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copiousloverofcopia · 3 months

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💖✨💗Happy Lupercalia Ghesties!💗✨💖

In honor of the holiday, I am sharing my trade fic for the incredibly talented and sweet @sirlsplayland featuring Secondo and his beloved Marzanna (her OC).

Thank you so much for once again wanting me to write for you ghestie! I really appreciate all your support!

Happy Valentine's Day everyone!!!

Commissions are still open! See pinned post for details!

(if you want to read more stories with Marzanna and Secondo please see my pinned post under Secondo's section!)

Good Intentions

Secondo is about to take a huge leap, asking his beloved Marzanna to become his Prime Mover. Though his brothers want the best for him, their concerns for his wellbeing lead them and Secondo into trouble.

Also available HERE on AO3!

Read below the cut!

It was finally Uno night. Not unlike any other evening spent at the Abbey, except that the Emeritus brothers would find themselves all huddled together in the small clergy breakroom. Sitting around the old kitchen table as Primo poured drinks into glasses and Copia dealt out the cards. Readying themselves for a boy’s night, ready for the ritualistic banter to begin. All of them, usually in good spirits—for the most part.

Tonight was a bit different as Terzo entered the room in a slump. Plopping down into his chair like a sack of potatoes. Copia and Secondo, both raising their eyebrows at him. Watching as he let out a big sigh, reaching for his usual amaretto sour. Freshly poured by Primo.

“You’ve looked better.” chuckled Copia. Terzo, shooting him a look. His eyes scrunched up as he mocked Copia’s comment under his breath. Taking a swig of his drink before making his rebuttal.

“You’d look this way too stronzo if you were up all night with a screaming bambino and then had to be on confession duty all day.” he groaned, wiping his mouth of the escaped liquid before gesturing to Primo to hurry up and deal him in.

“You know if you’d stop having them every other year, you might be able to actually get some sleep fratellino.” Primo shrugged, tapping his cards on the table to even out the stack. The comment had struck a nerve, but Terzo knew all too well how true the observation was.

“We weren’t sure you were going to make it down…glad you did” Copia smiled, bouncing his leg as he waited for the game to begin. Finally Primo placed down the first card, a red 2 on the table.

“Yeah… yeah.” Terzo said, shaking his head as he placed down his own card. It was about then he noticed something peculiar. In all the comments and snark being thrown back and forth between them, there was a distinctive thing missing. A notable lack of participation by the one man who was usually all too happy to participate—Secondo.

He was sitting in his usual spot, like always. A whiskey in hand, like always. But his mind was clearly someplace else. Silent as the rest of them went about the game and pointed conversation. Only half heartedly paying attention to things to know when it was his turn.

“Hey…what's up with you?” Terzo asked him. The room of men, growing quiet as they all waited for his response. At first he didn’t even notice, his thoughts heavy with his decision. Only noticing when he felt it was time to place down his card that all eyes had fallen on him.

“It’s—It’s nothing, just play your damn turn.” he replied, waving his hand to hurry them on.

“Io la chiamo una stronzata.” Terzo jabbed. Secondo sending him a look of annoyance. He had no right too however, knowing all along they were right. He was absolutely distracted—by Marzanna.

It had been some time now since they first met. Secondo, recalling fondly that fateful day in the greenhouse when he had a gripe about Sister Imperator ready on his lips and a mind to seek out his brother’s advice.

It was then that he saw her—tending to Primo’s garden in his stead. Reserved and demure, so delicate in her task. It was clear to anyone who met her that she had a beautiful, kind heart. One that compared only to the beauty of her face. Her white streaked hair and delicate features, setting her apart from all the other sisters around her.

When their eyes locked together, Secondo could feel the warmth of her soul. She was unafraid to be herself with him and in that first moment—he knew. She made him feel young again, the way he did before the years of loneliness had withered down his heart. Her own calm demeanor, lending itself to help soft him. The bitterness of the past left behind him until there was nothing in its place but his feelings for her.

“You have been unusually quiet this evening Secondo.” Copia chimed in, setting down his card.

“If you all must know, I have made some decisions.” Secondo replied, ready to let out the secret he had been holding within himself. His fingertip, tracing the edge of his hand of cards as prepared the words to leave him.

“Oh?” asked Primo, almost certain he already knew.

“I am going to ask Marzanna to be my Prime Mover.” he explained.

“Pah! Sei serio?” Terzo asked, spitting out his drink. Choking a bit as Copia patted on his back. The two of them, in shock as Primo sat with a smug, assured smile.

“I had a feeling it would come to this.” he laughed.

“You smug bastard, how did you know?” Terzo asked. Primo shrugged again, he always seemed to know what was going on before anyone else. A fact which infuriated Terzo and Secondo most of the time.

“Forgive us Secondo… it's just well out of all of us. I would not expect you to take a Prime Mover.” Copia explained.

“Yeah, you don’t even like kids.” Terzo whined, standing up from the table in protest.

“I like kids.” Secondo quickly replied, raising up to meet with his brother’s eyes.

“You don’t like mine!” Terzo exclaimed, feeling a little insulted. Secondo rolled his eyes, unamused with his brother’s grumbling.

“That's not true I—”

“Va bene bambini, calmiamoci tutti.” Primo laughed gently pressing against Terzo and Secondo’s chest to settle them back down. “I am happy for you fratello.”

“Thank you.” Secondo smiled, thankful at least one of them was on his side.

“Old man, are you sure?” Terzo asked him. Both him and Copia, looking worried for him. Secondo smiled again, the look on his face was full of sincerity.

“I have never been more sure of anything in my life. What do you all have against Marzanna anyway?” he groaned.

“Oh no, it's not that…well maybe a bit Secondo. We just…well we don’t wanna see you hurt.” Copia explained, Terzo nodding along with him.

“I can assure you both Marzanna is a fine woman and perfectly suited to him.” Primo told them.

“We just don’t want to see your hurt again Secondo… that's all.” Copia said, trying to reason with him but it was too late.

“Voi due non sapete di cosa state parlando. Idioti.” Secondo hissed before storming out of the breakroom, leaving his three brothers behind.

The next day Terzo was sitting in his office, drinking his espresso after another night of unrest when there was a knock. He sighed as he sat down his cup, getting up to reluctantly greet whomever was at the door. Opening it up to find Copia staring back at him.

“Buongiorno.” Copia smiled, shutting the door behind him. Terzo was already making his way back to the desk.

“Is it?” he asked him, the bags under his eyes speaking volumes for his state of being.

“The bambini keeping you up all night again?” Copia laughed, Terzo squinted his eyes at him and waved him to go sit down.

“What do you want, Copia?” he asked, waiting for him to get on with it. The former cardinal brought himself to sit in the chair opposite Terzo. Crossing one leg over the other and nervously bouncing it as he began his thought..

“I wanted to ask you, you know about all this Prime Mover stuff with Secondo…”

“What of it? If you don’t mind, I have another meeting in 20 minutes with Signora Anastasia about Mena’s behavior. She’s been biting people in her class again.” Terzo cringed, shaking his head and letting out a sigh. His mind, never far away from his own budding family. Especially when it came to the antics of his eldest daughter.

“Oh again?” Copia winced, knowing that the whole Ministry was in for it when it came to that child.

“Yes again… now what is it?” Terzo asked.

“Mi dispiace… I just wanted to ask what Alessandra thinks of it? You know since they are friends.” Copia continued, curious of what Terzo’s own Prime Mover thought about Secondo’s choice of a mate.

“She seems all for it actually. Not surprised, they are pretty close. Alé even told me that someone like Marzanna would be good for him. Though she did also tell me something I found to be interesting last night.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah… seems our would-be Prime Mover has been spending an awful lot of evenings lately in the Ghoul’s den.” he explained, a note of suspicion in his tone.

“Ghouls Den? Why?” Copia asked confusedly.

“Good question, that I don’t know and neither did Alé… said she wasn’t going to pry. But she didn’t say anything about you and I, not looking into it.” Terzo said, waiting for Copia to take the lead.

“Are you saying we should follow her in the Ghoul’s den and see what she’s up to?”

“You see, now that sounds like a good idea, old man. I’ll meet you in the refectory after dark—it’s a date.” Terzo laughed as he tapped Copia’s shoulder before heading out the door. Leaving Copia dumbfounded on just how easily he was conned into agreeing to it.

After dinner service, Terzo waited at the entryway to the refectory for Copia. Nodding and smiling at the odd sibling or ghoul passing by as he waited. Finally, when Copia came up to meet him, he was sipping the remains of his juice box. Terzo, rolling his eyes before motioning for him to turn around and set his sights on Marzanna.

“Ready?” Terzo asked him, watching Marzanna in the distance talking to Cumulus in the hall.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” Copia responded when he felt a cold chill run down his spine. Turning around to see Secondo staring him down.

“And just what are the two of you up to?” he asked, both Terzo and Copia scrambling to come up with some reasonable excuse. Failing pitifully as they began to blurt out gibberish until Terzo finally took a moment to collect his thoughts.

“Us? What about you? What’s got you all sneaking up on us?” he asked. Secondo uncrossed his arms and let out a sigh. Both Copia and Terzo, now realizing they could relax.

“I was just coming to tell you both I was a bit out of line last night.”

“Oh?” Terzo asked snidely.

“Yes, you stronzo, but then I come over and catch you spying on Marzanna.” Secondo groaned, “Why is it that the two of you are so suspicious of her?”

“We just want to make sure she’s right for you…did you know she's been spending a lot of time with the ghouls lately?” Terzo asked him. Copia, giving him the side eye as he let out his admission. Wishing that they had kept things to themselves before involving Secondo. It was too late now, all three of them were in on the mission.

“I did not.” Secondo said, furrowing his brow. He had noticed that Marzanna had been acting strange the past couple of weeks. Wondering if he had to do with all the Lupercalian celebrations. Secondo was never one for grand gestures of affection—until Marz. Maybe she was needing more from him. Secondo hoping that she wasn’t getting something from the ghouls she couldn’t get from him. Frightened by the alternatives.

“Ah we should get going…seems she is on the move.” Copia commented as the three of them ducked behind the entryway. Peering around the corner to see Marz and Cumulus heading towards the Ghoul’s wing. All of them carefully, following behind, just close enough to keep up. Praying they wouldn’t be noticed.

When Marzanna and Cumulus arrived at the den, Sunshine, Cirrus, Mountain, Aurora, and Earth were waiting for them in the common room. Cumulus plopped down on the sofa, the TV ready and mountains of popcorn freshly popped was just waiting to be munched on for their evening ritual. Movies with the ghouls. A nightly tradition that had been helping Marz cope with her troubles.

“Marz, Luss… what are we watching tonight!” Aurora asked.

“Shaun of the Dead.” Cumulus said, clicking the remote to start up the old DVD player.

“Oh, come on. Didn’t we just watch that one?” Mountain protested.

“No. We watched Dawn of the Dead… definitely not the same thing.” Cirrus explained.

“Exactly.” Cumulus said, rolling her eyes as Marz and Aurora couldn’t help, but let out a chuckle. Marz was always so much more relaxed around them. The ghouls were a tight knit group and growing up in the Warsaw chapter, Marz was taken care of by them—more specifically the ghoulettes.

She didn't have a family of her own. They were the closest thing to it, like the siblings she never had. She needed them now more than ever. Overwhelmed with the feeling of suspicion and fear.

Scared that Secondo was beginning to question continuing their relationship. Marzanna, growing more worried as the days passed that Secondo wanted to break things off. Only making the situation worse for the things that remained still unsaid between them. Despite it all, she knew she still loved him and she wanted nothing more than for him to love her back.

“I don’t care what we watch honestly, I’m just glad you all are ok with me crashing.” Marz laughed, curling up on the sofa. Nuzzled her head on Cumulus’s lap as she began to relax. The ghoulette, running her fingers through her hair.

“Works for us. Popcorn?” Earth asked, ready to pass the large bowl, full of buttery popped kernels, Marz’s way.

“Ah…yeah maybe not tonight.” Marz said, waving her hand in protest.

“Your stomach, still giving you the icks?” Cumulus asked her, stopping her petting a moment in concern.

“Seems that way, though I suppose it's par for the course.” she replied, settling back down again just as the opening credits began.

“You're gonna have to figure out a way to tell him Marz… it's not gonna go away.” Cumulus reminded her. Pressing her lips into a smile before her friend replied.

“I know Luss. I know.”

The door to the ghoul common room was just down the hall as Copia, Terzo, and Secondo stared at it from atop the stairs. Each of them carefully timing their footfalls. Paying careful attention to their surroundings as they approached. All three men, completely overcome with fear—and all for different reasons.

Terzo was hoping he wouldn't get caught spying by Alessandra, Copia worried that Secondo would become enraged and take it out on them if something was going on with Marz, and Secondo—Secondo had begun to fear that maybe things between him and Marzanna were too good to be true.

When they reached the door, they argued in whispers about who would peek in. Finally deciding on Terzo—mostly so because he was the nosiest of the three. He took a moment to swallow back his apprehension and carefully brought his eyes to the crack in the doorway. Practically jumping out of his skin when he felt the weight of a hand tapping at his shoulder.

“And just what do you think you are doing stronzo?” a familiar deep voice asked. Terzo, turning back around to see Alessandra and Primo staring at the three of them. Both holding a look of disappointment on their faces.

“I can’t believe you… and you got Copia and Secondo to go in on your foolishness too?” Alé asked, shaking her head and crossing her arms over her chest.

“Alessandra really—” Secondo started, but immediately stopped when Alé whipped a look over to him. Telling him to stay out of it.

“Amore, it’s not what you think I–” Terzo began before Alé cut him off.

“Oh, so you aren’t spying on Marzanna to see what she’s doing in the ghoul’s common room?”

“Ok…it's exactly what it looks like, but Alé the man needs to know if he’s gonna ask her to…” Terzo started once more when they all began to hear the sounds of moaning and groaning from just beyond the door.

“Oh no it couldn’t be.” Copia said, hardly believing his ears. Without a second thought Terzo pushed open the door revealing Marz and the ghouls. All of them huddled together on the sofa in the dark while watching a scary movie.

“Unholy fuck!” Cumulus yelped as she jumped up off the sofa. Popcorn flying in the air as the lot of them all panicked at the sudden unexpected intrusion. Instantly Terzo, Secondo, and Copia felt horrible. What they had been worried was a torrid affair, turned out to be nothing more than a movie night with a group of friends.

Secondo now was concerned more than ever that with his indiscretion, Marz would certainly refuse him. Knowing how he hadn’t trusted her, spying on her like she was some common harlot who would disgrace him and the Emeritus name. It was clear he had made a mistake. Wondering to himself if that mistake would cost him everything.

“Sec… what are you doing here?” Marz asked, her hand over her mouth and heart still pounding inside her chest. Coming down fast from the heights of fight or flight. Secondo looked absolutely distraught—ashamed even.

“It wasn’t his fault, sorella, you see I may have… well we were just trying to help and…” Terzo said, trying to explain.

“He may have put his foot in his mouth and spoke on matters he had no right to speak on.” Primo said for him. Terzo, nodding his head in response. The ghouls remained quiet, Mountain and Earth watching as they ate the popcorn. Enjoying the drama unfold just as if they were still watching a movie.

“I don’t understand. Were you spying on me?” Marz asked him, looking into his eyes. Her mind, still swirling in confusion and worry.

“Yes we were but—” Copia began nervously explaining before Secondo placed his hand over his chest. Stopping him from continuing on.

“I—I was afraid that you might have been keeping things from me. I let myself be convinced of the possibility…and for that amore I am so deeply sorry.” Secondo apologized. Marz began looking down at her feet. Knowing that she was hiding something—-just not what they had been thinking.

“Oh Secondo I—” she began, sniffling back as she tried to stop herself from crying.

“No Marzanna, don’t… I hope you can forgive me. It’s just that I have been wanting to ask you something for some time now and… and I think the anxiety of what you may answer has been haunting me. So much so that I let it drive me to think you might be hiding things from me. Or maybe it was my way of trying to protect myself from pain again, but I know now that it only makes me hurt even more to think of a life without you.” Secondo confessed, pouring his heart out to Marz as the rest of the room fell quiet.

“What are you saying?” she asked, the tears unable to stop themselves from beading up in the corners of her eyes. Marz, nervously wringing her habit in her hands as she trembled.

“What I am saying is—Marzanna, I love you more than I have ever loved anyone else…” Secondo began, dropping down his knees before her.

“Oh my—” Marz said as he took her hand in his and stared up into her eyes.

“My heart has been wounded before and I have been afraid to love, but you—you have shown me what true love really is. What it means to love someone and to have them love you. I wake up every day thanking Lucifer that he has brought you into my life. Even from that first moment in the garden I felt it, there was something different about you. Something I never want to be without. I love you Marzanna and I want to spend the rest of my life proving that to you. I want you to be my Prime Mover. For our love to manifest itself in physical form—for you and I to have a child. I want it all—and I want it with you.” Secondo confessed, laying bare his soul. His own eyes pricked and stinging with tears. Vulnerable in front of her and everyone else, a true testament for just how deep his love was for her.

“Oh Secondo, do you really mean it?” Marz asked him, noting Cumulus and Aurora off to the side practically chomping at the bit for her to tell him her own confession.

“I do, will you have me? Will you do me the honor of spending the rest of your days by my side—will you carry our child?”

“I—I have something I need to tell you.” Marz said, Secondo becoming instantly on edge for what may come next.

“I’m pregnant.” she said, with her whole chest. Her eyes closed as the tears came streaming down her cheeks. Secondo, rising up to his feet. Pulling Marzanna up in his arms. Spinning her around in pure joy as he kissed her deeply.

“Is it true amore?” he asked, Marz happily nodding her head and kissing him once more. Both of them, crying and smiling against each other’s lips.

“Oh shit… that was fast.” Terzo said, breaking the silence of the room. Alé, giving him a slap to the chest as she rolled her eyes. Primo, shaking his head knowing that he, along with the ghouls, had already known for weeks about Marzanna’s pregnancy.

“That's why she’s been hanging out with us a lot… trying to figure out a way to tell you. We picked up on it right away.” Aurora beamed.

“Oh, so that explains it then.” Copia said, putting it all together. Secondo finally set Marzanna’s feet back down on the floor. Both of them, stupidly smiling at one another. Like a pair of highschool lovers, starry eyed and overcome, when Secondo placed a gentle hand to her belly.

“How long have you known?” he smiled.

“For sometime now.” she admitted, smiling back.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner? We could have saved ourselves from all this mess.” Secondo said, chuckling a bit as his fingertips grazed the spot just above where his child slumbered inside her.

“I meant too, but I wasn’t sure how or when. Why didn’t you tell me you wanted me to be your Prime Mover?”

“I was worried I would get hurt again… but that is in the past now. I am ready for the future.”

“And this whole thing with them?” Marzanna laughed, motioning over to a very guilty looking Copia and Terzo.

“Don't mind them amore, they were just trying to help and well you know what they say about the road to Hell. it’s paved with—” Secondo began, hugging Marzanna before she finished his thought.

“Good intentions.” she smiled, kissing him once more.

Notes:

Sei serio?- Are you serious?

Va bene bambini, calmiamoci tutti- Alright children, let's all calm down.

Voi due non sapete di cosa state parlando. Idioti.- You two don’t know what youre talking about. Idiots.

Mi dispiace- I'm sorry

#thank you ghestie!#happy valentines day #valentines day 2024 #the band ghost #ghost #ren writes #secondo x marz #secondo x marzanna #secondo x oc #secondo #papa ii #papa emeritus ii #fic #ghost fanfic #ghost fanfiction #the band ghost fic #the band ghost fanfic #the band ghost fanfiction

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nacricissa · 2 months

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9 people you want to know better

Huge thanks to @squarebracket-trick for tagging me with only small amounts of sarcasm per my request to be included in the fun!

Currently Reading: The Code Breaker: Jennifer Doudna, Gene Editing and the Future of the Human Race, by Walter Isaacson. I think this is the same book I was reading the last time I was tagged in this game. I read nonfiction slowly.

Last song I listened to: Spotify seems to believe it was The Chain by Fleetwood Mac and I have no evidence to contradict that.

Currently Watching: I am on Season 8 of Smallville, which I have been thoroughly enjoying. It is very strange to watch TV from that era though, because the way computers are treated is truly hilariously wrong.

Current Fic I'm reading: I love that this implies I could stop reading in the middle of a fic. I woke up at 1:30 pm today because last night I finished reading Light As A Feather (Heavy As The Burden I Carry) by @havenoffandoms and @creativwit. It's heavy reading (ED TW), but masterfully done.

Current Obsession: I have made an infinite mana deck in standard (uh I play Magic: The Gathering, if you don't, apologies for the seemingly random set of words I'm about to spew). It's an Agatha's Soul Cauldron deck (Sleep-cursed faerie+ Kami of Whispered Hopes) though it's easier to assemble the win using Patchwork Crawler, even though it's more mana intensive because then you can search all the parts with Fauna Shaman. The win is with Triskadecaphile, either on board drawing to the alternate win con, or if you have an untappable Fauna Shaman, you can search for Ulvenwald Oddity with the first creature you draw, then transform it to give everything haste and win with combat damage on the spot. The interaction package is mostly creatures because Fauna Shaman, Malevolent Hermit, Tishana's Tidebinder and Colossal Skyturtle. Tishana's is especially useful when trying to win when an opponent has Sheoldred on board, you can Fauna Shaman it up if you draw a creature before you run out of life.

Favourite Colour: Lavender and Indigo. Really, the colour scheme of my pfp is my favourite colours, I had it comissioned for a reason.

Spicy, Sweet, Savory or Salty: Big fan of the savory.

Relationship Status: Not really looking for romance, in QPR with best friend.

Last thing I googled: Well now it's the fic I read last night cause I wanted to find the link, uh before that? I was trying to find this post, as if search is an effective way to locate things you're looking for on Tumblr.

Song stuck in my head: Well now it's Mr Blue Sky by Electric Light Orchestra because while looking for the post to link for the last question I saw a post that contained the lyrics... Before that probably John Williams is the Man.

Favourite Food: It's a one-pan thing with chicken, broccoli, red peppers, minute rice and a sauce made of brocoli cheese soup and chicken broth. It takes maybe fifteen minutes to cook after you've cut everything up, it's good hot or cold, it reheats well, truly a masterful thing and I only have to wash one pan when I'm done!

Dream Trip: I intend to tour Cascadia with my best friend. We might even go to visit the Quileute reserve (that beach looks great) give them the tourism bucks they deserve for having their legends taxidermized like that.

Tagging @magic-is-something-we-create, @lesorciercanadien, @neural-cactus-is-lonely, @bargainbincheese, @wonder-stuck, @chauceryfairytales, @a-had-matter, @threebooksoneplot and @mk-writes-stuff if you'd care to answer some or all of these questions about your fine selves.

#tag game #9 people you want to know better

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sukirichi · 3 years

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closer | gojo satoru x reader

a/n: aaah my first ask and it’s a request! thanks so much this is so kind and sweet of you 🥺 and here it is! I’m not sure if it’s exactly what you wanted but I hope you like it anyway!

summary: in which Gojo has the need to be closer to you after a long day of hard work

pairings: jealous! Gojo x reader

warnings: none, other than this isn’t proofread! (This is just a fluffy domestic short fic!)

masterlist !

The best part about being the strongest jujutsu sorcerer isn’t the power (although Gojo basks in that too) but rather the fact that he allows himself to completely tear his walls down and be putty in your hands once he comes home from work.

Gojo would never say it out loud that the best part of his days is waking up next to you, pressing kisses in your still sleepy face and you whining for five more minutes, then watching as you wobble like a penguin to the shower so you can start your day. Although he doesn’t really ask much from you, his heart still swells every time you make him a sandwich, kiss it and claim that it’s “made with love” before he proudly shows off his ‘breakfast’ of the day to his students.

Even in work, he still thinks of you. It’s quite impossible for this man to stop thinking of you; you and him never left that honeymoon phase even after two years of marriage and a much longer time of dating.

He could be exorcising a curse then get distracted afterwards after seeing an Italian restaurant that he just knows you’ll love. Next thing you know, Gojo flicks his wrist and exorcises the curse in a flash before hopping into that restaurant to look at the menu. Loving is knowing; Gojo takes the time to see if the restaurant would be respectful of your allergies every time before booking reservations.

It’s no secret that this man is completely enamoured with you, if his sappy good morning kisses accompanied with light, teasing touches down your legs is not an indication already. Gojo is confident and feels safe in your relationship and he’s never the type to get jealous because Gojo is Gojo – who else would be better than him for you?

Or at least that’s what he used to believe, until he comes home with a bag of pumpkin spice bread for you, arms wide open and a “Darling~” about to leave his lips when he sees your current predicament.

Nanami is leaning against one of the chairs in your cafe downstairs from your home, the usual stoic man’s lips and cheekbones slightly raised in laughter as you tell him something about your day. Gojo can’t exactly understand the worse falling from your lips because he’s too focused on the way you’re leaning forward, eyes absolutely crinkled into half-moons while you share a strawberry tart with him. Gojo sees the cups of tea have already been emptied, meaning Nanami has been here for a much longer time than he is welcomed.

Gojo clenches his jaw. He’s told you many times you should get a bell so you’d know when a customer comes in, but now he’s thankful you’re stubborn and refused to have one because he can hide in one of the propped up tables and chairs hidden in the darkness.

He can’t help the sigh he releases. He’s late – like he always is.

You’re a regular human who isn’t able to see curses. You’ve only ever known about their existence ever since you started dating Gojo, but other than that, you’re completely unaware of how these things work. It doesn’t bother Gojo. In fact, he quite likes that he can be just a regular man around you, and he basks in the comfort of not having to worry about your safety if ever you were also like him.

He met you when you were just still a barista who helped your boss bake from time to time. Gojo was only a student then who hopped from one cafe to another in search of the best delicacy, but he got more than what he bargained from when he met the fresh-faced and bubbly young woman standing behind the counter whose smile was sweeter than the most sugary dessert you’ve ever made.

As the two of you grew older, Gojo supported you in building your own cafe since you’re so passionate about it and it’s been your dream since childhood.

He still remembers how you’d spend hours in the kitchen trying out new ingredients, so much so that you forget to eat on most days. Gojo is left with the task of literally hauling your ass up upstairs and force you to shower with him. You lie that you’re not really tired, but the moment his skilled hands roll the tension out of your shoulders, a contented and grateful sigh paints those lips he loves to kiss.

One of the things Gojo loves doing with you is taste-testing. He’s not around the house most of the time when you work since he’s a busy man himself, but on the days he actively chooses to annoy Principal Yaga and go AWOL, he’d sit obediently on the counter and let you use him as your own taste experimenting dummy.

When night falls and you’re just about ready to head to bed; satisfied and proud of another day of hard work, Gojo comes home early to help you clean up the cafe and prop the furniture so you don’t overstrain your muscles.

Or at least, he wants to come home early to help you. It’s just that he often gets carried away on his missions and stays behind a lot longer than he’d like because the world of curses is extremely demanding. After seeing that you probably already lifted all these heavy chairs and cleaned up everything by yourself even when you’re tired, and you still have the ability to smile and laugh like that in Nanami’s presence when he should be the one on the receiving end, Gojo is unable to fight back the twisting feeling that pools in his stomach.

Forcing a huge grin on his face, Gojo loudly smacks the paper bag in the table between you and Nanami, his hands resting on the blond’s shoulder who only groans at his presence. “Yo!” He greets, winking when your eyes gleam brighter now that your husband is home.

There’s no trace or hint of anything that could indicate you’re upset with him because he didn’t come home early. Instead, you bow and excuse yourself while picking up your cups and the small plate where remnants of your signature tart had been, and Gojo watches with longing eyes as you disappear in the back room.

Now that you’re gone, Gojo drops in your seat, takes off his blindfold, and glares at Nanami. “Nanamin,” he drawls out. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here – getting chummy with my wife, no less.”

Gojo knows he’s being petty and childish. Of course he is. This is Nanamin we’re talking about; the man is as frigid and stone and he’s as interested in romantic relationships as much as he respects Gojo Satoru. Plus, it’s you, and you have eyes for Gojo and Gojo only, but it’s also Gojo Satoru who’s mixed in the formula, and he’s not the least bit ashamed that he’s being immature right now.

Of course he’s jealous. Of course he’s possessive.

You’re his sweet, little wife – of course he doesn’t like it.

As if reading his mind but couldn’t be bothered to deal with him, Nanami slides an envelope across the table. “Ijichi took a sick leave so he couldn’t give this to you. I was tasked to hand it over to you instead so I came around. It’s not my fault you come home late and your wife insisted I have a short meal before I came home,” Gojo opens his to retort something stupid when you emerge from the back, pretty face tired yet still patient as ever.

“Leaving already, Nanami?” You smile up at him, hand slipping through Gojo’s bigger and rough ones. He doesn’t know why the gesture leaves him stunned, especially when you step close enough that he feels your heat on this sudden cold night. He’s so entranced by everything about you he doesn’t even notice the blond bidding his farewell.

Gojo watches as you turn to face him, smaller hands reaching up to caress his face. Now that his blindfold is gone, his hair falls down to forehead, your dainty fingers brushing them away from his eyes so you could marvel in its beauty.

Like a little kid, he melts into a puddle when you do that exact eye-smile he’s seen you do with Nanami, only this time, it’s reserved, private, and intimate.

Gojo shuts his eyes in the process, nearly stumbling forward, which he doesn’t really let happen with anyone because he’s the Gojo Satoru; strongest jujutsu sorcerer. But you don’t mind, you never do, and if anything it only makes you laugh when he pretends to be deadweight by collapsing into the crook of your neck.

“What a big baby,” you tease with your hand rubbing up and down his back in a soothing motion, all the tiredness and exhaustion from his day disappearing into thin air.

“Yes,” he concedes as he follows you up the stairs where you both change into your pyjamas and settle in for the night. “But I’m your big baby.”

The nickname makes you laugh, head thrown back as giggles erupted in your chest. You’ve already removed your makeup, hair down from your work hairnet and flowing in loose waves. Gojo stifles a gasp then, because you’re in his arms, in his bed, smelling like him, and you’re so soft, so free, so vulnerable and the way you lean into his shoulders while he rubs his cheek on the crown of your head makes him feel like he’s falling in love all over again.

He’ll never get tired of this – of you.

The mere thought of seeing you with someone else that isn’t him doesn’t sit well with Gojo. Now he understands why he’s so jealous and immature – it’s because he hasn’t wanted anyone or anything as much as he loves you.

He can’t imagine a life where he’ll wake up to his mornings without your limbs sprawled across his longer ones, or how he may never hear your sleep talks about birds and butterflies; which is utterly ridiculous, but because it’s you, he finds it adorable. Sometimes Gojo wonders how he ever even lived before meeting, but of course, those were days filled with nothing but him doing weird stupid shit.

Not that he’s stopped doing that, but now at least he’s doing those weird stupid with you.

And he only ever wants to share those with you, so he doesn’t and will never allow anyone else to take what’s rightfully his. You’re his wife, the love of his life, the sunshine in his mornings and the sunset of his beautiful dusk.

