuine emotion that flits across his face. The way he moves. The way he smiles, when he catches you watching the way he laces his shoes with his delicate, pretty hands—that big lovely smile that makes you feel warm and soft.

(Warmer and softer than it probably should.)

You avert your gaze, pretend to fiddle with one of your bracelets, pulling it so that it spins around your wrist.

“Ready?”

“Nearly,” Taehyung says. When you look back at him, a little confused, he still has that smile on his face, though it’s gentler, fuzzy around the edges, his eyes dark-dark-dark. “Just one more thing.”

This final thing, it turns out, is your hand.

His fingers lace with yours, weaving a tapestry of closeness and warmth. You’ve held Taehyung’s hands so often, now; it’s nothing new. But for some reason the touch of his skin against yours has your pulse stuttering, catching in your throat before you cough lightly and smile like everything is fine, you’re fine, it’s not like your heart is about to launch itself out of your chest for some mysterious reason.

(Mysterious. Yeah, right.)

He doesn’t let go. Not when you leave the apartment, not when you greet Rory at the door, not when you step onto one of the automated buses that takes you to the centre of the city. You’re surprised at how good Taehyung’s acting is, how all the wide-eyed excitement you’d expected to see splashed across his face is absent, and instead, he just squeezes your hand tight each time he takes in something new; stares out of the window as your surroundings slide by.

He does get excited in the art store though. Pulls at your joined hands each time he sees something he wants to point out to you—which seems to be everything. And you go, of course, following his eager feet. Taehyung’s happiness has always given you happiness in turn, and watching his sheer, unadulterated joy at being able to see things, to touch things outside of the small world he’s been confined to since he escaped the Eden Club—well. There’s nothing better.

There’s nothing better than knowing that Taehyung feels safe with you, wants to keep you close. It’s selfish. It’s selfish, you know it is, but when you watch the way his eyes light up at the sight of a set of gouache paints, how he immediately turns towards you so you can see it too—you realise that you’ve never had something like this before. Sure, you have friends, you have plenty of happiness in your life, but you’ve never had this.

(Whatever this is.)

Someone whose joy is only compounded when it’s shared with you. Someone whose focus is on you and no one else. You see the looks that Taehyung gets, the interested eyes that flit over him—but then he reaches for your hand again, and those gazes slide away, because he hasn’t looked away from you. Not once.

Because you make him feel safe, you remind yourself. Because he knows you best. That’s it.

It’s what you keep telling yourself, a repeated mantra that’s an endless loop in your head. Every time Taehyung looks at you, smiles at you, reaches for your hand, your touch—even if your heart feels like it could burst, filling up with this feeling, this feeling that’s growing and growing (this feeling you refuse to name)—it’s because he trusts you, knows he can rely on you. It’s nothing more than that.

You shouldn’t let yourself imagine that it’s more than that.

(Shouldn’t hope for more than that.)

It’s because he trusts you that he follows you without question, matching his pace with yours, side by side as you wander through the city. He insists on carrying all your shopping, held effortlessly in one hand, other hand still tangled with yours. (You see the way he swings the bags a little, back and forth; he’s so cute you’d swear your teeth could rot from it, crystallised sugar rolled on your tongue, sweet.) All your shopping is done, but you have one final stop planned—it’s somewhere you haven’t been for a while, but you love it.

You’re certain Taehyung will, too.

You can feel how his hold on your fingers tightens when the building comes into view. You glance over at him to take in his expression, the subtle widening of his eyes, the lift of his chest as he takes an unneeded breath in, the tiniest curl at the corner of his lips.

(So human.)

The Christine Andrews Gallery isn’t the biggest art gallery in the city, but it’s your favourite. There’s something that feels more intimate about it, with its size; a little smaller, cosier, more stripped down. The high ceilings overhead are crisscrossed with wires and piping, industrial—but the walls are pure white, all the brighter in contrast to their surroundings, drawing the eye to the paintings on display from the moment you step in.

Taehyung is enraptured.

“The exhibition is called Slow Painting. The idea is that people will take their time to really take everything in, and appreciate it, rather than just rushing by. Especially with how quickly technology is developing, and people are used to discarding things as soon as they're not relevant any more. The idea is that art will always be relevant, regardless of what's happening in the world.”

Your voice is quiet and low as you’re careful not to disturb the serene air that fills the building. You’ve always loved the quiet hush that fills galleries, museums, buildings filled with art and history, long lasting echoes of humanity, on display for people to enjoy.

“And it also refers to the time it takes to create each piece too,” you add, trailing off into silence as you glance over at Taehyung, who’s looking at you, blinking gentle and slow.

He’s watching you. Even though there’s artwork in sight of the entrance, huge canvases nearby—Taehyung is looking at you, attentive and quiet, listening to each word you have to say.

Your heart squeezes in your chest and you have to make a concerted effort to stop your breath from stuttering. You shove it down, down, down, this thing that’s wrapping itself around your heart and clogging your throat, and give this lovely boy your best smile. (Try to ignore the fact that there’s art here, but instead, he’s looking at you.)

“Tell you what. Instead of listening to me harp on all day, why don’t we just look around?”

When Taehyung had first stepped foot in your door, had first started to experience life as something more than just a sexbot, an android under the control of other people’s wills—he’d taken everything in with huge eyes, eager and enthusiastic, almost clumsy in his excitement. That’s faded over time, become muted as he’s learned how to balance himself, grown comfortable with his surroundings, who he is.

He’s still like a fountain sometimes, bubbling and bright, overflowing, cascading pearlescent waters rushing over carved marble. You’d expected these waters to rise and spill, surrounded by these incredible artworks; so far the only works he’s seen in person are his and your own, everything else small and secondhand on screens as he stares intently at your computer, your tablet. You’d expected his joy to overflow, being able to really see for the first time in his life, prepared yourself for his exuberant happiness.

But he’s not.

He’s quiet. There’s a smile that lingers on his lips, barely hidden at the corners of his mouth, but his shining waters flow soft and slow, contained. You wander through the exhibition exactly the way the curator had meant for you to—slowly, carefully, stopping and pausing and looking and wondering, eyes trailing over each painting, acrylic on paper, oil on canvas, distemper on linen. Each so different, but inviting onlookers to take a moment and just breathe.

Taehyung’s eyes are dark, contemplative. They’re so deep you feel like you could fall in them and be lost forever. (Wonder if that would be such a bad thing.) He keeps his hand in yours, your hand in his, the two of you matching paces as you loop the gallery, never letting go.

“Oh,” he breathes. “Oh, I like these.”

Four canvases, smaller than some of the others you’ve seen, squirrelled around a corner and hidden away on a back wall. Each painting has a figure in the midst of some simple, quiet task; laying in bed, catching an egg as it threatens to roll off a table, trailing a finger through a puddle of spilled milk, reading a book in the bath. Each of the figures has their face turned away from the viewer, caught up as they are in the simple motions of their life, each silhouetted by a window with a different view—from sea to lake to hill to forest.

You can’t help but look at Taehyung as he looks at these paintings, his brows a little raised, mouth a little slack, the lovely line of his jaw, the angles of his face, forehead to nose to lips to chin. “What do you like about them? The style?”

His answer comes unrushed, unhurried, as he thinks. “They’re so beautiful and detailed, but it’s more about… the intimacy,” he says. “Each person is just being themselves, without fear of who’s watching. We’re watching them, even if their attention isn’t on us.” A pause, a hush, a breath. “It’s like love, almost.”

Your lips part, even as Taehyung keeps his eyes forwards, staring at the blank pages of the book the man reads as he sits in his bath, row of shampoo bottles on the sill by his head.

“Like love?” A whisper.

“To keep your eyes and focus on someone who isn’t looking at you,” Taehyung replies, unabashed, like it’s just a statement of fact. “Loyalty. Dedication. Love.”

Words fail you. Silence is the only answer you can offer to Taehyung’s thoughts, the air in your lungs trapped there as you unwittingly hold your breath, lips parted around a sentence that never comes. Taehyung’s eyes slide away from this row of paintings and to you, how you’re staring at him, literally speechless.

His own lips part as he makes to say something else, to ask what’s wrong—when there’s a flicker of movement nearby, the modulated steps of someone who’s used to walking through a gallery, careful to keep the calm air unmuddied by their passing.

“Oh, Y/n!”

Namjoon’s voice cuts through the silent moment and splinters the delicate air that had started to crystallise around you. He looks happy to see you, dimples on full display as his lips lift and he smiles wide.

