#but it’s important to me that it feels plausible lol | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lover-of-mine · 1 month ago

Text

Hi, hi, hello, and welcome to Anna rewrites Eddie fell first: a look at how you can argue a level of awareness from Eddie since season 3 with Eddie being settled into how Buck just doesn't feel the same so he won't question it, this time with season 8 context.

Things to keep in mind here: this hinges on Eddie not looking at the way that he feels about Buck makes him queer but being aware that he views Buck as a life partner but what he has is all he can get (yk the whole one knows he's gay but doesn't know he's in love and the other knows he's in love but doesn't know that makes him gay, that's Buck and Eddie in my brain rn) and the way I view the whole fell first/fell harder thing being about awareness, the one who fell first is the one who’s had awareness of it for longer and therefore is settled into the feeling, while the one who falls harder is the one who gets hit with it suddenly and can’t keep it in because they end up feeling it all at once. With the way Buck and Eddie handle feelings, for Buck to lose it once he realizes is a lot more plausible, he doesn’t know how to handle big emotions, and Eddie boxes things into portions he can handle, so I think the realization that he is in love with Buck would be a lot more peaceful because I don’t think he would think that changes much, it would be just putting a name to it to something he already understands. Also, the fact that Buck is very explicitly unaware when it comes to canon, considering he said with all the words he’s not in love with Eddie and we don't have that with Eddie. But Anna, Eddie said he's straight. Baby girl, we'll cross that bridge when we get there.

So we start this out before Eddie gets to the 118. Eddie’s age is a mystery, but given Shannon’s, we can infer that Buck and Eddie are around the same age. Eddie at that point had been killing himself to make sure Christopher would be properly taken care of. Internet tells me the academy lasts around a year, it also gives me the expectation that Eddie would probably be a bit older than most of the recruits. Eddie is very friendly, but given the fact that we know nothing about his class at the academy, it’s safe to say he did not make any lasting connections there. That means it is safe to assume that the constants in his life in LA were Chris, Pepa, and Abuela, maybe a few cousins, considering he still doesn’t have permanent help with Chris. So honestly, the only constant contact he had was with his 7-year-old and his grandmother.

We know that Bobby wanted a partner in the field for Buck. Considering that Chim is both a firefighter and paramedic, picking Eddie because he was a medic in the army to give Buck a more dynamic partner makes sense. But that also leads me to believe that Buck himself was a selling point of the 118, considering Eddie was persuaded into joining them, he wasn’t assigned a house like the rest of them. Someone good at their job around his age that he could befriend is tempting, considering the past few years of his life, with Shannon leaving, and 3 different jobs, and then the academy. The way we see Eddie when placed in new situations, like befriending everyone on dispatch, that man craves connections in a way that he was not getting.

Which makes the concept of Buck intriguing, even if he had no way of predicting how important Buck would grow to be.

So we are gonna look at Eddie’s first day as Eddie trying to befriend Buck because of that desire to have someone at the same level he could bounce off (unintended pun but he found someone who would bounce on it yay lol). Everyone is telling him that Buck is great, he has to be curious. Because if we look at things like the help with the call, the I'd go lower, and the comment about being in the wrong light as attempts to bond, while having rougher edges that come with not settling down until that moment when he joined the lafd and found a permanent spot, it makes it so it looks like Eddie is trying to be helpful so he can get an opening. It also makes the “you’re badass under pressure” yet another thing to try and get through to Buck.

Eddie was trying, and Buck was being Buck. Until he found the thing that made Buck let him in, the reassurance that Eddie is not there to replace him, that makes Buck imprint on him like a baby duck.

And sure, this was casual, it’s a coworker thing for a few weeks while Eddie gets the feel of the place, we know that due to the fact that Eddie doesn’t share Christopher’s existence during those first few shifts. Christopher is always gonna be the key, sharing Christopher is what Eddie does when it comes to trying harder on his connections. But that makes Buck jump into that space with him. Buck spends the shift making sure Eddie knows Chris would be safe, and we even have a moment where we see just how much Eddie listens to Buck, with the way he repeats Buck’s words to him about highrises being the safest place to be during an earthquake. We also have Buck driving Eddie to Chris’ school. I wish we had a canon explanation for that fact, but I do love that we have a montage of Hen going home to Karen and Denny, Athena going home to May and Harry, and then Buck, Eddie, and Chris become their little unit.

But that all actually starts the moment I believe is when Eddie was gone for good. Which isn’t Carla, but Buck clearing with Bobby for Chris to stay at the station. Because Eddie is loyal until it kills him, and that moment at the station that eventually leads to Carla, is the moment that Buck becomes Eddie’s ride or die. Because Eddie’s whole life has been about people telling him he’s not doing enough, he’s failing as a son, he failed as a husband, he feels like he is failing as a father, but the way Buck steps in isn’t about doing something better than Eddie and making him feel inferior, it’s about Buck seeing a need and helping without allowing Eddie to feel like a failure for not doing it himself. You can see it on Eddie’s face.

He never had that thing Buck is offering with no expectations. And the way that Buck makes sure that Christopher’s life is gonna be improved. He’s not only offering Eddie help, he’s making sure Christopher is gonna have the support he needs. And that is what seals Eddie's faith here.

And, yes they're both tied to each other in some way at this point, but I feel like Buck's crush upon meeting Eddie turned I'll never look at the fact that he's very hot again because he's the best friend I've ever had has a different feeling from Eddie letting Buck in as much as he possibly could. I feel like there's a level of intention in the way Eddie chooses Buck to be the person he trusts the most, while Buck stumbles into it and keeps telling himself it doesn't mean anything more. Which puts Eddie in this space where he knows but won't define, and Buck defines wrong.

But obviously, everything there is complicated as hell, he can’t look at the way Buck makes him feel, not with Shannon coming back, and the way he does love her in some way, but he doesn’t trust her.

Who even invites their best friend to a family outing he denied his honest to God wife and mother of his kid? Eddie Diaz apparently, because why wouldn’t he take Buck with him to go see Santa while denying Shannon all access to Chris? And it’s interesting that Eddie doesn’t try for real until Buck tells him to. Both with letting Shannon back in Chris’ life, AND with the whole “we should be a family” speech, it comes from Buck. Buck sees the best in the situation in a way Eddie doesn’t, and that pushes Eddie into things.

But then Shannon dies after asking for a divorce, and that complication is gone, but is tangled in a whole layer of new problems because Buck almost dies right after. The season 2 finale it’s interesting on this point because we see the first moment of irrationality from Eddie when it comes to Buck. He’s just there, holding Buck’s hand. Hen is more than capable of treating Buck. Chim took over the other bombing. Bobby is also there. Eddie is objectively stronger than all of them, he’s also not a paramedic, the rational thing would be for him to be one of the people trying to lift the truck, but no, Buck needs him, so he won’t leave Buck’s side, and it’s not like doing much, he’s holding Buck’s hand, he’s riding with him to the hospital.

We also get a really overlooked thing with the way Hen says things are back to normal, and Eddie looks all wistful, saying almost, because Buck is not there.

Also, the way Buck fresh out of surgery, fresh out of being bombed, is like, nope, this is more important, because he needs to be there for Eddie’s shield ceremony (yay buddie hug number 1, and the way that their last interaction in season 2 is a hug, and their first in season 3 is also a hug.)

So, there’s something on Eddie’s mind about Buck, Buck is very tied to his sense of normalcy already. But season 3 is the one that kicks things into gear.

It starts with Eddie’s choice to hand Chris over to Buck after Buck quits, to remind Buck he still has things to live for. That he still has him, even if they’re not working together. But then the tsunami happens.

The tsunami is a key piece for their dynamic, not just because it is the moment that makes Buck a parent, but because at no point does Eddie think to blame Buck. Buck is beating himself up, but even when both of them think that Chris is gone for good, Eddie doesn’t even think there’s something to forgive Buck for. And that leads to the first of the moments that makes me go “Eddie has to know something” and that is the “there’s nobody in this world I trust with my son more than you”. The first moment where Eddie does his roundabout way to tell Buck exactly how much he means to him, even while Buck is lost in his own feelings.

I don’t like to put Shannon in comparison with Buck, but in this particular instance, I’ll have to. During the whole thing with her, where they can’t stop sleeping together but Eddie won’t let her see Chris, the thing there is trust. Eddie doesn’t trust Shannon not to hurt them again. But Shannon also asks for Eddie to make a statement about what they are based on allowing her Christopher, and later, on possible child #2 is what makes Eddie decide to propose again after Shannon uses that to ask what they are. We also know they only got married because she got pregnant. So Eddie’s only romantic relationship at that point has been defined by Christopher. Kids are the only sign he is shown to believe in. So for Eddie to say something like that, it means something. Sure, the tsunami created a bond between Buck and Chris that Eddie can’t control, but he is Christopher's father, no one would blame him for being cautious, but it doesn’t occur to him, because this is Buck. Buck is constant, he is the thing they need to feel normal again. At that point, Eddie is already aware of the fact that he wants to keep Buck in his life.

But then the lawsuit happens. Eddie’s reaction to it and the grocery store of it all only makes sense if he sees Buck as a partner. Buck has no obligation to Eddie and Chris. No one can demand that their best friend consider them before making life-changing choices. But Eddie expects Buck to consider him. He hides behind Chris, and there’s obviously the lingering trauma of watching Shannon die, watching Buck explode, watching the blood clot, and the tsunami, and the way he almost lost both of Buck and Chris and didn’t even know. There’s also the layer of the way Buck understands what Chris went through in a way Eddie can never fully relate to and how that created an attachment from Chris to Buck that Eddie doesn’t fully understand but was ready to nurture because, well, the more people who love Chris, the better, and Chris has lost a lot already, to have a trusted adult who’s not Eddie is important, especially because Chris was hiding things from him, and it matters to Eddie that Chris has someone else willing to die for him, because that is what Buck proved to him he would do. But it's about more because Eddie hates the way he can't talk to Buck. That's his complaint the whole time. Not being able to reach Buck, that Buck went to that extreme after he said how permanent he feels about him.

Not having Buck around, not having him available, puts Eddie off-balance in a way he notices but doesn’t examine. At this point, Buck already exists in his own category on Eddie’s brain, that’s demonstrated by the way that he mentions Buck as separate from the 118 when he gets arrested. He doesn’t think to hide that from Buck the same way he does the rest of the team, he only hides that from Buck because he can’t talk to Buck. Something else here, since we don’t see Buck telling Eddie, it’s safe to assume that Eddie found out he couldn’t talk to Buck through someone involved in the department, maybe Bobby during morning briefing or someone else in their legal department, and boy, wouldn’t that open more wounds considering how Shannon left him and Chris without a word. With Chris’ nightmares, Eddie isn’t expecting to be able to rely on Buck like a best friend, he's expecting a partner. He's not looking at it, he’s not examining it, but he’s for sure feeling it, and it’s throwing him for a loop, considering his world keeps falling apart around him, and he put Buck as a constant in his life. So that Eddie who’s yelling at Buck in a grocery store like a husband calling out his deadbeat ex, is feeling something he refuses to name.

Something about Eddie is that he does not know what it’s like to have someone make the choice to fight for him. His parents low-key hate him, and Shannon didn’t come back because she wanted to, he reached out first. And that makes the way he’s completely unable to stay mad at Buck more glaring, because it's because Buck is making an effort he's not familiar with. And as long as Buck tries, Eddie is gonna fold. Buck knows he went nuclear and that hurt people he cares about, and he wants to prove to Eddie that he can trust him, and the way Buck is reaching out is the thing. Eddie is physically unable to stay mad at Buck, but it’s very obvious during Buck’s first shift back, because he’s not even ignoring Buck fully, he is replying every time Buck tries. And the second he sees Buck's side of things, he doesn’t hesitate because it all boils down to Eddie missing Buck. He wants Buck to consider him, and as long as Buck says he will, he's fine. Even though Buck is still expecting to be forced to do something to prove himself, see the way he’s shocked Eddie just says he forgives him, but also the way that Buck tries to apologize again in the kitchen scene.

Something to consider before I talk about the 309 kitchen scene, the episode opens with Eddie’s therapy session, and one thing Eddie says is that he’s boxing his feelings so much, he’s not even feeling the good things. Keep that in mind for the remainder of this.

Eddie is a professional compartmentalizer. Buck is in his own little box, and I don’t even think the box is labeled best friend in his mind, it just has a pretty little Buck slapped into it while he desperately tries to stop it from busting open. The conversation in the kitchen is Eddie asking Buck to stop making him think about it. “We’re way past that”, the refusal to admit that he’s not opening up to Frank, the whole “let’s just move on” energy. Which paired with Eddie’s tendency to just move past things that make him feel intense emotions, it begs the question of why he won’t look at the way not being a priority to Buck fucked him up. Because, yeah, the fight club era is a culmination of everything that went wrong in Eddie’s life in those 6 months, but losing Buck is the spark that makes him blow up. As much as he doesn’t want to admit it. I don’t think he wanted to punch Buck, he wanted to control something because he couldn’t control how he's feeling. Shannon wanted to divorce him, and Buck low-key divorced him too for a period, which led them to Buck’s kitchen while Buck forces him to think about the impact he has on his life. Buck is very effective in talking Eddie off the ledge. He is a constant in allowing Eddie to exist in a way. But Eddie doesn’t want to think about it. Thinking about it means defining it. Defining it makes it complicated.

He won't look at it as long as Buck continues to prioritize their connection, and Buck basically promises he will, and he does show himself as back to that constant, we see it in moments like the skateboard incident.

But then we roll right into what I think is one of the major buddie episodes on the show, which is telling on its own, with everything that happens during Eddie Begins. And I’m not talking about Buck clawing at the dirt and the way everyone is treating Buck like a widower already while Eddie is down there, or the way the light is out behind Buck’s eyes, and how he looks at Eddie like he’s a miracle when they find him.

It’s the choice to add that much Buck to Eddie’s I need to keep fighting montage.

This is retroactive, but the well makes Eddie change his will to add Buck as Christopher’s legal guardian. The first thing on the montage is actually Buck finding out about Chris. Because they start the flashback with Buck saying "you have a kid?" not Eddie saying he's trying to reach his son, or dropping him off a the school, or with abuela, or even Chris' birth. If that was the first time we as the audience learned about Chris too, then sure, but they use the first scene we see Chris in after. So it’s a conscious decision to attach Buck to Chris while Eddie is buried and trying to find the strength to get out of there. And since Eddie chooses to legally bind himself to Buck after that, this is yet another “Eddie has to know something” moment. Something funny to me about the will being changed after the well is the way that 316 is all about Buck’s fear of ending up like Red. And Eddie is all “that’s not gonna happen to us” while literally sitting on a piece of paper that says Buck is stuck with him until he dies. But he doesn't say anything.

And again, it begs the question, what did Eddie realize while down there? Something changed beyond being confronted with his own mortality because he has a lot of blood relatives willing to take care of Chris if the worst happens. He’s known Buck for about 2 years at this point, the lawsuit happened less than 6 months before this. And he is more sure of Buck than he was of Shannon or anyone else in his family.

And logically, Buck is not the greatest choice, he’s also a firefighter, he’s Eddie’s partner in the field, so if Eddie is in danger, then chances are that Buck is too. He’s also single and without kids of his own. Any lawyer would look at Eddie is insane for even suggesting it when he has living parents and 2 sisters. But he is the only choice that makes sense to Eddie. No matter what. And the only reason he would hide that is if he doesn’t know how to tell Buck without telling Buck everything. So much so, he only tells Buck when he can shift the conversation back to Buck.

Then we have Eddie’s reactions to Abby during the train derailment. Obviously, if my best friend had been abandoned by someone who never gave him the courtesy of closure, I would also reserve myself the right to hate them, and Eddie only saw the damage Abby did, but Eddie being willing to let Sam die for the crime of being engaged to Abby adds to the situation. Because with the correct lens on, that’s jealousy. Sure, Eddie knows Abby as someone who broke Buck, but he also knows her as this presence that made Buck who he is, which I think gives her too much credit, Buck just needed someone to let him care, so much so that getting Maddie back is what fully allows him to settle into himself. But she’s this mystical presence who still has control over Buck, and Eddie very clearly does not like it. And he doesn’t like it in a way that makes him unsure of the space he has on Buck’s life, which is something. Especially considering the way the show tries to frame Buck as still hung up on Abby. He is hesitant to touch Buck, he is hesitant to talk, all his reactions are of someone feeling threatened, and that is also something that can only be explained by Eddie seeing Buck as more, because why would he feel threatened by his best friend’s ex if he was just the best friend?

This Eddie already changed his will. Buck is set in stone in his life. And as a partner.

Because the thing about the will isn’t the will, is the choice to hide it. Buck wouldn’t say no if Eddie asked, so why didn’t Eddie ask? He doesn’t want to look at why he made that choice because that means looking at who Buck is to him, and at this point, Eddie doesn’t want the answer. Buck is just Buck. If he doesn’t look at it, he doesn’t have to define it.

Season 4 is complicated in different ways. Eddie reaches a point where he wants love, but the thing he knows is Shannon, which leads us to Ana and trying a relationship that’s doomed to be comfortable but never exactly what Eddie needs.

Especially because in the middle of it all, the show is making a point of strengthening Buck and Christopher, Buck is the partner and coparent, so why is there a woman in the middle? But it is what Eddie knows. He finds Ana interesting, maybe he can grow to love her. But parallel to that, Buck is finding his way to Taylor. And Eddie low-key hates it because in his mind, the claim Buck has on his life is set, but he is once again questioning if the feeling is mutual. And they are bestieing like never before, but there’s clearly something under it for the both of them.

Then The Moment happens. You can claw the shooting as Eddie’s oh moment out of my cold, dead hands. Eddie reached for Buck. He got shot, he thought he was dying, and the thing he did was reach for Buck.

