#readers. readers. i need you to understand

[wrotebymii]

MAYBE ITS ME? … | Date Everything x gn!reader

Summary: After leaving your house because you can’t handle being hated in your very own home, Sam talks with you while your house becomes quiet…

Warning: minimal angst, honestly it’s a little fluffy with you and Sam. The objects are miserable now. There will be a part three and four!!

PART ONE | MASTERLIST | READ ME

Sam has been the most understanding friend what felt like your only friend she tries her hardest to bring you out of your slump and rationalize while simultaneously making fun of you as to why your relationships within your home have a burning hate for you.

She’s pointing fun yet logical, allowing you to rant about what you did and where you possibly went wrong with each. She sat across from you, leaned forward with her elbows on her knees in full concentration. You were sat back practically melting into the furniture that didn’t despise you, moving a hand around to exaggerate your speech with the other stuffing your face with food like you haven’t eaten in weeks. Lowkey, you haven’t.

“When I talked to Hoove, being nice and supportive while telling him not to work too hard—I thought I was being sweet ya’know—“ You stuff your face and swallow.

“—but apparently NOT?? He got angry with me, when I tried backtracking and apologize which crazy by the way he said he HATED ME?!” You shout, you can feel your face heat in anger at the thought before tears well up.

“Or how I tried to speak with Daisuke—“

“Who’s that one?”

“Oh my tableware, he’s like tall about yay-high with black hair a portion of it in a bun with like dishware themed robes…I heard from others in rhe kitchen that he’s into taking things seriously” You explain with a wave of the hand.

“I actually…heh I thought that we’d get along, he likes taking care of the dishes and even tries to fix them if they crack due to me but that’s not the point I too like fixing things, I want to fix things…but I guess unlike him or fake it till you make it like Tony…I just make it worse…”

“I…I just wanted to be friends or the I don’t know? Date? The whole reason of the damn glasses.” You mutter, you push the snacks away and use a napkin to clean yourself.

Dating them, any of them wasn’t the main goal. Sure it’s interesting but realizing the things around your home have their own lives in the house was so cool!

Being a hermit, a homebody it felt like a this was a way to help you as well, to get better with being social and maybe let you learn that the outside wasn’t so scary and not everything was out to get you.

But, you messed it up—perhaps you tried too hard, pushed too much, didn’t push enough, didn’t flirt when needed to, too flirty for some, or didn’t have enough specs for the correct dialogue and it came out lame. Now, you’re both miserable in the house and out of it.

Sam was trying, really was. As you spoke she’d occasionally glance around her apartment as if the ranting was making her paranoid about her house. Sighing she runs her hand down her face. She should’ve said something about the weird black stuff in that bathroom, maybe it was the fumes getting to you, but she shook her head.

“What else happened?…”

“The breaking point?”

“Yeah, what made you take off the glasses?”She asks, you groan, slumping back and wiping away a few stray tears as you remembered.

“I was going to the Breaker Box Club, ‘cause Eddie and Volt were still nice-ish from our previous conversations—I hadn’t talked to them in a bit by then cause I was trying to salvage whatever was going on between Harper the hamper and Dirk dirty clothes. I wanted to catch up and help Eddie with some of his work like last time.” You shift in your seat uncomfortably.

“When I entered it was packed, I was happy for them that their business was getting bigger but I knew it was gonna be a lot to take on so I went to find one of them to offer help…”

“…you try and help a lot…”

“I do, it’s…the only thing I can give to them—“ you stop yourself, continuing the story of the night prior.

“But, I knew I wasn’t welcomed. Everyone avoided me, whispering around like I was back in school. Again, Volt saw me. I remember waving at him as he walked over way too quickly. We talked as he pushed me along the way I came from, when I noticed I was confused and…worried I lost another person again…” You take in a deep breath.

“I did…the gossip around the club didn’t go unnoticed by the owners he wanted to get rid of me so it didn’t disturb the customers. I tried talking to him saying that I wasn’t a bad…person…” You don’t sound convinced yourself by that statement.

“He wasn’t having it, his…skin almost turned this light blue? His hand gripped my arm to drag my away from the prying eyes, it hurt…not to make him anymore mad I let him, throw me out…” Voice trailing off, Sam looks stunned, like this was the most juiciest soap opera ever.

“You got kicked out of your own break box—“

“YES, I GOT KICK OUT” you yelled but not at Sam, yelling at the absurd thought of being thrown out of your own break box.

“Crazy…” She elongates the ‘zy’ in the word, unsure how to handle the rest of this.

“Do you think there’s a way to start over with them? All of them I mean?”

The sun was setting, making the silence seem light and comforting. You’re tired, and don’t know where to tread next, so many ideas run in your mind that you—wait…

There might be a very dubious way to get your life back to normal. The thought felt terrible, too personal and guilty, but you don’t seem to have any other option. At least not right now. So, you’ll pin the idea with Keith in the back of your mind. And let it fester or wilt as you and Sam brainstorm together.

Back at the house.

The ones that cheered for your leave are quiet, basking in the dullness of the house. Sure they can talk to one another but…that’s uneventful. The house is missing apart of itself the part of you. The human part. The fragile, unpredictable, unproductive, and lonely ways of you has gone missed.

But everyone refuses to say it out loud. They’re all still bitter and angry with how you treated them—wait…why exactly are they all mad? Some can’t remember but feel justified, although, looking back they just remember you trying. No.

No. You hurt them. They think…

…

…

Okay—well they aren’t sure…not anymore.

The lights are off because there’s no need to see, the sinks and baths don’t run because there’s no one to draw it for, the wall creaks and settles sadly, coffee pot remains unused along with the beauty products, television, books, sofa, stove—all of it. All of them are…completely bored?

Maybe, making your life inconvenienced and almost down right harassed in your day to day life after you stopped interacting with them wasn’t the right way to express their anger. A day turned to four then a week then two weeks.

Dorian can feel the worry in every room about when you’ll return, he huffs. Bedroom Dorian stands still, looking up at the ceiling then down to the floor, watching Florence quickly scramble around her time book with all the new complaints and meetings for Celia.

He reluctantly…steps forward. Away from his position to stand right in front of the poor woman. He rather be doing his job, the thing he thinks so highly of. However, he too is miserable more miserable than laundry room closet Dorian because what is his purpose now that the one who he open and closes for…is gone?

But he’s convinced himself that speaking with Celia will help.

Or so he hopes.

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[coolwyous]

┈─★ 𝘪'𝘥 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝙥𝙤𝙞𝙣𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙬 . / pt ii.

   ⊹ ࣪ ˖ you and sophia mutually decided to be just friends, which is totally fine, and there aren’t at all any lingering feelings! (and truly, it’s really none of your best friend's business if you and your team-captain-turned-situationship are secretly still in love with each other, but certified girlfailure megan skiendiel feels like it’s her duty to do something about it.)

            ˎˊ˗  🌌  ⊹ ࣪ ˖  ୭˚.  ⠀ ᵎᵎ ⠀ 🗝️

   ➴ pairing: volleyball captain!sophia laforteza x f!volleyball player!reader.

         ➴ genre + wc: 8k, slow burn, angst and fluff, LOTS of mutual pining, ice queen sophia but she's a lil softer this time, reader is STILL a big dork.

   ➴ you might want to tune in...: pov - ariana grande. ♫ + understand - keshi. ♫

            ┈─★ a/n: the promised sequel <3 luv luv luved wriitng for my fav leader. hope u enjoy!! ps. vball!megan's fic next!!

end of winter in malibu is undeniably gorgeous. considering you moved here at the very end of summer, getting a chance to see it in the cooler temperatures was a beautiful experience. but with january comes spring, and with spring comes rebirth, and you can’t help but feel like a new semester is exactly what you need.

you’re in the passenger’s seat as megan drives down the highway towards the airport. you can both feel the anticipation. you’re on a mission— the two of you are about to be someone’s personal taxi, and the car buzzes with the excitement of welcoming her home.

you peek at the girl. megan is one of the best things that had come out of your transfer to msu, quickly becoming one of your favorite friends as you took her under your wing. she makes a face like she’s thinking too hard, and you immediately jump in to see what’s on her mind.

“hey,” you poke her arm gently.

“hi,” she says back, her eyebrows furrowed.

“what’s up?” you ask, sensing something off with her.

megan blinks once, letting out a quiet sigh. “y/n, i’m really sorry for last semester.”

you pause. megan has apologized before, for the way things played out, for the things she mentioned (or left out) but you can tell it still gnaws at her. 

“nothing to apologize for,” you reassure her, reaching out to pat her arm. you look ahead at the beautiful sunset on the edge of the road as the airport gets closer and closer. “i’m grateful you were honest with me. saved me a lot of heartbreak.”

“i feel like i ruined things,” megan breathes, biting her lip, her eyes fixed on the road.

“never. our friendship is better than ever.” you nod confidently. “both you and me, and me and sophia.”

her name finally comes out of your mouth, and it feels like the sun rises. your skin warms.

“i’m sorry again,” megan sighs. “me and my stupid big mouth...”

“stop it,” you press, shaking your head. “we love you, megan.”

you see the compliment lighten the weight on her shoulders. her eyes light up cheerfully. “you really do love me? is that why you keep looking out for me? wow. i never connected the dots.”

“you’re ridiculous,” you laugh. “you know the world is a better place with you in it.”

she beams back at you as you guys pull into the parking lot of the airport. cars honk around you, people reconnecting with their loved ones, tired bodies all getting into their cars. 

as if your eyes are magnets to her, you spot the purple suitcase and the black baseball cap pulled down over her eyes. you’d recognize her amongst a million people if you had to, you know that with certainty.  

“mommy’s home!” megan chirps excitedly. you laugh and shake your head as she leaps out of the car and  sprints ahead, nearly getting hit by the incoming traffic, body buzzing at the sight of her captain.

you cross and follow quickly behind megan, who is already vibrating with excitement as she leaps into sophia’s arms. sophia lets out a grunt and drops her bag onto the ground, freeing up her hands to catch the oversized girl in her arms. you shriek with laughter at the sight, megan wrapped around sophia’s torso like a little kid, watching as sophia nearly topples over but manages to keep them both up.

her skin is more tanned, kissed by the sun no doubt, her eyes less tired than you remembered them being. after your team won their championship, you and the girls all pitched in to surprise your devoted captain with a flight back home for winter break for all her hard work the whole season. 

megan lets go of sophia and grabs her suitcase from her, racing to go lead you all to the car and get you guys back to campus.

you and sophia stand face to face. something deeply warm comes over you as you both pause to take each other in, as if you weren’t facetiming every night, as if she wasn’t texting you updates of everything as it went on around her. sure, you and sophia were never more than a few hours without talking, but now she’s here, in the flesh, and that’s something your body is still clearly adjusting to.

“how was it being back?” you ask.

“perfect,” sophia smiles gently. “my mom couldn’t stop crying every time she looked at me. i am grateful to be here, though.”

“five weeks is a little long to run away for, don’t you think?” you tease her, pushing her in the arm playfully.

“too long, agreed,” she nods back, before quickly flashing you her teeth. “you’ll have to come with me next time.”

you feel your heart thud in your chest. you nearly scream at yourself, don’t start, as if you have any control over it. this is just how sophia is— she seems moody, she seems intense, but she’s actually a huge sweetheart, super considerate, super charming, super witty, with super pretty sad eyes and super soft lips…

you blink again, trying to re-focus on the conversation at hand. megan is throwing the suitcase in the trunk and eagerly beckoning for you guys to get in so you can start the drive back to campus and see the rest of the girls.

“everyone’s still in one piece,” you pivot quickly, eager to shift the conversation.

“how many times did megan almost die?” sophia arches a brow, sliding into the backseat.

“nine,” you tattle on her instantly. 

“not even!” megan whines as she turns on the radio, starting the drive. she rattles them off, counting on her fingers. “there was the snorkeling incident, the food poisoning incident, the bus incident…” 

you lean in as megan continues her rambles, whispering quietly to the brunette. “missed ya. i think things will run a little smoother now that you’re back.”

“missed you too.” sophia smiles softly, her eyes searching your face. “a lot.”

“...and the second snorkeling incident. that’s only eight!”

you pause and try to recollect whatever she had just listed that you’d missed. “actually, you forgot the superglue incident.”

“i don’t want to know about the superglue incident,” sophia groans, throwing her head back against the seat. 

“no, it wasn’t even my fault dude! manon dared me that i couldn’t squeeze a whole bottle of superglue out in less than a minute, which is so stupid ‘cause those tubes are so tiny, so we went to the dollar store and picked up a bunch to test it out, and then…”

you look over to smile at sophia, only to realize she’s already smiling at you. 

-

“dani almost got arrested, and now yoonchae’s starting to practice with the team so she’s ready for next year when she joins, so that means i’m not gonna be the youngest any more, and then there was manon and lara almost fighting over the same girl until they realized she was straight and just queerbaiting them…”

megan doesn’t even pause to take a breath. 

the girls all meet you in the parking lot of sophia’s dorm, cheering on their leader to welcome her back after so much time spent apart. sophia rolls her eyes at the grand gesture but makes it a point to hug each of them, clearly having missed her team. a handful of you guys cram into her dorm, megan and lara helping with her bags up the stairs, trying to squeeze the 7 of you in her tiny dorm room.

“sounds eventful,” sophia blinks, taking out her clothes from the suitcase.

the girl nods, sitting on sophia’s bed, before motioning over to you casually. “oh, and y/n also didn’t go on any dates.”

“megan!” you say her name sharply, as dani bursts into laughter behind you. 

“what?” the youngest blinks innocently. “it’s true! you were too busy keeping me in one piece.”

sophia grins, tilting her head over at you curiously. “is that so?”

“we’re not talking about it,” you shake your head, feeling your cheeks burn.

you’re about to call megan out for her putting you on the spot, but the girl gets that same look in her eye from earlier, like she’s about to say something, and beats you to it.

“can we all hang out here?” she asks eagerly. “please? i missed being one big happy family.”

sophia looks around at the 7 of you squished up in her room. “meg, sleep where exactly? the balcony? there’s only one bed.”

“we can all cuddle on the floor,” megan offers, her eyes lighting up.

as much as the idea of spending the night on the ground does not excite you, you know sophia is lowkey just a giant softie for her girls, and relents nearly instantly. less than 20 minutes later, all of you are making a giant blanket pile, surrounded by pillows and each other, crammed together like sardines. megan is happily in the middle of the mix, beaming brightly as sophia turns off the lights.

“good night everyone,” megan announces. “i love you all so much.”

manon throws a pillow from her side of the floor. “meg, girl, please shut up.”

you laugh and turn on your side, realizing somehow, you’ve ended up next to someone you have far too much experience sleeping next to. 

sophia’s eyes are already closed, facing you, her arm tucked underneath her head. she looks so precious and cozy, dozing off with quiet breaths escaping her perfect lips. you can feel the warmth radiating off her body, and if you wanted, you might even be able to touch her. but this isn’t a version of sophia that you should touch, and you have to remind yourself of that as you close your own eyes and try to drift off to sleep.

you’re not sure how much time has passed between the snores and the breaths, but amongst the silence, you hear a grumble.

“psst. anyone?”

you stifle a laugh. of course it’s megan.

you open your eyes only to realize sophia has an eye cracked open. you smile as you realize she looks absolutely over it. 

“your daughter won’t go to sleep,” she whispers, half-groaning, hoping the girl in question won’t hear you guys.

“she was yours first!” you argue back.

“she likes you better,” sophia grins.

“i’m hungry,” megan whines once more. “will one of you, ideally both, please feed me?”

you click your tongue. so much for not getting caught.

“rock paper scissors?” you offer, holding up your hand to sophia.

she wrinkles her nose and laughs. “you’re going to read my mind somehow and i’ll be the one stuck ordering way too much food on uber eats and she’ll somehow still end up hungry.”

“scared to lose, laforteza?” you stick your tongue out at her challengingly.

sophia smiles, holding her fist up.

“not to you,” she says softly, and you two start your silly little competition to see who’ll be stuck feeding your teammate’s voracious appetite. 

-

and just like that, it’s like she never left. 

you and sophia do everything together. from the moment you wake up, your first text is to sophia, who is usually already up and ordering you both a coffee. you meet for class, walk across campus together, you text during your lecture about whatever stupid little things come up, you have meals together, meet up with the girls together. literally every waking moment is spent with sophia laforteza. 

it’s confusing, sure, but neither of you are willing to rock the boat by bringing up what happened. your kiss, the way it was so close to evolving into more, the secret sophia had kept from you. it was still a sore spot for you, but the fact that sophia is willing to gloss over it as if it had never happened in order for you guys to stay comfortable with each other feels like a blessing in disguise.

you and sophia’s friendship has a second chance to go uninterrupted, and you’re not about to risk that for any reason whatsoever. 

you’re at the gym with sophia when she steps away to go refill your water bottle for you. you insist it’s not necessary, but by the third time you’ve sipped from sophia’s stanley, she’s making fun of you and snatching your bottle up to go fill it at the water station. 

you’re putting in your numbers into your fitness tracker when a figure interrupts, clearing their throat politely in front of you. you assume it’s someone wanting to use the equipment you’re on, and you look up ready to apologize, but your stomach drops as soon as your eyes land on the person waiting.

“marquise, hi,” you breathe.

she smiles kindly, almost too kindly to be real. “hi y/n.”

your skin crawls at the idea of them together, made-up scenes flashing in your head. of course you know what marquise looks like. you had gone crazy while sophia was gone over break and done some digging of your own. neither of them had any photos up together any more, and sophia didn’t follow marquise any more, but marquise still followed sophia, as well as most of your other teammates. 

“what are you doing here?” you ask, feeling your throat go dry.

“looking for sophia,” she answers. her voice is soft, gentle, almost too perfect. you see exactly why her and sophia would make sense together. she peeks around. “have you seen her?”

as if on cue, you hear that familiar voice behind you, coming to your rescue.

“marquise, i asked you to wait until y/n and i were done hanging out,” sophia grits.

“okay, that was my mistake. i didn’t realize you guys were still together,” the girl holds her hands up innocently, and you can tell she’s sincere in her apology. she never once gives you a dirty look. “you texted me that like two hours ago, i just assumed, i’m sorry soph. i’ll wait somewhere else.”

you get an overwhelming sense of dread, not wanting to cause further issues, you figure it’s a better option to just bite the bullet and excuse yourself. 

“it’s totally fine, you must be super tired, marquise.” you grab your gym bag and nod at the captain. “soph, i’ll see you.”

she stares at you, and you nod back reassuringly. the exchange makes her shoulders soften ever so slightly, but she still looks at her ex with extreme apprehension. you wave to marquise awkwardly, eager to get out of there, and escape to your dorm, praying whatever conversation these two have leads to some kind of decent outcome. 

(plus, what’s the worst that could happen? they decide to give things another try and end up falling in love all over again in front of your very eyes?)

you take a long, hot shower as soon as you get home, falling back onto your bed in exhaustion. you debate calling up one of the girls to hang out, but you decide to bear through this on your own, opening up tik tok to distract you.

luckily, your plan works, because a mere hour later, you’re getting an incoming facetime call from captain crunch ☀️.

“hey,” you greet, instantly seeing the distress written all over her face. you feel your heart drop in concern. “sophia, how’d it go? are you okay?”

“can i come over?” she asks instantly, her voice hard. 

you let out an aching breath, realizing her pain. “soph, you don’t even have to ask.”

there’s a pause, her breathing heavy, before she hangs up. she’s at your door less than 10 minutes later, racing immediately to your bed and pulling her knees to her chest. you know it’s stupid, but you immediately rush to wrap her in a hug. she tenses, but quickly melts into you, hugging you back with her fingers gripping your hoodie.

“she apologized. for everything.” she finally says after a beat. her voice is neutral, like she’s reading something out of a book. “said traveling made her reflect.”

“i mean, i get it,” you shrug, feeling her grip you even tighter, her chin in your shoulder. you rub a soothing circle into her back. “you broke up with her over text. she expected to come home and fix things and you shut that down.”

“you’re such an empath,” sophia laughs, and the sound rumbles through her chest as she sniffles. 

you smile, squeezing her gently. “you are too.” 

sophia pauses, and you can tell she’s debating sharing something. before you can beg her to not leave you in the dark, she surprises you.

“she wanted to get back together,” she says, keeping her face hidden in your shoulder. “to try.”

“oh.” you feel a lump form in your throat. your worst fear feels like it’s facing you in the eyes, but this isn’t about you, this is about being there for your best friend. “what’d you say?”

she takes a deep breath, her nose poking into your neck. the brief touch of her skin against yours makes your chest thud. 

“things ended for a reason,” she says curtly. “no need to try again.”

you feel yourself let out a breath of relief. 

“short, simple, to the point. so efficient, soph,” you tease.

you feel her smile against your shoulder, and she pulls away. she looks lighter now, the distress melting from her features. you smile back at her, looking down at your phone for the time.

“soph, should we get something to eat?” you ask.

she wrinkles her nose, tilting her head to sniff herself. “i need to shower first. she caught us post-cardio.”

you nod.

“i’ll wait for you.”

sophia looks at you, her eyes shifting with something familiar in them, and her lips part to say something. you wait, curious as to what she has left to say, but nothing comes out. she stands there, frozen, as if something is stuck in the back of her throat. you feel your heart break, hoping you can relieve her of some of the weight she carries on those shoulders of hers.

“shower here,” you reassure her, standing up and sliding your shoes on. “i’ll go get the girls. we’ll meet you at the dining hall?”

“the girls,” she echoes, smiling down at the floor. you wonder if she’s got something else to add. forever gracious, forever composed, she nods. “group dinner, yeah, that’s perfect. see you in a few, y/n.”

-

manon and lara meet you outside, and megan is quick to join. dani texts to say she’ll save you guys a table. 

“i feel like it’s driving me crazy. i haven’t been used to having sophia on campus again and now her ex is back too?” you groan, after telling the girls about your run-in with marquise.

“that’s gotta be the msu curse,” megan shakes her head.

“i hate when you drop lore that i should know about,” you groan, feeling your eyes go wide. “please tell me about this before i go insane.”

“it’s a stupid superstition,” manon laughs. 

“at msu, something horribly bad happens every year,” lara informs you.

megan holds up her fingers as if to count them. 

“two years ago, marquise broke her hip.”

she folds a finger down.

“last year, you guys got into your fight.”

then she points to herself.

“who knows what might happen this year?” her eyes go wide. “if you play volleyball for msu, he curse is alive and well, and ready to fuck you up.”

lara shoves her, laughing wildly. “shut up bro, you’re stressing y/n out. look at her face.”

“she deserves the warning!” megan huffs.

“okay, let’s be done talking about it, please,” you plead.

“gladly,” manon grins, wiggling her eyebrows. “y/n, the season being over means you have more free time.”

you wrinkle your nose at her. “what are you implying?”

“you could go on a date. people have been asking about you,” lara jumps in.

“not interested,” you immediately shake your head.

“you don’t even know who’s been asking about you!” lara cries.

“i don’t need to know.” you shake your head again. “not interested.”

you won’t admit it to yourself. there’s only one person worth focusing that on, and there’s no chance there.

before they can keep egging you on (or expose your lingering feelings) the familiar voice cuts in from behind you.

“what are we talking about?”

you let out a sigh of relief. sophia immediately comes up alongside you, and you smell the coconut and mango of her shampoo radiating off her freshly-washed hair. bare-faced, and skin still pink from the hot water, she still looks absolutely stunning. 

“hi leader,” manon beams.

megan, seemingly clueless but always somehow having your back, simply beams at the captain, sparing you from having to get called out.

“we’re talking about the cyclones curse.”

“oh god, you guys and your spooky stories.” sophia rolls her eyes and pushes megan playfully, walking past her to start in the direction of the dining hall. “are we going to dinner or what?”

you beam and motion for her to keep walking. “lead the way.”

she grins back at you and pauses, gesturing for you to step ahead of her. “nope, after you.”

megan eyes you both curiously, suspiciously, from the corner of her vision.

-

ever since the incident with marquise, megan has been weird.

you and sophia are fine, better than ever, if anything, but you’ve noticed something is off with the ginger girl. she’s always been a little eccentric, but now she’s acting uncharacteristically needy, and for whatever reason, the only people who can ever seem to come to her rescue have to be either you, or sophia laforteza. 

and as of recently, it’s been both, for some reason, at the same time.

megan calls you up out of nowhere late one night when you’re watching another episode of your favorite netflix show. your eyes are heavy, and you’re about to fall asleep, but you know megan is relentless, and if you don’t pick up, she’ll call you until you do.

you pick up, and she wastes no time even greeting you.

“y/n. i’m feeling stressed out.”

“go to sleep, meg,” you groan sleepily.

“come over.”

“megan, what? i’m already in bed,” you shake your head, turning over onto your side.

“please, i need the moral support,” she pleads.

“to sleep?” you question suspiciously.

“yes, to sleep.” she insists, her voice softening playfully. “come hug me?”

you laugh, already picturing the girl’s silly face. “what are you, three? ugh, i’ll be there soon. you better not fall asleep before i get there.”

you can practically hear megan smiling from the other end of the line as you get your shoes on and slip out the door.

you make it to megan’s dorm and knock on the door. there’s a rustling sound from inside, and before you know it, the door swings open.

much to your confusion, you stand face to face with sophia laforteza.

“oh hi,” you greet, quickly stepping back to make sure you had walked to megan’s room, not sophia’s by accident. but no, room 414, residence of megan skiendiel. you’re not mistaken.

“hm.” sophia looks you over quickly, before calling out over her shoulder to the girl still inside. “megan? why is y/n here?”

the girl in question bounces up to the doorway, her giant grin nearly taking over her face. she pushes past sophia to reach for your hand, yanking you into her room. “‘cause i invited her, duh.”

“you invited me,” sophia reminds her, crossing her arms over her chest. she looks unamused, but not annoyed— the look she tends to reserve for megan exclusively.

the ginger beams. either she doesn’t notice sophia’s displeasure, or she flat out does not care.

“slumber party!” she chants, motioning to the way she has her bed set up to face the tv, three pillows lined up neatly. the implication is clear: megan planned this.

“meg, you do know y/n and i hang out plenty outside of class?” sophia laughs, shaking her head.

“do you guys still have slumber parties?” the girl quips back, pointing to the bed and insisting you hop in.

you pause, looking nervously between sophia and megan’s bed. sure, when you guys traveled for games, sharing a room with her had quickly turned into sharing a bed, and at a certain point, your hangouts would usually end in the two of you falling asleep side-by-side. but since the season ended, you two have been extremely careful not to cross that line again, sophia always heading home before she gets too sleepy.

“i mean, not this semester. soph just barely got back...”

megan nods as if you’ve proven her point. “then let me have this!”

“you are something else, skiendiel,” sophia shakes her head, but you see the smile on the corner of her lips.

“please don’t make me run laps, oh leader…” megan pleads playfully, wiggling under the blankets and reaching for the remote. “i just wanted to be in the middle again. can you blame me? you guys are like, my favorite people. please? pleasepleaseplease…”

“shut up,” sophia rolls her eyes, but she’s getting under the covers as well, wiggling in onto the side closest to the wall. “pick a movie.”

you laugh and follow her lead, ending up on the other side of megan. the ginger beams widely as you and sophia both get cozy, the three of you squished like sardines in the tiny dorm bed. sophia crosses her arms, clearly unamused, but you don’t mind. falling asleep in her presence again is a small gift you’ll take happily.

-

friday night, nothing to do, and your hands are much too quick to dial her up.

(arguably, she’s just as fast to pick up, but that’s not an issue you’re willing to unpack right now.)

“hi you,” she chirps, her voice instantly melting you into a puddle.

“are you going to that party lara’s been talking about?” you ask, already smiling down at the ground from her greeting alone. “the one off campus.”

she pauses. “are you?”

“you answer first,” you laugh.

“only if you do.”

“only if i answer?”

“only if you go.”

your heart thuds at how confident she sounds, how certain.

“deal,” you smile. “what, you need your emotional support libero there that bad?”

“you’re the only one i trust to help me keep an eye on everyone,” she laughs.

“ah, i love being your special helper,” you tease her.

“come on,” sophia chuckles. “i’ll see you in five. we can share an uber.”

and you do meet her in five. and you do share an uber. and your breath catches in your throat at the sight of her, so effortlessly gorgeous in a simple tee with a jacket and some jeans, her hair falling in perfectly tamed cascades over her shoulders. as it always has, and likely as it always will.

you follow each other through the house party, and even though the idea was to find the other girls, you’re too caught up in your own conversation to even bother looking for them. it’s nearly painful for you, how easily you two can get lost in your own little world, but it feels so inevitable. you don’t know how anyone could stay away from her— the inevitable pull that is the gravity of sophia laforteza, the warmth in her smile, the sheer strength of her presence enough to overwhelm you, to keep you in her orbit, to keep you circling around her as if it’s the only thing you’re capable of doing.

you wonder then, if you’ll be happy with it. if friendship with a force like sophia will ever feel enough, knowing now what her lips taste like and seeing a glimpse of her most intimate thoughts. yes, things are different now, but she still trusts you. still opens up to you, still seeks you out, still makes you feel seen. you’ve resigned yourself to accepting that that will be it. your friendship with sophia will have to be enough.

the two of you are laughing in your own little bubble when a girl, clearly a little tipsy, gets a little too close, stumbling into you. sophia eyes her hesitantly, but before you can check to see if the girl is okay, she’s shrieking at the top of her lungs, her eyes going wide.

“oh my god, y/n.” the girl blinks, stumbling to her feet. “this is crazy!”

another two or three girls catch up to her, and you feel sophia tense. you’re not quite sure what’s going on, but you know for certain that you don’t recognize this girl who somehow recognizes you.

“i’m super sorry, how do i know you?” you ask gently, trying to not come across as rude.

two of the girls behind her look nervously amongst themselves, but the first girl simply keeps rambling as if she’s known you her whole life.

“oh my god, we play for UCLA, silly!”

“no way,” you hear sophia breathe behind you, her body instantly tensing. she stands up to step beside you, her body rigid as she puts some space between you and the first girl.

you’re not quite sure where her hostility is coming from— the girls seem harmless, and you never ended up joining them, so what’s the harm?

the girl curls her lip into a dramatic pout. “ugh, y/n, you didn’t want to join us? we could have been besties.”

you laugh gently, shaking your head. “thanks, but i’m happy where i am.”

“we wouldn’t have hurt you, you know?” she continues, her eyes pleading and sincere as she reaches out for your hand. “we would have been excited to have you.”

you’re about to laugh at the gesture, a drunk girl lamenting her missed friendship with you, but you’re shocked when sophia pushes the girl’s hand away, scowling at the group.