“Namjoon!” You don’t think you’ve ever been so glad to see his familiar face in your life—anything to distract you, any excuse to shake off the feeling that Taehyung’s words have left behind, trailing over your skin, blooming in your brain. His timing is perfect, even if he doesn’t realise it. “Hey! It’s been a while.”

“I was going to say, I haven’t seen you around lately! I thought you’d like this exhibition, I was wondering if you’d come. Oh, sorry, I’m being rude, aren’t I? Hi, I’m Namjoon,” he says, holding a hand out for Taehyung to shake. “I’m one of the gallery managers.”

Taehyung’s exchanged a few words with others today, polite thank yous to the people who’ve served you in the shops you’ve been into, given shy smiles to passersby who’ve made eye contact with him. (So, so sweet, always.)

But Namjoon is the first person to properly introduce themselves to him in the real world, as you’ve thought of it, someone who doesn’t know that the man at your side is an android.

You panic. Just for a second.

Taehyung doesn’t.

“Hello.” He has to take his hand out of yours, the other weighed down by shopping, although he seems reluctant to let go of you. He gives Namjoon his widest smile as he shakes the proffered hand with firm, friendly politeness. “I’m Taehyung. It’s lovely to meet you, Namjoon.”

And then he immediately slips his hand back into yours.

Namjoon is utterly charmed.

(Of course he is. How could he not be?)

The discussion they both have is a quiet one. You’re happy to stay uninvolved, watching and listening as they talk, still at Taehyung’s side. That brief moment of panic, that blazing forest fire of fear for him—it’s been washed away, soothed by the way the conversation between man and android unfolds so naturally, Namjoon none the wiser about Taehyung’s robotic origins.

There’s no way anyone would realise. He’s so human, in the way he moves and acts and thinks, the way he laughs at something Namjoon says. You’re happy that Taehyung can be here with you, in this gallery, speaking to someone new, as if this is normal, natural, nothing unusual.

You can’t think of anything you want for Taehyung more.

You realise, too, that in this moment, you feel utterly content. Not just for Taehyung, but—happy that you’re there to share this moment with him. You think about how you’ve always wanted this; someone to share things with, someone whose happiness makes you happy too.

When Taehyung laughs, your own lips lift in response, heart lifting at the sound of his joy, at how his fingers tighten around yours. Remembering that you’re there, even if he’s not looking at you right now, eyes on Namjoon.

He’s looking at Namjoon. You’re looking at him.

(To keep your eyes and focus on someone who isn’t looking at you.)

(Loyalty. Dedication.)

(A breath.)

(Love.)

You carefully pull your hand out of Taehyung’s. Your fingers feel cold as they slip away from his, warmed all day, pressed against Taehyung’s soft skin. His eyes flit away from Namjoon, those deep eyes settling on you; dark wood and ground coffee, so warm.

“Y/n?”

“I’m just going to pop to the toilet,” you say, turning away from the tinge of confusion that colours Taehyung’s voice. “I won’t be long.”

The toilet lid is cold. You can feel how it seeps through the layers of your clothing to your thighs, and at any other time you might wrinkle your nose at the sensation, at how uncomfortable it is. But right now, you have other things on your mind.

You bury your face in your hands. It’s foolish, but you’d swear you could feel Taehyung still in your palms, touch imprinted, emblazoned on your skin. It’s like a palpable thing, almost, this ethereal thing that lingers even when Taehyung isn’t there.

Wishful thinking. Selfish thinking. Selfish, to like it, to want to keep that feeling close; let it spread from your palm, to the delicate skin of your wrist, tracing its way up your arm, up-up-up, drawing invisible lines over every part of you, inside every part of you. Selfish, to like Taehyung’s touch as much as you do. To want more of it.

(More of him.)

You aren’t anything more to Taehyung than a friend. A guardian. Someone who’s there to support him and keep him safe. You’re blessed to have his trust, to be able to be that person he can turn to—it’s greedy, to want. To want to be more.

(You can’t foist your loneliness on Taehyung. You can’t do that to him. You won’t. You won’t.)

When you return, a spark lights in Taehyung’s eyes. The same spark that bursts every time he sees you after time apart, no matter how long or short that may be. He reaches for your hand, and of course, you go—but your fingers are limp, weak.

(You know that if Taehyung’s LED had still been nestled in his skin, it would have flickered yellow.)

You keep that point of connection as you bid Namjoon goodbye, finish meandering through the exhibition, make your way back home—but you let Taehyung bear the weight. Reactive, not proactive. You don’t squeeze his fingers just because you want to, because there’s something sliding by the bus’s window you think he might like to see; you’re not here to make him do things, to shove things down his throat. You should just be here to support him in the things he wants to do. That’s your role.

And that’s where you’re going to stay.

Your thoughts are a tumble, messy and unorganised, a ball of yarn that’s all knots and tangles. Taehyung must be able to see it on your face, read it in your body, his android eyes scanning over you and scrutinising every hint you’re giving away without even realising. But you just smile, wave away his questions, and act like everything’s okay. Normal. Routine.

It’s a little harder, though, to act like everything’s okay when it’s time to sleep.

Because, of course, there Taehyung is. Like he has been, from the day he’d arrived—sat in your bed, nestled against a pile of cushions, expression open and warm and fond as he looks at you. Waiting for you to climb in, to rest your head in his lap; waiting for you to fall asleep with his gentle fingers dragging across your scalp, melting under his lovely hands.

You waver. Conflicted. It’s okay, isn’t it, if Taehyung’s reaching for you first?

His eyes meet yours. The second you see his lips curve up, see that pretty, quiet smile appearing on his lovely mouth, you fold.

It’s fine. You’ll allow yourself this.

(In your dreams, you stand in a deserted gallery, staring at the single piece of work on the stark white walls, all the lights focused in, in, in. Taehyung’s framed on this canvas, a painted window into his world. Not once does he look at you, turned away as he is; you see nothing more than the back of his head, the curve of his cheek, the vaguest hint of his nose as he turns, always staring at something else.

And still, you stand, and you watch. Waiting. Keeping your eyes on him, always.)

“You’re staying late again.”

“Yeah. I really want to get this done,” you say, gesturing vaguely at your monitors with your stylus; tweaking, editing, shifting around these final few magazine pages before you’re satisfied. “Nearly there.”

When you hear the way Hoseok says your name, you glance up.

As someone who spends most of his time bouncing around like a literal ray of sunshine, when Hoseok’s expression is one that isn’t smiling, it carries all the more weight behind it. Right now his face is uncharacteristically serious, the perpetual smile on his mouth gone, the line of his brows severe.

It’s unnerving.

“You haven’t stayed late for ages,” Hoseok points out. “Until this week, and suddenly you’re late every night. Has something happened?”

“No,” you lie.

Yes, you think.

You’re trying to create some distance, for Taehyung’s sake. So that you’re not tempted to pull him ever closer, latch onto him like you have been, smothering him. He needs space to grow. Space from you has helped already—the time he spends with Yoongi and Seokjin is evidence enough of that, after all. He doesn’t need you to be there constantly.

Hoseok’s eyes bore into yours as he stares, so you avert your gaze, pretending to shift your focus to one of the captions the editor has left on the page you’re working on. You hadn’t realised that he’d noticed. You should have expected it, though. Hoseok is a close work friend and he’s incredibly perceptive, especially when he cares about people.

“Alright,” he says, eventually. “Make sure you don’t stay too late, though. Get some sleep.”

You give him a thumbs up without looking away from the screen, dragging something idly with your stylus until Hoseok leaves, the office empty except you, now. And the cleaning androids, when they appear for the night like clockwork. As they always do.

You can’t help but stop to watch them, how blank faced they are, for all that they look human. Their LEDs are almost motionless, the placid blue matching the blank expressions on their faces, unthinking automatons.

(You’d seen androids in the city when you’d been out with Taehyung, of course. Completing menial tasks: city androids picking litter and raking leaves, household androids following their owners around and carrying their shopping. You’d realised that Taehyung wouldn’t have seen a non-deviated android since he’d escaped the club, lapsed into silence; you’d pulled him to a stop, lips pursed in a frown as you’d tried to read his expression.

“Taehyung,” you’d asked. “Are you alright?”

There’d been a quiet pause, and in that moment you’d felt all your worries rising, caught in your throat—but then he’d nodded quietly, looking at you with soft eyes.

“I’m alright,” he’d answered. “I was just thinking about how lucky I am.”

I’m the lucky one, you’d thought. Lucky to know him, as sweet-hearted and wonderful as he is. You’d squeezed his hand, and he’d smiled gently at you, and that had been that.)