Then Buck gets to him, puts him on the truck, is frantically trying to stop the bleeding, and this man, bleeding out, focuses on Buck just long enough to ask if Buck is okay.

Sure, this could be Eddie needing to be sure that one of them would make it home to Chris, but wouldn’t it be beautiful if it were Eddie’s mind telling him he needs Buck to be okay before he loses consciousness? I love you, and I need you to be okay before this kills me. Horrible situation to have that realization, but damn if it’s not there.

But it doesn’t kill him. And now Buck is talking as if his life doesn’t matter, while Eddie doesn’t think he can do it without Buck. So he is finally pushed to come clean about the will. Everything about the will reveal reads as an aborted love confession (I see you Mr Guzman and the this goes beyond friendship and I love you to the core). But the particular moment isn’t the best. Ana is still a factor, he just almost died, and both of them are on edge about it. So he says the closest he can say. He dances around it like he has done for years. Eddie knows Buck, he knows Buck associates love with pain. He wouldn't actually say something after he almost died, but it feels like he's working up to something. "You act like you're expendable but you're wrong" the way he is so close to saying the thing Buck needed to hear the most after his parents. You’re not spare parts, I love you not despite all that, but because of all that. I don’t know how to give you myself yet, but I’ll give you the thing that matters the most to me and dare to stick around to love him with me. Buck doesn’t get it, but Eddie is saying it. Eddie also has shit to work on, but maybe he thinks he can get to a point where he can tell Buck.

But then Buck gets with Taylor and stays with Taylor. So he stays with Ana, it’s comfortable enough. Until it isn’t. Until he once again waits for Buck's permission to do something.

Eddie is falling apart in many ways during season 5, and he's trying to minimize the damage to the people around him, but something he holds on to is Buck. Even when everything blows up, he is still going to lengths to show Buck that their friendship isn’t confined to the firehouse. But at this point, Eddie knows the box he keeps confining his feelings in is about to blow up. And when it does explode, he sits back and lets Buck push his way in. Quite literally, since Buck breaks down the door.

Remember how I said Eddie mentions the way he isn’t feeling anything? This is Eddie letting Buck shove his way into the bad feelings, and we will come back to this later. But after his breakdown, he talks about the way he's feeling in a way we don't really see Eddie do all that often and he leans on Buck through his recovery and the process of finding out how to not feel like there's no hope for himself and how to feel comfortable in his own skin again. And it's a lot about Buck and the way Buck is constant. Eddie feels like Buck is this steady presence in his life that can and does help Eddie move forward. It gives Eddie something stable to lean into. Because he's letting himself feel, but so far, it's about the bad.

So we have Eddie learning to let people in for good, and how to handle his feelings in a better way, we have Eddie who might’ve been thinking things about Buck’s space in his life since the well, having better tools to deal with his feelings. But so far, Eddie has only dealt with the bad. So when Taylor takes herself out of the running, Eddie settles himself into the fantasy bubble. They’re both single, he gets Buck’s time, Chris does too. He doesn’t have to think about the way he loves Buck, he doesn’t have to think about what it means to him if they're both in the bubble.

But then his bubble gets popped in the most violent way possible, with Buck dying. And he was forced to rescue him, was forced to restart his heart. There’s something about the way Eddie follows the gurney. There’s something about the “do more”. Such a desperate thing for a former combat medic and current first responder to scream to a team of doctors. Do more than your best because I can’t do life without him.

Eddie is good at repression, not denial, and the thing with repression is that you usually know what you're burying. So the moments like this, where we can see the cracks in the box, it makes you wonder how much Eddie really knows about how he feels about Buck.

The will of it all, the way Eddie can’t look at Buck or anything about his death, Eddie never seriously contemplated Buck actually dying, even though he saw Buck almost die multiple times. He never thought about it until he actually lived it. He counted how long Buck was dead. He couldn’t take his eyes off him until he couldn’t look at him again. And this is a man who watched Shannon die because she needed him to be strong. He can’t do that for Buck. Buck is under Eddie’s skin in ways no one else has been. Buck has seen the worst and stayed anyway, so he can’t hide it, because Buck is already in that space in his mind.

But Buck wakes up. And goes to him for safety. For comfort. Personally, I believe Eddie was lying about not remembering the shooting because Buck wanted the confirmation he would feel normal again, and Eddie didn’t want to add whatever he realized lying on that pavement to the mix of complicated feelings Buck already had. But 613 feels like Eddie is testing the water. The bubble is popped. He loves Buck, he almost lost him, maybe he’s getting ready to say something once Buck starts to feel human again.

But, once again, Buck goes through something traumatic and runs to someone else. “I feel like she sees me” paired with the way Buck is talking as if he feels like the people around him are forcing him to act a certain way, makes Eddie shut down. Because Eddie only decides to date again once Buck closes the door with his infatuation. So he will stay not analysing the space Buck has in his life. Because Buck keeps throwing him off-balance with reminders it’s not like that. So, space needs to exist.

Until Natalia is out of the way, and he pulls Buck back in. To the co-parent space, to the best friend space.

But then Buck throws him in for yet another loop. The one that was bound to break the box. He freaks out, acts up, gets a boyfriend, and Eddie is left with a lot more to shove into the box and pray it holds.

In my head, Eddie is convinced Buck can’t want him. Not doesn’t, can’t. So he’s not thinking about it, about wanting more, especially because Eddie never thinks about what he needs. These are all the parts of Buck he’s gonna get, and he refuses to look inside the box to realize he wants more and what that means for him. He doesn't look at Buck and what that means about his sexuality because up to then, Buck was straight, so he couldn't go there even if he had stopped to contemplate the ways loving Buck makes him want him.

And that’s definitely easier to do when they are both “straight”. But Buck is not straight. But he still isn’t giving any indication that he wants Eddie. So Eddie implodes his life.

Buck saw him at his worst and stayed, but Eddie doesn’t know what it looks like for someone to step into his happiness and improve it. And he ends up losing control of it all in the middle of Buck's sexuality realization, so he won't have to think about it meaning something to him because he doesn't think Buck wants him as an option. So he refuses to think of himself as one.

But anyway, it doesn’t matter if it’s Taylor or Natalia or Tommy, Buck is choosing someone else, and Eddie is sitting on top of the box to stop it from bursting open. He’s creating other problems, he’s being framed as cheating on Buck, Chris is leaving him, he’s growing a mustache so he won’t have to recognize the person in the mirror. He loves Buck, Buck is dating a man who’s not him, but it doesn’t matter if he is soooooo straight with his cut-out tank tops and mustache.

Not having Buck can’t hurt him if he doesn’t think about what loving Buck makes of him.

But then we come back to that therapy session from 309. Eddie controls his feelings so much, he doesn’t feel them. Good or bad. And he decides to let loose. And he lets Buck walk into his joy. So now Buck has stepped in while Eddie allows himself to feel something. Twice. The good and the bad.

Funny how Eddie says he’s straight, but then he says his mustache is a disguise, and then shaves the mustache and welcomes Buck in.

But Buck is spiralling, and Chris is in Texas, and he has to default back to the way he never prioritizes what he wants. But it doesn’t matter anyway because Buck doesn’t want him, so why would he look at it?

But then Buck freaks out and acts out once more. 809 is about 704. Eddie’s reaction is about Buck not communicating and hurting him. Like, 704, 809, 817, hell, even 305, is all about Eddie wanting Buck to talk to him so he can fix the issue and they can move on before the box explodes.

But at this point, that box is being held together by chewing gum and half a prayer. And Buck is really good at catching Eddie off guard and rattling the box even more.

And the way Buck loves Eddie in contrast with the way Buck loves everyone else solidifies the concept that Buck doesn’t want him. Because Buck doesn’t cling to Eddie. Buck helps Eddie move. He gets lost in his own feelings and hurts both of them in the process, but he lets Eddie go. Buck begs and lingers in a loud and messy way, but never with Eddie. He never voices that need. Eddie is always the one saying things, pushing Buck to talk, and they are at a point where Eddie would need those words to actually risk it.

And you can see the moments the box cracks while Eddie takes Buck’s words at face value, and Buck holds on to Eddie’s perceived straightness with all his might so he won’t be a cliche.

And Eddie has been compartmentalizing the way he feels about Buck since they met, and Buck doesn’t give him a full reason to sit and analyze those feelings since Buck keeps running the other direction, so Eddie settles himself into loving Buck the way Buck allows him, with moments where the box starts to crack, because the same way you can't love someone into loving you, you can't put limits into how you love someone. You can lie to yourself and convince yourself you don't need more, you don't want more, that this is enough, but no matter how hard you try, you can't control love.

817 is Eddie desperately asking Buck to need him like he needed Buck. But Buck is so caught up in not being a burden that Eddie once again perceives it all as rejection. It almost seems like Eddie has been daring Buck to ask him to stay. To voice his needs. To let Eddie know he’s one of them. So much so, he tries to force that reaction out of Buck with that note. That note says so much about how Eddie desperately wants Buck to stop assuming things, so that Eddie can stop assuming things, so that they can have a conversation and figure it out, but Buck is not meeting him there.

Buck didn’t meet him there after the shooting, or after the lightning. So he keeps being forced to love Buck in the way Buck lets him. And since Buck doesn’t want to be perceived as hopelessly pining for his straight best friend, so he keeps burying himself in denial, Eddie ends up forced to let him because he doesn't want to push Buck into something he doesn't think Buck wants.

Something about Eddie is that he doesn't ask for pieces of Buck, he puts himself out there and lets Buck come to him. Even the will reveal, Eddie only tells Buck once Buck steps up himself. He doesn't ask for Carla, he doesn't force Buck once he says he has a problem with him, even "you can have my back any day" is phrased in a way that allows Buck to make the choice.

If he never pushed before, why would he do it now? Because this is Buck, and Eddie knows him, who's to say that if Eddie says something, Buck won't roll with it not because he wants it but because he thinks that indulging Eddie is the only way to keep him? How can Eddie trust that he wouldn't be forcing Buck to settle for him if Buck isn't letting him know he's in it with him?

And they end up in this really weird situation where, honestly, all they need is a conversation, but they are so used to not needing words that they don’t know how to say it. So Eddie settles into how Buck doesn’t want him to offer more and Buck keeps trying to convince himself he already has enough of Eddie.

Eddie wants to love Buck but thinks he can't do more than be the best friend, so he settled into it, so he won't have to question what that makes of him, what that makes of them, how it would change them, how it wouldn't change them at all. Best friend is the title Buck gave him, and Buck gives him a lot already, he won't ask for more because it's Buck and what he has is enough. He just repeats it over and over so he won't question if it's true.

Why risk the relationship they have when he thinks he's seen how Buck looks when he's in love with someone and he doesn't think Buck looks at him like that? It's safer if he doesn't change things. If he convinces himself he doesn't need them to change. So he settles into the feeling, he'll love Buck however Buck lets him and never question how he wants to love Buck because he never gets what he wants, why would it be different now?

Anyway, this is over 6,7k words,and as you can see I'm very normal about this topic. If you read this, I love you so very much.

#911 #buddie #911 meta #this is brought to you by my blood sweat and tears #literally considering part of it was written at the hospital oasaoksasoka #anyway #this is long as fuck #if you choose to read this please know im cradling you gently with all my love as you read #otp: you don't need to pretend with me #im gonna tag this one with #otp: ready when you are #for the hell of it

374 notes · View notes

glossdebut · 1 month ago

Text

PRICE OF FAME | MYG ★ 06

✧ PAIRING: yoongi x fem!reader

✧ SERIES SUMMARY: You were about ready to give up, your career nowhere near what you dreamed it’d be when you started at eighteen, bright-eyed and naive. Reality for you these past few years has consisted of pouting at a camera, ignoring whispers of your name at company events, and ensuring that the stupid, tiny designer purses they keep forcing on you can at least carry a flask. But now, you’re helping a friend in need. For the first time in a long time, it feels like you’re doing something worthwhile with your life. Too bad Min Yoongi, the newest thorn in your side, seems insistent on stopping you.

✧ SERIES TAGS: enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst, smut, fake/pretend relationship (not main couple), rockstar!yoongi, model!reader, guitarist yoongi, singer jungkook, bassist taehyung, drummer jimin, manager namjoon, yoongi & maknae line are in a rock band, reader & seokjin are best friends, yoongi & hoseok are best friends (sope duo ftw), yoongi has a tongue piercing, reader is a brat

✧ CHAPTER TAGS: yoongi and MC are both going thru it, JK too my poor baby, the band is back in seoul, communication but idk if i’d call it healthy, setting the stage for some bullshit in chapter 7 jsyk, flashbacks in italics, nsfw warnings under the cut (see series masterlist for series warnings)

✧ CHAPTER WORDCOUNT: 14k words

✧ AUTHOR’S NOTE: IT FEELS GOOD TO BE BACK… and here i am, with 14k 😮‍💨 i don’t know what came over me this weekend, i guess posting that teaser kicked me in the ass just like i wanted it to. ANYWAY, i don’t have much to say aside from i missed you guys and i missed this fic so damn much. i’ve already started work on chapter 7 that’s how down bad i am!!! thank you to claret @yoonmetogether (the knower) and K @ktownshizzle for beta reading for me <3 i can’t wait to hear what everyone thinks so please send your feedback after you read!

CH. 06: WHY CAN'T I MAKE A MISTAKE?

✧ CHAPTER WARNINGS: implied/referenced alcoholism, sexting, dirty talk, semi-public sex, oral (f. receiving), but just the BAREST HINT, but yes POF!yoongi’s tongue piercing does make a comeback lol, yoongi’s hands, vaginal sex, unprotected sex (don’t be like them), shower sex, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! lmk if i missed anything, oh there’s a little bit of slight slutshaming in one scene? but it’s for the plot idk you’ll see

Yoongi is trying to focus, but you are testing his fucking patience.

A meeting with the label bigwigs—an important one, at that. He’s meant to be showing them his progress on the album, that all of the money they’ve already poured into creative teams and PR isn’t for nothing. He’s not an idiot. He knows they’re nervous. Of all the fickle, testy artists they have signed, Yoongi is the ficklest. The testiest.

He came here to plead his case. To prove to them that his creative drive hasn’t completely fucked off and died.

And you’re sending him pictures of yourself in lingerie. Motherfuck.

Dollface (derogatory): help me pick which one to post? 😇

You’ve been pulling shit like this all week. Blatant attempts at riling Yoongi up that have just gotten more shameless with each day—but always giving yourself just enough plausible deniability.

This time, it’s nudes under the guise of needing advice. From Yoongi. About which photo would look best on your Instagram. Something nobody has ever asked Yoongi for advice on, ever. What the fuck does he know about lingerie brand partnerships?

Yoongi would bet his record deal that there’s no brand partnership to begin with—and even if there is, you’re certainly not posting these photos anywhere. You might as well be naked.

The set you’re wearing is all lilac mesh and lace, delicate and pretty. The panties are half-obscured, revealed only by a thumb hooking the waistband of your sweatpants down just enough. He doesn’t know how sheer they are, exactly. But if he looks closely enough, he can almost make out the exact shape of your nipples through your bra. Nipples he’s had in his mouth, his mind dutifully provides.

He can recall the sounds you made—the sweet, breathy way you moaned his name. You like his piercing. He’s noticed. He likes that you like it, can’t wait to show you what he can really do with it, if you’ll let him.

It’s a damn shame. He’d much rather have you laid out in front of him, touchable and soft and begging, instead of memorialized within the paltry pixels of his phone. But he’s not about to take them for granted, even if they’re not what he wants. They’re nice fucking photos.

Yoongi wonders if you were wet when you took them. Wet for him. Maybe that’s why you left the sweatpants on. So he wouldn’t know you’re soaking your panties for him.

The thought is enough to have him stirring to life in his jeans, which—fuck, it’s really not the time or place.

"Yoongi-ssi."

Yoongi straightens up so quickly his neck cracks.

“What do you have for us?” Sejin asks expectantly.

“Uh, right,” Yoongi says, fumbling to open his laptop. He casts the screen to the monitor mounted on the wall as he speaks. “Seven recorded demos, three more songs in the works.”

He distributes photocopies of his lyrics to the executives across from him and hits play on the first track on his screen. Thus begins the familiar humiliation ritual.

It’s not that Yoongi is ashamed of his work. He was years ago, sometimes. Before Sejin signed him. When he was handing out CDs, or busking half-baked covers in front of pedestrians in the hopes of a few thousand won. Now that he’s played stadiums, though, it’s a little hard to stay humble. He knows his songs are good.

These meetings that Sejin insists on arranging prior to every album release just feel a little pointless, that’s all. Could definitely be an email. But instead, Yoongi is expected to show up and watch while the people who sign his checks listen to his work in its least-polished state.

It doesn’t help that it’s Yoongi’s voice, not Jeongguk's, pouring through the speakers this time. But that’s Yoongi’s fault. Given their last conversation, it didn’t feel like a good time to ask Jeongguk to lay down some vocals before Yoongi hopped on a plane.

So, Yoongi bears it. Plays tracks one through seven, taps his fingers on the tabletop as Sejin and the others flip through the lyrics to the unfinished songs, and waits for it to be over so he can go home and think about fucking the brat out of you. Or something like that.

Track seven comes to a close, and Yoongi lifts his head to watch Sejin gather his thoughts.

“It’s… different from what we were expecting,” Sejin says after a moment.

Yoongi fights the urge to visibly bristle, shifting in his seat. Different doesn’t necessarily mean bad.

“How so?”

“Well,” Sejin says, flipping through his copy of the lyrics again. Annotated now, Yoongi notices. “It’s an album full of love songs.”

Yoongi can’t hold his scoff in. “They’re not love songs.”

Sejin raises an eyebrow. “No?”

“It’s telling the story of someone who gets fucked over by a person they’re supposed to trust,” Yoongi explains, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s a cautionary tale. Not really sure how you got ‘love’ from that.”