“you guys are psychos,” she hisses quickly. “i know about last year.”

you’re about to ask sophia what her deal is, but the girls’ faces all shift instantly. falling, hardening, narrowing their gazes at her. whatever sophia is talking about, it’s clearly a sore subject.

“that was an accident,” one of the girls says coldly, but sophia refuses to back down.

“accidents don’t blind one of your teammates in one eye,” she spits angrily, and you gasp hearing exactly the extent that the ucla team was infamous for. “that girl is never going to play again.”

the first girl, who seems truly sincere, gives sophia a pleading look. “they investigated it. it was honestly just a freak accident. we were playing a prank and it went wrong. pranks have never gone wrong for you guys?”

you turn to sophia, grabbing her by the wrist, your eyes wide in disbelief. “how did you know that?”

sophia finally snaps and takes your hand, shoving past the girls to pull you outside, away from the chaos of the party, away from the other girls’ prying eyes. her eyes are frenzied, her cheeks flushed from her anger, her lips parted as she tries to steady her breathing. you guys find a quiet corner in the backyard and she sits you down to talk.

“i asked around about their team. i know some other captains. the ucla pr team tried to keep it hush-hush, but word gets around when captains get in trouble. it’s insane that they can still play, i mean it’s so unfair and completely unethical—” she rambles, her voice raising with every sentence, and you realize your hands are still linked. 

“soph,” you cut her off gently, squeezing her hand, your voice soft. “soph, it’s okay.”

“i fucking hate them,” she finally spits out. it’s not often that you hear her swear, so the emphasis is enough to really drive the point home for you. she pauses, her voice softening, realizing she’s rambling angrily. she gives your hand a quick squeeze back, her head dropping. “i’m so glad you didn’t go with them.”

“me too,” you smile softly. “i’m right here, with you.”

she lets out another breath, running a hand through her hair. “i hope they fucking rot. can’t wait to beat their asses next season. god.”

“leader, you’re being a little too psycho,” you laugh, letting go of her hand to poke her cheek playfully. “earth to leader!”

but sophia doesn’t match your tone. she takes your hand once more in yours, her eyes burning with something so intense, it makes your heart ache. her dark gaze pierces into you, her tone dropping into something low. 

“y/n, you were always meant to be a cyclone,” she emphasizes.

“i agree,” you smile, cradling her hand in yours. “i was always meant to be here.”

“with me,” sophia breathes quietly.

you nod. “with you, soph.”

-

weeks go by, and a part of you is finding it easier and easier to ignore the gnawing feelings clawing through your chest. as long as you focus on the day by day, and don’t picture any part of the future or what it might look like with sophia, you’re totally fine.

yes, you guys are basically attached at the hip, and neither of you goes more than a few hours without texting each other, and yes you know her like the back of your hand and she knows you just the same, but it’s not your problem to unpack that right now. that’ll be a future you problem. for now, your sole focus is to just enjoy your life, pass your classes, and not make any decisions you’ll regret. 

so when megan invites you to go on a “best friend date” to a super nice restaurant just off-campus next to the beach, you figure it’ll be the perfect opportunity to spend a night focusing on something other than school and your soul-crushing devotion to sophia laforteza.

you don’t usually have a lot of excuses to wear your semi-formal clothes, but megan insisted you both go all out, so there you are, sitting on a bench outside the restaurant, waiting for the ginger to show up as she texts you that she’s a few minutes out.

and yet again, for what seems like the millionth time that semester, the too-familiar voice is over your shoulder.

“why are you so dressed up?”

you look up, and feel your breath hitch in your throat. she looks like an absolute angel, a floral purple top flowing off her shoulders, her hair in those perfect waterfalls down her back, her makeup done and her lips so shiny you swear you could see the sun beam off of them.

“why are you?” you barely manage to stammer, the smile coming out before you can even register it. 

“i’m here for-“ she starts.

“megan,” you both say at the same time. 

it clicks. of course it would be megan.

“where the hell is she?” you laugh. 

as if on cue, sophia’s phone rings. the brunette picks up and puts it on speaker, giving you an eyeroll as megan’s voice rings out.

“sorry guys! literally shitting myself right now. like it’s soooo bad. ah, ouch, darn.” she’s not even trying to convince you at this point, her rambles rattling like she’s trying to get a script out. “you have no clue, gotta sit this one out. huge bummer, sorry!”

“how did you know we were together?” sophia arches a brow. 

“i have both your locations.”

“were we both supposed to be your date?” you question.

“guess you’ll have to be each other’s date!” she chirps, much too giddy for someone who is supposedly that sick. “sorry again guys. take lots of pictures. love you tons!”

before sophia can reprimand her, the phone beeps with the call ending. she rolls her eyes and looks to you, and you simply smile back at her.

fucking megan. 

“how was she gonna afford a restaurant like this?” you laugh, as sophia holds the door open for you. you both take it in— a gorgeous restaurant with high ceilings, a live piano, even a crystal chandelier.

“i was going to pay for her. i assumed that’s why she invited me,” sophia shakes her head, following behind you.

“oh no, totally. i assumed the exact same thing,” you laugh.

the host nods politely and beckons for you both to follow him. “your reservation, ladies.”

you end up at a table right next to the window, the view of the malibu shoreline just over your shoulders. it’s breathtaking in a way you feel like you almost don’t deserve. the table has a tall candle and a single rose placed between you two, and everything about it screams romance. you feel stupid for not looking it up sooner— how would megan possibly have gotten away with claiming she wanted a casual friend date with you at this gorgeous, insanely romantic spot? it wouldn’t be the weirdest thing the girl has ever done, sure, but you can’t believe your girlfailure of a best friend was capable of getting both you and sophia to show up and fall victim to her plan so easily.

“this place is so nice,” sophia breathes, taking a seat across from you.

you stare quickly at the menu that your server sets down in front of you, sophia thanking him quickly with a smile. 

you blink over at the captain. “not gonna lie… i’m lowkey scared of the menu.”

she laughs, her features softening. “i pick something for you and you pick something for me?”

“you’re on,” you beam.

you chat mindlessly after you order and it feels easy, too easy, to fall back into this with sophia. to start imagining what it could be like to do this more often, to see her dressed up, to wonder what she’d look like if she’d dressed up for you, to tell her she’d be perfect even in her shorts and her favorite hoodie. you get lost in her dark brown eyes, in the way they crinkle when she smiles, in the way she laughs with her whole chest, so loudly sometimes, people stop to turn and look at her.

you don’t care. you get it. sophia is worth stopping the world for, just to admire.

your server places your dishes in front of you both, and you immediately look up at the captain. you see her eyes widen with excitement. 

“why’d you pick this for me?” she asks quickly, looking up at you as the server walks off.

you smile. “just thought you’d like it.”

“why?” she presses.

you pause, trying to dive in deeper, but there’s no better explanation than just the simple truth.

“i guess i just know you.”

she smiles back at you, something warm behind her eyes.

“funny. that was my rationale too.” 

-

you two waste the night away enjoying your dinner. she insists on paying, forever the gentlewoman, and you two step outside just as the sun has disappeared over the skyline. 

“we’re across the street from the beach,” she points out, motioning to the sand.

“at night?” you question.

“we can just walk,” she offers.

you nod, smiling. “okay. i’d love that.”

you always see sophia shift when you guys get to the sand. you remember her mentioning about how it reminds her of home. you wonder if you’ll ever get a chance to see it through her eyes.

you both take off your shoes, dipping your toes in the tiniest of waves that reach up to meet the sand. you’re walking side by side, the salt in the cool air filling your lungs. sophia’s hair never falls out of place even as it shifts in the breeze, forever perfect, as she always has been.

“y/n,” she says quietly. 

“sophia,” you answer, poking your tongue out at her playfully in response.

she smiles, but her face falls slightly as the silence goes on. her gaze drops to the sand, her brows furrowing. you can sense it. she’s trying to get the words out.

“i um…” she starts, clenching her jaw to try and conjure the right words for what she’s seeking.  “i’m sorry we didn’t get a chance to try.”

her apology catches you off guard. you guys haven’t talked about it since it happened, and you knew that was part of the agreement. you traded it off— sacrificing closure to maintain your friendship.

“don’t think about that,” you reassure her, reaching out to brush her arm gently. “it’s okay.”

she shakes her head, and you notice her lip trembling through it all. “it’s my fault though, i know it is.”

“don’t carry that with you,” you insist, giving her arm a squeeze. “i’ve had the best few months since then all because you’re in my life. i’m so lucky either way.”

“no, i feel the same way. i just thought you deserved an apology.” she looks at you, her eyes soft, and lets out a deep breath. “i went about it so, so wrong.”

you feel something shaking from deep inside you, something repressed unlodging itself from deep within your chest. you try to will it away, insisting on focusing in the moment. sophia is fixating, you know she is. this isn’t about you, this is about supporting sophia. you remind yourself of your purpose and insist on moving forward.

“you’ve already apologized. i forgive you,” you tell her gently. “forgive yourself, soph. we’re exactly where we’re supposed to be.”

she nods, but the look in her eyes tells you she has more to say.

“y/n…” she starts.

the shaking within you stops, something snaps. you can’t do this. you’re not strong enough for whatever comes next. you need to focus on the right now, on the day to day. not on the lifetime ahead of you and wondering if you’ll still orbit around the sun that is sophia laforteza, at the center of your galaxy.

“sophia, please. let’s not do this again.” your voice is shaky, trembling as you stop her. “i can’t risk it.”

you look up, and her eyes are round, her brows furrowed, the concern written all over her face. she nods slowly, empathetically, kindly.

“i understand.”

“thank you, soph,” you breathe, stopping to catch your breath. she stops with you, and you figure you owe her at least a small explanation. “you’re my best friend. you have no idea how bad it’d hurt to be without you.”

silence. you’re met with gnawing, clawing silence. 

you can’t tell if she’s thinking or if you’ve said enough. you chose your words carefully, certain to ensure you wouldn’t cross any lines that you couldn’t come back from, and you feel confident knowing you guys will be okay. your friendship will remain in tact. you’ll get to keep her in your life. it’s fine, you think. you’re okay with this, with the silence, with the uncertainty, as long as it guarantees today with sophia. you’ll take it day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute if you must.

a hand reaches for you. a single, shaking hand.

sophia, perfect, confident sophia, who never cracks under pressure, reaches a trembling hand out to you, taking your hand in hers.

“y/n.”

your name sounds so beautiful coming out of her mouth, gentle, sincere.

“yeah?” you’re too scared to look at her, but she insists.

she ducks her head down, tilting slightly, forcing your gaze to meet hers. her words come out slowly, nervously, like she’s been holding onto them in her coat pocket and is now unfolding them, hoping they still work.

“i’d like to try.”

you blink, uncertain of what you’re hearing. “what?”

“maybe it would be worth it to risk it all.” her voice is shaky, but her eyes never leave yours. dark, sincere, intense. all the things you know of sophia to be true, laid out bare before you. “if you’ve taught me anything, it’s that there’s beauty in trying over and over.”

“soph…” you start, but she cuts you off with a shake of her head.

“you tried for me. even when i pushed you away, you kept trying, and in the process, i fell in love with you.” she pauses, as if she’s said something wrong, but instead of overthinking it, she simply presses on, eager to get it all out. “that’s got to be worth something. you know it, and i do too.”

your head is spinning. nevermind what sophia is suggesting, nevermind the way she’s holding your hands, nevermind what she’s confessing. you’re too scared of the what-if’s to even let yourself glimpse into the future. 

“soph, what if we—” you start, but she cuts you off once more.

“i think the ‘what if’s’ are irrelevant. you saw something in me that i couldn’t. and i know i hurt you, and i made you distrustful of me, but i see something that you can’t. i see something so incredibly beautiful if we’re both willing to take that risk. can you see that?”

she pauses, deliberating, before her hand comes up to cup your cheek, holding it in her palm. the crash of the waves behind you makes your pulse ring even louder in your ears, the contact nearly setting you on fire.

“i’m asking you to see what i see,” she tells you, her eyes burning into yours. “take a chance. let me show you.”

“sophia,” your voice is shaking, your pulse throbbing throughout every vein in your body. your body screams out to be close to her, and you can’t think of anything else. 

“i want to kiss you,” she blurts, almost exactly like the first time, her hand tightening against your cheek, her gaze scanning every inch of your face. “i want to fix everything that i got wrong the first time around.”

it strikes you then. the gravity you feel, pulling you towards her at any given chance. is there any possibility she was being pulled to you too? does the sun simply pull, or does it dance, watching the celestial bodies spin around it? does the sun let itself be lonely at the center of it all, or does it shine to pull someone in, to warm them, to give them a place to bask in the light? 

could sophia need you, just as much as you realize you need her?

“i’m going to want to keep kissing you,” you admit, letting the last of your apprehensions melt away. “so you’ll have to be okay with that.”

“i’m willing to try,” she nods eagerly, her lips curling up into a smile, her other hand coming up to take both your cheeks in her palms. “and i’ll keep trying until we get it right.”

the gravity takes over between you both. slowly, gently, and with the waves lapping at your feet, the world stands still as you get a second chance at a first kiss with sophia laforteza.

-

sophia’s hand never leaves yours as you stroll into the dining hall for breakfast with the girls the next morning.

you sit side by side, megan and manon both glued to their phones as they play battleship against each other. megan doesn’t notice the hand holding. megan doesn’t notice the fact that sophia is wearing your hoodie. megan doesn’t even notice that you guys are sitting side by side, leaning against each other. 

you realize you may have to ramp up your pda to get her attention. 

“hold on,” you grin, motioning to sophia, before you plant a gentle peck on her cheek.

the smacking sound is enough to snap megan out of her fixation on the phone, her eyes darting to the two of you instantly.

“woah!” she screeches, jumping up to nearly stand on the chair. “bro, what the fuck! was that tongue?”

“megan, it was a kiss on the cheek,” sophia rolls her eyes, and you burst out laughing at how megan always manages to get underneath the captain’s skin.

“are you guys trolling me?” the ginger narrows her eyes, glancing around at the rest of the girls, who all stare back at her innocently. she glares at you, before pointing to sophia. “no way. kiss on the lips right fucking now.”

sophia shakes her head, clearly not eager to play any of megan’s weird games, but you grin and reach for the captain anyways. she grumbles for a brief moment, but she appeases you, and you feel her perfect lips curl up into a smile as they meet yours. it’s quick, tender and gentle, but it’s enough to leave megan with her chin nearly glued to the floor as her mouth drops in disbelief.

“since when?” she barks irritatedly. 

“since last night,” manon sing-songs, grinning devilishly. “what, you don’t check the group chat any more?”

megan furrows her brows, snatching up her phone instantly before her eyes blow wide. “oh what the fuck? you guys removed me from the groupchat?!”

“okay, who did that?” sophia rolls her eyes, glaring at the rest of the team as dani and lara burst out laughing. “no, not funny, now she’s gonna whine about it for the rest of our lives.”

“are you fucking kidding me?” megan rants, throwing her hands up into the air. “do you know how much effort i put into setting you guys up? do you know how many plans i schemed to make sure you guys ended up together? i was literally prepared to do this until the day i fucking died.”

manon claps her hands, motioning between you and sophia. “well, as of last night, they’re official.”

“how the fuck am i last to know?” megan whines, tossing her head back. 

“if it’s any consolation, i actually think you were first to figure it out,” sophia admits.

she wraps an arm around your shoulders and you melt into her. you hope you’ll get lucky enough to spend a lifetime basking in her warmth. she looks down at you and smiles. you smile back. 

your favorite view, up close, hopefully forever. 

[temiizpalace]

☆┊RESPOND TO MY TEXTS!

SUMMARY: how long do they take to respond to your messages?

CHARACTERS: all dorms + rsa, rollo & skully

GENRE: fluff

WARNINGS: none

NOTES: some of these come from personal experience ���💔

reader gender is not mentioned

SUMMONED SPIRIT

as soon as you hit send, you get a response immediately in return. it’s as if he’s been waiting all day for your text, summoned by the ping of your message. no matter what kind of message it is, he replies in mere seconds. funny video? he’ll laugh on text as loud as he can. need something at the store? already there. need a hug? on his way. he loves receiving these messages from you, and he wants you to know that by spamming your phone with his little replies.

cater, ace, kalim, rook, idia, lilia, sebek, che’nya, skully

REPLIES AT A REASONABLE TIME

he responds within a few minutes to hours. it’s understandable, he’s a busy guy with a lot going on in his life. he does appreciate your texts, your messages of motivation. it does make him feel a little guilty for making you wait for his response, but he makes up for it in other ways. besides, he’d rather be with you in the moment rather than over the phone. not that he doesn’t want your messages! overall, he responds in a reasonable amount of time that’s not too late, but not too soon.

riddle, trey, jack, azul, jade, jamil, vil, neige

REPLIES WITHIN WEEKS

never responds until weeks later. his phone is probably on do not disturb all the time because you swear he never reacts until forever. you could’ve sent him a meme you found funny from months ago and he’ll respond on a random saturday night at 7:47pm with some dry ass response like “haha” nearly scaring the ever loving crap out of you. you love him, you do, but dear lord would you wish he checked his phone once in awhile.. he probably texts like a dry old woman too.

riddle, ruggie, silver, rollo

REPLIES IN PERSON

he knows he can say it over the phone. he knows he can just reply instead of showing up to your doorstep. but he doesn’t want to. it’s wayy more meaningful if he says it to you to your face, right? you open the door, a puzzled look on your face as you see your boyfriend at the door. “i thought the video you sent me was funny.” he says bluntly before stepping through the door and inviting himself in. he finds this as an excuse to see you, to visit you. “you could’ve just texted me.” you sigh, pinching his cheek. he doesn’t care. and honestly, neither do you.

deuce, leona, floyd, epel, malleus

A/N: within weeks one gives me flashbacks im afraid

date published: 06/29/25

© temiizpalace — do not copy, steal, or put my work into ai. thank you!

[suliigwp]

Lucky Page — OP81

Oscar Piastri x reader | established relationship, SMAU

SULI: have this little treat before the next chapter of tronab — I'm obsessed with this man. Short and sweet🧡 also please pretend it says Saudi Arabia instead of Miami in a pic😘 you'll get it

Warnings: Thirsty comments, sexy jokes

SUMMARY: Every time Oscar Piastris girlfriend posts him on her private Instagram page before a race— he wins

China race week

Liked by pastrypriv, lando.jpg and 21 others.

y/npriv: IM GONNA EAT HIM (lando ipad kid behind 'em)

16 comments.

lando.jpg: I was reading your post🙄

pastrypriv: only you're allowed to eat me

↳ y/npriv: 👀

↳ pastrypriv: can you be wholesome for just a second?

charl3smess: no bc why does he look like he’d taste like strawberry yoghurt

car1105.finsta: I bet he smells like sunscreen I gifted him

a.lbonbutmakeitferal: I think if you bite him he’d make that lil “ow :/” sound

↳ y/npriv: CAN CONFIRM. tested. 7/10 bite resistance

piastrilicious: what the hell is going on here

georgewearssocks: blink twice if they’ve put seasoning on u

↳ lando.jpg: he blinked once. medium rare incoming

↳ y/npriv: dinner’s at 8 x

↳ car1105.finsta: save me the elbow

↳ charl3smess: i want the cheek. soft bits hit different

↳ a.lbonbutmakeitferal: dibs on the fingers

↳ pastrypriv: you guys are sick

↳ y/npriv: bff you literally said I'm allowed to eat you

↳ pastrypriv: bc I wanted to be devoured with love 💔

...

Liked by mclaren, landonorris, oscarpiastri and 1M others.

yourusername: First win of the season and so many more to come! I'm so proud of you🧡

24k comments.

oscarpiastri: Couldn’t have done it without my good luck charm 🧡

↳ yourusername: Are you calling me the tire strategy again 😒

↳ oscarpiastri: Maybe 👀

piastribabe99: SHE MANIFESTED THIS I KNOW SHE DID

landonorris: Here we go. Can’t wait to hear about this for the next 3 months.

↳ yourusername: You’ll live.

↳ oscarpiastri: You’re just mad I finished ahead 😌

↳ landonorris: Don’t test me little man

mclarensunshine: this is my Roman Empire. the way she looked at him on the podium 😭

↳ wagsonsight: HER EYES WERE GLOWING

danielricciardo: OH HE’S WINNING WINNING 🔥

↳ yourusername: more things than the race if you know what I mean

↳ danielricciardo: oop

↳ lando: WHAT IS THIS BEHAVIOR

↳ oscarpiastri: y/n.

gridwives: their dynamic >>>>>

maxverstappen1: Congrats, mate. Let’s see if you can do it twice 😉

↳ yourusername: 👀 challenge accepted

↳ oscarpiastri: 😬

oscarpiastriluvr: She’s the proudest gf and I’m sobbing about it

carlossainz55: You better frame this post. Historic moment.

↳ yourusername: Already making a scrapbook 🧡

↳ oscarpiastri: I’m scared

f1wifematerial: real love is posting him even when he still has champagne in his hair

...

Bahrain race week

Liked by charl3smess, a.lbonbutmakeitferal, georgewearssocks and 19 others.

y/npriv: how he was looking at me last night

22 comments.

pastrypriv: Y/N!

↳ y/npriv: just like last night

↳ lando.jpg: stop this madness 😭

lando.jpg: YOU NEED TO GO TO CHURCH. IMMEDIATELY.

↳ y/npriv: my god is busy blessing Oscar

↳ lando.jpg: I’m calling his mum

m4xisnumberone: I should not be here

↳ y/npriv: then leave

↳ m4xisnumberone: not until I report you to the FIA

charl3smess: I will never unsee this

↳ lando.jpg: SAME

↳ charl3smess: why are you everywhere

a.lbonbutmakeitferal: Delete this before I make a group chat without you

↳ y/npriv: you wouldn’t dare

↳ a.lbonbutmakeitferal: try me

georgewearssocks: This is entirely inappropriate

↳ car1105.finsta: just say you’re jealous

↳ georgewearssocks: 😐

car1105.finsta: wait so is this a before or after quali kind of look

↳ y/npriv: Carlos?

↳ car1105.finsta: i’m just trying to understand the timeline 🧎‍♂️

↳ pastrypriv: this is so humiliating

...

Liked by car1105.finsta, m4xisnumberone, lando.jpg and 22 others.

y/npriv: LAWRD HAVE MERCY

comments.

lando.jpg: GET A GRIP

↳ y/npriv: I physically CANNOT

↳ lando.jpg: you need to be stopped

m4xisnumberone: nah cause this one actually made ME flinch

↳ y/npriv: 😌

↳ m4xisnumberone: NO

charl3smess: you’re not normal

↳ y/npriv: he unzipped his suit and so did my sanity

a.lbonbutmakeitferal: not to be dramatic but i feel unsafe here

↳ y/npriv: okay but imagine you saw this in PERSON

↳ a.lbonbutmakeitferal: i’d pass away

car1105.finsta: you didn’t even try to be subtle

↳ y/npriv: didn’t even TRY

↳ car1105.finsta: that’s love i fear

georgewearssocks: Lord have mercy? No. We need a restraining order.

↳ y/npriv: try and catch me 😌

↳ georgewearssocks: i’m telling Oscar

dannyricc3: yeah okay this one is a little bit illegal

↳ y/npriv: delete your jealousy x

↳ dannyricc3: i’m texting your mother

dannyricc3: Not Oscar keeping his silence

↳ pastrypriv: let me be

...

Liked by dannyricc3, m4xisnumberone, car1105.finsta and 17 others.

y/npriv: HE WON AGAIN. TWO IN A ROW. i’m not saying it’s because i posted him last night but i posted him last night.

18 comments.

lando.jpg: no because this is getting weird now

↳ y/npriv: don’t act like you’re not scared

↳ lando.jpg: i AM

↳ lando.jpg: imagine how big the gap would be if you attend a gp👀

charl3smess: if he wins three in a row i’m opening a shrine to you

↳ y/npriv: start collecting candles

a.lbonbutmakeitferal: I KNEW IT. WITCHCRAFT.

↳ y/npriv: consider me your local track witch 🧹✨

↳ a.lbonbutmakeitferal: you’re too powerful

georgewearssocks: I was skeptical. Now I’m terrified.

↳ y/npriv: you should be

m4xisnumberone: This is how cults start

↳ y/npriv: you’re just mad i didn’t post you

↳ m4xisnumberone: DON’T

car1105.finsta: can i send a photo of ME with puppy eyes for this week??

↳ y/npriv: lol no. this account chooses oscar now.

↳ car1105.finsta: brutal

pastrypriv: Two wins. Coincidence.

↳ y/npriv: say that again when you’re holding another trophy next week

...

Saudi Arabia Race Week

Liked by gridlife2025, paddockfashionista, waglifeinsta and 45k others.

F1GossipFeed: Spotted at the Saudi Arabia GP: @/yourusername making a stylish appearance in the paddock! Looks like she’s here to support @/oscarpiastri in person this weekend. ✨🏎️

12k comments.

f1fanatic_23: Love seeing the support! Hope Oscar feels the energy 💙

gridlife2025: She always looks so cool, no wonder Oscar’s killing it this season

raceweekbuzz: VIP vibes for sure, who else wishes they had paddock access?

speedqueen_94: This is the motivation Oscar needs to bring home another podium 👏

paddockfashionista: Okay, her outfit is EVERYTHING. F1 fashion goals!

motorsportjunkie: Supporting your driver in person? That’s next level. Respect.

tracksidevibes: I’m here for the power couple energy, can’t wait to see them at the podium

...

Liked by lando.jpg, georgewearssocks, pastrypriv and 22 others.

y/npriv: trying something today🤭 good luck my boys!

10 comments.

lando.jpg: You better post me twice for extra luck

↳ y/npriv: double the trouble 😈

pastrypriv: Don’t jinx it, witch

↳ y/npriv: oh, I’m blessing you. Big difference.

charl3smess: Proof that the best wingwomen come with filters and funny faces

m4xisnumberone: I demand a selfie too or I’m boycotting podium photos

a.lbonbutmakeitferal: Make sure you send one to me or I’m crashing your next Zoom call

car1105.finsta: Officially the best hype squad captain

georgewearssocks: I see the power of good vibes in action

dannyricc3: This energy is everything. Good luck boys, don’t disappoint!

...

Liked by yourusername, nicolepiastri, ln4 and 2.3M others.

mclaren: ✨ DOMINANCE ✨ What a sensational performance from @/oscarpiastri and @/landonorris today at Saudi Arabia! A commanding 1-2 finish, crossing the line nearly 30 seconds ahead of the rest of the pack. Pure teamwork, focus, and speed. 🏆🏆

77k comments.

f1fansworldwide: That’s how you show up and shut it down. McLaren is back baby! 🔥

oscarpiastrifan: Oscar and Lando are unstoppable when they’re together. Loved every second of that race!

landonorrisfanclub: A 30-second gap? Unreal. Proud of my boys 🧡💙

yourusername: My boys did THAT 👀💥 So proud!!

↳ mclaren: our lucky charm🧡

...

Private Group Chat—

'Paddock Hazard'

@/yourusername:

ok but seriously… 30 seconds ahead??

Lucky Page magic strikes again 💅✨

@/lando: I want to believe but you’re gonna have to post me solo next time or I’m out 😤

@/oscarpiastri: I’m not sure if I believe this “Lucky Page” thing but… can’t argue with results 😂

@/maxverstappen1: I’m starting to think you’re the real driver here tbh

@/charles_leclerc: Not gonna lie, I’m lowkey jealous of this power you’ve got.

@/alex_albon: So when’s the ritual? I wanna join the cult.

@/yourusername:

First, you gotta post the ugliest selfie you have.

No exceptions.

@/lando: Nooooooo

@/oscarpiastri: If posting on the Lucky Page means I keep winning, I’m down to let her do whatever she wants.

@/yourusername:

Careful what you wish for… next race I’m posting the one of you with bedhead.

@/lando: Wait, that was private!

@/maxverstappen1: I vote for more bedhead pics. It’s only fair.

@/charles_leclerc: Honestly this chat is the best thing about race weekends.

@/alex_albon: Agreed. Also, when’s the group photo for maximum luck?

@/yourusername:

Only if you promise to not fight each other

@/georgerussell63: you expect too much from us

@/maxverstappen1: No promises.

@/georgerussell63: see?

@/oscarpiastri: Whatever happens, Lucky Page is here to stay. Thanks for keeping my podium streak alive

_____________________________________________

Taglist, comment to be added; @angstynasty @cryinghotmess @mits-vi @dramaticpiratellamas @mimisweetz @mrssaturday @chiara8104 @moonlight-girls-posts @linnygirl09 @rue-t @danielricroll @the-vex-archives @trees-are-books @blodwyn4u @yoruse @ccrickett-t @l-a-u-r-aaa @multifans-things @woderfulkawaii @azrinableuet @mayax2o07 @everyday-is-sunday365 @devilacot @faithxyu @freyathehuntress make sure you can be tagged!

[dixonsbugaboo]

𝘑𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘵𝘺𝘱𝘦.

ꜱᴀᴊᴀ ʙᴏʏꜱ🎵

𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦�� 2 - 𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘤𝘶𝘵𝘦 𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘭

Fem!Reader x Saja Boys

Summary: Reincarnated in the body of a demon from the last film you saw before you died, you have decided to change the script of the story in your favour. But you didn't count on your presence in the story changing everything.

Warnings: slow burn, swearing, Abby being touchy, ooc (probably), cringe (probably), no proofread (oops)

Word count: 3000

A/N: OMG THANK YOU ALL FOR YOUR SUPPORT! I actually started this on a whip, I just needed to let it out but I couldn't even imagine how many of you would read it!! I'm sorry if the quality isn't the best, it's been a long time since the last time I wrote, and I'm not used to do it fully in English. Also, this is my first time writing for this fandom, I hope to do it well enough for your criteria (/へ＼*) this chapter is kinda messy (the whole story is, actually) but I hope you like it!

Ch. 1

︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿

The Saja Boys in their human form were even more breathtaking than you remembered. I mean, you'd seen the movie a bunch of times, you'd seen edits, but this… wow. Another level.

When you helped them get ready to look a little more like how you remembered them appearing in the human world in the movie (because it turns out Abby's hair was blonde, not magenta, and Romance had extremely long hair), they still had pointed ears, large fangs, and even horns, just like you. But once they took their human form, the one they used to have before Gwi-ma took his cut… holy cow. Jinu didn't change much, but the others… Why didn't they go around like that in the underworld? Didn't Gwi-ma allow it? Was the king of hell completely blind or did he just have the worst taste in the world?