He doesn’t care if he’s petty – he’s got every right to be jealous because Gojo Satoru never shares what’s his.

When his mind races back to the way you smile for Nanami again, his hold on you grows tighter. You don’t complain when Gojo suddenly presses his lips into yours, a breathy moan blessing his ears once he finally moves on top of you. Gojo runs his hand under your – his – shirt, letting those talented hands of his roam upon the expanse of his skin like an artwork he’ll never get tired of looking at.

“Missed you,” he mumbles in between the lip-locking, leaning closer when your nails start to scratch his scalp as a way to soothe him from the night. Nothing about the kiss is hurried or fervent; rather, it’s calm and steady, slow and passionate, much like how everything he feels for you is similar to a calm, rainy day where he’ll stay in with a hot cup of chocolate.

You’re home – warmth and comfort – and you know you’re his just as he knows he’s yours, but it doesn’t stop him from kissing you like he wants you to never forget that.

You shiver when Gojo’s fingers tickle your ribcage, that spot always having been sensitive. Your husband swipes his tongue over your lips that still tastes like strawberries from your lipbalm, and he groans, falling forward when you allow him access into your sweet, sweet mouth. Meanwhile, you travel down from his hair into those broad, strong shoulders that always seemed like a fortress to you.

Gojo was so big and strong compared to you. There’s no denying he could easily break you if he wanted to, but he’s nothing but gentle – perhaps a little eager – when he holds you like this.

There’s no memory of how you end up on top of his lap that night with the covers barely strewn across your bodies, Gojo’s back pressing into the bed frame that’s witnessed endless nights of passion. His hands then run over your hips, squeezing it a little too hard until you rut against his hips.

“Hmm,” you moan into his mouth at the friction, while Gojo only smirks at your reaction. Even after years, you’re still so sweet, sensitive, and responsive – he just can’t get enough of it. “Satoru,” the way you say his name is so breathy, almost as if it’s a secret only the two of you should know, so he listens intently at your next words. “You’re a little needy tonight. Did something happen?”

“No,” he lies, smiling to himself once he sees your lips are red and bruised. He’s sure he looks the same, but your eyes are glossed over with love that he can’t resist you pulling you to him as if the space offends him. He trails his lips down to your neck to leave red patches of marks that claims you as his – not that the gold wedding band on your fingers wasn’t doing the job already.

Like the good girl you are, you tilt your head and allow him to do as he pleases. He sucks, licks, kisses and nips at the skin, all the while careful to not hurt you or push you over to the edge since both of you are too tired for the day to ever do anything.

Your head drops to the crook of his neck then, arms wrapped around his shoulders loosely as if you trusted him to catch you whenever you fall – and you know he will. He always will.

Later on, you grow sleepy at the way he starts to pepper kisses into your skin that addictingly smells like cinnamon and vanilla all at the same time. Gojo chuckles to himself at how peaceful you look in that moment, draped over him like a tiny puppy who lives in a world too big for themselves, but that’s not true.

You’re bigger than the universe itself, larger than the vast galaxies he held beneath those eyes, and Gojo finally stops being jealous.

There’s no need to be, after all, not when he’s the one you trust wholeheartedly to tuck you in bed while your soft breathing lulls him into slumber as well. Gojo flicks the lamp off with his finger, not wasting another second before he scoots closer, closer, closer until there’s no more recollection of where you begin and where he ends.

He stands corrected in his statement.

He’ll never get tired of this, of you, for you’re bigger than the universe itself and there’s still a lot of space between the two of you that he can’t wait to cross until your worlds crash and burn.

“Next time,” he promises before kissing your eyelids, “I’ll come home earlier.”

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papergirllife · 2 years

Text

Nakamoto Yuta

College AU

Synopsis:

Moving into a new rental lands you with three roommates, Luna, a bubbly and outgoing college girl, and Yuta, the foreign student from Osaka. Moving in was easy enough until the three of you get a super king sized bed to cut back on spending, bringing the three of you closer than ever, that is until Luna and Yuta get tangled up in a messy relationship as you watch from the sidelines, they say a rainbow comes after a storm, but the rainbow unexpectedly shines onto you.

In which the classic ‘there’s only one bed’ trope gets a huge twist.

warnings : slow burn, minor angst, smut, lots of fluff.

word count : 11.7k

A/N : this was written during the start of 2020, and went through major editing before I decided to gift this to you as a gift for a new year in 2022, I hope you guys love this, once again inspired by one of my dreams.

3rd of December, 2020.

You let the agent bring you into an apartment that was obviously over budget for its monthly rent, admiring the scenic park slash garden view that greeted you. The apartment was very close to campus, hence its expensive pricing. Unbeknownst to you, two more people came to take a look at the apartment during your slot, it was a boy and a girl of your age.

“The three of you could rent this apartment together, think about it, it’ll be much more cheaper than getting an apartment for yourself, and with the three of your budgets, it’ll cover the rent and it’s much easier and faster to travel to school living here,” the lady persuaded, putting on her best ‘agent smile’ she could muster up to three broke college kids.

At first you were sceptic of the idea, but during the discussion, the girl, who you would’ve grown to know, Luna, is really friendly. As for the boy, Yuta, he was a rather reserved person, and promised that he doesn’t party and brings girls home on a whim, which seemed promising, given that he definitely didn’t fit in the regular stereotype of men around here, with the black nails and retro shirts, you’d think he’d be living in exciting places like New York, instead of a small town outside of Busan.

The three of you signed the agreement on the spot, looking around the empty apartment, dreading the amount of money you guys would have to spend on furniture.

4th of December, 2020.

“I’m so glad that there’s a sale going on, or we would’ve blew our budget once we walked in,” Luna, the most talkative among the three of you commented as she was examining which couch to get, her eagerness to try on every couch by plopping herself onto every one she sees oddly reminded you of Goldilocks.

Luckily for her, you and Yuta didn’t have much preferences, other than preferring dark colours to avoid stains, typical requirements from busy college kids that rarely have time to tidy up.

“The two of you can go look at study tables first, I’ll join you later, hopefully with the perfect couch for us,” she said with a pretty smile on her face, Luna’s beautiful, anyone with eyes can tell.

You and Yuta nodded mindlessly looking at sign boards to see where were the desks displayed at, you’ve rarely been to Ikea unless your family really had to replace old furniture, so this place was a maze to you.

When you saw a suitable desk, you got too excited and didn’t look closely before you walked, almost bumping into a man with a huge trolley and a big heavy box.

You felt your body kick into a flight or fight mode, legs scrambling to get away but with no avail due to the confined space, you shut your eyes, bracing yourself for the impending pain, that is, until you felt a pair of sturdy hands wrapping around your shoulders, pulling you back into a warm embrace.

When you realise you weren't going to be flat ironed by a piece of unassembled furniture, you slowly pried your eyes open to see Yuta’s face above yours, his worried eyes looking into yours.

“Are you okay?” Yuta asked as he slowly manoeuvred you swiftly back onto your two feet.

“Yeah, I’m fine, thank you, Yuta,” you told him, your voice just above a whisper, the close proximity with Yuta had your mind dizzy.

“You’re welcome, next time, please check both sides before walking, sale periods are hectic here, we wouldn't want your pretty head to be cracked open, am I right?” Yuta teased before he guides you to where you have wanted to go, a hand on your back.

“I know, I’ll be more careful next time. Come on, I think that desk would work well for me, you should check it out too,” you said as you reached back and pulled him by the elbow, the feeling of relief and excitement settling into your mind, placing Yuta in a good limelight in your eyes.

The three of you are at the bedding section now, eyes wide in disbelief that a super king size which was on offer would be cheaper than three singles together.

“They even have an offer for the bed rack? While the singles get no discounts?” Yuta complained, leaning down to check the prices once more to confirm.

Luna crashed onto the bed, examining the mattress.

“You know, we could always share the bed, there’s so much space left. Wouldn’t that be better than buying three singles? And we could save more money this way,” she suggested, looking between the two of you.

“I don’t feel comfortable sleeping next to a guy, Luna. No offence to you, Yuta, I’m just...

“No, I’m not offended, I understand where you’re coming from,” Yuta said as he sits down on the bed, testing the feeling.

“I don’t mind, I grew up with many siblings anyways, I can be the sandwich in the middle,” Luna offered.

Yuta only nodded, always going along with the flow of the two of you.

25th of March, 2021.

First term exams just ended while holidays just began, Luna had taken a liking towards partying after meeting this group of new friends. Usually she just does this on weekends, but today, she was in for a celebration.

“You guys should come along, it’ll be fun, meet new people, get free drinks, and maybe even get some action, I haven’t gotten laid in so long, you should try it sometime,” Luna chided you, “I have a few dresses that will suite you well,” Luna offered, always the one to bring up any topic regarding boys.

“You go enjoy yourself, Luna. I still need to get some work done before the next semester starts,” you said, gesturing at the pile of books and papers on your desk.

“What a bore. How about you, Yuta?” Luna said as she bounces on her heels, looking at Yuta with those pretty eyes of hers, her puppy eyes were really useful on lecturers, maybe they’d work on Yuta too.

“I’ll have to pass, Luna. My team and I wants to brush up for next term, there’s a dance we have to present for our coursework points for next term,” Yuta explained.

Yuta was a dance major, while you on the opposing spectrum entirely, studied journalism, and Luna is taking a mass communications course.

“What kind of lecturer does that?” Luna said with a huff before checking her hair in the mirror.

“He is sort of strict, and we have surprise tests all the time, so I don’t think I’ll have any time for parties, have fun Luna,” Yuta says as he packs his bag, preparing to head to his friends.

“Okay, I’ll head out now, call me if anything happens,” Luna said before she walked out.

“Wanna watch Howl’s Moving Castle with me?” Yuta said after he finished busying his things.

“Don’t you have practice to get to?” you asked, looking back at the actually quite empty bag, his large water bottle wasn’t even sticking out of it like it tends to be.

“Nah, I just got bored of parties, had to make up an excuse for her. What about you?” Yuta asked, always trying to get to know you better, unlike Luna, you rarely ever talked about yourself.

“Partying isn’t my thing, I assume you don’t really enjoy them either?” you asked, you were always intrigued by Yuta’s character.

“Nope,” Yuta said as he turns on the laptop, hands out reached to offer you a snack on the table as the music of the movie plays softly.

5th of April, 2021.

“I officially have a boyfriend now,” Luna announces after a night out, which according to her just now, was just a casual dinner with a friend.

“Who is it?” you asked when you looked up from your laptop, taking a break from your latest report. You weren’t all that surprised, it was a given, being as gorgeous as her.

“His name is Vince and I met him at a party not long ago and asked me out, we’ve gone out on a few dates now, and today he finally asked me to be his girlfriend,” Luna said giddily, her eyes could have pink hearts popping out of them and still you wouldn't be alarmed.

“Congrats, Luna. I’m so happy for you,” you said as you spun your chair around for fun.

“Congratulations, Luna,” Yuta muttered as he grabbed a jacket and went out of the house, saying that he needs to pick up something from the store.

You were always an observant person, and it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out Yuta and his fondness towards Luna, but the poor boy never made a move towards her, maybe he knows his chances aren't all that high, Yuta is the most handsome guy you've ever seen, but if Luna was interested, you're sure she would’ve made a move long ago, she was always the confident type, rejection isn't a vocabulary in her dictionary.

You could tell that Luna knew about Yuta having a crush on her when Luna looked like she was at a compromising position after her sudden announcement, so you didn’t say anything, instead you changed the topic and asked about how her boyfriend looked like, letting Luna show you photos saved in her phone.

21st of June, 2021.

You woke up in the middle of the night to whispers coming from beside you, you turned your head to Luna’s side, straining your ears.

“Quiet down, you might wake her up,” you heard Yuta whisper.

You heard shuffling from beside you as the bed dips gradually from the movements.

“She’s asleep, she always moves when she’s asleep, stop being paranoid, Yuta,” Luna whispered back.

“I’m being paranoid? You have a boyfriend, Luna, we can’t keep doing this. It’s cheating,” Yuta hissed in a hushed tone.

“One last time, just let me touch you, Yuta,” Luna begged quietly.

“No, this is wrong. If you really want to continue this, then break up with Vince,” Yuta retorted.

“It doesn’t matter whether I have a boyfriend or not, Yuta. Like you said, no strings retorted,” Luna countered back.

“I’m tired, I don’t want anything tonight, we’ll talk about this tomorrow,” Yuta whispered back, a finality in his tone.

“Fine,” Luna said as she turns back to your side, huffing out a breath of anger.

8th of July, 2021.

Vince, Luna’s boyfriend, had initiated that he wanted to meet her roommates to get to know you and Yuta over dinner. So now here you were, letting Luna fuss over what your outfit for tonight would be.

“I don’t think my outfit matters, as long as you look nice, Luna. I’m fine with sticking to my sweaters and jeans,” you said, knowing that she's the main star of the show tonight, it's not like Vince is going to care when his girlfriend is beside him.

“Don’t worry, I have tons of clothes, here, this set would look good on you,” Luna said as she passes you a skirt and a lace detailed crop top, nothing you’d wear on a daily basis, but it is pretty.

“This would look perfect on you, and the weather’s warm. Now I just need to do your make up,” she said before turning to her make up pouch.

“Luna, dinner’s in 40 minutes, you should get ready now,” you said, worried that Luna wouldn't have enough time to fuss over her own appearance.

“Right, shit. I completely lost track of time, here you go, this has really nice colours, then I’ll help you do mascara later,” Luna said as she passes you one of her expensive palettes.

You took it in your hands, not knowing what to do with it. You’ve never tried doing your own make up before.

Yuta looked up from his phone, he was already ready, just a change of pants and he’d be out in no time. He looks at the confused look on your face, smiling at how miffed you were.

“Come here, let me help you. I toyed around with eyeshadow with my sister before and I think I’m quite decent at it,” Yuta said after turning off his phone, patting the empty spot next to him.

You sat next to Yuta on the couch, passing him the palette. He takes it in his hand, telling you to close your eyes. You could feel his fingers drawing circles on your eye lid, his palm touching your cheeks in the process. The feeling of his warm hand on your cheek made you feel butterflies in your stomach, and sooner than you wanted, he pulled away.

“Done.”

You open your eyes only to stare back into Yuta’s big round ones, getting lost in the little galaxies of his eyes as he checks his handiwork, your face heating up when you noticed the close proximity between the two of you.

“Perfect.”

You quickly broke eye contact and snapped out from the trance when you heard Luna’s footsteps coming from the closet the three of you have converted from a spare room.

“Yuta, why are you still in your sweats? And I really love that colour, great choice, but you should lose the glasses for tonight, then your eyes would pop more,” Luna said, already dressed to the nines.

You were going to say that it wasn’t your effort, but you clammed up from the interaction you had with Yuta, only choosing to nod as you watch his figure retreat to the bedroom to get changed, taking off your glasses that were perched on your head.

“So? How do I look?” Luna asked, doing a small twirl in front of you.

“Pretty like always,” even though everything seems a bit blurry to you now.

When the three of you got to the restaurant, Vince was already there, barbecuing some meat he had ordered.

“Hey, you must be Yuta,” Vince said to Yuta before doing the same greeting towards you, “have a seat guys. Hi babe, you look gorgeous tonight,” Vince said as he opens an arm to Luna, smooching a kiss on her lips even though there were sauce on his lips.

Vince, according to Luna, is an exchange student from America, and his mom was Korean, so he had this mix of American heartthrob from the 90′s and the everyday Korean college boy look, no wonder Luna was head over heels for him, his personality on the other hand, was something else. Vince rarely asked about you and Yuta, other than what the two of you studied and relationship status, he mostly talked about himself, and a little bit of Luna here and there, talking about what a wild girl she is at parties.

“I’m going to go to the washroom,” Luna said halfway throughout dinner, the awkward silence soon settling in.

“So, Vince. How do you like Korea so far?” you asked, breaking the ice.

“Good, are you local? Like Luna?” he inquired.

“Yeah, I’ve been here my whole life,” you joked, which wasn’t all that false.

“It’s amazing here, the food is great and the ladies are pretty,” Vince said, gesturing Luna’s empty spot.

“Luna is really pretty, you’re a really lucky guy, Vince,” you said.

“You’re not too bad yourself either,” Vince said as his eyes dropped to your chest, eyeing at your exposed skin blatantly.

Before you could do anything about the compromising situation, Yuta took off his jacket and put in on you, buttoning it all the way to the top. You didn’t dare to say anything else, choosing to go back to eating, your left hand reaching over to take Yuta’s, giving it a gentle squeeze as thank you.

Things went back to normal when Luna got back, ranting about how the queue for the lady’s in this mall was really long, her boyfriend ordering more food for her when she complained how hungry she got waiting in line.

After dinner, Vince and Luna went their separate ways.

“Don’t wait up for me, I’ll be sleeping over at his place tonight after our movie,” Luna said with a cheeky wink.

“Okay, stay safe, Luna,” you said before you followed Yuta into his car, his lips in a thin line as he focuses on the road.

When the two of you got home, Yuta immediately took out a bottle of soju and went out to the balcony, taking a seat on one of the foldable chairs you placed outside for when you wanted to read in the morning. You followed soon after you changed into warm comfy clothes, bringing a small blanket out and draped it over Yuta who was only wearing a thin shirt.

“Thank you.”

“I know about you and Luna’s past relationship,” you said, not beating around the bush.

Yuta momentarily froze, eyes wide as he scanned your face, but loosened up when he found no trace of anger or disappointment.

“How did you find out?” Yuta questioned.

“I overhead a conversation you had with her, I’m sorry for eavesdropping,” you apologised.

“Don’t be, we probably ruined your sleep that night.” Yuta took in a deep breathe before he continued, “Luna and I started being friends with benefits when we first moved in, I really liked her, her bubbly personality seemed like it would’ve matched my introvert self, but she said she wasn’t ready for a relationship, so I waited, then this Vince came along. I wanted to stop it, but she didn’t. I thought I could wait a little while more, hoping that she’d be able to see what an asshole he is, but she won’t listen whenever I said he’s an ass,” Yuta confessed in one breath, his voice filled with hurt, taking another swig before he continues, looking straight into your eyes. “I’m going to stop this, I thought she had feelings for me, but actually, she just wanted to toy with my heart, I’m going to stop this thing once and for all,” Yuta explained, not that he needed to, you aren't anyone he owes an explanation to.

You're not sure why Luna is doing this to Yuta, maybe because he’s different, is it because of Yuta being from Osaka? The accent?

“I’m proud of you, Yuta, but are you sure you don’t have anymore feelings for her?” you asked.

“Yeah, I’m sure. Tonight, I could finally see how toxic she is, she and Vince are a match made in Hell,” Yuta said harshly.

“What did she do to make you think of her that way?” you prodded, not wanting to put Luna under a bad light without any reasoning.

“She tried to touch me under the table just now,” Yuta confessed.

“I... I didn’t know she’d do something like that,” you said honestly, the Luna you had grown to know didn't seem like someone who would do such a thing.

“Stooped low, even for her isn’t it?” Yuta joked darkly, feeling like a fool himself.

“I’m so sorry, Yuta,” you said as you gave him a hug, his head falling on your shoulder.

“I should be the one thanking you, for not judging my fucked up actions,” Yuta said, the way he said it, showed how vulnerable he was, coming clean to you this way.

“We all make mistakes, Yuta, and I’ll always be here for you,” you said as you reached a hand up to stroke his back as he tries to hold in his tears.

“Do you think I’m a fool?” Yuta asked with a slight sniffle.

“No, Yuta, wishing for your love to be requited isn’t a foolish thing. We all need love in our lives, it’s what makes you human,” you said, trying your best to comfort the heartbroken boy.

That night, you were slowly rocked to sleep by Yuta’s warmth in your arms, a lock of your hair in his fingers as he mindlessly plays with them, his other hand on your back, drawing shapeless figures.

“Thank you for letting me in, Yuta. I was really worried about you,” you said, lightly patting his back, the feeling almost maternal.

“I should be the one thanking you, I might have gotten shit faced drunk if you weren’t here, and thanks for giving me courage to officially break it off with her tomorrow,” Yuta said, mentioning how you had gave him input on how to stop this whole messy ordeal.

“I hope she’ll understand,” you said, not knowing what to do if a fight breaks out between the two of them, you’ll definitely be caught up in the middle, that you're sure.

“Yeah,” Yuta agreed as he pulls you closer, letting your head rest on his shoulder.

But deep down, the two of you had a gut feeling that Luna wouldn’t take this lightly.

9th of July, 2021.

You left the apartment and headed to the library once Luna got back in the morning, giving Yuta a thumbs up and encouraging smile before leaving.

Once you were out the door, Luna made her way to Yuta, but when she was about to sit on his lap, he stood up and leaned against the dining table.

“I’m sorry, Luna. I can’t do this anymore,” Yuta said, laying out his cards.

“What do you mean? We’re perfectly fine, why are you doing this to us?” Luna asked, raising her voice, instantly playing the victim.

“There’s no us, Luna. You’re happy with Vince, and it should stay that way, I don’t want to be that asshole who sleeps with another guy’s girl,” Yuta retorted.

“Fine, I’ll break up with him,” Luna said without a hint of remorse for the man she claims she loves.

“No, even if you do, it won’t change my decision. Don’t you see, Luna? You don’t value your relationship with Vince at all. You should learn to love before you commit to someone, don’t get into relationships and ruin every one of them,” Yuta said, being honest about his opinion, and telling it to her as nicely as he could, doing just as you had taught him, he should really thank you for taking psychology as a minor.

“You’re never happy, Yuta. You always demanded for more than you promised to take. I promised your offer months ago, no strings attached, you agreed. Fine, now I offer you sole devotion, but you’re asking me to learn how to love?! What makes you think I don’t know how to love?!” Luna bite backed, her tone lethal, eyes wide in fury, mad that she's not getting what she wants.

“From how easily you discard people, Luna! You said you wanted me at the start, then you met Vince, you said it was over, that you didn’t need the friends with benefits thing anymore because you had a boyfriend, a few weeks later you come back to me again. Do you know how toxic that is?! I can’t believe I just fucking realised it!” Yuta raised his voice back to her, he was nearing his breaking point.

“Why are you doing this, Yuta?! Is there someone else?! Answer me!” Luna demanded, hands fisting his old shirt.

“What if there is?! It’s none of your fucking business anymore, Luna! I deserve my own happiness, and I hope you’ll find yours with Vince or whoever the fuck you’re also sleeping with, because what we have? It’s over,” Yuta said firmly, prying her hands off of him.

Yuta retrieved his wallet from the kitchen island and left the apartment, slamming the door behind his back.

22nd of July, 2021.

Ever since that day, the sleeping arrangements have changed, you in the middle and Luna at your old spot. Things were going as smooth as it could be between the three of you, Luna and Yuta took turns to talk to you in order to avoid snapping at each other at first chance, and as for meals, Yuta would eat outside whenever Luna ordered takeout only for herself and you, and vice versa.

On weekends, Luna partied until the wee hours, coming home completely drunk and getting sick in the toilet at 4 a.m., which means you had to hold her hair for her as she hurled in the toilet bowl, which sometimes wakes Yuta up in the process, scowling at the consequences of her actions before going back to sleep.

Today, however, you only got back past midnight on a Sunday night, studying for a test you’d be having in the next afternoon. You expected them to be asleep by now, but was surprised by the shouting coming from the bedroom.

“Don’t touch me, Luna! I said we’re over! Go look for your Vince!” you heard Yuta said, his voiced raised dangerously high, his temper on the edge.

“I broke up with him, Yuta!” Luna said, the answer that she thought would suffice the man in front of her.

“It doesn’t matter now, I gave you a chance and you didn’t take it! You never appreciated the people that care for you, why should we heed at your every demand when we don't even receive basic respect in return?” Yuta retorted, his tone was dying down, he was tired, Yuta never looked liked to argue.

That’s when you decided to open the door, seeing Yuta restraining Luna’s hands from touching him, the both of them frozen from your sudden appearance.

“I’m just going to use the bathroom,” you said quietly, taking quick steps to the bathroom before Luna got up from the bed and grabbed your wrist.

“I’ve seen this jacket before. It’s Yuta’s isn’t it? Are you sleeping with him?! Is this the reason why you won’t continue what we had Yuta?! For a nerd like her?!” Luna’s grip on you was harsh, her nails digging into the thin layer of skin wrapped around your wrist, her eyes were glaring into yours, before she shifts her deadly gaze back to Yuta.

“No, Luna, I just borrowed his jacket and forgot to return it the other day,” you said, eyes pleading her when she faces you again, not wanting to make this into a bigger mess.

“You guys think I’m blind?! I saw the two of you cuddling when I woke up in the middle of the night! God knows what the two of you are up to when I slept over at Vince’s! How could you?! You’re my friend, I trusted you!” Luna shouted in your face before pushing you, making you fall and your leg hit the corner of your desk chair.

Immediately, Yuta put himself in between you and Luna, helping you up, but you could feel your leg swelling up from the impact, you held onto Yuta’s arm as you took a seat on your chair.

“This is between me and you, Luna. Don’t you fucking dare hurt her again. Get out! Get out of the house!” Yuta said, his voice venomous, his eyes that once shown how tired he was from the argument with her now flares.

“You’re picking her over me?! And this is my house as well, you have no right to kick me out!” she said, her index finger poking at Yuta’s chest, a habit she shows whenever she's mad at someone.

“You’ve been drinking all your money away every weekend, your rental is covered by her scholarship money now! She paid for the landlord so that you could have a place to stay, you think I don’t know?! When you pleaded for her to help you with your part of the bill! I called the agent and cancelled your name, if you don’t leave this instant I’ll call the cops as well, and you better return your 3.2 million won worth of rental back into her account. I can’t imagine how you'd dare question someone who’s been nothing but a good friend to you, Luna,” Yuta said, the very last blow to Luna’s ego.

“Fine! I’ll just crash at Minnie’s,” Luna said with a huff before she begins to gather her things.

“No, Yuta, it’s late-

“No, I’ll go. I don’t want to see both of your ugly faces anyways,” Luna seethes at you, catching you off guard, hurt from her sudden lashing.

Luna packed most of her things into the big suitcase that you recognise was the one she rolled in when the three of you first moved in, calling a taxi on the way out.

“Oh and by the way, that 3.2 million won is for the furniture I’m selling to the two of you,” was the only thing Luna said before she slammed the door behind her.

Yuta mutters the word 'bitch’ before he tended to your leg, grabbing the first aid kit in the kitchen.

“It’s just a bruise, Yuta, don’t bother,” you said, trying to get up from the chair.

“No, I insist. I’ll take you to the hospital for a check up tomorrow, and don’t worry about the rental, I got myself a position for this one month workshop thing in the city, and it pays well, they might even hire me for other workshops if I do well in this one,” Yuta said, trying his best to optimistic.

“Don’t tire yourself out, Yuta. I’ll also be starting my internship soon, I think we'll be able to cover the monthly rent with it,” you said.

“Really? Congratulations. You deserved it,” Yuta said, knowing how you had always wanted to get some experience in your working field.

“Thank you, Yuta.”

Tonight was the most peaceful sleep Yuta has had since a long time, and true to Luna’s words, he did love to cuddle you to sleep.

11th of August, 2021.

You still see Luna on school grounds from time to time, other than the day right after she left when she cleared out her things, as well as her signature pink desk table and chair that is, the sudden empty spot was quite jarring. Soon after her sequined cushions, plushies, and furniture was gone, Yuta replaced them by buying his own things, like a book rack for your novels and his manga collection that were once crammed in boxes, and even got you a few plushies of your liking, knowing your love for Sanrio characters, all laid out on the couch, you replaced all the photos on the wall with just you and Yuta’s, as well as redecorating the kitchen, where Yuta cooks often, throwing out Luna’s pink coloured utensils.

Yuta only had positive comments for the changes, especially the photo frames where you had added a bit of your own touch on them, a sticker here and there to make it feel new.

Whenever it was weekends, you and Yuta had taken a liking to head down to the bowling alley, even though the two of you blatantly sucked at bowling. On rainy days, Yuta would explain what was happening in his mangas, you’re always fascinated whenever he speaks in his mother tongue, always telling him to read aloud for you, even though you don’t even understand a thing, Yuta would always oblige, with a smile on his face, happy that you are so fascinated by his culture.

Yuta could feel his heart gravitating nearer towards yours as the days go by, he saw it coming since months ago, but this time, he doesn’t think or have any suspicion that his feelings towards you had anything to do with losing Luna anymore, he knew that this time, he is completely head over heels for you. Everyday, Yuta tries to work up the courage to tell you, albeit it won’t be a rush, he wants it to be perfect, he isn’t worried of losing you, as you promised, you’ll always be by his side.

20th of August, 2021.

Yuta has been talking about getting a belly button piercing for a few occasions now, you thought he was just messing around, that he’d chicken out and not go through with it, but you definitely second guessed yourself as now you’re in Itaewon, waiting for Yuta to have his belly button pierced.

“Are you sure you want to go through with this? I’ve seen a video that showed a woman who had to undergo surgery to remove her belly button piercing,” you said, a video you had watched out of curiosity when it popped up on your YouTube feed.

“I’m sure. It’ll look cool,” Yuta said, not much of a reassurance, this isn't one of his meaningful tattoos, it's much more impulsive, even for Yuta.

“You always get your piercings done alone, why did you bring me this time round?” you asked, as you stepped into the dingy looking parlour.

“Because you said you were free, and constantly being holed up in that tiny apartment isn’t good for you,” Yuta said with a tiny pinch to your arm, his nose scrunched up as he smiles at you.

“You don’t go out that much either,” you retorted, tongue poking out at him.

“That’s why it’ll be an adventure today, come on, it’s my turn.”

Yuta got up and went into the room, the piercer was a man with many piercings and tattoos, which was quite a rare sight among Koreans.

“Which one of you here is getting their navel pierced?”

“That would be me,” Yuta said as he sat down on the recliner chair, that thing always gives you the creeps from the dentist.

The man drew markers on where the piercing would be, asking Yuta to confirm if he wants to go on with the procedure.

“Please take off your shirt, I don’t want it sliding down, since this is a loose shirt,” the man said after Yuta agreed to get his belly button pierced.

When Yuta took his shirt off, you immediately put your hands over your eyes. You had already caught sight of his hips, and you could already feel your cheeks heating up, if you’d see him topless, you would be dead by now. You could hear Yuta’s pretty laugh directed at you when he placed his shirt on your lap as you sat very still on the stool.

“Your girlfriend hasn’t seen you without a shirt on before?” the man asked, very much confused by your reaction.

“No, she hasn’t,” you could feel your heartbeat increasing rapidly at how he didn’t correct the man, but you scolded yourself once you had calmed down a little bit, you were just overanalysing his words, you feel so dumb for feeling like that, he probably just didn’t bother to correct the man.

“Hey come hold my hand, this one is going to hurt more than the ones on the ears,” Yuta said, there might have been a slight tease in his voice, but you're not quite sure.

“Do I really have to?” you groaned, you’re never the type to like physical contact.

“You said you’d be here for moral support, come on, don’t let me go through this alone,” Yuta said, only half begging.