“My mistake,” Sejin concedes, raising his hands with his palms out in surrender. “It’s good, no matter what it is. But that comes as no surprise.”

Yoongi’s hackles lower the slightest bit. He likes Sejin, most of the time. Sejin likes to flatter him, even if Yoongi’s demeanor as of late has been cause for concern.

“So you can work with this?”

“I don’t see why not,” Sejin hums. “Far from what we expected, so the creative team will have to regroup. But I think it’s a good time in your career for something different. Show some diversity.”

Yoongi nods once in response. He didn’t mean for this album to sound so different from what the band has released so far, but it’s normal for an artist’s sound to evolve over time. Sejin knows the industry, so Yoongi trusts his judgment.

“So.” Sejin steeples his fingers. “Let’s talk logistics.”

Right. This is what Yoongi has been bracing himself for since the tour ended.

“We’re shooting for a July release date,” Sejin starts. “That means six months for recording, mixing, mastering, artwork and design, promotion—everything.”

Yoongi sucks in a breath. Six months means a tight schedule moving forward. Mastering takes a long time. Artwork and design can take even longer, especially with three tracks missing at the moment. They’ll be finishing this album under the gun, but it isn’t impossible.

“I’ll spend a few days with your demos and work with you if I have any suggestions,” he continues. Same old, same old. Sejin is one of the few people from whom Yoongi can receive criticism, so that won’t be a problem. He rarely has edits anyway—he’s a big fan of Yoongi’s creative vision, likely due to the money it makes him.

Yoongi shrugs. “Sure.”

“In the meantime, Hyunseok will see to it that your bandmates are flown back in over the weekend so we can start recording as soon as possible. We can meet again next week to discuss with the rest of the band.”

Right. Fuck.

Well, Jeongguk isn’t talking to him, but Sejin doesn’t need to know that right this second. Hopefully, Jimin is smoothing things out for Yoongi right now. God, that’d be nice.

Yoongi wouldn’t readily describe Park Jimin as nice, though. Maybe he should’ve confided in Taehyung instead.

“We’ll want to shoot a music video as well,” Sejin adds, cutting through Yoongi’s thoughts. “Although I think the track for it has yet to be written.”

Mmm. Yoongi respectfully (and silently) disagrees. There are at least two songs in his recorded demos that Yoongi has been envisioning a music video for, but it’s a non-issue at this point. He has three more tries to satisfy Sejin in that regard.

“And, Yoongi-ssi.”

Yoongi meets his eyes.

“I know you won’t want to hear this, since these are not love songs.” Yoongi bristles, but Sejin doesn’t care. “But I think the video will need a girl. Someone to be the antagonist in your cautionary tale.”

Yoongi makes a face. Yeah, sure, whatever. He’ll give Sejin that. There are plenty of viable candidates signed to the label, female musicians who also dabble in acting. It could be cool.

“Okay,” Yoongi sighs. “If the song you pick calls for it.”

“Great.”

For the next thirty minutes, Yoongi sits and listens while everyone else at the table weighs in. He doesn’t want to make any decisions without the rest of the band present, but it’s helpful to know where the label is at. The head of creative talks album cover design, PR spitballs on promotion methods. Everything is still in the brainstorming stages, but Yoongi can already see the shape this album is going to take, and it looks good.

The meeting wraps up after that. Yoongi is in the middle of slipping his laptop into his bag, eager to head home, when Sejin speaks again.

“Ten is a good number,” he muses to the table, stopping Yoongi in his tracks. “I have no doubt those last three songs will be done as soon as possible. Our Yoongi is a machine.”

Yoongi looks down at his bag impassively, zipping it up and willing his expression not to sour at Sejin’s word choice.

It’s nothing Yoongi hasn’t heard over and over, nothing he doesn’t already know. Isn’t that what makes Burn The Stage so profitable for Sejin? Isn’t it what allows their songs to have a real message behind them, what allows Yoongi to have a shred of creative control under a company like this?

Yoongi busts his ass and it works out in everybody’s favor. He denies himself any real semblance of a personal life, holes himself up all day long to scribble in a notebook and play his guitar until his fingers bleed. He churns out seven songs and some change in a week and a half.

He’s heard it all—disciplined, detail-oriented, prodigious. A machine, Sejin likes to say.

Yeah.

Yeah, he is, isn’t he?

“See you,” Yoongi says in response, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

“Have a good weekend, Yoongi-ssi,” Sejin says, and Yoongi slips out the door without another word.

★ ★ ★

Seoyeon is too fucking good at her job. Honestly, if you had even a shred of power at this company (ha!) you’d use every ounce of it to make sure she got a raise.

You’ve barely had a minute to yourself all week, constantly being chauffeured from place to place. She’s managed to land you a few possible brand deals, along with setting you up with a new nutritionist and personal trainer. She even scheduled a color analysis session for you, although it doesn’t really matter whether you’re a cool winter or a soft summer if the clothes you wear aren’t even yours half the time.

You’re exhausted. You’re busy. It’s exactly what you wanted.

Too bad you still can’t stop thinking about Yoongi.

You really thought the stunt you pulled last week would do the trick. It was satisfying, at first, to give the bane of your existence blue balls. It felt good to see him so visibly frustrated, to see the smugness drain from his expression when he realized you were kicking him out. You felt like you’d won something.

He just had to ruin it with that kiss at your door.

You fully intended to leave it at that, to let him walk out with no hope of a sequel. And you will leave it at that. You’ll be damned if you break first.

But still, late at night when you can’t sleep, your brain summons the phantom feeling of his lips on yours. The slide of his tongue. The stretch of his fingers. How fucking thick he felt, even through layers of fabric. You’re not going to fuck Min Yoongi, but that doesn’t mean you haven’t been thinking about it.

So you’ve been teasing him during your small moments of free time, because you can. Because it makes you feel like you have the upper hand for just a moment.

Oh, and you’ve also been drinking. Not too much, just… more than usual. Enough to dull the guilt and the anger and the frustration you’ve been feeling since you left Jeju with no explanation.

You might’ve overdone it today, though.

You're standing on a small platform in the middle of a mirrored fitting room, drowning in swaths of chiffon and organza. Your mouth is dry, and your lips are sticky from the tint that was smeared on them earlier. The flask in your bag is half-empty now. You’ve been steadily sneaking sips of vodka since lunch.

Hyerin has been circling you like a shark with pins for teeth for the past hour and a half. You try to stand still, but your knees feel like they’ve forgotten how to lock. You shift your weight and wince when one of the pins nicks your side.

“Jesus fucking—can you not?” you hiss, jerking away as Hyerin scowls at you.

“God, hold still! If you’d stop fidgeting, this would go a lot faster.” She yanks the fabric taut again, huffing around the pin between her lips.

You shake your head and take a step down from the platform, gathering the fabric of your dress between your fingers to keep yourself from tripping. “I need a break.”

“You need to grow up,” she mumbles. “I don’t know how Seoyeon puts up with this.”

You don’t rise to the bait. Your hand trembles slightly as you unzip the dress halfway down your back, holding it tight to your chest. The room spins when you bend to grab your clothes. It’s subtle, you’ve definitely been drunker. But it’s there.

Seoyeon appears before you can even undress.

“Hyerin-ssi, will you give us a minute?”

Hyerin stands immediately, all too happy to get away from you. When the door slams shut, Seoyeon gives you a look.

You know that look. It’s the I’ve reached the end of my very long, very patient rope look.

“Sit.”

You don’t argue. The plush bench beneath you creaks as you sink into it, blinking blearily at the wall across from you. Seoyeon steps in front of you, tapping her foot.

“Give it to me.”

You blink. “Give what—”

“The flask.” Seoyeon holds out her hand, unimpressed and expectant.

You scoff, crossing your arms defensively over the itchy bodice of your dress. “I don’t—”

“Don’t lie to me,” she interrupts sharply. “Do you think Hyerin doesn’t know what vodka smells like? Do you think I don’t know?”

You look away.

“I’ve been covering for you all day,” she says. “Making excuses. Pretending you’ve just got a migraine, or you had a long night. But this is unacceptable, YN.” She exhales hard. “What is going on with you?”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” she snaps, jaw tight. “You’ve been off all week, and it isn’t my job to ask questions. I don’t need to know what happened. But I do need you to stop fucking around. I can’t do my job if you’re too wasted to stand straight during a fitting.”

Your face burns hot with embarrassment. You want to argue, but you can’t. She isn’t wrong, and you feel ashamed for wasting her time.

“You asked me to pack your schedule, and I did,” she continues, softer now. “I’m not trying to parent you. I like working with you. I want you to succeed. But if something doesn’t change, you’re going to crash.”

Silence hangs between you for a moment. You shift your weight, chiffon rustling uncomfortably against your bare skin.

“I’ll throw the flask away,” you say eventually, voice small. You want to mean it.

“You’ll throw it away,” she echoes. “And you’ll drink water, eat something real, and sleep a full night. And if I catch you lying to me again—”

Seoyeon doesn’t finish the sentence because she doesn’t need to. You’re already nodding, a little too eagerly, trying to prove something, though you’re not sure what. That you’re not a total mess? That you’re still worth believing in?

She waits, watching you, then sighs and finally turns toward the door. “I’ll move some things around. Go home and sleep it off.”

You nod gratefully, even though she’s not looking anymore, and the door clicks shut behind her. You let out the breath you’ve been holding.

The dress feels heavy on your body. You peel it off slowly, careful not to tear anything or nick your skin on a pin, and drape it gently over the back of the bench.

The flask sits in your bag like it’s daring you to touch it. You stare at it for a long second, then unzip the pouch, pull it out, and turn it over in your hands. It’s cold, metallic. Familiar.

You walk it over to the trash can in the corner of the room. The clang it makes when it hits the bottom is loud. Final. It rings in your ears.

You grab your clothes and start redressing, tugging your jeans up with clammy hands. You fight with the complicated straps of your shirt, trying to untwist them as much as possible to make yourself look presentable.

The chill in the air barely registers on your skin when you leave the building. You’re warm to the touch, from the vodka and shame combined. So much so that you don’t even bother to pull your coat on before you climb into the car that awaits you. You press your forehead to the window as the driver pulls onto the road, watching streetlights swim by in blurry streaks.

Your apartment isn’t far from here, and when you get home, you won’t have another drink. Seoyeon’s words have left a mark, at least for tonight. You want to keep your word. You do.

But the truth is, you don’t know how to function without some kind of distraction. The nonstop schedule didn’t do what you’d hoped. Drinking during work hours is no longer an option. So now you’re stuck, stripped of your crutches and alone with your thoughts.

You’ll need to find a solution soon. Something to keep you moving along.

Your phone buzzes in your lap, pulling you from your thoughts. You squint down at the glow of your screen, blinking at the Instagram notification until the letters unblur themselves.

@abcdefghi__lmnopqrstuvwxyz has added a photo to their story.

Ah. Jeongguk.

You remember the countless texts from him sitting unopened in your inbox, and you tap his story open anyway.

It’s a selca of him, Jimin, and Taehyung. They’re bundled in coats and scarves, huddled together in the back of a car not unlike the one you’re in now. Three-fourths of the band smiling brightly. You wonder if they’ve spoken to Yoongi at all this week.

Belatedly, you notice the location tag in the corner.

Seoul.

Chewing at your bottom lip, you swipe out of Instagram and finally open the texts you’ve been dodging since you left.

JK: you don’t have to tell me what happened if you don’t want to right now

JK: but you can always talk to me

JK: have a safe flight. let me know when you land

You didn’t.

When you landed in Incheon last week, you just couldn’t bring yourself to open his message and explain why you left. Then, only a few nights later, Yoongi had shown up at your doorstep. You really couldn’t fathom facing Jeongguk after that. What were you supposed to say?

Sorry, I kissed your bandmate that I hate and it freaked me out so bad I had to book a flight?

Sorry, when he told me he knew about our deal I hooked up with him?

Sorry, nothing I do makes any fucking sense?

So, instead, you kept ignoring his texts, hoping that eventually his persistence would wear down. And it did.

JK: i’ll leave you alone

JK: just text me when you’re ready to talk

You take a breath, shaky fingers hovering over your keyboard. Now seems like a good time to be an adult.

Maybe you won’t need a distraction if you do.

You: can we meet tomorrow?

★ ★ ★

It’s the big day, and the dread has been churning in Yoongi’s gut since he dragged himself out of bed this morning.

The rest of the band is back in Seoul. Jeongguk is back in Seoul.

Yoongi needs to at least try to talk to him, right? It’s the right thing to do. The responsible thing. And, even pushing his personal feelings aside, it’s the professional thing to do. For everyone’s career.

But he’s been pacing outside the conference room for an hour, iced Americano sweating in his hand and rattling with each step, and he still hasn’t quite figured out what he’s going to say when Jeongguk actually shows up.

It’s not like Yoongi’s never been on the receiving end of Jeongguk’s stubborn streak. He’s known the kid since he was eighteen years old. Nearing a decade now. Yoongi has learned over the years that telling Jeongguk no—or disagreeing with him at all, for that matter—never ends well.

It’s not necessarily a bad trait. Yoongi admires him for it, honestly. Jeongguk has strong convictions. Yoongi used to think he did, but he learned over the years that he’s all too willing to bend—especially for Jeongguk.

Most of the time, when Yoongi digs his heels in, it’s on Jeongguk’s behalf. In his defense.

But that doesn’t mean Yoongi doesn’t stand his ground sometimes, as the hyung. That doesn’t mean there haven’t been blowout arguments in the past, that there hasn’t been shouting, that Jeongguk hasn’t frequently been the unstoppable force to Yoongi’s immovable object.

Still. The silence has never lasted quite this long, and Yoongi has already apologized and admitted his wrongs. What else is he supposed to fucking say?

So, yeah, Yoongi’s feeling antsy. And the coffee probably isn’t helping.

He glances down at his watch. The meeting is for noon, and it’s 11:52, and Jeongguk always shows up ridiculously early for everything. He’s known the younger to be that way since college. Yoongi was counting on it this time, which is why he showed up over an hour ago.

None of this bodes well. Yoongi needs a fucking cigarette.

He has just under ten minutes. He’ll run outside real quick, smoke, calm his nerves. Jeongguk will show up, because he’s a lot of things, but he isn’t stupid. Yoongi can just talk to him after the meeting.

He tosses his coffee in the nearest bin, patting his pockets as he shuffles towards the elevator. He finds purchase on his lighter, and it’s pathetic how quickly the touch of plastic to his fingertips fills him with relief.

And then, like a cosmic joke, the elevator dings before Yoongi can even push the down button.

The doors slide open, and there’s Jeongguk, bracketed by Jimin and Taehyung.

Yoongi tries not to overanalyze the formation, whether it’s protective or not. Instead, he makes immediate eye contact with Jimin and tries to convey telepathically that he’d like to speak to Jeongguk alone, thanks. Mercifully, Jimin gets the hint. Even if he doesn’t look pleased about it at all. Yoongi doesn’t fucking care, because at least he’s dragging Taehyung towards the conference room without a fight.

When Jeongguk tries to follow, Yoongi stops him with a tentative hand on his shoulder.

Well, here goes nothing.

“Jeongguk-ah,” he starts. His throat is dry. He hasn’t spoken yet today. “Can we talk?”

“Meeting’s in five, hyung,” Jeongguk says, staring at his shoes.

“Fuck the meeting,” Yoongi insists, jostling Jeongguk’s shoulder gently so he meets his eyes. “I just need a minute. Please?”

Jeongguk steps back, out of Yoongi’s space, and crosses his arms. It stings a little. “One minute.”

That’s more than Yoongi expected. He’ll take it.

“I—just…” Fuck, are his palms sweating? “How’re you doing?”

Jeongguk gives him a blank look. “How am I doing,” he repeats flatly.

Yeah, okay, that was stupid. This is the part Yoongi didn’t really think through. He takes a breath, re-centers himself. “Are you… Are we good?”

Jeongguk shrugs. “I’m here, right?”

“That’s not an answer, Jeongguk-ah.”

“I’m not quitting, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Jeongguk says. It’s not, but it’s still a relief to hear.

“I’m worried about you,” Yoongi insists.

Jeongguk scoffs. “Hyung.”

“What?”

“You’re not.”

“I am,” Yoongi says, testy. “Guk-ah, what—”

“You’re worried about you,” Jeongguk says, brow furrowed.

Yoongi balks. “What the hell does that mean?”

Jeongguk shakes his head like Yoongi’s being stupid. “To answer your question, I’m not doing that great, hyung. It’s been a shitty week,” he says, visibly frustrated. “But I don’t have anything to say that I haven’t already said. So if you’re wanting me to say the magic words so you can stop feeling bad, I don’t have them.”

This is going nowhere. He needs to switch tactics.

“Jeongguk, I told you I was sorry,” Yoongi tries, desperate. “I’m sorry. I fucked up. I just want to fix—”

The door to the conference room swings open, and Sejin’s head pops out. Yoongi’s minute is up.

“Gentlemen,” Sejin calls, brows raised. “We’re starting.”

Yoongi swallows down the rest of the sentence. He watches Jeongguk’s jaw work as he glances in Sejin’s direction, like he’s chewing down whatever he really wants to say.

It’s worse than shouting. At least if Jeongguk yelled, Yoongi would know what he was working with. But this… this quiet resignation, this stiff, uncomfortable silence? It’s foreign in a way that makes Yoongi’s chest ache.

“We’ll talk later,” Yoongi offers. Pleads, really, because the ball is in Jeongguk’s court and he knows it.

Jeongguk finally looks back at him. His lashes are dark and low over unreadable eyes. “Sure,” he says, and Yoongi tries to believe he means it.

Without another word, Jeongguk turns and strides towards the door. Yoongi watches the back of his head, jaw clenched so tight it aches, before trailing behind.

The conference room is unsettlingly quiet when they enter. Of the four seats across the table from Sejin, Jimin and Taehyung have chosen the middle two. A barricade.