On the first day after their human transformation, it was hard not to stare at them. But what could you do? When something so appealing is put in front of you, it's impossible to ignore it completely, right? Even though you knew they weren't for you. Jinu would end up falling in love with Rumi, clearly, and your main idea was to be cupid with the others to satisfy Zoey's fantasies about Mystery (or Baby, who knows) and prove to Mira that pink-haired boys could feel things.

Jinu was aware of how hard it was for you to look away from the others sometimes, and also that little by little you were snapping at them less and talking to them more, with less fear and less embarrassment. He was aware of how you were getting closer to them, how you were starting to laugh at their jokes… And that, for some reason, made him feel a little itchy.

He found it hard to understand you. You were cheerful and at the same time the grumpiest, foul-mouthed person he had ever met. He noticed that when you told them things, you never said everything and always kept bits of information, secrets, to yourself. You were bossy, but at the same time you were attentive and loving. And, although he found it hard to admit, unfortunately you were intelligent. And as much as he wanted to deny it, he loved how proud you could be: you never let anyone walk all over you, you turned red with anger if you weren't listened to, and you were always (always) right, even if deep down you weren't. Plus, for some strange reason, even though you were rude, bossy, and grumpy, when you sensed that the boys weren't in the mood, you were kind. You didn't ask for anything in return; that's just how you were. When the boys got frustrated because the choreography Abby came up with was too complicated, you encouraged them to keep trying, and you reasoned with Abby so that everyone would be happy with the result. You helped Baby write his parts, always gave Mystery his space, and were extremely patient with Romance. Clearly, you didn't behave like a demon, and that caught his attention. You had horns, you had patterns, you were there with them... but at the same time, it seemed like you were somewhere else.

You used to hum when you were concentrating and thought no one could hear you, you bit your nails when you were nervous, you tilted your head when you didn't understand something, you narrowed your eyes when you were angry... these were details he learned to see in you over time. Familiarity breeds affection, I suppose. But he would never, ever admit that he liked your company, that he liked the way you were. He'd rather suck Abby's toe.

Time passed, and the moment to negotiate with Gwi-ma was approaching. Soda Pop was almost ready, thanks in part to the fact that you knew the lyrics by heart from listening to the film's soundtrack too many times. You had given the boys some freedom with certain things because you were starting to trust that, despite the chaos they caused and the moments when they weren't bothering you, they were more or less normal boys (they were demons) who had made bad decisions. And also, what if some little details changed from the original plot? That was kind of your idea since the beginning, right?

Since one of your ideas was to free them, after all, you had to try to understand them and show them that they could get their souls back, right? And live happily in the human world, with a second chance. You just had to get them to want it themselves and believe they could do it.

"From the beginning, guys," Abby announced, bringing your thoughts back to reality, "One, two, three… leg, shoulder, shoulder, leg, and turn… No! Byeol, not like that! It's shoulder, leg, and turn, not shoulder, turn, and leg." He put his hands on his head and pulled at his hair in frustration.

"We've been rehearsing for HOURS, it's normal that I get confused when I can't even FEEL MY LEGS," Byeol shouted back.

But then… you noticed that right in front of you was a scene straight out of a fantasy drama, seeing them exhausted from rehearsing. Why did they have to be so alluring?

You couldn't help but run your tongue over your lips as you watched Sang's T-shirt cling to his torso, clearly revealing his defined muscles, and as a drop of sweat trickled down Dasom's neck to a place that was dangerous to imagine. Byeol panted and brushed his mint-coloured hair away from his beautiful face in a way that was too exquisite for your mental health, and Mystery was crouching down, pulling on the neck of his tank top and revealing his sharp collarbones. Jinu… you quickly looked away. That was dangerous. His face was tilted upwards, his neck tense and sweat dripping down it, panting. Your heart skipped a beat.

Oh holy molly.

They were going to be the best boy band in the entire human world.

As a former music producer in the genre, you had no doubt: the fans were going to be absolutely crazy about them. You knew by herat. You watched the movie.

When you let out an evil laugh while staring at the floor (looking at them in that state was dangerous for your plan and your heart), the boys decided that the best thing to do was… to leave you alone. Who knows what crazy or stupid idea had crossed your mind. They didn't want to be part of it.

And at the same time, how cute you were when you laughed like a villain.

¸.*☆*.¸.*☆*.¸.*☆*.¸.*☆*.¸

Finally, after a lot of hard work, they were ready. The song, the choreography, the concept, the costumes…

It had been quite a journey.

From Sang and Byeol fighting over the choreography, to Minjun being unable to make the finger heart that is so typical of idols, Dasom planning scandals with the hunters to ruin their career (clever but cruel, you wouldn't let him do it), to Jinu refusing to wear anything pink. The fact is, you had to yell at each and every one of them at least three times during the process. You were exhausted, but it was finally time for them to negotiate with Gwi-ma, and since you intended to hide while they did, you took the opportunity to relax… and, since you already knew he would accept the deal, you also took some time for yourself.

It was time to abandon your demonic form (borrowed through possession, so to speak) and get to know your human form.

Goodbye horns and see you never outstanding frog eyes.

You missed being able to scratch your face without risking poking your eye out.

But you didn't expect Sang to come back so soon to find you and share the good news.

You had your back to him, putting a pastel pink bow in your hair and helping yourself with an old, broken, chipped mirror. You had put on a little make-up and dressed like a normal human (which is what you were, after all), so you could travel to the human world as soon as possible with the boys without attracting too much attention. A light breeze smelling of sulphur (the most characteristic smell of hell, actually) ruffled your hair. You were surprised by your human appearance, which you assumed would be that of the demon whose body you had taken over. You liked what you saw.

And so did Abby.

He swallowed hard, afraid to make a sound and disturb you. You looked so… different. So… human. You seemed smaller, more fragile… although it was clear that your bad temper was still there, beneath that good-girl image. You had caught his attention from the start, though. He thought you were an interesting and fun demon, and you never minded when he asked you to stroke his head because he was feeling particularly down about Gwi-ma's mental torture.

The first time you met, you seemed weak to him. Jinu had explained the plan to him and insisted that even though you looked like an average demon, you would be useful to them. Abby knew that the boy band idea, ridiculous as it was, could work and benefit him, so he decided to join (besides, Jinu was his friend and he knew that his memories were torturing him), but he didn't understand how a low-ranking demon with so little presence could be useful… until he tried to mess with you, saying sweet nothings to get you to benefit him in particular, delicately grabbing your chin to bring his face closer to yours… and you bit his hand. Hard. From then on, he learned that those tricks didn't work on you, and that you had sharp fangs.

Little by little, he opened up to you and became more himself. He liked your company, he liked how you pinched his elbow when he did something that annoyed you, and he loved how you smiled, showing your fangs and squinting your eyes.

But now, seeing you like this… something warm spread through his chest.

It was just you and him. Alone. For the first time ever.

He swallowed again.

His hands were itching; he needed to touch you. He wanted to rest his arm on your shoulder, caress your waist, touch your hair, try to take your chin in his hand again, this time without the biting. He wanted to know if your skin was as soft as it seemed, and if you would mind him hugging you from behind.

What were those stings he felt in his chest? It wasn't tickling.

Then you turned around and saw him. And you screamed. Really loud. And you threw the nearest thing you found at his head: the broken mirror.

How dare he show up like that, in complete silence? Was he trying to scare you? Did he want to pinch your hips to make you jump, like he had done so many times before?

Luckily, you had bad aim and he had good reflexes, because if you had hit the target (his handsome face), it would have been a problem for his debut.

"Abby!" you shouted, blushing from the outburst you'd just had. "You almost gave me a heart attack! Make some noise if you're going to appear like that, say something, I don't know. My heart is beating like a Chihuahua's." You put your hand on your chest to corroborate your comment.

Abby, who was still processing what he was feeling and thinking and to whom you had just thrown a mirror, decided that giving it too much thought would only give him a headache, and that surely everything that had just happened (especially the fact that you ALMOST destroyed his face) was due to nerves about whether Gwi-ma would approve of the plan or not.

‘I'm sorry,’ he said, flashing a half-smile that made your heart skip a beat. It bothered you so much that he was so good-looking and sweet at the same time, when he often pretended to be tough. Alert: attractive boy. Block K-drama music and sparkles behind his figure. Mayday, mayday.

You turned your back on him again and swallowed hard.

Did you just try to attack him…? Well, it was clearly self-defence.

Abby decided that thinking was indeed a waste of time, so he simply approached you (this time making it clear that he was moving so you wouldn't get alarmed and try to knock his teeth out with your fists), rested his chin on the top of your head, and wrapped his arms around your shoulders.

"Don't be mad at me," she said with a pout. "I just wanted to tell you the good news. Gwi-ma thinks it's a great idea."

"And why are you standing there in silence? Are you a ghost now?" you asked, frowning.

Abby found that expression adorable when you made it in your human form. You were much less intimidating that way. You squirmed a little until you turned around in his arms, and he moved back a little to give you space. He lowered his arms to your hips and his chin so he could look you in the eyes.

You had beautiful eyes.

Both as a human and as a demon.

"It's just that…" he tried to explain. For some reason, he felt embarrassed. His ears and the back of his neck grew hot, and he didn't know what to say to justify his actions.

Why hadn't he said something, or jumped on you to shake you off your shoulders or pinch your hips? Why had he preferred to watch you from afar, imagining what it would be like to hold you tight against his chest?

"HEY! THE FIRST RULE, ABBY! NO FLIRTING!" someone shouted.

Abby and you, startled, turned to find yourselves face to face with the other four members of the group. Romance was in front, pointing accusingly at Abby.

"Manager! Bite his head off like you did to me last time! Yank his hair and pull his ears hard!"

At that precise moment, you became fully aware of how close you were to Abby, your hands resting on his chest while he absentmindedly caressed your hip with his thumb.

You had been living with them for some time, and you had never allowed them to get so close to you without resorting to violence (always in self-defence) or without initiating it yourself (after all, Abby liked physical contact too much, and denying him that would make you a bad person). They really enjoyed teasing you to make you blush, which is why you had imposed the no-flirting rule. But since you had thrown the mirror at him, you had let your guard down… hadn't you?

You pushed away the thought of how good Abby's chest felt in your palms and decided to forget the look he had given you as he apologised. There was no need to read between the lines. He was just trying to annoy you. You took a step back and he didn't resist, letting his arms fall to his sides.

"For the last time, Romance. I'm not your manager. I'm your music producer. I just help you guys out a little bit with your stuff beyond writing your songs because you're a little inexperienced."

"Then why aren't you beating Abby up for…?"

"We were just talking, Romance."

With your hands? That close to each other?

Romance wasn't entirely comfortable with this. He understood that Abby liked physical contact, but when he had tried to caress your cheek affectionately, you had reacted by trying to bite his nose.

"(Y/N), you look very pretty," said Baby, who was looking at you with a gentle smile.

Wow. That had caught you off guard.

Mystery nodded slowly, agreeing with him.

"Pink suits you."

You tried to think of horrible things to keep the colour from rising to your cheeks. You weren't going to let them win.

Silly you, you couldn't understand that they meant it.

"Gwi-ma has given us the green light. It's time to settle into the human world and finish the last details before launching Soda Pop," said Jinu, who had been completely silent until then, staring at some point on the floor.

… Why were there bits of glass everywhere?

"Perfect," you said, clapping your hands. "It's time to conquer the human world and steal those fans from the hunters."

Everyone nodded.

Then Jinu looked up and saw you. He really saw you, for the first time since you appeared there. Human, you were… different. He noticed how small your hands looked without claws, and how soft your hair seemed.

………. not cute at all.

Abby had decided he wanted to touch you just because he simply wanted to touch you, period.

He liked how you hugged him and stroked his hair when he asked you to or when you realised without him saying anything that it was what he needed. It was because you were nice to him, and that was it, nothing else.

Besides, you had thrown a mirror at him.

Why had he apologised…?

Why did he think your smile without fangs was as beautiful as with them?

Why hadn't he realised before that he had always thought you were pretty, ever since the first time he saw you?

Surely it wasn't anything important.

And he was sure you would get angry with him if he told you.

Would you bite his hand if he took your chin again?

Would you push him away like you just did?

Why had his heart been in his throat when he hugged you just before the others arrived, if it wasn't the first time he'd done it?

And why couldn't he see that little by little he was feeling more and more like a planet orbiting around you, rather than a mere partner in a plan to destroy humanity?

︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿

A/N: SO! Finally it's here! The next chapter! Woohoo! Sorry if it's bad, I'm not completely happy with the result. But well, some Abby time! And... Abby shimping... ish... hahah... My plan is to give them all the oportunity to steal yout heart... but onlye one of them is going to keep it. When the time comes, I'll let you chosse the endgame! But for now, let them just be confused hehe.

ALSO I probbaly won't be able to post as soon as I did with these last chapters, but I'll try to do it as soon as posible!

Please let me know if you like it! Commenting and rebloguing helps me write faster (at least it gives me the motivation to) (・ω<)

See you soon!

Nun🐇​

Taglist: @just-set-things-on-fire @nightmarewasteland @ph1lo-s0ph1a @gremlinartstudio @strayharmony943 @smoophie @valeriele3 @confusedparticle @queenskippy @enerofairy

(this is my first taglist ever, I hope it works!!)

[mathmusicreading]

I'm genuinely curious about ranting about SY stealing SJ's life and low reading comprehension. Would you be willing to share the link for this fic and comment? I'm an SJ fan while recognizing he was a bad person, so I understand I could be biased, but I'm torn about low reading comprehension when I think about SVSSS (and the context here is your fic, not SVSSS).

In my mind, given SVSSS being a a smart satire that's parody, critique, and reconstruction of the transmigration genre, examining SY stealing SJ's life and SJ being erased are incredibly important in the face of how readers usually just accept the appearance of the transmigrator into the new universe and the disappearance (And the intentionality of it! Against the character's will!) of the original who is transmigrated into, and it can't be argued that SJ never existed or was just a character and idea, given SY didn't transmigrate in at birth and the story's biggest point is "SVSSS LBH being real" and the implication and argument of the same for everyone else.

But it could be very SY-like to not understand and accept, "This is the convention of the genre. You need to accept it so the story can work." (There's a great Tumblr post I need to find again about interpreting works through correct, relevant lenses. Probably it touches on "death of the author" and "bad faith" and "when all you have is a hammer". But I definitely remember that it uses the example of Sailor Moon for why you can't just go around everywhere applying "Monarchy is bad, so Sailor Moon is evil, down with dictators!" without it being you misunderstanding Sailor Moon or very deliberately focusing on monarchy "instead" and "turning" Sailor Moon into a vehicle for "There's no such thing as benevolent monarchy, etc.")

But I think MXTX and SVSSS specifically wanted us to examine SY stealing SJ's life. There's not just SY's imposter syndrome and being grateful to the System that he does have SJ's muscle memory (passing as SQQ better, the coolness, managing to get by in-universe because skills are useful), there's SY!SQQ and SJ!SQQ both being posers, there's SY acknowledging the tragedy of YQY not getting to make his confession to SJ and maybe even tragedy in SJ dying (later SY thoughts, not his original "Fuck SQQ, and also I can't really think about this because this is too much of a trip and I need to focus on my own survival."), there's even Airplane wanting to have included SJ's backstory and greater reveal in his original PIDW outline. And subtextually, SJ is the silent, haunting the narrative, Second To LBH "You can't think of amd treat these characters as not real people and their own people, more than you thought of from your understanding of what PIDW showed and how." There's emotional weight and meaning to SY unintentionally stealing SJ's place, not just "This is a transmigration story without transmigration reveal and with OOC lock because those are the kind of transmigration story this is," so I think it's not low reading comprehension to care about it, although it's definitely low reading comprehension to not understand that SY didn't intentionally "steal" SJ's life. (He didn’t kill SJ or want SJ's life! But the System left him holding the bag and he had to run with it, and there's nuance to be had in discussing his complicitness and his not going against the System more to reveal the truth to anyone besides his fellow transmigrator.)

The best thing illegal scanlation sites have given us is that one comment on the scum villain fantl left on the exact chapter where shen qingqiu first realizes that Binghe has been in love with him the whole time

[aventurineswife]

*kicks door open* I NEED Jock!Phainon x Nerd!Reader, college au, hcs, reader is studying literature.....ok thats all i got byeeee

“Brains and brawn, perfectly balanced”

Tags: Phainon x Reader, Modern AU, College AU, Jock!Phainon, Nerd!Reader, Literature Major Reader, Slow Burn/Strangers/Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Cute Romantic Moments, Opposites Attract, Protective Partner, Supportive Relationship, Light Humor.

Warnings: Mild mentions of stress/anxiety during exams and pressure from athletics (non-triggering) (?), Consensual and healthy relationship dynamics.

A/N: I gotchu, pookie <33

Phainon is the star athlete of the college—captain of the fencing team, admired for his leadership, charm, and effortless cool. Meanwhile, you’re a dedicated literature major, often found in the library or tucked in cozy corners of campus, nose buried in books, headphones in, scribbling notes in your journal.

How You Met

Phainon first notices you during a late-night study session in the library. He’s there to return a book on medieval swordplay, but your intense focus on a poetry anthology catches his eye.

You’re surprised when he sits down beside you and asks for help understanding a metaphor. Despite his confident exterior, he genuinely wants to get better at appreciating literature, and you love nerding out with him.

Phainon is outgoing, physically active, and thrives in social settings, while you prefer quiet, intimate spaces and deep conversations.

He helps you loosen up—inviting you to casual campus events and showing you fencing moves (which you find both hilarious and impressive).

You ground him, encouraging moments of reflection, introducing him to the beauty of poetry, and helping him focus his restless energy.

Relationship Dynamics

Phainon’s Protective Side: He’s fiercely protective but also incredibly gentle with you. After a long day, he might text to check if you ate or offer to bring you coffee during finals week.

You’re His Calm: When the pressure of sports or social expectations weighs on him, you’re his quiet refuge, the one who listens without judgment and encourages him to be true to himself.

Cheering Each Other On: He shows up at your literature readings or presentations, the loudest and proudest fan in the room. You attend his fencing matches, quietly cheering and taking notes on his techniques.

Playful Competitions: Sometimes, Phainon challenges you to friendly debates on who’s more strategic—the mind or the muscle. Spoiler: they’re both champions.

He writes your initials on his wristband for luck before a big match, and you catch him blushing when you notice.

You teach him how to write haikus, and he surprises you with a poem about strength and perseverance, inspired by your late-night study grind.

When campus throws a themed dance, Phainon insists you go with him, promising to slow dance even though it’s “not his style.”

He casually wraps his arm around your shoulders in the quad, claiming you as his “favorite bookworm.”

Phainon struggles with the pressure to always be “the best,” but you remind him it’s okay to have off days.

You sometimes feel overshadowed in social scenes but find confidence in Phainon’s unwavering support and genuine admiration for your intellect.

Together, you learn to balance both your worlds—athletics and academia—with respect, patience, and a lot of humor.

[ao3commentoftheday]

I am having issues being nice to people in my ao3 comments. Most of the time people are perfectly lovely and I love having interactions with them. It's really important to me that when I'm on my writer tumblr instead of my main and on my ao3, I foster a kind and gentle community. I feel like that starts with me and that is the sort of environment I want to create.

Now, the problem is this fic I wrote. It's for a pretry big fandom and it got a lot of traction (like first page when sorting by hits while there are tens of thousands of fics) and it's been wild. Mostly great... except this one arc I wrote where character A, who is mentally ill and gets triggered into a spiral acts mentally ill, which negatively impacts people around him, including character B (it's a ship fic), who while not responsible is making it worse and making the active choice to stay, because he also has his own issues. The fic explores the aftermath of that as well, but for a few chapters it's just the downward spiral. And while it isn't all condoned, I give character A understanding due to the situation as well as a healing journey, wherein he apologizes and does better and makes up for it.

Sadly for me, character B is the fandom's favorite white boy, who is always the hurt victim in every situation and has no responsibility ever. So me also stating how character B is in part responsible forthe situation ending up getting as bad is a no go and people are very angry at me. On top of that, I based a lot of character A's struggles on my own, which makes it even less pleasant to get detailed comments about how he deserves to be beaten up for his actions and left by all his friends and family to stew in the guilt for the rest of forever all alone, less than fun.

I don't want to have to tell people about my own personal struggles and I am tired of explaining that it is a character arc and a nuanced and complex situation wherein multiple parties are at fault. And I have chronic have to reply even when I know ignoring it is better syndrome. At what point does it become acceptable to just be a fucking bitch to people?

First of all, lemme give you a hug 💗 It's never fun when people misunderstand your message and it's even worse when there's a personal element to it as well.

The way I see it, your comments section belongs to you. It's an extension of your fic and it's a place where every message left gets dropped into your inbox. If there's something you don't want to see in your comments section? Delete it. If there's someone who won't stop misinterpreting you/your characterization or someone who is being an asshat? Block them. Then delete their comment.

I know people get hung up on whether or not they should do that, but I'm here to tell you that if I didn't delete hate and block haters, this blog would have shut down in 2020, if not earlier. You need to take care of yourself, and if that means removing that part of your comments then so be it.

I also prefer to lead with empathy and understanding. I believe in giving people the benefit of the doubt. I work very hard at taking the best interpretation possible of scenarios that people write me about. But that doesn't mean I need to put up with hate or with willful ignorance or with snarky "ironic" dystopian takes on my attempts to be sincere and helpful. Those things all make it harder for me to continue this hobby I love, and therefore I delete and I block and I move on in the direction I'm going.

I definitely understand the desire to be a heinous bitch in response. I've even given into it a few times. But I also remember those times because I'm not proud of myself for losing my temper. I look back on them and wish that I hadn't chosen a good burn over my principles.

Don't share anything that you don't actually want to share with strangers on the internet. Don't keep comments around that make you feel bad. Put an author's note at the bottom of the chapter explaining what you're going for and letting readers know that you don't want comments like the ones you describe here - and delete them if they come in despite that.

Sometimes you just have to clean house, anon, and get rid of some of the cruft.

[hatethysinner]

kinda messed up toxic!remmick x pregnant reader

ᴛᴏxɪᴄ!ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ x ᴘʀᴇɢɴᴀɴᴛ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴꜱ

ᴀ/ɴ: NOTHING IS TOO MESSED UP FOR ME ANON!! please heed the warnings, they are there for your benefit <33! went more serious than my normal headcanon writing bc even though i love writing dark themes i never want to come off as too silly when approaching these topics. i don't do taglists personally, so just follow me if you want to be updated when i post.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: 18+ MDNI (!!!!!!), shamelessly gratuitous smut, unapologetically dark (!!!), malicious fluff (i'm coining this), obsession, manipulation, isolation, lovebombing, dubcon (!!!), noncon (!!!), mental/emotional abuse (!!!), heavily abused power dynamic (!!!), breeding kink, pregnancy kink, lactation kink, praise/degradation kink, cunnilingus, fingering, p in v, free use, overstimulation, dacryphilia, unreliable narrator-ish, read at your own discretion

remmick loves you so much it’s suffocating. tells you so every single day, in a voice dripping honey, in words soft enough to be a lullaby. “ain’t nobody in this world loves ya like i do, darlin’. not your friends, not your family. nobody.”

and he’s so good at making you believe it. at making you think he’s the only one who ever could.

he’s doting in ways that would be sweet if it wasn’t all followed by iron chains. he insists on cooking every meal for you, pressing kisses to your temple as he sets a plate in front of you, murmuring, “gotta keep my best girl strong. my baby needs ya strong.” he does the chores, every single one, moving around the house like a gentle shadow, humming while he sweeps, while he folds your clothes, while he rubs oil into your growing belly at night.

he draws your baths, tests the water with his fingers, carries you to the tub if your feet are sore. he brushes and combs through your hair with long, careful strokes, cooing, “such a pretty girl. my pretty little wife.” and sometimes it almost makes you forget the other side of him.

almost makes you forget the hours he’ll lock you in your room when he’s angry, pacing on the other side of the door, telling you it’s for your own good. makes you forget how you never get a private moment anymore, not even to bathe or change clothes, because he’s always there, eyes tracking every breath you take, every twitch of your fingers.

he buys you gifts constantly, filling the house with flowers and silks and gold, draping you in it like he’s gilding a shrine. but you’re not allowed to go out and show it off. “don’t want all them eyes on ya, baby. you’re mine to look at. mine to keep.”

he isolates you, sweetly. softly. makes sure you know the world outside the house is cruel, full of people who’d never understand you the way he does. “ain’t safe out there for a pretty thing like ya. folks’d try to hurt ya. i’d kill ‘em if they did.”

sometimes you believe him. sometimes you want to run. but even the thought of running makes your stomach flip, because you can’t imagine where you’d go without him. you can’t imagine being alone.

and he loves you so thoroughly that you start thinking maybe you’re the one who’s being cruel. for doubting him. for crying when he touches you. for saying no. for not wanting him every time he wants you.

because he always wants you.

he’s obsessed with the way you look carrying his baby. the round swell of your belly, the fullness of your breasts. runs his palms over you like he’s petting something precious, voice low and reverent. “you’re so fuckin’ beautiful, baby. didn’t think it was possible for ya to get prettier, but look at ya now. full of me. just like y’should be.”

he talks about putting more babies in you before you’ve even had this one. about keeping you pregnant for the rest of your life. about how your body was made for this. “gonna keep ya so full, folks won’t even remember what you looked like before i bred ya.”

he adores your milk. even before it’s fully come in, he’s latched to your tits whenever he can get them, licking and suckling and praising you for how sweet you taste, even if you’re crying. especially if you’re crying. “shh, darlin’. let me have it. s’just me. always gonna be just me.”

he’s always touching you. even when he’s pretending to be gentle. fingers stroking your belly, your thighs, slipping between your legs while he murmurs, “need to make sure you’re still stretchin’ nice f’me. can’t have ya closin’ up on me now.”

he’ll tell you how good you are in one breath and tear you down in the next, lips soft against your ear. “such a good girl lettin’ me use ya like this. my sweet little broodmare. nothin’ but a hole to keep my kids warm.” and when you sob, he groans, hips snapping harder. “cry all y’want, sugar. ain’t gonna stop me.”

he lives for the taste of those tears too. for the way your voice goes high and broken when you’re crying and coming at the same time. loves licking the salt off your cheeks and telling you how pretty you are when you cry. “ain’t no sight sweeter than my girl in tears. means i’m doin’ my job right.”

eating you out isn’t even something he asks permission for. you’re his. he’ll spread your thighs, mouth hot and relentless, licking you until your legs shake and your tears spill, ignoring your babbled pleas to stop. loves how your blood sings under your skin when you’re aroused, how your pulse hammers, how your body betrays you even when you’re trying to crawl away.

and fucking you while you’re pregnant is nonnegotiable. he’ll go slow sometimes, murmuring about how delicate you are, but most nights it’s ruthless. bent over the bed, your swollen belly bouncing with every thrust, your breath catching on sobs as he snarls, “takin’ me so good, even with my baby inside ya. gonna stretch ya wider. gonna make room for all the rest.”

he uses your body whenever the urge strikes him. nothing and nowhere is off limits. slides his cock between your thighs while you’re folding baby clothes, or pushes you up against the pantry shelves while dinner’s bubbling on the stove. he’ll slip his fingers between your legs while you’re half-asleep on the couch, or drop to his knees to eat you out right there on the countertop. sometimes he bends you over the bathroom sink, fucking you slow and deep while steam curls around you both, and other times it’s fast, frantic rutting on the front porch as moonlight spills over your bare skin. sometimes he comes just from grinding against you, his fangs scraping your neck, red eyes rolling back as he groans, “can’t help it, baby. can’t fuckin’ help it.”

but remmick never seems satisfied, no matter how many times he takes you. he’ll fuck into you for hours, fingers or tongue or cock never stopping, dragging you over the edge again and again until you’re shaking so hard you can’t hold onto him anymore. even when you’re sobbing, whispering you can’t take any more, he only kisses your temple and murmurs, “just a little longer, darlin’. just one more.” and that’s when he finally bares his fangs and sinks them into your throat, drinking you down as your body convulses around him, making sure the last thing you feel is the bright, dizzy pleasure of giving him everything he wants.

and you want to hate him for it. you know you should. but sometimes, curled against his chest, feeling the weight of his palm over your growing belly, hearing him whisper how you’re his whole world, you wonder if maybe this is love after all.

because you can’t remember what it felt like to breathe without him.

[binmeister]

Toxic

Sometimes people just aren’t meant to be together

Saja boys x Reader (Separate)

:) hi.

CW: Angst, toxic relationships / situationships, breaking up and no making up here (maybe), body dysmorphia heavily insinuated in Abs’ prompt and mentions of ED

Jinu

Sometimes self-doubt and anxiety is just too much.. too destructive to handle.

“Why are you so adamant that I don’t mean it when I say I love you?” Your voice was hoarse, fatigue kicking in after the screaming match the two of you just had. Hours of arguing finally ended after Jinu blew up saying that ‘You’re just lying to me! No one could love me, no one could love a monster like me.’ and you just felt lost. 

How many times do you need to tell him you loved him? Did he not understand your actions and words were true? You tried to be understanding, tried your best to be patient during the months of dating him. You were understanding when he finally opened up about what he is, what he did in the past. All of it. You accepted him completely and that still wasn’t enough somehow. There’d be days where he accepted your affection and then there were days where he pushed you away, guilt on his face as if he didn’t deserve to be held with such care.

“It’s just.. I..” He trailed off, his voice equally as hoarse as he couldn’t meet your gaze. Couldn’t bare to look at your eyes glossed over with tears ready to fall at any given moment. “Because you can’t. You don’t have to keep lying to me about it.”

A beat of silence fell over you two as the tears finally fell, you were hysteric as you wheezed oxygen in and he couldn’t bring himself to touch you, to comfort you. Didn’t feel he deserved to be the one to pick up the pieces he broke off of you even with the tears brimming at the corner of his eyes. It felt like minutes went by before he finally raised up a hand, about to grab hold of you and pull you to his chest so he could apologise and you guys could make up and everything would be okay again but then you spoke up and his world felt like it fell apart.

“I can’t do this anymore. I just can’t.” You had managed to speak through your sobs, aggressive hiccups as you gasped for air to try and steady yourself. “I feel like nothing I do will get through to you, I’m sorry.”

After your distressed apology you left him, barely able to walk straight and he didn’t stop you. Frozen in place as he heard the sound of his apartment door slam closed after you left. He deserved this. The heartbreak. But it hurt so bad as he realised he’d succeeded in sabotaging something that made him happy, made him feel human.