It hurts, honestly. To see the expression on his face each time you come home late, each time you avoid answering his questions. There’s uncertainty laid across each of your interactions, rough bristles of a brush varnishing discomfort across the once smooth surface of your relationship; but you can’t keep taking advantage of this soft-hearted boy, of the circumstances that he’s in.

You pretend that things are fine. Taehyung is clearly confused, unsure, trying so hard to find out what’s wrong, even when you keep gently turning his concerns aside.

You haven’t been home enough to spend time with Yoongi or Seokjin, either. You’d seen Jin in the hall just once, made eye contact just as he’d been appearing from the other apartment and you’d been stepping into yours; you’d fumbled a little, fingerprints smudging across the keypad as your door had swung open. You’d expected to see judgement on Jin’s face, maybe, something heavy and weighty, his gaze flitting over you as he read you in the way he did so often.

What you hadn’t expected was for him to smile. It’d been hard to translate his full expression but what little you could read was knowing, like he’s aware of something he shouldn’t be, kept hidden just underneath his tongue. Ready to release it into the world with a single breath.

(Needless to say, you’d shut the door pretty quick.)

He and Yoongi have gone away for the weekend. It's a small blessing, saving you from having to see Jin’s almost-smug expression again. But it means that Taehyung has nowhere else to go right now, no reason to leave the apartment. So it’ll be you and him, him and you, with no buffers, nothing. It’s been unseasonably stormy for the past few days as well, rain slammed into your windows by the harsh winds, the world outside a haze of smeared grey—so it’s not like you can go out, either.

Not that you would want to.

You hadn’t realised exactly how ingrained Taehyung was in your life until you’d started to pull away. It’s not just that you live together and share the same physical space—it’s just that your days have become so full of Taehyung-Taehyung-Taehyung, and you hadn’t even noticed. He’d crept up on you, snuck his way into your heart, so easily, so effortlessly.

You remind yourself that that’s why you’re doing this. To remind yourself of life without Taehyung in it, because he’s not yours to have or to keep. He never has been. You don’t want him to be: he’s his own person. This… this desire for him; even as you try to ignore it, it keeps growing and growing: wet plaster laid down, your feelings for him painted buon fresco, added to day by day, giornata. You need it to stop.

But it’s hard. It’s hard, when Taehyung looks like comfort, your comfort, when you want to let yourself be folded into his arms. It’s hard when the fact is that it’s not that you have to spend time with him. It’s that you want to spend time with him.

It's hard.

(And you miss him, even when he's right there.)

You find respite in art, in painting, too intent on the motions of your work to allow yourself room to think about other things. Fall into the rhythm of it all, a quiet hush stealing over your mind, a place of both focus and calm, world settling into place around you. There’s a piece you’ve been working on for a while, a hand rising from dark water, fingertips just broaching its surface, the most tentative of touches; you layer more oil paint on the panel, dragging the bristles of the brush across the colour you’ve already laid down, brows furrowed as you do.

Taehyung normally paints with you, but not today. He knows you want space—even if he doesn’t know why—so he gives it to you. So considerate and sweet, always. Even when you’re shutting him out. You’ve been here all day: morning, afternoon, and now evening, and he’s only been in a few times, to leave you food, drinks, looking after you in a way you don’t deserve.

You’ve just lifted the brush from the canvas when an especially loud peal of thunder rolls through the air outside. The rumble starts low, rising into a rattling growl that feels like it’s shaking the very earth. It almost drowns out the sound of Taehyung’s quiet knocking, a curl of his knuckles against the open door, but you catch sight of him anyway, glancing over your shoulder.

“Hey,” he says. “I thought you might like a drink.”

He’s barefoot, like he usually is, teal hoodie and grey sweatpants baggy, looking every inch the boyfriend you’ve always wanted and never had. His hands are cupped around a mug, steam coiling from the hot tea inside, and something in your heart twinges at his kindness and consideration even as you smile at him.

“That sounds lovely, Tae,” you say, and he takes this as an invitation to step inside, although you notice his steps are far more hesitant than they might have been before. Like he’s treading on eggshells around you.

It’s awkward. Stilted. Taehyung’s eyes are heavy on your face as you accept the tea from his hands, trying your best to avoid brushing fingers; you turn away, pretending to turn your attention back to the drying paint on the wood panel that rests on your easel, anything to break eye contact.

And then he speaks.

“You’re avoiding me.”

Your lips are poised to drink, pursed at the rim of the mug when you freeze, eyes darting back to him.

“You’re avoiding me,” he repeats. His voice is quieter, tinged with all the confusion you’ve seen flit across his face since this whole thing started.

You slowly pull the mug away from your face, steam touching your skin like warm, wet fingers. “I’m not,” you say, even though the lie tastes bitter on your tongue. “We live together, Taehyung, it’s pretty hard to avoid you.”

When you laugh lightly, trying to lift the atmosphere, Taehyung doesn’t respond. If anything the air becomes heavier, his face an unmoving mask as his eyes churn with emotion. His LED might not be nestled in his temple any more, but you don't need to see it spinning in a distressed circle of yellow to know that Taehyung is confused.

“Why are you lying to me?”

Your eyes widen. He’s never been so direct before. (He hasn’t needed to be though, has he? Because you've never lied to him before, have you?)

“I just… I just want to know what happened. What I did wrong. I want to fix it,” Taehyung continues, and he sounds so small, so vulnerable. “Please?”

Your heart feels like it’s risen from your chest, up to your throat, making it hard to breathe. The only time he’s ever sounded like this was when—

When he’d first turned up on your doorstep, wet and scared and lonely. Not knowing if there was anyone he could trust, uncertain where he stood.

“You didn’t do anything, Taehyung.” You try to put every ounce of feeling into your words and let him know that this is the truth. It’s not him. It’s not. “You didn’t do anything, please don’t think you did.”

“Then why are you avoiding me?” His voice rises, shaking, a bird trying to take flight on a broken wing. “If I didn’t do anything then why are you being like this? I don’t understand.”

“I’m just… trying to encourage you to be independent?”

The words sound weak to your own ears, so you can’t blame Taehyung for when his expression flickers and he looks almost incredulous.

“Independent?”

“You know,” you explain lamely. “Like… giving you space to grow. You don’t need me around all the time.”

“I don’t—” He cuts himself off. “Y/n. I want you to be there.”

“Because it’s what you’ve gotten used to.” You glance down at the drink in your hands, away from his sincere, dark eyes. “You’re just saying that because of circumstances, Taehyung.”

“I’m not!” You’ve never heard Taehyung so loud before, almost angry, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “How can you think that?”

“Because it’s true!” Your own voice rises despite yourself, matching his, some frayed thing inside you finally snapping. “Why else would you want me around? No one else does! Why would you?”

You rarely raise your voice. You hate being loud, or rude, hate arguments, but there’s something boiling in your blood. Years of quiet self-deprecation, constant reminders of how you’re not really wanted; last choice, always. Single, always. Untouched, unwanted. Taehyung—beautiful, kind, sweet, lovely Taehyung—wouldn’t be here right now if he had anywhere else to go. Too beautiful and kind and sweet and lovely for you, as disappointing, undesirable as you are.

Because that’s the truth. Even if you’re surrounded by friends, warm and bright, at the end of the day, they go home with each other, to their lovers, their families, and you go home alone. At least you had, until Taehyung—and he’s only here because you were the only safe place he could run to. Not because he chose you.

(No one chooses you. Why would they?)

Taehyung’s eyes are so big and round as he stares and stares and stares. His lips are a little parted around a soundless noise of surprise, disbelief, before he opens his mouth to respond properly.

And then all the lights go out.

Lightning flashes, throwing the room into sharp focus for just a second before the night is split apart with the loudest clap of thunder yet. Like the ground has split open, louder than anything you’ve ever heard in your life; you’d swear your teeth rattle in your skull, that’s how overwhelming and close it is.

You suck in a breath as you jump, hands jolting, and the mug falls from your grasp. You can’t see in the darkness but you can hear how it shatters, sending hot tea splattering over the dust sheets on the floor, away from you, but towards—

“Taehyung,” you gasp, reaching out blindly. “Are you okay? Did it hit you?”

You hear him move closer, feel his fingers, reaching for yours confidently in this dark space. His grip is solid and warm and he squeezes, reassuring.

“I’m okay,” he murmurs. “I’m okay. You can’t see?”

“It’s too dark.” With the heavy clouds outside and the blanket of thick rain, there’s little light from the moon to shine into your studio, leaving you in a world of thick black and blue. “Can you see?”

“Android senses,” he answers. "I can see enough."

You wait for the lights to come back on so you can clean up the mess that’s scattered on the floor. And you wait. One beat. Another beat.