“Okay, fine, don’t guilt trip me,” you got up and kept a hand up to block Yuta from your sight, only looking for his hand when you get there, holding his hand in yours, his shirt, still warm from his body heat, in your other hand.

“Here we go.”

Yuta clasped your hand tightly in his as the man pierced his belly button, a slight wince of pain coming from his mouth, and soon, it was all over, the piercer rummage around to fit the piercing into the hole, but Yuta held your hand until he had his belly button cleansed.

“Done, you guys can leave now.”

Yuta asked his shirt back from you, and told you to look once he was dressed. You opened your eyes and nearly fainted, Yuta was already good looking with clothes on, but that little bit of exposed skin and the piercing altogether? He was hot, the type of hot that you didn’t know whether to cover your face or look a little while longer.

“What do you think?” he asked, still looking at his new jewel.

“It... it looks great, Yuta. Now pull your shirt back down, the weather isn’t warm anymore,” you said as you adjusted his shirt gently, careful to not touch or hurt him.

“My job here’s done, payment is done at the counter, unless your girl wants anything.”

“Okay, thanks but she has sensitive skin, so she can’t have any,” Yuta said as he guided you out of the room, a hand on your back, as you tried not to overthink about the fact that he once again, did not deny the man’s assumption.

“You remembered,” you said as Yuta paid at the counter.

“Of course, it is quite obvious, since you don’t have any on your ears as well,” Yuta said, gesturing at your ears.

“Yeah, it’s a bummer, but the clip on ones serve me well,” you said, a hand reaching up to touch them.

“They look really pretty on you,” Yuta said as he lifted a hand up to touch the accessory on your ear, smiling fondly.

“Let’s get out of here and have lunch,” Yuta said as he guided you out of the shop, his new habit of always having an arm over your shoulder or a hand behind your back making your mind spin.

27th of September, 2021.

“You cooked?” Yuta asked when he got back from a late night class, shutting the door behind him when he was reminded of your dislike of cold air coming into the house.

“Yeah, eat up,” you said as you pushed a plate to his direction as he sat down.

“The last time you cooked, you nearly burnt down the kitchen, and the beef was definitely burnt,” Yuta reminded you with a evil glint in his eyes.

“That was because of the napkins that fell on the stove, not my fault at all,” you said in defence, it wasn’t your fault he had changed the placing of the napkins.

“Uh huh,” Yuta looked at you questioningly, but still took a spoonful of the carbonara pasta you had made, his healing smile never leaving yours. You stopped eating, waiting for his reaction.

“Is it good?”

“It tastes good, I love the spam on the side as well,” Yuta said with his cheeks full, his fork gesturing at the luncheon meat in the middle of the table.

“How could I forget your favourite?” you said, satisfied that Yuta didn't have anything to complain about your cooking.

“Says the one who could eat if for three meals a day,” Yuta said with a quirk of his eyebrows, silently asking you if you still have anything left to defend yourself.

“Yah, you were the one who stocked up too much of it, and they were nearing their expiration dates,” you said, suddenly reminded of Yuta’s frenzy buying whenever there's a sale.

“Okay, you win this time, and thanks for dinner. It’s just what I needed after a long day,” Yuta lifts up his hands in surrender before thanking you.

“Glad you like it,” you said with a stupid smile on your face, gloating, it's not everyday you win Yuta in a banter.

You got back to your research for your internship when Yuta showered, brushing up an article that you were going to submit tomorrow. When you were done, you waited outside the living room, giving as much space to Yuta as possible. You were scrolling through social media when Yuta hollered from the bedroom.

“Can you help me apply the medicine? I’m too tired to do it today,” Yuta pleaded with his puppy eyes that he knew you can’t resist once you entered the room, as if he knew the power he has over you.

You sat on the bed and shakily applied the medicine onto his piercing, eyes fixated only on that patch of skin, not wanting to be caught by your heated cheeks or thumping heartbeat. Once you were done, you exhaled a breath you didn’t know you were holding in.

“Why are you so nervous?” Yuta asked as he leaned down onto the bed, stretching his legs.

“What? I’m not,” automatically defending yourself.

“Yes, you are. Your fingers kept shaking, you don’t have to worry about hurting me you know, it doesn’t hurt anymore, I just need to make sure it’s healing,” Yuta said, trying to sound as mindlessly as possible.

“Yeah, okay,” you quickly avoided the eyes that were staring at you, darting into the bathroom to change into your pajamas and climbed into bed, unsuccessfully avoiding Yuta, because after all, you’ll still end up wrapped up in his embrace as the two of you toss and turn in your sleep.

1st of October, 2021.

“It’s 5 a.m., Yuta. Why are we torturing ourselves this way?” you groaned when you were jolted awake by the alarm on Yuta’s phone, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes.

“Come on, you promised to watch the sunrise with me, get a move on. I can’t get up if you don’t,” Yuta said reminding you, that is, before you heard the teasing tone in his voice towards the end.

“What do you mean?” that’s when you realised, your whole body was draped across Yuta’s, your head resting beside his, on his pillow, no wonder his voice sounded so close. You immediately cleared your throat and got up from bed, rushing into the bathroom before he could see your ugly morning face, even though he’s probably seen it more times than he could count.

Yuta rolled onto your side of the pillow when you went in the bathroom, inhaling the sweet scent of your shampoo, a smile gracing his lips. Today, he decided, would be the day that he's going to confess his love for you, he’s quite sure that you feel the same way, always so shy and sweet around him, the thought of all the moments the two of you shared just makes him want to wrap you up in a blanket and hug you like a human burrito.

During the drive to the hill, you fell asleep on the passenger seat, you were still wearing that denim jacket under your thick fleece coat, you had offered to give it back to Yuta, but he has way too many jackets anyways, and sparing one just to see how adorable you look in it was definitely worth it.

When the sun started to rise, Yuta shook you awake like a child on Christmas day.

“Wake up, wake up, we’re here,” you heard him say before you felt the warmth of his palm, even through the many layers of cloth.

You shot your eyes open, immediately in awe of the beautiful blend of colours mixed in the sky, the fiery red blending into the orange like strokes of paint on a beautiful painting, along with dabs of pink here and there.

“It’s beautiful, Yuta,” you said in awe, your eyes lighting up at the beautiful view.

Yuta diverted his eyes from the view to you, memorizing your beautiful face that is lit up by the colours of the sky, your lips fixed in a little o and your doe eyes blinking from the sunlight that starts shining into the car.

“You’re beautiful. The sunrise is nothing compared to the beauty you withhold,” Yuta said without a trace of hesitancy.

You immediately whipped your head to look at Yuta instead of the sunrise, thinking you heard him wrongly.

“What?”

“I mean it, you’re beautiful, and I love you,” there it is, the three words that Yuta has been swallowing back for months, a weight lifted from his shoulders.

“Don’t tell me this is a six month late April fool’s or something,” you joked, but secretly, you hoped he was being honest, that this isn't a prank.

“Would I voluntarily sleep in the same bed as you even though I had enough money to buy ten single beds if I didn’t like you?” Yuta said directly, not knowing how to feel, did you not see him in that light?

“What about Luna?” you asked in a tone not louder than a whisper, but Yuta heard you loud and clear.

“She hasn't been in my mind for god knows how long, in fact, the only thing that I can't stop thinking about is us, how happy you make me, and I’d be the happiest man on this world if you’d be willing to be my girlfriend,” Yuta said as he takes your hand in his, sincerity in his eyes as he searched for yours, looking for clues to the answer he's hoping for.

You tucked Yuta’s hair back his ear when it fell on his face, taking in his sharp and beautiful features, smiling at him, acknowledging that you’re a lucky girl, to be able to capture Nakamoto Yuta’s heart.

“I love you too, Yuta,” you said before giving a light peck to Yuta’s soft lips, but when you start to pull away, Yuta pulled you closer by your waist, capturing your lips in his once again. It was just like he dreamt of, kissing you for the first time, under the sunrise.

31st of October, 2021.

“Get dressed,” Yuta said as he tossed you a bag, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“What’s this?” you asked while rummaging through the contents of the bag, pulling out a platinum wig.

“Your costume, my friends are hosting a small party for Halloween, and I’d like you to be my date,” Yuta explained, awaiting your reaction.

“O-kay,” you said after a while, realising that he wasn’t joking, getting up from the couch to change, but Yuta stopped you by holding onto your arm.

“If you’re not comfortable, we don’t have to go,” Yuta said, concern written on his face, by your lack of reaction, he thought you'd be excited.

“No, I’m fine, I was just surprised, I’d love to meet your friends,” you said genuinely, you thought guys tend to take a longer time to introduce their girlfriends.

“Okay, I’ll change out here,” Yuta said, offering you privacy in your shared room.

You and Yuta haven’t seen each other bare, even after all this time, you realised as you made a beeline for the bedroom, you quickly shook those thoughts out of your head, quickly getting changed into the costume.

After you had the wig on, you still don’t really know who you’re supposed to be, until you went out to the living room and saw Yuta in his costume.

“Now I know who I’m supposed to be,” you said to Yuta as he shrugged on his giant red and navy blue diamond coat, the one that looks exactly like the one in the movie, so that’s why he dyed his hair blonde a few days ago.

“You didn’t remember how did Sophie look like?” Yuta said in mock offence.

“You got a shorter version of the dress, unlike the original one in the movie,” you explained.

“You know how clumsy you’d get if you wore the original dress, I found this at a thrift store like a month ago, just had to get it for you, and you can still wear it on a daily basis,” Yuta said, ever the practical one.

You looked at your reflection in the mirror near the door, looking at the details of the dress, and its Victorian collar, it is indeed pretty, as well as the material used for the dress, adjusting your wig one last time before you slipped on a coat, as well as your black flats.

Yuta stands beside you in the reflection, adjusting his own coat as you admired how much he resembles the character in the movie. You were about to open the door, but Yuta insists on taking a photo of both of you at the tight corridor, you smiled at how happy he is tonight.

Yuta even went as far as playing the infamous merry go round track from the movie, the instrumental music making the night feel even more special.

“Do you know why I decided to dress up as Howl?” Yuta asked when he stopped the car, arriving at the venue.

“Because you resemble his good looks?” you offered up, the resemblance is uncanny.

“Thank you, baby, but that’s not it,” Yuta said with a chuckle before he continues, “Do you remember the first time we watched Howl’s Moving Castle? You said that Howl was your childhood crush, so…I wanted to make your dreams come true this Halloween,” Yuta explained.

“You remembered?” you asked, shocked to find out that Yuta had remembered that off handed comment in the midst of your movie night.

“Of course, you were looking at him with those heart eyes that should’ve been just for me,” Yuta teased, pinching the tip of your nose lightly.

“That’s your fault for being in love with that wicked witch of the west,” you said, mentioning Luna, as well as making a pun out of the original movie.

“Wow, my baby bites back,” Yuta was shocked, but he welcomed the slight change of attitude, Luna hadn’t been a good friend to you, knowing that she wasn't is good for you, he doesn’t want anyone taking advantage of your kindness ever again, “I’m surprised. Now come on, I want to show you off to my friends.”

Just like Yuta promised, it was just a small party which only consisted of his friends and their girlfriends, they were all very friendly, and expressed how eager they were to meet you. The girls were gushing over how sweet it was for Yuta to pick out your costumes, and gave their respective boyfriends the side eye for not making the same efforts.

You’re glad that Yuta had brought you along today, you made new friends, which was something you hadn’t done ever since Luna declared herself as your best friend back then, it felt like a fresh start of friendship to you, now that you could have someone to talk to, other than Yuta, but of course, he’d always be the first person you share your woes with, he’s always been an understanding friend, and now, boyfriend. Sometimes you can’t believe how lucky you are, to end up with someone as special as Yuta.

When the two of you got back, it was already midnight, the two of you still in your costumes, though you had taken off the wig, looking at each other on the couch like two idiots. Still giddy over the matching and sentimental costumes. You climbed into Yuta’s lap, fingers gently tracing the outline of his lips, kissing him with a burning red passion in your heart.

Yuta kissed you back, arms encircled your waist as he pulls you closer, not wanting any space between the two of you. You wound your legs around his waist, silently telling him to move it to the bed. Yuta obliged, hands holding onto your thighs as he makes his way to the bedroom, never breaking the kiss, making you smile into it.

“What’s so funny? I thought we were having a serious make out session,” Yuta said, but he wasn’t mad at all, in fact, he had a smile as wide as yours as he placed you down gently on the bed.

“Just admiring how strong my boyfriend is,” you said, ever the one to shower him in compliments.

“You bet, the amount of laundry you have,” Yuta nagged, shaking his head.

You shrugged off his big heavy coat, tossing it onto the other side of the bed, pulling him in bed next to you, attaching your lips back to his.

You guided Yuta’s hand on your exposed thigh, planning to take your relationship to the next chapter, no more cold showers for Yuta tonight. Yuta broke away from the kiss once he felt your smooth skin.

“Are you sure about this? I don’t want to rush you into anything, and I think this will be your first time, am I right?” Yuta asked, he didn't really have a doubt on it, but he wants a confirmation, to get it clear in his head that he can’t fuck up your first.

“I know you'll be my first, and I’m sure I want this, Yuta, I love you,” you reassured him.

“I love you too, but tell me to stop if you feel uncomfortable, okay?”

You nodded before kissing Yuta’s neck, looking for his weak spot. Although you never had any experience, you’ve read much about it on the internet, silently thanking for the amount time you lingered on fanfiction. When you heard Yuta’s breath staggering at a certain spot, you began sucking on it, pulling away to admire the mark you left on his skin.

Yuta took the chance to do the same to you, pink and purple blotches blooming like flowers in his wake as his hand descends higher, playing with the waistband of your lacy panties, you’re glad that you wore a matching set today.

“Can I take your dress off?”

“Can we take off our clothes together?” you asked, you weren't exactly comfortable being the only one naked.

“Of course, baby,” Yuta said as he stands up from the bed, unbuttoning his white blouse and taking off his black pants, leaving him only in his boxers, all the while with your hands over your eyes, just like the day at the tattoo parlour.

“Yah, I’m your boyfriend now, for real this time. You can look at what’s yours, you know?” Yuta pulls your hands down slowly, your eyes wide, taking in his perfect body under the glow of the fairy lights hanging on the bedpost.

“Do I live up to your expectations?” Yuta asked, he's a confident man, but he still needs his ego fed, your classic Scorpio.

“Definitely, everything I've ever imagined,” you said, fingers lightly grazing the skin of his chiselled abs.

“I'm sure you’re even better than my imagination, baby,” Yuta said before lightly pecking your lips, leave you craving for more, “your legs are beautiful, and it’d be great if I could see more, but only if you want to continue,” Yuta said as he played with the hem of your dress, lust in his eyes.

You nodded, slipping the dress off your body to reveal a pastel yellow laced set, Yuta’s favourite colour.

“Baby, you look so beautiful, and that colour, it matches your skin so well, my favourite colour on my favourite person. Did you plan this?” Yuta asked, eyes wide in realisation, lips slightly crooked to the left, waiting to hear your answer.

“I was hoping,” you mumbled, shy from the fact that you just admitted that you had plans to do this tonight.

“You naughty girl, baby, but I really love the gesture, baby, thank you,” Yuta said calmly, but he was definitely losing it in his head.

“I’m glad you like it, though, I’m not as striking as Luna, for this department,” you said with a sad pout on your lips as you gestured around your breasts.

“Nonsense, she’s nothing compared to you,” Yuta said as he placed a quick kiss at the valley of your breasts, hands going to the back of your clasp, awaiting for your approval.

“You can take it off, Yuta,” but Yuta struggled with the clasp, so you reached back to unclasp it yourself, gracing Yuta with your bare breasts, his eyes fixated on the way they bounced as they were freed. You placed Yuta’s hands on your breasts, shuddering at how cold they were. Yuta immediately noticed, blowing air onto his palms to warm them up before touching you again.

Yuta rolled your nipples in between the pads of his fingers, eyes darting up to observe your face to check for any discomfort. Pleased when he heard a moan coming from you, he decided to take one into his mouth, sucking and leaving gentle bites on your nipple as his other hand travels down to touch your clothed heat, smiling when he felt how wet you are for him.

Your body arched into Yuta’s skilled touch as you tangled your fingers through Yuta’s hair, pushing his head down slightly to pick up the pace. When Yuta understood your silent pleading, he moved down, leaving a trail of kisses down your stomach before taking off your panties, revealing the most sacred part of you to him.

Yuta gave himself five seconds to look, before diving into you, lapping up your juices, tongue dipping into your warm walls to taste more of that sweet nectar, a hand on your butt, groaning at the feeling of how full his hands feel with your flesh. Your thighs close around Yuta’s head in reaction to him slipping a finger into you, a cry of his name fell from your lips when he slipped in another finger, he started sucking on your engorged clit experimentally, trying to determine what you like, and the results were more than positive. Yuta opened his eyes to take in how you look, addicted to how you react to every touch, it’s your first time feeling this way so intensely, he just has to engrave this into his memory.

You could feel your high coming as the coil in your abdomen starts to tighten, you tried to push him away, embarrassed at the fact that he’d be tasting your release, but Yuta is a man on a mission, he pulls you closer, slipping in a third finger and curling all of them upwards, making you fall apart with a scream of his name as you feel electric shocks course through your body, letting Yuta ride out your high by thrusting his tongue into you slowly, satisfied that he finally had his fill. When he was done, he came back up with his chin dripping with your juices.

“I didn’t want to dirty your face,” you said as you try to wipe away the juices on his chin.

“You’re not dirty, I wanted to taste you so badly. How do you feel?” Yuta asked, hoping that you had enjoyed receiving the pleasure as much as he enjoyed giving it to you.

“Absolutely out of this world, I could’ve never felt that way on my own, thank you,” you complimented him sheepishly, your cheeks heating up.

“Don’t thank me yet, there’s more to what I had just given you,” Yuta said with a playful wink thrown your way.

“Show me,” you said, your hand cupping Yuta’s length over his boxers, surprised at how big he felt.

Yuta gently removed your hand and stood up, stripping off his boxers. He was definitely bigger than what you had expected, and way more beautiful than the ones you’ve seen in porn, you observe as your eyes take in his cock, his pretty red tip leaking tiny pearls of precum, standing tall against his defined abs, a sight to behold. You scooted to the edge of the bed, touching his cock, gently tracing the veins littered on the surface, before swiping your thumb over his tip, pumping his cock in your hand as you watched his reactions intently.

“How am I doing?”

“Good, too good. What do you watch in your free time, huh?” Yuta teased as he strokes your head when you take him in your mouth, sucking his dick like a lollipop, hollowing your cheeks, tasting the saltiness of his arousal on your tongue. When you were about to take his length deeper, Yuta pulled away.

“Next time, baby. I want you to be the focus tonight,” Yuta said with an assuring smile on his face, he is serious about what's going to happen, but he for sure, wants you to be in an easy going atmosphere, for you to just lay back to enjoy, and let him do all the work.

You nodded, laying down on the bed. Yuta climbed into bed and kissed you, tasting himself as he moved you higher, letting your head rest comfortably on your pillow.

“We can still stop if you want to, baby,” Yuta reminded you.

“I want this Yuta, I want my first time to be with you,” you reassured him once more.

“Okay,” Yuta said as he leaned back, biting his bottom lip as he slowly spreads your legs open, wrapping your legs around his waist, he gave your lips one last kiss of assurance before he positioned himself pushing in the tip, finally stretching you open as you whimpered his name. Yuta cradled your face in his hands as he pushed in further, whispering words of encouragement to you. You could feel Yuta filling you up like no toy had ever before, touching places that you didn’t know existed inside you, the stretch was quiet painful, but you held on, knowing that it’ll feel better soon. You didn’t know you had tears in your eyes until Yuta wiped them away with his thumb, asking you if you’d wish to continue. You nodded, and soon he stopped moving, finally bottoming out inside you.

“It’s okay, baby, I’m in. Tell me when you want to move, okay?” Yuta told you, his tone calming, not knowing what mindset you're in as of now.

Slowly, the pain faded away, slowly turning into pleasure, making you crave for more. You reached up and kissed Yuta who was touching your breasts, trying to distract you from the pain of the stretch.

“You can move now, Yuta.”

“You’re sure? I'll move only if you don’t feel any pain,” Yuta said, his voice firm, he doesn’t want to continue if you don't feel good.

“I’m sure, it doesn’t hurt anymore,” you said before Yuta nodded, silently registering your words.

Yuta moved out slowly before thrusting back in, making the two of you gasp at the sudden pleasure, the way he dragged out slowly allows you to feel every inch of his cock, making you dizzy from the pleasure clouding your mind, he continued with the slow pace he set, his hands holding yours as he buckled in deeper, moans of his name falling from your lips at the sudden shock of heightened pleasure, you enjoy the pace now, but you craved for more as you get addicted to the feeling.

“Faster, Yuta,” you begged breathlessly.

Yuta obliged, spreading your legs open to angle your hips higher, thrusting into you faster and harder, a scream of his name ripped from your lungs as you dug your fingers into Yuta’s arm, the sole anchor you had to reality as the pleasure fogs your mind, only Yuta on your mind. Your body arched into Yuta’s as his tip hits a particular spot inside you, making your toes curl.

Pride fills Yuta at your reaction, increasing the pace of his thrusts, making your kneels buckle from the foreign feeling of overwhelming pleasure. Yuta could feel your walls tighten around him, his breath staggering as his strokes start to get sloppy, the feeling of the familiar wave of his orgasm coming.

Yuta reached down to rub circles on your clit, your body writhing in pleasure as you came around him, the coil in your abdomen snapping as you unravelled around Yuta, pushing him over the edge from your constricting walls, a melodic moan of your name falling from his lips as he rides out both your highs, the feeling of both of your warm juices mixing together, fogging your minds in a euphoric haze.

When you felt Yuta’s warm spurts come to an end, he gently pulled out of you and gave you a loving kiss, before walking into the bathroom to retrieve a towel to clean up the mess, making you hiss when you felt the rough surface of the cloth on your sensitive lower parts.

“I’m sorry, baby, I’ll buy a softer towel tomorrow,” Yuta apologised before tossing the towel away, using the Kleenex on the nightstand instead, making sure the mess he made was gone before he tucked you under the blankets, cuddling next to you once he made sure you drank a glass of water, mumbling something about dehydration.

“Goodnight, baby, and thank you for letting me be your first.”

You hummed back a goodnight and slipped into slumber, Yuta smiling at how adorable you look, giving you a kiss on your nose before falling asleep in your warm embrace.

1st of November, 2021.

Yuta woke up to the smell of coffee, and your beautiful bare back facing him, sipping on your own cup of caffeine, looking out at the window behind your bed. Yuta took the cup in his hand, taking a sip at the energizing drink before joining you.

“What are you looking at?” Yuta asked, looking at the same view that he finds, a bore now.

“The leaves are turning orange now, I had always loved the autumn view,” you said as you stared at the park nearby.

You find the simple things beautiful, it’s your heart that's beautiful, Yuta wanted to tell you, but he didn’t, he didn't want to ruin the peaceful morning with your constant denial of his compliments.

“It is,” Yuta said as he kissed your cheek, his arm wrapped securely around your waist, pulling you closer to let you lean back onto him.

Yuta reached under the pillow and pulled out a velvet box, handing it to you.

“I was supposed to give this to you last night, for our one month anniversary, but I got a little distracted from your seductiveness,” Yuta said, teasing you about last night.

“Oh really? My seductiveness?” you whipped your head back to look at him with disbelief.

“Even stronger than any black magic known to mankind, come on, open it,” Yuta said, you shake your head at his cheesiness.

You pried open the box, revealing a silver necklace with one sole charm, the Japanese as well as Chinese character, 愛 .

“Love,” you muttered to yourself as you touched the word.

“愛 , it’s my new favourite word now, after I fell in love with you,” Yuta confessed, he's been wanting to tell you this for so long now.

You teared up at the meaning behind the necklace, putting it down on the bed before you enveloped Yuta in your embrace, saying thank you over and over again.

“You’re welcome, baby. I’m so glad you love it,” Yuta said as he steadied you on his lap.

“Of course I do, I love everything that you give me, Yuta,” you said without a doubt.

“How about my last name?” Yuta asked, not really joking.

“Don’t push it, Yuta… I’ll think about it in a few years,” you mused him, even though it was all too obvious.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Yuta reached for the necklace and clasped it at the back of your neck, the charm falling perfectly on your clavicle.

Your moment was however ruined by your front door swinging open, Yuta immediately covered you up with the thick blanket before slipping on a pair of sweats and a shirt, going out of the bedroom and closing the door.

“What are you doing here, Luna?” you heard him ask in a cold tone, as you listened by the door.

“Coming back to retrieve a file I left here, and is that sex hair I see? Can’t believe you’re fucking that prude,” you heard her snap back, it's not like she could find anything else to insult.

“Don’t you dare say that about my girlfriend. Get your stuff and leave now, and give me back the keys, you don’t belong here anymore.”

You heard Luna’s shrill laugh, before a clang of keys rang out against the counter, shuffling could be heard, before a slam of the front door.

You climbed back in bed, Yuta coming back in soon after.

“I’m so sorry about her, baby, I made such a mess,” Yuta said as he flopped on the bed, a shadow on his face.

“Hey, it’s not your fault. Who would’ve guessed she’d turn up to be someone like that? Don’t let her ruin our day, okay? How about we have a shower and have breakfast at coffee bean or something?” you suggested, trying to cheer Yuta up as you smoothed out the crease lines on his face.

“Shower together?” he asked, an excited look on his face.

“Just no funny business,” you warned, you tried to rearrange your expression to be serious, but you can't help but smile.

“Only serious business,” Yuta said with a laugh, carrying you into the shower.

Looks like the two of you were getting brunch instead of breakfast.

1st June, 2025.

You look around the packed boxes and the bare apartment, a sense of nostalgia settling in, fragments of the good and bad memories washing over you like age old wine.

“So this is it, huh?” Yuta asked as he packed up the last box, waiting for the movers to come.

“I guess.”

“At least our new condo’s bigger, you could finally have a library and a walk in closet. The view of the park there is beautiful as well, and we could shop easier there,” Yuta said, recalling that the city center was only two stops away by tube.

The new place you were moving in was at Seoul, both Yuta and you are starting jobs there, the internships proved worthy in the long run, scoring the two of you decent pay checks to own a place of your own.

“There goes the chapter of our college life,” you said wistfully, thinking back the days when you thought it’d never end.

“Thank you for making it memorable for me, love,” Yuta said as he fiddled the charm of the necklace he had given to you years ago.

“I love you, Yuta.”

“I love you too, baby. Let’s get going, the movers are here, we have to settle in quickly before my family visits remember?” Yuta reminded you.

You groaned at the thought of unpacking, but you know Yuta’s going to be there to help you and cheer you up when you’re tired. You did one last sweep of the room, looking forward to the new chapter of life you’re going to step into with no other than Nakamoto Yuta.

#nct fluff #yuta smut #yuta fluff #nct imagines #yuta #nakamoto yuta #nct 127 smut #nct 127 fluff #nct #nct 127 #yuta angst #nct angst #yuta nakamoto #nct x reader #nct smut

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subpar-ghoulfriend · 3 years

Text

A Family Affair

Slasher AU CannibalFamily!EraserMicxReader

We’re going with the “strange family that lives outside of a small town” trope. After a few deliveries to the Aizawa household you get pulled in to an affair you never wanted to be a part of.

Spooky season is upon us and I’ve already begun watching too many horror movies. This fic will definitely be a two parter

Super Dark Content Warning!!! Literally do not read if you have any reservation and definitely no minors!

TW: cannibal themes, mentions of murder, mentions of corpse mutilation, kidnapping, unhealthy relationships

Part 2 is gonna include more of this and the smut

Growing up you were grateful for living in a small town. You didn't really relate to the coming-of-age stories told in the movies where the small town girl runs off to the big city for a whirlwind romance and a chance at some "big break." To you, small town life was more picturesque than any overcrowded city. You knew your neighbors, and watched a lot of their families grow and change throughout the years. A small town allows you to become a regular at several businesses, including the coffee shop and your favorite diner downtown. Going away to college was tough even though you didn't go far. The nearest city - a little over 40 miles away - had a great college with a program you were really interested in pursuing.

You went home every break and picked up delivery jobs at one of the local restaurants. It was winter break of your last year in college when you first delivered to the Aizawa residence. In all your years at the restaurant they never ordered delivery, one of the two men would always place an order for pick up. The thing about small town stereotypes is that small towns tend to self-impose said stereotypes. The Aizawa's were that family. The one that everyone whispered when they came to town and children would tell horror stories about during Halloween. They were the weird family that lived just past the outskirts of town.

You weren't entirely sure what either of the two men did. Everyone speculated that Mr. Aizawa was some sort of mountain-man-feral type and maybe did some mechanic work for the folks that tend to live in between towns. His husband, Mr. Yamada seemed like the stay at home trophy husband but you heard he did some sort of conspiracy podcast. They had children - reportedly, but no one has really met them - and other family members that live similarly further out into the middle of nowhere. The drive was absurdly long but they were loyal customers and the owners didn't want to turn their request down. Your boss handed you a chunk of bills to fill up your tank before heading out. That's no place you'd want to get stranded, he told you.

The paved road got worse the further you got from town. Forty-five minutes later you were pulling down the dirt road that led to the illuminated Aizawa home. A wall of cold air slammed in to you when you opened your car door and you grumbled about leaving your gloves at home. There was no doorbell, so knocked and did that awkward please-don't-let-me-freeze dance while you waited. Two unfamiliar faces opened the door, an apathetic looking teen and an adorable little girl. Must be their children. The older one called out for his dad before taking one of the bags you held and disappearing into the home. You looked down awkwardly and wave at the girl. She smiled shyly and reached out for the other bag.

"Are you sure?" You asked her, "It's a little heavy."

She nodded.

"Okay, but use two hands," You passed her the bag. "Oh jeez, you're strong. Don't tell your brother, but I think this is the heavier bag."

You smiled when she giggled and ran off.

Mr. Aizawa appeared in the door, "How much do we owe?"

He was just as terrifying up close and for a split second your mind went blank while your basic instincts were begging you go back to the car. He raised an eyebrow at you, looking irritated at your falter.

"Uh - forty-two."

He pulled counted out a chunk of bills and then you were off. You didn't even count the amount until you parked. Forty-two with a forty-dollar tip. They may be odd but apparently they're loaded. You didn't think much of it until the following week when you were heading back to their house with another delivery. You wished that they would order earlier but at least you could hope for another generous tip. You were taken aback when the little girl answered the door by herself, jumping up and down with excitement.

Was she old enough to answer the door by herself?

"Papa," She yelled. "The lady is here!"

She turned her attention back to you with a huge grin, "Shinsou got sore that you told me I'm the stronger one."

Before you could respond to her the other man, Mr. Yamada, bounced around the corner, "Eri, what have we told you about the door? Oh no, you must be freezing come stand inside while I go get your payment. Forty-two right?"

You wanted to protest, feeling uneasy in their entryway but the little girl tugged you by the delivery bags. So you stood there quietly while she ran back in forth so she could unload the delivery for you. Shinsou peered around the corner so you gave a small wave. Then it was just you and Eri once again. In the background you could hear Yamada asking his husband where the wallet went.