He deserved to be alone.

Abs / Abby

He just struggled to understand your body image issues.

He didn’t understand why you were so uncomfortable in your own skin, you looked fine to him. He liked the way your belly squished when he held you and he loved knowing he could show his strength by picking you up. He was strong, he didn’t care what size or shape you were because he just liked you. But sometimes this lead to arguments. 

On days you couldn’t bring yourself to even look yourself in a mirror when you brushed your teeth because you hated what you saw, wanting to tear your skin and body apart so you could rearrange it and put it back together into something that could be worthy of love. Of attention. He’d reassure you that he loves you, loves how you look and then he lets it slip that he doesn’t really understand why you hate your body so much and then you get fed up. At the positivity he’s always sharing.

It’s hard to digest when he’s being genuine because it feels fake, like he’s just being nice so he can keep you wrapped around his finger. Because he doesn’t notice when you stop eating or making drastic changes to your diet. Believes the little lies you feed him when you say you ‘just didn’t feel hungry’ or that you ‘ate earlier, go ahead!’ as he digs into the meal in front of him without questioning you. When you’re tired from the lack of nutrients he doesn’t ask if you ate, just asks if you got enough sleep as he tries to cradle you into his chest when you’re barely functioning.

He just doesn’t understand. He’s lived long enough as a demon that can change form that he forgets humans can’t do that easily, and when he was human he lived in a time period where food was scarce so only the insanely wealthy could eat themselves into their graves. So when you’re eating like a bird and looking miserable he gets small flashbacks of family and friends during his time as a human, when they struggled to eat but they were so happy to have the small available portion that he thinks you’re okay. Maybe it’s a fad.

When you break up with him, he’s confused. It felt like it was out of no where to him, threw him off guard completely. But you go on about how you need to fix yourself before you two can try again, how you couldn’t love your body and felt envious that he could do whatever he wants with his and still look amazing. He tried to explain to you the difference between yourself and him but stopped himself when he finally took in how sad you looked, the eye bags under your eyes from the restless sleep you’ve had on empty stomachs, how weak you seem like if he blew air onto you it might just make you wither away.

He doesn’t understand, so he lets you walk away from him.

Mystery

It feels like you’re only ever talking out loud to yourself.

At first his silence was comforting, the honeymoon period and rose tinted glasses made it seem like he was just a quiet and doting boyfriend. The type of partner that didn’t need to express his thoughts and feelings with words and actions were enough. But then it felt like you were never having a conversation as a pair.

You’d started to feel self conscious through your relationship, wondering if maybe you talked too much and he was just too polite to not shut you up. Maybe he tuned out your ramblings as background noise because he never gave you anything except a calm smile and a nod to acknowledge that he heard you. At first it was enough to reassure you he was aware and happy but then it made communicating hard. He wouldn’t have any opinions or say anything when it came to arranging date night, he didn’t have thoughts about what you wore, no comments about anything because he didn’t talk to you.

The only time you’ve heard his voice at this rate is when he’s barking at the other guys or when he’s forced to speak for some commercial or promotion the group had to do. And that was it. You didn’t get to hear him whisper that he loved you, he didn’t even say that he loved you with his voice. Your ‘I love you’s were always met with silence and a peck to the cheek, maybe a different form of physical affection but never in words. Not even in text or on a piece of paper.

You’d asked him a few times if he could respond to you, verbally, and he nodded but then nothing changed. He’d fall into the same routine of only nodding, shaking his head, shrugging his shoulders. Everything except respond to you with his voice that at this point you were desperate to listen to. Your only comfort was looping the groups’ songs on repeat and trying to remember his singing voice, or trying to find the small clips online where he spoke. It just wasn’t enough, couldn’t give you the comfort you wanted from him. The physical affection he showed started to mean less and less when it was just filled with silence, the only sounds were the sound of either of your breaths or the occasional squeak from you when he squeezed you too hard in a hug.

You let it go on for a few more weeks, praying that maybe you were just a little too in your head but when it continued on that he didn’t speak to you - you finally met your breaking point. You didn’t tell him to his face that you were breaking up with him, feeling like it wasn’t worth the effort because he wouldn’t respond to you anyway. You texted it to him, saying that you were done and hope he continues to thrive in his career and maybe the next person he meets will be the one he’ll have enough interest in speaking to.

You were left on read.

Romance

You don’t feel secure when the words he promised were for you were used as a template on everyone else too.

You guys were supposed to be on a date, just the two of you. But a group of fans recognised him and came screaming, begging for photos, squealing when he gently held any of their hands and how lovely he was. They completely ignored you, he completely ignored you, until the interaction was done and over with. He waved at them as the group walked away, winking and blowing a kiss to add that extra zest that he knew would make them freak out and post about online.

Yet you stood there next to him, an emptiness in your chest as he continued to keep his attention on the group before half heartedly throwing an arm around your shoulder and ushering you away. His touch should’ve felt warm and comforting but it just made your blood run colder, made you uncomfortable but you didn’t want it to show so you swallowed your pride and tried to smile at him - listening to him as he talked about whatever it was the group did today in their schedule.

Then it happened again the next time you were due to go out together, his attention was solely on the fans and normally you understand. Normally it was fine, you get it, it’s his job. But you felt a crack in your mentality as he started spouting words that he usually kept sacred for you. He directed it at a female fan, complimenting her and word for word reciting things he’s said to you. Words he promised were only for you. So why were you witnessing him casually recite it to a complete stranger? He didn’t even notice the shift in your mood as you excused yourself to go home early after that, didn’t pay attention to how upset you looked because before he could bid you a sweet good night another fan had taken up his attention and he was off in his own world again.

You tried to approach him about it one day when he was hanging out in your room, but he didn’t really reassure you in a way that made you feel like he actually cared. It felt like he was reciting some script he found online about how to deal with an insecure partner - he didn’t even look at you as he said it. He was staring at his nails, words filled with honey but he couldn’t even give you the decency to look at you while he said it. Like you were just some groupie that he had to deal with until his next break.

You told him to get out after that, he wasn’t offended in the slightest and shrugged you off as he left. A simple ‘call me when you miss me’ as he left, attempted to wink at you but was thrown off when you didn’t look at him as you slammed the door shut after he stepped out of your apartment. Whatever, he was sure you’d get over it and come crawling back to him when you felt lonely. 

But you didn’t contact him after that. A week had gone by and not a single text from you, he huffed a little annoyed - you always wanted to hear from him, wanted him to say sweet things to you, that’s what you wanted. So he started to initiate. A message here, an attempt at call. Tried to seek you out at places he knew you liked to visit and casually bump into you at one of them but it was like you were purposely avoiding him. Another week goes by and he tries again to call you, but he didn’t expect to hear the dial tone end and the automated voice bank be the only thing to answer him.

“Your call could not be connected.”

Did you block him?

Baby

The crumbs of attention stopped being enough.

Most of the time spent with Baby was side by side as he busied himself with snacks or whatever his phone entertained him with at the time, if it wasn’t his phone then it was a gaming console, if it wasn’t some kind of console then it’d be him making fun of the guys. Quality time didn’t really exist for you two and you didn’t mind it at first because it was just nice to be around him, close enough that he doesn’t feel like pushing you away in disgust and you thought it went well.

Then you realised he didn’t really give you much attention when you weren’t physically around him. His replies were sporadic, half hour to multiple hours between each one and he never continued the conversation no matter how hard you prompted him to. Simple responses and then nothing much to add to it, a little dismissive even.

It gave you whiplash because when you were around him, at first he’d be a little sweeter to you - a peck on the cheek or a hand on yours or your leg to show that he acknowledged you were there. But the touches stayed fleeting. Like he didn’t want to be caught being affectionate to you at all. It continued on like that for a while, fleeting touches and when you tried to engage in more he’d instinctively back away - not wanting the guys to see you being cutesy with him and it stung. Was he embarrassed being with you?

When the two of you were alone he was more loving, even offered up a few sweeter words to you, but those instances were extremely rare given how much he preferred the company of his fellow demons and the chaotic entertainment provided to him for free. You’ve played games with him online here and there, both in your respective rooms for this but it didn’t really feel like he was playing the game with you. Off-handed comments about how bad your teammates were and then insulting them even though you made the same mistakes, he brushed you off telling you that you’re not the problem it was the others but it just kept festering the insecurity in you.

Sometimes you’d be on a call with each other, at first you’d often fall asleep on the phone and you’d laugh about it in the morning but now it felt like he was simply waiting for you to fall asleep first so he could mute and do whatever it is he wanted to do - which was usually hop on some other game or go harass the guys now that he knew you were sleeping soundly.

There was a day you tried to talk to him about it, try to tell him that you didn’t feel like he loved you and he brushed you off. That hurt. You tried again another day and it was the same thing, he brushed you off because he didn’t understand why you needed so much attention. It made you feel greedy and it made you feel even worse about yourself, hating that you latched onto every word he said to you or how excited you got when he finally responded to your message an hour after you sent yours, how small it made you feel. Like without him you didn’t exist.

So you ended it, you pulled him aside when he invited you over to hang out with the guys and you ended it then and there. He didn’t say anything, just blankly stared at you as you complained and explained why you couldn’t do this anymore. He didn’t do anything when you bowed in apology, tears trailing down your cheeks as you excused yourself and left shortly after. He didn’t acknowledge Jinu or Romance when the two older men had approached him to ask if everything was okay, because you’d just ran out crying before anyone could say hi.

He just accepted it, humans were confusing and he couldn’t be bothered to figure out what just happened.

[kithtaehyung]

yoongi's interlude: fugue pt. ii (3tan) (m) | myg

title: yoongi’s interlude: fugue pt. ii (m) pairing: 3tan!yoongi x reader(f)  series: masterlist | three tangerines | fireworks | house party | basketball |  stay |  sidewalk talk | friends | dalo | like that | anytime | sundress season | yoongi’s interlude | forfeit | flutter | video call | busted | broken pt. 1 | broken pt. 2 | fugue pt. i rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , smut ;  brother’s best friend au, implied age gap au summary: he would do anything for you, even if that means leaving your light... to venture into his dark. note: fugue—in music, a compositional procedure characterized by the systematic imitation of a principal theme in simultaneously sounding melodic lines ; a state or period of loss of awareness of one's identity, often coupled with flight from one's usual environment. note 2: if you haven’t read them or haven’t read them in awhile, i highly recommend rereading busted, broken pt 1, and broken pt 2 before diving into this one. note 3: yes. this is where i will hold hands. warnings: language, flashbacks, time skips, angst, heavy isolation, brain fog, fugue state experiences, ruined instrument, depression allusions, alcohol mentions and consumption, fight scenes, spice from yoongi’s pov????, trauma, bro is a real one, drugs mention/use, the demons are being fought y’all, among other things😔, blood, yoongi please get up😭😭, darkness, jimin being his ride or die self, surprise reader cameo?, anxiety, ptsd reflexes, the ex is getting screen time🚶‍♀️‍➡️, friendship is truly power, yoongi just needs a gd hug😭, dark thoughts, tension, the ending.. oh god the ending<33 ; nsfw warnings: under the cut! drop date: july 1st, 2025, 9:57pm est word count: 21.1k wtfffff

smut warnings: YOONGI SMUT POV!!!, ch*king, head/hair tugging, reader has a pain kink and yoongi knows it, penetr*tive s*x, chains but come on now, protective s*x, cowgirl, or*l (m/f rec), edg*ng a ha ha, thro*tf*cking, kissing :’))), kissing D:, hitting from the b b back, yoongi king of consent sheesh, multiple org*sms, spitting lmfao, sl*t/wh*re mentions, yoongi jfc lol, the aftercare y’all already know!!

“How do you even call this work? You don’t do shit!”

—

—

When you’re in the eye of a tempest, you don’t see the danger surrounding all sides. You feel the calm. The temporary peace—when really your mind is constantly on the run. 

But from the outside looking in, no one can reach you through the darkness. If they get too close, they risk getting hurt. Swept in the chaos and shut out from where you stand in false hope. 

They’ll scream for you to leave. Beg for you to run. But only you can make that choice once you have the chance to hear them. And why would you? If you don’t see any issue with what’s in front of your eyes? 

They will try, and try, and try. Their voices will run repetitive until distant. Pleas will fall on deafer and deafer ears. Try as they might to step into the rush of fury, they’ll only get pushed away because you can’t deal with the cacophony of disappointment. 

Pretty soon, nobody wants to brave that cyclone. Nobody will come save you from the wrath because all it does is make them burn. 

You’re happy, right? Why can’t they be happy you’re happy where you are? Safe. Comfortable, like you’ve never been before? They don’t see it like you do. They don’t understand what you have. 

Slowly but surely. One by one—even the best one. No one except your storm will be there beside you.

And when it abandons you to drown in the ocean it created?

Only then will you realize all your lifelines are long, long gone.

—

—

The sky is dark again.

From the dips of his sofa, Yoongi awakes to pitch black, watching the ceiling flash sinister grins with lightning white teeth.

Ah. Back to the beginning. 

Not that he’s surprised, of course. Everything always goes back to the way it was. Back to the way it’s supposed to be. Because it’s all he deserves. 

Right? 

When thunder crashes into the night, Yoongi flinches in knots, memories jagged at the edges piercing his head violent. 

You know not to—

—shitty day to—

Seriously?

—knew this would—

Prove it.

—only gonna end up alone. 

—

—

Thunder booms once more.

But Yoongi wakes in a memory.

“Why don’t you just stay?”

He looks to his side, seeing a face that has been with him for more days than anyone else’s lately. 

No one has ever asked him to stay. At least, not during the morning after when there’s not much left to talk about. With everyone else, it’s been a quick one in the nearest bathroom or him bouncing before the sun comes up. 

It’s his fault for sleeping this long. He should’ve at least gotten woken up by—

Thunder cracks outside, catching Yoongi’s attention before he finds himself still hesitating. “You sure?” 

“At least until the storm stops. Then you have to go.” 

A bit of morning attitude does feel nice. And at least he remembers her name. He should, though, since this is the fourth time he’s been over. 

“Uhm.” The only complication is that… Yoongi has a thing. A pretty important thing, since his friends are finally all in town again and planned to spend the day together. He’s surprised his phone isn’t blowing up right now, which is what he expected to be woken up by.

He shifts. Oh. It’s dead. 

Yoongi hears a snort behind him before an arm snakes around his bare torso. “It died a long time ago, you know.”

Interesting. “You didn’t charge it for me?”

Another smug laugh crawls along his spine. “I could’ve.” When the hand on his stomach slithers lower, Yoongi’s body responds on instinct, his eyes closing and his heart bumping just a bit louder. 

And he doesn’t yet know it. 

“But I wanted you all to myself.”

Yoongi turns. “Is that so?”

But this stormy day from years past is significant. 

Lashes bat at him with shimmering lust as he’s lured away from his still-uncharged phone. Away from his plans. Away from his awaiting, concerned as hell friends. “Find out for yourself.”

And Yoongi’s gone before the next groan of thunder ends its roar. “Fuckin’ plan on it.”

It’s not a cleanse. Not a relief.

But an omen. 

—

—

Time passes as he’s thrown back to the present.

But Yoongi doesn’t know how long it’s been. Hours? Days? …Weeks? 

It’s dark again. 

But his phone is alive. Barely there across the room, a light blue screen is all he can make out. Someone could be texting. Or calling. Or whatever else he’s gonna ignore. 

How did it get all the way over there?

Whatever. Not like he cares. He’s not gonna need it for awhile anyway. 

The last thing Yoongi remembers is clutching your words in his hands, but apparently Namjoon and Hoseok found him eerily sick. Practically kicked him out of the studio to force him to get better, not knowing how painfully ironic that would become.

The endless rot coaxed a slow descent into his warring mind, corroding from the inside. Seeping defeat along his veins. 

Pelts pelts pelts against the windows hit him like punches, weakening his resolve to even stay awake. It’s all too much. His brain is too battered and bruised to fight right now. 

So he plummets from the sofa back into the past. 

—

—

“That one looks like you.”

From a ways behind, Yoongi watches his younger self, seeing vibrant hair shaking in a laugh before sweeping his pensive gaze along the hazy, deep orange skyline. 

He remembers this hilltop, benches and trees overlooking the city life below. How can he forget when he passes it every time he goes to practice with the guys? Well, every time he went. He doesn’t think he’s gone anywhere in a minute. 

At least he’s observing this memory from a distance this time. Yoongi assumes this is his mind’s way of coping. Because reliving the memories from his own point of view was too much to bear. 

The air carried a certain hue of pink that day. And his hands can still recall the stickiness of the popsicle he held as stickier lips get caught in another kiss. 

Right. This is where it happened. Where Yoongi fell in love for the first time. 

At least, that’s what it felt like to him. He felt wanted for more than his body, understood on a level that no one else had before. Be it his yearning for companionship or for simply being needed, Yoongi felt something beat in his chest that day, spurning him to embrace new emotions never before experienced. 

But something feels off as he relives it on the sidelines. She says those words so differently than how he remembered before. 

“I love you.” 

Yoongi turns away before he can watch himself react. Because he doesn’t need to witness the light in those eyes, a light that would soon be squashed and smothered to the point of nothingness. 

Because in the end, it wasn’t love he received. Love doesn’t come with terms and conditions that don’t go both ways. Love doesn’t make someone second guess everything they’ve ever said and done. 

Love doesn’t make someone want to end it all. 

But what did he know back then? All he saw was someone making him feel good. Great, most of the time. What he didn’t think about, though, was why they were on the hilltop in the first place. 

Right now, that Yoongi doesn’t know about this girl skipping out on work to hang out with him. He doesn’t remember shirking responsibilities to meet her in her bed, caught in his feelings enough afterwards to blow his friends off yet again. 

How many times did he do that at this point? Were they already annoyed with him? Or was this when they started asking if they’d even get him back?

Sighing deep, Yoongi stuffs both hands in his hoodie as he watches another kiss unfold, grimacing at the way she tries her best to swallow him whole. Months down the line, she accomplishes that. He’ll feel trapped with no way out in no time. 

He needs to get out of this nightmare. The sunlight is fading and so is his control. 

Then he watches himself get up, begging to not get in that car. To not leave. To just run. 

Fuck, he wants to haul himself away with everything in his bones. The fact that he can’t stop any of this from happening is what hurts the most, feeling like he can save himself yet knowing it’s impossible. All he can do is watch. 

As she yanks on his younger arm to haul him back down to the bench, Yoongi flinches where he stands, triggered by all the times he tried to leave his own fucking place just to be guilt-tripped into staying. Every time. So many times so many times so many fucking times. 

Get out of here. Either version, get the fuck out of this timeline and into any other. He’s damn near ready to beg and sacrifice anything with a squeeze of his eyes. 

And when he opens them, Yoongi meets a different orange hue on his speckled ceiling, blinking before turning his head into a pillowcase that smells like… You. 

Thank fuck. 

Wait, how’d he get here? Wasn’t he just on the couch? Whatever. Doesn’t matter. 

Relieved, he burrows a cheek into your lingering presence, inhaling short to preserve the one thing that makes his apartment feel like a home. It’s such a comfort that he feels remorse in his chest, right before something leaks slow from his eye.

Even in your absence, you save him once again. There’s nothing Yoongi won’t give you when he gathers himself again, because you’re the only thing keeping him tethered to something good. 

Guess going back to sleep is not an option. Maybe he’ll finally try to work on some tracks again. 

—

—

A boom of thunder jolts him conscious, and Yoongi winces at the crick in his shoulder before grabbing it in a rub. What the hell? When did he fall asleep? 

Checking his dimmed screen, he squints when the brightness blooms and curses at the many, many, many errant notes displayed on his workspace. Because of fucking course he fell asleep on his keyboard. 

The instrument track is deleted without another thought. 

But after a brief stare, Yoongi undoes the action and goes to the very beginning of the timeline, just to see if he had an idea to start with before descending into a dreamless symphony. 

Nope. Delete.

Failure wisps down his chest before he rubs both eyes. This has got to be the most disjointed he’s ever felt. Yoongi doesn’t even know when he last ate something, much less spoken to somebody or taken a fucking shower. 

Disgusting. He needs to do that last one. It’s the only productive thing he does before falling face first into his bedsheets, wondering when he last washed them before succumbing to sleep again. 

—

—

“Wow, about time you finally brought her!” 

“Ah, yah, he’s back out from hiding!” 

Yoongi can visibly see his hand squeezed with apprehension, and he remembers nails digging into his skin hard enough to crunch his smile. 

Throughout the house, multiple people greet them both as they pass, and even Yoongi shifts as if he isn’t just a ghost of a bystander. 

This party. This night. This very house witnessed the moment when everything started going to absolute shit. 

For once, she agreed to come with him to a party. It wasn’t at Jimin’s, since she never wanted to be there—red flag stupidly ignored—but at another acquaintance’s across town. 

Yoongi was simply relieved, happy to be able to see everyone he cared about in one place. But it soon became harder and harder to hold conversations without being pulled somewhere else, being told to go elsewhere, feeling bad about not making it a good time for her. 

As his younger self follows her to a room upstairs, Yoongi prods his cheek. Because unlike sneaking around with your shy smile, this was to hash out a petty argument about nothing. Nothing. 

But he cared about her so much that he took the harsh statements behind closed doors. He listened as she expressed that she felt ignored the whole night. He hated himself for making her feel that way because that wasn’t his intent at all. 

Poised against the wall just outside the door, Yoongi hangs his head, hearing the same painful words from the other side and sending his past self all the love he didn’t have before. 

And he watches as the same door bursts open, his ex rushing for the stairs and his bright hair bolting after her.

Soon, he’ll chase her down the stairs, calmly try to reason with her but failing miserably. People will stare. People will talk. 

But they’d already be in a car and silently driving away. 

—

—

Another day. Another thunderstorm.

Somehow, Yoongi always ends up in his living room when this happens. Like his bedroom feels too sinister when it rains—unless you’re in there filling it with your sunshine. 

He hopes you still know how beautiful you are. How wonderful, how mesmerizing he finds you, no matter where in space and time he resides. Are you finding ways to be happy? Are you out there conquering whatever you want simply because you can? 

Can he send himself to your dreams instead? 

No. Even in dreams, he doesn’t deserve to see you right now. 

And there’s his same problem again. The shadow standing over him. Whether this is due to his past mistakes, or the darkness in his mind, Yoongi fully believes he isn’t yet worthy of your light. 

Besides. As he feels the guitar standing in its same place, he hears it speaking. Reminding him of all the things he’s done wrong. 

When lightning strikes, Yoongi counts the seconds. And four counts later, he flinches at the boom before blanking again. 

—

—

“Who’s that?”

“No one.” 

“You know not to tell me that. Who is it?” 

Ah. He knows why this memory is still taking up space in his mind. Yoongi takes a spot along the wall of her living room, remembering how clean it was and knowing that’s one of the reasons he liked her in the first place. 

Settled on the spotless couch, his younger self with undyed hair turns his head. “The studio guy I was talking to before. Wants to bring me in so I can see what’s up.” 

She gets up with a pout, “Awhh, does it have to be today?” 

He remembers being excited as hell for this. But no one would be able to tell based on his response, “Uhh, I think so. Is that okay?”

“Umm.. I mean, I guess.” 

Truthfully, there were many reasons Yoongi liked this girl. But there were also warning signs, and he must have ignored them in favor of bliss and companionship. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Walking up to his knees, she starts to mount his lap. And this is when Yoongi softly thumps his head back on the other side of the room. 

“I just wanted to hang out today.” 

“Well.. I practically live here now.” When he watches his younger hands skirt along her legs, no feeling rushes into his veins. It’s all evaporated. There’s nothing where everything used to be. “We can when I get back?”

“You don’t live here officially,” she tuts, slinging arms around his neck and bringing him into her chest. And again, his current self is repulsed. “Are you sure you need to go? What are you even gonna do?” 

She fucking knows what she’s doing. Red flags are everywhere for eyes unblinded by infatuation. 

“It’s not that I need to, but I really fucking want to. It sounds really sick and I think I can work there with them.”

“With who?” 

“The.. Studio guys?” 

This is more painful on the other side. 

Because that boy doesn’t know what’s coming. He doesn’t know the pain that will splay out from his inability to see what’s happening to him. Those arms will tighten and tighten around his neck in due time, suffocating like mad. 

But for now, she agrees to let him go, dismissive of the main reason and having ulterior motives. “Fine, but you’re bringing me back food.” 

“I got us,” he readily agrees. And Yoongi can just feel the rush in his chest. Incredible, considering he recalled zero emotion from her earlier touch. “Just let me know what you want.” 

This is when it hits again. This feeling in his gut is not because of the food they ate when he returned. But from preparing for what’s coming next. 

And he dreads the next time he can’t stay awake anymore. 

—

—

Yoongi eyes the molded tangerines in his bowl.

And his heart walks away before he does. 

—

—

Hail comes down in sheets as Yoongi watches himself haul ass to the apartment corridor. Right behind him, growls and angry yells erupt, “I told you it would be a shitty day to do this.”

“It’s my only day off,” he reiterates, steadying a box with the door as he jingles in the key. “Been busy as fuck lately.”

“At that studio again?” 

Waiting as they bustled inside an empty unit, Yoongi’s jaw locks right up. Right then and there he should’ve walked away from that dangerous precipice, new place be damned. So slippery with condescension. So littered with malice and passive aggression. 

But they both took that step from beyond the bounds of friends with benefits, and with those benefits also came the ones of his doubt. Because Yoongi dealt with the jabs. He could handle those, though he shuns his own naivety of liking instead of loathing them. How did he ever let himself be subtly shot down so many times?

It continued to happen all throughout the day. Even when they both waited out the hailstorm and came out to their cars dented to hell, all he’d really hear were complaints about his hobby—his hobby?—taking up so much time. 

It’s when they’re almost done that she drops a heavy hit, with Yoongi watching them from the hall. “Just think about it, okay? You’re spending all this time and money on it and aren’t really doing anything.”

Maddeningly, it’s hard to really tell someone a hobby is actually your entire life. Especially when you haven’t got anything to show for it other than a couple self-produced tracks and one producer credit on a local, aspiring singer’s album. Man, that guy was an asshole. He needed to learn how to move sessions along even with artists bickering the whole way or else—

“Are you even listening?”

“Sorry,” Yoongi mumbles, adjusting the moving box in his arms that’s holding a deconstructed bar cart. “Work shit again.”

“Seriously? Can you not for like two seconds? I just wanna get everything done with and shower. I feel gross.”

“You aren’t supposed to shower during a—”

“Don’t care! I do not care. Let lightning strike me the fuck down while I scrub my asshole.”

Yoongi snorts as he struggles to open his door once again, noting in the far, far back of his mind that the person with a free hand could’ve held it open but didn’t. That should’ve told him enough. But of course, he gave her everything, including way too many chances to redeem herself. 

As they stumble inside, Yoongi follows, remembering how, despite moving someone in, he felt so… Alone. 

His music equipment gets shoved over for more desk space; his shoe collection stuffed in cramped spaces to make room for smaller kicks; his kitchen groaning with boxes and bins with no organization that was slowly but painfully driving him up and through the nearest wall.

Watching this dreary day play out from a distance, Yoongi observes his younger self with abject misery, sweeping his gaze across a cluttered living room and noting the obvious slump in his shoulders. Shoulders that bore the weight of his brash decision of a relationship. 

What were his friends doing that day? Were they watching a basketball game together? He remembers it was the end of the season, so a lot of them were gathering for watch parties and cook-outs. Get togethers he had turned down for weeks in order to spend time with her. 

If only he had asked himself one question. One question should’ve been enough to tell him everything he needed to know.

If he ever had the chance to tell his younger self not to get hung up on one mistake in his life, he would pick this one. Because this one fuck-up set him back years, and became the first splotch of grey in his shrinking, shrinking universe. One question he could’ve asked himself. One answer he could’ve gotten to immediately. 

Why didn’t anyone help him move her in.

—

—

There’s nothing in the fridge Yoongi can eat. And there’s a severe lack of food in his pantry, even though he remembers it being stocked but not taking any of it out. So for the first time in awhile, he forces himself to go outside for sustenance. 

Yoongi shuts his door before locking it, also noting that very empty bowls lie next to his shoes. 

“Oh! There you are.” 

Who the fuck? Who’s even out at this hour? Sluggish, Yoongi turns, noticing the elder lady next door watering the plants along her welcome mat. What was her name again? He thinks it starts with a vowel. But when he tries to answer with a hello, his voice cracks and dies on his tongue. 

Holy shit, when’s the last time he’s even spoken? 

“You okay, sugar? I haven’t seen or heard you in a long time.” 

Wait. Even the neighbors are getting nosy now? How long has he been away from the world? Attempting speech again, Yoongi swallows before rasping out, “Yes, ma’am.” 

“Don’t lie to me, boy. Where’s that nice girl that’s been coming over?” 

Oh. He thinks that’s a pulse in his chest before he answers, “At her place.” Where you need to stay. Far, far away from him.

“Oh… Well, I hope she comes back over soon.” She sets her watering pail on the windowsill. “You two have the best time when she’s here. Hah! Those laughs I hear when I don’t have my dramas playing.. You two give an old lady hope.” 

…What? Yoongi can’t even form a coherent thought. 

Did… Did you really make his laughs so hard his walls couldn’t contain them? The concept seems so obvious yet so foreign, because he can’t even recall the last time he used muscles in his face to smile. Let alone expel joy. 

Suddenly, he sees rain on a cloudless night. Where is he? He doesn’t even fucking know anymore. 

“I’ll be waiting,” the lady continues, breaking through his haze again. “You look like you’re about to tell me something. But I know you aren’t done with her yet.” 

Closing his mouth, Yoongi blinks before nodding his tired head. “Yes, ma’am.” 

“Good! And tell her Miss Dion says hello, okay?” 

Yoongi hasn’t spoken to you in awhile now. But he doesn’t have the heart to tell her that. “Yes, ma’am.” 

—

—

This memory doesn’t reveal much other than onyx static. But it morphs and twists until it sprouts edges, and it sends him into shakes. Fuck. This is the night he always dreads. The night that transcends time, showing itself like a specter no matter the time of day. The night he said those three words that have him fucking tethered to his living room corner. 

The night of his twenty-first. 

It happened all those years ago, with only the two of them because she wanted it to be special and waved off his desire to have his friends there. For a milestone that should have been celebrated with whoever he fucking wanted. 