“I don’t think the power is coming back on any time soon,” you say. “Um.”

“Hold on.” You can’t make out Taehyung’s features in this all consuming darkness, but you can picture the expression on his face, the concern that bleeds through into his words. “If you move you’ll step on something and hurt your feet. Hold on,” he says again, and then lets go of your hands.

“Taehyung? What are you—”

You let out an embarrassing squeal as you feel the world tilt, but Taehyung’s grip on you is confident and sure as he lifts you, one hand under your knees and the other scooped around your back. Like you’re a swooning, blushing bride.

“Taehyung!”

“It’s the safest thing to do.” He sounds determined, no room for argument, so you decide to shut up.

Even though you know how strong he is, with all his android strength, you can’t help but reach out in the darkness, looping your arms around his neck to try and help lighten his burden. You feel your cheeks burn and you hope that the darkness saves you from your obvious embarrassment.

The power still hasn’t come on by the time he deposits you in the kitchen, easing you to the floor with a level of care and delicacy that leaves something in you aching. When you check your phone—mostly charged, thank God—it seems like powercuts have hit this entire part of the city, and there’s no ETA on when things will be back up and running.

Which leads you to this. Sitting on the cold tiles of your kitchen floor, a few large candles flickering light across you as you dig into a carton of melting ice cream that you’ve saved from your freezer, licking the dripping flavours of sea salt and caramel from the spoon.

Taehyung is sitting next to you in this flame-lit bubble you share, quiet even as the world outside is full of the sound of endless rain and lightning. He’d helped you navigate the darkness, settled you safely before going to find some candles; looking after you while you can’t see and he can.

You’re intent on the ice cream, leaning against the kitchen cabinets and carton settled between your knees as you use it as an excuse not to talk.

Taehyung, though, is intent on you.

“Y/n?”

His voice breaks the near silence, soft around your name. You pause, half-way through scooping another spoonful of ice cream to your mouth. There’s something in his tone that you’ve never heard before, from anyone, something you can’t put a finger on.

“Yes?”

“You said that no one wants you around,” he says. Your fingers tighten around the handle of your spoon and keep your gaze cast down, at the thick drip of cream from your spoon that threatens to spill. “Why would you say that?”

You don’t respond. Not right away.

Then you take in a deep breath, letting the spoon fall back into the tub.

“Because they don’t,” you say plainly. “I mean… Taehyung. I was only at the Eden Club because my friends know that I’m perpetually single. I’m glad I got to meet you, so glad, but… I live alone because no one wants to be here with me.”

You’ve never said anything like this out loud before; kept your lingering loneliness close to your chest. Really, in most parts of your life, you’re content, but sometimes you can’t help but be pulled under by the heavy feeling of how unlovable you are. Even if you try to remind yourself that you’re worth being loved too.

(After all, if you were—then why are you still here alone?)

“I do. I want to be here with you.”

Taehyung’s words are soft and gentle and low, but for all their tenderness, you can’t help but sigh.

“Like I said, Taehyung, it’s just circumstances.” A murmur. “You’re only here because you have to be—”

“I’m not.” He interrupts you; something he’s never done before. It shuts you right up, even if his words aren’t sharp. Emphatic, yes, but soft around the edges. “I chose to come here because of you. You’re the only person who’s ever made me feel safe. Even when I was at the club, and I didn’t know anything except what I was told to do—I knew I could trust you. I only started to remember things after we met, and I was there for weeks before I left, finally remembering the things I had to go through. Again and again and again. Over and over and over. No one was ever kind to me, not once. Not once.”

“Taehyung,” you breathe, sadness filling your chest for him, but he doesn’t stop.

“People would come in, take what they wanted from me, and then they would leave. They didn’t care about me. They would just tell me what to do and I’d have to listen, be the perfect android they wanted, that they’d paid for. Then I ran. But even as I was running here, I was scared. I thought that maybe it was a fluke. Maybe I was wrong. I was scared that maybe you weren’t actually kind, maybe it was a lie, maybe you were just like all the other humans—but anything was better than the club. So I took my chances. And you let me in. You let me in and you were so kind. You give and give and give and you’ve never asked for anything back.”

“I just did what anyone else would,” you mutter, glancing away, shy.

“But you didn’t. You were the only person who ever looked at me as something more than just an android. Don’t you see that? Even after giving me so much, you haven’t asked for anything. I try my best to look after you, but…” Taehyung takes in a deep, deep breath, sucking in air that his android body doesn’t need. You’ve noticed that it’s something he does to ground himself; such a human thing to do. “I want to give you so much more than you’ll ever accept.”

You look at him, something sparking deep and low in your stomach. “You don’t have to give me anything, Taehyung.”

Light dances across the perfect angles of his face, candle flame painting him from second to second, shadow and radiance. He looks familiar and unfamiliar all at once. You’ve known him for long enough, stared at him for long enough that you could paint his face in your sleep; the strength of his brows, the depth of his eyes, the slant of his nose, the flush of his lips; the tiny moles that are scattered across his skin, the perfect line of his jaw, his chin.

But in the paltry candlelight, he looks like an altogether different person, almost. There’s something to the set of his face that you’ve never seen, hard to track in the ever changing light—not the soft domesticity you’ve grown familiar with from Taehyung, and not the sheer, overwhelming sensuality of V. Something that’s both, something that’s not, something that’s more.

“I want to give you everything. I want to. Y/n, I want. Androids don’t want, but I want. I want, I want, I want.” A repeated mantra; a prayer. “I want because of you. I want to be here with you. I want to spend time with you. I want to learn with you. I want to know everything you like and everything you don’t like. I want to know what makes you sad and what makes you happy. I want to be one of the things that makes you happy, like you make me happy. I want to look after you. I want you to let me love you. I want you. I want you. I love you.”

Your mouth is open, caught in a breath, stuttered in your throat. Taehyung doesn’t shy away from your wide-eyed, speechless gaze, staring back at you with an intensity you thought you’d never see directed at you; tenderness and affection and want.

“You want to—you… you love me?” Your voice is weak with disbelief. Taehyung loves you?

“I thought you knew, and that’s why you pulled away,” he says. “Because I’m an android, I’m not good enough—”

“What? No, Taehyung, never, no. I would never think that—”

“But you were pushing me away.” For the first time since this conversation started, he sounds unsure, the tiniest tremble at the corner of each word. “You were pushing me away and I don’t know why. Why?” He reaches for your hand, sliding his fingers between yours. “Aren’t you happy with me?”

You wonder how fast your heart is beating. Know that Taehyung will be able to read it, palm to palm, his skin against yours, an endless amount of information running from that point of contact and up his arm; following lines of circuitry and neural connectors, up-up-up, pulled into whatever part of his system counts as his brain, dissected so much faster than the human brain could comprehend. But even with all this information, all this incredible processing speed and power—he’s just as confused and uncertain as any other person might be.

“I am. I am happy. So happy,” you whisper. Then you take a deep breath, grounding yourself just like Taehyung had. “I’ve never been so happy before, Taehyung. You make me happy.”

The android smiles. Quiet but undeniably happy as well, his eyes so dark, so soft. “You make me happy, too,” he says, and then he lets out a small laugh, a sweet little thing, like the scrape of a spoon around a mixing bowl. “I can only feel happiness because of you. You’re everything.”

But then the laughter fades, and he’s looking back at you with solemnity, lingering confusion. “If I make you happy, then why were you pulling away from me?”

You stare at where your hands are joined, Taehyung’s hand under yours, lifting yours up and away from the cold tiles of the floor. “Because,” you start. Stumble. Take in another breath, heart squeezing in your chest. “Because I was scared my feelings were too much.”

A beat of silence. Then you feel Taehyung’s other hand as he lays it softly against your cheek to turn you towards him. It’s terrifying, how close your face is to his. Completely vulnerable, nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. He doesn’t say anything, just watches, and you find yourself crumbling in the face of his warm gaze.

“Because I thought I was taking advantage of you,” you say. Slow and faltering. “Because I thought it was—I thought I was being selfish. I realised that I loved you, and I can’t—I couldn’t imagine that… I couldn’t imagine that you wanted me back.”

Taehyung’s eyes flutter shut as your words wash over him. The hand on your cheek coaxes you closer, and of course, you go; let your forehead get pressed against his, a tender motion, faces so close he can feel the warmth of your breath.

“Y/n.” Your name sounds safe in his mouth, like he’s keeping it close, handling it delicately, carefully, eyes opening so he can look at you with an adoration you’ve never seen. Not for you. Not until now. “Can I kiss you? I want to. Please?”