Yeah, Yoongi expected that. But he doesn’t have the energy to dwell on it.

He swallows down the bitter hurt and sinks into the chair that remains next to Taehyung. Probably better than being shoved next to Park Jimin, if the pitying but kind smile Taehyung offers him is anything to go by. Jimin probably pities Yoongi plenty, but he wouldn’t be kind about it. Yoongi wonders how much Taehyung knows, but he has no intention of asking.

Sejin starts the meeting by getting the others up to speed on what he and Yoongi discussed last week, which gives Yoongi a few minutes to get his head in the game. His fingers twitch for the cigarette he never got, but starting the recording process is the priority right now. If he can’t fix his friendship with Jeongguk today, the least he can do is what he does best—make him more successful. Protect his career.

By the time the meeting ends, everyone has an actual timeline laid out in their calendars. Deadlines that start off rigid and become more tentative as weeks go by, because they all depend on output. On discipline. And most importantly, on whether or not the four of them can make it through the next six months without killing each other.

They’ll get through it, Yoongi thinks. This will be their most successful album to date. He’ll make sure of it. He’ll put himself through the wringer to make it happen.

Nobody lingers when the meeting is adjourned, which Yoongi isn’t perturbed about. He still wants to talk to Jeongguk, but he wasn’t hopeful enough to think ‘later’ meant ‘immediately after this.’ The efforts to record are scheduled to kick off in a week, and if he doesn’t get a chance to fix everything before then, well… Six months.

Surely, Jeongguk won’t still be mad at him in six months.

He’ll keep his distance for now. There are three songs left to finish, so Yoongi gives Jeongguk a five-minute-wide berth before he heads down the hall and down a floor, to the studio where he dropped his McCarty this morning. He’s not feeling particularly inspired right now, but he needs to finish this album.

Luckily, like most other things, that’s something he’s used to doing alone.

★ ★ ★

Burn The Stage’s company is very, very different from yours.

You knew that since you started this arrangement, but it’s never been clearer now that you’re actually standing in the building.

It’s nice in here. Clean, but not in the cold, clinical way that you’ve grown accustomed to over the years. There’s lots of natural light instead, and a cheery woman at the front desk who seems like she actually enjoys her job.

You’re waiting for a while, sitting in the lobby while the worker goes through the necessary measures to get you your guest badge. Jeongguk has added you to the visitors' list for today, so there shouldn’t be any hiccups, but you also know he wanted to meet here because he had business to attend to today. He’s probably gotten caught up. You don’t mind waiting—god knows you made him wait long enough—but you’re also actively trying not to crush the banana milk you brought as a peace offering while you sit.

You’re nervous! You’re trying not to be. It’s a good sign that he said yes to meeting you, right?

Still, your legs wobble the slightest bit when the woman at the front desk waves you over to finally hand you your badge. You slip it around your neck with a grateful smile.

“Jeongguk-ssi just got out of a meeting, so he’s already upstairs,” she tells you cheerfully, gesturing to the security guard to her left. “Eunwoo-ssi will escort you to him.”

Oh!

You turn your head in Eunwoo’s direction and recognize him instantly. The security guard from the concert at Wasteland. The one who helped you backstage and made sure you didn’t trip over your ridiculous shoes. The presence of a familiar face makes you relax just the slightest bit, and your smile grows.

“Nice to see you again, Eunwoo-ssi,” you say.

“You too, YN-ssi,” he replies, returning your smile. “Ready?”

You nod and follow as he guides you past the desk and further into the building, towards an elevator down a corridor. You make some polite small talk as you both take the ride up, asking him about his day, and he kindly asks you about yours in return.

By the time you get to your destination, your grip on the bottle of banana milk has loosened significantly, although it tightens again when Eunwoo makes to open the door.

He turns to you first, offering a quiet, encouraging smile. “Okay?”

You nod, forcing a smile. “As I’ll ever be.”

Eunwoo steps aside to open the door to the small practice room, nodding toward the interior. “Good luck.”

You nod again, eyes fixed on the open doorway. The familiar silhouette inside steals the air from your lungs for a second.

Jeongguk is sitting on a low stool, scrolling through something on his phone. He glances up when he hears the door, and even though his posture stiffens slightly, his face relaxes when he sees you.

“I’ll give you two some space,” Eunwoo murmurs from behind, and then he’s gone, the door clicking shut behind you.

You step forward slowly, the banana milk cradled between your hands. You extend it toward him with a small, sheepish shrug. “Peace offering.”

That earns a quiet laugh from him, the tension cracking just a little. He takes the bottle. “Thanks.”

“Thanks for agreeing to meet me,” you say, testing the waters.

Jeongguk shakes his head, warm as ever. “Of course.”

You exhale, forcing yourself to relax. “I just… How have you been?”

He huffs a laugh at that, shaking his head. “Everybody really needs to stop asking me that,” he says. “I’m okay, YN-ah. Are you?”

It’s just so Jeongguk, to ask about you when he’s the one who’s been wronged. Your lip wobbles, vision swimming before you can stop it.

“I’ve been better,” you admit. “I��m really sorry, Jeongguk. I feel so bad for leaving the way I did.”

As soon as the words are out, Jeongguk pushes up from the stool. His arms come around you without hesitation, wrapping tightly around your shoulders, and something about the familiar scent of his detergent and the strength in his hold shatters what little composure you’d managed to hold on to.

You collapse into the hug with a muffled sob.

“Yah, none of that,” he says softly, squeezing you tighter. “I’m not mad at you, YN. I’m confused, yeah, but not mad.”

“You should be mad at me,” you sniffle, clutching the soft fabric of his sweatshirt. “I shouldn’t have left you in the dark, I just—” You cut yourself off with a puff of breath, closing your eyes.

Jeongguk holds you quietly for a moment before pulling back, hands still resting lightly on your arms. “We can talk about it now, if you’re ready.”

It isn’t lost on you that Jeongguk knows exactly what prompted you to leave now, but something in his expression tells you that he isn’t aware that you’ve become privy to that information. Which means he also doesn’t know anything about the night in your apartment with Yoongi. Not that you thought Yoongi would be stupid enough to tell him, but still. It’s a relief.

“Yeah,” you sigh, moving to sit. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

There’s a moment of heavy silence before you speak again. You brace yourself.

“The night before I left, Yoongi and I kissed.”

“Yeah. I know,” Jeongguk replies evenly. “Hyung told me.”

You’re all too aware of the crossroads in front of you. This is the moment where you can come clean, tell him about Yoongi showing up at your apartment last week and everything that’s happened since. You desperately want to be strong enough to cut off the lies here. It’s the step you came here to take, for your own sanity. Stop the lies, stop the drinking, get your life back on track and make sure your friendship with Jeongguk doesn’t pay the price for your poor decisions.

But, part of you…

A stupid, selfish, horrible part of you wants Jeongguk to keep looking at you the way he is right now. Like you could never do anything wrong. It isn’t very often that someone looks at you like that.

In the end, that’s the part that wins, and the lie comes too easily.

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that he’d do that.”

Jeongguk tilts his head. “Yeah. So… you understand why I’m confused,” he says. “You two haven’t had anything nice to say about each other since you met. Last I heard, you hated him.”

“It confused me, too.” You let out a bitter laugh. He doesn’t even know how true that is. “Honestly, Jeongguk, I don’t know why it happened. I do hate him.”

That part, at least, isn’t a lie.

“I was a little drunk. We both were, I mean. All of us had been drinking for hours. And, I don’t know, it just happened.”

Jeongguk doesn’t look entirely convinced. “Still, YN. It’s hard to believe you’d kiss someone you’ve talked so much shit about just because you were drunk.”

“I know. Maybe it was because we’d started getting along after you had me talk to him?” He lifts his head at that, brow furrowed, and you quickly try to rephrase. “I’m not saying it was your fault! Just… in that moment, he wasn’t so bad, you know?”

Jeongguk chews the inside of his cheek, then says quietly, “Okay…”

“Ever since Kihyun, I…” You trail off, swallowing hard. “It’s been lonely, Jeongguk. I can’t lie. I’m glad we ended things, but it’s still hard sometimes. I think it was just good timing for me to make a mistake. And I’m really sorry you got hurt in the end.”

“I’m fine, YN.” His voice is gentle. “I just wish you’d felt like you could talk to me about it.”

“I felt ashamed,” you whisper. “I still do.”

“Don’t.”

“Are you and Yoongi okay?”

He scoffs, looking away. “He’s trying. In his Yoongi-hyung way.”

“But you’re mad at him?”

“Not really because of the kiss, but… yeah. I’m mad at him.”

“I’m sorry if I ruined something for you,” you say honestly.

Jeongguk just shrugs. “If anything’s ruined, hyung is the one who ruined it. But… like I said, he’s trying.”

“Well.” You manage a small smile. “I hope it works out okay.”

You mean that, too.

“Thanks.” Jeongguk shifts slightly. “Oh, uh. He knows we’re not really dating, by the way.”

Your heart lurches, but you force yourself to feign surprise. “Oh.”

“Sorry,” he says quickly. “I just… it was going to happen sooner or later, but I should’ve given you a heads-up first.”

“Well, I didn’t make myself easy to reach,” you offer.

A silence settles between you, and it isn’t entirely comfortable.

“Um… so, what does that mean?” you ask. “For us?”

Jeongguk rubs the back of his neck. “Honestly, I’ve been trying to figure that out. I mean, I wasn’t trying to keep noona a secret just from him, you know?”

You nod silently.

“I guess it depends on where you’re at,” he continues. “I understand if you don’t want to pretend anymore, after everything. If anyone understands not wanting to be around Yoongi right now, it’s me, and… he’s not going anywhere.”

“Fuck him,” you mutter. “I still want to help you, if you need it. Do the public-facing part, at least. Maybe it’s a relief if we don’t have to pretend around your friends anymore, you know?”

“Jimin-hyung and Taehyung-hyung still don’t know anything, but yeah, I get what you mean. It was a lot of lying to ask of you.”

Well, that answers that.

“Are you going to tell them?”

Jeongguk winces. “I don’t know yet. Does that change things for you?”

“No,” you say instantly. “This is your thing, Guk. I’ll do it how you want it.”

“Okay. Well… if you’re sure,” he says hesitantly.

“I wouldn’t be saying any of this if I weren’t,” you reassure him. “I promise.”

“Okay.”

“I’m sorry,” you say again, quieter this time. “For everything.”

Jeongguk looks at you, eyes soft. “We’re okay, YN. A lot of shit is fucked up right now, but not this.” He pauses. “Thank you for… not giving up on me yet.”

“Same,” you murmur. Your lips curve into a faint, sad smile. “But for the record, it would take a lot more than Min Yoongi to make me give up on you.”

Jeongguk picks up the banana milk and rolls the bottle slowly between his palms, glancing at you once but not saying anything. You let the moment stretch, enjoying the comfortable silence, now that everything has settled.

Then his phone buzzes, and the spell breaks.

Jeongguk sighs as he pulls it from his pocket, thumb swiping across the screen. “Fuck,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair. “I wanna walk you down, but Sejin wants me to meet with one of the vocal coaches in a few minutes.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you say quickly, waving him off. “I’ll let myself out.”

“You sure?” he asks, eyebrows lifting.

“You’ve got zero faith in me, Jeon Jeongguk,” you tease, earning a soft smile from him. “I can use an elevator.”

Jeongguk laughs under his breath. “Okay, okay.” He stands, tucking his phone away. “Well… I’ll text you, okay?”

You nod. “And I’ll text you back this time.”

He starts to turn toward the door, hand on the doorknob already, but something sparks in your chest—nerves or hope or maybe both—and before you can second-guess it, you speak up.

“Hey!”

He pauses, looking back.

“Uh. There’s this thing next Saturday night,” you begin, the words spilling out in a rush. “A perfume launch I’m being forced to go to. I usually hate those events, but… wanna come with? Do the public-facing part? Open bar. Could be fun.”

“Ah, um.” He scratches the back of his neck. “I would, but… It’s noona’s birthday.”

“Oh!” you blurt, a little too brightly. “Right. Yeah.”

“Yeah.” He looks faintly guilty. “And now that I’m back in Seoul, I—”

“No, I get it,” you say, cutting in before he can keep going. You swallow down the quiet, unexpected sting of disappointment. “That’s way more important. Don’t sweat it.”

“You sure?” His brow knits, eyes searching your face.

You force your lips into a smile, make your voice sound certain. “One hundred percent. I just wanted to offer.”

Jeongguk nods, visibly relieved. “Well… thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” You gesture toward the door. “Now go to your meeting.”

Jeongguk chuckles, reaching for the handle again. “I’m going, I’m going.”

And then he’s gone, the door shutting behind him with a soft click.

★ ★ ★

Eunwoo is nowhere to be found when you leave the practice room, probably off escorting another visitor around.

The halls are surprisingly quiet for midday. You keep walking, slow and meandering. You don’t have anywhere to be for a while, so you wander. Think. Process.

Everything went… well. Better than you expected, honestly. Jeongguk was kind. Forgiving, even. You didn’t deserve that. And still, he gave it to you.

And you?

You lied to him.

You can still hear the words falling from your lips. How easy it was to bend the truth, to frame it in a way that would make you look like someone he could still trust. To push all of the blame on someone else. You’d come here with the intention of being honest, with the hope that confessing everything would free you from the pit that’s been hollowing out your chest for weeks. Instead, you chose comfort. Self-preservation. Whatever version of you he still wanted to believe in.

You feel sick about it. Grateful and awful, all at once.

The hallway stretches on, and you follow it without thinking. The walls here are different from the sterile ones in your own building. Sleek, sure, but full of warmth. Color. Memory.

Photographs line the corridor in neat black frames. High-res shots from concerts and tour stops, behind-the-scenes moments caught in candid black and white. A timeline of Burn The Stage’s rise.

There’s Jeongguk on stage in Tokyo, crouched low with his mic held out to the screaming crowd. Taehyung grinning mid-strum on his bass guitar. Jimin, soaked in sweat, laughing with his drumsticks raised.

And Yoongi—never center stage, but always present. A shadow behind Jeongguk’s spotlight, fingers curled over his guitar neck, gaze cast downward.

You stop in front of a larger canvas print. Burn The Stage at their first sold-out arena show. Yoongi’s got his arm thrown lazily over Jeongguk’s shoulders. They’re both drenched in sweat, beaming at something off-camera, caught in the afterglow of a perfect night. It makes your stomach twist.

Because here’s the thing: no matter how messy it got, no matter how much they might be hurting right now, there’s a history between them that you can’t touch. You’re the disruption. The outsider. You’ve known Jeongguk for a year. Yoongi? Barely at all. But somehow, you’ve managed to wedge yourself into the fault line between them and split it wide open.

And you don’t even know what you want.

You’re turning away from the photo when you feel it—that unmistakable shift in energy, like a cold wind curling at the back of your neck.

One of the studio doors eases open with a soft mechanical click, and Yoongi steps out.

He hasn’t seen you yet, somehow, though you’re laughably close. He’s too busy looking down at his phone, one hand in the pocket of his dark cargo pants.

He looks… fuck. His jacket is a deep, bruised purple with mixed textures: ribbed sleeves, paneled faux suede. The black tee underneath is teasingly fitted, a glimpse of the muscle you had to feel for yourself to believe.

But that’s not what fucks you up.

It’s the hair.

Pulled back. Tied off, sleek and neat at the crown of his head, a few strands brushing loose near his ears. It's too good. Too unfair. It sharpens every angle of his face—his jaw, his cheekbones, the curve of his throat.

You shouldn’t.

God, you know you shouldn’t.

You’ve already lied to Jeongguk once today. Lied to his face—looked into those kind, trusting eyes and chose the easier version of the truth. The quieter one. The one that doesn’t crack your friendship down the middle.

And this—standing here, watching Yoongi like you're waiting for the chance to fold yourself back into something reckless—this is exactly what got you into all this mess in the first place.

The way your body reacts to him before your brain even catches up. The way your heart stutters just because he looks good in a fucking jacket and has his hair tied up. The way he hasn’t even seen you yet, and still, you’re already cataloguing all of the little things about him that drive you crazy.

You hate yourself for it.

You shouldn’t be feeling any of this. You shouldn’t want anything from him.

But the thing that settles in your chest is resentment—not at him, not even at Jeongguk. At the impossible standard you’ve somehow found yourself crushed beneath.

Why can’t you make a mistake?

Why can’t you do something messy, something selfish, something human—without it immediately defining the worst parts of you?

Something inside of you snaps.

Mind blank, you grab Yoongi’s wrist harshly and pull, fingernails gripping wool so tightly you’re in danger of tearing into the fabric.

“What the fuck—” Yoongi hisses, stumbling after you, but you’re not listening. You’re moving on autopilot, acting on instinct alone. You navigate the hallway of the unfamiliar building like a madwoman, trying to find somewhere private. “Yah, let me go!”

You ignore his protests, pulling harder, and your eyes zero in on a promising spot. It’s the first door you’ve seen that isn’t glass or locked or labeled conference room.

Supply closet. Sure.

The shelves inside rattle with the force of the door slamming behind you. Yoongi yanks his wrist away instantly, shaking it out with a wince.

“Are you insane?” he snaps. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Shut up,” you interrupt, locking the door with intent. You turn to him with wild eyes, chest heaving. “You win.”

He stares at you like you’ve lost your damn mind. “What are you even talking about?” he asks, still clutching his wrist like a goddamn manchild. Like it isn’t killing you how shamelessly you’re offering yourself to him, on a silver platter.

Okay, fuck. You’ll spell it out for him, then. It doesn’t matter.

“Fuck me.”

Yoongi blinks, stunned. “Fuck—”

“Yes, Yoongi,” you huff, impatient. You step into his space and touch because you can’t help yourself, your hands skimming over the smooth suede of his jacket and then under, to the soft cotton of his black shirt. Feeling the lean muscle beneath. “Fuck me. Right now.”