And he remembers being completely fine with the isolation. Because despite all the studio shade, all the music dismissal… She got him a brand new guitar. A real one. Not just some rented instrument he had to keep returning, but a true, beautiful black guitar. 

She got it for him because music was his hobby. His hobby. 

Not his life, not his dream career. But a hobby. The gift was laced with malicious intent and he didn’t see it until months later. When everything was becoming crystal clear and frightening. 

Yoongi wedges himself in the corner so strongly he can actually feel the scrap of his walls, watching with short breaths as his younger, ignorant self takes it from its case with admiration. Breathe. This isn’t real anymore. Fucking breathe. 

He will always hate this memory. He wants it to burn, to break, to shatter into pieces just so he can’t witness it any longer. But it’s always there. Taunting him when he’s close to healing, whipping around his arms when he’s close to feeling okay again. You’ve done every fucking thing you could, but even you aren’t strong enough to fight this one for him. 

Only he can conquer this. And he’s only succeeding in failing. 

Yoongi’s head drops when he hears himself say those three little words again, eyes pinching tight at the reaction he gets back. 

“You got there,” she says through manufactured tears. “I knew this would do it.” 

Get him the fuck where? Hell? The abyss? In the middle of the fucking ocean? 

Hair slides in front of his eyes as he has to hear her cry again, feeling his heart sag knowing he’s tugging her in for a hug. “And I’m there forever,” he mouths along with his past self. 

Her grin is still piercing. Sharp. Striking. “Forever.” 

Get out. Get out, get out, get out. 

Forcing himself out of the nightmare, Yoongi shoots from his bed, unsurprised his head is pulsing hard. 

Fuck this. He’s got to get out of here. Your house. Your bed. Your arms. God, the yearning for any of those claws at his chest and bangs against his ribcage. But the studio is his safest place that doesn’t have you in it. So he hastily grabs his keys, heading to the door to slip on his shoes. 

Aiming an offensive finger at the guitar in the corner. The same one that will be waiting for him when he returns. 

—

—

“You’re seeing someone else.” 

“What? Why would I be?” 

“You were seeing someone when you saw me.” 

Yoongi’s stomach lurches at this particular memory. Because hearing that accusation from her lips crushed his heart and slid it across their apartment floor. “First of all, that’s not what happened.” 

“Looked exactly like how it happened. And you won’t even admit it.” 

If she was willing to be down with that, then she was no better. But why would she ever put herself in the wrong? Her aversion to ownership was something else. 

Yoongi watches from the kitchen this time as she taps her utensils on the table. At least she’s not digging lines in it this time. His words across the wooden surface sound completely unlike her ire, “I said I wasn’t good for her. And I left before we got serious.” 

“Well why aren’t you serious about us now?” 

That was a goddamn stretch and they both knew it. It took everything to not slam on the gas, crashing into the window next to his shoulder. “What makes you say that?”

“You don’t make time for me anymore.” 

Because no matter how upset he got, Yoongi could never find it in him to shout. That was her thing. He vowed to never make it his. Explaining soft, he moves food around his plate. “It’s the only time that studio space is free. And I picked that place because it’s the closest one, like you asked.” 

“You’re so cheap.” Both versions of himself feel the same deep pang. “But whatever. Why aren’t you answering my calls lately?” 

When he watches himself sigh, Yoongi flexes both hands at his sides. “Phones are out when we’re in there.” 

“Bullshit.” 

“Are you gonna believe anything that I say?” 

“I’ll believe it when you actually make time.” Every memory seems to be harder to watch than the last. 

“Okay,” his younger self relents, knowing this is how all the arguments end. “I’ll try. But I’m making progress so as soon as I’m done with this mix—” 

She laughs while slamming the utensils down, the dining table screaming in pain. “Of course!” 

“Of course what?” 

“Another excuse, Yoongi,” she grits out, leaning back to fold angry arms. “You don’t even bring that guitar with you, either.” 

“Cus it’s staying here.” 

The way she could slip between the monster and the victim makes him squirm. Her eyes grow wide, brows creasing with a practiced pleading that makes him grimace. “Why? You don’t like it?” 

“I don’t wanna break your gift.” 

“Oh.” 

He holds his hand out, and Yoongi slides his jaw knowing what he does here. Taking her by the hands, the younger him offers a moment of peace, “You really think I’m not in this for real?” 

“It’s more like.. I feel like I’m competing with your job and your.. thing. And losing.” 

His thing. Yoongi loves his thing. He is genuinely enjoying creating and analyzing and experiencing music that he can’t wait to go back. It’s all he can think about when he sleeps, when he wakes. But now he feels bad because he may need to do it less to spend time with her. “I’ll prove it.” 

“Prove what?” 

“That you aren’t.” 

“Okay,” she sighs, gripping his hands. “You better.”

Voices that aren’t his or hers leak into his slumber. And the memory starts to fade into dust on his tongue.

“Let him sleep.” 

“He’s gonna wake up as soon as we start anyway.” 

“Why’d he sleep in here and not the back room?” 

Yoongi slowly opens his eyes, blinking away sleep as blurred shapes come into focus. Mm. He made it to the studio. And he’s definitely on the couch, based on the awkward slant of his back. Lolling his head sideways, he watches all three of his coworkers bustle around the console, flipping on different switches and wincing at the loud hum of the CPU. When Hoseok glances back to see his eyes in squints, he tuts to the others, 

“Ah, see? He’s already awake.” 

“Mmph,” Yoongi grunts out as they all turn, struggling to a sitting position and kneading his eyes. “Don’t wait, I’ll get up now.” 

“When’d you get here?” Jungkook suddenly asks, his bright hair flopping as he pulls off his jacket. “You finally feel better?” 

“Awhile ago,” he sleepily responds, a yawn swallowing his last syllable. “And yeah.” Joints popping at his upward rise, he grimaces while Namjoon cuts through the youngest one’s laughs, 

“I dunno about that, old man. Is it like that every morning?” 

Your favorite nickname for him echoes lovingly through his mind. Like a rush of water to soothe the burn of his terrors. “Pretty much.” 

Hobi can’t help but chuckle with a finger point, the company to his misery. “I’m getting like that, too. It’s only a matter of time for you, Joonie.” 

The tallest in the room sighs before everyone locks into work mode, “Looking forward to it.” 

— 

—

Ah. Back here this time? Looks like his younger self needed him to drop into this one, if only to give him support from another celestial plane. 

“How can you call this work? You don’t do shit!” 

“We’re working on a project—”

“We? Are you even on it?” 

The roll of his chair bumps into the bed frame behind him. “I’m… Making some of the decisions, but—”

“So you aren’t even in charge? What are you gonna get for this?” Not a lot. But his silence answers before he can give a true amount. “Exactly. So ridiculous, you need to get a real job that gives you real money to pay for all this shit.” 

Yoongi was doing just fine when it was just him. But taking care of someone that has a bit more refined taste, too? It’s draining him to the point of alarm. “We can cut our spending, too, you know.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“We don’t have to get food all the time. We can just cook here.” 

“But… Ugh, doing all that work just to eat and then clean?” 

Well. Yes. That’s the order of operations. From his leaned position in his bedroom doorway, Yoongi shakes his head. Even cooking was an issue? He did it all the time when he was alone. It’s not hard. What the hell did he get himself into? How did he not see any of this from the jump? 

“My uncle might be hiring. I can ask him to get you an interview or something, but you cannot fuck it up.” 

“Where at?” 

“Does it matter? It’s a job.” She sighs while sliding hair down her shoulder. Oh, how he’s been tricked by that move too many damn times. “It’s downtown.” 

Fuck. That’s way too far from the studio he’s working at. There’s no way he’d be able to work both… And she knows it. Goddamn. “You really want me to quit?” 

She gives him a look, and he can’t tell if she’s stricken or annoyed at the question. “I mean, not… Really. It’s just…” A sigh. “I’d rather you get a real job now and make music when you’re more stable.” 

Even now, Yoongi gets that. But at the same time, nothing else truly called to him. Music is his real job, the very thought of doing anything else makes him anxious. He doesn’t want to commit to anything that he’ll dread going to every fucking day of his life. But if that’s what she wants, he’ll at least try because he cares about her. Enough to lose a part of himself along the way? Guess so. 

Guess so. 

“Yoongi?” 

His head jolts from the memory as he’s positioned in the middle of a studio. The very current studio that’s only a few doors down from the job he ended up getting years ago. Several pairs of eyes are staring as he takes in his surroundings. Shit, when did he wander off? How did that even happen this time? Why is he looking at a very familiar band he’s listened to for years? 

“You okay, man?” One of them asks, a guy with such a relaxed look that just seeing him makes Yoongi’s shoulders loosen. “It’s just us, no need to be scared or anything.” 

“I dunno, Sammy, you look kinda rough around the edges in person.” 

“Do not?” 

Beside him, Hoseok claps Yoongi on the back, his grip both comforting and telling him to get it the fuck together. “He’s fine! We’ve just been busy, and this guy’s been working hard to get everything ready for you guys.” 

“Give him a sec,” Namjoon agrees, shaking all the band’s hands while Yoongi continues to buffer. “But yeah, we’ll give you a quick look inside and see if it works for you?” 

“Works for us,” Sammy agrees with a smile. “Lead the way.” 

All four members walk through the recording room door after Joon, thanking Jungkook for keeping it open before he heads inside, too. Leaving Yoongi with a very concerned Hobi, who turns to him with furrowed brows. “Hey, you good?”

“Yeah,” he finally forces out, throat scratched. Fuck. “Yeah, I’m good.” 

“If something’s up, tell us.” Hoseok watches the silent movements and conversations happening through the studio glass. “Your gut’s the one I trust the most.” 

Oh. Wait. That’s not nearly what Yoongi’s got on his mind. Even though he’s snuffed out flaky musicians and artists before today, that isn’t the current issue. That’s not what’s sticking to his mind like a parasite and feeding him random haunts from his past. “Nah, it’s not that. I’m just shocked they’re here.” 

“Right! When Jungkook said it’d be a surprise, he wasn’t kidding. I might damn near faint.” 

“Don’t do that just yet,” Yoongi warns. “We can’t have two of us out of it.” 

They both puff out laughs at his previous blanking. And they fall silent with folded arms when Woosung—Sammy—picks a guitar off the wall for hopeful inspection, nodding and smiling at a doe-eyed Jungkook. 

The kid knows how to develop connections, that’s for sure. He needs to start doing that, too. 

“But seriously…” Yoongi looks at Hoseok, met with a stare that he only gives when wanting nothing but the truth. “Anything bothering you? You looked… I don’t even know.” 

“I’ll be fine, Hob,” he breathes out in a sigh. “Just got some things on my mind.” 

The look keeps going, and going, and going. But there’s no more scrutiny when Hobi finally turns forward with an unconvincing, “Okay.” 

—

—

Embers crackle while sparks float to a darkened sky. Yoongi can still smell the metal of the train tracks, still feel the dirt under his shoes as he tips a bottle for another sip. 

A bunch of them were gathered that night. And he wasn’t gonna miss this no matter what, already expecting the onslaught of terror waiting and pacing the cage he calls his apartment. 

Since he got that job downtown, he’s been trying his best to do the work and head across town to the studio to finish things there. But that effort wasn’t taken pleasantly. Apparently, she wasn’t asking him to make music a hobby; she was telling him to give it up—for now, of course. Always for now. And he ended up leaving it far, far behind. 

After he gave that up, everything else followed. Every time he made plans to hang out, he got yanked back into the apartment, whether by a desperate arm or a scathing, manipulative scowl. His whole life was being stripped away. Nothing was his anymore. 

But this night? He finally got away. And Yoongi watches as his younger self faces the heavens with a wide smile. 

Your brother’s there, along with some friends he hadn’t seen in ages. Even a younger Jungkook tags along, watching as they push each other in abandoned shopping carts and fling random stones in open spaces. All of them in questionable fits, his hair as vibrant as a polarizing ice cream flavor, everything defines this pocket of time and no other. 

Watching them like this? Yoongi almost buckles from the pang of nostalgia seizing his chest, wrapping its roots around his heart in a bittersweet embrace. It reminds him of a balcony. It reminds him of you. 

This is the night he chose to not go home. Because his home is here with his friends.

Fuck everything. Fuck life. Fuck love. It was all he could say and express as all of them stuck middle fingers to the world, as if doing so would banish all the troubles in their lives. Every single conversation he had that night was cynical in a freeing way. Because nothing mattered. They were all infinite. Infinite and infinite. 

With each bottle chucked into a blazing fire, his eyes droop lower to the ground. Without much effort, his head lolls, mirroring a few others around him until they’re a heap of buzzed freedom and youth. And honestly, he doesn’t remember much beyond this. He doesn’t even remember who drove him back to your place. 

They were infinite—

A vacuum sucks Yoongi out of his dream so fast he flinches, muscles seizing and locking at hard angles. Fuck, fuck, fuck. What the fuck is happening? Focus on something, anything. Is this his room? Okay, he’s in his bed. 

Raking sweaty fingers through his hair, Yoongi closes his eyes, centering himself as he slowly raises to a sitting position. His room. His desk. His television. Even his sheets look fine other than his crumpled side of the bed. What the fuck was that. 

He’s never experienced something like that. Sure, he’s been yanked from a dream while in free fall, or when he’s almost slammed into something. But he wasn’t even doing anything that time except lulling to sleep? So what the fuck was that about? 

Shit. The whole fucking point was to get this shit under control. To fight the memories and the dreams and shove them out of his mind to make room for his own. For yours. Yours and his, his and yours. So why hasn’t he even been trying? 

Panic starts to rush up his throat, clogging it and jamming and amalgamating into something so thick he can’t even breathe. Shit. Shit, shit, shit, get the fuck up. 

He hasn’t had to do this in so long he’s almost embarrassed to reach for what he’s beelining for in his kitchen, perched on top of the fridge behind an unopened case of water bottles. Water bottles. Yoongi clings onto a familiar memory with you yet again. You, you, you. 

The bag crinkles as he rips it open, some wrapped pieces pinging onto linoleum. As he hastily opens one of the candies, he pops the sour coated lifeline on his tongue, slowly closing his eyes and sagging against his refrigerator. 

Shaking, shaking, sour apple, stop fucking shaking. Breathe. In out in out in out in out. Eat another one. Breathe. Silence. Clear head. Sour cherry. Nothingness. 

Breathe. 

Sliding down chilled aluminum, Yoongi feels his ass hit the cold ground, his arms immediately coming up to rest on tired knees. After a minute goes by, he lets more pass. Then another. And another. And another. 

It’s not fun knowing the panic’s back. 

As much as Yoongi wants nothing but your concern crossing kitchen tile, he’s thanking the universe that you haven’t ever seen him like this. Your brother has, but you don’t need to. Ever. But if his demons have all the power again, he might be too far gone.  

—

—

He should feed the cat.

Never mind.

The food from two days ago is still there. Which means she left him a long, long time ago.

—

—

What day is it. Is that the sunset or a new day. 

Doesn’t matter, does it? Even music doesn’t call to him now. 

And that single, damning fact slathers his whole brain in shadow. 

—

— 

A knock sounds at the door. Which Yoongi completely ignores until it erupts into straight banging. 

“Fuck, hold on,” he rasps in a cracked whisper, falling off his couch before his arms crumple, every muscle in his body creaking with lack of use. Pain jolts through his limbs as he lies there for a beat, jump-starting his mind into sudden, bleary awareness. 

What day is it? How did all these bottles get on the floor? How fucking long has it been this time?

More knocks break through the fog of Yoongi’s brain before a voice pierces the door, “I swear to god if you don’t let me in—!”

A sigh escapes in the dark. Jimin. 

Shit, Yoongi doesn’t wanna be seen. Not now. Not when he can’t even recall the past however many hours. But knowing this particular guest, the door will be kicked down if he doesn’t answer soon. 

Hissing, he slowly gets up, stumbling to the door a few steps away before resting shaking fingers on the doorknob. Breathe. Just fucking breathe. 

“Alright, you motherfucker, I’m breaking this fucking door—”

Yoongi cracks it open a tad, a sliver of his unkempt hair and stubbled chin the only things he’s willing to show. His eyes squint as bright light spills into his apartment, but all he can see are the telltale shoes of his best friend. 

“...Yoongi?” 

When he finally looks up, his heart clenches and erupts all the way up to his ducts. The first emotion he’s felt in the sludge of time he’s been chained to his dipping, sagging sofa. 

Because Jimin is staring right at his face. Eyes so rubbed they’re rimmed red. “I thought… I didn’t… No one knows where you are,” he starts, shaking the words out of puffed lips. “And when your phone kept going to voicemail, I—I couldn’t think of anything except coming here so when you weren’t answering the door, I thought—” 

As soon as Jimin breaks, Yoongi slowly closes his eyes and rests his forehead on the door’s edge. Nothing can get him like this other than the tears of a select few. If you had been the one crying at his doorstep, he probably would have given everything up.

But his mouth is so dry he can’t form words, arms so numb he can’t move them to swing the door. There’s dust where his tongue sits, shadows at the edges of his fingers. Anything he tries to say is swallowed, adding to the lump in his scratchy throat. Instead of a tempest of rage, this is the other way to lose control. The subtler, scarier, sinister way to let go. 

Yoongi says nothing. Because he can’t think of anything to say at all.

“Are you listening to me?”

Unmoving, Yoongi breathes, long hair falling onto his paling cheek. He doesn’t even know what month it is. And that scares him so bad he doesn’t hear the next sentence. So Jimin says it again,

“Let me in.”

“Gimme a sec,” he croaks. 

“Now.”

A sigh. Yoongi knows he lost the second he heard Jimin’s voice through wood. So he slowly wills his body to move, stepping—swaying—to the side to let his friend into a dark, blacked out space.

“Holy fuck,” Jimin curses, stepping through a sea of glass bottles before wrenching open the curtains. Light bursts around his silhouette and, for a split second, Yoongi thinks he sees an angel in his living room. 

“Yes. Okay.” With hands on stern hips, Jimin nods to himself before inspecting the litter around his feet. “Yeah, I’m staying here now.”

—

—

“You don’t have to do this,” Yoongi drones while his best friend scuttles around his apartment like a roomba. Clinks of trashed bottles and shifts of trash bags rattle next to the front door, and he sighs before looking out the window. “I’m up now.”

“You don’t get a say in it,” Jimin blithely responds, hauling another groaning trash bag from the kitchen. “And stay there, I’m almost done.” 

“Where the fuck would I go.”

“Anywhere but here?”

Yeah. Right. Where else would he even go right now? Your room is the only place he wants to take residence in—the room in which he said goodbye without knowing when the next hello would be. 

When’s the last time he’s even texted you? Shit, he really has left you behind completely and he feels like a fucking idiot. 

Determination thumps to the door, with a little more force than necessary, though understood. Jimin rarely gets this mad, so when he does, molten emotion rolls off of him in reddened waves, “Couldn’t even fucking call? Text? Do you ever think about what that does to all of us?” 

Yoongi buries a hand in his hair. “Listen, I—”

“Shut the hell up. You don’t get to have excuses this time. Last time this happened you scared me to death and I am not letting it happen again.” 

“You see me. I’m alive. So you can go home.”

Jimin whirls at the door before slamming it behind him, eyes wide in shock as he stomps to the kitchen. “If you think you can get me to go home, you’re an idiot. What else hasn’t been cleaned in a week?”

…A week? Fuck. Maybe it is better if Jimin stays. 

His friend wrings his hands in water before drying them, moving to sit in the chair you usually occupy. Used to occupy. Yoongi’s head sags. 

Jaw ticked, Jimin sits and rests elbows on his knees, brows up in a way that leaves no room for arguments, “Tell me what the fuck is going on.”

With a sigh, Yoongi closes his eyes, shifting his own jaw in the hopes he can find enough courage to do this. Because even though Jimin knows most about what happened before, he’s been the one pushing him to move forward, not backward. Which means Yoongi is in for a verbal beatdown. 

But before he can say anything, Jimin urges again, “Start talking.”

Fuck. “Go home.”

“No. Try again.”

It’s back. The anxiety. Making him vacate his seat and slink against his bedroom door. “I’m not doing this right now.”

Jimin rockets out of his chair right after, getting all into his space. “Tough fucking shit. Tell me. Now.”

He can’t. The words won’t come out. “It’s nothing.”

A bubble of caustic laughter flings out of Jimin’s throat before he outright shoves Yoongi against his door. Slight pain erupts from his back, branching out and alerting his body with adrenaline. But he’s so numb he doesn’t even say anything. Nothing. Just… pain. 

“Is that it? Not even gonna say anything?”

Silence. Yoongi can only serve silence. A lighter push at his chest doesn’t do anything either, neither do the grips at his shoulders before he’s shoved against wood. Is this all he has left? Pain? He can’t feel anything else. Why? What’s happening? Why is he so… drained? 

“Yoongi…” The words wobble. So soft now. So pleading. “…What’s wrong?”

Like a burst of shock, that jumpstarts something deep.

A thousand things. Three thousand things. All of them having to do with him and his inability to deem himself worthy of the one thing he wants most. His shameful weight of the past barring him from everything good, and bright, and healing. 

You would ask him the same question. Yoongi knows it in his heart. But here you are, giving him the space he asked for and trusting him with your feelings because that’s just… You. And he has done absolutely nothing to show for it.

A whole week passed and he didn’t know it? He still doesn’t even know what day it is. How long has he kept you in the dark? How long will he keep failing you because this isn’t fair to you at all. You deserve better. 

…Is this when he lets you go?

Dark, painful throbs in his chest let him know he’s barely alive. But if he’s been radio silent with no explanation, who fucking knows what you’re thinking now. About him. About yourself. Fuck, the panic is rushing in again and his breaths are short, short, short—

A hand warms his shoulder, prompting him to look up and notice that blurred, wavering red eyes are staring back at him. 

And the only thing Yoongi feels after that is a hot trail of regret down his cheek. 

“Fucking hell, man—” The pull yanks at Yoongi’s heart as strong arms wrap tight around his shoulders, and he buries searing eyes into his friend’s familiar cologne, drowning it in heaves of sobs that burn his lungs and spread fire into his throat—burning, burning, burning. His heart is on fucking fire. 

But Jimin is there, hugging tight and trying his best to smother the flames, choking on his own sobs and apologizing for anything. Everything. Nonsense, but it’s Jimin all the same. 

“I can’t fucking win,” Yoongi chokes out, finally setting all the fears free. “She’s always here. I can’t… Fuck.”

Jimin grips tighter. “You can,” he says with a rasp. “I promise you can.” 

“How do you know.” He can’t even recognize his own voice. “You don’t know what it was like.” 

Jimin flinches before holding on even tighter. “Because you won’t do it alone this time.”

Yoongi feels a vice clamp his chest.

“I’m… Shit, I’m really sorry for not trying harder before. We all are. We were young, and stupid, and should’ve paid a lot more attention instead of…” His friend sighs to the ground. “Instead of letting her slowly kill you.” 

It’s a gut punch. Reliving all those memories is confirmation enough. 

Jimin chokes out his last vow, and it tugs at Yoongi’s very being. “So. Yeah. I’m not leaving until you know you have someone. Even if it’s just me.” 

Now Yoongi feels like an asshole. All that time, he’s been so lost that he didn’t even think of his friends. The self-deprecation devolved into self-isolation, squeezing him inside a smaller and smaller box until he couldn’t breathe. He owes Jimin more than his life. 

Hands slowly raise, hope and promise lifting them to his friend's shoulders. There’s a million words he can say to this man, but the only thing that comes out is a mere, “Thanks.”

“You’re thanking me now, but. Even if you get annoyed, I’m not leaving.”

A knock comes at the door, and Jimin finally leans away before smiling. “We’re gonna fight this, yeah? You got us. So get used to it.” 

Yoongi nods. But then gives his friend a scowl. “Who the fuck did you invite to my place.”

Is it your brother? Is it you? Fucking hell, Yoongi would give anything for you to be on the other side. 

But Jimin smirks at his reaction. “It’s not her, but I like the look on your face.” 

A glare is shot while his friend walks to open the door. 

While Yoongi’s heart deflates, he still gives a shake of his head when he sees the newcomer. “If you’re both staying, I’m booking a hotel.”

Taehyung stands affronted while Jimin laughs behind his broad shoulders. “Excuse you? I’ve just been sent here to bring food.” 

Are those bags of groceries? Fuck, he already can’t thank them both enough for what they’re doing. His stomach hollows at the thought of food, which is a good sign because that means he’s ready to eat again. 

“Ah ah, tell him what else.” 

Yoongi tilts his head as he goes to help. “What else is there to do here.” 

Jimin already stormed through like an unstoppable force to clean everything and take out the trash. Ironically, the clouds outside seemed to clear when his apartment did. 

Thumps of vegetables and fruit litter his counters before the newest guest smiles soft, “I’m here to update you on what the love of your life has been up to.” 

Yoongi blinks at paper bags before slowly turning to meet his gaze. Long, speechless, and so fucking relieved. 

“But only if you cooperate.”

—

—

You got the job. And he fucking missed the opportunity to congratulate you. 

Neither Jimin nor Tae judge him for needing a moment to himself. 

—

—

This memory is one he hasn’t visited yet. But Yoongi recognizes it immediately, and he steps aside as his younger self bolts from your brother’s room. It was the morning after they all defied the world. And frankly, he doesn’t remember how they got here but knows for a fact he didn’t drive. Following himself into your familiar foyer, he winces at his own freak out, his tousled hair sticking in all directions. 

But both versions of him freeze when he sees you, standing with a spatula in the kitchen he’ll eventually end up kissing you in years later.

This happened right before you left for university, heading to a really good one according to your brother. He didn’t doubt that at all, either. Both of you look so much younger, living completely different lives. 

You barely get out a nervous smile and hello before he quickly comes up to hold your shoulder, noting how softly nice you smell before reassuring, “Hey, he’s fine. But check on him in like an hour.” 

He whizzes away as soon as you ask, “You okay?” 

But he doesn’t have time to explain. You’ll understand. You’re a pretty, smart girl—Wait. Pretty smart girl. Right. 

Yoongi doesn’t know why he looks back, but he remembers seeing you standing in your doorway, watching him open his car door with nothing but concern.

Standing on your porch, his current self remembers that tug in his chest. It was small, but it was there. Regardless, he chalked it up to the anxiety telling him to get home now. So he gives you one more look before shoving into his car and driving off, not knowing he was going backwards that whole time. 

Like a dream, the scene change is abrupt, dumping him in the middle of the fight that happened minutes later. Shards of glass litter the kitchen floor as the bar cart once full of alcohol lies shattered and bleeding potent fumes. 

“You lying mother fucker!” 

“I was helping—” 

“Didn’t even tell me? Didn’t even think to say something?” 

“I was focused on keeping him alive?” Keeping him alive and home safe. Something that your brother had done for him multiple times. He’s with him until the end. End of story. “Are you gonna ask me if I’m okay? Do you even care?” 

Yoongi should’ve recalled that you did. But not right now. He doesn’t think about anything until later. But watching from this side, you were the only one that asked. 

“You’re here, right? That tells me enough.” 

Yoongi stands there. So broken, so distraught. “What if I wasn’t?” 

“Don’t even ask stupid things.” 

“I’m serious. I’d look everywhere for you.” 

She can’t answer. And Yoongi knows exactly why. He loved someone that never loved him back. This is the karma he gets for all the hearts he broke. The people he played with. It’s all rearing its head and kicking him straight in the teeth. 

This was the final straw. He was done feeling like shit in his own home. With one look at the glass pieces at his feet, he loads finality into his tone. “If you can’t answer me, we’re done.” 

“No, babe, please—” 

“Don’t.” 

“…What?” 

“You do this every time.” His younger self’s finally gonna do it. He’s gonna stand up for himself, and Yoongi hates what he’s gonna hear next. “Cut the bullshit.” 

“I’m not, I just—” 

“If you’re gonna answer, answer.” 

“Don’t rush me. You putting this back on me now?” 

“Cool.” He opens the door, signaling for her to leave and never come back. “You’ve already moved or broke a bunch of your shit, so. This should be easy.”  

This is the moment. The singularity that forever sucks him back into the dark.

“Useless piece of shit.” And here it all comes undone. “What a joke. After I bought you all this shit and you don’t even use it.” 

He has. She’s just never paid attention.

“Fucking loser. I gave you the world and you gave nothing. Nothing.”

He gave up everything. 

“It’s sad, really. How you’re only gonna end up alone.” 

That will be true. This is when he decided that, right? To be done with this shit. Done with love. 

“How did I even let you keep me this long?” 

Yoongi stops, his fingers shaking. Him? Keeping her? It’s so twisted that his vision still jangles. He’ll never forget that feeling, being blamed for the exact same thing she had been doing to him the whole time. 

“Forget it. You’re just gonna fuck up until you have no one left. And I can’t wait to see you end up all by yourself.” 

Yoongi doesn’t respond to her wrath, walking to the corner of the room and grabbing the guitar he was gifted. But he’s halted by a pointed finger. 

“Keep that. Cus you’re gonna remember this. You’re gonna realize I’m right and there won’t be a thing you can do to fix it.”

“Are you done actually? Or is this another stunt?” 

“A stunt? The only one that does that is you.”

It’s his turn to unload. And he makes it a point to say everything he needs to. “I don’t do anything. I don’t go anywhere. See anyone. Or whatever the hell you’re accusing me of. I stay here, or go to the studio. That’s it.”

“Some studio you got there. Haven’t even heard one single thing you’ve done this entire time.”

“You’ve never asked.”

“Huh?”

Ah. Yoongi remembers this. Right then, he was finally, finally done. “You never asked about anything I’ve worked on once.”

“Well, you never cared to share.” Acid bubbles from her throat, hair tossed back in an unforgiving laugh. “A fuck-up and now a screw-up? Why did I ever think I deserved you in the first place?” 

Yoongi stares for what seems like the final time. And he couldn’t be happier. “Hope you find someone that you do.” 

And the door shuts right as he’s flung from deep sleep, thrown over any perception of reality and taking in the voice at his face. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay—” 

“Give him space—”

Yoongi shudders, breathing ice cold fire and chilled by the air ghosting over his sweaty back. Front. Legs. Fuck, he’s drenched. 

“Yoongi?”

Gulping air, he flicks his eyes between Jimin holding him steady with shaky hands, and Taehyung on the other side of the bed, watching him with eyes locked and one knee making a hard divot in the comforter. 

Shit. This isn’t like the other night he fell asleep in his kitchen. This is a whole other level of frightening.

“Please say something,” Jimin squeaks out, lightly rubbing him on the shoulder and providing much needed warmth. “Anything. Please.”