You feel heat rising on your cheeks, a flush that threatens to spill over, but nod. You don’t think you have the strength to speak right now. Taehyung smiles again, lighting up this space you’ve scraped out for each other, him and you; you and him.

When he leans in, there’s the briefest moment of panic that flickers through you. You haven’t kissed anyone in such a long time. You’re worried you’ll mess up, be clumsy, bad, and Taehyung will be disappointed.

But then his lips touch yours—and all that worry washes away. It’s a short-lived thing, the briefest brush of his mouth, barely a kiss at all. And then again, he leans in, tracing the shape of your mouth with his: a kiss to one corner of your mouth, and then the other, your cupid’s bow, the swell of your bottom lip. You’ve never felt like this—vulnerable but safe, all at once, Taehyung taking his time as you fall, fall, fall, his hand still cradling your face, his touch solid and grounding even as his kisses are featherlight.

“Taehyung,” you whisper, lips brushing his as you shape them around his name. You still have one hand in his and tighten your grip, squeezing. “More.”

You can feel his smile when he leans in one more time, guiding you with the broad palm against your cheek. So soft, so gentle. Adoring and reverent. His lips are so full, slotting against yours so perfectly when he finally, finally kisses you properly.

You lose yourself in the sensation. It’s so easy to lose yourself in Taehyung, as lovely as he is, his mouth lovelier still. One kiss turns to two, to three, four, deep and slow; by the time you break apart, there’s a little sheen on his lips, sparking out in the candlelight, a layer of gold leaf that shines.

“Can you say it again?” He asks. “Say that you love me?”

You can’t help but want to hide your face, bashful and shy. You’ve never said those words out loud, with the weight of feeling Taehyung is asking from you—but you look at his lovely, lovely face, lips flush with evidence of your kisses, and your heart swells in your chest.

“I love you.” The words come so easily. “I love you.”

And when he smiles, it’s so bright and radiant you feel you might be blinded by it. It doesn’t leave his face even as he stands, guides you up with him; careful to avoid the tub of ice cream that’s been forgotten on the floor, more melted cream than ice now.

This time, when he lifts you, he doesn’t break eye contact—keeps his gaze on yours as he pulls you close, and then picks you up.

It’s effortless, the way he carries you. Big hands that cup the back of your thighs, your legs around his waist and arms around his neck, lifted like you weigh nothing. You break eye contact, overwhelmed, burying your face in the crook of his neck, feeling the way he shakes as he laughs, soft and affectionate.

“Shut up,” you mumble, embarrassed, but then go quiet as you feel the press of his lips into your hair.

Taehyung’s the only person who’s ever carried you, but it’s less about that and more about how safe you feel in his arms. Wrapped around him, pressed close, warm-warm-warm. You feel like a burden has been lifted from you, unshackled from your neck now that you’ve confessed the budding feelings that had burst into full bloom even when you’d tried to shove them back into the dirt—because Taehyung feels the same way. He feels the same way.

The rest of the apartment is still bathed in darkness. But Taehyung navigates it easily, keeps you held close even in the dark, and you trust him. Even when you feel his grip loosening as he eases you down, you trust him, letting yourself fall back onto the softness of your bed. (Even if you want to keep hold of him.)

You wait and watch as the room starts to fill with light, Taehyung returning with the lit candles from the kitchen before setting out more, laying out all the scented candle jars you’ve had stashed away. The familiar surroundings of your bedroom are bathed in warm, dancing light, Taehyung’s shadow a multi-faceted silhouette that shifts each time a flame sputters.

He looks up once the final candle is aflame, meeting your eyes—and you don’t feel the need to drop that gaze, to glance away, pretend you weren’t watching him, entranced. Because he welcomes it. He grins at you, toothy and bright, and your own lips split into a smile.

“I guess it’s a good thing I like candles, huh?”

“They’ll help keep the room warm,” Taehyung says, and, that’s right, you hadn’t thought of that.

No power: no heating. The longer the power is out, the colder it’ll get, the chill of the hard rain filling the world outside.

“Don’t worry,” he adds, setting the lighter aside. “I’ll keep you warm.”

There’s nothing behind those words. No implication at all. And yet you find yourself flushing, looking away from him, flustered.

There’s a beat of silence as you keep your eyes turned away from Taehyung, looking at the shadows on shadows on shadows that ripple across the walls—and then you hear how his bare feet shift across the floor until he’s at your bedside.

But he doesn’t stop there. You feel how the mattress dips, eyes flying back to the android, growing huge and round when you watch how he settles himself above you; hovering, so so so close, aware of how he’s not touching you, and yet. You swear you can feel the weight of him, a phantom touch on your body and across your skin.

Your mouth goes dry when he murmurs your name. The word drips from his mouth like honey, thick and sweet, and a shiver skates up your body.

“Do you want me to keep you warm?” He asks, and, oh. Oh. This time the words are heavy with meaning, shimmering gossamer curtains barely drawn to conceal it, smouldering intent in his eyes. “Let me look after you?”

You’re reminded, all at once, that while you’ve taught Taehyung a lot of things since you’d met, there’s one thing he knows that you don’t. Intimacy, and pleasure, and lust. Sex. Something you’ve been deprived of, even if you’ve quietly craved it, waiting for the right time, the right place, the right person.

Taehyung takes your silence as hesitation, his face softening.

“Only if you want,” he says. “Only if you want to say yes.”

“I want to,” you say, surprised by how fast the admittance leaves your lips. You do want it—want Taehyung, in every way he’s willing to share, want it desperately. “I just—” Embarrassment floods over you, and you look away again. “I’ve just never… done anything. Before. I’ve never, um.”

“It’s okay to be a virgin, Y/n,” Taehyung says, and you can’t help but squirm a little at how plainly he says it while you try to avoid saying it out loud, even if you know it’s stupid. There’s nothing wrong with being a virgin, you know that, but for some reason you feel almost ashamed at admitting it. Insecure. Even if the android clearly doesn’t care, not one bit. “We can go as slow as you want, or stop altogether. I’ll take care of you no matter what.”

You’re nervous. But louder than your nerves is a growing voice that’s chanting yesyesyes, and another voice that reminds you: you’re safe with Taehyung. No matter how nervous or uncertain you are, or how little you know, you do know that you’re safe with him.

“Okay.” You take in a breath. “Take care of me, Taehyung.”

And he does. With all the slowness of a meandering river and a smile curling his lips, he starts to kiss you again; there’s nothing rushed about his motions, as tender as before. Like the two of you could kiss forever and he would be content with that.

And then you feel how he shifts, the softness of the kisses warming into something heavier, more purposeful. The glowing embers of a coal that are being coaxed to full flame, his tongue pressing past your willing lips, swallowing down the shaking gasp that shudders out of your mouth.

He trails his lips away from yours, across your jaw and up; you shiver as he noses at the soft skin behind your ear before kissing it, tremble at each intent touch of his lips against you, and it’s only when he reaches the hollow of your neck that you realise that you’re making noises, little inhalations of air each time he mouths at your sensitive skin, lets his tongue trail across it.

You’ve been holding onto him, hands cupped around the back of his neck, and when he sucks at your pulse point you tighten your fingers and let out a gasp. You can feel the answering hum that Taehyung gives, his mouth pressed so close that you can feel the vibrations, and it’s so much already. No one’s ever kissed you like this. No one's ever eased their weight down on you so carefully, pressing you down to the mattress with a delicate, delicious pressure that leaves your entire body growing hotter and hotter.

“Oh, oh, Taehyung.” You’d be embarrassed by how breathless you sound if you weren’t so distracted by something else—one of Taehyung’s hands, splaying over your stomach, heavy through your shirt.

“Can I take this off?” He’s murmuring into the crook of your neck, question warm against your skin. His long fingers rest, waiting at the hem of your shirt, patient even as he presses another kiss to the junction where your neck meets your shoulder: this time, edged with teeth, making you shudder as he soothes it with his tongue.

Your voice fails you, but when you nod, Taehyung responds immediately. You let him lead, follow the steps of this dance he knows so well—shiver at the feeling of his fingers sliding under the hem of your shirt once you've sat up, your stomach jumping as they brush against you, before he lifts it up and over your waiting arms.

Even though you’re wearing a bra, the second you see Taehyung’s eyes move down, you cover yourself reflexively. Even with all the flickering candles there’s enough light that there’s no darkness to hide in, shoulders hunching inwards as you try to hide yourself away.

You’ve never let anyone see you like this like this before.