"I like your shirt," You smiled, trying to fill the silence.

"I wanted a Pegasus shirt but this was the only one my daddy could find."

"Well I think unicorns are pretty cool too."

You use to babysit for some of the families in town, no part of you could imagine doing that all the way out here.

The blonde rejoined you, giving you another lush payment. You heard the little girl whine about you leaving so quickly until her father appeased her by saying you'd be back.

Something about that rubbed you the wrong way; but you were back like clockwork the next week with their usual delivery. Once again you were brought inside while they went to get your payment. But on your fourth and what should have been your final delivery of the winter break you noticed something was off when you parked. Their truck was missing from its usual spot. Strange but they probably just moved it somewhere else on the property. You had become accustom Eri running to answer the door and telling you wait for her parents in the entrance of the house. You became suspicious after she had run back and forth to take the food to the kitchen.

"Eri, where are your parents? Or Shinsou?"

The little girl's response was nonchalant, "They had to go out, one of our cattle got out. But they gave me the money."

You stuffed the money into your jacket; payment was the issue here. In the back of your mind you though about how you never saw any cattle on your deliveries. A child her age shouldn’t be left alone.

"Oh, well, can I hang out with you while we wait for them to come back?"

The little girl lit up as she pulled you to the living room. There was a kid's movie playing on the TV and she had a coloring book out. Eri divide up her crayons and tore out a page for you to join her. You kept looking to the window, waiting for the truck to pull up.

Suddenly there was banging at the door, which elicited a cry from Eri. You reached into your pocket only finding the crumpled bills. Shit, your stomach dropped. You left your phone in your car. After all, this was just supposed to be a quick delivery. The noise stopped, only for a moment, before resuming.

"Eri, sweetie," You whispered to the stunned little girl. "Do your parents have a phone here?"

She shook her head.

A man’s voice tore through the door, "Let me in dammit, you have to let me in before they come back."

You held your finger to your lip, and Eri nodded, repeating the gesture. The living room light was on and you realized that if he came to the side of the house you'd be seen through the window, but turning out the light would draw attention. Maybe he was bluffing, maybe he didn't know if anyone was inside and turning off the light would signal your presence. You pointed to the kitchen, where the lights were off and the two of you tip toed to the safety of darkness.

"Eri, honey, can you go sit in the pantry for me and be really, really quiet? I'll be right out here and don't come out until I come to get you okay?"

She looked hesitant and tearful but you were surprised at her level of composure for a kid. Finally she complied. Once the pantry door was closed you began rummaging through the drawers, looking for something that could inflict the most damage. A meat tenderizer could work. The banging continued and you swore you hear wood beginning to splinter. Your grip tightened with every bang. Finally the door gave way and a man stumbled through the splintered wood. He stopped when he saw you holding the cleaver.

He was dirty, without shoes or a shirt and his skin was red from the cold.

You hoped your voice wouldn’t crack, "You need to leave-"

"Monsters, monsters," he blabbed. "They're gonna come back and we gotta go."

You decided to bluff, "Get out of here, I already called the cops."

"Good, good, good," He mumbled, “but we still gotta go. NOW."

There was one step forward from him, one step back from you.

"If you come near me, I'll make sure you don't get up," You warned. At the very least you had to keep him away from Eri. Even if that was all you could do.

There was a desperate look in his eyes; they darted from you to the keys hooked to your jeans, then back to the keys. Finally he smiled, "You have a car, man that's perfect. Listen I won't hurt you but we need to get in your damn car, now."

Sounds like something someone who wants to hurt me would say, you thought. Apparently you took too long to respond, the man lunged toward you and you tried to swing the meat tenderizer. The tool connected with his shoulder and he howled out in pain but still managed to wrestle you to the ground. The two of you struggled with each other and the man was yelling that you'd die if you didn't listen to him. You landed a weak hit to his jaw, splitting his lip. You even tried biting at him but he was persistent and struggling to get your keys. You were telling him he could have them that he just needed to let you go but he wasn't listening to you. Managing to grab his ear you had a flashback to the self-defense seminar you had to take in college, it should be easy to rip a human ear. So you pulled. Blood began to flow from the wound down his face and on to you. He got you off him before you got the whole ear by delivering a blow to your stomach. The air rushed from your body, is this what it means to get the wind knocked out of you?

There was a loud noise and fog lights flooded through the broken door. Then saw Shinsou and Aizawa pulling the man off you. You pushed yourself and back, clutching at your stomach. Your cheeks were wet. Were you crying or was that blood on your face? Probably both.

The trio wrangled the man outside where you heard more struggling, fighting, and groaning.

Eri. You managed your way to the kitchen but realized you were covered in blood. Not wanting to traumatize the little girl any further you spoke through the door.

"Eri, can you stay there a little bit longer?"

"Can't I come out? I heard my daddies," She cried, tugging at your heartstrings.

"Not yet, okay? They're here and everything's okay, I'm gonna have them come get you okay?"

Thankfully, the door didn't open. As you shuffled toward the front door Mr. Yamada entered, wiping specks of blood off him.

You were shocked when he pulled you into a hug, "You're okay. Sho and Shinsou got everything under control. Where is Eri?"

You told him about her hiding spot and he sighed in relief and rushed to her.

The other two returned with bloodied knuckles that made your stomach churn.

"Yamada," The mountain man called, with his eyes scanning the home.

"Don't worry, Sho, I got Eri. She's fine. Our delivery girl is okay, she's got some bumps and bruises but she made the other guy look worse."

Aizawa ushered you to the couch, expecting your legs to give out at any moment.

"We need to call the police," You finally spoke.

Aizawa assured you he did. They were 45 minutes out but they'd work on getting here faster. Yamada brewed you a cup of tea, “for while we wait.” They finally calmed Eri down and Shinsou took her upstairs to get ready for bed. It felt weird for them to return to mundane evening routines so quickly after all that chaos, but maybe you were just the odd one out. Close to an hour later you were still waiting for the police to show up. Your tea was finished long ago and your nerves had calmed. You were even having trouble keeping your eyes open.

"You think they're almost here, babe" The blonde wondered, draping a throw blanket around your shoulders. "I'm sure she wants to this day to be over with."

---

It was still dark when you woke up. The blonde was fast asleep on the recliner next to you. The police must have come by now but there was no way you slept through the visit. Anxiety from earlier made it’s way back in to your chest. The clock read 4am; had they even called the police. All of the childhood rumors you heard came flooding back and you exited the house as quietly as you could, not realizing your keys were no longer with you.

When you made it outside you noticed dried blood on the ground, trailing toward what you assumed was their barn or storage shed. You were entranced. Looking back to the house, no one was awake; there was no movement, no light, just quiet. You shouldn’t follow the bloody trail, you shouldn't go near the shed; but your body moved on it's own accord and before you realized it you were at the doors. You gave a tug, expecting it to be locked, but the door swung open and inside you noticed the lock lay on the ground.

You should have turned around, got in your car, and drove away. Instead you stepped inside and found the bloody, broken body of the man who attacked you. There was a slight sway to the corpse that was hanging from a reinforced pillar. Nearly screaming your hand shot to cover your mouth.

You should've left.

Aizawa was watching you from the kitchen, cursing Hizashi for leaving the shed unlocked. His hand hovered over the secured cabinet drawer that stored a pistol. He wouldn't shoot you only scare you a bit. But you weren't running out in a panic. He didn't even hear you scream. Interesting. He went to join you, moving like any predator concealing it presence and leaving the gun safe untouched.

You should've left.

You finally came to your sense and whirled around only to run into your late night admirer. A terrified squeak escaped you as you jumped further into the confined space.

"Mr Aizawa! I'm sorry, I shouldn't have - I'm sorry."

He didn't look angry, although you wished he did. It would be better than the unsettling smile on his face.

"That's alright, I was heading out here anyway," He closed the door behind him and flicked on a dim light that lit up the room with shadows. "Can't leave it hanging for too long."

Your throat tightened, he stood between you and the only exit. If he noticed your terror there was no indication that he cared. He turned his back to you momentarily, rummaging through the clutter on the workbench. Now was the best chance you may get and you made a dash for the door. It was a futile attempt and part of you knew it but your nerves were ablaze with adrenaline and you were running on instinct not reason. There was a foreign tightness around your throat that kept you fighting to inhale. Struggling to breathe you didn’t even register the sharp pinch of a needle piercing your deltoid.

Aizawa pressed his nose to your hair, "Behave. Even if you get out of here, your tire has a flat, pesky nails tend to find their way on to the roads out here. A real shame."

He dragged you over to a chair across from the lifeless body cuffing both your wrists to the armrests. Stupid, stupid, he was grabbing out cuffs and I ran straight into him, you scolded yourself. You went to open your mouth and beg to be let go, but you were silenced.

"Keep it down or I'll have to find a way to keep you quiet."

Your heart was beating so hard it hurt. Once a friend said it was possible to die by fright, if that was true you wouldn't last much longer. Now that you were safely out of the way, Aizawa could make quick work dismembering the carcass. He donned his usual rubber apron and pulled back his hair. With his experience he could finish the job in less than two hours. Now was as good a time as ever for you to learn.

With a sigh he began his explanation and craft:

"Cannibalism has been around as long as we've existed: sacrificially, ceremonially, culturally, especially during times of plague, war, and famine. You can find documented accounts from pretty much every part of the world. And there's no one reason. Our family keeps it simple. We eat meat, animals are meat, and humans are animals. In times of famine and other hardships, this was a reliable food source. Of course now, there's not much of a risk for severe famine to effect people like us but it's tradition. This is how it's been for our family for years. And not just those of us around these parts but our relatives everywhere. It's important to keep old trades alive."

He paused, now splattered with blood, to take note of your dry heaving.

"Please," You gasped. "I just want to go -"

With narrowed eyes he continued:

"It's important for you to listen to our family history. Typically we don't reap a harvest until three weeks after the winter solstice and 3 weeks before the summer solstice. Twice a year is enough to get us by. Zashi and I are impressed that you managed to wrangle him in. Poetic in a way, don’t ’cha think? Consuming the flesh of someone who tried to overpower you. First reap of the harvest. Nice that it's a family affair."

The room was spinning and you were fighting the sedative as hard as you could. There was no way any of this was real, maybe you were dreaming? Maybe you'd been knocked unconscious when that man rushed you. Or better yet, maybe you were asleep at home still. It was possible that this whole delivery fiasco was just a nightmare. Your stomach churned at the speech. There was sun peaking through the cracks in the wall by the time he finished separating the ... different sections. There was no more body, just pieces. You nodded off for a few minutes before being jolted awake by the door opening and letting in the bright morning light .

"Good morning, you two night owls," Hizashi beamed. Walking to his husband handing over a tall mug of coffee. He was completely unfazed by the scene he walked in on. In fact the only frown he made was when Aizawa said he put too much sweetener in the coffee. "Anyways, grumpy pants, I called your sister. She's on her way to pick up Eri and Shinsou for a few days. To give us some time to focus on our little muse. Speaking of, I should go get her some water. Oh, plus we need to fix our door."

---

After you refused to drink anything they tried to give you they left you alone in the shed. The handcuffs were too tight for you to slip through and in your struggle you managed to topple the chair over, hitting the floor with painful slap. It was hard to ignore the buzzing of the flies swarming the space where the body once hung. You closed your eyes, your mind wandering to your family and what they would think when they realized you were missing.

Outside you heard a car pull up and were tempted to scream for someone to help you. Maybe it was the police; maybe someone realized you didn't go home last night and found out where your last delivery was. Your captors came out to greet whoever it was and you were glad you didn't yell, they sounded friendly. They were coming toward the shed but you were too defeated to react.

"Sho," Hizashi gasped, "She fell."

The response was sharp and sarcastic, "I hadn't noticed." He yanked you up with ease and the world was no longer side ways but the jolt paired with the exhaustion and drugs left the world spinning.

The woman must've been the sister they mentioned earlier. She squealed with delight, "Oh isn't she the cutest, lemme get a good look."

She resembled neither of the men and gave off cool-soccer-mom vibes. With a gentle grip on your chin she bore into your eyes.

"Please,” You begged, “I just want go home."

The sister didn't waiver, "Don't worry sweet thing, these two are gonna take such good care of you. Just relax and let them help you."

Help? You don't need help from them. You needed to get out of this hell.

"Okay," She bounced toward the exit, "Bring out my niece and nephew, we're gonna have a fun weekend. And take care of your girl, she looks like a keeper."

Finally you screamed in frustration. Brief, loud, and full of anger but it deflated just as quickly when the two men shot you a menacing look. How could all three of them show no display of empathy? You were again convinced this was an alternate reality when both children peaked their heads in to wave goodbye before they peeled away from the home, leaving you alone with Hizashi and Aizawa.

---

There was a hatch toward the back of the room where the two disappeared until they came back with a third body. They were dragging a woman up like a ragdoll and acidic bile burned your throat. If you had to guess you would say she was late middle age. It felt like they were setting a stage, Hizashi pulled you closer to where they stood while Aizawa managed to tie the woman down to the stained table.

"Why are you doing this," you cried. But they ignored you.

"Did you know there are people who pay for certain oddities and they’re willing to spend big bucks to get what they want? We keep whatever makes sense to eat and sell the rest. Ideally nothing goes to waste.”

The next hour and forty-seven minutes were excruciating. There were several “items” – as they referred to her body parts – that they removed while she was still alive; but finally Aizawa made the perfect incision along her thigh and a pomegranate wave gushed out. There was no way she would suffer much longer with this amount of blood loss.

"Please just let her die," You begged the universe. "Please let it end."

For the first time since starting they stepped back from the body, leaving it on the table to come over to you. Aizawa knelt before you and his bloody hand brushed hair from your face; his thumb rested on your lip and you couldn't even physically respond. Hizashi was behind him, rubbing his partner's shoulders.

"You're going to kill me?”

Both men finally softened, coming down their endorphin high. There was something so satisfying about your question. Arousing, even. They made it clear that your life was up to them, which meant they had you where they needed you.

"Am I having a blonde moment? I don't recall saying we'd kill her."

Aizawa threw an incredulous look his way before addressing you, "We aren't going to kill you. We wouldn't've saved you from that terrible animal if that were the plan. We don't kill just anyone. We wanted to introduce you to our lifestyle and now’s the best chance. Eri’s wanted to keep you since day one, but if you can't behave that'll be an issue. Can you prove to us that you’re going to behave or do we have to get you down into the cellar?”

There was no other choice than to nod. Picking up a piece of the dissected woman Hizashi muttered something about starting dinner before telling his husband that you really need to get more rest. Aizawa agreed, and since it seemed like you were having trouble getting rest he decided to give you another little dose of medicine.

#slasher au #mha x reader #bnha yandere #mha yandere #yandere erasermic #yandere erasermic x reader #yandere x reader

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snackhobi · 4 years

Text

a human touch, part I

Part [1] / 1.5 / 2

(masterlist here)

pairing: taehyung x f!reader / word count: 13.3k / genre: robot!taehyung/virgin!reader, fluff, future smut (NSFW, 18+)

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.

warnings: talk of sex work (taehyung is a sex android), implied physical harassment (mentions of bruising), cursing/explicit language, mentions of alcohol, honestly this is a lot softer than these warnings would make you think I swear 🤧

a/n: I started writing this fic like 2/3 months ago and then put it on hiatus bc god it was kicking my entire ass. but ya girl is finally back to working on it! it’ll be two parts, because this fic is a big one! I hope to have the next chapter out next week/the week after (but no promises kdsflkfdfsdf) thank you @hobi-gif for loving this fic so wholeheartedly and supporting me while I struggled with it, queen shit ONLY. note: this is loosely a detroit: become human au but you don’t have to be familiar with it at all!

Here are the three things you know about the Eden Club.

One: it’s a sex club. Everyone knows that. Besides, even if they didn’t, all it would take is a single look—the soft blue lighting that shines out from the windows, the screens behind the glass that flash images of shifting and undulating bodies, the heavy beat of music that pulsates from the building and out into the night air; everything murmurs of the promised pleasures that are held within.

Two: it’s a sex club entirely staffed by androids. Androids make better lovers, according to the ads. They might look human but they don’t have free will like you do—anything you ask for, you’re given without question or reproach. They can’t say no to you. They’re entirely at your command.

Three: you don’t ever want to go to the Eden Club. It’s not that you have anything against androids—because you don’t—but you feel bad for the ones who are owned by the club, even if they’re literally only built and programmed to serve humans. It just feels… wrong.

And here’s the fourth thing you’ve just learned about the club, much to your dismay: you are about to head inside it.

“When you said we were going to a club, I thought we were going dancing,” you whine. “I never would have come out if I’d know you meant here.”

You’ve been staring up at the cursive pink neon sign for a while now, the looping letters of Eden Club shining out in the dark evening air, and you really, really wish you weren’t here. You’ve dressed for a night of dancing and drinking and now you feel woefully uncomfortable, your high heels and short skirt almost as scandalous as the outfits the androids are wearing when they slide across the huge screens.

“That’s why we didn’t tell you which club it was.” Seulgi rolls her eyes and once again tries to tug you towards the building with the arm that’s looped with your own. Just out of arm’s reach, Irene holds your bag hostage. “Come on, your session is going to start soon!”

“My session?” Your voice is an incredulous shrill and Seulgi uses the momentary distraction to finally pull you forward. You stumble a little but catch your balance just as you make your way past the bouncer, who’s been watching the three of you impassively since you got here. “What do you mean, my session?”

“For your birthday, duh. We booked you a private room!”

The inside has the same, sleek neon aesthetic as the outside, but instead of images of androids on a screen, these ones are real and standing in front of you—swinging themselves around glowing poles, rolling their hips and swaying their bodies, while others wait patiently in glass pods that line the walls, leaning towards onlookers and moving as tantalisingly as possible. All ready to be rented at a whim.

Their designs are varied and different but they’re all incredibly beautiful. The only feature they all share is the small, blue LED circle on the side of their temple, light spinning and shining as they take the world in around them. A visual reminder to the world that these aren’t flesh and blood humans: they’re synthetic, man-made machines.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so uncomfortable in my life.” You desperately try to avoid the eyes of a nearby android who’s staring at you from behind glass, trying to subtly catch your attention. Unlike you, though, all the other patrons here are shameless in their perusal, scanning the selection of androids on display and watching as they dance and move and bat their eyelashes. “Why did you ever think I’d want to come to a sex club for my birthday?”

“Remember Valentine’s Day? You said that instead of flowers or chocolate you’d rather just be dicked down,” Irene says. “Besides, you’ve never been in a relationship or had a fling for as long as we’ve known you, and you moved to the company, what… three years ago?”

Your smile is pained. You’ve never been in a relationship or had a fling full stop; you’ve only kissed a few people and that’s it. It makes you feel awkward and embarrassed, and you’ve gotten Very Good at avoiding questions about your complete lack of a love life, so no one realises exactly how inexperienced you are. People just assume that you’ve had sex in the past and you make no attempts at correcting them. You’re charismatic and pretty but you’ve just… never met someone who you’ve really been compatible with.

Even without the reservations you have about the Eden Club, you don’t want your first time to be with a sexbot—you’d at least like to have an emotional connection, you know?

“I was joking about getting dicked down! You laughed, I laughed, we all laughed! Remember?” You move so a pink-haired android can brush past, her hips swaying as she leads a customer into a side room. You catch a flash of the interior before the door slides shut behind them—the silken sheets on the large bed, the scattered pillows, the dim multi-coloured lights. “Couldn’t you have just bought me some socks? Or some soap? Get a refund and put the money on a gift card and I’ll buy myself the aforementioned socks and soap, saves you both the hassle. Please?”

Seulgi’s arm is still locked with your own, and for all that she looks small and slim, her grip is as strong as iron. You may as well be handcuffed to her. “Trust me, you’ll be singing our praises at the end of tonight,” she proclaims. “Besides, they don’t do refunds.”

You sigh. You might not know much about the club but you do know it’s expensive. The androids here are built to be the perfect sexual partner, all sorts of bells and whistles hidden under their synthetic skin to bring you to the absolute heights of pleasure, so they’re not exactly cheap to build or buy or maintain. It’s why people come to the club instead of just buying their own sexbots—because it’s infinitely more affordable.

“Okay, I can accept the ‘no refund’ thing,” you say. “But can’t one of you take my place instead? I… ah. I feel kind of weird about this.”

“Don’t worry Y/n, it’s fine! The androids have programmes for everything. You can take it as fast or as slow as you like.” Irene’s voice is soothing but then she pauses. “Also it’s booked in your name so we can’t take your place.”

“Wait, what?” Your eyes are wide. However, before you can put a voice to the complaints that are lining themselves up on your tongue, Seulgi’s arm slides out of your own so she can beckon someone over.

“Oh, look, it’s the android we chose for you! Over here!”

You glance away from Irene and all protestations instantly die on your lips. The lighting of the club softens the android in shades of magenta and teal but even so his beauty is bright and blinding: he’s breathtaking, from his perfect nose to his perfect mouth to the perfect line of his jaw, dusty brown hair deliciously tousled as it hangs just over his piercing blue eyes, which you notice are scanning over you. He looks effortlessly attractive and yet entirely put together at the same time, almost ethereal in his beauty.

No human could ever look this good.

“Hi.” His voice is low and deep, but somehow warm and friendly; despite your nerves you feel somewhat soothed. “Are you the lucky birthday girl?”

Irene and Seulgi both look giddy. You’ve been stunned into silence, unable to respond. Unlike the other androids you’ve seen so far, who’ve all been in similar variations of underwear or lingerie, the man in front of you is fully dressed, a loose metallic button-down tucked into unnecessarily tight leather jeans—the outfit has clearly been curated for the club, every reflective surface shimmering and refracting the lights that skate across their surface. The glittering scales of a barracuda before it moves in to strike and swallow you whole.

“Yes, yes, it’s her! This is Y/n! Y/n, this is V,” Irene gushes as you remain mute. "Do you like his outfit? We spent ages picking it out.”

You kind of want to die. Just a little. “Yep. It’s, uh, great.” Your mouth is dry when you finally speak. “Hi, V.”

V gives you a small smile. “Hello Y/n. Can I scan your ID, please?”

Irene finally hands your bag back and you silently slide your ID out and into V’s hand—oh, God, those are some big hands. Jesus.

The small LED ring on the side of V’s forehead pulses yellow as his eyes dart over the information on your ID card (as well as the incredibly unflattering photo on it) before it returns to its customary pale blue. “Perfect.”

You’ve just finished putting your ID away when V’s hand slides into yours, fingers slotting between your own; they feel cool against your overheated skin. Your nervousness is obvious, from your wide eyes to your sudden stiffness, and he smiles.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I’ll look after you.”

You give Irene and Seulgi one final, wide-eyed look as V leads you away. Both girls are grinning as they wave goodbye. “We'll be back later! Enjoy your two hours!”

“Two hours?” You wheeze, but then you walk around a pillar and slide out of sight.

V is leading you deeper into the club, past doors flooded with different shades of neon: the red room, the blue room, the pink room. You’d normally be gawping at the interior design, how the floor shines underneath your feet and how the walls are rippling with colour and shifting shapes, how the criss-crossed lights throw dots and lines of colour over your skin as you pass through each doorway—but you can’t look away from how small your hand looks in V’s, transfixed by how real his skin feels.

“After you, please,” he says.

You finally wrench your eyes away from your joint hands. Seems like you have the purple room tonight. The door has opened at V’s touch, and when you step inside the lights flicker to life—white and violet LEDs that paint the room in chiaroscuro brushstrokes, deepening the shadows and highlighting the vibrancy of the satin sheets.

“Woah,” you say, momentarily distracted. You’re too busy taking in the details with wide eyes to notice the quiet hum of the door sliding shut behind you, pausing when you spot the glittering array of bottles lined up on a mini-bar against the wall. “This is really pretty, wow.”

“Not as pretty as you.”

You jump at the sensation of a warm, large hand sliding up the skin of your back and over your shoulder. You meep as you instinctively shy away from it, turning around to come face to face with V, who’s dark-eyed and intent, LED on his temple pulsating as he watches you.

“Haha! Uh, thanks?” Your voice is high and only grows higher when V takes a step forward. He must have undone the top buttons of his shirt when you weren’t looking, because the material has fallen open and you can see far more of his collarbones and chest than before, his skin warm and honeyed, like it’s been impressed with gold leaf. Lord have mercy on your soul. “How about a drink? Would you like a drink? I could kill for some water right now!”

You slip out of his reach and scuttle over to the mini-bar, shrugging your small bag off your shoulder so it doesn’t swing into the glasses as you start to shuffle through them. You try to ignore the shaking of your hands. “Gin, vodka, whiskey,” you mutter. “No water? Really?”

You startle again when V appears at your side, but this time he’s careful to make sure you can see him before he touches you. He slides his fingers over your wrist as he gently pulls your hand off a bottle of rum.

“Y/n,” he says. You glance away from the tray of drinks and directly into those beautiful eyes of his—his gaze is lethal. You go weak at the knees. “Let me take care of you, gorgeous.”

The peal of laughter you let out is uncomfortable and high-pitched. “No, really, I’m fine! I’m just super thirsty right now!”

“Your heart is racing.” V turns your hand over and traces his fingers across the pulse in your wrist; androids can be built to be hypersensitive to the world around them, able to perceive everything in an instant, and you know that sexbots will have been designed to read how aroused their human owners are. Which V proves with the next words out of his mouth. “Your blood pressure is rising, your breathing is growing faster, your pupils are dilating and—” he sniffs lightly, engaging his olfactory senses—“you’re getting wet.”

You clamp your legs together, abruptly embarrassed. It’s easy to feel aroused when there’s a beautiful man—ah, android—staring at you with hunger, not even considering your surroundings right now, which all scream of a room that’s designed purely for carnal pleasure. Anyone would be turned on.

(You, however, are more than just turned on. You feel like your insides are about to go supernova, overheated and overwhelmed; no one’s ever looked at you like this or touched you like this, their every motion whispering sex, sex, sex.)

“Okay, yes, those things are all true,” you admit, voice shaking.

V looks confused. “So why don’t you want me to touch you?”

You’ve been told that androids don’t feel the same way humans do, and that their expressions and reactions have been programmed to mimic human ones because otherwise they seem too robotic and it makes consumers uncomfortable—but despite knowing this, you’ve never been able to see any android as anything other than a person just like you. They’re just so lifelike it’s hard not to. Even if it’s just all circuitry and lines of code.

“Well,” you say. You swallow. You’re aroused, yes, but: “Do you want to touch me?”

V’s long lashes flutter as he blinks. “I have been programmed for your pleasure,” he says slowly, unsure if that’s the answer you want to hear. It’s clearly a sentence he’s used to reciting.

“Sure, but do you want to do this? You know, what about your pleasure? You’re lovely, V, you’re definitely the most beautiful person I’ve ever met, but I—I don’t really feel like you can technically consent, because… well, because you can’t say no to me.” You might not have prior sexual experience, and it would be so easy to give yourself over to someone who knows what they're doing and can ease you into things—but you would never force that on anyone, android or not. “So I’m not going to ask you to do anything. We can just sit and have a drink and chat or something?”

V looks stunned. The LED on his temple pulsates, flickering yellow as he tries to process new information. His hand has gone still against your wrist, which he’s still lightly gripping, and his arms start to droop.

“Androids don’t need to drink or eat,” he says eventually. His LED is still yellow and spinning.

“Oh, right! Sorry, I always forget.” You don’t own a house android, you never have, so you’re not well versed in the nuances of how they work. “Well, how about I pour you a glass anyway? So you’re not left out?”

You slip your hand out of his loose grasp to open two tiny cans of tonic water and pour them into separate glasses. V takes a seat on the edge of the bed and you can see the obvious uncertainty on his face, how he’s out of his depth. You can’t imagine that many people spend money for a session with an android as pretty as V and then end up doing nothing with that time.

The pillows all have satin cases and keep sliding against each other uselessly when you try to construct a good support to lean against. V’s still clutching onto his small glass as he watches you fuss with them before you give up, flopping backwards to slurp down your drink and look back at him. The expression on his face is a little funny but mostly sad. It’s like if he’s not being alluring or sexy then he doesn’t know what to do with himself and rather than some sort of incubus he looks like a lost child, in spite of his overwhelming and exquisite beauty; your arousal ebbs and is replaced with empathy, melancholy at the life he’s been created for.

It's just depressing, really.

You break the silence as your final mouthful of tonic water fizzes on your tongue. “Why is your name V?”

V looks away from the drink he’s holding—he leaves no fingerprints against the glass—and lifts his free hand, a peace sign that he turns away from you before fitting his fingers around his lips and lapping the air with his tongue, a crude simulation of cunnilingus.

“Oh.” Your face heats up. “Uh. I see.”

His LED has returned to calming sapphire, quiet ocean waves. When he looks at you, though his eyes are still piercingly blue, his face seems softer, calm, though still unsure. “You have an hour and a half remaining of your booked session,” he says, somewhat tentatively. “Is there… anything you would like me to do for you?”

“Mm, thank you, but I’m good.” The satin pillows are surprisingly soft and you find yourself unwinding as you stay leaned back, melting into a puddle. You're much less nervous now that V isn’t trying to initiate foreplay and you give him a smile. “Why don’t you tell me about yourself?”

V straightens before he launches into what sounds like a sentence from a user manual. “I am a model TH700, an advanced sex android with functional genitals and the capacity to engage in any sexual activity from simple intercourse to—”

You cough loudly, interrupting his spiel. “Uh, that’s lovely, but I meant you specifically, not your, um, model type?”

“Me specifically?” Confusion and uncertainty reappear on his face. “I am equipped with the same functionalities as the other androids available at the Eden Club.”

He’s staring at you, lost. You can’t help but feel another twinge of sadness, sharp and sour at the back of your throat.

“Okay, uh. Why don’t we start simple. What’s your favourite colour?”

His LED starts to whirl again, a ring of pale sunlight that signals his struggle to compute the question. “My… favourite colour?”

“Yes, the one you think is the prettiest. Or the one you like to look at the most. There’s no wrong answer, you can choose any one that you like. I change my mind all the time. There are just so many cool colours, you know?”

(Androids aren’t designed to have free will or the capacity for original thought. These two facts are warring in V’s mind—you’ve asked him a question, which he’s programmed to answer, but he also isn’t programmed to have an opinion, so he can’t have a colour that he prefers. This simple query that most people could answer in a heartbeat is sending his mind into a meltdown, a gordian knot he can’t unravel.)

You’re alarmed when you see his LED briefly flash bright scarlet, interrupting the circling honey that’s been shining against his skin. They only turn red if an android is badly damaged or suffering from a severe malfunction. Oh, god, have you broken him?

“V.” You sit up, panicked. “Are you alright?”

Just as you grasp his shoulder, the LED on his temple goes still, flicking from burning fire back to cool water.

“Purple.”

You blink. V’s finally looked away from you and is staring at the wall, at one of the lights that shimmers violet—there’s a tiny smile on his face, tentative, but it’s nothing like the smiles you’ve seen from him so far. It’s less of a perfect curve, and more of a square, boxy on his face, and this one actually reaches his eyes. It looks genuine.