“Let him breathe, babe,” Tae softly orders, to which Jimin snaps his head at but calms. 

Tae’s right. Breathe. Breathe deeper. It was just a dream, just a memory, just the past. Fuck. Yoongi thought having people over would help. But that was a terrifying reminder that he was wrong yet again. 

Head dumped in his wet hands, he notices his hair’s new length before raking it back. Looking straight at his desk, he takes it all in, quietly reminding himself that it’s filled with equipment. 

That’s it. Nothing else. Just his equipment, his notepads, his writing utensils. No traces of broken keyboards, cracked monitor screens, snapped wires. Nothing except your light touches which he will take any day over what occupied it before. In his whirlwind of thoughts, he wonders if anything else of yours on that desk would look nice—Ah. He’s truly losing his mind. 

“I’m good,” he croaks, startling everyone in the room including himself. “What the hell happened.”

Taehyung answers first, “We heard a lot of noise, so..”

“We checked in and saw you,” Jimin finishes, his eyes holding back multitudes. 

“Saw me what.” 

“Thrashing.” Taehyung holds his gaze unflinching. Because one of them has to be level headed, and Jimin is clutching Yoongi like he’ll sink into the bed. Maybe he would have. 

“It looked painful,” Jimin rasps out, voice sagging with melancholy. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he looks Yoongi in the eyes before whispering, “Does this happen a lot?”

“Not in a minute.” And for once, he’s honest about this. “It’s only the second time recently.” 

He thanks every star above that you’ve avoided seeing both. This is exactly why he shunned himself, isn’t it? Until this is dealt with, he doesn’t think he can be with you on a clear conscience. 

Taehyung’s fully sitting on the sheets now, hair looking like he was yanked from a deep sleep, too. “Have you told anyone about it?”

“No.” 

“You should.”

“Maybe.”

“Tae’s right,” Jimin whispers, his expression filled with grey. It’s a look Yoongi decides he doesn’t ever wanna see on that face. “I think you need that, too.”

Something very close to discomfort creeps along Yoongi’s bones, making him shift in his seat. His very moist seat. God, if he doesn’t shower now he’s causing a riot. “Lemme wash first,” he offers, barred from swinging out his legs until Jimin gets up. When he gets to his bathroom, he flips on the switch inside before deciding, “Then I will.”

Tae stays still as Jimin walks up to his side of the bed. The closer side to the bathroom. “You sure you’ll tell us?”

“Yeah.” Yoongi looks down before heading in to shower, saying one more thing as he shuts the door, “But you won’t see me the same after I do.” 

—

—

He tells them everything. All the memories plaguing him for years. The things they don’t know and some of the things they do. While they listen, Jimin’s eyes blink the least, not wanting to miss a single second. 

Taehyung’s hands grip the couch cushions harder with each passing moment. But neither of them judge. Neither of them offer pity. If anything, they’re ready to pick up swords they don’t have to attack someone that doesn’t exist to him anymore. 

Lies. If she didn’t exist to him, none of this would be happening. 

So therein lies Yoongi’s problem. He needs to get rid of anything that still ties him to her, the biggest one being the guitar watching all of them right now. 

“Why didn’t you tell us. Tell me,” Jimin asks through fresh tears. “Why didn’t you say anything?” 

“I thought about that for a long time.” Yoongi hangs his head between his knees before lifting. “Turns out, I was just.. Ashamed. I dunno.” 

“Does anyone know all of this?” 

Well. “Just one.” He doesn’t have to elaborate for them to know who it is. 

“I didn’t wanna bother anyone with it,” he finally admits. “Didn’t feel like you guys needed to hear how fucked up I am.” 

“Yoongi.” He raises his gaze to meet Jimin’s. “That’s exactly what we want to hear. Because we’re friends.” 

“You’d say the same to us,” Taehyung adds. “And to her. Who, if I’m being completely honest, would lose her shit if she knew.” 

Yoongi doesn’t doubt that. “I know.” 

“No, you don’t. I’m not saying because of the reasons. I’m saying because she would offer to do exactly what we’re doing now.”

Burns sear around his eyes. Because deep down, he fucking knows that. He does. And yet, he still can’t accept how selfless you are when it comes to him. How good, and reckless, and understanding. And a revelation pierces right through his bruised heart. 

He’s lived in his dark for so long that he’s afraid of your light.

Fuck, his admittance scratches every inch of his mouth on the way out. His heart takes collateral damage, seeping out of his eyes, “I think I have to let her go.” 

In an instant, both pairs of eyes gloss over to match his. 

“I’m doing all this for her,” he rasps out. “Everything, for her. But I can’t fucking do it and she deserves someone that isn’t so fucked—” 

“Yoongi���”

“My ex was right. Back then. Now. She was right.” His voice lulls to a dull thrum. “I’ll just end up alone.” 

“Shut the fuck up.” His head snaps to Jimin’s at the same time as Tae’s. “Are you alone right now? Hmm?” 

No. But he doesn’t say a damn thing. 

“I’ll answer for you since you’re being an idiot. No, you’re not.” That’s not the point, but— “And even if we weren’t here? You’re never alone unless you decide that, not some fucked up ex. And the Yoongi I know? Is too smart to do something so stupid.” 

Ouch. But fair. “That’s not what I mean and you know it—”

“So what? You wanna talk about relationships? Let’s talk about the one you’re in—because yes, you’re in one—and how you’re fucking it up because of some bullshit.” 

“Jimin—”

“No, I’m tired of this shit! Why can’t you see what’s in front of you? Why can’t you see all the good shit you do? Why can’t you just be happy—”

“I’m trying all of that for her—”

“You need to do it for yourself!”  

Jimin stands rigid as his words pulse around the room, eyes swimming and unblinking as Taehyung dons a similar look. 

“This isn’t about her. This isn’t about anyone else.” He shudders out a breath. “Right now? You need to get your shit together to pull yourself out.” 

Shit. 

Yoongi completely lost the point along the way. Didn’t he think like that when all this started? When did it all become so muddled? Did part of him always know this, deeper down? And that’s the part of him that he had left behind first? When he tries to speak, he can’t. No words, no thoughts, no sounds escape the desert of his mouth. 

“And you can do it. I’ve seen you do it before,” Jimin whispers. “But now, you have two people—three people—to fight for this time.” 

Ah. But one of those people still doesn’t know the truth. Doesn’t know why Yoongi’s done this to himself in the first place. A sour laugh leaves his lips before he stares at nothing. “He’s trusted me with everything. And I’ve told him nothing.” Lifting his head, he shudders out, “Say I do all this. Once I tell him the truth… I’m losing him. I know it.” 

“You don’t know that.” Jimin sounds very unconvinced. 

“Hah.. Right.” Yoongi sighs. “We all know he’s gonna kill me.” 

“Well.” Taehyung is the one that finally interjects, and Yoongi shifts his gaze before the man correctly and accurately assumes, “You’d die for her anyway. What’s the difference if he knows.” 

Oh. Well, that’s…

There’s a ping of silence before Jimin blurts a puff of amusement. 

Then Yoongi breaks into a smile as Taehyung’s sudden laugh joins the fray, all of them grinning and laughing because it’s all so fucking simple. Really, really fucking simple. And for the first time in weeks, Yoongi feels like things are gonna be okay. 

Coming down from the broken ice, Jimin reiterates the whole point, “You’re not gonna lose her. But you will if sulking is all you’re gonna do.” 

A nod. “I know.” 

“So what are you gonna do?” 

Yoongi looks at them both, then sweeps his gaze around the living room before landing on his coffee table. Warmth fills the divots in his cheeks as he allows himself to grin, not caring if he gets peculiar looks at his first order of business. His highest priority. 

“Gonna move some books.” 

—

—

The loudest roar of thunder signals the end of a storm. And in following that same pattern, the rest of Yoongi’s week goes by dreamless. Calm. Merciful. 

And he cannot thank Jimin enough. 

He helps him when he cooks, drags him out for walks in the afternoon, and even Taehyung drops by to show him a bunch of movies that he is appalled he’s never seen before. 

Yoongi even goes back to the studio on the regular, earning looks of relief and mild annoyance, which he fully expected. But with minimal questions, he throws himself back into work, urging himself to eventually tell them what happened. 

When Taehyung stays over, too, all three of them simply… Talk. About anything and everything, deeper and deeper conversations the more he gets to know them. Yoongi doesn’t talk as much as they do, but he does divulge a lot more about his past than he ever has. Both of the guys present never judge him for any of it, which makes him feel seen. Feel not so alone. 

Because he’s learning that these experiences are universal. The true danger lies in not knowing how to handle them. How to be accepting of those parts of his life when he’s all he’s got.

Now that he’s got his priority straight, he knows he can get there. He can find that door to himself again, no matter how long it takes. Yes, for you. Yes, for his best friend.

But, first and foremost, for himself. 

—

—

To his complete shock, the cat comes back. And in the quiet, radiant night, Yoongi’s eyes gloss over when his heart tells him her name. 

She’s gonna be yours. For getting the gig. The idea itself breathes life into his soul, and he can’t fucking wait to get everything ready for the day he gets to surprise you.

Finally, Yoongi has something to look forward to. Just wait for him. He hopes you can hold out just a tiny, tiny bit longer. 

Filled with joy and excitement, he sends Tae to the store for some food, supplies, and a new set of bowls, barely noticing Jimin watching his detailed orders with a newfound sense of relief. 

—

—

One day, Jimin comes back from work and asks if Yoongi is ready to see people. When he asks why, he talks about his brilliant idea of bringing the parties to him. When Yoongi continues to ask why yet again, it’s to fill his apartment with even more life. Maybe even a certain person will come, too. 

Nah. You probably won’t. 

But if you do? Yoongi won’t be able to contain himself. And just knowing that he’s okay with feeling that way is a step in the right direction. 

—

— 

Three months.

Based on the date on the studio monitor, it’s been three months since he left. Way too long, and the remorse in his stomach is acidic. 

Three months. How many seconds is that? You would know. You’re brilliant and know everything except the dark secrets he can’t tell you yet. 

And it’s the deepset shame lining his bones that won’t allow him to go see you, as much as he fucking wants to. Letting it all out for his friends did lift an astronomical amount from his shoulders, but now he’s embarrassed as hell for taking this long to do something so simple that he’s still unsure. Unsure of when he can show himself to you again and is terrified at how you’ll perceive him. 

But just because he doesn’t know about seeing you. Doesn’t mean he can’t at least talk to you.

And he’ll make that call last the entire night. Jimin and Tae have given him space for a little while now, both of them back in their respective places, so he has the apartment to himself and your voice. If you give him another chance. 

It’s that one solid loophole that has him rushing out of the studio and eager to finally ring you up. The uneasiness is getting beaten out by excitement, pouring over from the news they all received about the album release party. 

Things are finally, finally, finally looking up. He’s feeling better. Not enough to face you, but enough to not feel worse than complete shit. But all of that freshly blossomed energy sweeps into a torrent of worry as soon as he’s greeted with silence on the line. 

“Hello?” 

He can’t blame you for hesitating. Fuck, you’re probably over him and are just answering out of pity. You aren’t saying anything. Shit, he fucked all the way up. 

But your silence isn’t because of anger. Or annoyance. Because you make the smallest, most desperate noise he’s ever heard in his life. 

And the intention to burn the rest of the world shatters every shackle he’s placed on himself, fierce sparks igniting his body to go wherever the fuck you are and deal with anything awaiting his wrath, “Where are you.” 

He’s coming to you no matter what. 

—

—

Is that you? Are all those bags chips? 

Holy fuck, that’s the funniest shit he’s seen in months. 

He’s so fucking in love. 

—

—

He wants this drive to last for hours, if only to maintain this expansion in his chest that lets his lungs breathe. 

Being in the car with you? Your pretty voice singing along to all his favorite songs? This will always be one of his favorite things, long after he’s too old to operate even the slowest vehicle in existence. 

Remembering the mountain of bags in the backseat, he selfishly tuts, “You still have to gimme chips.” And he also selfishly glances over your chest when you reach behind to get a random flavor. Goddamn. You’re still perfect. 

“You really made me get these just for you, huh? Are you eating?”

“Yes, my love. And I never said that.”

…Did he just say what he thinks he said? Well. No taking it back now. Especially when it felt like the most natural thing to call you. An oath. A reminder. To himself, more than anyone else. 

It takes you awhile to respond as you open the bag. And Yoongi assumes your comment is to brush off the same sudden shock he still feels, “Such a smartass.”

“You’re the smartass.”

“Don’t act like you aren’t smart, too,” you laugh before pulling down your dress. Wait, are you cold? “I know you are.” 

He doesn’t know how to take that compliment, reaching into the bag and watching you shiver, wondering why you’re just dealing with the chill. “Why?” 

Yoongi is so thrown off by your reason that he laughs after you say it, “I just… You read.” 

His cheeks strain as he lowers the fans, the music now commanding most of the air space. The way you’re turned away is so cute, and you immediately stop fidgeting with your tiny dress. “I’m smart cus I read? How do you even know?”

“You have books under your coffee table. And you don’t have decor just to have it, so…”

Did he ever tell you that? He doesn’t remember saying it, so did you just accurately read him again? Who’s the avid reader now? But speaking of those books… You don’t know what he did with them, or why, and that curves his mouth up a tad. “I moved those, by the way.”

“Em”—you cough—“Embarrassed?”

“Proactive.”

“Huh? For what?”

Perfect. You lead him right where he wanted you to. Proudly telling you why, he says it all through a smirk, “The next time you decide to fuck up my place.” 

“Oh, bullshit!”

You’re tickling him while he’s driving? That’s unfair as fuck! “You soaked—aish—my whole apartment!”

“That was you!”

“No?”

“Yes? I was nice and only got your head wet!”

Mm. That sounds like a damn good idea. The visual in his mind is nowhere close to appropriate, and Yoongi’s enjoying your squirm in his passenger seat. Elated you’re back in it in the first place. But you’re almost out of reach again. And he’s dreading the next rolling stop. 

At least he gets to hear your huffs again. Those are his absolute favorites. “Ugh. Whatever… I’m right.” 

You haven’t changed a bit. Still the same person he left behind, and his heart pangs from the need to do it once again. 

But your quick resistance halts his brain. Screeches it to a stop. Fuck, you’re begging him not to do it and he doesn’t want to do it but it’s the right thing. He’s trying to do the right thing but god, does he want to just veer off the goddamn street. He can’t. He can’t he can’t you can’t— “Babe… We can’t.” 

“I don’t care.”

“I was only gonna bring you back.”

“Baby, please.”

“He’s home—”

“Do you still miss me?” 

…What? Yoongi stills, mind resetting and going blank. 

Still miss you? He’s never fucking stopped. 

Suddenly, Yoongi abandons any sense of restraint. All control he previously held onto falls away and crumbles to dust. You have his full attention. And you rip his soul to shreds with every word you say,

“Because I get it if you don’t. I do. But I really… I really fucking miss you. And not just because of, whatever. But I consider you a friend and fun as hell to be around, and I haven’t…” The shake of your exhale rattles his eyes. “I haven’t been this happy in weeks. And we aren’t even doing anything.” 

God, he feels the same. You could both sit in silence and he’d be filled with joy just looking at you. 

“I know you said I wouldn’t see you. But after getting to know you? The real you? …That sucks.” 

Shit. 

“I’m not gonna make you change anything, just. Telling you what’s on my mind. Like you said. I’m gonna do that a lot more now.”

Yoongi doesn’t say a word as a tear cuts one of your cheeks, and you’re brave enough to look his way again. “But it’s been three months, Yoongi,” you whisper. “Is that still not enough for you?”

Every brick. Every wall. Every fortress he’s built around his mind crumbles into stardust, shards pinging around his ribs and cutting into his beating, beating, beating heart. 

A day was enough for him to miss you. And these three months have felt like three years. 

There’s no denying it. He fucking needs you. 

Of course. That’s the only reason he sped down here to pick you up and pinned you against his car as if you’d flee. You’re his oxygen, his inhale, his breath of life and hope for new beginnings and goddamn if he lets you go now you’ll never know it—

“Stop.” 

Just tonight. He’ll allow himself one night. Does he deserve it? Probably not, but you sure as fuck do for laying your dying heart in his withered hands. 

And Yoongi decides with a lock of his jaw. Following where his own broken heart points and peeling out into the street.

—

—

Once he gets his hands on you, Yoongi can’t fucking stop. From the car to the walls of his apartment, his fingers can’t decide where to stay, raking down your sides and tugging you close before finally shoving you against his bedroom door. 

God, your touch. Your lips. Your little sounds of pleasure. Why the fuck did he deprive himself of the one person that makes him whole? Yoongi’s so lost in you that he barely remembers his pain, and he loves the way you laugh in the face of it. So fucking hot. 

Closer. He needs to be closer and it’s driving him mad how he’s limited to pressing against your front. Hitching your leg up, he shoves himself forward, the rush of blood tightening his groin and emptying reason from his head. 

This is already too much. You’ve already taken things too far. But goddamn, he’s not stopping even if the entire complex broke down his door. “Shouldn’t be fucking doing this—” 

You moan and he’s a goner again, the next twitch in his pants straining against your soft pelvis. When a plea leaves that pretty mouth, Yoongi’s ready to give you the world. All you have to do is say it and it’s yours and yours alone. “Please what.” 

The tug of his hair makes him groan, but it’s your words that drag his soul across coals, “Choke me. Use me. I don’t care, do it all.”

“Huh?”

What did you fucking say? 

Nah. Yoongi needs to hear that again because he cannot forgive himself if he’s hallucinating all of this, too. Yanking you forward, he strains his ears just to be bombarded by your demands, 

“Don’t be nice. Spit in my mouth. Make me beg like a fucking slut, I need it.”

You’re gonna be the fucking death of him. “The fuck.”

Any hesitance Yoongi had before flings out the door. The whole time he’s trying to do the right thing, here you are spewing everything good and wrong and he’s enraptured. You’re clearly not holding back, so why wouldn’t he match that chaos like his life depended on mania? You give and give and give, and Yoongi makes it his mission to reciprocate. 

Soon, he’s everywhere, swallowing you devouring you inhaling you like his last meal of his last life. Busting into his bedroom, the hot rush of adrenaline magnifies his darkest thoughts. But you don’t even give him the chance to say them out loud because what the fuck he’s in his chair now? “Babe—”

What the fuck? What’s gotten into you and what can he do to suspend this moment in time? You’re sin incarnate at his feet, dropping to your knees and attacking him, undressing him with a force that downright startles him through. 

It borderline scares him because he’s never seen you like this. Shit, he can’t shake an icky feeling off now and he can’t fully immerse himself in the moment if he’s correct. “Are you su—”

“Let me do this,” you plead upward. And Yoongi lets those sparkling eyes lure him down. 

Fuck, fuck, focus. The way you hold his cock is heavensent and the feeling will never get old and he can’t help but groan at the feel of your fingers. But the feeling is still there. The question is still occupying his mind. 

So Yoongi utilizes every single ounce of control to stop you, saying your name for the first time in weeks. When you shoot him a look of rejection, his heart breaks in two, because your mind is like his when it defaults to the worst possible scenario. 

All he wants to do is kiss you. So he does just that, keeping it tender to calm your potential buzz. Voice soft, he asks through the dark blue of night, “You drank tonight, yeah?” 

“Yeah…?” 

Ah. He was right. Fuck, if you aren’t lucid enough, this has to stop right now. No matter how fucking bad he wants to tear you apart. 

But you reach out to palm his cheek, as if you knew exactly what he was getting at without asking. “I’m not drunk, baby. I just missed you.” 

Please be telling the truth. He won’t live with himself if you aren’t telling him what’s really going on. 

“I’m not,” you reassure through a smile that he’s missed so fucking much. Once again, Yoongi kisses you, because he can’t bear not feeling those puckered lips on his for another second. How strange it is, being able to breathe best when his mouth is smothered by yours. 

“So are you gonna fuck my throat or nah?”

Holy fuck, you can’t do that. You can’t just say shit like that and get away with it. It’s infuriating in the best way and Yoongi will worship this new, unbridled attitude of yours. What an honor to say he knew you had it in you all along. Yoongi never doubted your skyrocketing appeal for a second. “What are you doing to me.”

“This.” You don’t even give him the mercy of a warning. All Yoongi feels next is those angelic, sinful lips around his tip, eyes fluttering shut as his head kicks back in a moan. 

Euphoria. You’re his beginning and end, the middle and the rest. Nothing else in the world can bring him to his knees like this, and he can’t imagine being anywhere except at your feet. He’s in trouble. You’re not going home for a long while. 

Every swirl you make zings light along his limbs, and he opens soul-sucked eyes to you tugging your dress down fuck. 

He tastes himself when you kiss him, the wet of your efforts slathering around his mouth but he doesn’t fucking care. Reaching out, Yoongi smacks at your perfect tits, laughing to himself knowing how lucky he is. “Get the fuck back down there.”

And the smirk you send his way makes him fall in love ten times over. 

Yoongi doesn’t even know where he is. And this time, he counts that as a win. Because your licks and sucks are sending him into space, straight past the stars and into the next galaxy over. When the fuck did you get this good? It’s spurning the competitive side of him that vows to not lose to you even though he perpetually will. “Holy fuck.” 

His back muscles strain between arching and collapsing, the squeak of his chair the choir to your sinful symphony of sounds. Unbelievably hot. He may as well pass away from how good you’re milking him down.

Then he feels the back of your throat and then some. And something ignites in his core that causes his hands to find your head. 

Fuck, your eyes. They’re molten. “So fucking filthy...” 

Your laugh around his cock sends him into another frenzy. “Don’t do that.” 

But you disobey like the good girl you are, unsheathing your mouth just to swallow his balls oh goddamn. “Fuck!”

It’s over. It’s over for him. All you have to do is tell him what you want and he’s shoving the world aside to make it happen. Your insecurities? He’s banishing. Your wants and needs? He’s providing. There’s no one else but you and his chest is heaving with shallow shallow shallow breaths. 

When you let him push you closer, Yoongi groans, tapping that pretty cheek with his length and savoring the way you suck him back in like an addiction. 

He’s addicted to you, too. And after tonight, he doesn’t think he can ever get enough. The withdrawals will hit like no other, and he’ll shake and tweak until the next time he can steal you away. “So perfect… So fucking perfect… There will never be anyone else.” 

Can you even hear him? You’re so goddamn loud. 

“Fucking hell, baby,” Yoongi praises, thrusting into the heat of your mouth and shivering at the sensation you’re willing to give every time. “Missed that fuckin’ mouth.”

You’re already a beautiful sight around his cock. But when you come up for air, erotic effort dripping from your mouth and sloping down in strings to your bare chest? That’s when you’re mesmerizing. And Yoongi doesn’t dare to look away from your face. 

What the fuck, you’re going in again? Fuck that. You’re gonna make him bust before he gets the chance to ruin you. 

Gathering sweaty hands under your arms, Yoongi yanks you upward, tossing you onto his bed and growling with pride. After he’s through with you? You’ll never doubt where he stands anymore. And quite honestly, he’s damn near scared you’re gonna realize you’re much better than him, in every aspect of your promising life. 

Because you’re radiance personified, laughing up at him as if he never left you in the dark. How he played with your light, Yoongi won’t ever forgive himself. But you already have. And his heart lurches forward to worship you. 

“Take this off,” he commands into your chest. Because he needs it all. Everything, everything, everything. “No more hiding.” 

He helps you with shaking hands as you strip the dress for him, breath ragged with excitement and relief to have you here again. When you question your shoes, Yoongi immediately interrupts, because this is a fantasy he’s had from the fucking jump. “What about my—”

“Don’t.” He grips your pliant thigh. “I’m fucking you with them on.” 

“Oh, fuck.” 

That’s right. You’re getting all of him—the good, the bad, and all the forbidden thoughts he’s kept locked away. All of it’s now unleashed, unlocked by your ability to finally tell him what you want. 

When Yoongi smacks the side of your ass with a possession he’ll think about hours from now, the sound you make launches him to the edge. And when he wrenches your legs apart, his eyes blow obsidian at the sight between them. 

Yeah. He’s wrecking your shit tonight. And you’ll feel so good he might cry. 

“Please fuck me, baby,” you whisper soft, a far cry from your uninhibited demands from earlier. 

But the feeling inside Yoongi’s chest renders him even softer. Because yes, he’s going to. But there’s so much he didn’t get to do, so many things he’s been wanting to give but tore apart every chance. 

You deserve more. A whole lifetime more than what you’re asking for. And Yoongi can only summarize how he feels with a single sentence, “I’m gonna do a lot more than that, doll.” 

You don’t truly understand. But that’s okay. All you need to do is sit back and let him cherish you, starting with the smooth skin of your ankle that he brings in for a soft kiss. 

There’s no way to deny anything anymore. Here you are ready to be used, and Yoongi’s taking precious seconds to plant kisses on your leg? Of fucking course he’s too far gone. He’s been too far gone for months. If there’s one way to show you how he feels without words, he’s gonna take it. Because those three syllables are too profound to be said in a mere tryst under moonlight. 

So he pries your legs apart with passion taking the reins, growling out safer thoughts that praise you, “So fucking perfect.” 

“No, you,” you counter with a pout, and he cups your cunt to shut that shit down. “Hey!”

“None of that,” Yoongi orders with finality. “Not after all that shit you said at the door.” 

“I dunno what happened there,” you admit, now shy and looking more like yourself. It strikes his heart so hard a confession flows right out of his mouth, 

“Almost made me come.” 

“Be for real.” 

“Damn serious.” Goddamn, that grin. Yoongi has found a new obsession. 

“Then I should keep going?”

“Uh huh.” Perfect. Spill everything from those shining lips, break him down like you did two times tonight already. “Tell me.” 

Yoongi thinks you aren’t gonna do it again. You usually spark like a flare, simmering down after your initial fire then defaulting back to that adorable shyness again. So when you surprise him? All bets are off. Nothing is off limits. 

“Fuck me like you missed me.” 

And that’s when Yoongi fucking snaps. 

He launches for your throat first, feasting on your succulent skin and forcing you up his bed. When his dick brushes against your soft center, his name expels from your mouth at the same time he groans like mad. “Careful,” he finally sends you a warning about your last demand. Because he needs you to know what’s about to happen in this room. “You won’t leave if I did that.”

“I don’t want to,” you hastily respond, gripping his hair just how he likes it. “Wanna stay.”

Stay. He wants nothing but you to do that, too. It’s why he’s wrapping himself around you, latching onto every inch of your skin and grasping at anything he can get his fingers on. 

Of course, reason weasels through his brain again, seeping from his mouth without his permission. “You shouldn’t even be here, babe.”

“Just tonight.” Fuck, you sound deflated already. “But if you really don’t want this then please kick me out before—”

“Fuck that.” Yoongi tweaks your chest before rolling hard against you, relishing in the feel of your cunt and defying all sense of morals. “Fuck all of that.” 

Kick you out? You’ll learn to never say that again. “Don’t move.”

Yoongi drops to his knees, nudging your legs aside and promising dark and dangerous thoughts against your thigh. Fuck, you smell like heaven. He’s painfully hard and it will take everything in his soul to not come on his bedroom floor. 

What are you flinching for? What did he fucking say? “I said. Don’t move.” 

“But—Yoongi!” 

Patient, he shifts your slick thong sideways, breath heady as his tongue flattens completely against your cunt. And the taste, holy fuck. This is his favorite place and he’ll keep eating until you’re a shuddering, shivering mess on his sheets. The most exquisite mess he’s ever had the pleasure to make. 

A dark chuckle rumbles as you instinctively clamp your legs together. And he will always be willing to punish for that because your little whines in response are his guilty pleasures. “Uh uh.”

You taste so fucking good. All essence pooling from your folds coats his mouth in layer after slick layer, his tongue basking in the warmth of your core and lapping over, and over, and over. Greed is too light a word to describe his thirst, and he sucks at the spot he knows you love until you tremble. 

Gripping his cock with slicked fingers, Yoongi pumps himself slow, moaning as he keeps licking, sucking, penetrating your cunt with his tongue and deciding that’s not enough for him. He wants you losing your goddamn mind because you made him lose his. He wants you thrashing on his sheets and locking those beautiful muscles for hours. 

Your sounds tighten his groin impossibly hard, mingling with the squelches of his feast and the slide of his fingers along his length. Nothing beats this. Nothing will ever compete because you both sound so fucking obscene.  

The neighborhood gets to hear you again, and that thought carves a prideful grin into Yoongi’s features. You’re back, and they’re gonna know it. For as long as he can make you scream. 

When he inserts a finger to join his tongue, the sound you make almost makes him come  oh fuck. Say his name like that again and he will. Days from now, he may even bust off that singular memory alone. 

When you grab at his hair, he knows that’s when you’re close. And it spurns him into his next twisted fantasy that has his stomach fluttering. 

“Yoongi—I’m—” Nope. You’re not getting there yet. And your response curls his mouth into something ominous. “No no no! Please, fuck—”

Unbothered, Yoongi swats your sopping cunt, completely ignoring your cries for release, “What’d you say?” 

“Plea—Baby!” 

“Huh?” 

Such a terrible listener. What a shame he wouldn’t have it any other way. Because every fucking time you speak, he gets to shush you with a wet tap. And every time you decide to be a smart ass, he rewards you with no hope of reaching the edge you so fiercely crave.  

And this goes on for minutes. 

Yoongi has time. In fact, he has all the time in the world when it comes to breaking you down. You’re gonna spiral for him, you’re gonna unwind under his tongue. Because this is what you wanted and he’s nothing but incredibly thorough. 

Your thighs are quivering by the time he’s ready to reward you release, and he kisses them lovingly as you prattle off complete and utter nonsense above his sweaty head. Standing, he roves his gaze over his sheets, satisfied to hell how he’s made you a mess among them. 

And Yoongi is far, far from done with you. Sliding his dick along your folds, he hums, “This is what you wanted, huh. You gonna be a good little slut?” 

That obedience you give sets butterflies free in his chest. Because Yoongi knows you hold all the power here, him nothing but a vessel to carry out your every whim. “Then fucking beg.” 

When his cock pats your pretty pussy, your reaction has him fraying at the seams. So fucking beautiful when you twist like that. He can’t believe you gave him all these chances to see you at your most vulnerable because this is when you can’t hide a single thing from him. Your mouth betrays you in the best ways, your soul speaks to him when your brain can’t find the courage to. 

And Yoongi preens when you shower him with nothing but praise and a sailor’s barrage. His lips find yours after way too long, and when you tug at his shirt his heart pulls taut with it. 

“Please,” you finally beg. “I need you.”