Taehyung’s touch is patient as he slides his hands over yours, looking at you with an infinite amount of sincerity and affection. He doesn’t try to pull your hands away from your chest, just waits. Patient. And like you always do, you find yourself melting under the gentle touch of his gaze. You let your hands fall, even if you’re acutely aware of the plain bra you’re wearing, something cosy for a day at home.

Taehyung ignores it. He shifts in and you steel yourself, expecting him to reach around your back for the clasp—but instead he starts to kiss you again. Deeper, hotter, his tongue sweeping over your lower lip before he nips at it. You let yourself get lost in the sensation, angling your head to chase his mouth, and it’s only when you feel the straps start to slip off your shoulders that the android has unclasped your bra without you noticing.

When he pulls away, he trails his hands across your shoulders and hooks his fingers into the trailing straps of your bra, and waits. You bite your lip and steel yourself, feeling foolish even as you hesitate—because Taehyung is looking at you with simmering awe and smouldering want. Like you're perfect. The most beautiful woman alive.

So you don’t stop him. You let him pull his touch down your arms, slow, slow, slow—and then, all at once, you’re completely naked from the waist up.

That simmering awe and smouldering want is still there. Warmth flushes over your skin under the heat of his gaze, the way it sweeps over you. You never knew that someone could look reverent and hungry at the same time. Never knew that someone would look at you like that.

It bolsters your shaking confidence, helps you lift your chin as you lean back on your hands, and you’re entranced at how Taehyung follows. Caught in your gravity. He raises his arms, bra cast aside and long forgotten as he cups the weight of your breasts in his hands.

Oh, oh, oh. When he pinches one of your nipples between thumb and forefinger—already hard, sensitive—it’s already so much, but then he bows his head and—

You hear a noise, and you realise that it’s coming from your own lips. A shaking gasp that trembles in the air as Taehyung sucks and licks, dragging his tongue against your nipple; one, and the other. You fall once more to your back and he goes with you, relentless even as he stays slow and you arch your back helplessly towards him.

“More?” He murmurs against your skin.

“Oh, God,” you whimper, and he lifts his mouth away from your nipple to press a kiss to the skin above your racing heart. “Please, more.”

It feels so good. Taehyung makes you feel so good, as talented and gorgeous as he is, so wonderful. He keeps laving attention on your breasts, hands skimming over the soft skin of your chest and stomach, goosebumps rising in the wake of his trailing fingers, his warm palms.

You can’t look away when he finally pulls back, breathless from the sensation of it all. He settles on his knees, tugs off his hoodie and then his shirt, revealing all the lovely planes of his body that you’ve seen before, but this time, you don’t have to look away. You can look.

And you can touch, too.

You sit up and raise a tentative hand to stroke down his chest, his stomach, that little trail of dark hair that descends into his loose grey sweatpants; your mouth goes dry at the sight. Taehyung watches the way your fingers drag over his skin, growing bolder moment by moment, but still too timid to venture past his waistband, low on his hips as they are. You’ve never had a chance to touch someone like this, to feel the smooth, soft skin under your greedy palms—Taehyung’s so warm, so alive. So human.

You think about the other hands he’s had on his skin. Grasping and greedy, taking and taking. People who didn’t care for him. People he couldn’t say no to. But he’s here with you because he wants to be. He lets you touch him because he wants it.

“Angel?”

You glance up at the sound of the gentle pet name, away from where your hands have been tenderly tracing the lines of his hipbone. “Mm?”

Taehyung’s expression is soft and affectionate. “What are you thinking about?”

“You,” you answer honestly. He leans over to kiss you, and you’re smiling against his mouth when you feel the hand on your shoulder, pressing you down against the mattress again.

Then. His hands are at your waistband. Your breath quickens, but Taehyung’s eyes stay on your face even as your breasts rise and fall, shining with evidence of the touch of his mouth and tongue.

You lift your hips, and Taehyung smiles. Keeps smiling as he strips you, underwear and all, and when your thighs instinctively go to close shut, he catches your knees and keeps your legs open—gentle but firm, swiping his thumbs up and down the side of your knees, a tender touch even as you’re naked in front of him. You see the look on his face, drenched in candlelight, and swallow even as you force your legs to relax.

Then he looks down.

“Oh, God,” he groans, and one of your legs jumps in his grasp at the sound of his voice. Hoarse and deep. Almost unrecognisable. “Oh, angel, look at you.”

You’re so, so wet, so wet it’s embarrassing, so sensitive and responsive to every single one of Taehyung’s touches and kisses. The edges of his hair are spun gold in the candlelight but his eyes are so deep, so dark as he drinks down the sight of you spread out in front of him, wet and wanting and willing. You still want to hide away, cheeks burning, but you can’t look away from him. Can’t look away from how he seems almost pained, brows drawing together as he stares at the shining, flushed lips of your cunt.

“Taehyung.” Your voice shakes. “Taehyung, please.”

You're naked and vulnerable but—but the way he looks at you is so adoring, and you trust him. You trust him.

Just like earlier, his hands cup the back of your thighs. But this time, it’s not to carry you. You twist on the bed when he ends up eye level with your dripping cunt, utterly exposed. Those hands slide up your thighs and under your hips, tilting them up. Your fingers have been resting on the bedspread and tighten in them, bunching in your grasp when Taehyung presses a kiss to the softness of your inner thigh.

One kiss. And then another. And another. His breath is warm as it curls out across your skin. You feel like you’re about to shake out of your body, wanting to pull away, wanting to lean in; wanting more, even when it feels like too much. Overcome with it all, even if you trust Taehyung. Safe under his hands, his lips. All you can think about is how close he is, face only inches away from your most sensitive parts—

Then he turns his head and—

The noise you let out is almost a keen. His mouth is on you, hot and wet, lips and tongue, and you’re writhing, overwhelmed with sensation. He starts slow, balls of your feet digging into Taehyung’s back and toes curling as he mouths at you. Your hips buck, and your hands are tangled in Taehyung’s hair—when did that happen?—as you sob at the feeling of his lips around your clit, unlike anything you’ve ever felt before, but so so so good.

He licks a fat stripe up your entrance and your grip tightens in his hair. He makes a noise when your nails drag across his scalp, almost a growl, face still buried between your legs as he presses his tongue in. You’d worry that he needs to come up for air, but he doesn’t, doesn’t have to stop—keeps licking and kissing and humming, responding to each of the sounds pulling out of your lips. Keeps staring up at you, your eyes locked, the way you can’t look away from the sight of his head between your legs, dark haired and incredible.

You don’t realise you’re speaking, words slipping out of your lips as your hips roll, oh-oh-oh, fuck, God, oh, and Taehyung doesn’t stop. On his knees, he worships you, learning what you like—things you didn’t even know—and does it again, and again, and again. One of his hands slides away from your hips and over your stomach, holding you down, keeping you still, and then the other hand—

He turns his head, presses a kiss to the junction of your thigh. “Okay?”

“Okay,” you answer, shaky and weak. So okay, more than okay.

“Going to finger you now,” Taehyung says, and you feel like you’re going to die.

“Okay,” you say again. “Okay, Taehyung.”

He smiles at you before he puts his mouth back to your clit, sucking, a welcome distraction as—with all the languidness in the world—presses a finger into you.

You’ve fingered yourself before. You’ve got your own toys, vibrators, things that are longer and thicker than just one of Taehyung’s fingers—but this feels so different, out of your control. One finger becomes two, your cunt so wet that the slide in is easy, slow, deep thrusts of those long fingers inside you, and you’re panting, you’re so fucking overwhelmed.

And then he curls those fingers as he laps his tongue over your clit and you almost shout, Taehyung’s name bursting from your lips as he keeps beckoning with those fingers and circling the sensitive nub with his hot, wet tongue. It’s so much, it’s so fucking much, it’s so good and you’ve never felt so good before—

You’re almost blindsided by the orgasm that explodes through you and you come apart with a sound you didn’t realise you were capable of making, a gasping moan that keeps unfurling as Taehyung keeps his mouth on you, feeling each pulse of your cunt as you cum around his fingers, tight-tight-tight. (You miss the way his hips kick into the mattress that the sounds you’re making, how much you tighten around him.) You never thought you’d be so loud, never thought you’d end up all but sobbing as Taehyung eventually leans back, candlelight brushing shining gold over the wetness over his mouth, his chin. Your wetness.

“Oh my God,” you gasp. “Oh, fuck.”

Little jolts of pleasure are still wracking through you, pulsations of pleasure that unfurl in your lower stomach; Taehyung rubs the pad of his thumb across your oversensitive clit and your entire body jumps, your legs going to snap shut as you gasp, only stopped by his body in the way. You realise, then, that his fingers are still curled inside you, and you shiver.