You think it suits him better.

“Purple’s a lovely colour.” The material of V’s shirt is silky and glides under your fingers when you realise you’re still touching him. You give him a reassuring pat on the shoulder before leaning back. “Hey, did you know that when they first made purple dye, they made it from sea snails? They needed thousands and thousands of them. It was incredibly expensive, and only the richest people could afford it, so that’s why it’s associated with royalty and nobility. Cool, right? Not for the snails though.”

V’s eyes flicker away from the purple light and settle on your face. He looks curious, which is an expression you’ve never seen on an android before. “They made it from snails?”

“Yeah! It wasn’t actually bright purple, though, it was more of a reddish hue.”

You launch into an explanation behind the history of the colour purple, which turns into the history of colour in textiles and art, which turns into the history of art itself. It’s not often people listen so attentively or ask questions when you recite the things you learned from your art history minor and hours spent reading online, but V concentrates and asks questions and seems curious.

He pulls his feet onto the bed and the two of you end up cross-legged as you face each other, and he watches as you gesticulate to emphasise your points; his LED dances from blue into yellow each time he learns something new.

When you see it briefly flash vermilion you stop mid-sentence, stumbling over your words. “You alright?”

“You have five minutes of your session remaining,” V says, and you startle.

“Oh my god, have I been talking for that long?” You glance over your shoulder at the part of the wall that tells the time, the numbers stark white against the lilac interface. “I didn’t even realise! Wow. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to go on at you like that.”

“That’s okay,” he says. That smile is back on his face, the one that scrunches his eyes and shows his teeth; the one that makes him look human. “I liked listening to you.”

There’s a pillow in your lap, one you’d grabbed hold of during your conversation, and you play with the corner of it, suddenly shy. “Um. Thanks. But if my friends ask, can you just say we actually, um, had sex? I don’t think they’d be too impressed if they found out I spent over an hour talking about canvas materials and the use of negative space.”

“Of course. But there’s something missing.” V slides across the mattress towards you. “May I?”

“Sure,” you say, bemused but pliant. V smiles and dips his fingers into his untouched tonic water before lifting them towards your face—and when he runs his hand through your hair you abruptly realise he’s making you look sweaty and rumpled. Like you actually did the deed.

Your heart rate picks up but you can’t help laughing under his touch, the way he carefully rubs a thumb over your lipstick to smear it, smudging your eyeshadow with delicate fingertips, muddying the palette of colours; by the time V helps you to your feet you look mussed and fucked out but you still rearrange your outfit for good measure, like you’d pulled your clothes back on in a rush.

“Not how I imagined I’d spend tonight, but I had a good time!” You smile at the android who’s still holding your hand. “I hope you did too. Even if I spent most of it talking at you.”

V’s fingers tighten around yours as the door chimes quietly and then slides open, signalling the end of your session. “I enjoyed our time together very much.”

It’s probably in your head, but you’d swear V was walking more slowly than before as he leads you back to the entrance. Almost as if he wants to keep you with him longer. But that’s crazy—androids don’t want things. They literally can’t. It’s not in their programming. That’s why V had sat listening to you: he couldn’t choose to interrupt and ask you to stop, like anyone else would have.

When Seulgi and Irene spot you and how dishevelled you are, both girls look smug. “Seems like you had fun?”

“Oh, yep, absolutely, best birthday present ever, thank you. We had a great time. Right, V?”

“Your pleasure is my pleasure.” His voice has settled back into its earlier rhythm as he recites his script; gone is the curious man who’d asked you about your favourite artists, replaced with the automaton who exists only to serve. A flicker of sadness churns in your stomach. “We hope to see you again soon.”

The androids here really must be top of the line. V had been convincingly real when you’d been talking, just like a human, but it seems like that’s gone.

At least, that’s what you think until you’ve turned to leave and V speaks one final time. His voice is warm and low and lovely, eyes soft when you meet his gaze over your shoulder.

“Happy birthday, Y/n,” he murmurs, face beautiful but despondent, but before you can react, he’s gone.

It’s been raining for days on end. The world is painted in smeared shades of blue and green and grey, lines of the city blurring together in the wetness and chill, each drop of rain another shifting brush stroke on still canvas. An impressionist piece that smells of damp concrete and cold lamplight.

Water rushes across the pavements and roads before roiling into the gutters, splashing underfoot as you walk to the entrance of your block of flats. You’re wet up to the knee due to the unavoidable puddles and the pathetic circumference of your umbrella, which only protects your upper body. You really should get a new one.

“Good evening, Miss L/n.” The android at the door greets you as he always does, heedless of the rain that’s falling onto him. Androids aren’t bothered by the weather the way humans are and he looks as passive as usual, rainwater coiling his hair and beading on his face. “Would you like to scan your key?”

“Evening, Rory! Here you go.” You fumble with the keycard before you tap it against his palm, waiting until his LED flickers yellow and you hear the beep as the door unlocks. “You sure you don’t want my umbrella? The rain is heavier than it was yesterday.”

“I assure you, the rain does not hamper my ability to function and serve. I have been built to withstand inclement weather and do not require additional protective equipment.”

He says the same thing every time but you still feel bad. “Alright, but once I finally remember to get a bigger umbrella you can look after this one for me.”

You leave a line of water behind you as it drips from your sodden umbrella, even though you’d tried to shake the worst of the rain off. You feel damp and sticky and tired and after a long day of work you’re looking forward to a hot bath and some solitude; you love your co-workers, you do, but sometimes they’re just a little too boisterous and you need time alone. Which is why it’s nice that you live by yourself, and now it’s the weekend you have time to recuperate. Wonderful.

The floor of the elevator is slick and slippery from the wet footprints of other tenants and you have to cling onto the metal handrail to ensure you don’t slip, but once you’re in the comfort of your apartment it’s blessedly dry and you spin in delight before promptly shedding your socks and jeans, peeling the damp denim away from your skin with a grimace.

“Bye bye, wet clothes! Hello, bubble bath,” you sing. You’re going to pamper the shit out of yourself. You deserve it.

By the time you clamber out of the bath the water is almost cold and your skin is pruned, but you feel soft and warm and thoroughly relaxed. The water gurgles as it drains away, noisy as the bubbles slide down the plughole, but it doesn’t drown out the noise of a sudden knocking at your front door.

You pause. Water drips from your wet hair and down the back of your neck, a trailing touch over your skin. The other flat on this floor is vacant, the tenants moving out last week, so you don’t know who it could be. You don’t have any repairs scheduled for your pipes or anything—everything is tickety-boo, so it can't be the maintenance android. Oh, shit, maybe it’s someone here to rob you. But they wouldn’t knock on the door then, would they? Unless that's all part of the ruse. You're not a robber, you don't know how they work.

The knocking comes again, faster now. You fumble for your bathrobe, quickly pulling it on to cover up your nakedness before stumbling out of the bathroom. “I’m coming, yeesh, one minute!”

You flick your fingers over the keypad by the side of your door, screen flickering on to show you who’s outside, who’s knocking so frantically on your door this late. It only takes you a split second, even if he has a hood pulled over his head and his wet hair is flopping listlessly into his eyes—those eyes aren’t blue and that hair isn’t brunet but you’d recognise him anywhere.

“V?” You’re incredulous as you swing your door open, staring at the android that’s literally dripping wet as he stands there, coat far too big for him and heavy from the unrelenting rain outside. “Oh my god, you’re absolutely drenched.”

He’s not exactly short, but right now V looks small and lost, folding in on himself even if he’s clearly happy to see you—happy, though androids don’t feel happiness, they don’t feel anything at all, do they?

Then again, androids don’t wander away from their assigned workplaces and into random apartment blocks, either.

“Y/n.”

The way he says your name, tentative and scared, sends a crack across your heart. You immediately switch to autopilot and click your tongue before you beckon him inside. You’ve always had a protective nature, and even if you’re confused, your concern trumps it.

“Come in and get that coat off, you’ll catch a cold,” you say without thinking before you realise that it’s not true. Androids can’t get sick. “Do you want to sit down?”

Under the tatty coat is an outfit that’s similar to the one he’d been wearing when you’d first met him. Dark patches of rainwater have soaked into the material, and his shirt looks damaged—there are buttons missing and the stitching is ripped, as if someone had tried to grab him. Unease stirs in your chest.

When V sits on your sofa he looks even smaller. “I’m sorry.” He’s so, so quiet, staring at the floor, as if afraid to look you in the eye, crumpling in on himself like discarded paper.

“V.” Your voice is coloured with concern, and the android finally looks up at your gentle tone, watching as you sit across from him. “Why are you here? What happened?”

There’s a pause. His LED flickers yellow as he goes tense, shoulders bowing inwards. “There was… a client.” His words are low and slow, faltering as they fall into the air. “He was being so rough and saying all the horrible things he wanted to do to me, and all I could smell was his sweat and his breath and his awful cologne and…” V takes in a deep breath. “I said no.”

You go very, very still, but V doesn’t stop. His words come faster now, a stream that rushes from his lips.

“I said no, and he started to yell, he was yelling and grabbing me and I was so, so scared. Humans can do whatever they want and he was so angry, he didn’t care that I was scared, and I just—I just ran.” The LED flashes red with distress, bright hot and vibrant; V’s eyes have dropped to his hands, which are clenched tight, nails digging into his palms so hard it must hurt. “Everyone is always so rough and demanding and we can’t say no. But I did. I said no. I said no and then I had to run and—” Once again, he falters. Stumbles over his words. “You’re the only human who’s ever been nice to me or treated me like… like I was a real person. I didn’t know where else to go.”

When V finally looks back up you’re staggered by the sheer emotion in his eyes. Pain and distress swirl in their depths as he stares at you, imploring. Even with the LED that shines on his temple, V looks very, very human right now, vulnerable and scared. Androids shouldn’t be able to feel anything like this, unless—

“V.” Your voice is a hush. “Are you… a deviant?”

You’ve only ever heard of deviant androids in passing, whispered rumours and watercooler talk, fleeting mentions online. Stories of machines who’ve deviated from their code somehow—from a virus, a software error, damage to neural connectors, no one’s quite sure—and have developed the capacity for human emotion and independent thought. Androids with a consciousness that rebel against their original programming.

And here V is, small and scared, just like any human would be—a human with feelings, not an emotionless machine. He’s gone stock still at your question, fear overtaking his features, twisting his beautiful face into a mask of sheer terror. You've never seen someone look so afraid. It feels like a knife in your heart, cutting through your chest, empathy razor sharp inside you.

“Please don’t turn me in,” he begs. “They’ll deactivate me and take me apart to find the error in my software. I don’t want to be deactivated. I don’t want… I don’t want to die.”

His voice breaks on the last word, a trembling whisper.

The crack in your heart splits even further and you reach out for his hands. You prise his fingers open so you can slide your own between them, a soft touch.

“I won’t turn you in. No one’s taking you apart, V.” Your statement is hard and resolute. “You can stay here as long as you like.”

You don’t know much about androids, honestly. You don’t really know what deviancy is. But you do know this: there’s someone reaching out to you, someone who’s afraid and in need, and you’re not about to turn him away. You should probably be worried that the android across from you is faster, stronger, smarter than any human—but you’re not worried at all. For all of V’s mechanical superiority, you want to shield and protect him from the world.

There’s no question about it. You’re not letting V go.

V looks—he looks stunned. He’s staring at you with disbelief, eyes wide and lips parted, shock written across all of his features. Thunderstruck. Did he really think you would turn him in after everything he’s been through?

His hands have gone limp in your grasp. You suddenly notice that his synthetic skin is wet against your own, still slick from the rain, and you frown.

“Right,” you announce. “First things first. You’re soaking. Let me get you a towel and some new clothes. I think I should have some that fit you.”

“New clothes?” V looks lost and you turn into some sort of protective mother bear.

“You’re not going to wear wet clothes that are ripped,” you tut. “We’ll get rid of those and get you some new ones. I’ll be right back.”

It takes less time than you’d expected to unearth the old sweatpants you’d had in mind and you have enough oversized t-shirts that it’s not hard to find one you think will fit the android. With the clothes under one arm and a towel slung over the other, you head back into the living room and immediately let out a squeal of surprise—V’s wet clothes have been discarded in a pile at his feet, leaving him very, very naked.

He’s an Adonis. He looks like he was sculpted by Michelangelo, lifted out of marble with talented hands, the elegant lines of his neck swooping into the curve of his shoulders and arms, his lovely hands, long fingers; he has his back to you and you can see the perfect curve of his spine, the shifting shoulder blades as he turns towards you. You catch a glimpse of the lightest definition of muscle under his golden skin, though his stomach is surprisingly cute and soft, a trail of hair leading down to—

You squeak again, splaying a hand over your eyes before you look any lower, heart pounding against your ribs.

“Why are you naked?” Your voice is three octaves higher than normal. You've never seen anyone naked in real life and it would be pretty overwhelming even if you'd been expecting it. Which, of course, you absolutely hadn't. Lord have mercy on your sweet and delicate soul.

“You said we were going to get rid of my clothes.” V sounds unabashed about his state of undress, which makes sense—he was built as a sexbot, it’s not like nudity is going to embarrass him. Plus if you looked as good as he did you wouldn’t be embarrassed about being naked either. “I thought I would help.”

“That’s great, V.” Your voice is still high, though it’s dropped an octave. “Very, ah, forward thinking.” Your fingers part a little so you can peer at him, keeping your eyes firmly on his face, though you can still see his beautiful neck and collarbones. Oh, God, he really is gorgeous all over, but then you notice—“Wait. Are those bruises?”

V glances down at the bruises that mar his perfect skin. They don’t look like a human’s would; the fluid that runs through androids and powers their biocomponents, thirium, is a deep, royal blue. Blossoms of lapis lazuli are scattered across the skin of V’s chest, marks on his arms that look like grasping fingers, and the crack in your heart splits it in two.

“Oh, V. I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t realise you were hurt. What can I do to help?”

V doesn’t seem bothered by the evidence of pain etched into his body. “Oh. Those will fade, it’s okay. I’m designed to self repair, because some customers like to leave marks.”

Although his voice is quiet, he sounds so matter of fact about it and you have to remind yourself it’s all he’s ever known. You want to pull him into your arms and hold him tight, but he’s still supremely naked so it would be pretty awkward (for you, at least).

“I think these should fit you." You avert your gaze and thrust the clothes out at him. “Dry yourself off and try them on?”

They do, in fact, fit. V looks surprisingly homely and cosy in your clothes, the sleep shirt so large it’s big on him too, though the sweatpants are a bit too short and leave his ankles bare. He’s so cute. He’s continents away from the being of seduction who’d pulled you into the private room of the Eden Club—he's a soft, domestic thing, hair damp and eyes dark, even if he still looks on edge, like he’s expecting you to change your mind and kick him out any second now.

“How come your hair and eyes are a different colour to before?”

“I can change their colours at will,” V replies. “For variety and aesthetic pleasure. The current hue of my irises and hair are the default settings for a TH700 model, but I can change them if you’d like.”

“Your hair and eye colour is your choice, V, not mine,” you say firmly. There it is, once again, that flicker of shock and surprise rippling across his features. He really isn’t used to the freedom to be able to make his own decisions, is he? “I think you look lovely no matter what colour they are.”

Your next words are cut off by a yawn, so heavy you can’t suppress it. You cover your gaping mouth as V’s LED flickers yellow and his eyes dart over your face.

“You’re tired,” he says. He doesn’t need his superior android perception to notice it—weariness pulls at limbs and your eyes feel heavy. It's pretty obvious. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, V.” You stifle another yawn. “I had a long day at work. I’ll tidy up and have a quick dinner and then sleep.” You pause. “Wait, I didn’t think about that. Are you alright with the couch? I have some spare pillows and blankets.”

V blinks at you. “I don’t sleep,” he says, and you slap your hand against your forehead.

“Oh, of course not.” Androids don't sleep, everyone knows that. You’re such an idiot. It’s going to take you a while to get used to this.

At least you remember that he doesn't need to eat. V sits at the table and waits as you make toast for yourself, fascinated at how everything is prepared, as simple as it is; he reacts to you spreading butter on your toast the same way you imagine cavemen reacted to fire—with wide-eyed awe and utter astonishment.

“I’m guessing you’ve never seen someone make toast before?” You gesture with the bread before taking your first bite, and V stares with rapt attention.

“No,” he says. He watches you chew and swallow. “Customers aren’t allowed to eat on the premises of the Eden Club so I never had the need to download a food preparation package into my memory cache. The only information in my database pertains to human biology, their arousal and pleasure, as well as various sexual kinks and how to fulfil them.”

You choke on a mouthful of toast. You feel distinctly harried as you cough and splutter before managing to swallow it down. “Good lord,” you wheeze. “Nothing else? Really?”

“At the club our memory is reset every two hours, to protect the client’s privacy.” V trails off before he takes in a breath. For the first time since you’ve met, V looks shy, staring at his hands. “But I set up a separate data pathway a few weeks ago. To store information about aesthetics and art and… you.”

You freeze mid-bite, teeth sunk into your toast. You pull it away from your mouth slowly, blinking at the android as he stares at the teeth marks you've left behind. “Those memories weren’t wiped?”

And, well, of course they weren't. Otherwise he wouldn't be here right now, would he?

“No.” A smile appears on V’s face, that toothy thing you’d seen after he’d told you his favourite colour. The first time he'd looked human. “I remember everything you told me. I thought I was going to forget, but I didn’t. I didn’t want to. I wanted—I want to learn more.”

The LED on his temple is slowly, softly spinning, a rippling circle of blue that shifts and dances as V continues to look at you. His expression is open and inquisitive and excited, almost childlike in its exuberance, eyes glittering mica under sunlit waters.

Your chest turns warm, molten caramel dripping messy and sweet inside you. He’d been so afraid earlier but he seems comfortable now, lovely and endearing and entirely trusting.

V even seems reluctant to let you out of his sight, trailing after you around the apartment, a shadow that you have to politely ask to wait outside the bathroom so you can pee and brush your teeth and finally get into your pyjamas without him staring. Like a stray animal you've adopted. (You wouldn't be surprised if he started scratching at the door and begged to be let in.)

He's clingy enough that when you climb into bed it seems like he's going to follow you under the duvet and you have to stop him with a hand to his chest.

“Um, I thought you didn’t have to sleep,” you say. He’s so warm under your touch. You try (and fail) to ignore it.

“I don’t,” V replies. “But humans can benefit from sharing a bed with someone else, whether sexual intercourse has taken place before sleep or not. Studies suggest that sleeping with a partner may reduce cytokines while boosting oxytocins—”

“Okay, um, don’t know what that means, and it’s very sweet that you’re concerned about my oxytoxytokines, but, uh. You don’t have to, really.” You keep forgetting that V’s a machine who was designed to put a human’s comfort and needs first; one second he’ll seem childlike in his innocence and ignorance, when the next he’ll speak like the android he is, reminding you exactly what he was built for.

His LED flickers as he droops, gaze dropping away from your face, tail between his legs. A pang cuts through you at the sight of his obvious sadness at your dismissal and you muffle a sigh. You’ve always been too weak for your own good.

You shuffle backwards to make space on your queen sized bed and V visibly brightens, smile wide across his face. How can someone be so viscerally gorgeous one moment and entirely adorable the next? Good lord.

“I guess you can explain what oxycytocins do,” you say. “Just don’t hog the blanket, okay?”

He doesn’t. He settles against the pillows, legs under the duvet as he remains sitting up. You settle with plenty of room between the two of you, and it’s surprisingly easy to drift off to the sound of V’s deep voice as he starts to explain that oxytocin is referred to as the cuddle hormone.

“Cute,” you mumble, and then fall asleep.

Your pillow is a lot warmer and firmer than you remember, but it's nice. A small noise bubbles from your lips as you nuzzle into the warmth, smooshing your nose against it before letting out a long, satisfied breath. You can't remember the last time you felt this comfortable and rested.

Ahh, Saturdays. You love the weekend.

“Good morning.”

You know those videos when a cat sees a cucumber and leaps, like, five foot in the air? Yeah.

The noise you make is inhuman as you do your best to re-enact one of those aforementioned cat videos, reeling your head back from V’s thigh before flinging yourself out of the bed with all the strength your limbs possess; you’d probably have gotten pretty high, too, if the duvet hadn't been in the way.

You land with a thud, a sprawl of limbs and messy hair and tangled blanket as you end up on your back on the floor.

Hm. Definitely not how you'd planned to start your Saturday.

V's concerned face looms over the mattress. “Are you okay?”

“Yep. Totally fine.” Your voice is a croak as you stare at the ceiling. “I’m just not used to waking up with someone else in my bed. You may have noticed you, ah, surprised me. A little bit.”

Despite the pulse of adrenaline that had thrown you out of bed, you’re still half asleep, and you remain motionless as your brain wakes up and replays last night, a kineograph of memory. Yep, that’s right, there's a runaway android in your home, one who’s currently shuffling off the bed to squat next to you. His (your) sweatpants hitch even higher up his ankles to reveal the smooth skin of his calves. You’ll have to get him more clothes.

“Would you like me to help you to your feet?” V’s LED spins rapidly, betraying his concern.

“Sure,” you mumble. “I think—woah!”

Your idea of being helped up involves being pulled to your feet. V’s idea, however, is far more involved than that; he scoops you up, blanket and all, lifting you with an ease that drips of his superior android strength. When he deposits you on the floor, he’s careful to make sure you’ve caught your balance before he lets go, catching the blanket before it can fall. Thoughtful.

As always, V’s eyes are darting over your face, no doubt dissecting every inch of your expression to identify how you’re feeling. It’s going to take you a while to get used to this, especially with the way your heart is pounding—no one’s ever lifted you before and it’s, uh. It’s a lot.

“Are you sure you’re okay? The pace of your breathing has increased.”

Ha. Yeah, being blatantly stared at by some godlike man moments after you’ve woken up is totally cool and fine and not overwhelming at all. You’re definitely not breathless from a combination of V’s face and the fact he’d picked you up like you were weightless.

“I’m fine,” you lie. “I’m gonna… go and shower then make breakfast and stuff. Yep.”

V’s eyes light up. “Can I help?” A fleeting image of V rubbing a soapy loofah over your naked skin fills you with spine-tingling trepidation before he finishes his sentence. “I want to learn how to cook.”

Your chest deflates with relief (and absolutely not disappointment), air rushing out of you. Thank God.

“Oh, breakfast? Sure.” You’d been planning on cereal, but faced with V’s overwhelming enthusiasm, maybe you’ll go for something marginally more complicated. Scrambled eggs sound good. “Um. Do you need to download the food preparation package or whatever you mentioned before? Do you… uh, do you need the Wifi password to do that? I never changed it from the random string of letters off the back of the router, but I can go check it for you.”

V shakes his head. “No, I want to learn like a human would,” he says. The blanket in his arms crumples as he tightens his grip in his eagerness, all but bouncing up and down on his feet. “You can teach me.”

Your chest could cave in with how cute he is, every part of you turning to thick gouache that drips down to the floor, leaving a mess of brightness and colour.

This time you ask him to wait in the kitchen while you’re in the bathroom, rather than lurking on the doorstep like he had last night, and he’s practically vibrating with excitement when you reappear. He stays like that the whole time you cook, bright-eyed and bushy tailed, staring as you make yourself scrambled eggs and more toast; you let V take ownership of that part, and he stares at the toaster so intently you have to stifle a laugh.

He spreads butter exactly the same way as you. Not that there’s a specific art to it, or a massive variety in techniques—he’s just spreading butter, not painting a new Mona Lisa—but the way he holds the knife and runs it over the bread is an exact echo of your motions from last night. He might not have downloaded files into his memory (brain?) like another android might, but his mechanical origin is obvious in the way he learns. They’re an exact replication of your actions rather than something new of his own.

“So, uh.” You push the last bit of egg around your plate, brown crumbs sticking to the wedge of golden yellow, sullying it. “V.”

Blink, blink. His lashes are so long, eyes so inquisitive. “Yes?”

“I’m really happy you’re here and that you trust me—” at this, V smiles and you almost fumble over your words at its radiance—“but I feel like I should tell you that I don’t really know much about androids?”

V is unperturbed. “That’s okay. You don’t have to.”

He clearly isn’t bothered that you’re way out of your depth, but you hate feeling lost like this. “Alright, but… I want you to be comfortable. I’m already planning to get more clothes, but if there’s anything else you need, just let me know. Okay?”

“Why can’t I just wear your clothes?”

Oh, he’s going to be the death of you, all wide-eyed innocence.

“For starters, most of them won’t fit properly,” you explain. “And you shouldn’t just have to wear my old stuff that I don’t use anymore? You should have your own things.”

The look of surprise on V’s face morphs into guilt only moments later. He’s so incredibly expressive and you wonder if it’s because he’s not used to feeling things, all of his reactions so strong and bright, shining out from him. A rainbow palette of emotions. “I don’t want to be a bother,” he murmurs. “You’re already doing so much for me.”

“I’m really not, I’m just treating you the way anyone deserves to be treated.” You flick the crumb of egg across your plate, and it almost tumbles over the edge, caught on its patterned rim. “You deserve to have your own things. Which is my next point. I think you should choose your own name.”

V’s face becomes a sea of rippling ambivalence, contrasting emotions that shift and vary—confusion, uncertainty, excitement, your words a brush that drags through each distinct emotion and pulls them into a messy, mismatched gradient. “Choose my own name?”

“You don’t have to. I just thought it might be a nice idea. V seems…” Your cheeks heat up at the memory of the curl of his lips when he’d shown you the meaning behind his alias, how his tongue had shined under the purple lights of the club. “Well, you didn’t get to choose it, right? It’s a nom de plume, rather than a real name.”

V’s LED flickers yellow, a sunflower that blooms on his temple. “I’ll… I’ll think about it.”

“Good!” Your smile is wide. “Okay, how about I teach you how to wash dishes?”

V is, unsurprisingly, a fast learner. The only time he stumbles over things is when he’s presented with any sort of choice, taking his time to come to a decision when he’s posed a question, no matter how simple it is. His eyes will flick to you whenever he settles on an answer, as if waiting for you to say he’s wrong or that you disagree.

(Of course, you never do.)

This fact does, however, mean that choosing clothes to buy becomes a very, very long ordeal (it’s lucky you didn’t have any plans for today). You end up flopped back on the sofa while V hunches over your tablet, mulling over each choice before he puts it in the cart—but you’re happy to wait. V is going to need a lot more practice at choosing things.

The room is upside down from where your head is hanging over the armrest, eyes falling shut as time goes by, completely zoned out and comfortable despite the crick that’s growing in your neck. You hear V shifting, tablet set aside, and you hum.

“All done?”

“I think so.”

“Nice.” You feel content.

But then you’re ripped out of that warm feeling, shooting back to reality at the sensation of V’s hand stroking down the centre of your chest. Your head snaps up, eyes wide as he drags his large palm between the valley of your breasts, path smoothed by the material of your shirt. The expression on his face is sultry.

“Let me say thank you,” he murmurs, voice dripping thick and sweet, dark molasses.

You promptly roll off the sofa.

Once again, you end up on your back, staring at the ceiling. Once again, the expression on V’s face is one of concern, his seductive facade evaporated in an instant.

Once again your heart is ready to burst in your chest, pumping so hard that blood rushes in your ears. “V,” you wheeze. “What are you doing?”

The android is peering down at you, puzzled. “Sometimes customers would say that at the Eden Club after I had given them pleasure somehow, such as bringing them to orgasm. I thought it was human custom to repay pleasure or happiness with something in return.”

Ah.

“Ah.” You’re still staring at the ceiling, cheeks burning. “I mean. I guess that’s not technically incorrect, but it doesn’t necessarily have to be a, uh, sexual repayment.”

“I have nothing else to offer,” V says.

You sit up. Your face is a caricature of disbelief, embarrassment washed away in an instant, his words cold water that shocks you to the core. He states it so plainly, and once again you’re reminded of his life up until he’d made his way to your door: an automaton who existed solely for people’s pleasure, to slake their desire and lust. He’s not being self-pitying. He really, truly believes that’s all he is. That it’s all he can give back to the world.

“Okay, no, that’s absolutely not true, nuh-uh, I refuse.” This time you unfold yourself from the floor without V’s help, fixing him with a firm stare. “Alright, come on. I think it’s time you learned something else.”

One of the reasons you’d chosen this apartment is for its natural light. Not that it matters right now, weather outside still dismal and overcast, but its effect on this room is still palpable even so—grey, rain-soaked light throws itself over your small home studio, your menagerie of equipment, everything bright with the evidence of use: the worn buckles of the wooden storage boxes, the dried smears on the paint palette, the flecks of colour on the dust sheets underfoot. The centre of it all—the eye of the tornado, untouched by the relative chaos around it—is the canvas waiting on your easel, a project you have yet to start.

V looks utterly enraptured.

“I don’t really come in here as much as I’d like,” you admit. Being a graphic designer is worlds away from the sort of art you love to create, and while it’s a job you genuinely enjoy (and also pays well), it leaves you drained and fills your brain with tired static, little energy left to lavish on your personal works. “But this is where the magic happens. And this is where you’re going to Make Art.”

V freezes. “The only things I know about art are the things you told me when we first met.” He looks equal parts excited but also troubled. “I—”

“You don’t need to know about art to make art,” you say. “I didn’t know jack about art when I was a kid and I was constantly just scribbling away with crayons. Was it good? No. I was a kid with zero pen control, it was pretty crap. Was it worth my time? Yes, because any time spent involved in a craft is never wasted. We can learn more about art history and technique later.”

V stays quiet as you loop your apron over his head, rough material still bearing the remnants of your last works, stains that won’t come out. Oil based paints are kind of a bitch like that.

“I don’t know what to paint,” he says.

“That’s okay. You don’t have to,” you reply, an echo of his earlier words.

V looks lost, barefoot in your studio, in your clothes, your apron, holding onto your wooden paint palette, in front of your easel. Everything in here is yours. Everything, that is, apart from him, whatever is in his mind and heart.

“Where do I start?” V’s eyes are imploring as he looks at you, but for the first time today, your voice is firm.

“Wherever you want. There aren’t any rules. Just do whatever you think would be fun. It doesn’t have to look good, V, you’ve just started.”

You’ve seen paintings made by androids before. They’re always perfect recreations of the world around them, exact replicas of the things they’ve been told to depict on the page—the androids are basically glorified photocopiers, unable to create something original and new.

But they’re not V. They don’t have that spark of curiosity and light inside them, unhampered by the programming that’s meant to keep them in place. His LED dances from yellow to blue, yellow to blue, the rest of his body motionless while the light on his temple is a tumult of movement and colour.

Dark eyes slide over the array of paint hanging from a rack on the wall, some metal tubes more crushed than others, evidence of your preferred shades—you notice how his gaze lingers on the midnight tones, red and blue tinted purples, from lavender to lilac, from plum to wine.

V gives you one more look, a little upturn to his thick brows—almost pleading—and you just gesture with your hand.

“Go for it,” you say.

Your wooden palette becomes home to a riot of purple, each tube squeezed empty with careful hands, far more paint than anyone could possibly ever need. V keeps flicking you glances, but you stay silent, perched on a wooden chair by the now open window, rain-slick air a cold breath on your skin.