Apparently, that’s all he needs.

You gasp as Yoongi grabs your hips and whirls you around, shoving you firmly toward the nearest shelf. Your palms splay over it to catch yourself, wood digging into your skin as your body braces.

“You really wanna do this here?” he mutters, voice low, nearly a growl as he crowds you from behind.

“I dragged you in here, didn’t I?” you shoot back breathlessly.

He huffs a dry laugh, shoving his jacket down his shoulders and tossing it aside. “Crazy fucking woman.”

You hold yourself steady as his hands push the hem of your dress up over your ass.

“This what you want, dollface?” he murmurs, breath skating over your ear. Your panties are roughly pushed down your thighs as he speaks, pooling uselessly around your ankles.

“Yes,” you gasp, pushing back against him. You can feel the thick ridge of his cock through his jeans, pressed against your bare ass. Embarrassment and desire curl up together in your stomach, indistinguishable from each other.

“Fuck, look at you,” Yoongi hisses, grinding forward so you can feel him better. “You want it so bad. How the hell am I supposed to say no, huh?”

“Fucking—get on with it already,” you grit out. “I’m not here to talk.”

“Fine,” he says. “I’ll just have to use my mouth for something else, then.”

Oh, fuck.

You whip your head around fast, but not fast enough. Yoongi’s already dropping to his knees behind you, spreading your pussy with his thumbs.

“Yoongi, I don’t need—”

Your sentence dies in your throat, cut off by the sound of your own surprised moan as his tongue licks a flat, filthy stripe through your folds.

You lurch forward, forearms braced on the shelf as your whole body shudders. His piercing flicks against your clit, and the sensation makes your vision go white for a split second.

“Holy fuck,” you moan. Yoongi hums against you, firm hands holding you open as he devours you, tongue delving deep. “Yoongi, fuck, that’s—”

Yoongi tsks, pulling away suddenly with a sharp slap to your ass. “Noisy girl,” he chastises. “Moaning my name like you wanna get caught.”

The thought sobers you, if only for a moment. Yeah, no—no. The thought of being caught, who might catch you, sends a chill down your spine. You know exactly who is in this building right now. You need to pull yourself together.

“I’ll be quiet, just—” You steady yourself on the shelf, panting against your crossed arms. “Fuck me already.”

“Impatient,” he huffs.

You hear the shuffle of movement behind you, the sound of his zipper dragging down. Your stomach flips.

After a moment, you feel the nudge of Yoongi’s cock against your entrance, and you try to wiggle back again on instinct. There’s a sharp huff of amusement against your neck, but to your frustration, he doesn’t give in yet.

“Say please,” Yoongi says, smug.

Bastard.

“Fuck you,” you spit.

“Getting there, dollface,” he teases, running the thick head of his cock through your folds just to be an asshole. “Just wanna hear you beg a little first. Since you want it so bad.”

You grit your teeth, pride clashing hard with want, but your body betrays you. Your thighs are trembling, cunt clenching around nothing, begging for fullness. For him.

“Please,” you whisper, broken and raw. “Yoongi, please fuck me.”

“That’s better.”

Yoongi sinks into you so slowly that your knees threaten to buckle.

Inch by agonizing inch, and it hits so deep your eyes flutter, mouth falling open and nails biting into wood. You can feel every detail of him. He’s thick, god, impossibly thick. The stretch burns in the best way, your walls aching to adjust but slick enough to take him, take all of him.

When he bottoms out, your moan of relief is caught instantly by his hand, clamping tight over your mouth before you can make another sound.

“Quiet,” he reminds you, and you nod, centering yourself.

He gives you a moment to adjust, then draws his hips back and fucks forward hard.

“Shit, you’re tight,” Yoongi hisses, strained. “Fucking squeezing my cock.”

He sets a brutal rhythm right away. His hips slam into the backs of your thighs so roughly that the shelves rattle with the force. Every thrust rocks you forward, and every retreat pulls a whimper from your throat as your walls try to keep him inside.

You can’t see him like this, and it feels like every other sense burns hot and sharp in its place. You can feel him—so thick, so deep, each stroke making you choke on your breath. You can hear the slick, obscene sound of your cunt, wet beyond reason, practically sucking him in.

“Oh my god,” you try to say, but it’s just a muffled sob against his hand.

He fucks you harder, one hand gripping your hip tight enough to bruise, the other keeping you silenced, helpless and pressed to the shelf. Something falls and topples to the floor, but it barely registers. Your breasts are squished against the wood, aching with every thrust. You can feel the slick mess between your thighs, every wet slap of skin-on-skin echoing obscenely in the cramped closet.

“Goddamn, you’re soaked,” Yoongi growls, hips snapping into you again. “You hear that, dollface?”

You do. The sound is filthy, each thrust punching a wet, obscene squelch into the air. Your cunt clenches tight around him, and he groans, deep and raw.

“Oh, fuck, you’re close, huh?” he asks, and your responding whimper is so pathetic your cheeks burn.

His rhythm falters for half a second, just long enough for him to yank your leg up onto the lowest shelf, opening you more. Making it deeper. He lets go of your mouth to spit in his hand, reaching around to rub your clit in merciless circles.

And oh, fuck, you can’t be quiet anymore.

“Yoongi,” you sob, “I—oh my god, please—”

The hand gripping your leg moves fast to cover your mouth again as he toys with your clit, but your body’s already unraveling. Everything clenches down, heat flaring white-hot in your belly as your cunt clamps around his cock. You bite down onto the meat of his palm, muffling your scream as you come hard.

Yoongi hisses at the bite, swearing low and dirty in your ear. His hips stutter, rhythm turning ragged as your walls flutter around his cock.

And then you feel it.

He pulses inside you with a groan pulled deep from his chest, fucking you through it as his cum fills you up. Thick and hot, leaking already as he keeps grinding through it, wringing every last drop from himself, every aftershock from you.

Yoongi’s weight leans into your back, both of you breathless, hearts hammering. The air smells like sweat and sex, and the only sound is the shallow drag of your breathing in tandem, syncing up as you both come down.

After a moment, his hand finally slips from your mouth. You suck in a shaky breath, lips slick with spit.

Your knees barely hold as Yoongi pulls out, and you feel it—his cum leaking down your thighs before you can so much as catch your breath.

You don’t dare look at him.

You feel empty. Fucked open. Raw in every sense of the word.

You hear the rustle of fabric as he probably pulls up his pants, zips himself back in. You stay where you are, bent over, trying to breathe.

“You okay?” he asks.

And that—that pisses you the fuck off.

You turn to him. His jacket is back on, his pants zipped like nothing happened. Meanwhile, you’re still shaking, your dress is still hiked up.

“Don’t,” you say, voice hoarse.

Yoongi raises an eyebrow. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t ask if I’m okay,” you snap. “We both know what this was.”

He just watches you. Doesn’t argue. Doesn’t apologize either.

There’s a thick, awful silence after that, and you fill it with movement. You pull your panties back up and fix your dress. The mess between your thighs presents a problem, but it’s nothing you can’t conceal with your underwear for now. You grab the doorknob and unlock it with a shaky hand, peeking out to make sure the hallway is empty.

Thank fucking god.

“Don’t fucking follow me,” you say, fixing him with the most withering look you can muster, and Yoongi only raises his hands in surrender, bewildered.

It feels like stepping out of a crime scene. You take a few unsteady steps forward, one arm clutching your bag to your chest, the other dragging your hand along the wall to stay upright.

Every movement is careful. Every step makes you feel it. The soreness, the wetness, the truth of what you’ve done. You should find a bathroom. Clean up. Compose yourself. Hide.

But you don’t. You keep walking.

Because stopping means thinking. And if you start thinking, really thinking, you’re not sure you’ll be able to handle what you find.

Fuck, fuck fuck.

★ ★ ★

For the first time in months, you’re alone. Like, actually alone.

No texts buzzing your phone. No voice echoing from the other room, asking if you’ve eaten. No arms around your waist in the morning. Just you, in the silence of your apartment.

It should come as a relief.

It was only a matter of time before Kihyun dumped you. You shouldn’t have let it drag on for as long as you did. You should’ve ended it yourself. But you didn’t, because—

Because what? You were lonely?

Because it was easier to keep going than it was to look at yourself in the mirror and admit you were never really in it?

Kihyun was good to you. Kind, not performative. He remembered the little things, like how you took your coffee, where your neck always ached when you slept too stiffly. He was attentive, thoughtful, patient. You were physically attracted to him from the first date. And although the sex wasn’t the kind of thing that rewired your brain or left your limbs shaking, it was… nice. Gentle. Consensual. Consistent.

You could’ve built something with him.

But you didn’t.

Because it’s you. It’s always you.

You never opened up. You held him at a distance, even when he offered you all his softness, even when he asked—gently, again and again—to be let in.

You didn’t ask about his family. You forgot his best friend’s name—Yoo-something? You nodded along when he talked about writing music but never followed up. And when he invited you to dinners or birthdays or afterparties, you begged off every time with some excuse about your busy schedule.

You didn’t mean to hurt him. You just… didn’t care. Not really. Not about his world. Not about yours, either.

And still, he tried.

You can’t get the last few hours out of your head. He invited you over, said he wanted to talk, and you knew immediately that it was going to end. You’d felt it for weeks, hadn’t you? Maybe longer.

You almost didn’t go, but guilt won out. You showed up, and you thought—maybe you’d get one last night. One last kiss goodbye.

Instead, you got a fight.

“You don’t even care about me, YN,” Kihyun said, voice shaking. “You cling to me on red carpets, post about me on Instagram, kiss me in front of photographers—but when it’s just us? Do you even know anything about me?”

You’d accused him of being dramatic. He’d accused you of using him. Connections. Comfort. The appearance of stability he offered you.

You’d both yelled. Loud and bitter. And then there were tears. His, not yours. You just stared at the floor while he filled a box with your things and said he hoped you got whatever you were chasing.

When you finally walked out, you didn’t even look back.

Now, hours later, you sit on the floor of your apartment, hollowed out. The lights are off. Your coat is still on. You haven’t even taken off your shoes.

You don’t feel relieved. You feel sick with yourself, and you don’t know what to do with it.

There’s a bottle of vodka in your kitchen cabinet. You’ve never been much of a drinker—too many calories, too many headaches, too much loss of control—but tonight? Tonight, you need something to dull the pain.

You don’t bother with a glass. You drink it straight, the burn lighting a trail down your throat that feels like punishment.

You’re halfway to drunk when you grab your phone. The screen glows blue, too bright in the dark. You open Twitter.

You should stop yourself, but you’ve never been good at self-control.

@ynonline: i’m sorry i ruined it

A cry for help in lowercase letters. A digital bloodletting to no one in particular.

And then you keep drinking.

★ ★ ★

You can’t stop laughing. Your behavior lately has been so goddamn out of character, all you can do is laugh. It bubbles out of you, ugly and gasping, half-drunk and half-delirious, echoing through the kitchen like it doesn’t belong to you at all. The wine in your glass is mostly gone, and the second bottle on the table is already open.

You don’t know what’s going on with you. You don’t know when you lost the plot so severely that you started fucking people like Min Yoongi in closets.

How good it felt doesn’t matter. How badly you missed being kissed and touched by another person doesn’t fucking matter. Because you don’t recognize yourself anymore. And that’s funny. Like, laugh-until-you-cry funny. Because if you don’t laugh, you’ll spiral. You’ll fall into the cavern of shame that’s been yawning open beneath your feet ever since Yoongi touched you and you let him.

You’re in the middle of telling Seokjin about your week—or, at least, you’re trying to between wheezes. He’s listening intently across from you, brow furrowed and lips twitching with amusement as he tries to translate your garbled speech.

“You know,” he says dryly, “I could’ve predicted this.”

You snort so hard it turns into a hiccup. “What? All I’ve done is complain about him for weeks.”

Seokjin raises a brow. “Yeah, well. You know what they say about the fine line between love and hate.”

“Oh, believe me, we are still firmly planted in the hate camp.” You lean forward, elbow slipping slightly on the table. “It’s gonna take more than some halfway decent stroke game to change that.”

“Halfway decent, she says,” Seokjin mutters, lifting his glass to his mouth, “even though you’ve barely been able to talk about anything else for the past hour. No ‘hello, Seokjin. How has your week at the hospital been? Save any children lately?’”

You wave your hand at him. “Are you saying you aren’t entertained?”

“No, please.” He leans back in his chair, smirking. “Go on.”

Your eyes light up with memory. “Oh my god. Last week, I sent him these pictures—”

Jin frowns. “Wait, what—?”

“Look!” you cry, fishing your phone out of the pocket of your leggings. You tap open your texts with The Devil himself, dropping the phone onto your kitchen table with a clatter that makes Seokjin wince.

Normally, he’d be blushing already, flailing, sputtering something dramatic and prudish. He’s always been weird about this stuff. But this time, he doesn’t even crack a joke.

Instead, when he picks it up, his eyes widen into saucers. You watch as he fiddles with the phone in his hands, tapping into the first picture.

“YN, you didn’t—”

“Look at what he said!”

“You sent him these?” he asks, swiping out of the photos and back to the texts to confirm what he’s already seen.

The tone of his voice makes you pause. You try to catch your breath, wiping the tears from your eyes.

“What’s the big deal?” you ask, making a face. “They’re, like, tasteful.”

“They’re nudes.”

“I’m wearing underwear!”

“They’re nudes,” Seokjin repeats, like you’re stupid or something.

What the fuck? Why does he sound so mad?

“They’re just pictures,” you mumble, snatching your phone out of his hands and clutching it to your chest.

“Yeah,” he scoffs. “Because pictures like that have done you so many favors in the past.”

All of the alcohol-induced warmth rushing through your bloodstream evaporates in an instant.

“What the fuck, Seokjin?”

“I can’t believe you would do something so stupid, YN. After everything that’s happened—”

"Shut up!"

“—and you don’t even trust the guy,” he continues. “Less than a month ago, you were telling me you thought he knew—”

“Seokjin, shut up—”

“—It’s like you want bad things to happen to you, I swear.”

Something in your chest cracks open. Seokjin has never, ever implied that you were in any way at fault for what happened years ago. Even when you felt it yourself. He’s the only one who has been on your side this whole time. Unwavering.

Until now. Until Yoongi.

“Get out,” you say, voice cold.

“YN, I’m just trying—”

“Get. Out.”

He stares at you like he’s still catching up, like he doesn’t realize what he just said out loud. His mouth opens, then closes. You see the apology start to form behind his eyes, but it’s already too late.

You stand. Point to the door. “Don’t make me say it again.”

Seokjin stands slowly, reluctantly, like his limbs are made of cement. He grabs his keys from the table, fingers twitching.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m just… I’m scared for you.”

You don’t respond. Don’t even look at him. The door clicks shut behind him, and then you’re alone, still clutching your phone, wine forgotten.

And all that laughter? Gone.

★ ★ ★

You don’t sleep much.

Your body gives out around 4 a.m., but it’s not so much sleep as blackout, your limbs too heavy to move and your mind too exhausted to keep turning things over. But it’s not restful. You wake up dry-mouthed and nauseous, tangled in the sheets like you fought a war in your sleep.

The fight with Seokjin rings in your ears, louder now in the cruel quiet of the morning.

“It’s like you want bad things to happen to you.”

There’s no more wine in your system to dull those words. They weren’t fair. You’re still furious. Still hurt. But the longer you sit with it, the more panicked you become.

Because he wasn’t wrong.

You have been reckless. You did send Yoongi those pictures without thinking. Not because you trusted him, but because you wanted him to look at you. To want you. And Seokjin’s words force you to think.

Because what if he still has them? What if he shows someone?

What if you’ve made another mistake that you can’t come back from?

You drag yourself out of bed, slow and sick, your whole body moving like it’s underwater. The nausea doesn’t fade as you brush your teeth. It only gets worse. You barely manage to brush your teeth without hurting yourself, scrubbing hard like it’ll erase your words last night. But nothing helps.

Once you’re out of the bathroom, you throw on the first clothes you can find. Clean enough, mismatched, whatever.

You don’t have Yoongi’s address, so you text Namjoon. It’s early, and you don’t expect him to respond, but he replies immediately.

Kim Namjoon: Is everything okay???

You: i just need it

You: please

You: you got my address from seoyeon, sooooo

There’s a pause, then an address. You don’t offer thanks, even though you do like Namjoon. He owes you this.

You call an Uber and sit in the backseat with your arms crossed tightly over your chest, barely able to breathe. Every bump in the road jolts your stomach. By the time the car pulls up to Yoongi’s apartment, your nerves are a live wire, ready to snap.

When you get up to his door, you don’t knock gently. You pound.

It takes a moment. Nearly longer than you can take, honestly, with how wigged out you are. But right when you’re about to raise your fist again, the door swings open, and there he is.

Yoongi, bleary-eyed and hair mussed like he’s just rolled out of bed. His stupid sweatshirt has rips across one shoulder, bare skin peeking out from beneath, like he isn’t a rich rockstar who can afford nice clothes. Everything about the sight of him makes you angry.

“...Hi?” he says cautiously.

“I need you to delete them,” you blurt.

He stares at you for a second, blinking awake. “...What?”

“The pictures,” you say, voice too loud, too fast. “The ones I sent you last week. I need you to delete them. Like, now.”

You push past him and barge inside, uncaring of whether he was actually planning on letting you in.

He shuts the door behind you and turns around slowly, regarding you like a spooked animal. “What happened?”

“Yoongi,” you snap, “I’m not here to explain myself. I just want to watch you delete them.”

Yoongi holds up his hands in surrender. “Okay. Okay, yeah. I can do that.”

He fishes his phone from the pocket of his sweatshirt and unlocks it. You hover over his shoulder while his fingers move on the screen. It doesn’t take him long to find them. You watch as his thumb hovers over the images. One tap, two taps, three.