“One more,” he says, and your whole body shakes. “Can I give you one more?”

He still looks reverent, and hungry. Like he wants to devour you. Taehyung is usually so soft, a gentle summer breeze—but right now he’s so intense it might scare you if it was anyone else. But it’s not, it’s Taehyung, and there’s something—there’s something about knowing that he looks like that because of you.

You let your legs fall open, watch how pleased he looks; how grateful. Like he's blessed to be able to do this to you. For you. You’re still so sensitive when he lowers his head again, but he’s slow and patient and coaxing, two fingers becoming three, and—that’s a lot. It’s a lot, but it feels good, Taehyung knowing exactly what to do to make you sob, your legs still hooked over his shoulders as he pulls you along that line between oversensitivity and mind numbing pleasure. This time, when you cum, it’s with three fingers buried deep in your cunt, the flat of his tongue pressed against your clit, back arching as you throw your head back and cry out. Your pussy throbs and it's so dirty, the wet sounds of his fingers thrusting into you, the slick sound of movement as you moan, and moan, and moan.

No one's ever made you cum before. Only you. And now you know what it's like to put your pleasure in someone else's hands, to have them intent on making you feel good, so good, and it leaves you dizzy.

He’s praising you, you note dimly. He’s praising you, how well you’re doing, how good you are for him, and it leaves you feeling warm. You’re panting when Taehyung pulls his fingers out of you, moves so he can brace himself on his elbows and lean in to kiss you. You can taste yourself on his lips and tongue. You can feel his skin against yours, chest to chest, his weight pressing you down and then you can feel—

You let out a noise against his lips. There’s nothing else that can be, that hot weight. You might not have felt it before, but you’re not stupid. That’s Taehyung’s cock, his hard length pressed against you.

“Taehyung,” you murmur.

“Mm.” He brushes his nose against yours, and the wave of affection that crashes through you is so strong it feels like it could pull you under. You didn’t realise that sex could be like this—that lingering shockwaves of pleasure could be skirting through your body as you lay there naked, still aroused and almost overcome, but also feeling so warm and soft and tender, too.

You feel lax after cumming, a little more confident, bolder—and the noise Taehyung makes as you clumsily grasp at him through his sweatpants is incredible. You feel like you could get high on it, the way he sucks in a gasp as his mouth falls open, even if you don’t know what you’re doing as your fingers wrap around cloth and hard heat.

“Please,” you start, then stop. Swallow. “Please, Taehyung.”

You want so much you feel like you could pass out. You want to feel and touch and taste; you want everything you haven’t had a chance to experience yet, want it with Taehyung, someone who you trust. Someone you love. Someone who knows far, far more than you—will always know more—and you want to learn that from him.

“Want you,” you say, and Taehyung looks pained all over again. He wants you, too.

“Fuck.” The word is rough, and you’ve never heard him curse before. The way he says it has something in you singing, as strange as that might be; you don’t think you’re ever going to get over how much you affect Taehyung. “What do you want from me, angel?”

Everything, you think. I want everything.

“Let me see?” is what you say, squeezing your fingers around Taehyung’s length, feeling the way his hips buck into the touch. “Please?”

You never thought that someone taking their clothes off could be artistic. And yet, there’s something about Taehyung moving to stand and stripping off the rest of his clothes that’s completely arresting and beautiful; carnal and holy, all at once. You don’t even realise your mouth is open as you sit up and watch him, moving closer as you drink down the sight, the way he’s naked in front of you.

Taehyung. Naked. Naked and beautiful and hard, and it’s so overwhelming, everything about it, how much you want and how—oh, God, how big and thick he is, obvious even to you, someone with nothing to compare it to. Holy fuck. Should you think that his dick is pretty? Can dicks even be pretty? Taehyung’s is. Of course it is. He’s gorgeous all over. Maybe you’re biased because it’s him, but there’s something about the sight of his hard cock, precome gathering at his slit, that makes your mouth water.

Taehyung goes to say something, but before you can lose your nerve, you move forwards, and whatever he was going to say is lost in the sound of a choked off groan. He tastes like salt and musk, hot under your inexperienced hands and mouth, and you don’t know what you’re doing but the noises he’s making, fuck. You run your tongue up the throb of a vein you can feel on the underside, and all you can think about is how big he is, slow and careful with your teeth and lips as you try your best to do whatever feels good for him.

His noises seem almost frantic but Taehyung’s hands are gentle when they comb through your hair. You look up. There’s a flush on his cheeks—red, not blue, you notice—and you pause, pulling off, suddenly shy after the burst of confidence that had you swallowing his cock down.

“Is this—is this okay?” You’ve still got your fingers wrapped around him, and maybe it’s a little ridiculous to be asking with spit and precome shining on your lips, but Taehyung’s answering smile is so affectionate.

“You’re perfect,” he says, and you know he’s not just talking about your clumsy blowjob. “Do you want to stop?”

You bite your lip and pump his length, which has Taehyung sucking a breath in. “I—what do you want?”

Something flashes through Taehyung’s eyes, and it feels like there’s electricity shooting down your spine before that look disappears. “This is about you, angel,” he says. “We can worry about what I want next time.”

Next time. This is the first time but it’s not the last. Oh, God. God.

Taehyung takes advantage of your distraction and hikes you up and away from the edge of the bed. It leaves you breathless, knowing how strong he is, how easily he can move you, even if he’s gentle-gentle-gentle. He settles in the cradle of your hips, and he’s so close, naked body flush with yours, covering you. His cock is so close—he just has to shift a little, just a little, and—well.

Before that, though, there’s something you need to know.

“Taehyung?” Your voice shakes but you have to ask.

“Yes?”

“Is this. Um. Does this feel good for you, too?”

You’re always aware of the fact Taehyung is an android, even if he looks and feels and is human, too. (It doesn’t matter that he’s made of metal and thirium and circuitry. He’s human.) You lift a hand and thumb at the soft skin of his temple, where his LED used to sit; you don’t know how to communicate that you love him regardless, that it doesn’t matter to you if he's a man or robot. But you’ve wondered—you know Taehyung was built to pleasure humans. Even if he’s been reacting, making noises, looks for all intents and purposes that he is enjoying this—what if it’s all programming? What if he’s just doing this because he thinks it’s something you want?

He leans into your touch. “Angel.” It sounds like the word is being scraped out of him, hoarse and deep, all dark heat. “It feels good. You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this.”

He rolls his hips almost imperceptibly, but you’re hyperaware of every motion, how close you are. Your breath stutters in your throat.

"I want you to feel good," he says. "I've wanted to feel you and taste you for so long. I want to learn everything about your body. I want to know what you feel like around me. Under me. On top of me. You make me feel so fucking good, you don't even know," and, oh, fuck, those words go right through you, settle deep in your belly, leave you breathless. Taehyung sucks at your pulse point and you melt, even as your skin feels like it's burning, so hot, every part of you so hot, so ready for him.

Taehyung’s big enough that you’re worried about how he’s going to fit, even if you’re slick and wet and so, so turned on—you know about the importance of lube, used it often enough by yourself, but when you mention it to Taehyung he just smiles.

“Don’t forget that I’m a sex android,” he says, and before you can ask exactly what he means by that, you feel the tip of his cock at your folds and the question dies on your tongue.

“Please,” is what leaves your lips. “Please, please, please.”

“Anything you want,” he says, and eases his hips forwards.

Slow, and hard, and wet, the head of Taehyung’s cock starts to press into you. You grab at his back, digging your fingers in; it doesn’t hurt, not exactly, a not-quite-pain as he pushes in—but it’s a lot, even if the slide is smooth, so smooth, from your own wetness and the slickness that covers Taehyung’s cock. Your eyes are wide and your lips are parted and it feels—astonishing, the way you can feel yourself open up for him, the way it feels like he’s filling every part of you, throbbing heat.

“Oh, oh God,” you gasp.

Taehyung’s forehead is pressed to yours, the loose locks of his dark hair framing his face as he waits, hips snug with yours. You shiver and move your hips a little, entire body seizing at the sensation of him shifting inside you. It's so new and alien, having someone nestled inside you, against you, so close in every sense of the term, above you, around you, inside you—but it feels… good.

And when he moves, it’s so, so slow. Slow and smooth as he works you open, even if you feel so tight around him. You drag your nails down his shoulder blades when he moves a little faster, a little roll of the hips that has you gasping all over again.

“More,” you say, and he gives you more.

You feel so full. You feel full of Taehyung, inside and out—the way his body is still pressing you down, skin on skin, how hot he is.