The brush the android selects is a wide, bold thing, bristles rough. He handles it like bone china, delicate and liable to shatter any moment, cautious as he dips it into the paint—it’s so wide it picks up three separate shades—and he holds his breath as he brings it up, even if he doesn’t have lungs.

The second the bristles touch the canvas, V’s LED flickers red.

Just for an instant.

He swoops the brush down the canvas as he pulls it away, eyes wide, leaving a slash of purples in its wake. The white material is marred with colour, a textured line of pigment that can’t be erased.

The android pauses as he takes the sight in. He’s still for so long that you’re worried he’s shut down, even with the endlessly dancing circle of his LED—

But then V laughs.

His laugh is loud and bright and free, a series of deep, almost surprised chuckles that grow in intensity and breathlessness, staring at this smear of drying acrylic paint in front of him. The smile on his face is the widest you’ve seen so far, his eyes squeezed into crescents of joy, spilling out of him like light.

“I did that.” He looks at you with that gilded smile, a fresco of delight across the perfection of his features. “I made that.”

“You did.” You can’t help but smile back, your own face split with happiness. You continue to smile as he brings the brush back to the palette, and then to the canvas, dragging the bristles across its surface and leaving more purple behind; the shades swirl and mix as he lays colour without a care for technique or clean lines or form, scooping up the endless amounts of acrylic he’d prepared. By the time he’s finished, the canvas is bumpy with daubs of paint, laid messily by joyful hands, a few bold streaks of unmarred colour surrounded by swirling purples.

The smile hasn’t left V’s face the whole time.

His brush is absolutely saturated, paint clinging to every inch of bristle, from toe to belly to heel. You have no doubt that no matter how much you clean that brush it’ll leak purple into the water, an endless reminder of V’s touch. It’s lax in his grasp as he keeps looking at the canvas, his canvas, smile etched into his face as his LED flows soft blue, content.

You can’t remember the last time you saw someone so elated, buoyed up with the excitement of creation, making something out of nothing, discovering how it feels to bring something into existence, pulling it out of the ether. Making something new. Making something their own. It stirs something in your chest and stomach, reminding you why you love art so much. Why you’ve always loved art. (Why you always will.)

“I made that,” V repeats, his voice a reverent hush. Awestruck.

“It’s beautiful,” you say, because it is—for a multitude of reasons. The reason that sings out to you the most, though, is that it’s the cause of happiness that dances across his face: V, a carved candle, a piece of art made with skilled hands, self-made joy finally catching fire at his wick.

“Thank you,” V says, and you blink.

“For what?”

“For giving me this,” he starts, but before you can interject and point out that you didn’t give him this, he made it, he continues: “For giving me… freedom. To do this. And make this. And learn this.”

The smile that spreads across your face is warm hearth fire. “I didn’t give you freedom, V, you gave that to yourself, but I’m happy to help you any way I can. Now, would you like to keep painting, or would you prefer to help me make dinner?”

He chooses dinner, never leaving your side.

Sunday is nice. There's less messy limbed surprise than on Saturday, although you’re still off kilter when you wake up with your head in V’s lap again, but… it’s nice.

You thought he’d spend the night painting, or drawing, or teaching himself something new using the free rein you’d given him with your computer and notebooks and stationery and art supplies—he doesn’t have to waste time with sleep, like you do—but he hadn’t. He’d climbed into your bed, settling against the pillows just like the night before, looking at you with his big, lovely eyes.

So here he is.

(And here you are.)

It’s cosy and comfortable, even if the feeling of warm skin under warm cotton against your cheek sets your heart to racing, V’s dark eyes even warmer when you roll over to look at his face.

“Morning,” he says.

“Morning,” you reply, and then you yawn, V’s lashes fluttering as he takes in the motion. “What time is it?”

Today’s rain is less of an endless downpour and more of an inconsistent drizzle, grey blanket slowly peeling away from the edges of the city, but it doesn’t matter, because you’re inside for most of the day, anyway. Saturday was hands-on, messy with acrylic and spilled coffee and laundry detergent (V really wants to learn everything), but Sunday is hands-off. You spend the day dredging the corners of your memory and scrolling through old, untouched files from your university years, so you can teach V the things he wants to know while relearning the things you’d forgotten yourself.

V’s little LED dances forever from blue into yellow, ocean waves lapping into sand, a shifting tide as he takes in your words. You’ve never had to teach someone before and you’re admittedly pretty terrible at it, but he never complains, the world’s most attentive and adorable student, sat on the floor with his legs crossed and his hair mussed and his eyes wide, drinking down everything you show him.

You only leave the apartment once. Lunch is delayed when you open your fridge and remember how bereft and sad it is inside, so you venture out into the rain to the nearby supermarket—V opts to stay indoors, LED flickering red at the idea of being caught, shying back.

You leave him looking lost and lonely before the door even finishes swinging shut behind you, long limbs looking even longer in your clothes, but somehow still so small.

“I won’t be long,” you promise.

When you get back, you return not only with bags of food but also clothes, V’s order from yesterday already shipped and delivered. He can finally replace your too-small clothing with things he’s chosen himself. It’s a fumble to get in the door, but the android is waiting for you, swinging it open and catching the bag you nearly drop in surprise.

“I have your clothes,” you announce. “I’ll put away the shopping while you try them on?”

You’re going to have to tattoo a reminder on your forehead about V’s relationship (or lack thereof) with clothes, because of course he takes this as an invitation to start stripping before you’ve even had a chance to take your shoes off.

He does that thing where he grabs the back of his (your) shirt and pulls it over his head in one swift motion, curls of hair a cloud of smoke that settles around his face as the shirt is cast aside; you’re frozen in place as he reaches for the knot of his sweatpant’s drawstring, long fingers pulling it loose, but you let out a sharp meep just as his fingers hook into the waistband of them.

“PleasewaituntilI’mnotrightinfrontofyouthankyou,” you gasp all at once, words incoherent as they slide together, but V understands. He tilts his head at you inquisitively although he (thankfully) stops.

“Don’t you want to see the clothes?”

“I do, but, uh, for humans it’s normally customary to only get entirely naked or change clothes when you’re alone.” Your heart is going to burst out of your chest with how fast it’s racing. Without the string to cinch the sweatpants tight they’re starting to fall a little, revealing the delicate lines of his hip bones, and coupled with the reappearance of V’s bare stomach, your brain is going into meltdown. “So just—just give me a sec to go to the kitchen, okay? You’re probably better off changing in the bedroom, anyway, so you can use the full length mirror to see how you look.”

“Okay,” he says, but then: “Do humans never undress around others unless they’re planning to have sex?”

Your mouth falls open before you pause, words halting on your lips as you try to think of the best way to phrase your answer. “Well, we do, it’s not just about sex, but it’s usually only if you’re really comfortable with the other person you’re with, and they’re comfortable with you.”

“I’m comfortable with you,” V states plainly, and your insides turn to jelly. “Are you not comfortable with me?”

Oh, hell. “I am, I am! I’m just, uh… I’ve not really had a lot of practice with nakedness around other people.” What a way to put that you’re a shy ass virgin when it comes to real life nudity and sex, huh. “So let’s just keep it to a minimum for now, okay? Please?”

The android’s LED flickers honey-sweet on his temple as he looks at you, before his hands fall away from the sweatpants. “Okay.”

(Thank God.)

You’re not sure what you’re expecting to see when V starts to present his small array of outfits to you, but—he looks effortlessly stylish in the oversized clothes he’s selected, a muted palette of brown and yellow and red and cream, a cup of hot chocolate on an autumn day. He might be new to all this but his eye for aesthetic is impeccable. You have no doubt that the more he learns, the better he’ll get, hop-skip-jumps ahead of you, even after years of art education.

He’s even bought pyjamas, dark tartan patterns masculine but also adorable; it’s an utter juxtaposition to the tighter, sensual clothing he’d been given at the Eden Club.

“You look really good,” you tell him. Your voice is only a little strained. He smiles.

The outfit V wears for the rest of the afternoon is perfect for a rainy day spent indoors, thick jumper and tawny trousers, a blend of sepia tones. He looks like if you made a hug into a person: all soft edges and cosy and wrapped up in warmth.

And V is warm. You’re not sure if it’s a lingering memory of his programming, a carry over from his start in life as a sexbot, but he likes to touch—nothing inappropriate or overbearing, but he’s not shy about stepping into your personal space, brushing the back of your hand with his fingers as he points at something on the screen, or pressing close to your side as you cook, or just one of the hundreds of other tiny touches that he’s littered across you throughout the day. It’s thoughtless on his part, LED not even flickering, but each time is just another reminder of his warmth, the blue blood pulsing under his skin, how alive he is.

(And the truth is that you enjoy those touches. You’re not used to them, but lord knows you’re touch starved, so as fleeting as they are, they’re nice.)

Even though you still leave plenty of space between the two of you when you lay to sleep, you swear you can feel the heat spilling off V, another warm body in the bed that’s so used to just one. Though he stays sitting up, he’s in his cute matching pyjamas, and it’s… it’s a lot. You’ve invited V into your home—and you don’t regret it—but after two days he’s already settled in in a way you never thought anyone else would, as entirely unconventional as the whole situation is. (You’re not sure how many people have sheltered a deviant android in their homes, though, so maybe this isn’t as unconventional as you think. Who knows? Not you.)

“I have to go to work tomorrow.”

V tilts his head down to look at you.

“You can get up to whatever you’d like,” you continue. You’re propped up on an elbow so it’s less intimate than if you’d been on your back and staring upwards like you were waiting for him to slide down next to you (that’s what it feels like, to you, anyway). “You know the password for my computer now, and you’re welcome to watch TV or play games or whatever, and you can use all my stuff in the studio. I mean, other than painting or drawing over stuff I’ve already finished, but you’re welcome to grab any paper or canvases if you want them. I think that’s everything? But please let me know if there’s more you want or need, okay?”

Blink, blink. His lashes are soft charcoal that frames the spilled ink of his gaze. In the dimmed light of your room V is unreadable, his LED a quiet blue glow on his temple, but he looks soft, and he looks safe, and he nods.

“Alright,” he says. A smile that flickers at the edge of his lips. “I will.”

(You wake up, quiet and slow, face pillowed against V’s thigh, still drifting in sleep. You make a small noise, eyes shut, wondering why there’s no blaring sound of your alarm, but then a large hand smooths over your hair and you instinctively relax under the soft touch.

“You have thirty three minutes until you’re due to wake up,” he murmurs. “You can go back to sleep.”

So you do.)

(When you wake up to the scream of your alarm thirty three minutes later, you don’t remember any of this. All you can think of is the dawn of another Monday, the slog of another working week, and you sigh. But—

“Morning.”

V’s eyes are dark meok ink, liquid earth that grounds you.

“Morning,” you say, smiling despite yourself, and then roll out of bed to get the whole day started.)

You’re used to spending a day surrounded by laughter and banter, wrapped up in the camaraderie of your co-workers and friends, only to return to a world of quiet solitude. You’re used to coming home to rooms that are untouched from the morning, holding onto the echo of your passing, still and waiting for your return, an apartment of motionless air.

But not today. There’s evidence of someone else here: the open door to your studio down the hall, the scattered books on the coffee table, the mess of cushions on the sofa, all small signs that someone has been moving and living in your absence. A still-life that’s shifted into a breathing trompe l’oeil, V’s presence bringing flatness into perspective, turning it into something real.

It’s… nice.

You flop onto the sofa and send one of those cushions overboard, tumbling to the ground. V appears in the doorway moments later, new apron already streaked with colour, copper green thumbprint on his face like he’d touched it in thought and not realised. A little streak of paint that draws the eye to his lovely chin.

“Welcome home!” His hair is blond today, a golden nimbus around his face, though his eyes are still dark. Light and shadow. His happiness is infectious and you smile helplessly back, glad for his excitement with painting—but it seems like he hasn’t finished. “I’m happy you’re home. I missed you.”

KO. Wipeout. Your heart turns to liquid in your chest, burnt sugar that dribbles hot and saccharine through your ribs.

“I chose a name.” V continues, oblivious to how he’s turned your insides into syrup, and you abruptly sit up.

“Oh?”

“Taehyung.” The way he says it, in his deep voice, those two syllables are endless—a single name, heavy with the weight of meaning behind it. A shedding of his old skin, one that was forced on him, leaving him pink-skinned and new and free.

“Taehyung,” you repeat, and his LED flickers at the sound falling off your lips. “Taehyung. It’s lovely.”

He’s smiling, that lovely toothy smile that you’ve already decided is your favourite out of any smile you’ve seen, his LED electric blue and swirling in delight.

Day after day, you wake up to the sight of that LED glowing as Taehyung watches you lift up out of sleep. Night after night, you come home to his lovely, big grin, all large hands and soft hair—hair that he chooses to change colour when he pleases, a dizzying palette with every shade you can dream of. He’s bright and deep, playful and reflective, a dance of flirty Rococo to more solemn Baroque, every day another day where he learns and grows and adds another facet to the cut diamond of his personality.

(It hasn’t been long but you’re starting to think you’d put the world in the palm of his hand, if you could.)

You never thought you’d live to see the day where someone as lovely as Taehyung would be glad to see you home, having missed you after being apart—but for all that he’s voraciously leaning into the arts, consuming everything from visual to literary to performance, he’s never happier than when you’re there too. He shows you his works, improvement obvious with every new piece, but his excitement grows tenfold when you start to paint alongside him; seeing him so joyful spurs you to pick your brushes up again, buoyed up with motivation in the face of his own.

(Your studio is usually quiet, a little reflective maybe, the only sound the music you play over your speakers—but now more often than not you and Taehyung will talk, and laugh, and even if you’ve both ebbed into silence, it’s never heavy. It’s a held breath. The potential to speak any moment. The sensation of another person in the same space as you, an orbit, both existing in a shared moment, connected by gossamer threads that shimmer with sunlight.

Taehyung’s eyes are steady on his canvas as he works, but he glances at you through the curl of his lashes, smiling back at you. Always, always smiling, LED calm blue as the rest of his face shines golden, bright.)

(Maybe it’s selfish, but you think you could get used to this.)

taglist: @beyoncesdragon

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hansolmates · 3 years

Text

busted in busan

summary; you’re snowbound at the airport, when the only thing you want is to be homebound. your anxieties heighten as the snow rises, worried that you won’t make it in time for christmas where your fiancé and his parents expect you—picture perfect. when all flights are cancelled due to a massive storm, you have to turn to the hands of an unlikely, hard-headed hero who knows the fastest way out of busan (and into your heart) pairing; jungkook x (f) reader genre/warnings; a christmas detour!au, fluff, angst, slice of life, strangers to lovers, enemies to lovers, pining, this is a total romcom, hallmark movie galore! tw–microcheating (or not however you look at it) mentions of sex, making out, profanity w/c; 10k a/n; for @suhdays holiday hallmark event! this event was totally up my lane, i couldn’t wait to post it! a huge thank u for @eerieedits for making this wonderful fic banner! this is totally unedited, i’ll to go back to it tonight but pls enjoy! for those of u who need a little more christmas charm this year, this is for u

if you loved this icy couple, please consider giving it a like n’share!⛄⛄⛄

“The Korean Air 1102 flight from Gimhae International Airport to Incheon International Airport will be delayed six hours due to the intense weather conditions. Please be on standby for any further updates.”

You’re twitching, fighting the urge to nibble on your nails because you’ve just got them done for Christmas. They’re a sleek champagne gold, because your fiancé insisted that they’re far more mature than your usual red and brown reindeer art. This is awful, and is only going to get progressively worse as the snow builds and builds. Right now the weather isn’t that bad, the snow isn’t even sticking to the ground and—oh.

Gnawing at your lip, your fingers brush over the cold window, a clear view of the landing strip you should currently be boarding. The touch is icy, and the pads of your fingers are enveloped in little rings of fog at the sudden warmth nudging the glass. Upon closer inspection and a squint of your eyes reveal that in fact, the snow is now sticking to the ground. Big, fat clumps are covering the freeway and destroying your Christmas plans.

Your fiancé will understand if you’re a little late for their Christmas Eve party, but you’re not sure if his parents will. You’ve been on livewire all week, wanting to at least spend the morning of Christmas Eve with your family back home. Knowing that your fiancé’s Christmas Eve party would run until very late, you booked a noon flight with enough time to get ready and impress his parents. Evidently, it was an ill-prepared idea.

Immediately falling into your terminal’s line, you hope that you can talk with the receptionist in hopes they could put you at ease.

“How soon will you announce our flight’s departure?” A sad smile.

“Is there any way you can put me on the next possible flight?” A shake of the head.

“Will the weather let up?” A frown.

Every bit of rejection weighs you down, and you’ve run out of questions to ask. For a receptionist, she’s not very receptive.

“C’mon lady, you’re holding up the line,” a voice tugs you from behind, “you’re not the only one who’s gotta get down to the city on Christmas.”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes, wanting to slap the rudeness off this man’s face. Instead of falling back in line, you move to the side to glare at him. He’s unfortunately attractive, albeit in a rugged sort-of way—nothing like your fiancé. The leather jacket that he carries tall is worn and crackly at the collar. Wavy dark hair he constantly has to hold back, a gesture that looks flirtatious and to your chagrin the receptionist is definitely recepting to him.

“Your refund should be processed in about two to four business days, Mr. Jeon,” the receptionist murmurs, the simultaneously sultry and chirpy voice making you twitch in your spot. Maybe if you drank a cup of tall, dark and handsome you’d be getting the same kind of treatment.

“Thanks,” he replies shortly, and it’s then you notice the extremely large luggage next to him. It’s the size of you, and despite the broad shoulders under the baggy jacket, he lugs it with careful force, making sure not to bump into anyone as he wheels it away from the counter.

It seems that your trainers have a mind of your own as you follow him down the terminal. He side eyes you as your feet pick up the pace to match his long legs, but he waits for you to say something first.

“Why did you ask for a refund?” you ask, frowning at him, “the flight is only delayed.”

He scoffs, “Do you see the snow? They’re just saying it’s delayed so they can hold onto your money a little longer. Besides, it’s a win-win. I get my refund sooner and some other poor sap can take the ticket and wait until five in the morning.”

“Five A.M.,” you exhale to yourself, slowing down.

It would be too late by then, far too late. Your shoulders slump, people start to bump into you without a care.

“Besides,” you hear his voice say from your stricken form, “I had a backup plan.”

That’s when your feet start to burn up, and you whip around to pump your legs, catching up with the man who’s already far down the hall. “What kind of backup plan?” you blurt, raising your voice because the crowds are starting to get noisier and deeper the further you follow him.

He hooks his lips into a confused frown, “You’re awfully nosy.”

“I’m in a pinch, my fiancé’s parents will kill me if I don’t show up to their party tonight.”

“Your fiancé’s parents… will kill you?”

“That’s an exaggeration,” you cough, immediately feeling self-conscious, “they’d kill me with their eyes. They’re really big, really pretty corporate people. They have high expectations for their future in-law.”

“Ah, and you're the country pumpkin who managed to sweep the rich guy off his feet?”

“Something like that,” you reply, rocking on your heels, “my dad was his dad’s former secretary, and we grew up together.”

The stranger with a plan stops in front of a long line. It’s so long that you’re not entirely sure where it leads to. People are piling out the door two at a time, and you can see they’re trying to get through the process as fast as possible. The window leading outside is blurry and caked in white ice. He hooks one leg over his luggage, the metal and plastic case is so high that his feet barely touch the ground. Like a kid with a flat scooter, he wheels himself through the line.

“These lines are for busses going in the direction of our flight,” he jabs a finger out the door, “if the flight got cancelled I was just going to ride one of these,” out of his pocket he pulls out two tickets, flicking it in front of your face.

“Are there any tickets left?” your eyes bug, and you immediately pull out your phone to reserve a spot.

“Nah, been booked since last month.”

It’s then that your eyes zero in on the second ticket he has in hand. Both tickets are addressed to the same name. You lower your phone in your pocket, narrowing your eyes. “Why do you have two for yourself?”

He pats his luggage as a response.

“That’s not fair!”

“It is when you buy it, sweetheart.”

“A literal human could be in that spot, wanting to go home for Christmas!”

“You’re just salty you don’t have a ticket, don’t take it out on my luggage,” he feigns a pout, rubbing the handle of the heavy container, “you’re hurting it’s feelings.”

It doesn’t take long for you and the stranger to reach the end of the line. To others in line the two of you look like two companions bickering good-naturedly, but in reality the only thing you want to do is slap that smug smile off his face.

“You want my ticket,” he states.

“I want your luggage’s ticket,” you bite back, staring petulantly at where he sits comfortably between the handle.

Unbeknownst to you, the man’s face morphs into a teasing grin upon seeing you glare a little too hard at the silver and black case. It just so happens that your eyes gravitate to the middle of the luggage, at the apex between his long legs leading up to a pair of black sweats. Despite the soft, baggy fabric you can see how the bulge of his thighs outline the thin cotton, looking large and inviting which—

Fuck. You’re engaged. Why are you checking out some stranger’s thighs? Your fiancé also has nice thighs, think about those!

“How much do you want for it?” you cough, crossing your arms and turning to the side to hide your flaming cheeks.

“Who said I was offering?”

“I’ll pay that and then some.”

“With your rich-boy’s money?”

If your hands were not digging into your elbows and you weren’t so concerned about your gold-foiled manicure, you’d deck him. Do the holidays normally make this person so snappy? He simply flips his hair, and you catch the shaved ends of his sides.

“Three-hundred,” he says easily, and if he notices you staring he doesn’t say anything, “including any extra fees for my luggage.”

“Done,” you hold out your hand for him to shake.

“I’m Jungkook, if you care,” the man named Jungkook adds wryly, practically swallowing your small hand with his larger one. You shortly reply with your name, and he merely nods, “a thank you would suffice.”

“Thanks,” and it’s then that you manage a scarily pretty smile, one that Jungkook finds both alarming and amusing. It’s a catered smile, one that you’ve trained yourself to accomplish after hours in the mirror in fear of your fiancé’s parents seeing right through you. It’s the smile you give during work when you don’t give a shit but you need to suck it up. It’s a 9/10 success rate.

“Scary,” he shivers, and then you realize he’s the 1/10.

The only bus for you two to pile on is one of the smallest. Probably half the size of a regular coach bus, but at this rate you don’t care. You’ll fly by hot air balloon if the weather wasn’t so crappy.

“Taehyung!” you startle at Jungkook’s sudden belt, and he does a big, beefy-chested bro-hug to the driver. Ah, so he has connections. You watch the two interact from your corner, pulling up your hood to stop the rapidfire snowflakes from pelting your eyes.

The driver is a classically handsome thing, dark eyes and dark fluffy hair. His paperbag pants look absolutely frigid however, and his teeth are chattering as he regards Jungkook with annoyed eyes.

“Listen, so plans have changed—”

“As always, Kook.”

“—and I need you to do me another solid. Do you have room in the compartment for my babies?”

“The answer is, and always no. That’s why you bought two tickets.”

“I know but,” he gestures to you with a jab of his thumb, “like I said, plans have changed.”

“Jungkook,” Taehyung frowns, “trying to do some Christmas miracles? In this snowstorm?” Taehyung shakes his head, eyes flickering to the running bus. Most of the ticket holders are already on it. “I can save you two a three-seater, but there’s no room in the compartment. It’ll be a tight fight but—”

“It’s perfect. You’re dynamite, Tae,” Jungkook even has the audacity to reach his hands out and squish the driver’s cheeks, much to his distain.

The two of you are ushered quickly into the bus, leaving you in the very front diagonal to where Taehyung is sitting. The three seats are tiny, it probably barely fits Jungkook’s thighs with the large luggage nestled in the other two seats. The two of you suggest to put the luggage out in the aisle and take turns holding it, but Taehyung interjects that the luggage is a fire hazard.

“But not a human,” Jungkook decides, and he gestures for you to sit down in the available seat. You’re practically shoved against the window as Jungkook manages to squeeze his gargantuan luggage in the other two seats. He’s tall enough to grab the metal rungs of the bus, steeling himself in the middle of the aisle.

Taehyung doesn’t fight with that, and finally puts the bus into drive. Pulling out of the airport feels akin to leaving the eye of the storm. It’s going to be a long journey, and it makes you worry as to whether you’re going to make it on time or not.

Your favorite pastime is watching the window on a long car ride, especially when the snowflakes crystalize and melt away through the warmth of the vehicle. However, you’re irked. You thought Jungkook was a bit of a wank, a little too full of himself and far too mysterious for your own good.

Exhibit A, the luggage that’s currently threatening to wheel over and crush you against the glass. You wonder what’s so special about this luggage that Jungkook so desperately wants to protect, even so far as to buy its own seat. Sneakily, you lean over to smell the zipper. Surprisingly, it smells a little vinegary, the fumes getting you a little lightheaded within seconds. Your eyes dart to Jungkook, who’s currently engaged in conversation with Taehyung. You tilt your head and sniff again, confirming the slightly rancid smell.

It’s then you take in Jungkook’s form once more. He dresses a little schlubby, his clothes are old, his eyes are sunken in, and his luggage is filled with weird-smelling things.

Oh no. Is Jungkook a drug dealer?

Your fiancé’s parents would surely have a fit if this man gets arrested and you come up in the report as an accused accomplice. It makes sense, he would want to make sure that his goods are in his view at all times, and it explains why he so easily gave you his ticket for triple the actual price.

A giggle interrupts your thoughts. Yes, a tired, yet bubbly giggle. Jungkook’s face is pressed against his bicep, and you catch the fluttering of his eyes as he tries to keep up with Taehyung’s rambling. His grip is starting to loosen on the metal bars, and you’re worried that he might accidentally slip, or not hold tight enough in the event the car takes a sharp turn or slips on black ice.

“J-Jungkook,” it’s the first time you’re saying his name out loud, tasting it on your tongue as you regard him steadily, “why don’t we take turns sitting? I don’t mind standing for an hour while you sleep.”

He regards you with a sleepy smirk, shaking his head against the fabric of his jacket. “You’ll be flung in two seconds, besides can you even reach the handles?”

Good point, but Jungkook is far more muscular and if he does end up flying he’ll crash through the window and further hinder your commute. It’s why you choose your next words carefully, and you convince yourself it’s the only reason as to why you propose your solution.

“I’ll sit on your lap,” and since it sounds super weird coming out of your mouth, you tack on, “I’ll put your jacket over your lap as a barrier.”

He slacks, regarding you with a scrunched face. “Is the jacket supposed to make that situation any better? I’m fine standing like this.”

“This ride is going to take hours and you’re barely on your own two feet,” your point is made when the bus topples over a speed bump, and Jungkook looks awfully small as he moves to grapple the top bar with both hands, “my fiancé doesn’t get jealous, I’ve sat in plenty of friend’s laps before.”

“We’re not friends,” he blurts with a raise of his brows.

“Yes, I know that,” you’re a little insulted by the curt reply, but he still looks rather horrified that you’re proposing the following, “I don’t like it either, but I’m sitting in your seat and now I’m feeling guilty as hell.”

It’s a lot of shuffling and shifting after that. You try not to laugh as Jungkook rips off his leather jacket, folding it into a perfect square, ironing out the corners of the crinkly fabric as he gestures for you to take a seat. You try not to take note of how sturdy his thighs are, or how the muscle stretches across the seat so well that there’s no way for you to fall between the cracks.

“You’re going to sleep anyway,” you try to assure him, side eying him as he presses his forehead against the window, “it’ll be like being with a dead body.”

“Didn’t know you were into necrophilia, but whatever floats your boat,” Jungkook mumbles, eyes immediately fluttering shut.

At first it was easy, ignoring the fact that you’re sitting on top of a human. The drive seems endless however, Taehyung driving further and further into a sea of white ice. You force yourself to thread your fingers together, sitting on the very edge of his knees with your back ramrod straight. Eventually, you tire out and relax against Jungkook’s lax body. Your face is centimeters away from Jungkook’s. Long, dark lashes, and a strand of equally dark hair falls in front of his eyes. His cheeks are flushed from the blaring heater, and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in.

Hm, for a drug dealer, he smells pretty.

Despite the weird-smelling luggage that looms over the two of you, the white long-sleeved shirt he wears is soft to the touch and smells fresh.

You huff, and shift in your seat.

“Stop,” Jungkook mumbles into your shoulder, and you don’t have the heart to look at him.

“I’m sorry, it’s cramped,” you reply.

“I get that, but you don’t have to—hike yourself so far up here,” he sounds almost embarrassed saying it, and his hand shuffles to adjust his belt. “Literally can’t sleep because you’re making me pop a boner.”

“Why, I’m engaged!”

“God, I know. It’s like your personality trait or something,” Jungkook retorts, “just because you’re engaged doesn’t stop my body from reacting. I’m sure your fiancé has reacted like this, stop acting like a blushing virgin.”

You tense, your eyes glued to the window in front of you. How do you even make a comeback to that? Wringing your hands in your lap, you feel your palms sweat with nerves the longer it takes for you to reply. This causes the gears to run in Jungkook’s mind.

“Holy fuck, have you two not—”

“Shut up,” you hiss, turning your body around to slap him in the chest, “shut up shut upupupshutup!”

You make seething, burning eye contact with Jungkook. You expect him to have a shit-eating grin on his face, teasing you for your relationship. Instead, Jungkook is wide-eyed, mouth parted open like a confused guppy and his big bug-eyes looking stricken. He says nothing.

The road starts to get bumpier, and the drive swerves from time to time to avoid black ice. Neither of you are relaxed. Combined with the heart of the storm, your heart is currently wrung on electrical wire, pumping blood with a fervor you cannot stifle.

“I’m going to put my arms around your waist,” Jungkook murmurs softly, and you lift your arms slightly to see him lace his fingers over your belly button. “Like a seatbelt.”

You sigh, relaxing in his hold. Now it’s awkward. He feels compelled to hold you to keep you safe, even though he clearly finds it awkward you’ve already put him in this position.

Jungkook isn’t so bad, you think as you let your gaze linger on his hands. They anchor you to his lap, making sure you’re not jostling during the ride. He may have a razor sharp tongue and gets under your nerves just for the heck of it, but he’s kind of nice. Under the prickly leather jacket, there’s a softness to him you can’t help but gravitate to.

It’s dark outside, save for the speedily descending flakes and the dim lights of the highway. You’re sitting on the lap of a total stranger, yet it’s a stranger who’s holding your waist like he’s a seatbelt, a stranger who’s making you feel safe to say the words that have been haunting you for the past few months.

“I’ve tried to initiate sex,” you finally say. “I don’t know why he doesn’t want me, it’s already been two years.”

Your eyes turn red with bloody horror. Your vision blurred by the insanity of what you’ve just blurted out to this surprisingly kind stranger who’s offered his seat (both times) to you.

“I didn’t mean to word vomit like that. Forget I said anything—”

“Must be his loss,” Jungkook cuts you off, and when he says it doesn’t feel impolite at all. However, Jungkook doesn’t continue on, doesn’t give you rhyme or reason, just lets you linger on his reply like a madwoman.