“Need you, too.” He does, he does, he does. 

Quickly getting up to grab a condom, Yoongi smirks at the way you keep spouting nothing and everything, as if a dam inside burst with no hope of being stopped. Fully stripping himself, he slips the protection on before finding solace between your twitching legs, kissing you once again because fuck he cannot get enough of you tonight. Ever. No matter what lifetime he meets you in.

When you whisper his name, he takes it in his mouth, and the innate need to have you completely makes a mess of his hands. 

This is what will destroy him every time. This connection with you is what he will remember long after everything else fades away. There will never be another soul that embraces his so fully, and that truth is a belief so deep rooted it’s unshakeable. No matter what branches he cuts off, no matter what decisions he has to make. He will always, always come back to you. 

Because you’re it for him. And he can’t thank his past self enough for walking onto that balcony.

You like it best when he starts slow, especially since it’s been awhile since the last time. When Yoongi knows for a fact you haven’t seen anyone else, either, his heart grows a size, making his breath shudder while he slides further and further inside. 

He’ll wait. As always. But you don’t take long to feel comfortable, your hands lifting up to softly pull at his chains. Yoongi’s shoulders relax as you slide up to hold them for support, and he almost can’t look into those eyes he’s so afraid of.  

Bliss. This is exactly what he’s been fighting for. This is exactly why he’s going to make a much better effort—now, tomorrow, and forever. 

“I’m ready, baby,” you whisper. 

And Yoongi lets himself loose completely. 

Fuck, you feel better than he remembers, wrapping around him just right and pulsing against every ridge. If he could stay inside you every second, he would. There’s only one thing he can think of that would feel better than this, and just imagining that has him vibrating. The warmth enveloping him buckles both arms at your sides, and he crumbles to an elbow to smush his body against yours. 

“Look at me,” he commands, and he gives you a light pat on the cheek before squeezing your jaw. “Open up.”

When you do, spit flings from his mouth into yours, and his eyes blaze and twist at the primal dragon laying claim to you in his chest. Because you’re his, and he’s yours. This is all he ever needed to know. 

“Fuck!”

Fuck, that was too fucking hot. If he doesn’t control himself now he’s spilling inside of you in seconds. “What do you say?”

“Me?” you pant, hissing when he grips your chin once again. “Thank—” 

He’s thrusting inside you too hard you can’t think. But Yoongi doesn’t relent. Because he knows you can fucking take it. He knows how strong and relentless you can be, reckless just for him and pulling those same commitments from his core. 

And you prove him right yet again. “Thank you.”

“Now swallow.” As soon as he shoves inside, your obedience is his unraveling. Watching your eyes roll and your mouth part in release drags him down the shoreline with you, and he can’t fucking save himself because your tugs are too goddamn dominant. Fuck, you’re unbelievable. He will never, ever get enough of you. 

“Such a whore for me,” Yoongi praises, smiling lopsided when you remember exactly what he’s referring to. That first night you hustled the shit outta him and left him with a mind so jumbled he didn’t know what to do. God, that was ages ago. He’s not even sure he’s the same person anymore.

But you are. Just a lot more confident. At your core, you’re still the same wonderful woman, and the light in your eyes has not faded even one shade. “Love when you do that,” you admit, and he laughs when you shake your head. “Don’t know why.” 

“Me neither.” He spears you again with a cheeky lip bite. “But it’s so fucking hot.” 

Your grin can’t be contained, and this is where you wanna be. Right here. Nowhere else in the fucking universe. 

“I’m ready.” When Yoongi regards you with curiosity, he gets blindsided yet again by your forthcomingness. “Fuck the shit out of me.” 

Oh. Tonight is his last, it seems. “Goddamn, this isn’t good for me.” 

“What?” 

“Nothing.” Sitting back on his knees, he gathers your pretty ankles in a bunch. “Hold these pretty legs up for me. There you go.” It’s his turn to not give you a warning. Because you’re slick enough to handle what’s coming and he’s determined to make you do the same. 

Driving hard and fast, Yoongi unleashes his energy, slamming into your pussy again and again and relishing in the way you mewl and moan and whine. Keep doing that. He wants to hear you. It’s fuel for him to keep going and give you exactly what you want and need. If you felt insecure around him before tonight, he vows to erase all of that worry until it’s wiped from existence. You’re his world. You’re his everything. 

“Feel so good—”

More. More, more, more, he needs fucking more. When he leaves your cunt, you mewl before he grunts, “Fucking—Get up.” Raising you up by the arms, Yoongi leads you to the edge of his bed before swiping a firm arm to clear his desk. Knowing what he’s about to do, his cock twitches like mad. 

Fuck, you already look divine facedown on the surface, your legs teetering on those heels and making him grit out a groan. 

He cannot come. Not before living out one of his deepest fantasies. Fucking you on his desk? His workspace where he works on his other love? Yoongi’s already shaking before he even grips your quivering hips, shoving your thong away and letting it rest useless on one side of your perfect ass. Fuck. 

“Yoongi—”

He finds home again in an instant, pushing your bowing spine down when you habitually flinch, “Uh uh. Stay like that.” 

“I wanna—” Your words are cut off with his spank. “Fuck!”

“There you go.” The rock of the desk is so strong that every bang against the wall booms loud, equipment sliding back and forth and teetering just like you had on your high heels. Just the mere sight of you like this makes him spiral. And Yoongi can’t help but whoosh out a raspy laugh. “Goddamn.” 

He grabs your hands, shoving you even flatter against his desk so he can pin your arms against your slick back. Possessive? Yes. Unsatiable? Even more so. 

Your moans fling out as he doesn’t let up, and Yoongi moans at the way you squeeze and milk his cock—relentless, uncompromising, just how he fucking wants it. 

More. He still wants more? Fuck. “Come here.” He gathers your wrists in one palm before reaching around your chest, hauling you up and pinning you against his body by the throat. It’s so sweaty under his touch, glistening and tempting to be sucked until he mars you with lust. 

“Never fucking kicking you out.” His next stroke is intentionally harsh, and those moans will take residence in his mind for years. “Don’t even think about saying that again.” 

Your weight falls on his arms when he shoves into you again, feet scrambling for solid ground and wobbling your legs into jello. 

But Yoongi doesn’t give a shit. “You hear me?” When you let out a breathy confirmation, he still isn’t satisfied. A hand pats your cheek before he asks again, “Say it louder.” 

“Yes!”

“Good.” That’s all you get before he jumps into a frenzy, pistoning as fast and as hard as he can possibly manage. When he brings you back down to his desk, Yoongi takes advantage of the position, thrusting and thrusting and thrusting into your heavenly velvet. 

This is exactly what he needed. What you needed. Of course you both yearned for the same blue flame, ripping each other apart and rebuilding each other again. 

You’re close. Yoongi can feel you. So he menacingly decides to prolong your release yet again—

You shove him so fast he can’t react, thumping onto his bed and cackling like mad when you leap onto his frame. Fuck, your eyes are so blown and vicious they set him on fire, and he’s gripping your sloping hips and shoving you against his length before he can fully taunt, “Let’s go then, pretty bitch.”

“You already fucking know.”

“Show me what I’ve been missing.”

“Don’t fall in love.” 

Right. He’s already groaning when you take your throne, regal and royal and showing him exactly why he already has. But when you swing your pelvis and take him even deeper, Yoongi reminds himself that he can always fuck you like he doesn’t. And that’s both of your favorite ways to sin. “Fuck.”

His head kicks back, eyes squeezing shut in lust. He’s so tight that he might hurt you, so his hands grapple his sheets instead and tense his muscles indefinitely. 

You feel good. Way too fucking good. If you’ve been practicing with those secrets you have in your bedside drawer he can damn well fucking tell. Soon, his hisses devolve into groans, and he snaps his head back up to slap your breasts—one after the other before gripping your hips with force. “Fuck, I missed this pussy,” he confesses with husk, and you whine in response as you lower yourself to kiss him deep. 

“It missed you, too.” You’re extending yourself up his body now, upping his heartbeat until it races to catch up with his feelings. But everything unholy fills him to the brim when you arch your tits to his face. It seems you figured some things out while he was gone. 

A dark chuckle leaves as he suckles on one of your nipples, lolling around and drawing whines right out of your lips. It’s adorable to feel you frozen around his waist, too distracted by his tongue that you can’t multitask both ends. 

It’s okay. He can do that for you. Grabbing the back of your neck, Yoongi thrusts himself up into your heat, marvelling at the way your mouth flops open to say his name. “Uh huh.”  

Before you can talk again, his other hand joins in to choke you from the other side, and his eyes engulf in black when yours roll impossibly far back. 

Fuck. He’s not gonna last much longer. But you’re gonna reach bliss a thousand times before he worries about himself. “You gonna come?”

A frantic nod.

“Then come.” 

As soon as you hear the words, you do exactly that, windpipe released just as you pulse around him so hard he hisses out a curse. Shit, shit, his release is right behind yours. The way you tug at his cock proves too much, and he stutters out words of encouragement when spilling out his own release inside latex. But you’re inundating around him even after he comes, and Yoongi selfishly commands you with a rasp, “Again.” 

To his shock, you obey immediately, crying out and arching so far back Yoongi feels himself close again, too. Has he come more than once in awhile? He doesn’t remember the last time that happened, if at all. But he knows it can happen with you. There’s no doubt he can get there with you, because he loves you so fucking much. 

Fuck. Fuck, did he just say that last confession out loud? No. No, he didn’t. There’s no fucking way. 

Sitting up, he waits as you sling arms around him, leaning back and smirking at the way the new angle makes you moan. Confident you can do it a fourth time, he repeats, “Again.” 

Your head shakes before your arms lock around his neck, and one tilt of his hips pushes you over the edge. And god. Damn. This reaction you have to your own body sends Yoongi to a higher plane. He stares in awe as your eyes roll again, drinking in the sight of you and questioning what the hell he’d done to deserve a front row seat.

You’ve both come so far. But Yoongi is more proud of you for finding your sensuality in perfect stride and pace. This is wholly you, losing yourself and baring your soul to him in full. Despite what you’re doing, you radiate such an angelic aura, and Yoongi has pricks at the corners of his eyes. 

He has his guardian angel back. And he would burn the universe without a second thought if it kept you safe and warm. “So fucking perfect.”

“For you,” you wisp out. “Only you.” 

How you decided to stay with him, Yoongi will never be able to fathom. But you came back effortlessly. You welcomed him back like the promise of a nostalgic summer.  

Lowering you to his sheets, he positions you to where you’re most comfortable. When he asks if you’re okay, you can only nod, and he plants another kiss on your temple before sliding off his protection. It doesn’t take him long to trash, and he makes his way back to the bed to take full advantage of your body heat. 

There’s complete silence now. But for the first time in months, Yoongi’s more than fine with that. Because it’s nothing but comforting, with your occasional nudge against his chest and soft breaths warming his chains. 

Soothing your back with circles, something walks into his brain, and he can’t hold it in any longer as his mouth spreads wide into a grin, “I need to re-up this damn cat’s food.” 

That squeal is so fucking worth the surprise. 

“I knew it!” Yoongi pretends to be annoyed when you figure him all the way out. “Tried to hide it from me all these months? Somebody’s getting soft.”

“First off.”

“Uh huh.”

Someday, one day soon, he’s gonna take you shopping for her. You’re going to run through his entire wallet, but Yoongi doesn’t care because he’s gonna be at his happiest picking toys and things out for you. 

He can even buy you storage for some of your clothes, too. 

Maybe that can be your next surprise. 

“I’m her favorite.” 

Your scoff is immediate, and Yoongi watches as you attempt to tower over him. “Only because you gatekeeped her.”

Gatekeeped? Is that even a word? A soft disagreement precedes a more prominent, “Won’t even matter.” Because she’s definitely going to warm up to you more. He’s gonna take pride in the small amount of time he’s the favorite before being recognized as the lowly food and water boy. 

Something softens in your stare. And he’s wondering what’s floating around in that attractive mind of yours. “You took care of her.”

He did. Because she came back when he was himself again. And if that wasn’t a sign for good things to come, Yoongi will make it one anyway. “She was gonna be your surprise,” he finally murmurs. “For getting the gig.”

Your eyes still before you offer a smile that stops his heart. When you lean down to give him a kiss, the same organ beats in double time when you plant love on his forehead right after. 

Oh. That was… 

“Come here,” Yoongi whispers, wrapping you against his side as you lie back down. Calling it what it is, he’s simply too shy to look into your eyes right now. “How are you gonna get home?” He’s fine taking you. But there’s a lot of risk there if your brother is awake or driving up at the same time. And—

Shit. You still have those shoes on. They can’t be comfortable while lying down, especially after you took him like a champion.

“I’ll call a ride in the morning. He’ll be out cold until noon at the earliest.” 

“K.” 

“Did I keep you from anything?”

A puff flies out his nostrils. Of course you’d still ask that after commandeering the rest of his night. “Kinda late for that, huh.” 

“True. Sorry.”  

“But no, we were finishing up when I called.” 

“Okay… Did I scare you?” When Yoongi can’t confess out loud, he lets his eyes speak for him. Which makes your voice heavy with apology, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” 

“S’ok.” 

“I just… It hurt tonight.” Fuck. “Really hurt.” 

He knows exactly what you mean. It’s been hurting like this ever since he left. Which means he  has to make up all that time. Grappling onto this chance you gave like a lifeline, he’s gonna right all his wrongs and fully commit. No matter how many shadows are in this damn apartment, because he now knows you’ll help chase them away.  

After a light squeeze, Yoongi gently shifts his weight, resting his head exactly where your hand clutches your chest. When you move your fingers, he kisses that same spot, hoping you understand what he means. “How about now.” 

Fingers meek, you clutch his head with a broken response, “Maybe try that one more time.”

He’ll do it as many times as you ask. 

Yoongi can feel the shudder in your chest. And he knows what that usually means. So he decides to run from your expression one more time, trying something else to hopefully comfort you. Sliding to the edge of his bed, he gently lifts one of your ankles onto a leg, back fully facing you as he undoes the meticulous leather straps. “I always do, babe.” 

When you’re silent, he slips one heel off before clarifying. “Miss you.”

“I just… Wasn’t sure.” 

He hates the waver in your voice. Hates how he’s the sole cause of it and fighting hard to not hurtle down another hole. “That’s my fault.” 

Throat small, you’re swift to reassure him. “No, no. I need to just suck it up. I’m sorry.” 

After freeing your other foot, he rubs it without prompt, finding comfort in massaging your exhausted soles. If he allows himself to dream, it would be to end each and every night just like this. Driving you to release before soothing your tired bones as you talk about whatever’s on your mind, working toward his dream while you drift off and get lost in yours. 

Can he have that? Will the universe let him have a future despite his past? “Just a little bit longer, doll,” he says, turning to look at the floor. “I’m sorry.” 

“You gave me tonight.” When he swallows, you reassure him with all the support you can give, “A little longer is nothing.” 

Of course. How could you be any less than perfect? A moment passes before he shifts, and this is when he finally spots the ocean of littered pens and papers on his floor. 

Is his smile that obvious? It doesn’t take you long to call his ass out. “You liked whatever happened over there, huh.”

Immediately, Yoongi’s shoulders bob with a laugh before he admits, “Fucking you on my desk? I’ve wanted to do that for months.” 

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Going through all the other scenarios he’s thought of—one that occurs a little far from here—he grins. “There’s a lot of shit I’ve wanted us to do for months.” 

“Oh? Like what?”

He looks over his shoulder, and you scoff in frustration at his answer, “What’s the fun in telling you?”

“Ass!”

—

—

Yoongi does his damned best to keep that smile on your face. After a shower that proves steamier than usual, he offers to make you dinner when your stomach roar makes him double over in laughter. And while he whips up a meal from the last batch of groceries Taehyung brought, Yoongi peeks around the bar to watch you discreetly open his front door. 

Wearing a shirt he used to wipe his own tears weeks ago. He’s been an utter, complete fool. 

“Is she there?” He calls out, to which you turn with a prominent pout on your lips. 

“No.” When you huff and puff to the kitchen, his eyes crease tight. “Whatever, I have plenty of time to become her new fave.” 

Over dinner, your laughs mix with his own as you tell him all your work stories. And Yoongi quickly realizes that this could’ve been the whole night and he’d be just as happy. Just as fulfilled. What does that tell him? Nothing he doesn’t already know. 

It’s when you both settle into bed that things simmer. And as Yoongi lies on your hearth of a chest, you tell him everything that happened with Jungkook. How you met, when your brother went from protectiveness to approval, up until the night he broke your heart. 

Yoongi doesn’t say a word. But he does encourage you to keep talking about your new job. Because it seems like the perfect fit for you, which is the complete opposite from where you were before. 

“Oh, wait,” you suddenly stop during a story about office decorating, “What did you call about?”

“Huh? Tonight?” 

“Yeah.” 

Now that it’s his turn to speak, Yoongi feels shy. You’ve been experiencing so much while he was away, and it’s relieving to know you didn’t lose most of your spark. “We finally have a confirmed date. For that album,” he murmurs. “I was gonna invite you to the release party.”

You tense. “Me?”

A laugh flows out, warming his cheek. “Yes, you. All of y’all.” 

It takes a second for you to ask what he suspects you would, “That won’t be weird?” 

“Nah. You can bring anyone you want, so. I was assuming you’d bring your friends.” 

“Ah, I see.”

Nope. There’s that insecurity again. And he’s already there to push it away, planting kisses along your skin, your neck, and landing home on your lips. “It won’t be the only one,” he promises. “We got time.”

“Duh,” you giggle. “And I’ll be at all of them. Whether you like it or not.” 

Oh. Yeah. He loves you more than words could ever convey. 

But he doesn’t feel like he can tell you just yet. That’s the last hurdle he has to clear, and he finds himself eating shit every time he attempts. But it’s okay. There’s still time. Because you chose him again, you gave him another chance, you’re here. 

Finding his spot on your chest again, Yoongi immediately feels at peace. All the nights he dreaded, and all the nights he doesn’t remember—every single one can’t touch him now. Because in you, he finds a safe haven, the rolling hills of your limbs and the valley of your breasts shining and warm under your smiles. 

He’ll find a way to do this. He’ll find a way to set things straight with your brother and his past. Soon. Maybe. Hopefully. 

Yoongi starts to lull as you glide gentle fingers through his hair, something else that lends him the solace he’d been seeking for months. God, all he needed was you. And you’re the only thing he left… behind…

You’re humming. 

Ever the curious musician, Yoongi perks his ears to figure out what you’re singing. Is it something he can recognize? Is it a song he doesn’t know? No. You aren’t humming anything in particular. Which makes this performance unique and only for him, and your soft lilt tugs on every single string of his heart. 

Forget everything he had said before. This is how he wants to end every night, floating amongst your stars while your voice dips his mind in a stream of gentle song. 

God. You’re composing and don’t even know it. The way you stop before trying something different, the small grunt you make before going again to make a phrase better. It’s not unlike his own creative process, and that connection yanks tears straight from his soul. 

What did he ever do. What did he ever do to be with you.

“Shit, was I too loud?”

Yoongi just shakes his head, holding you closer and hoping you don’t notice the droplets through his tee. “Not at all.” 

So you keep going, humming more familiar tunes and phrases, moving on to a drumline on his head that makes him huff in pure delight. 

But Yoongi commits that moving line you liked to memory, remembering every note and already weaving it into the fabric of his own making. A breakthrough sparks new life into his eyes, and Yoongi squeezes them tight while his lungs silently burn and burn. 

It’s what he had been fucking missing.  

You were the key this whole time. 

And he waits until you fall asleep to let out grateful, heavy sobs into your chest. 

—

—

The day after you left is one of the most stressful ones of his life. From the whirlwind of a morning to the moment of bravery in the studio to handling your brother, Yoongi needs a whole week of no brain activity. 

But that call with you long after night fell just changed his whole perspective on the time he’d been gone. 

You sounded so broken, so fragile, so defeated. It didn’t matter to have that one night of reunion. He fucked up the next day by falling asleep and leaving you worried yet again. 

You asked if he was done with you. And from the way you asked it, you already believed it to be true. 

And Yoongi never, ever wants you to question where he stands again. Not when there’s three words he wants to say to you every fucking day. 

When the phone cuts, Yoongi’s hand falls, his stare shifting straight to the living room. Right towards the corner that stares back. “You’re nothing to me anymore,” he vows, walking to the guitar that almost shies away. “I’m done.” 

Keep saying it. Keep believing it. Keep focusing on the present and grasping that instead. And one day, these words will be truer than true. 

Reaching for the case, Yoongi stops midway, his hand unable to go any farther. 

All he has to do is throw it out. That’s it. Just take it, walk to the nearest dumpster, and discard. Years of toxins will fester somewhere else, and he’ll finally be rid of the dark. 

In the end, he still can’t do it. But that won’t stop him from showing you he’s better now. Showing himself he’s better now. 

Because he is, he is, he is. 

“For us.” 

-

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tbc in fugue, pt. iii

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so... thoughts before part 3? | join the server! | fugue pt. iii

a/n: this was the part that i couldn't write until i knew yoongi was fine. it was always the plan to have him isolated, but to see real life yoongi go through all that last summer.. i couldn't find it in my heart to write his self-isolation and self-deprecation without my soul hurting. it just didn't feel right. but as soon as i saw him okay? 3tan yoongi came back again. and my fingers flew. a/n 2: thank you again, everyone. i hope you all love all the parts of fugue in equal amounts! any support, love, or encouragement means the whole world to me. again, i'm sorry for taking so long to update the main storyline, but i am back. for real. love you guys so much. ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here! ++ more links: ⇥ masterlist  ⇥ three tangerines masterlist

[edensrose]

꒰ ݁ ꫂ᭪ ꒱ 𓂃 Heart Eaters Event

featuring ᝰ.ᐟ✧ 。。。“ i won't cry for you ”

˚₊‧꒰ა ex husband.ᐟ satoru gojo ﾉ gn reader ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

he always knew he'd choose the life of a sorcerer over you. but when that life promises him ruin at the centre of shinjuku, he wishes to hold you. just one more time.

broadcast ᝰ.ᐟ✧ divorced spouses, mentions of death, fear of death, broken marriage 𓂃 wc ⌇ 1.4k

sweetheart host ᝰ.ᐟ✧ kicking off this event with a big blow, i wanna die art cred ⌇ tansan__mizu (twt)

Instead of your snuggle sofa paired with your favourite fluffy black blanket, white obscured both. The only black being that damned uniform.

"What the hell are you doing here, Gojo?"

"Please, not that again."

"Don't you know how to knock? I can call the authorities right now."

"Sweetheart—"

"I have a name. First and last. Don't."

The keys drop in a bowl together with your mood. Kicking off your shoes at the door, you jerk your coat tighter. Maybe the wool would keep you together. Keep you safe from the cold and those begging blue eyes.

Tall as ever, Satoru stood in the living room's centre. Instead of hands stuffed in pockets, they dangled aimlessly at his side. Rather than a blindfold, blue greeted you. Pleaded you. He never obscured them when it came to you; he remembered how you loved them. How you drowned in them on your wedding day, wedding night— avoided them after signing icy ink.

Signing away the certificate, the ring on your finger, him— only this house remained. Satoru refused to settle for any less. In exchange for a peaceful divorce, he only had one condition: stay here. Stay safe. You accepted. On the condition of one more stay. Him. Away from you.

"I told you, I can't do this anymore." The threshold to the living room was your boundary. You didn't dare step closer. You wouldn't. Couldn't. "We had an agreement. You stay the hell away from me, I live my life."

"I understand—"

"Then why are you here? You couldn't even knock? How long have you been here?"

"You wouldn't have let me in."

"Then that should've been your first warning."

Warning. Away. Hell. Each of these more rigid than the frost rimming your windows. His heart warned him. Staying away from you would be hell. And hell? It wasn't blistering; but a blizzard. Cold, lonely, a wasteland. Satoru knew hell all too well. Ever since you threw those documents in front of him, hell became his livelihood.

"Please," his voice was soft, uncharacteristically. "I just wanna talk. I need you." The imaginary threshold bound him too. The gaping gorge spread between you both was imminent danger. One step, two step, and he'd fall. You'd evade. Throw a fit.

Had he truly been such a horrible husband? Satoru prided himself on being textbook perfect for marriage. Kind, considerate, compassionate, the type to make sure you never lacked. Materials, affection, emotion, whatever your pretty heart desired. And he was perfect, apart from one thing.

"Need me? Don't you have some mission that's more important?"

That. For all his pros, Satoru came with one boulder of a con. He was never around. Too busy, too dedicated. That kindness and compassion extended way beyond you. Twisted into senseless duty for a hopeless cause. He wasn't just the kindest. No, Gojo Satoru was the Strongest.

But the strongest felt at his Weakest when it came to you. Standing there, stiff, unwilling. Glaring daggers colder than ice and speaking frostier. Winter raged outside, but in this humble home was where the true blizzard brewed.

"I don't." He broke code. Stepped over that threshold. You stepped back. He went forward. Back. Forward. Back. Forward— until you stood at the foot of the kitchen and him the same distance as before. Now closer to the door. You hoped he'd change direction and find himself out of it.

"I just— please, listen to me."

He took your silence as a green light. Even with your eyes roaring red.

"I just need to see you. One more time. One more night."

"Then refuse to leave in the morning? Pass."

"I won't exactly have a choice."

You paused. Squinted. "Why's that? Oh! Let me guess." Your laugh was cold, your eyes were colder, your words hissed as your shoulders shook off snow and you leaned into the kitchen doorway. "Mission, right? That's the only thing more important than me anyway."

"Nothing was ever more important than you." Satoru snapped.

"Didn't feel like it when all I woke up to was the same empty bed I cried myself to sleep in."

"I had duties. I have duties. What about that made you think you were less important?"

"Hmm. Dunno. Maybe the fact you risked your life every day?"

"That's my damn job— hell, my life!"

"And what's mine? Grieving over you when you finally kick the bucket for a society that doesn't give two shits about you?"

You needn't raise your voice. Your glare screamed. Frozen daggers, a hateful wasteland. For him? For the people who moulded him? You married Satoru. But Gojo Satoru would be the man in the coffin. Young, like his widowed. Strung over, crying their eyes out over a man who was never truly theirs. Never truly their husband; but a weapon.

Silence formed a rink. Both rooted in this frozen graveyard you once called love. This home you once called ours.

He lifted the first sledgehammer. Not a slam, but shiver. "I need to be with you." Desperate, whispered. "Just one more time. I need to hold you in my arms, feel you, know you're real. Know that we were real. Just. . . once, please."

His heart called to drift closer, but he stood strong. Even in this weakness.

"You're right, there is a mission." Satoru murmured. "One I'm not sure I'll come back from."

You tensed.

He faltered.

"I get it, okay? I couldn't give you what you deserved. I tried. I wanted to— hell, I loved you." Trembled hands tore through his hair and gaped at the ceiling in search of mercy. "I love you. With all my heart. You made me feel like. . . like Satoru. Toru. Even when you refuse to call me either now. And I know I don't deserve this, but I can't go out there knowing there's a high chance I won't see you again."

His gaze lowered. Glossy. Shades hid his eyes when you signed the divorce papers. You imagined they looked like this when you picked up that pen.

"I hated every minute being apart from you. I don't know where I'm going. Don't know if you'll come there. I don't even know if there is a there to go to. All I know is that I missed you. I'll miss you. And that I—"

Gojo Satoru. The Strongest. Stood trembling before you. Crystalline tears slowly dripping from his shattered eyes. The sign of his strength. Now weak. The Weakest.

"I love you."

He faced you. Even when every fibre of his being told him to run. Even when you gaze remained unchanging.

"I love. You." He croaked. "Please. Just let me love you one more time."

Silence drowned him. His lungs burned, eyes stung. Frost clung to his skin. Outside would be kinder. Anything but this cruel house he found himself in. Not a home, but a house.

Still he hoped it could be one. Just for the night. One more time.

You sighed. Shoulders drooped.

"Satoru. . ."

His hope soared—

"I can't."

—shattered.

His heart in your hands. And still you squeezed it. Ripped it to shreds with your pretty palms he'd still get down on his knees and kiss in his dying breaths.

"This is exactly what I was talking about." The chill in your voice became a croak of your own. Instead of leaning, you held onto the doorway for support. One arm hooked around yourself. Grounding. Shaking.

You couldn't look at him. Wouldn't.

"You'll love me and leave me. Go out there and make my every fear a reality."

Your eyes shimmered. He instinctively stepped closer. Violently, you brushed the tears away. Shot him a look that froze him once more. Not sorrow, but a scowl. Not cold. But cruel.

"Leave."

"Sweetheart."

You ducked from the word. Both arms wrapped around your person tight. He didn't deserve your glare anymore, so you stared to the floor.

"I said leave."

"You won't see me again."

"And you know what?"

At last you shouted. Heaved. Your tears fell and you wiped each furiously. Then pointed with an aggressive hand to the door.

"I won't cry for you."

You broke.

Satoru? He shattered.

"Leave. I won't cry for you. Not any more. I won't shed a single tear for a man who was never mine to begin with."

Silence. Not a banter, not a breath. You snapped your head forward with a scream on your tongue.

"Didn't you hear me!? I said l—"

Nothing. No white hair. No blue eyes. Only the wide window.

And the cold, lonely winter. On a fateful day in Shinjuku.

© 𝒆𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒓𝒐𝒔𝒆 . no copying, translation or plagiarism authorised

[phantasmallussion]

The Equation of Us

In which Phainon is a hopeless chemistry student who finally understands the subject by falling hopelessly in love and turning every exam into a love letter.

content: phainon x gn!reader, modern university au

word count: 1.7k

note: i wanted to make something before his banner drops, so here's an attempt. this is my first time writing phainon, so i'm so sorry if it's bad or ooc. formatted on phone, so the format might be a bit off as well.

I. Phainon is Bad at Chemistry (Until He Isn't)

Phainon is, by all definitions, a disaster at General Chemistry.

It's not that he doesn't try. He studies, shows up to classes, and even volunteers to mop the lab floor when someone drops the potassium-filled beaker again. But there is just something about acids, chemical bonding, and thermodynamics that just... won't stick.

Until you came along.

Somehow, the moment he started associating chemical principles with you, everything clicked. Like how ionic bonds are one-sided love. Or how magnetic fields reminded him of the ways you make his heart pull sideways when you walk into the room. Soon his notes are no longer filled with the complicated jargons and diagrams as was shown by his professor, Anaxagoras, on the board but is instead replaced with little doodles and analogies connected to you.