Deleted.

He goes to the trash folder. Deletes them again.

Then he turns the phone around, still unlocked, and holds it out to you. “Check it if you want.”

You take it, hands clammy, and check all the possible places. Empty.

“Okay,” you say, taking a much-needed breath.

Yoongi watches you for a moment longer, something you can’t name flickering over his expression.

“I know I haven’t given you any reasons to think I’m the best guy in the world,” he says. “But I wouldn’t have shown those to anyone. Not ever.”

You want to believe that. Want to grab onto it like a lifeline. But you’re not exactly Yoongi’s number one fan, and this isn’t a matter of trust anymore—it’s survival.

And even if you were a fan of his, Seokjin was right. This isn’t something you can afford to risk.

You nod, swallowing around the lump in your throat. “Well, you can’t, now. So.”

An awkward silence settles between you.

You’re not sure if you feel better. You don’t think you do.

Yoongi gestures toward the kitchen. “You want coffee?”

You hesitate. Under normal circumstances, you’d laugh in his face. You and Yoongi don’t hang out, like, historically. Fight, sure. Make poor sexual decisions together, absolutely. But hang out and share coffee? It seems unthinkable.

But at the same time, you’re still rattled, and getting into another bumpy Uber doesn’t sound particularly appealing right now. And Yoongi isn’t being… totally unbearable. It was shockingly easy to get him to delete those pictures, despite the way you’d built it up in your head.

“…Yeah,” you say finally. “Okay.”

Yoongi hands you a chipped black mug without saying much, and you murmur a quiet thanks as you curl your fingers around it. The heat seeps into your palms.

The two of you stand in his tiny kitchen like strangers, the silence too loaded to be easy. He leans against the counter opposite you, sipping from his own mug, eyes flicking toward you every few seconds like he’s trying to work up the nerve to say something.

Instead, you settle into the pathetic choreography of small talk.

“So… this is your place, huh,” you offer.

Yoongi glances around. “Yeah.”

“It’s big.”

“It’s too big,” he says, and, yeah. It is. Big and mostly empty. It almost seems like no one lives here, from where you’re standing.

You shrug. “Still. The quiet must be nice.”

Yoongi huffs out a small laugh. “It was,” he says pointedly, “until someone ruined my beauty sleep.”

You try not to bristle. He doesn’t sound like he’s trying to be mean, and you don’t have the energy to argue with him anyway. “Sorry.”

Yoongi shrugs. “I’ve had worse wake-up calls.”

Neither of you mentions what happened the other day. The closet. The rough, desperate way he fucked you. The way you begged for it.

Instead, you sip your coffee in silence.

“I, uh,” Yoongi starts, then cuts himself off with a quiet exhale. “I should probably go shower soon.”

You nod like that’s news you needed, staring into your mug. “Right.”

You hear the click of his mug being set down gently on the counter. “Dollface.”

You look up, partially in response to the name. Mostly because of the cautious tone in his voice. Terrifingly, you have no idea what he’s about to say.

Yoongi shifts on his feet, mouth twisting like he’s really weighing his next words before he speaks.

“Do you want to come with me?”

Oh.

Huh.

Your breath stutters. Your spine straightens just slightly.

He’s not teasing. Not playing. Not doing any of the mean things you’ve learned to associate with Yoongi since you’ve met. He’s just asking quietly, like it’s a real offer. Like there’s no pressure attached, even though the weight of it sits heavily between you.

There are a million reasons you should say no and go home. One of which being, well, the reason you’re here in the first place. You don’t trust him. You don’t like him. You keep making terrible, life-ruining decisions with him.

But still, there’s this thought in the back of your mind, half-formed but louder than all the rest.

You’re so tired of punishing yourself for every impulse, every need. Tired of denying yourself the right to fuck up. To make mistakes.

Sending the pictures was unforgivably stupid, yes, you’ll give Seokjin that. But despite your panic in the immediate aftermath, fucking Yoongi felt good. Mind-blowingly good. Like something inside you finally got to breathe after being locked up too long.

Jeongguk doesn’t know. And as guilty as it makes you feel, he doesn’t have to know, as long as Yoongi keeps his mouth shut. Judging by the state of that friendship right now, you have a feeling he will.

So.

You set your mug down carefully, meeting his eyes.

“Yeah,” you say. “I do.”

Yoongi nods once and then turns, walking down the short hall that leads to his bedroom. You follow wordlessly, heart thudding in your throat.

When you step into his bedroom, you feel like you’ve crossed into something irreversible. Yoongi opens the door to the master bathroom while you linger in the sparseness of the space, eyes fixed on his king bed. Charcoal sheets, rumpled on one side and perfectly smooth on the other.

The sound of the shower squeaking to life brings you back to the moment and forces you to take a few more steps. You hover in the doorway of the bathroom. Steam begins to curl around the room, warm and beckoning.

Yoongi looks over his shoulder.

"You coming?"

You cross the threshold.

Yoongi turns to face you, backlit by rising steam. He doesn’t touch you. Not yet. Just watches you for a second, like he’s waiting to see if you’ll change your mind.

You don’t.

You peel off your sweater first, then your shirt, then your bra. You catch the flicker in his expression when your breasts fall free. His gaze trails down your body, and when your leggings hit the floor, he exhales like he’s been holding his breath for days.

Yoongi steps towards you and cradles your jaw in his palm, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about your pussy for days,” he rasps, and your knees go weak.

Before you can say anything in response—before you can even breathe properly, he leans in and kisses you. Slow and sure, but greedy too. You kiss him back, moaning when his tongue slips into your mouth.

You shove your hands up the hem of his tattered sweatshirt, pushing it up his torso impatiently. Yoongi hums into your mouth, pulling back just long enough to tug it over his head and toss it to the floor. Then he steps out of his sweatpants and briefs in one fluid motion, unabashed.

You’d barely seen him last time, but now, you get a full, unhurried look. Smooth, pale skin. His cock is thick and flushed, already half-hard and growing the longer you look. Your thighs press together instinctively.

He tugs you gently into the shower by your hand, pulling the glass door closed behind you. The water is hot and heavy, already soaking your hair, dripping down your back. Yoongi presses you against the tiled wall, hands sliding along your waist like he’s been starving for this.

His mouth finds yours again, and your teeth clack together as you kiss him back. One of his hands slides up your spine, cupping the back of your neck to keep you close, while the other moves over the curve of your ass, squeezing.

“Always such a fuckin’ brat,” he murmurs against your lips, “until I get my hands on you.”

You mewl when he palms your breast, thumbing your nipple until it’s stiff. His other hand dips lower, sliding between your legs, fingers finding you embarrassingly wet even under the spray of the shower.

You gasp when he presses a finger inside, then a second, curling them just right. Your legs threaten to give out, but he hooks an arm around your waist to keep you upright, keeping you wide open for him.

“I could make you come just like this,” Yoongi says, fucking his fingers into you slow and deep. “But you want more, don’t you?”

“Yoongi—” you gasp, eyes squeezing shut.

“Tell me what you want,” he says as he kisses a heated line from your jaw to your throat. “Tell me how you want it.”

“Inside,” you pant. “I want you inside me.”

He growls—actually growls—and pulls his fingers out, lifting your leg to wrap around his waist. His cock slides through your folds, notching against your entrance as the hot water rushes down both your bodies. His forehead rests against yours.

“You’re sure?”

“Just fuck me,” you murmur, and that’s all it takes.

He slides in slowly, both of you groaning in unison at the feeling. The stretch is deep, bordering on painful, but so fucking good. He doesn’t move for a second, just holds you there, buried to the hilt.

“Fuck, you take me so well,” he groans, bracing himself with one hand on the wall behind you. You moan, high and raw, and he starts to move.

His hips drive forward again and again, the sound of skin slapping echoing sharply in the tiled space, mixing with the hiss of the shower and the ragged breathing between you. Your hands scramble for purchase at his shoulders, his neck, his biceps—anything to anchor yourself.

He fucks you like that for a while. Deep, heavy strokes, hips rolling into you like a tide. Your legs shake. Your cunt flutters around him, tight and desperate.

“Yoongi, please,” you moan, even though you’re not quite sure what you’re begging for.

He hitches your thigh higher around his hip, opening the angle. Like this, every thrust has his cock pinpoint that spot inside of you, the one you struggle to reach on your own. A strangled cry is punched out of you in response and Yoongi groans, forehead pressed to yours.

“Touch yourself,” he rasps. “Let me see.”

Your hand drops between your legs, and it only takes a few circles around your clit before you’re gasping his name, walls clenching around him. He watches as he fucks you through it, moaning as you squeeze around his cock.

His thrusts grow sloppy, unable to hold back any longer, and then he’s pulling out quickly, spilling onto the shower floor with a curse. His forehead drops to your shoulder, lips parting against your damp skin. You feel his chest rise and fall against yours, both of you trembling from the high.

Neither of you speaks.

For a long moment, there’s only the deafening beat of water against tile and the slow comedown of your heart rate. Your thighs ache. Your skin is flushed. His cum washes away down the drain between your feet, a quiet, shameful stream of evidence.

Shit.

You’re the first to move.

Gently, you press your palm to his chest, signaling space. Yoongi lets go. Steps back.

The warmth of his body leaves yours all at once, and the shower suddenly feels colder, emptier, even with the steam still thick in the air.

“I just…” you start, voice thin and heart pounding. “I need a minute.”

You don’t look at him as you reach for the glass door, slipping out of the stall on shaky legs. You find a towel draped neatly on the bar just outside the shower and wrap it around yourself, not bothering to dry off properly. The towel sticks to your skin, damp and clingy. You think you feel his eyes on you through the glass, but you can’t bear to check.

You grab your clothes from the floor and step out into the bedroom. The room is still dim, the curtains drawn, the gray light of morning barely filtering in. You dress in silence, and when you’re done, you sit on the edge of Yoongi’s bed until you hear the squeak of the faucet as it shuts off. When the bathroom door opens, you lift your head.

He emerges wrapped at the waist in a towel, hair dripping. He’s rubbing at his head with another towel as he steps into the room and freezes when he sees you.

“You actually stayed,” he says, like he hadn’t expected that.

You shrug, barely meeting his gaze. “Didn’t seem right to sneak out.”

Yoongi watches you, still drying his hair. After a moment, he sits next to you.

“Do you want to talk about it this time?”

Your stomach turns. “What is there to talk about?”

“You didn’t really give me the impression you were interested in round two, the other day.”

“I wasn’t,” you say flatly.

“And yet here we are,” he says in kind, gesturing between you. “I’m just wondering what I should expect, moving forward.”

You cross your arms over your chest. “No, you just want me to admit you were right.”

Yoongi scoffs. “I’m getting sick of people telling me I don’t mean what I say.”

Jesus.

You frown. You have no clue what he means by that—and honestly, you don’t care. Not right now. So you stay quiet.

He leans forward, elbows on his knees. “Look,” he continues, “we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. It’s not fun if you’re not into it. But I need to know where we stand. So tell me what you’re thinking.”

“I’m thinking about how much I hate you,” you snap, on instinct.

Yoongi shrugs. “Okay. That’s not new information. Didn’t stop you from fucking me twice, though. Two and a half, if we’re splitting hairs.”

“Clearly,” you reply bitterly.

His expression doesn’t change. “Hate me all you want, dollface. I’m not asking you not to.” He tilts his head just slightly. “Are we doing this or not?”

You stare at him for a long moment, on the edge of something dangerous.

You think about the way it felt when he touched you. The way he looked at you. The way your body still feels like it’s buzzing from the inside out.

This is a mistake. You know it. You named it. But that little thought that started to form inside you earlier is louder now, stronger, and it won’t let you walk away, even though all the logic in the world tells you that you should.

“Yeah,” you say finally. “We are.”

Yoongi nods like he’d already known the answer. “Okay. Great. Glad we could clear that up,” he says, unbothered. “You feel free to let me know if you change your mind.”

And then he stands, towel low on his hips, and walks across the room to get dressed.

Fucking asshole.

You can’t stand how he can just act like this is easy for him. Like it should be easy for you. Like going behind the back of his best friend doesn’t bother him in the slightest.

Worst of all, you hate how it still feels like Yoongi has the upper hand.

Desperate to get it back, you stand. “Hey.”

Yoongi hums from where he’s rummaging through a drawer in his dresser, half-turned but not looking at you.

“My deal with Jeongguk is still on,” you say, crossing your arms with finality. “Just so you know.”

You hope it’ll get some kind of reaction out of him. He pauses what he’s doing, gaze flicking to you for a second, and you search for any indication that he’ll falter.

But then he shrugs, turning back to the drawer. “I don’t see what that has to do with me,” he grumbles.

Right.

Annoyed, you twist the knob of his bedroom door, swinging it open.

“Just keep your mouth shut about this,” you say over your shoulder, aiming to hurt. “Some of us are actually in his good graces.”

You don’t stay to see his reaction.

You wonder, as you show yourself out of Yoongi’s apartment, if this is actually going to be easy at all.

✧ shoot me a reply or an ask if you enjoyed this chapter! feedback is always appreciated <3 join my taglist if you want to be tagged in future chapters!

askbox ★ ao3 ★ anonymous feedback box

✧ TAGLIST:

@kkaetnipjeon @ktownshizzle @joonary @ggukivrse @strwbyoons

@sunreads @futuristicenemychaos @tea4sykes @sugainmybowl @wobblewobble822

@this-most-assuredly-counts @ohnothisnameisalreadytaken @sugafun @whoa-jo @amarawayne

@kimsaerom @bangtangsworld @jimingirl95 @jadestonedaeho7 @notsevenwithyou

@perfctlyunstable @yoonmetogether @kpophosblog @nnybtitts08

@itsmina29 @sophia--915 @jeanjacketjesus @kiki-zb @velvetskize

@gelijar @livi101ful @annyeongbitch7 @pitchblack0309 @goldietigers294

@hopegdbbggloss @kam9404 @jajabro @parapiop7 @mar-lo-pap

@tarahardcore @butterymin @svnbangtansworld @rainnamu @auroradamned

@mintedagustd @angellekookie @watchingover-hypegirl @slytherinatheart

PREVIOUS CHAPTER ✧ MASTERLIST ✧ NEXT CHAPTER

242 notes · View notes

evanpeterswhoresblog · 2 years ago

Text

Innocence

Remus Lupin x f!reader

warnings: smut, oral (female receiving), oral (male receiving), fingering, slight hand job, virgin reader, purity ring 😮‍💨, making out, underage smoking, mention of underage drinking, slight innocence/ corruption kink, lmk if i missed any!

summary: remus learns the ring you wear everyday is called a purity ring, and he develops a strange obsession with it… and wanting to take it off you…

word count: 4.6k

a/n: guys.. dw there’s gonna b a part two but like omgggggg this made me feel so many things i’m in love with this. lmk what you think :) also i’m not religious so if any of this is not accurate i’m sorry lol it’s for the plot

part two is posted!!! here

~~~

Ever since he knew you, Remus noticed that one thing you always wore. It was plain, a simple gold band on your left ring finger, the marriage finger. Typically, such nonsense wouldn’t cross his mind twice, but you wore that ring damn ring every day. Since the first time he ever saw you, that ring was on your finger. He never saw you without it. So, his curiosity got the better of him.

Why would such a simple ring be so important that you never took it off? It couldn’t have been because you were married. No. You wore it even at the young age of eleven. Could it have been a family heirloom? That idea was plausible, however to him, it didn’t feel like the correct answer. And Remus Lupin always needed the correct answer.

So, he eventually decided to ask you.

During dinner one night, when you just so happened to be sitting next to him, his eyes caught sight of the ring and he eyed it suspiciously. You noticed this.

“Something wrong Rem?” You asked.

He looked up from the ring on your delicate finger to meet your confused eyes. “Why do you always wear that specific ring? And always on that finger? Is it special?”

“Oh.” You laughed for a few seconds. “Yeah, it’s stupid really, an old muggle tradition.” You composed yourself and looked up at him, a slight red tint to your cheeks. “It’s called a purity ring. Basically, I wear it as a reminder that I pledged to wait till marriage.”

Remus was confused, and he hated being confused. “Why would anyone wait till marriage?”

You shrugged. “Muggle religion is quite weird. They value keeping teenagers pure until they’re married. I think it’s stupid, but I still wear it.”

“So, you’ve done it but continue wearing it as a... symbol?” He questioned.

“Oh no, I haven’t done it. I might find it stupid, but I still plan to keep my promise. It’s sort of a nice accomplishment don’t you think? I’ve gone through two years of everyone shagging around me and I haven’t given in,” you answered.

He stared at you for a few seconds. You were still a virgin, and that ring was the reason. He thought for a moment. How could you be a virgin? He swore he had seen you go off with a bloke from Ravenclaw a few months ago during a party. But then as his eyes trailed over your small figure, he realized the idea wasn’t completely impossible. He’d never seen you with hickeys, he’d never seen you dress improperly, and he surely had never seen you enter the common room after a long night with someone. For some reason, it made a strange feeling bloom deep inside him.

“Surely you’ve at least done other stuff, right?”

You simply shook your head and took a bite from your sandwich. “Furthest I’ve ever gone is having some Ravenclaws tongue down my throat.”

Ah, so he was right about that.

“Besides, I don’t really even know much about any of that stuff. I mean I know biology, but that’s about it. And of course, what Marls and Mary tell me from their extravagant experiences,” you added after swallowing.

So that meant...

“You haven’t done anything?” He was surprised, it was clear in his tone.

“No need to sound so flabbergasted. Besides, why do you even care about what I’ve done? I always thought you were the modest type too,” you replied with an eye roll.

Remus looked away from you, and the urge to smirk took him over. He thought back to those countless nights over the summer breaks he’d spent with muggle girls. The feelings, the sounds, the tastes, all experiences he’d never forget. But by no means was Remus Lupin a player, oh no. He was nothing like his mate. However, he also wasn’t a saint like everyone painted him out to be.

“I may be modest but that doesn’t mean I’m a virgin,” he said after a moment, his eyes finally turned back to you. He liked the way you looked at him. “That went away a few summers ago.”

You smiled, though something about it was off, almost as if it were forced. “Well, cheers to that.”

“Cheers.” He nodded in agreement.

You turned back to the group conversation before he could say anything else.