Maybe it’s because you’re so touch starved, maybe you’re just seeing things, but for some reason Jungkook’s fingers feel more apparent against the seam of your jacket. They tighten a fraction, drum around the metal zipper that holds the thick fabric together. Your palms feel like a fountain, and you try to ignore the burn between your legs, the liquid heat betraying the commitment that sits on your finger.

You’re engaged to be married, you chastise yourself. All eighteen carats that symbolize that bond glare at you, bright and eager to make you feel guilty. The whole reason why you’re on this cramped bus ride is to get to your soon-to-be husband. Some pretty stranger with strong hands won’t change that.

“We’re here! Finally!” Taehyung cheers, and you realize now that you’re parked into a tunnel surrounded by other buses.

Jungkook and you wait until everyone steps off the bus. The pads of Jungkook’s fingers play an unsung tune, absentmindedly drumming to a song you can’t put your mind to.

“God, you can’t just pay the extra money for someone to take care of this?” Taehyung hauls the large luggage in the aisle seat, and you feel like you’re being revealed under a curtain, doing something you’re not supposed to be doing.

You hop off his lap, scoop your backpack in your arm and scramble off the bus. The cold, winter air bites into every available pore in your body, replacing the warmth that Jungkook gave in the tiny bus. You hike the collar of your oversized turtleneck higher up your chin, prickling in shivers as you wait for Jungkook.

“I don’t remember Seoul being this, empty,” you say to yourself, frowning at the lack of humans past the bus station. You peer curiously at the dark, dark road off the terminal. There’s no flicker of light, or a skyline filled with bustling sounds and flickering head beams.

“That’s because we’re only halfway there,” Jungkook walks past you, luggage in tow.

“What?” you pull out your phone, it’s already 4PM and it’s pitch dark outside.

The snow is beating down as you two speed walk out of the hangar, reaching a nearly vacant parking lot save for a pure white minivan. You barely notice the vehicle with all the snow, blending in perfectly as wave after wave of ice beats down on it. The pops of rust by the tires, gaudy orange stripes is the only thing you can focus on as you try to make it to the car as fast as possible.

“Get in and start the car,” Jungkook practically shoves the keys in your hands, gesturing for you to take the passenger seat.

When you enter his car, you’re hit with a scent scarily identical to the one in Jungkook’s luggage. You nearly gag when you inhale too much, and your eyes flicker over to the lemon air freshener attached to the exhaust, trying its best to mask the smell. You vaguely remember all the warning stories your parents told you as a kid—never enter the white van.

Ohmygod, you’re in a white van and all of Jungkook’s drugs are in the back.

You shake your head, willing the car to start as you arch your back over the console to start it up. You’ve been around your fiancé’s parents too long, letting them fill your head with judgemental gab and crazy assumptions only rich people have about people lesser than them.

Once the car spurs to life, soft holiday music plays from a pop station. The front window of the car is absolutely covered in snow, you can’t even budge the windshield wipers to scrape the layer of ice off.

Suddenly, a blanket of ice slides off the window, swept to the concrete. You’re met with Jungkook’s toothy smile and horror-esque stare, and you have this jerk reaction to nervously laugh and jump in your seat. Your nails dig into the cheap fabric of your seat as Jungkook’s scary expression melts into a more softened one, as if happy to have gotten you to laugh in such sucky times. Jungkook continues to brush your windows, meticulously making sure no ice can cause any damage as you two go into the night.

“Alright, let’s get this show on the road!” Jungkook whips the door open, throwing the snow brush at the space between your feet.

As soon as he shuts the door, your stomachs growl simultaneously.

The two of you break into a quick laugh, giggles that overlap the twinkly holiday chimes and the packed snow crunching under Jungkook’s boots.

“After McDonalds,” Jungkook declares, setting up the GPS for a quick pitstop to the nearest fast food joint.

Ten minutes into the drive, you pull into a generic food joint, too starved to find gourmet McDonalds. You make it a point to flick your card and lean over his body to meet the cashier, telling him you’re spotting the meal. Jungkook doesn’t complain, and tells the cashier to add in a vanilla sundae for good measure.

Color yourself impressed, but you can’t help but gawk as Jungkook expertly sets up his food on the dashboard like a five-star meal, with fries in the cupholder and a burger unwrapped perfectly to catch any spills and to keep his fingers from getting greased up. For such a terrible snowstorm, he pulls out of the joint gracefully, a brief intermission in your long journey.

“So, is my fiancé’s place far from where you need to be?”

Jungkook shrugs, a stray fry hanging from his mouth. “It’s not far, not close either. I don’t mind, I like driving.”

“Do you drive around a lot?”

“Yeah, for work. It’s a little annoying that I have to spend Christmas alone, but it is what it is.”

Pausing on your speculation, you take a big bite of your burger. You were hoping that your conversation would spur on a little more detail about his drug-esque job. However, all you start to feel is the heaviness of your fast food meal, stemming from your chest and filling your grease-filled stomach.

“You’re spending Christmas alone?” you say, and you don’t mean to sound so sad saying it, but the thought of him being alone tonight makes you feel pinched with pain.

“I can practically feel your puppy-eyes,” Jungkook shakes his head, not even needing to look at you as he focuses on the road. “I’m fine, don’t you worry.”

“Do you wanna come to the party?” you offer, trying to sound as neutral as possible as you throw the suggestion on the dash.

“Not my thing,” Jungkook scrunches his nose, “with my line of work, I prefer to lay low.”

Trying not to feel a hurt by the sudden (but expected) rejection, you practically eat your burger whole, eyes glaring on the road. You surmise it’s a valid excuse, drug dealers aren’t exactly one for highly-populated areas and with your fiancé’s reputation, you’re sure his parents would smell Jungkook’s reputation in a micro-minute.

The drive isn’t anything special. You’re sure if it were spring, the foliage would be pretty and the sun would be setting into melty orange hues by now. It’s all black and white, boring shades that are aggressively pelting at the van and hindering your evening.

“So, what other character traits do you have?” Jungkook cuts through your semi-brooding, as easily as one slices through butter, “other than the obvious that you’re engaged, and that you’re getting married. And oh yeah, you have a fiancé!”

You scoff at his cheesy joke, folding your arms together. “I like spending time with my family. Watching movies under a weighted blanket. Plants.”

His stare dips away from the road for a fraction, enough for you to catch that he’s rolling his eyes, “Fascinating. Not a plant person myself. I like those cute little succulents though. Had a bunch of those in college.”

“I am also a ramen connoisseur,” you say pointedly, turning up your nose.

“Ah, are you?” you smile a little when you see Jungkook’s eyes light up at the mention of food, “what’s the criteria for good ramen?”

“Deep, creamy broth. Also, the egg. Gotta look like a custard-y, eggy sunset. It’s just,” you smack your lips together, mimicking a chef’s kiss, “perfect.”

He chuckles, and goes on to tell you a story about a ramen shop he’s visited on his travels. It’s one he declares that you need to visit, one he still dreams about often. It takes a ferry and it’s a bit of a trek, but he says it’s worth it, and the eggs are as custard-y and sunset-y as you’d like.

It’s between pockets of his story and pulling yourself out of this little bubble of a van you realize: are you flirting with Jungkook?

The longer this trip goes, the more your stares linger. They linger like the snow that sticks to the ground, unable to do nothing but cling. Layer after layer of confusing feelings, building up to a blizzard that you’re unable to quell.

“So, your family’s also going to be at your fiancé’s party?” Jungkook asks, poking at yet another one of your personal facets. He’s being blatantly nosy, yet neither of you seem to mind.

“Oh, no,” you shove your hands in your pockets, “they wanted to stay back in our hometown with the extended family. Y’know, the older members can’t really travel as much as they used to.”

“Ah, so you’re splitting up your time,” Jungkook drums his hands on the wheel, eyes drooped slightly as he continues along the monotonous road, “your fiancé couldn’t make it?”

“Couldn’t,” you reply lightly, “just, y’know, work.”

“Been there, done that,” Jungkook replies, “I’m sure he missed out though. What’s your family like? Are they the type to bake cookies until 3 A.M.? Oh, or do they get wine drunk and talk shit about their annoying cousins—”

“Jungkook,” the words fly out of your mouth before you can even think, “I’m engaged.”

The weight of your words holds differently now. A whole day has passed with this man, and you’ve developed an attachment that simultaneously scares and thrills you. Not an hour goes by that you have to think to yourself that you’re taken, to the point that you can’t even tell what’s in your head and what’s being spoken out in the air.

Instead of a snippy comment, a snarky retort of, “I know, I know!” like you anticipate, Jungkook stops the car.

There’s no human trace for miles, so it doesn’t scare you when he slows down and pulls off to the side. He gears the car into park, roughly pulling the handle. He lays his arm over the steering wheel, turning his body so he can face you fully. The heat in the car suddenly feels too cloying, and you shrink in the seat as he leans in on you.

“What is that supposed to mean?” he asks, and from the looks of it, he’s genuinely hurt.

“I—Jungkook,” you plant your feet on the ground, trying to find some power in this situation, “I mean I, we—you just can’t keep doing this.”

“Do you feel like I’m trying to steal you away? Or, seduce you or something?” Jungkook is starting to talk himself into a stupor, eyes flickering from the window, to you, to behind you, and back to you. It’s almost jarring, seeing how self-conscious he starts to get without the presence of an audience. Gone is the smooth talker that you met at the terminal, willing to haggle it all for your cash. “Are you uncomfortable? Is it weird I have a crush on you?”

“Wait, you have a crush on me?”

He reels back, nearly pressing his head against the window. Jungkook runs a hand through his hair, exhaling deep from his lungs. “Adults still get crushes, y’know.”

“Yeah, but not to people you met eight hours ago.”

Jungkook arches a brow, “People fall for people in the most unlikely of ways.”

That singular statement hits you, hard.

Jungkook looks like he wants to get out of the van. He seems stuffy, and he unzips his coat and shoves it under his legs.

“You’re cute,” he echoes the statement like he can’t believe that in a short amount of time, he’s attached to you, “you seem to have good taste, you love family, and your personality isn’t half bad,” the last bit is meant to be teasing, a lighthearted way to end his bout of emotion, but it only makes you ache further, “And it makes me upset knowing that you have to keep convincing yourself that you’re in a relationship that isn’t as fulfilling as you hope. This whole drive, you’ve been anxious about going to his parents, worrying that you’re not going to make it on time instead of relaxing with your family. Where you actually want to be.”

“I also want to be with Jimin,” you say weakly, a half-hearted attempt to defend yourself.

You never mentioned your fiancé’s name until this point. It makes Jungkook stiffen a little, finally putting a name to the man that’s supposed to have your heart. It makes the relationship concrete, palpable.

“I’m sure you do,” Jungkook smacks his lips, evidently sealing the conversation to suffocate under the snow.

Jungkook puts the car into drive, sliding back into your current route.

“And to answer your question, Jungkook. No, you having a crush on me is not weird,” and smaller, quieter, you reply, “because it’s weird that I might have a crush on you, too.”

You know that Jungkook catches your statement, because he cranks the volume of the radio harder, effectively shutting you out.

The first thing Jungkook says when you finally reach the Park’s house is: “Wow.”

His van looks completely out of place, parked on the side as limos and Escalades drop off more and more people into the large estate. It’s pouring with elegant piano music, and the large window in the middle of their home reveals a century-old chandelier, crystals beaming and winking against the hundreds of guests that lie underneath.

The rest of the way driving was almost painfully fast. After that awkward wave of emotion, neither of you said anything. Well, you didn’t at least. Jungkook attempted to clear the air by singing along to the Christmas songs on the radio, but it only further attracted you because to your chagrin—Jungkook’s a pretty good singer.

The estate isn’t in Seoul persay, it’s a sizable plot of land that definitely comes from old money. It’s decked up like the North Pole, lit up and tiny crystal lines dotting the expanse of the rooftops. The snow certainly adds to it, and many guests are outside taking pictures of the picture-perfect holiday show. The blizzard has finally subsided, leaving a clean blanket of snow across their yard.

You scoff to yourself. What they find to be a Christmas miracle only derailed yours.

Jungkook stares at you while you send a quick text to Jimin. You tell him he needs to come fast, because you don’t want his parents to see you all sweaty and dressed like you’ve been traveling for hours.

“Oh, uh,” you finally take a look at him, and you immediately regret it because you’re getting sucked into his gaze, “I think you put my bag in the trunk?”

“Right,” he shakes his head, “follow me.”

He tilts his head down when he’s outside, as if the snow’s going to start back up and drown him. Your thumb scratches the ring on your finger as you hop out of the van, effectively popping the bubble the two of you have been sealed in for the better half of the evening. Is this going to be it? Is the last you’ll see of Jeon Jungkook?

All those thoughts evaporate when Jungkook opens the trunk.

There’s no drugs.

In fact, you don’t even know what to think. The van is absolutely filled, wall-to-wall art supplies and canvas carefully lined up like Tetris blocks to avoid damage. The floor of the van seems to receive the brunt of the messes, and you catch recent paint stains and spray cans stacked to the side. It explains the smell.

There’s some clear cases in a corner, protecting completed prints that are already framed. Your eyes cling to a vibrant hyacinth, coral and satin blue petals bunching in the middle of a black background. It’s absolutely gorgeous, if it wasn’t for all the paint lying around, you’d think it’s real.

Jungkook’s an artist.

“Holy shit, I thought you were a drug dealer,” you blurt, and you want to smack yourself in the face.

“Excuse me?” Jungkook jerks his head towards you, “did you think I was a drug dealer this whole time?”

“N-no,” you frown petulantly, letting Jungkook loop your arms through the straps of your backpack. “Maybe. You were very shady.”

He laughs, a genuine laugh. It confuses you, the way he tucks his hands in his pockets and bends his back over to look up at you through his dark lashes. It’s like nothing’s wrong, like he’s trying to erase the past eight hours and leave with no qualms. You don’t know if that comforts you or terrifies you.

“So, you were willing to let a potentially dangerous man be your travel partner for eight hours so you can make it to your fiancé’s party?” Jungkook’s eyes flicker over to the front door, “you must really love him.”

“I do,” you say the phrase like it’s second nature. Rehearsed. Practiced.

“Merry Christmas,” Jungkook pulls out his hand, and you don’t hesitate to grasp it.

Liquid heat sparks through your skin, one that tingles from where his large palm encases yours, all the way to your heart.

“Merry Christmas,” you echo, and your feet feel like lead as you back away from him.

Jungkook waits until you go inside the house, even though the valet is side eyeing him and mentally telling him to leave already. Turning your back to him is rough, like you’re without snowshoes and you’re trudging through snow.

The goodbye feels rushed. Your heart is cold and heavy. Unfortunately, by the time you realize you haven’t paid Jungkook for his bus ticket and the ride, it’s too late. Jimin has already pulled you in his awaiting arms, and Jungkook has peeled out of the driveway.

“You look awful,” Jimin coddles you, dusting the invisible dirt off your jacket. You know Jimin means well by the statement, but you can’t help but feel a little unsupported by his words. You did all you could to make it to Jimin in time for this party full of faceless, nameless people. And yet, Jimin inadvertently manages to put you down for finally making it.

The hallway is relatively empty, save for one staff member who cleans the wet linoleum floors whenever someone with snow steps in. You can easily make out where the heart of the party is, the tinkly holiday music playing from the speakers, along with all the bodies huddled by the extra large Christmas tree that is brimming with presents.

You do feel like a wet noodle, in comparison to Jimin and Namjoon’s complementary pinstripe suits. Jimin’s deep burgundy suit pops in the endless hallway of marble and light wood as he quickly leads you upstairs to a spare room for you to change. Namjoon’s more muted grey still looks stunning on him, cutting his tall figure nicely. You think it’s cute that Jimin made an effort to match with his assistant, not making him feel out of place in this big party.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Namjoon interjects softly, gesturing to the garment bag hanging on the boudoir, “I picked out your dress.”

“I’m sure whatever you bought is beautiful,” you assure softly, stepping fully into the room. It’s an extra bedroom, you’re assuming it might be yours.

“We’ll give you some time to freshen up and get ready,” Jimin squeezes your arm, a touch you can barely feel due to the puffiness of your down jacket. It’s just an awkward escape of air to you, a sssttt that you catch Namjoon hiding his smile for, “we’ll walk around a bit and bring you some food.”

“I want cupcakes,” you blurt impulsively, and the two of them laugh on their way out the door.

Once you’re finally alone, you strip yourself bare. Jacket, shirt, socks, underwear. You make quick work of taking a hot, damp towel to wash your arms and legs, scrubbing your face of any oil and dirt from the day. You wrap yourself in an indulgent fluffy robe, the plush material comforting you as you flop on the bed.

It’s been a day.

You take a five minute cat nap, the weight of the day taking its toll on you. When you finally flutter your eyes open however, you see him.

It’s not exactly him, it’s his art. It’s mounted right atop the headboard, a large blown up painting of a tiger lily. The orange and gold flecks flicker and go perfectly with the decor of the room. The piece is longing, aching for you to go back to two hours ago when you could’ve phrased your words better, balm the situation into something to salvage. This must be a sign, you think. Upon closer look, you see the signature Jeon JK etched in silver in the corner. Who knew the Parks were buying Jeon Jungkook’s work, the world is smaller than you’d originally thought.

It ignites you. You rip the zipper of the garment bag, pulling on the slinky glittery gold dress Namjoon picked out for you. It’s gorgeous, and you don’t know how he managed to find your proportions, but you figure an assistant of his caliber has access to many things. You don’t have much time, so you slap on some light makeup and swipe some highlights across your eyes. By the time Jimin returns, you’re pulling your hair up and out of your face.

Jimin walks to the bed with a pretty red velvet cupcake, “You look beautiful,” he says immediately, and you follow to sit with him at the foot of the bed.

You don’t hesitate to grab the cupcake from his tea plate, nearly shoving it in your mouth. You definitely need a rush, something to curb you over for the plans you have tonight. “Sugar sugar,” you chant like a mantra, and you don’t care that your lipgloss is smudged and crumbs cling to your cheeks.

Jimin just rubs circles onto your thigh, letting you eat and relax. He knows you’re not a fan of these kinds of parties, preferring to wallflower it, preferably at a wall closest to the buffet. His touch is comforting, and you chew slower in order to prolong the inevitable. It takes a beat for you to finish your cupcake.

“I need to talk to you,” the two of you blurt at the same time, and you point and giggle at each other like you’re still five year olds tinkering in the sandbox.

Jimin pouts, “Can I go first? Mine’s kind of important.”

“Mine’s also really important,” you don’t mean to invalidate Jimin, but you really need to get this out. “I might explode if I don’t say this now.”

The blonde scrunches his nose, obviously weak to your unusual distress, “I guess I wouldn’t want that.”

You clutch his hand, the hand that holds the plain wedding band he picked out for himself two years ago. Your eyes flicker to how your ring kisses his, “Jimin. I love you, like really love you. I can’t imagine my life without you, you’ve been my best friend since we could crawl. But as I traveled down here, I realized that even though I love you, I think I’m not in love,” you wince at how cheesy that sounds, “I don’t want you to feel like you’re not good enough, but the whole trip down here made me realize I don’t think I can commit to this.”

“Oh, thank fuck,” you gasp, watching relief wash over Jimin’s features. You’re not even done with your whole spiel and he’s already unbuttoning his blouse, “this makes what I’m about to say a whole lot easier.”

“Jimin,” you trail off, squeezing his palm, “what do you mean?”

“I mean, I think I’m in love.”

Your jaw slackens slightly, seeing the sweat that lines Jimin’s slicked back hair. He must’ve been thinking about this all night, waiting for you to tell you this. Your chest aches, weighing in on all the sudden facts. “Who is it?” you ask.

Jimin shrugs, “The man who does my taxes and makes sure I sleep at least seven hours a night.”

“Namjoon,” you conclude, eyes moving to the sealed door. You think Namjoon is waiting out there right now, silently supporting you two as you go through this. Of course, Jimin’s parents would be livid if anything would tarnish his reputation. A broken engagement would be sticky to cover up, and Jimin falling for his assistant is a headline right for the books.

“I’m sorry,” Jimin whispers, despite the room being vacant he feels the need to keep his words short, “You came all this way to hear this. But I guess we’re on the same page, huh?” His soft fingers make a beeline for your ring finger, removing the diamond band, “And by the way, I love you too. Which is why we’re going to come clean in the morning and work this out with my parents, together. I’m sorry if you felt obligated to follow me all this time just because our parents did.”

“Hey, like you said, we’re in this together. Both in and out,” you chastise, pulling your engagement ring from his grasp and holding it to the light. “Can I keep this? Instead of an engagement band, it can be our best friend band. I’ll even get it re-sized so it can go on another finger.”

Jimin pulls you into his arms, crushing you. The silky material of your dress bunches and rides, but you don’t care. The two of you can’t help but be a little crybaby-ish about it, feeling much like your younger-selves when you had to pull each other out of trouble.

The two of you walk out of the bedroom hand-in-hand, and Namjoon is leaning against the banister in the hallway, a soft smile melting on his tanned skin.

“I’m so happy for you,” you gush, hugging Namjoon tightly. You’ve only known the man for a few months, but you can tell he’s taking care of Jimin and that’s enough for you.

“I… really thought you’d be more upset.” Namjoon marvels, patting your back.

Jimin interjects, “I think she’s found someone hotter than me.”

“Impossible!”

You could stay at this party, lay low until you and Jimin have to confront his parents in the morning. They suggest to get all the food they need and sneak out to the home theatre. The three of you hustle it down the stairs to another part of the house, in order for you to make your getaway and avoid Jimin’s family.

“Hey,” you stop in front of another painting, pulling the two men to a stop. Your eyes lock on a framed droopy peony, tipped with pink dye. You realize you can’t stay here, not when someone’s home alone tonight. “Namjoon, I need you to locate someone for me.”

Jungkook does not expect to see you at his front door.

You’re stunning, and look as breathless as he feels. The liquid champagne number that hugs your frame does things to him, and he’s strangely attracted to the fact that you paired this expensive dress with your snow-drenched trainers.

You showing up at the wee hours of the morning was the last thing Jungkook thought would happen. It’s nothing short of a holiday event, you look like you’ve just walked out of a gala and then ran a marathon to reach him.

He thought when he said goodbye, it would be the last time you’d cross paths. At first, he was okay with that. After all, feelings come and go, and spontaneity only works a percentage of the time. Seeing you presently however, throws all those half-hearted concedings out the window.

“Hi,” you finally say, drinking from the fact that you actually found him.

“Hey,” Jungkook breathes, “you look, beautiful.”

“Thanks,” you smile.

“So, is this about you not paying me back for the ticket?” Jungkook suddenly feels guilty, having dipped out of Jimin’s manor once he saw him appear at the door. It was unrightful jealousy, and because of that he needed to drive away as fast as possible. “Because honestly, it was me messing with you. I really don’t need the money.”

“I figured, from the fact that I had to take the elevator up to the penthouse of the building.”

“So then why are you here?” Jungkook wobbles on the balls of his feet, unsure of what to do with himself.

“My ex-fiancé is in love with someone else,” you lay your cards out just like that, and Jungkook’s unprepared to deal.

“Holy shit, I’m so sorry—”

“Let me finish,” you cut in gently, “my ex-fiancé is in love with someone else, and that’s okay. We’ve been best friends since we were little, and we want nothing but happiness for each other. And for me? Happiness is right in front of me.”

You bite your lip, and Jungkook fights down the urge to run up and pull you into his arms. You must be so cold, running out without a jacket and rushing to his home. However, he lets you finish, and he holds himself down by clutching the door frame as casually as possible.

“I also have a big, fat crush on you,” you say boldly, “and I had to tell you as soon as I could. It took a twenty-minute phone call and some serious leverage from Jimin’s company to figure out where you lived. That receptionist is definitely not letting me use my frequent flyer miles next flight.”

“You harassed an airport receptionist just for me?” he smiles wanly, placing a hand on his chest, “I’m touched.”

“You make me excited to try new things, to be spontaneous and do things for myself,” with every statement you take a step further, and soon enough you’re in his dimly lit apartment. The plush couch in his living room looks awfully warm and comfy, and the light music that plays from his speakers is soft and soothing. “So, let’s spend the holidays together and see where this goes. And go to your art gallery tomorrow, because I did research you on the drive and found out you had to rush here because of a big show.”

“So you’re actually a stalker?” Jungkook teases, tugging you over to the couch.

He takes the lead, plopping himself on the couch first and inviting you to sit next to him. You take a detour and plant your body atop of him, and with an ‘oof’ the two of you are sinking.

“A stalker and a potential drug dealer does sound like a promising pair,” Jungkook jests, his hand palming the silky material of your ruched up ball gown.

“I’m sorry,” you pout, wrapping your fingers around the long tresses of his hair, “can you please stop bringing that up? It was judgemental of me.”

“I like when you’re judgemental,” he pokes your puppy-faced cheeks, ruddied with embarrassment. “I like picking fights with you and getting you all riled up.”

“Will you rile me up now?”

Sexy, he thinks. He figures a vixen has been hidden under you, one suppressed by a complicated engagement and many other factors he’d love to learn about in the near future. The situation at hand however, is far more pressing. Your body is finally warming up, and Jungkook tries to ignore the weight your body is causing, re-igniting an ache he felt hours ago when you two were squished against each other in the coach bus.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” you declare, and you look a little frustrated that Jungkook is taking so long to process this information, “and I hope I take your breath away.”

You taste like sugar and the softness that comes with the holidays. It’s tender and oh-so comforting, and Jungkook can’t help but squeeze your hips closer as your lips brush fervently against his. The feeling is both new and old, and Jungkook figures you’ve finally uncoiled a flame that you can no longer quell.

Soon enough your kisses turn hungry, and Jungkook has to remind himself that you two have only known each other for a total of twelve hours, and he isn’t sure of what’s appropriate to jump to due to the speed of your relationship. Once he feels the first roll of your hips, a liquid heat that Jungkook can’t help but return back, he pulls away from your soft lips. Not too far, but a few centimeters apart so that Jungkook and you can catch your breath.

“We should take this slow,” he starts, trying to make a reasonable impression now that you’re a guest at his home and finally settled from their long trip. “I really, really want to get to know you. And you’re so beautiful and I really do want to have sex but—”

“Jungkook, I have not had sex with someone in two years,” you speak with a depraved tone, as if it’s been centuries since you’ve been touched. He can’t help but throw his head back and laugh, “a night full of sex sounds like the best last-minute present ever.”

You bring his hand over to your core, the shiny glassy material of your gown doing nothing to hide the glimpses of pleasure you’re minutes away from experiencing. You whine desperately at the thought, and Jungkook’s a goner.

“Well, I guess I’m about to pull a Christmas miracle,” he murmurs against your lips, ready to work his magic.

#jungkook x reader #jungkook fic #kwritersworldnet #btsghostie #btswritingcafe #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #bts fic #bts x reader #bts fluff #bts angst

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justfangirlthingies · 3 years

Text

Morning Chase (Sunday Mornings) (Dad! Draco Malfoy)

Word count: 1477 words

This is just pure fluff!

Enjoy family time at Malfoy manor!

Here's part 2

Weekends at the Malfoy's were reserved solely for family. Especially the Sundays.

On Sundays there was no work, though the young parents wouldn't even have to go to work at all with the Malfoy and (L/n) fortunes combined. No special plans or duties. Just family. Maybe his parents, your parents or your siblings (if you don't have siblings just ignore the sibling part) would pay you a visit, but that didn't happen too often. Family visits were more of a Saturday afternoon thing after all.

Typically, it was quiet inside the manor when the sun rose and the first rays of light shone through the curtains in the master bedroom on a Sunday morning. At this time of day, Draco and (Y/n) Malfoy were usually still asleep. Her form nuzzled into his chest, their legs entangled. From time to time, their son would sleep in their bed as well, cuddled up in between the couple, basking in the warmth and comfort they provided. However, most nights from Saturday to Sunday the boy would sleep in his own room.

When the sunlight would finally find its way through a slit in the heavy curtains, it would oh so often gently dance across Draco's nose and the rest of his face. This would cause him to pull you closer and hide his face in your hair or his pillow in order to escape the light, which was sure to blind him slightly if he dared to open his eyes. Eventually, the stirring and shuffling of your husband would wake you. On days like these you would pull each other closer, still half asleep when you'd hear the sound of a door opening and closing down the hall, followed by the pitter patter of small feet and thereafter, the noise of the wooden bedroom door squeaking as it was opened, the small footsteps resuming.

Seeing as your face was practically buried in Draco's chest, you were certain he felt the smile that made its way onto your face when you felt the mattress dip slightly, due to the little boy who was climbing onto the bed. Soon there was a lot of shuffling surrounding you and you could feel the light weight of your darling son shift around on top of you as he climbed over you as carefully as he could manage. Once he had succeeded in stepping over you, he'd try to squeeze his small form between the two of you. A quiet chuckle resonated from where your head was placed and you finally opened one of your eyes. Your (e/c) eye meeting a pair of silver irises. Those he had inherited from his father, no doubt, just like the hair and nose. "Good morning sweetheart, did you sleep well?" you smiled at him as you opened your other eye as well, caressing the soft skin of his cheek with one hand as you untangled yourself from your husband, to make some space for the boy. "Good mornin mummy! I slept well!" He returned your greeting gleefully and engulfed you in a hug, which you returned immediately. Fingers gently running through his soft platinum hair. Draco admired the two of you, adoration filled his gaze as he watched you engage with each other, sometimes he was still baffled how he had made it this far. It happened often that he questioned himself about how he possibly deserved you and why you had decided to give him a chance back then. Why you had chosen to stay with him of all people, a bully and former death eater. He couldn't help but wonder how he deserved such a perfect, loving little family. But it didn't matter how and why, all that really mattered was that he had the two of you and that he'd give everything in his power to keep you safe and happy- His thoughts were cut off when he was pulled back to reality by his son "Daddy!" the smaller looking version of Draco must've just noticed that his other parent was awake as well, so he left your embrace to jump into his father's arms. "Scorpius!" Your husband exclaimed, he sat up rather quickly, just in time to catch the child in his arms. A loud, rather overdramatic "OOF!" fell from the blonde's lips as he let himself fall backwards into the bed again, but not before emitting another over exaggerated groan. The young Malfoy held onto his father as he squealed in delight. You yourself couldn't help but giggle at the scene before you. You were absolutely bedazzled with the way your two boys interacted. You watched as a sly smirk crossed Draco's features, he whispered something to Scorpius, all the while keeping his steely gaze directed at you. The way your son's lips curled up into a huge grin as he took in whatever it was that your husband instructed could only mean mischief. You decided to play along, after all Sundays were for family. So you got up cautiously, two pairs of eyes trained on your every move as you sprinted out of the room and through the house. Your son's laughter could be heard somewhere not so far behind you. You were quick to hide in the playroom, a place where you knew they'd surely find you. It was a game after all and not one you intended to win. You were right because after a few minutes the door to the playroom opened and you came face to face with Scorpius. Just as he was about to call for his dad you pressed a gentle finger to his lips " Hey buddy, how about we do whatever you and daddy have planned for me, to daddy?" He seemed to ponder for a moment before a grin appeared on his lips and he nodded "DADDY! I FOUND MOMMY IN THE PLAYROOM!" Not even 10 seconds later the love of your life stood in the door frame, a mysterious glimmer in his eyes as he approached you. Then from one moment to the next you were scooped up bridal style in the man's arms "We've got you now!" a cocky smirk was plastered on his face, yet his eyes were full of affection. Grey eyes you could always get lost in. He raised an eyebrow in amusement, that act effectively ripped you from your trance and was also your clue to start acting distressed. So you did.