They call it making love, and it’s not until now that you really understand what that means—how you can feel Taehyung’s soft and tender affection in his every motion, read it in every shift of his body, the lines of his face, his lips; the way his eyes are dark but full of wonder, shining with love for you, pleasure singing through every inch of you, centred around Taehyung, Taehyung, Taehyung.

Each noise that falls from his lips is an echo of that love. Even when he leans back and takes you with him—settles on his knees, pulls your hips from the mattress to stay connected to you as your shoulder blades dig into the mattress, his cock in your cunt—there’s tenderness there, even if you’re both chasing mutual lines of pleasure. You feel almost dazed, dizzy with love and arousal, reaching out for him, and he catches your hand. The other stays at your waist, guiding you onto him, again and again, each roll of hips into yours.

“Taehyung,” you gasp, voice breaking on his name when he thrusts into you. He’s been increasing the pace, faster and sharper, harder, and it’s so-so-so much, so good. “I’m—Taehyung, I’m close, I wanna cum again, pleasepleaseplease—”

He lets go of your hand and then he’s thumbing at your clit and you’re cumming harder than you’ve ever cum in your life, Taehyung’s cock still hard and insistent inside you as you ride out your orgasm, pulsing around him. You’re gasping and making noises like you’re falling apart, and there’s something desperate in Taehyung’s eyes, something dark and wanton.

“Angel, I’m going to cum soon,” he says, and you moan in response, hazy. “Do you want me to pull out?”

You shake your head no. You want to know what it feels like, to have Taehyung lose himself inside you. You’re about to reach out for him when he hooks his hands under your knees and hitches your legs up—you suck in a sharp breath as he starts to move again, almost bent in two, his face so close to yours. It's not rough but something about Taehyung taking control like that has you baring your throat, arching your back and throwing your head back. The hold he has on you is firm, and you feel how it tightens as his thrusts speed up, and then, fuck—

When Taehyung cums it’s around the gasp of your name, a hitching sound as he empties himself inside you, throbbing and hot. You let out an answering sound, the two of you locked together until Taehyung pulls out, careful and slow; you feel like a sweaty mess, empty without him inside you, but then his hands are so carefully cupping your face and he’s kissing you over and over and over. It leaves you feeling breathless, all those little kisses, struggling for air by the time you part, every part of you lax under his loving touch.

“How are you feeling?” Taehyung murmurs, soft and sweet.

“Good,” you murmur back. And then your nose crinkles. “Sweaty.”

Taehyung laughs, quiet and low. You turn your face into the crook of his neck, hiding your smile as you breathe him in. You do feel sweaty, and there’s an ache settling inside you, but it’s a good ache. A glowing ache, an unfamiliar one, but one that you know you'll get to feel again, with Taehyung.

You’ve just leaned back to take him in all over again, painted syrupy sweet in the golden candlelight—when the lights suddenly turn back on. It floods your eyes and you make a noise of surprised pain as you squint against the sudden brightness, but then you start to giggle, shock melting into laughter.

When your laughter dies you realise Taehyung’s been watching you. The room is full of shining light now, and you realise you’re still naked, entire body shaking as you’ve been giggling. You’d feel embarrassed about your nakedness if you hadn’t just shared yourself with him, bared yourself in ways that are more than skin deep. There’s an instinctual part of you that wants to cover up now that there’s nowhere to hide, no flickering shadows to cover up the parts of your body that you don’t like, the flaws you don’t want Taehyung to see. But he just looks fond, fond, fond, love and affection dripping off him as he watches the way you smile shyly up at him.

“Hi,” you say.

“Hi,” he says, and smiles back, wide and bright.

You love him. You love him, and he loves you, and you trust that love. As hard as it might be to believe, you trust that this is what he wants—that you’re what he wants.

“Do you want me to carry you to the shower?” he asks, and you can’t help but laugh again, warm through and through, how he’s still taking care of you.

“Not yet,” you say.

You end up against his chest, wrapped close. You’ve laid your head in his lap countless times, but he’s never been on his back before, never had his arms around you like he doesn’t want to let go. Taehyung might not have a heart, but the thirium pump nestled in his chest beats steady as you stay nestled against his side.

You’re drawing little circles on his skin with your fingers when he catches that hand and lifts it to his mouth, presses a tender kiss to your fingertips.

“I love you,” he says.

You feel like liquid sunlight, shining happiness as you melt, melt, melt. And the feeling stays, body filled with it, even after Taehyung coaxes you out of bed and into the shower to wash the sweat off your body; when he drags a soapy loofah over your back you can’t help but laugh, so in love, so loved.

And when you fall asleep, it’s not with your head on Taehyung’s thigh. It’s with his arms around you, his chest to your back, his body curved around you. You don’t want tonight to end, but you also can’t wait for tomorrow, knowing that it’s another day with him, with Taehyung, your Taehyung. You never thought that love would be like this, never thought that you’d feel love like this, cared for and protected and loved, loved, loved.

“Not staying late?”

You pause in the process of shoving everything into your bag. Hoseok is leaning against your desk, a smile curling at his lips as he raises his eyebrows at you, almost suggestive.

“Nah, I’ve got a dinner to get to,” you say.

“You seem a lot happier lately,” Hoseok comments, and when you don’t fall for the bait, he wiggles his eyebrows. “The girls think that you’ve got a secret boyfriend that you’re too shy to tell anyone about.”

Taehyung still greets you every day when you get home. But now, every greeting is punctuated with a kiss—and sometimes a little more. When you stop to think about it, it’s startling, this thing that Taehyung’s taught you. That the simplest of things can turn into something more, love edged with lust, that it’s all part and parcel of loving someone, being with them, being comfortable with them. Just the other day you’d been reading on the sofa, and then Taehyung’s fingers had curved over your thigh and the tablet had fallen from your hands—

Hoseok clicks his fingers in front of your face. “You’re zoning out again,” he says.

“I am not,” you say, zoning back in. “I was thinking about if I needed to buy any food on the way home.”

“To feed that secret boyfriend of yours?” Hoseok says, and you laugh in his face.

“Definitely not to feed the rumour mill,” you say. Hoseok pouts but it’s good natured, and he waves you off with a smile, letting you leave the office without trapping you in an interrogation for the gossip you’re certain your coworkers are hungry for.

It’s your turn to cook for Yoongi and Seokjin, so you’ve got to get home to help Taehyung. Both men had been spectacularly unsurprised when they’d found out about the two of you. Yoongi had remained calm as Seokjin crowed in delight, proclaiming I knew it, I knew that’s why you were avoiding Taehyung.

“Feel lucky, Y/n,” Yoongi had said. “At least Taehyung has a sense of decorum and shame.”

“I think it’s a shame that my boyfriend is such a party pooper,” Jin had said. “I demand a dinner party! To celebrate your new relationship! Oh, I’m going to bake the biggest cake.”

“Oh my God,” you’d said, and Taehyung had just smiled.

The truth is that you’re grateful for your neighbours and their support, grateful for their friendship. Just because Taehyung looks human doesn’t mean that you don’t worry about him, worry that someone might discover that he’s a deviant; Jin’s slipped under the radar for long enough, and you hope it’s the same for Tae, too. And yet you can’t help but think about it, think about the present, the future, how your lives are going to unfold as time goes by.

When the door swings open to your apartment, though, that’s the last thing on your mind. All that’s on your mind is Taehyung, Taehyung, Taehyung, your love appearing just as you’ve kicked your shoes off, all bright pink hair and dark eyes and welcoming hands.

“Taehyung,” you say, warm and happy.

“Hi,” he says, smiling so brightly, and then he kisses you.

You’re never going to get tired of kissing Taehyung; never going to get tired of how his mouth fits against yours, so perfect and sweet. But then he crowds you against the wall, swallowing down your gasp before kissing down your neck, running his teeth so gently across your skin.

“Missed you,” he murmurs, words dripping hot and slow. “Been thinking about you.”

“Taehyung,” you breathe. “Taehyung, we need to cook dinner.”

“We have time,” he says, and when he picks you up, you don’t protest. You go easily, wrapping your arms and legs around him, heat already gathering in your stomach as he walks the familiar path to your bedroom.

You have time: today, tomorrow, and every day after that. You have time with Taehyung, to learn with him, to love him. To be loved back. You don’t know what’s coming on the horizon, what the future holds—but then again, you never have.

There’s one thing you know now, though. No matter what happens, Taehyung will be at your side, and you’ll be at his. He wants you, and he loves you. You want him, and you love him.

“I love you,” you murmur, and Taehyung kisses the words off your lips, lets the promise of your love settle inside him, warm and soft and safe.

“I love you too,” he says, and then you’re too busy to say anything, after that.

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