~~~

Remus had thought after finding out what the ring's importance was, he would let it go and move on. Unfortunately, he had thought wrong. Ever since that conversation with you, he couldn’t get any of it off his mind. When he’d see you, he’d always look at your left hand, almost making sure that ring was still there. It always was. And for some reason it made him feel almost relieved. He needed more answers.

Thankfully, another opportunity came not too long after the first.

The two of you had been paired together in potions. Typically, he would be a bit upset with the fact given you were never the best in the subject. But for the first time, he was pleased with the pairing.

He watched as you cut up some of the ingredients, that stupid ring shining from the lights. Questions filled his head. Where had you gotten it? When did you get it? Who gave it to you? Did your parents know what it meant? What were you supposed to do with it when the time finally came? He needed to get the answers.

“So, when did you get it?” He casually asked his eyes on the cauldron.

“Get what?”

“The ring.”

You chuckled. “You’re still on about that? I suppose you aren’t too accustomed to muggle things. I got it right before I came here actually. My parents wanted to give me a reminder about life at home, and they wanted to make sure I knew where my ‘loyalties’ lay. Though, I was only a little girl. Did they expect anything to happen at that young?”

Three questions were answered. Good.

Remus dropped his chopped ingredients into the cauldron. “Does that mean you give it back to them when you finally do it?”

“Oh no. I give it to my husband of course,” you replied. “Do these look alright?”

He finally turned his head in your direction and looked over your cutting board then he met your eyes. “Perfect. You can put them in.”

“You don’t know how good that makes me feel to hear. Master of potions Remus Lupin says I’m perfect, I could faint,” you said as you scrapped your work into the cauldron, a hint of laughter in your voice.

He rolled his eyes. “I said your cutting was perfect, but if it makes you feel good, I suppose you are too.”

You looked up at him with a glint in your eyes that made an odd feeling form in his chest. You looked so damn innocent. How had he not noticed it before? You had always been one of the shyer members of Gryffindor, but he always brushed it off as nothing important. He never would’ve guessed just how innocent you were.

“How sweet of you.” You giggled.

“ ’Course, anytime love.”

He noticed the shift in your body at his words. How odd. You looked away from him for a few seconds, that familiar rose tint returning to your cheeks. Did you always do that? Did such simple words always make you blush and turn away? Or was it just him? He watched you bite down on your lip and fiddle with your ring.

You were teasing him.

It was then he decided he was going to get that ring from you.

And you were going to love it.

~~~

Getting you to that point was going to take some time, Remus knew that. But it didn’t stop him. He started simply. When the two of you were hanging out in the group, he made sure to at least say a few words to you alone. When eating meals, he made sure to get a spot next to you. Most importantly though, he started making sure to leave subtle hints. Lingering eye contact, small touches that weren’t necessary, comments that made your face turn red. He could tell all of it made you flustered, and he loved it.

During all of it, his obsession with your innocence only grew. He wanted to take it away. He wanted to taint you, to make you not so pure anymore. He didn’t understand the feeling, he never cared much for such stereotypical nonsense. But each time you looked at him with those curious, innocent eyes, it only made his patience strained.

The first breakthrough came during one of Sirius and James’s parties. The common room blared with music, and people laughed and danced. You were among them. Remus leaned against the wall next to the staircase to the boy's dorm, a cigarette between his lips as he watched you dance with Mary and Lily. Your smile was bright, your body moved to the rhythm almost perfectly. You wore a pretty little dress. But he couldn’t focus on any of that because that damn ring caught his attention.

It had become quite a distraction. He found himself staring at it far more than normal. During class and dinner, it consumed most of his thoughts. He needed to get it off your finger before it caused his grades to slip.

From across the room, your eyes suddenly found his. You gave him a questioning look; he only smirked back and released a cloud of smoke into the air. He watched you say something to the girls before you began to walk in his direction. Perfect.

“Why do you always stand on the sidelines?” You asked once you were close enough. “And if you’re going to stare at me all night you might as well just dance with me.”

He chuckled and took another drag from the cigarette. “I’m not the biggest fan of these parties and I definitely don’t dance.” He offered you the cigarette, and you shook your head and pointed to your ring. “Come on, that applies to cigs too?”

“And alcohol, pretty much whatever is considered sinful. Though, I have indulged in a drink or two. Mommy and Daddy don’t need to know about that,” you answered.

Merlin, he needed to do something with you. It was almost unbearable.

“You’re saying alcohol and cigs are sinful but intense snogging isn’t? Seems a bit hypocritical to me,” he eventually said.

You smiled and shrugged. “That’s muggle religion for you. It’s pretty much up to each person's interpretation and what they value. I value being sober more than refraining from a snog occasionally.”

“But a shag...”

“That’s universally seen as a big sin. Most of us would agree not to do it until marriage.”

He released another breath of smoke. “Most of you?”

“Well, not everyone agrees of course. Like I said, it’s technically up to everyone’s values. Murder is also considered a sin, you know. But even some people commit that,” you explained. He watched you blush. “I don’t think I should compare virginity to murder though.”

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s a fair comparison,” he replied, his lips turned up into a smile.

You turned even more red. “Sorry. But you get what I’m saying, right?”

“Everything is optional is what you’re saying.” He let his eyes trail over your body, making sure you noticed. “So really, you could fuck someone before marriage.”

“I mean yeah, I could, but I don’t think I will,” you said. You began to fiddle with the ring again. “It’s sort of always been with me it would feel weird giving it to someone else.”

“Do you have to give it away for anything? Or just actual sex?” It was another question he’d been dying to know. He watched you think for a moment.

“I think just the full thing. I don’t know. I don’t even really know that much about it like I said when you first asked me. I mean, I know people use their hands and mouths but... sorry. I shouldn't be talking about such things.” You put your face in your hands, Remus couldn’t help but chuckle. “Sorry.”

He needed to do something. Now.

“Don’t be sorry love, it’s alright. You know you can trust me; I wouldn’t dare tell anyone about your sinful thoughts,” he spoke. He turned and dropped his cigarette into one of the many ashtrays in the common room. When he looked back at you, you were already looking at him. “But you know if you ever wanted to indulge in something like that, you can come to me.”

You were beyond flustered, and it showed. “Oh! That’s very um... generous of you, but I don’t think I’ll do any of that I mean... I don’t plan on it.”

He casually shrugged. “We all get a bit curious at some point in our lives.”

For a moment the two of you only stared at each other. He could tell exactly what you were thinking. You were curious. You wanted to try things. He observed you carefully. He could sense the conflict within you. Value versus desire. It was a tough battle, but you didn’t cave. At least, not yet.

“Perhaps, but I made a promise and I need to stick to it,” you said. You looked over your shoulder at your clearly intoxicated friends. “I should get back to Lily and Mary.”

“Right, it was nice talking,” he replied with a smile.

You nodded. “I’ll see you later.”

“Till then love.”

Even as you walked away and joined your friends once again, he could see the way his words affected you. You could deny the feelings all you wanted, but your body craved the unknown. It was only a matter of time till you caved, and Remus would wait.

He was never one to give up easily.

~~~

You came to him faster than he expected. He understood why though, you were on edge about all of it. In the few days it took for you to go to him, he noticed how different you acted. You were more tense, you fiddled with your ring far more than normal. He imagined the inner conflict you faced was stressful, but he was glad about the turnout of it.

After dinner, as he was walking to the library for a study group, you found him. He was a bit surprised at your approach, but nevertheless, he welcomed it with joy.

“Hey Remus, could I talk to you for a second?” You asked.

You were a bit behind him, but he stopped instantly and turned to face you.

“Yeah, what’s going on?”

Your little bit of confidence quickly vanished. You avoided his gaze, focusing suddenly on your shoes. “Um, are you busy? It’s not really that important so if you have something else to do it can wait.”

He fought the urge to smirk. “I was just going to Lily’s little study group, but it can wait. Is something wrong?”

You shook your head and looked up at him, those big innocent eyes staring into his. “No uh... nothing's wrong. It’s just about... well... you know.”

“About what?”

“You know...”

“I don’t think I do love, you’re gonna have to use your words and tell me.”

He felt bad for teasing you, but it was too fun not to. The way your cute little eyes looked around the hallway to make sure no one else was around, the way you fidgeted, it was far too entertaining to stop. A moment passed before you finally spoke in a much softer tone than before.

“It’s about what we talked about at the party last weekend.”

“Oh?” He questioned. “What about it?”

He watched as you slid the ring up and down your finger. “You said um if I ever wanted to you know, indulge, that I could come to you.”

“Yes, I did say that.”

“So... um yeah,” you said. You looked almost uncomfortable. He knew he needed to be nicer.

“Are you asking if that offer is still there?”

You nodded eagerly. “Yes! I mean, um, is it?”

He glanced around to make sure nobody else was around before stepping closer to you. You looked up at him with wide eyes, your mouth parted ever so slightly. He touched his fingers to your chin, lifting your head gently.

“How about you come find out?”

You didn’t fight it. He was glad.

Not too long after that, Remus found himself in a position he’d desperately wanted for almost a month. You were laid out on his bed, open like a flower, and he was on top of you. Your robe, shirt, and tie were thrown to the floor. He kissed you hard, the reward of your gasps kept him going. He let one of his hands travel up your soft thigh, you were so warm, so inviting. It took all his self-control to keep him from moving too fast.

Before it began, you told him you had only ever snogged. That meant no boy had ever touched you. Not with a hand, not with his tongue, nothing. No one had ever even felt up your breasts. It would be a lie to say he wasn’t pleased with the information. He wanted you to be his, he wanted to be as many of your firsts as he could be.

“Can I touch you?” He eventually whispered on your skin; his lips were by your ear.

“Yes, please,” you replied, your breath ragged.

He continued to press soft kisses to your neck as his hand moved between your thighs. You were wet, very wet. He could feel it through your panties. It made him even harder than he already was. He slid his hand under your panties and began to rub soft circles on your clit, you gasped and lifted your hips in response.

You were perfect.

With every flick of his fingers, you let out little whimpers and moans, and one of your hands gripped his shoulder hard. He caught a few glances of your face between kisses. Your cheeks were red, your eyes squeezed shut. You were beyond beautiful.

After a few minutes, he moved his fingers down to your entrance. He made sure to collect your wetness and ask if it was alright before he began to slowly push one of his fingers inside you.

“Remus,” you mumbled as he started thrusting his finger in and out of you at a slow pace. “Fuck.”

“Does it hurt? Do you want me to stop?” He asked.

You lightly shook your head. “It feels so good, do not stop.”

“Do you want another one?”

“Yes.”

He complied instantly and added a second finger. You responded just the way he wanted. In only a few more minutes he was fucking you with his fingers, touching that spot inside that made your thighs clench around him. He kissed you hard, he loved how you struggled to kiss him back. When he also began to press his thumb to your clit, you became a mess.

“Fuck Rem, I-” You paused, your nails dug into his shoulder.

“You’re close.” It was a statement; he could feel your walls clenching around his fingers. He knew you weren’t going to last much longer.

“I am,” you practically whimpered.

“Let go, love, it’s alright.”

Only seconds later you did. You came hard. Your back arched off the mattress, your mouth hung open wide, and your thighs tightened around his hips. Remus had never felt anything as good as the feeling of your walls pulsating around his fingers as you came undone beneath him. He made sure to keep going till you were fully done. At that point, he pulled his hand out of your panties and up to his lips. He knew you were going to taste good.

You sat up, breathless. “Oh my god. I can’t believe I just- you just- we just... I’m going to hell.”

“Relax, it’ll be fine. People do this all the time and nothing bad happens, I promise it’s just a normal thing,” he said. He tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, he thought you looked so beautiful. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m not worried about being judged or anything, I’m worried because I don’t feel guilty. I should feel guilty for it but I just... don’t. In fact, I think I...” You looked down at your hand, specifically the ring. “I think I want more.”

Remus couldn’t help the smirk that formed on his lips. “More?”

“Yeah, I mean it’s only right that I return the favor.” He watched your eyes move to his pants; your cheeks turned red. “You’ll have to show me how though.”

“Alright, only if, you’re sure. Don’t feel like you have to because I did something for you,” he replied though he really did want you to touch him. But he could wait if he had to.

“I want to.”

He didn’t question you further. Instead, he guided you through the process of getting him off with your hand. You were a fast learner, though the act itself wasn’t that hard to get the hang of. He found it funny the way you gasped at the size of him. Merlin, you were so innocent. Either way, you made him feel extraordinary. Your hand was much softer than his, and warmer too. You touched him gently, almost teasingly. But that changed fast.

“Can I try something else?” You asked, your hand stopped.

He almost groaned from the lack of motion. “What?”

“Um, can I try using my um...” You pointed to your lips.

“Your mouth?”

“Yeah.”

How could he ever refuse?

It was sloppy, it was rushed, but it was everything he could’ve wanted. As he laid back on the pillows, one of his hands moved through your soft hair. He didn’t dare push you. No. He only stroked your hair gently and whispered praises. He knew you liked it from the way you hummed on his cock each time he told you how good you were doing or how good you made him feel. And when you looked up at him with those eyes, those damn innocent eyes, he could barely contain himself.

He was shocked you even did it to begin with, but he was even more shocked when you let him finish in your mouth. You had him halfway down your throat when he came, and you didn’t pull away for a second. You swallowed it all. Somehow, he became even more attracted to you than he had been before.

“Was it good?” You questioned after you pulled back. You were kneeling beside his legs, a nervous expression on your face.

He smiled. “You were amazing. Are you sure you haven’t done that before?”

“Never even saw one in real life before this,” you replied with a laugh.

“That’s hard to believe,” he said. He sat up and pressed a kiss to your lips before pulling back slightly to look into your eyes. “Do you want to try one more thing?”

“Depends on what thing.”

“I’ll do what you just did to me but on you,” he answered, loving the way your eyes widened at his words. Despite everything that happened already, you were still so innocent. He adored it.

“Oh yeah okay,” you spoke after a moment.

He kissed you again. “Lay down.”

You did as he said and soon it began.

He started by kissing your lips while his hands pulled your skirt and panties off, leaving you only in a bra. Once those were off, he kissed down your neck, and your chest, only pausing for a second to unclip your bra and take one of your nipples in his mouth. You moaned, he stayed there for a few extra seconds. He then moved his mouth further down your body, relishing the sounds you made each time his lips made contact with your skin.

When he started to kiss up one of your thighs, you twitched. You were so sensitive, so untouched. He was obsessed with it. Every few kisses he sucked your skin to leave dark purple hickeys. He had made sure not to leave any on your skin that would be visible to the world so that no one would see the evidence of your sinful acts. But the skin that would be covered by clothing, that was his to mark.

A few minutes of this went by, and it was all on purpose. Remus could tell how eager you were for him to get on with it, but you were far too shy to tell him to do so. So, he didn’t dare touch you where you so desperately wanted him to. He wanted to hear you ask. But you said nothing, so he decided you needed a little push. He gave you one single lick then returned to your black and blue thighs.

“Remus,” you whispered. “Please.”

He looked up at you and almost felt bad. Your desperate eyes were already looking at him, he could tell how much you needed it. He didn’t wait any longer and gave you what you needed; you certainly earned it.

In all his experience with sex and everything surrounding it, Remus enjoyed pleasing his partner as anyone did. He didn’t mind going down on women, in fact, he sort of enjoyed it. At least until you. With you, he quickly realized having his head between your thighs and his tongue on your clit was not just alright, it was heavenly. He never enjoyed the taste of a girl like he enjoyed yours. You were sweet and the sounds you made as he played with you were their own type of reward.

So, it was no surprise how quickly you came undone on his tongue. He devoured you like he had been starving his whole life. Truthfully, he felt as if he had. You were spectacular. You were perfection. You were his. He was crazy about you.

After you finished, he wiped his mouth on one of your thighs before moving to lie on the bed next to you. He laid on his side facing you, his eyes examining your face. Your eyes were closed, and your cheeks were pink. Your hair was messy, and your lips were ever so slightly lifted into a smile. He swore he never saw anyone as beautiful in his life.

“I feel stupid,” you mumbled.

“Why?”

You opened your eyes and looked at him, your smile then undeniable. “I should’ve taken you up on your offer sooner. Now I understand why everyone’s so mad about this stuff, it’s unbelievable.”

“You don’t regret it then?” He asked.

“How could I? You’re just... Remus I...” You turned to your side to face him fully, one of your hands pressed against his chest. “I think we should do this again if you’d want to of course.”

He grinned and let a hand fall to your waist, he pulled you closer, so your bodies touched. He rested his chin on the top of your head, and you buried your face in his neck. For a moment he felt almost victorious, he had gotten you right where he wanted you to be. It would only be a matter of time before you let him take you fully. But then he realized, it wasn’t about taking your virginity so much anymore. He just wanted you.

“I wouldn’t want anything more,” he eventually said, then he pressed a kiss to your forehead, while the cold feeling of your ring on his chest lingered in the back of his mind.

Soon, it would be his. And so would you.

2K notes · View notes

barblaz-arts · 6 months ago

Note

Hi! :) Back when viv was still developing hazbin and making speed draws, she would often draw art of vaggie with these unique eyes surrounding and staring at her, and the art would display vaggie feeling annoyed or uneasy. I find it still very interesting and was wondering if these were eyes that represented all the demons she killed and her guilt? or had to do with something else entirely. We’re still not completely sure if these are still present in current hazbin rn but I was curious on what your take, theories and over all thoughts are on it! Love your comics and AUs on Chaggie sm and can’t wait to see more!