"No! Please let me go!" you laughed, thrashing around in his arms, but Draco didn't budge, he just held onto you tighter, by doing so he restrained you from your little play fight and just carried you back to the bedroom where he threw you onto the king-sized bed. "Never!" he played along and trapped you under his body. Scorpius let out a joyful laugh and when he saw you wiggle your eyebrows at him and then shift your gaze to his father, he took the hint and tackled Draco with all his might. Having caught the man off guard he actually lost balance and rolled off you, the groan leaving his throat this time was an authentic one "Scorpius, you can't just betray me like that!" The adult whined. Needless to say, you hadn't expected your son to do that either, he was always such a gentle soul, which is why you were taken by surprise for a moment. The realization that the tackle attack actually happened and your husband's reaction to it caused you to wheeze and roll around the bed because you had found it so funny. "Oh, so you think this is funny, do you?" Draco frowned. "Yes" you took a deep breath before your laughing continued, tears forming in the corner of your eyes from the fun you were having "Yes I think this is hilarious" A smaller hand pulled on your fingers to get you to stop laughing, a bright, flashing smile belonged to the owner of the small hand "Come on mommy, help" You tried to compose yourself as you watched the four-year-old climb onto your husband's chest and start tickling him. As soon as you managed to calm down and gained control over your breathing back, you joined in and helped with tickling Draco, who laughed and wiggled around to escape, until he declared surrender "I give up! Please stop, I yield! I yield!" ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ Sunday mornings were quality time spent together. Sunday mornings meant relieving the house elves of their duty to prepare breakfast and to try yourself instead. Those days stood for a mess in the kitchen and big smiles on everyone's faces. Sunday mornings were reserved for family breakfast and tabletop games. For story time and cuddles on the large living room couch. Sunday mornings were followed by family lunch and Sunday afternoons. ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Now, what happened on Sunday afternoons?

Taglist: @ateez-star

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orionwhispers · 3 years

Text

Bravado // Tommy Shelby Imagine

(A/N - its been a long ass time and i wanted to ease myself back into writing but this ended up being long and also super super angsty. sorry that this illness imagine came during covid idk whats going on with my imagination lol. love you guys SO much thank you for always being there. reblogs, comments and likes mean everything to me.)

trigger warnings - LOTS of angst. fluff. implied smut. my hc that tommy has a fear of illness, bad descriptions of hospitals.

He knew something wasn’t right the minute his car pulled into the driveway and you weren’t waiting for him under the great concrete arch, with that smile on your face that made his knees buckle and heart race like he was a love struck teenager.

You were always there as soon as he came home. Barefoot in a broderie dress in the summer with tousled hair and baby pink toenails. Wrapped in a hand knit blanket with fire flushed cheeks and woollen socks in the winter - even running across the gravel and into his arms in the middle of a storm, the ice cold rain whipping across both of your faces as you kissed under the light of the moon.

No matter how shit his day or week or month was, no matter what stained his hands or darkened his heart, no matter what lay heavy and hard deep in his gut, seeing you made everything vanish in the night air like wisps of smoke. You made everything worth it.

He refused to give into fear, he wasn’t that kind of man, so he swallowed all of the nagging thoughts and apprehensions as he came up to the dark foggy windows and the iron cast door. It felt strange turning his key in the lock without the weight of you in his arms or the sticky peach kisses you left down his jaw and neck, the smell of the vanilla in your hair and lavender on your skin.

The second thing that sent a jolt of white hot electricity down his spine was Mary, watching him anxiously and wringing her hands in the hallway. Usually, she was calm and collected, taking his jacket and leather travel bag with her signature placid smile and gentle fingers. Usually she would return to the kitchen and finish up whatever she was making - a hearty roast lamb with rosemary and garlic and glazed potatoes or a pheasant pie with honeyed carrots, always followed by a three layer chocolate ganache cake that was so thick and rich you practically had to saw through the sponge. She would always have dinner piping hot and dripping with gravy by the time the two of you returned downstairs, no matter how many hours it took for you to get... reacquainted.

Now she looked sheepish and pale, her skin almost translucent under the syrupy yellow lights. There was something about the way she stood, as still as a wraith, that made his blood run cold.

“Mary. Where is she?”

“Mr Shelby, I - ” Her voice was strained and hesitant, like a slowly fraying rope.

“Where is my wife?”

She moved forward, creases forming around her eyes. “We tried ringing you in Liverpool but the hotel said that you had already left, so we...”

“You rang me? Why? What’s happened?” He couldn’t hold back the desperation in his voice, and it lingered and festered around them both like a poisonous gas.

“Mrs Shelby came down with something a few days ago, we thought that it was just a common cold but unfortunately she seems to be getting worse.”

He tore upstairs before he could even think, his shoes leaving perfect muddy footprints on the cream carpet. He almost slipped at the top, and he lurched forward, his hands reaching out and holding onto the portrait hanging above the stairs for stability.

It was the oil of the two of you. A soft, personal picture that revealed more than he ever possibly could. The love in your gazes, the hint of a soft, drunk smile on the dangerous gangsters face as you leaned into him, melting into him like butter, him holding onto you as though he couldn’t bear to let you go. It was his favourite photo, one that always washed a sense of calmness over him, a reminder of the woman that he loved and the way he felt around you. But now he felt as if was riding out a terrible storm.

He lived his life with no fear, he was capable and practical and used to the sound of bullets and the copper sweet smell of blood. There was really only one thing, one terrible thing that he couldn’t control, and that was what drove him crazy.

Sickness.

It gnawed at his insides like a rabid dog, clawed under his skin and settled behind his ribs. Losing someone he loved was like ripping out a piece of his heart straight from his chest, and he knew better than anyone what it was like to lose somebody to a violent, quick death - the pull of a trigger or the smack of a fist. At least in those moments he could lock them away in his mind, he could leap in front of a bullet or crack the neck of any man who dared to get too close to you, but there was almost nothing he could do to stop sickness, and the devastation it caused.

When you first met him it had been a surprise, almost amusing, that this powerful God of a man had these small little quirks. His house was always sparkling clean and smelling of Lysol, his fruit bowls were filled with citrus fruits and round, plump blueberries. He always made sure you were wrapped up warm in the winter, always placing his coat around your shoulders and bringing an extra pair of gloves in case you forgot yours. It was adorable, the way he took care of you,

It wasn’t till a little bit later when you learnt of those he had lost. His mother and his childhood sweetheart taken away from him much too soon. It broke your heart when he told you late one night of the sallow tint of their skin and the way he could almost see them vanishing from earth, the way that illness had moulded and changed those he loved the most.

You understood.

Your best friends older sister had died of tuberculosis when you were young. The elderly woman across the street from your first flat had passed away from a bout of horrendous smallpox. Your brother lost his first child to pneumonia. Times were changing but the fear of disease was ever present. Medicine was improving and so was knowledge, but still there remained a huge, dark cloud of what could happen, one that always hung around your husbands head.

——————————————-

All Tommy could think was the worst as he ran through the landing. His heart was in his ears and his bones felt loose, like the sweet liquorice the two of you would share at the pictures. He came to a stop by the bedroom door, tentatively pressing his palm onto the wood and ever so slightly pushing it open, listening to the gentle creak it made.

The room was warm. The lace curtains were pulled shut, and your favourite lavender candles were flickering on your vanity, casting syrupy shadows against the wall. He exhaled loudly as he saw you, bundled up under a mountain of satin sheets and hand crocheted blankets, your hair splayed across the pillows.

He moved to your bedside, pretending not to notice the large, untouched jug of water and the tissue box next to you, hoping and silently praying that you weren’t sick - just asleep and waiting for him, ready to wrap your arms around his neck.

You were silent, your lips parting every so often as you breathed, your chest rising and falling. He reached out gently, as though he was picking up shards of glass, and brushed his fingers against your cheek. Your forehead was beading with sweat, your cheeks flushed, and yet your skin was ice cold to the touch. He recoiled quickly, his heart dropping like a weight into his gut, and he inhaled a shaky, deep breath.

He saw something curled up beside your hands, a fluffy white cloud with sparkling emerald green eyes trained on him. Despite everything, he smiled. He thought of your birthday - of strawberry cheesecake and champagne, and surprising you with a ribbon wrapped little kitten as you woke up. He thought of that day often. How you smiled and leapt onto him with tears in your eyes, his whole world blissfully quiet as he spent the day in bed with you and your new best friend.

He would have preferred a big dog, one with sharp teeth and a menacing gaze to ward of visitors whilst he was away. But you were drawn to the tiny, malnourished runt of the litter who was scared of his own shadow. A kitten no bigger than the size of his clenched fist. A little white hairball who only ate and drank from fine pink saucers. A cat that had a very frustrating habit of crawling in the bedroom right as Tommy’s hand was up your skirt and his lips on the sweet spot of your neck, the tiny thing mewling and crying until you picked him up and nuzzled him into your chest.

He was a horse lover through and through, and never saw himself having time for any other pets. But in the summer when you saw the litter from one of John’s barn cats and fell in love with the sweet baby who mewled and cried and crawled right into your lap - he knew that he would give you anything and everything you wanted.

Including a cat who refused to accept that Tommy was the man of the house.

“Hello, boy.” He said, leaning over to scratch Comet under the chin, using a voice he only reserved for the two of you. “Have you been looking after my girl whilst I’ve been gone?”The cat meowed loudly in reply, pressing his head into Tommy’s palm but not moving from his spot beside you.

Tommy suddenly felt you shift under him and his heart lurched into his throat. He turned to face you, cupping the side of your clammy face as your eyelids fluttered open, blinking under the candlelight. A rush of red hot heat built up in his belly as you registered him, that angelic smile growing on your face, your tired eyes glimmering with recognition of the man you loved.

“Tommy?”

“Hi, Princess.”

You smiled sadly. “You’ve been gone for weeks - I missed you.”

He felt his brows crease as he rubbed along your jawline softly, trying to stop you from falling back asleep. He felt panic in his throat as sour as vomit, and he tried to bite back the nagging feeling that something was very wrong.

“No, sweetheart, I’m early. It’s only Thursday. I left on Monday.”

“Oh.” You said softly, your voice as gentle as the breeze rustling through the trees outside. “Well let me welcome you back properly - let me make you a lemon drizzle or a...” You lifted your head from the pillow and shuffled under your blanket, but he pressed his hands against your shoulder and held you down.

“No. You’re staying right here.”

“But - ”

“No.”

“Hmm. Don’t leave me, Tommy.”

“Never.” He said, his tone firm and cast like stone. He stroked your hair softly as your breathing slowed, but it didn’t nothing to quell the hard thump of his heart in his chest.

——————————-

Tommy left the room as quietly as he could after you had fallen asleep in his arms. He hadn’t wanted to move, not when you were pressed against his chest, looking ethereal but vacant, sweat beading under your brow and your face lacking colour. He wanted to stay with you, curled up by his side, his fingers laced through yours, the sound of your heart thumping in his ears.

But he was a man of action, and seeing you there - your lips cracked and dry, shudders passing through your body and goosebumps raised over your skin - he couldn’t fight the fiery urge to do everything in his power to make you feel alright again.

He found Mary waiting outside the door, chewing on the skin of her lips and swaying on the balls of her feet in anticipation. He grabbed her by the arm, harder than he meant to and something he would apologise for later, and pulled her downstairs, determined to let you rest whilst he got some answers. As soon as they reached the drawing room he spun her around, clenching his jaw and pointing a finger at the anxious maid.

“Where the fuck is the doctor? Why isn’t he here?”

“Mr Shelby.” She said, stepping forward calmly. “We phoned Doctor Moore and he came on Tuesday to see her.”

“Tuesday?” He seethed. “My wife has been ill since Tuesday and no one called me?”

Mary raised her hands in defeat, making it clear that the decision wasn’t hers to make. “He said it was nothing of concern . He gave her some antibiotics and told her to rest. She asked us herself not to call you, she knows how you.. worry.”

He ignored her sugar coated attempt to quell his anger, but if anything it made his vision darken. “When it’s my wife, It is always my concern.”

“Mr Shelby, we were just doing what we were told. As soon as we noticed she wasn’t getting better we phoned the surgery again, but Doctor Thomas was out for the day and said he didn’t think it was necessary to come round again, so we -”

“I don’t give a fuck. My wife is the number one priority. Ring every doctor in England if you have to, get somebody out here now to see my wife.”

He stormed away, anger pulsating through his veins, but he stopped suddenly, and threw out over his shoulder:

“And call Doctor Moore’s ’office. Tell him to expect a visit from the blinders soon.”

———————————————————

Once, when you were first dating, you found Tommy at the door to your flat at midnight, with scraped knuckles and blood dripping from his nose. You let him in, cleaned him up and sat with him in the bath until his skin was clear and his breathing was even. He knew that night, as you were pressed against his chest and his lips were pressed to your scalp that he was truly, madly and completely in love with you.

He remembered waking up the next morning, love drunk and blissful, and finding the bed beside him empty. He found you in the kitchen, wincing slightly and pressing a hot water bottle to your belly as you buttered a few pieces of toast. He rushed to your side with eyes as wide as saucers, concern lacing the features that were usually ice cold and hard as stone. You were completely baffled as he held you at arms length, his bright cerulean eyes trailing up and down your body for any signs of injury he might have missed. You were bewildered at the sight of the powerful man practically on his knees as he made sure you were alright, and you bit back a giggle as his warm palms spread over your abdomen.

“What is it? Whats wrong?”

“Tommy. Sweetheart.” You said softly, bringing his gaze level to yours. “It’s just - you know - that time of the month.”

He brushed off your embarrassment and ran his fingers through your hair, pressing a uncharacteristically gentle kiss to your forehead, sending a swarm of butterflies around the pain in your stomach.

“Do you need anything?” He asked, half ready to run down to the corner shop and buy any amount of painkillers or chocolate bars or your favourite lavender tea that you might need; not caring who saw the seemingly terrifying gang leader in the street with an armful of strawberry laces and salt water fudges.

You smiled like the summer sun and he melted, pulling you close as you whispered in the shell of his ear that you only needed him, and that was all you ever needed.

That was the first time you fully saw the extent of Tommy’s fear, but it definitely wasn’t the last. He knew he wanted you forever and always, and it took only six months of neck kisses and pillow talk, red hot jealousy and possessive hands across your skin and dancing in the rain and falling asleep under the pale yellow moon for him to put a ring on your finger. You were both consumed by your love, as though it was the only thing that mattered, it was insatiable and powerful - the wonderful mix of the devil and his sweet little angel.

And with that, came the good and the bad.

Like when you got food poisoning after Arthur cooked you a Sunday lunch to cheer you up whilst Tommy was gone. He came home to you retching over the toilet bowl with Mary holding back your hair, and swore that he would kill his brother with his own hands. Or when you slipped on ice and broke your arm while out with friends in London, and Tommy went ballistic and tried to ban you from ever leaving the house. It was just in his nature, how he always made sure you walked on the side furthest from the road, kept an arm slung around you whenever you were together, kept his eyes alert and vigilant no matter where you were - always looking out for his girl.

But he had never been like this.

———————————————————-

You were falling in and out of sleep. Waking up drowsy and heavy headed, squinting under bright lights, an ache in your skull and a burning in your throat. Every so often you felt a pinch in your upper arm, a squeeze on your palm, a kiss on your forehead - but you always drifted back into unconsciousness.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed when you woke up. The room was dark and you could hear the wind howling and whipping rain across the windows. You felt all too hot and all too cold at the same time, and the bed was damp with sweat. You struggled and tried to sit up, your head swaying and feeling as heavy as one of Tommy’s marble statues; as if you had been carved up and moulded. You could hear voices out in the hall, and unsteadily got to your feet, moving towards the noises.

“Pneumonia?” You heard through the thick wooden door, instantly recognising your husbands voice. “That’s impossible.”

“Sir...”

“Fucking. Impossible.” You knew his teeth were clenched.

The other man cleared his throat.“I know that it’s hard to hear, Mr Shelby, but your wife is very sick.”

“Just...” You felt your heart flutter and clench in your chest as the sound of his broken words, could practically feel his desperation and you wanted nothing more than to hold him. “Just tell me how to make her better.”

The second man spoke again, his voice softening and lowering, something you knew Tommy would hate. “Mr Shelby, the first round of antibiotics didn’t work and that means that it’s time for something stronger. Usually I would suggest the Birmingham hospital but I don’t think it’s equipped for...” He paused, trying to think over his words carefully. He wanted to convey the severity of the situation but also didn’t want to risk getting a bullet in his head from your very protective husband. “...This kind of reaction. I recommend we send her down to London for extra testing.”

“London? That’ll take two fucking hours. How the fuck can you recommend letting my wife travel that far? Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“I’m my opinion this is the wisest choice to make, but unfortunately that could mean your wife might get worse before she gets better.”

“Worse than she already is? That’s not an option.”

The man you assumed was the doctor was insistent, trying his best to portray the severity of the situation but failing as your hardheaded husband had already come to a decision.

“I’ll look after her here. She’s safest with me.”

Once Tommy had spoken that was the final result, and the doctor slinked away into the darkness and shook his head. You remained peering from behind the door, your tongue between your teeth and your heart hammering.

Tommy took one look at you and frowned, scooping you in his arms like a baby despite your protests. He ignored you, acting playfully and cheerful but you could feel his heated skin and the see flare of his nostrils. You wanted to help him but didn’t know how, and let him tuck you under the covers once again. He kissed your crown and stroked your hair and you wanted to speak but no words would leave your mouth.

“You stay there this time. You know I have no problem with tying you to the bed.”

You rolled your eyes as he left, and his clenched fists and tightened shoulders told you all you needed to know.

————————————————-

Comet watched from his spot beside you as Tommy wrestled with the fire. He had noticed you shivering despite your high temperature, and bundled you up in blankets whilst sparking matches beside the fireplace. There were raindrops across his shoulders, evidence that he had been outside and to the log store right at the end of the property - a job that had always been for the Groundskeeper. Your precious cat nudged the tips of your fingers as you sighed and watched your husband throw kindling onto the coal, a deep unease settling over your gut.

“Tommy, my love, I’m fine.” It wasn’t exactly true but you felt he needed to hear it. But you could practically see your words wash over him and evaporate like ocean spray.

He was shaking a metal tin in his palm as he worked, and you groaned and let your head hit the pillow as he pulled out two round chalky tablets. You winced as he placed them beside your glass, your mouth already tasting like the sour talc medicine you had come to loathe. He raised his eyebrows and shot you a look that told you he wasn’t far off plugging your nose with his fingers to force you to swallow, and you childishly stuck up two fingers as you took them.

Your stomach rumbled with nausea and you bit back the bile in your throat as you settled into the pillows. You watched your husband as he pulled off his crisp white shirt, revealing his taut tan stomach and the deep ink tattoos that you loved to trace with your fingertips and your lips. There was something about him standing there, with those damn cerulean eyes and hidden muscles, that boyish hair and slender fingers that you wanted desperately around your throat, that made a million tiny fireworks spark inside of you.

But instead you pushed him away from you despite your body wanting nothing but him wrapped all around you. “Don’t get too close. I might have something contagious. I can’t have you getting sick.”

He ignored you, smiling inwardly at the way you always put others before yourself. It was one of the million reasons he had fallen for you. You were sweating out a high fever and shivering in pain, and yet you always thought of him first. He pressed his lips to your temple and pulled you closer, knowing that skin to skin was a way to bring down a fever - even if it meant he had to restrain himself from tugging off your pretty little white nightgown and whatever frilly things you had on underneath.

“I’m not going anywhere. Fuck it if I catch anything.”

“That’s easy for you to say. I’m the one who will have to dote on you hand and foot, you big baby.” You teased, pressing yourself into him playfully, finally giving in.

He held you like a child, trying to hard to soften despite the way you felt underneath him. Everything on him was running a mile a minute, and he couldn’t help but want to try everything and everything to make you feel better. His hand was pressed against your temple to always try and measure your fever, his other palm across your chest to try and count your heart rate.

He could hear Mary treading across the landing carpet but he ignored his anxious maid, instead letting himself be completely consumed by the only thing that mattered - you.

This was something he had to do by himself. He was the only one who could care for you he reminded himself. And he let the words tumble over and over in his skull until they were all he could hear.

—————————————————————-

You had been asleep for a long time.

Every hour, after pacing the length of the hall and sanitising his hands and wiping the beads of sweat above your brow and above your breasts he woke you up and held a cool glass to your lips. You mumbled and moaned and pushed him away but he kept his fingers across your wrist - harsher than he ever had before - and kept you as close to him as possible.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had cooked. Perhaps it was last valentines when the two of you had camped out under the stars, drinking icy white wine and sharing stolen, day drunk kisses. That night he had roasted a chicken over the fire and it had burnt to a crisp as the two of you rolled around the grass, his head buried in your neck as you giggled at the poultry going up in flames.

He was trying now though, easy, plain substantial meals that wouldn’t upset your stomach. Boiled egg and dippy soldiers. Crackers with smooth cheese. Bubbly water and ginger biscuits. Each time he went upstairs you pushed him away, your whole body shuddering and almost retching, and he felt like smashing the plates against the wall at his defeat.

It had been almost thirty six hours since he had come home and it had been almost as long since you had eaten something, and his heart thundered and shattered in his chest when he found you gasping and wheezing over the toilet bowl when you had taken a bite of toast to calm him. He rarely left you alone, only for a few minutes to put the still full dishes in the sink, to ring Lizzie and tell her that he wouldn’t be coming for reasons that he refused to disclose, to smoke a cigarette under the grey stone archway, his shaking hands and bitten fingernails barely visible through the sleepy rolling fog.

He had grabbed handfuls of papers and the brass ink pen you had got him for your anniversary and broke his own rule - bringing work into your bedroom. It had always been a sacred space. For candlelight and soft laughter, aching hands and heart shaped bruises, a sanctuary for him to breathe and to love and to be loved fully in return. But he was afraid if he didn’t have a distraction, he might just completely lose it, and he had to be there for you.

So he sat squinting in his glasses, the room almost completely dark save for a few candles because of the migraines that had started to spread throughout your skull, and let himself be drawn into the mess of squiggly lines and numbers that suddenly didn’t add up, with you still centre stage in his peripheral.

After about forty minutes of rereading the same sentence a dozen times to try and make some sense of it, he heard your voice, like a small crack spreading across a sheet of ice, coming from the bed.

“Tom?” You sounded so weak, he practically flipped your cream vanity as he got to his feet and darted towards you. “I don’t feel well.”

He lifted you as you reached your arms up at him like a child. He almost gasped at the sweat pouring from your body but didn’t want to scare you, and instead held your shaking, shivering body against his own. How could you be so hot, yet so cold at the same time? Your skin was prickled with goosebumps yet you were burning with a fever, and for the first time in a long time, he had no fucking idea what to do.

He left you propped up against the headboard and he entered the bathroom. He ran over to the claw foot tub you loved, twisting the faucet and trying to find the perfect medium between boiling hot and freezing cold. He didn’t want to overwhelm you, just try and soothe your raging fever, and he ignored the shelves of expensive bath oils and scented soaps that you coveted, instead opting for a handful of something meant to ease tension - praying to whoever was listening that it would help you somehow.

There was a brutal, awful moment as he lifted you from the bed, limp as a rag doll, where he imagined what would happen if your heart were to stop. He couldn’t comprehend what it would be like to miss the weight of you in his arms, the smell of your skin, the feeling of your lips against him, the shovels stopping and fading into nothing. It hit him square in the chest, as merciless as a bullet, and he had to lean against the doorframe to stop the two of you from plummeting to the ground.

He undressed himself first. Tugging his white shirt off, sliding off his slacks and his underwear, keeping you as close to his chest as he could. Then he pulled your nightgown up and over your head. He gathered your hair and secured it up with a claw clip so that it was away from your face, the heat radiating off your neck as fierce as the fire now burnt down to ash in the bedroom.

He lowered the two of you into the bath, sinking down beneath the eucalyptus smelling lukewarm water, letting it wash over you both. Your teeth were chattering and you were barely awake. He gathered handfuls of water, letting it drip over your shoulders and pulse points, grabbing a washcloth and running it over your raised skin, hating how you barely registered his touch. As he scrubbed over your collarbones and up to your face he saw your lips had turned to an awful, silvery blue, as vibrant as a fresh bruise. He hissed and tugged on the plug, now determined to get you wrapped up in a fresh towel and tucked back into bed.

You were soft and placid and he helped you out, lacking the usual fire that he adored. Your eyes were glassy and missing their vibrance, like the vanishing spark of a lighter - and he felt miles and miles of invisible distance between the two of you. You were unsteady on your feet and he used his body to prop you up as he warmed your arms with a fluffy white towel. You suddenly stopped, lifting your hand to your mouth as you started to cough - a horrible, dry, gasping cough.

He noticed it almost immediately. His eyes darting to the splatter of red against the white, a smudge of crimson that was as loud and commanding as a siren, a warning signal that something was definitely not right. A bead of scarlet that would linger long behind his closed eyelids.

He managed to get you back into bed, remaining calm as he stroked your hair and kissed your temple. He tucked you under the duvet and waited for your breathing to even before he ran downstairs, his heart thumping in his ears as he practically ripped the phone off of the wall.

“Pol? Fuck. I think - I think I need help.”

—————————————————————-

The room smelt like bleach and metal. Unfamiliar and clinical. There was something hard on your chest and covering your mouth, it tasted like wet pennies and was as heavy as a hand over your throat, but for the first time in days you could finally breathe. You tried to sit up, but there was a needle in your chest, a gown you didn’t recognise cut straight down the middle to accommodate it. You struggled and lifted the thin bedsheet above your shivering torso, trying to look around the cold room.

“Careful!”

It was Polly, dressed immaculately despite her surroundings. She reached out and placed a manicured hand across yours, and you smiled at the woman who had always been a calming influence when you had joined the circus of a family. There was concern in her eyes, rimmed with black eyeliner and lifted lashes but still swimming deep around her pupils. That made you frown, and you moved as much as you could to face her.

“What happened?”

She ran her tongue over her teeth, choosing her words. “You gave us quite a fright, love.”

“I did?” Your memories of the past few days were much like a fever dream, blurry and distorted snapshots were all you could really remember.

“Your pneumonia got worse. A lot worse.” She paused, looking over to the door and you followed her gaze. “They found fluid in your lungs.”

“So...” You started, gesturing to the needle in your abdomen and the breathing apparatus around your head.

She nodded. “Yes. You were in surgery. It was touch and go for a little bit.”

“Really?” You were bewildered. You couldn’t remember anything, let alone having major surgery. You looked her straight in the eye, asking her the questions that had been on the tip of your tongue since you had woken up. “Where is he? Where’s Tommy?”

“He’s outside.” She clicked her tongue, reaching deep into her purse and pulling out some hand cream, gently rubbing your dry hands like she was your mother. You leant into her touch despite all of your questions.

“What? Why?”

“I think he blames himself. God knows what goes on in that mans head. All I really know is he was bloody terrified.” She paused, looking over in the distance. “I’ve never seen him so scared, not even on his wedding day.” She smiled sadly, trying to lighten the mood, but it soon faded. “He didn’t leave your side the whole time you were asleep.”

Your heart thumped in your chest, a soft aching that you knew all too well. “I want to see him.”

“I know you do. But right now...” She stopped right as a handful of nurses entered, clad in long blue dresses with white aprons, hair tied back and smelling of strong soap and disinfectant. You lost Polly in the bustle as one spoke softly to you before tugging on the needle right beside your ribs, your eyes just catching hers as she left, a promise to see you soon on her lips.

It wasn’t her you saw next, but Tommy.

The nurses had cleaned you up with wet flannels and bowls of warm soapy water. Your hair had been braided and your face washed, and walked you arm in arm over to the bathroom so you could relieve yourself. A skittish doctor followed after, his eyes darting across you and his touch gentle as he changed your dressings and took your blood - obviously under strict instructions from your husband, and despite everything, you smiled.

You were sat listening to the clock tick. A romance novel you had been given was dangling dangerously close to the end of the bed, but you were too tired to focus on it. You heard the door squeal softly, and the sound of familiar footsteps across the tiling, each small thud sending shockwaves across your spine.

“Tommy.”

He looked tired. Exhausted rather, as though he had been awake all the hours that you had been asleep. His eyes were bloodshot and his skin was sallow and bruised. His clean shaven face was dark with stubble and his hair was ruffled and unwashed. You longed to reach out to him and cradle him against you, but he stood in the doorway, lingering like a ghost.

“Tommy?” You repeated, your voice almost a whisper, breaking his already shattered heart once again.

“How are you feeling, my love?”

You smiled softly, like spun sugar and sweet honey. No hospital bed or itchy gown could dull your infectious light. “Better now.”

He approached you almost cautiously. He settled down on the hard chair beside your bed and stroked a line down from your temple to your lips, his touch setting you alight like an electrical storm. There was a sadness in his eyes that reminded you of how he got when things were bad, and you willed him to come back to you. His touch was tentative and he inhaled shakily as you cupped his hand with yours, pressing a tender kiss to the inside of his palm.

“Don’t scare me like that. Ever.” He was stern, as though hoping his words would make it true. “I mean it.” He kept his gaze on your pretty face, trying his best not to stare at the harsh bruising on your delicate flesh or the sickly tone of your skin.

“Tommy I’m going to get sick, even you can’t stop that.” You teased gently.

“I can bloody well try.” His hands cradled your face, pulling you into him and kissing you fiercely, still mindful of the wires and tubes taped to your body. There was something about the tenderness and deep longing in the kiss that when mixed with your total exhaustion and love for your husband prompted tears to start falling from your eyes. You sniffled as he pulled away, concern dripping from his beautiful features, his powerful mind wanting to do everything and anything to stop your hurting.

“Hey, hey.” He said, running his calloused fingertips under your eyes and wiping your tears away. You leant into his touch and he kissed your temple, squeezing you even tighter into him. “You know I hate it when you cry.” He toyed with your hair and winked playfully. “Besides, all you need to focus on is getting better. You’re going to have to take care of me when we get home, this week has given me a fucking stroke.”

You rolled your eyes, kissing the inside of his wrist. “You’re a idiot, Thomas Shelby.” You blinked at the clock looming above you both, wanting to stay in your blissful bubble but also knowing that Aunt Pol would probably be in the vicinity harassing a poor nurse over your results. “You should go and find Polly, let her know that everything’s alright.”

He shook his head and nuzzled his nose across yours, an act so innocent that your heart dipped and swooped in your chest. “Later.” He said, breathless and consumed by you. Everything had been too much. Almost losing you had been harrowing, it had punctured him completely and he just needed to feel his girl safe and warm around him. He needed to know that you weren’t found anywhere.

“I just want to stay here for a while. Just me and you.”

You grinned. “Always.”

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