Oh yeah that! I always did find that pretty neat when it came to her earlier arts. Even more interesting, is that this concept was carried over even in one of her trading cards.

I think the eyes are meant to represent a lot of things tbh, especially since eyes in the show had been associated with both Heaven and Hell.

Let's look at Hell's side first.

Your interpretation about the eyes being the demons she killed I think is one of the things it's supposed to mean. I don't know the source, so I dont consider this info canon, but I found out somewhere that the eyes that can be seen all over Hell is supposed to be what remains of the demons the Exorcists have killed. Like being cleansed by angelic steel can't completely erase them but simply make them part of Hell, if no longer sentient.

I have my doubts though, because in the intro backstory, the eyes seem to have already been in Hell before the Exterminations began.

And in the intro, the eyes showed up specifically after Charlie talked about Sin worming its way to humanity because of what Lilith and Lucifer convinced Eve to do. If this timing is in any way relevant, the eyes could be related to Roo aka The Root of Evil instead.

I'm not sure if other characters were drawn with these disembodied eyes as much as Vaggie has been. But at the very least, I think Vaggie's the one drawn the most often with them.

Anyways, considering all this, the more obvious and plausible answer could be that the eyes was just Vivzie's way of foreshadowing her guilt over Exterminating demons. But if Vaggie can be allowed to be more involved with the biggest bad of the show in a more direct way than just her close proximity with the main protag, then maybe it's even meant to foreshadow even more than we already know. I don't have a lot of hope for this tbh. It's not like Vaggie was a very important angel. Exorcists gave me the impression that they could be pretty low in Heaven's hierarchy. So like, idk why this could foreshadow a connection with Roo, but it is a super interesting thought to entertain lol

Now on Heaven's side though, the eyes could also just be for a touch of tragic irony I guess. Angels in the old testament looked a lot closer to this...

... Lotsa eyes and shit. And that's why the seraphs like Lucifer, Sera, and Emily could manifest multiple extra eyes in their "true forms".

But Vaggie was stripped away of everything that physically made her an angel. Lute took away her wings, halo, and even one of her goddamned eyes. Ain't it ironic that she has only one eye when the most powerful angels have been shown with a whole dang lot? Seems to me like it was another cruel way of Lute's to show that Vaggie "has no place in Heaven". And the eyes haunting Vaggie could be a manifestation of her thoughts of it being true.

So to tie this all together(except for the Roo thing), you're right. It could be the guilt over what she did to Hell's denizens. But it could also be an ironic, symbolic reminder that she was an exile of Heaven.

#asks #hazbin hotel

236 notes · View notes

merrybloomwrites · 7 months ago

Text

It's Just a Game, But Really

Summary: When your brother starts dating Taylor Swift, you figure your wild dreams of dating Harry Styles are now definitely crushed. But some meddling from Jason, Travis, and Taylor may make some dreams come true after all.

Word Count: 3K

AN: This idea randomly popped into my head months ago and I couldn't get it out until I fully wrote it. I feel like this falls into the category of "Crack treated seriously" lol

Also, I understand this is niche, but as an Eagles fan (pls don't come for me) I've watched the entire Travis/Taylor relationship unfold and just thought this would be silly. Writing Jason and Travis was pretty fun too since I've been listening to their podcast for years and it was a cool challenge to write in their voices

Finally, I took creative liberty here and while I normally try to keep details as close to reality as possible, I've changed some things. So the Packers vs Eagles game that happened in Brazil now takes place in philly, and the Chiefs game on Christmas is now against Baltimore so it would be plausible to have the dinner scene in PA. None of this actually matters, this is fiction lol

Title from "So High School" by Taylor Swift

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Growing up with two athletic brothers had been quite an experience. Hundreds of hours were spent at sporting events, often bundled up to watch them play ice hockey or attend the late season football games. In your family, it was important that everyone supported each other.

It went the other way as well. Your brothers attended every spring concert, theater performance, and dance recital you were in. They were your biggest fans, always cheering you on and bringing flowers to give you.

They also took time to learn about your interests. Instead of getting annoyed when Taylor Swift’s music would play through the house, they started listening.

Especially Travis.

He liked the music, and thought she seemed pretty cool. He didn’t admit it, but you guessed that maybe he had a bit of a celebrity crush on her.

Life continued to change as your brothers left for college, then moved to different cities when they got signed to two different NFL teams. You missed them, but it was great seeing them succeed.

Jason and Travis still made time for family, even when Jason got married and started a family of his own. You and Kylie became friends right away, and you immediately loved having another girl in the family. You couldn’t wait for it to be Travis’s turn to find someone. But preferably not through his dating show.

When Taylor Swift announced her Eras Tour, you desperately wanted to go. So you were highly disappointed when you weren’t able to get tickets.

And then Travis surprised you with tickets to her show in Kansas City. By this point you had moved in with Jason and Kylie near Philly, but Travis assured you that he’d take care of all the travel logistics to get you to the concert.

You flew in the night before, getting to spend the day with your brother before heading to the stadium. It was weird to be there for a concert, having attended numerous games there before. It was cool to see how it was transformed into something almost unrecognizable.

Being there with Travis meant getting to be seated with a great view in a cordoned off section. It also meant Chiefs fans coming close to the barrier to talk to him before the show. Watching your brother trade friendship bracelets with these people was a strange moment, one you never would have imagined happening.

Through all that, there was one bracelet he had that you noticed he wouldn’t trade. Taking a closer glance you see what’s written on it and give him a confused look.

“Travis, what in the world is this?” you ask.

“Friendship bracelet,” he answers simply, dodging your true question.

“Obviously. But why is your number on here? Who is this for?”

He laughs nervously but before you can press it further another fan comes up to say hi. You can’t help but wonder what his plan is for that bracelet, even though you have a pretty good idea who its intended recipient is.

The concert begins and you have a wonderful time, dancing and singing along, Travis just as excited beside you. As it ends, Travis speaks with one of the staff members, looking slightly disappointed but not too bothered. Once again you’re left wondering what that was all about.

It’s a couple weeks later and you’re listening to the latest episode of Travis and Jason’s podcast when they bring up Travis attending the concert. Sure enough, he confirms he was trying to get that bracelet with his number to Taylor, and you have to commend him on his creativity and optimism.

What you don’t expect is for Taylor to find out about that and get in touch with Travis. Now a year later, your brother is in a happy, committed relationship with Taylor Swift. She’s come to family dinners, you’ve been next to her during Chiefs games, and she’s made it so you could come to a number of concerts on her tour. You cannot believe that this has become your life. And you have to give your brother credit for his powers of manifestation.

One afternoon you’re hanging in the living room while Jason records the podcast in the basement. He calls out for you and you go down to see what’s going on.

He hands you a set of headphones so you can hear Travis as well, and fills you in on the topic.

“So,” Jason begins. “Fans are starting to give you credit for Travis and Taylor getting together. Do you think that’s fair to say?”

You laugh for a moment that this is why you’re called to speak on what should be a sports podcast, before answering, “I think that’s fair. I mean, he did the work but I would say my childhood Swiftie obsession planted the seed.”

Travis replies, “You don’t think I would have found out about her on my own?”

“Oh you totally would have. But I got the ball rolling ages ago. Timing is everything, what if you’d been too late?”

“Alright, I’ll give you that. We can say you had a hand in this.”

“So that means you owe me,” you say.

Jason chimes in, “Yea Trav, your turn to manifest for Y/N.”

“You want me to manifest a boyfriend for our little sister?” Travis questions.

“Oh, right, wait, don’t actually do that. I forgot, Y/N’s not allowed to date until she’s forty,” Jason says, leading you to roll your eyes at his overprotectiveness.

“Ok, but if I were to try, who would it be? Y/N, who’s your celebrity crush?” Travis asks.

There’s no way you’re answering that on camera, especially with who the answer actually is. You clench your teeth and lift your eyebrows before cheekily saying, “Oh, no, I cannot answer that on the pod. That’s uhm. That’d be messy.” You then shrug and laugh, trying to play all of this off as a bit.

While Travis tries to dig and get you to answer, it clicks for Jason and he says, “Wait, I think I know who it is. Is it, uhm-”

“Don’t you dare say anything!” you exclaim to shut him up.

“Alright, alright. I won’t spill your secrets.”

“Well at least tell it to me later,” Travis says, to which you reply, “Absolutely not. I’m afraid you may actually try to meddle.”

“Who, me? No way,” he replies only to be met with an unimpressed look from you.

The boys drop the subject and you head back upstairs as they finally talk about football again.

You assume that they’ve moved on, and you’re happy when they don’t bring up your celebrity crush again.

You’re even happier when Jason tells you he’s taking you to the season opener Eagles vs Packers game in Philly. You’re super excited to be able to experience an Eagles game alongside your brother. You’re also glad you can be there for him in case it’s hard for him to watch them play without him for the first time since his retirement.

What you’re unaware of is the plan that Jason and Travis had made behind your back.

“So now you’re on board with trying to set up our little sister?” Jason had questioned during a phone call a couple weeks prior.

“Yes. And I have a way of making it happen,” Travis had answered.

“And you want me to help Y/N meet and potentially date a popstar who happens to be your girlfriend's ex-boyfriend?”

“Yes.”

“And he’s a Packers fan?”

“Yea, that is the unfortunate part. And you’re not really helping them date. That’s all on them. But you could at least help her meet him at the game.”

“This is ridiculous,” Jason says. “But I’ll do it.”

And that’s how you find yourself walking through the tunnels of the Linc with Jason before the start of the game and bumping into Harry Styles.

“Hello, I’m Harry,” he says cheerfully, holding a hand out for you to shake.

Mustering up all of your chill, you smile in return while reaching out to clasp his hand and say, “I’m Y/N. It’s so nice to meet you, I’m a big fan.”

“Well, thank you for your support,” he says.

“You kids want a picture?” There are few times you want to kill your brother, but him butting in while you’re talking to Harry Styles is definitely one of them.

“That’s alright,” you say, trying not to impose on Harry too much. So you’re surprised when Harry says, “Of course, let’s get a photo!”

You stand next to him, and his arm wraps around your shoulder and you hope your expression doesn’t show how crazy fast your heart is beating while Jason takes the picture.

“It was so nice meeting you both, I’ll see you around!” Harry says as he walks away.

Before Jason can begin to tease you, you say, “Don’t even say a word.”

He listens to you and instead just laughs as you keep walking.

After some quick hellos to the stadium staff, you’re led up to a box.

“I thought we just had seats today?” You question.

“We did. But when I was talking to Mark he said we got upgraded.”

When you step into the box you’re once again surprised by the presence of Harry Styles.

“Okay, we are definitely in the wrong place,” you murmur to your brother.

“Oh good, you guys found us!” Harry says. You look to see who he’s talking to and get shocked to see it’s you and Jason. “There were some open spots so I asked if you two could join us,” he explains.

“Wow, thank you!” You manage to squeak out.

Suddenly you’re realizing what is about to happen. A four minute encounter in the hallway? Easy. An entire three hour football game? There’s no way you make it through without embarrassing yourself.

And yet, halftime comes and you’ve so far managed not to make a fool of yourself. In fact, you’re even impressed by your witty banter as the Eagles and Packers go back and forth taking the lead.

“So, I read about these botanical gardens nearby,” Harry says.

“Longwood?” You ask.

“Yea, have you ever been?”

“A couple times. I went with Jason, Kylie, and the kids earlier this summer. They’re really nice. If you’re thinking about going, I highly recommend.”

“I actually got a couple tickets for the fountain show tomorrow night. I was wondering if you’d like to go with me.”

Quickly processing that Harry is asking you to hang out with him, possibly go on a date with him, you reply, “I’d love to!”

“Fantastic! I can pick you up in the afternoon?”

“Sounds good to me, thank you.”

You exchange phone numbers and give Harry your address, still in disbelief that all of this is actually happening.

The game resumes, and as the Eagles make their comeback you can’t help but cheer and get wrapped up in the game. And even as Harry’s team starts losing, he still stays happy and continues to joke around with you.

When the game ends and the Eagles fans celebrate, you say to Harry, “I hope this doesn’t affect us hanging out tomorrow.”

“Not a chance, in fact I think that will cheer me up,” he says with a smile.

“Hey Y/N, I’ve gotta go talk to a couple people. You hanging here or coming with me?” Of course, there’s your brother interrupting again. And while you’d rather stay with Harry, you don't really want to be separated from Jason in the post-game chaos. So you say goodbye to Harry with the promise to see him the next day.

On your way back home you put up with the teasing from your brother.

You beg him to be on his best behavior when Harry picks you up the next day.

You know he won’t.

So it’s no surprise that he gives Harry “the talk”, telling him that if he hurts you at all then he’ll have to face two NFL players.

You’re hanging in the living room with Kylie and the kids while this happens, and when the two boys come back Kylie asks,”He wasn’t too scary, was he?”

“No,” Harry replies. “Just scary enough I’d say. Shall we get going?” He addresses this last question to you and you agree, more than happy to get out of the house before Jason takes his big brother role too seriously.

When Harry drives away he lets out a deep breath and you say, “You good?”

“Yea, just- Your brother is scary.”

You start to laugh at the fact that Jason managed to actually shake up Harry Styles. But you decide to help him out by saying, “He seems scary, but it’s mostly all talk. Unless you do something to hurt me. Then you should be scared.”

“Oh I feel so much better,” he says, laughing along now.

The two of you have a wonderful time together at the gardens, especially since Harry manages to somehow fly under the radar. The fountain show is fascinating, and you stand together, Harry’s arm around your waist sending butterflies through your belly.

It’s late when you get home, and he walks you to the door like a gentleman.

When he asks if he can kiss you, of course you say yes. He leans in for a soft kiss before saying goodnight, not leaving until you’ve made it safely inside.

Jason is waiting up for you, and as you tell him about your night you watch his gruff exterior fade away. He looks truly pleased by all you have to report and you’re glad that he seems to approve of Harry.

For the next couple of months, it all goes well. Your relationship with Harry flourishes. You get to see him more than expected since he starts working out of a studio in NYC, only two hours away from where you are.

There is one mild bump in the road, occurring on a Friday evening when Jason and Kylie are supposed to be out at a party with the girls.

You’d been planning on a quiet night home alone. But then Harry had surprised you by showing up at your front door, a bouquet of flowers in hand.

One thing led to another, and before you know it you’re both on the couch. You’re straddling his lap, his hands sliding under your shirt as the two of you make out.

As much as Harry had surprised you, Jason surprises you even more by suddenly coming home and walking right into the living room.

Harry notices him first, and in an effort to save this interaction he pushes you off of him, luckily managing to shift you to the open spot next to him on the couch.

There’s a moment of oppressively awkward silence as Jason stares at the two of you, speechless. Without saying a word he walks to the mud room and grabs the diaper bag that had clearly been left behind earlier.

As he passes through the room to leave he says, “You are adults. Just- don’t be stupid. There are enough kids in this house already.”

Without waiting for a reply he leaves the house. After another moment you and Harry break into nervous laughter.

The mood is pretty much ruined but you still have a nice night watching a movie together. Harry stays with you but has to leave at lunchtime the next day.

That afternoon Jason knocks on your bedroom door, asking if he can talk for a minute.

“Sure, what’s up?” You say, not expecting the conversation that follows.

“I just wanted to ask how things are going between you and Harry,” he says.

“Oh! Good! Yea, things are going well. I really like him,” you answer.

“And you’re being safe?”

“Oh my god, Jason! We are not having this conversation,” you say as your cheeks warm at the implication.

“Well you’re living in my house, I just, you know. I feel responsible for your well being.”

“I’m safe. Very safe. You don’t have to worry.” You hope your words will convince him to drop the topic.

“And you trust him? Cause I mean, he’s a big time Popstar. Bet he’s broken a fair number of hearts before.”

You find yourself needing to defend Harry and ask, “Have you had this conversation with Travis about Taylor?”

“Fair point,” he concedes. “I just don’t want you getting hurt. You’re sure about him?”

“I am.”

“Okay then. That’s what matters. I’m only looking out for you.”

“I know. But Harry and I are happy. I promise.”

With that smoothed over, the next few weeks continue drama free.

And then comes Christmas.

Due to scheduling, Harry had yet to meet Travis. You’ve talked to your brother about him, and you know Travis has talked about all of this with Taylor. So while you’ve been told that it’s no big deal that your boyfriend and your brother’s girlfriend are exes, you’re still a bit nervous for Christmas dinner.

It’s a late meal, since you have to wait for Travis to get there after the Chiefs vs Ravens game, and you spend the afternoon entertaining your nieces and helping prepare the food.

Finally Travis and Taylor arrive, and for a moment you can’t help but feel self conscious. The room is full of NFL players and international pop stars. You excuse yourself to the kitchen for a moment to collect yourself. When you walk back to the living room, Harry greets you with the biggest smile, and those feelings of self doubt melt away. Because those big accomplishments and accolades aren’t what matter to him. What he cares about is how kind you are, how fun and loving you are. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, pressing a kiss to your head and you blush knowing your whole family is watching.

But looking up at them you see nothing but support. Your mom is practically glowing seeing all her children with their significant others, and quickly organizes a family picture.

It takes some time to get all three of the little girls to cooperate, and by the time the photo is taken, dinner is ready.

There is something surreal at seeing Harry and Taylor pass the potatoes or bread basket, never having imagined this is how your life would turn out.

But that night, as you all agree to break the internet by posting the family picture, you know you wouldn’t want it any other way.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

AN: I wrote the first half of this as the Eagles lost to the Commanders, thus breaking a 10 game win streak soooo that was a bummer.

I wrote the ending after watching the Eagles beat the Cowboys, so at least that turned back around!

I think this may be the silliest thing I’ve ever written.

#harry styles x reader #travis kelce x sister!reader #jason kelce x sister!reader

144 notes · View notes