Suddenly, chemistry is Phainon's favourite subject. Not because he's good at it, but because every question feels like a metaphor for his hopeless crush.

II. A Guide to Chemistry (Written in Phainon-Speak)

(Or, a glimpse into Phainon's notebook)

He's doomed. And Mydei, his best friend, is now aware of it.

They were studying together after classes, reviewing notes and discussing lessons. But this study session has long devolved into Phainon drawing stick figures of you and him with electrons drawn between them. He has not been paying attention to any of Mydei's words for the past 15 minutes and Mydei is starting to be annoyed at the lack of response. So he turned his gaze to his silent friend and came face-to-face with a very concerning list of things.

✧ Note A: Bonding Types ○ Ionic bond: When someone gives away everything—like I would, if they asked. One-sided, but powerful. Painful and devastating, very me-coded. ○ Covalent bond Shared electrons = shared food and drinks. Strong and stable. Very couple-coded. ○ Hydrogen bond Small and fleeting, like when their hands brushed against mine once and I couldn't breathe for three minutes.

✧ Note B: Magnetic Fields Technically it is formed when charges move. But also, when they enter a room and all my atoms realign. North Pole, South Pole? All irrelevant, my compass only points to them.

✧ Note C: Activation Energy The minimum energy needed to start a reaction. For me, that's three hours of inner turmoil, two hours of Mydei pep talks, and one caffeine overdose just to text them: 'hey do u wanna study together later maybe if you're free haha'.

✧ Note D: Chemical Equilibrium When the forward and reverse reactions are equal and occur at the same rate. It's like when they flirt with me by accident and I flirt back on purpose, they get flustered and I get flustered, we both freaked out and retreated at the same time. Balance. Equilibrium achieved. Both parties suffering.

"You're gonna fail both chem and romance in the same semester at this rate."

"HEY!!"

Mydei is tired and exasperated.

But Phainon? Phainon has never understood chemistry better.

III. Midterm Examinations and the Paper That Started It All

Phainon's Chemistry Midterm Paper

(Graded by: Professor Anaxagoras Professor Cerces)

Comment (all written in Cerces' handwriting): Professor Anaxa has refused to grade this paper properly so I have taken the liberty of grading it in his stead.

Question 1: Define polar vs non-polar covalent bonds. Answer: A polar bond is like when I like them more than they like me. Unbalanced, but still connected. A non-polar bond is when we're both blushing idiots too afraid to confess. Equal, with maximum tension. (I prefer non-polar, personally) Comment: Full marks.

Question 2: Describe an exothermic reaction. Answer: An exothermic reaction releases heat into the surroundings. Like when they laughed. Or when they brushed my hair back last Tuesday and I short-circuited. Pretty sure I melted internally. 100% heat released. No regrets. Comment: Correct. Also, too much detail.

Question 3: Explain Le Chatelier's Principle. Answer: When a system is disturbed, it shifts to restore balance. If I start ignoring them (usually by accident), they start sending me dog memes. When they forget to reply, I send them stupid chemistry puns. We always shift to equilibrium, return to chaotic harmony. It's the balance of love. Comment: Scientific accuracy = ✔️ Emotional damage = also ✔️

Question 4: What is an intermolecular force, and how does it differ from intramolecular force? Answer: Intermolecular = between separate molecules = the gravitational pull I feel when they walk by. Intramolecular = inside the molecule = the feelings I try to supress but fail to contain. TL;DR: both are responsible for me being completely stuck on them Comment: Perfectly phrased. It's brilliant, but also tragic.

Extra Credit (Free Response): What does chemistry mean to you? Answer: Chemistry is the invisible pull between two elements. Sometimes reactive, sometimes dangerous. but sometimes... just right. They are the element I wasn't supposed to discover, but now that I have, I don't think I'll ever be inert again. Also, please pass me. I need this for graduation. I'll even name my next molecule after you. Comment: A+ Score. And do note that the one who graded this paper is me, Cerces, not Anaxa.

Final Score: 85/100. PASS.

IV. And The News Spreads

It starts small.

Anaxa "accidentally" leaks a few lines to Aglaea in the faculty lounge. A student nearby heard their conversation and got their hands on the original paper. An anonymous student submitted it to the school zine as a meme; it somehow passed checks and got published under the title "Chemical Bonding: The Sappy Edition". The zine was quickly stopped soon after but word still spread faster than flu season in the dorm halls.

But they weren't just laughing at it, they were studying with it. Freshmen started using it as study guides. Then came the memes, the academic forum post, and a bootleg version was reprinted under the name "Chemistry of Love 101" in a study zine.

And Phainon... Phainon became a chemistry icon.

V. The Dreaded Day (But This Time Phainon Is Ready)

Phainon walks in early with a confident stride and sit front and center. He was calm. Too calm. Anaxa side-eyes him from his position on the podium.

A few hours later, the exam papers had all been collected and ready for grading. Anaxa's hands reaches for one at random. He took a quick glance at the answer, then stared hard at the name column, and finally released a huge sigh. Today is going to be a long day.

Then, one afternoon, the results came in

Students filtered out of the lecture hall in waves, clutching their graded papers with expressions ranging from mild horror to cautious joy.

You were sitting on the steps outside the chemistry building, drink in one hand and phone on the other, scrolling aimlessly. The air was buzzing with noise and the breeze was warm. You honestly didn't expect much from today—maybe a nap, maybe existential dread. But what you certainly didn't expect is for Phainon to stand in front of you, nervously hugging a stack of papers like it contained both his future and his grocery list.

"Hey," he said.

You looked up. He was flushed, hair a little messy, expression nervous but hopeful.

"Hey," you answered, smiling. "You okay?"

He hesitated, then dropped onto the step beside you with a dramatic sigh.

"I'm about to do something dumb," he muttered.

You raised an eyebrow at that. "Is it the same kind of dumb as replacing Mydei's sugar and salt bottles, or...?"

"No, like—emotionally dumb," he said, then pulled a single sheet from the middle of the stack and held it out. "Here. Read this."

You blinked. "You're... giving me your final exam paper?"

"Just look at it. Please?" he said, eyes wide and weirdly intense. "I swear it's not about the grades."

You took the page. At the top was his name written in familiar scrawl.

And right below that is what you could recognise as Anaxa's handwriting:

Grade: 100/100

Comment: I refuse to ever lay my (singular) eye on this paper again. I recommend you send these "texts" to the actual recipient instead of my grading inbox.

You snorted. "Already promising," you said, flipping the page.

What followed is less like a science exam and more like a romantic thesis disguised as academic desperation.

Some carefully selected excerpts from Phainon's finals:

"A chemical reaction must overcome activation energy. I overcame mine the day I met them."

"Endothermic reactions absorb heat. But being around them is exothermic, they make me burn and I will do so happily."

"Stability constant, K = [Products]/[Reactants]. And I am more stable when they are near."

"When I say I love them, it's not hyperbole. It's data. Proven through every beat of my heart and every laugh of theirs that knocks the air out of my lungs. They are the catalyst and I am hopelessly, irreversibly reacting."

And at the very end, written almost like a postscript, is your name followed by "will you be my equilibrium?"

You stared at the last line for a long moment, something warm and strange tightening in your chest. Beside you, Phainon was silent. You turned your head. He was staring straight ahead, hands fidgeting on his lap, as if afraid to look you in the eye.

"You really wrote all this?" you asked softly.

He let out a breath that trembled at the edges. "Yeah. I didn't think Professor Anaxa would read the whole thing. I was just—y'know—sleep deprived, emotionally compromised, and full of caffeine."

You traced the margin of the paper with your finger.

"But I meant all of it," his voice was firm although he still wasn't looking at you. "Even if i flunked, i figured i should try telling the truth, just once."

You reached into your bag and pulled out a red pen of your own. Phainon blinked as you uncapped it and scribbled something at the end of the paper, then passed it back to him.

He read it. Paused. And nearly fell off the steps.

Beside the black ink of his own handwriting is your newly added words written in red.

"will you be my equilibrium?"

Grade: 100/100

Comment: Yes. Always."

[fir-fireweed]

i need to know how the ROs are with oblivious but amiable MC. Who gets bolder with the flirting? Who just stay patient? Who finally saves everything up for one last act of grandeur that screams "I LOVE YOU" to MC?

Calliope would be the most impatient, definitely. She’d get bolder and eventually she would scream “I LOVE YOU”, and not care who was around to hear it.

Corinne is tricky because she’d want to be upfront about her feelings as soon as she recognized them. Once she understands what she’s feeling for MC is more than friendship, she’d want to confess. But if MC is oblivious and doesn’t seem to reciprocate, she wouldn’t want to burden them with her desires.

Vicente would be fine at first, because he doesn’t like these feelings anyway. If MC is oblivious then maybe he can stop this madness. But once he starts falling more, he’d get impatient and resentful. Like hell he’s the only one suffering! Prepare for an angry, sexually tense moment when that stoic veneer cracks.

Bayram would be the most patient of the ROs. As long as MC seems amenable, he can keep this up for months. He’d get bolder, eagerly awaiting that moment when the MC finally gets it. Then prepare for much affectionate teasing after.

Tellus may be just as oblivious as MC. Sure, he has a crush, but he can’t fathom that MC would ever reciprocate. This may take awhile. Hope both MC and you as the reader are in for the long haul!

[lumieraz]

Word count: 3.9k

Tags: Caleb x fem!reader, fluff, slightly subby caleb, he eats you out lol, creampies, slight body worship, some praise, dry humping, rough sex

Summary: Caleb and you end up having sex after he yaps about model planes lmao

Gentle was the way the light from the lamp to the side of his bed gleamed off the walls and settled lowly in the room.

Caleb sat next to you as you slightly snuggled up at his side, the both of you slouched against the wall and pillows as you listened intently to his ongoing, mostly one-sided conversation. It was kind of nice to just sit next to him like this and listen to him go on and on about his interests even if you didn’t really understand some of the stuff he was talking about. 

“There are some model planes that come almost pre-built, those ones are pretty convenient for some people, but I like building them from scratch, personally,” His voice was sort of giddy as he continued on with his explanation of the different components of model aircrafts. He seemed so passionate about this and you found that endlessly sweet. 

“There’s so much thought that goes into building one that a lot of people wouldn’t actually appreciate until they’ve tried it themselves,” He said before looking over at you to ask, “Are you actually listening?” His tone was sort of teasing.

“Oh! Yeah I am, keep talking,” You replied as your gaze traced his features. He looked so pretty right now, gorgeous with the way his lips tilted up into another soft smile when you gave him the go-ahead to continue talking. 

He started going over the various types of tools usually needed when building model planes and you realized that there is a lot more that goes into this than you originally thought, well, you honestly aren’t entirely sure what you originally thought anymore as you continue to listen to his voice — Your mind was no longer fully comprehending the strings of words coming out of his mouth as he continued to talk about different model aircraft supplies. 

Honestly, you really didn’t mean to space him out again, his voice is just so soothing and lovely that you couldn’t help but feel a little mesmerized as he spoke. Your eyes traced the arch of his brows, the way his eyes crinkled slightly as he smiled while talking about something that ultimately fell on deaf ears. Oh, he was so, so cute. 

“—And that’s exactly why those types are amazing to see fly for the first time! They just—” He raised his head slightly to look at you and his sentence trailed off. Why were you looking at him like that?

“Well, I mean… They’re just cool is what I’m really trying to say…” He said a little more sheepishly than before, looking away from you and your enamored gaze. 

You giggled lightheartedly at his sudden flustered behavior and sat up a little “No! No- I’m sorry, I’m listening, tell me more!” you continued. 

“I’m not sure what else to say,” He said, and it was technically a lie, because at any other moment he really would go on for a lot longer talking about these things… But right now it felt as though all of his knowledge on model planes had dissipated from his mind as he watched you continue to scoot in a little closer to him. 

“Okaaay… If you say so.” You said softly as your hand slipped down to take hold of his hand and intertwine your fingers with his. 

He huffed out a breath and his gaze followed your hand as you did so, just staring quietly.

You couldn’t help but laugh as his eyes returned to yours, a dopey smile gracing your lips. This usually happened when you were alone with him for a bit too long. You so easily slipped under that blanket of nostalgic affection for him, one built from years of just simply being there for one another. It made you want to smile and laugh, maybe pepper his face with kisses, or just hold him close until you fell asleep in his arms.

He tilted his head down slightly and sighed before raising it again to look at your face, his expression nothing short of fond. “Ah… Just come here already…” He said, gesturing for you to move closer.

Your smile widened as you moved to climb onto his lap and snuggle close. He sighed and closed his eyes as he wrapped two strong arms around you. “You know, if this is what you really wanted, you could’ve just asked…” He murmured softly as you wrapped your arms around his neck in return.

You looked into his eyes and a soft giggle escaped you. “Mmm no, I like listening to you,” You mumbled. The air felt a little more magnetic now than it did before. There was always this gentle, playful push and pull between the two of you, but it always felt stronger in moments like this, making your face a little warmer and your a little heart softer. 

“Then what was I just talking about?” He asked, a playful glint in his violet eyes. 

You huffed out a laugh before giving the most useless answer you could offer up, “Uhhh– Planes?”.

You watched as his expression once again turned into something softer, shaking his head as a small ‘tsk’ fell from his lips. He looked at you again and you both just sat like that for a few moments, admiring one another as the silence stretched on until it split in two. 

He was leaning in a little more now, you noticed. You couldn’t help but lean in a little more as well.

You felt him press his forehead to yours and then the faint brush of his breath against your lips, fleeting and warm before he pressed his lips to yours. The kiss was chaste and soft and then he pulled back, just merely looking into your eyes with a slightly unreadable look before pressing back in to kiss you a little deeper.

You slowly changed positions to straddle him and one of his hands started to rub up and down the side of your body, his touch was so gentle – almost reverent. You leaned in again and brushed your lips against his and he closed his eyes. You giggled softly against his lips and he did the same.

You felt his free hand snake up your body and towards the back of your head to gently hold it as the one rubbing your side came up to cup your chin. 

And you were being a little shy, so he used it as leverage to slowly prod a little deeper with the kiss until it was something not so soft and fleeting. 

You allowed him to take that initiative as he angled your face a little more to his liking and gently pressed in deeper. His tongue very slightly slipped into your mouth and rolled over yours in a way that had you falling pliable to his touch. He pulled his head back afterwards and you couldn’t help but lean in and subconsciously chase the warmth of his mouth, cute.

“Just follow my lead, okay?” He whispered against your lips and you listened, mirroring his actions as the hand he had cupping your jaw moved to gently cradle the side of your face. 

Here it was – that same push and pull again. The two of you always guided each other in the only ways you both knew best, something as simple and intangible as a kiss was no exception to that rule. You really did wish it could just stay like this forever, such a warm and comforting thing that only he was able to give you.

But you were only human, and your wishes of wanting to keep things soft and innocent like this were fleeting as you began to crave more of him. You didn’t understand how he so easily made you like this, your need for him so quickly becoming all consuming.

Pure warmth slowly bled into something more fevered and passionate between you and him as your hands slid up to cup his face in return.

You looked into his eyes again upon pushing back a bit and breaking the kiss, you noticed this intensity in them now that made heat curl up inside of you.

The shift in the air was almost palpable, a much too knowing moment of silence shared briefly between the two of you… And before you knew it – his hands were all over you. 

He was touching with urgency now, pulling you closer, palming up against your breasts through the fabric of the shirt that you happened to borrow from him earlier.

Yeah. He needed that off. Now.

His hands hastily moved to the hem of the shirt before he stopped in his tracks and looked to you again, silently asking permission, because your comfort was always first on his mind before anything else. You always appreciated this part of him, you really did… But sometimes you couldn’t help but wish he would be beside himself enough to just tear the offending clothes away without notice. 

But that wasn’t what this was, and you knew that. 

So you instead just nodded softly at him.

He lifted the shirt up over your head gently before tossing it somewhere haphazardly in his room. The lacy floral bra you wore underneath was much appreciated by him, but it also needed to be gone. He reached around and unclasped the garment and watched in awe as he used his Evol to toss it away with a flick of his finger. 

You suddenly felt too open and bare, and just a little cold too now that your breasts were on full display to him.

Caleb on the other hand though… 

He couldn’t help but reach out and cup them with his hands and sighed softly as you slightly backed away from the touch, his hands were warm though, and he was looking at you so dearly, so you swallowed back the shyness that often forced its way out of you during intimacy and decided to instead be more open with him. You brought your hands up to where his hands were and pressed your palms against the backs of his, forcing him to apply more pressure against your breasts.

He took that as about as much confirmation he needed to continue before he was leaning in and peppering your chest and neck with kisses.

You flush, his actions suddenly so bold as he stopped his kisses and lowered his head to graze one of your hardening nipples with his tongue before sucking it into his mouth, you couldn’t stop the whine that escaped your lips and the sound did nothing but egg him on.

Your back arched slightly as his hands slipped down to your hips and gripped firmly to press you against the tent forming beneath his grey shorts. Fuck, he was getting hard, you could feel it pressing into you and liquid heat pooled in the pit of your stomach as you felt him start to use the hands on your hips to rock you against him. 

It was kind of lazy at first, just allowing him to guide your movements so as to feel that pleasurable friction. Well, it really didn’t stay that way for long as you pressed against him deeper, closer, and harder.

He pulled back from your chest and looked into your eyes with pink dusted cheeks and slightly parted lips. God, He looked needy, you almost instantly pulled him into a deep, hungry kiss, groaning into his open mouth as he resumed his earlier actions of grinding you down against his cock.

Your hands slipped down to his chest, pressing in softly and then skimming your fingers down against the cool fabric of his shirt until they found the hem and tugged slightly. He noticed what you were silently asking for and instantly moved to help you pull off his shirt without hardly breaking the kiss.

You gasped as he sat up and hauled you down onto the bed, your back hitting the mattress with a soft thud as he leaned over you.

You watched longingly as he began to fumble with the waistband of his sweatpants, slipping them down his legs enough that you could fully see the outline of his cock through his boxers before clumsily pulling them off entirely and throwing them to the side of his bed. 

He all but collapsed on top of you afterwards and started to grind his still boxer-clad cock against your thigh. 

“Please– Please, I need– need to, fuck– Need you,” He whimpered against your ear as his needy grinding quickly morphed into him essentially humping your thighs.

You felt heat sweep up and down your body at his behavior and the wetness between your legs suddenly became a little hard to ignore. 

Your hands moved to his head and you gently raked your fingers through his hair, you felt him rut against you a little more frantically at the action as he started to leave hot, open mouthed kisses against your neck, making you moan softly.

“Caleb, please,” You whined, you didn’t know what you were begging for exactly, you just knew that you suddenly needed him closer.

He sat back slightly and his kisses began to descend down your body now, kissing down between the valley of your breasts, and then down your abdomen, then finally down below your navel. His lips left a searing trail in their wake, leaving your hips to twitch uselessly in aroused anticipation.

He glanced up at you briefly before softly gripping the waistband of your shorts and pulling them down your thighs and then completely off to be tossed away as well. 

You gasped as he leaned in and nosed against the wet spot that had formed against your panties. He couldn’t stop himself from pulling them down frantically and leaning back in to press a soft hand to the inner parts of each of your thighs. You gave in so easily, spreading them for him like it was instinct and he felt his cock twitch at the sight of it, pretty. 

A soft laugh rumbled from him before he leaned in and began to leave soft kisses and bites against your inner thigh, leaving you dizzy and hot all over. He trailed them up until he was right at the heat between your legs. 

“Wait— Caleb–!” Before you could finish your sentence he was already licking a stripe up through the wetness that had gathered up down there, forcing a strangled noise from your throat and making your words die off rather quickly. 

His mouth began to worship you with unrelenting passion, forcing the air from your lungs as he lapped and delved his tongue in, humming in satisfaction at the taste of you. 

You couldn’t help but squirm and cry out as your thighs clamped at the sides of his head. You could tell he was taking pleasure in this with the way he was grinding himself against the mattress as he licked a languid stripe up to your most sensitive part before sucking on it harshly.

“Caleb– Hah fuck– please,” You moaned unashamedly as your hands moved to grip his hair and pull on it slightly. He fucking moaned at that, and you definitely weren’t ready for the way he started to eat you out even more hungrily than he was before.

Your body convulsed at the overwhelming feelings and tears blurred your vision as you started to cry out louder, “Caleb— Wait, stop, It’s too- too much I– I can’t” It was all happening too fast. That knot forming in your stomach was about to snap if he kept going, so you tried to pull his head back, but to your dismay he grabbed your wrists and forced them down at your sides. 

You thrashed and gasped out his name in a futile attempt to slow his movements as he licked up as much of your juices as he could, such useless attempts, If only you knew how sexy you sounded right now.

You could feel the tides of your arousal crashing dangerously close over the shore, just a little more and you feared that the string of arousal forming deep inside you would snap. 

In your pleasure hazed mind you had barely noticed that he had inserted a finger until he started to move it inside of you while still licking you up like a starved man. That was about all you needed now to finish at this point. You gushed all over his face and he drank it all in fervently, groaning at the taste before finally pulling back from between your legs and removing his hand to lick the taste of you off of his fingers.

He looked down at your spent form, taking in the sight of your heaving chest and tear stricken eyes, he was so hard now that it almost hurt, precum leaking out through his boxers at the tip, and the completely wrecked look you had now was doing absolutely nothing to help him.

“You’re so beautiful,” He breathed as he leaned in to kiss you deeply. You could taste yourself on his tongue and it made a strange sense of need swirl around inside of you. This kiss was hungrier than any of the earlier ones, it was like he was repeating the motions he had just been using down there in the kiss now, essentially fucking his tongue into your mouth in a way that had you whining and sputtering against his lips. 

He started to palm himself over his boxer as he continued to kiss you deeply, whining into your mouth as he pulled the fabric down enough to let his cock spring free from those confines, it was all wet and hot and hard in his hand. 

He broke the kiss and pulled back, a string of spit still connecting the two of you as he pressed his forehead to your. “Please baby,” He groaned and your gaze was quickly guided to where he was currently stroking himself with need. 

You quickly pushed him back a bit, stopping his movements. “Please! I– I can take it. Just fuck me already,” You begged, feeling way too empty all of a sudden. 

He stroked himself a few more times and lined himself up with your entrance at your request. He didn’t instantly do anything though, just lazily dragging the head of his cock up and down through your folds, teasing you even now. 

One of his hands came back up to your breast and began to roll one of your nipples between his fingers again, Your hips bucked against his cock at the sensation and he couldn’t help but slowly begin to press into you.

You and him both groaned in unison as you felt him press inside slowly, inch by inch. You let out a soft sound somewhere between a gasp and a moan once he bottomed out. Your eyes fluttered open to take in the expression on his face. His eyes were closed, lips parted, and eyebrows scrunched slightly in pleasure as he just kind of stayed inside of you like that for a few moments.

It was when he began to move that the air was pulled from your lungs once again, the drag of his cock against your walls was slow and almost deliberate. He continued to lazily thrust up into you a few times like that, just really letting you feel everything. 

His thrusts slowly began to speed up though, he was trying so hard to take his time with you, but he couldn’t do it anymore. 

He scooped you up in his arms again and fell back so that he was laying down against his pillows again, forcing you to straddle him much like you did earlier, only this time under slightly different circumstances. 

You cried out as his hands swiftly pushed you down onto his cock again and started to fuck up into you, Fuck you were so tight and wet. His hands moved to your hips again and started to guide you to fuck yourself on his cock and it took you no time before you started riding him needily. You cried against his lips and he hushed you lovingly.

“I know, I know… You’re doing so well baby,” He whispered and forced you down onto him a little harder, “Just take it, I know you can,”

The praise made you feel even more needy and hot and your rhythm faltered a little bit as that ache deep inside you started to resurface again. 

He began to leave apologetic kisses all over your face as he took the lead again, bucking up into you roughly enough to have you nearly screaming as his hands forced your thighs further apart and he speared his cock deeper inside of you. 

One of his hands came up to your face and he pressed two fingers against your lips until you readily parted them for him, you took them into your mouth and began to suck on them eagerly for him. His cock twitched inside of you at the sight and you could tell he was starting to come close to that edge. 

Wanting nothing more than to make him come, you started to fuck yourself on him as fervently as you could, being egged on by the soft whines and whimpers that began to escape his lips at it. 

“You– You’re gonna make me cum,” He groaned, trying to slow your movements. You didn’t let up though, trying to fuck yourself even harder on his cock until he gasped and couldn’t help himself fuck up into you sloppily. 

To your surprise though, you ended up orgasming first, convulsing around his cock with a sharp cry and literally squirting all over him.

He continued to fuck you deeply and you squirmed away due to the overstimulation until he clamped his hands down on your hips and forced you to take it, chasing that high of his own. 

“I– I’m gonna come inside, that okay?” He rasped out, “Please, please can I? Baby please” He continued until you nodded weakly, you were so fucked out that you’d let him do whatever he wanted at this point. 

He thrusted up into you, one, two, three times, and then he was letting go. White hot strips of liquid filled you up inside as he cried out your name, fucking you through the aftershocks of his orgasm until his cock started to hurt.

The two of you just stayed like that for a while until you both came down from your respective highs, chests heaving and skin slick with sweat. 

You laid next to him in bed and snuggled up in his embrace after the two of you had taken a bath together, changed his bedding, and changed into some new comfortable clothes. Sighing softly, you pressed your face into his chest a little more and he held you a little tighter.

You felt warm and spent and so tired, wanting nothing more than to just fall asleep in his arms and let the warmth of his body guide your dreams somewhere soft and sweet.

You laid like that for a while until his voice momentarily cut off your thoughts as he spoke softly and rubbed his hand up and down your back. 

“Hmm… Maybe I should invite you over to talk about planes more often,”.

[marioandluigigi]

ღ | Being Jackie's secret burnout girlfriend headcanons

ʚɞ Popular Jackie Taylor x Burnout reader

ʚɞ warnings: cheating-ish(?), internalised homophobia, weed and alcohol consumption, nsfw content.

ʚɞ author's note: yes I’m aware this has Jackienat vibes it’s one of my fav non canon ships sue me.

ღ You and Jackie Taylor couldn’t possibly be more different, she was rich, popular and captain of the football team, fake smiles and friends all around, Jackie Taylor was the kind of girl who knew exactly how to act, what to say and how to say it, in order to fit in and get what she wants.

ღ You on the other hand were a “burnout”, “trailer trash” you name it. You were used to the harsh nicknames and the comments about your financial status. Unlike Jackie you prioritised quality over quantity when it came to friends there were about two people you considered your friend, one of them being Natalie who lived near you.

ღ The two of you had never properly interacted outside the context of the team, sure you’d say good morning in the locker room and listen to her pep talks and pass her the ball during the game but that was about it. And it was honestly more than enough, Jackie was a prissy spoiled rich princess in your opinion, and you wanted nothing to do with the drama and attention that always seemed to follow her around. Or so you thought.

ღ It was Mari’s 17th birthday party, everyone had been drinking whatever concoction they managed to conjure up with the alcohol available and Jackie Taylor was more than a little drunk, lightweight. You first find her outside sulking outside of the house. Every rational part of you tells you to leave her there it’s none of your business, but the more sensible part of you just couldn’t leave the girl out in the street to be murdered, so against your best judgement you approach the queen bee.

“What are you doing here?” - sulking Jackie emote

“Making sure you don’t get kidnapped and cut to bits how are we going to make it to nationals without our captain?”

“You’re not funny.” She says while sniffling.

She than told you about everything, what started as a fight with Shauna backtracked to her parents weird behaviour towards her and than how utterly sick she is of Jeff and how guilty she feels for not loving him like she’s supposed to.

ღ You assumed Jackie just needed someone to vent to in her drunken and vulnerable state and that the next day she wouldn’t even remember that she told you all of that. Wrong, Jackie remembers, she also remembers how attentive you were, how you listened to her, really listened and comforted her, despite you two not being “best friends”.

ღ After that, Jackie started paying attention to you, more accurately she couldn’t stop paying attention to you, she felt strange like a stalker almost, she also didn’t understand why she suddenly felt weirdly jealous every time she saw you with Nat.

ღ She loved when you were late to class, because that meant she had an excuse to stare at you shamelessly while you walked to your desk in the back.

ღ She made a plan to get closer to you to get to know you better, because all she knew was that you liked to smoke and play soccer and that you were a really good listener. And insanely attractive.

ღ She started pairing up with you during soccer warm ups much to Shauna and Natalie’s dismay she kept saying that it would be beneficial for team bonding to switch up the usual pairs. She also invited you and just you to a “study session” at her house and than said that the rest of the girls just didn’t show up.

ღ You knew what was up, you weren’t stupid. But Jackie clearly wasn’t ready to admit to herself that what she felt for you was a little bit more than friendship, and you weren’t about to push her. Plus it was adorably hilarious watching her buy punk rock cassettes just to have something to talk to you about.

ღ The first time you two kissed was at one of Randy’s parties. She was drunk and you were high and it just happened surprisingly it wasn’t awkward if anything it felt right.

ღ After that, you expected Jackie to ignore you to say it never happened to attribute it to a lack of judgment and way to much alcohol in her system but, to your surprise, the next day, she waited for you outside the locker room, at the end of practice, and told you how she felt about you but that she wasn’t ready for other people to know when she barely understood it herself, you told her you two could take things slow, that it was cool, and in that moment she fell a little bit more in love with you.

ღ when you two began dating Jackie saved a seat for you everywhere, in class, the cafeteria, in the locker room so you could change near her, you also always drove to school together.

ღ Sneaking away during parties so you can make out and feel each other up. Jackie always giving Jeff a half assed excuse that she needed to go to the bathroom.

ღ Jackie doesn’t smoke much if at all, she shared a cigarette with Lottie at parties occasionally, but that was about it. So when you first had her try a joint she got buzzed after two or three hits, her big eyes half lidded while she watched mesmerised as the smoke left your mouth. You felt giddy when she asked you to shotgun with her, to teach her, because she had never done that with someone.

ღ Making out under the bleachers or in your car before practice and than watching Jackie run because she hates being late.

ღ Jackie who, steals your clothes all the time mainly your leather jacket, because it smells like you and she secretly likes the feeling of being someone’s, yours.

ღ You two have pretty different styles but Jackie likes to match with you even if it’s just color coordinating her outfits to yours or wearing one singular similar article of clothing.

ღ Jackie told Shauna about you two, so you decided to tell Nat. While Shauna was incredibly apprehensive for a number of reasons Nat just found the whole thing incredibly funny in a “damn Taylor didn’t know you had it in ya.” Way.

ღ Jackie who, eventually dumps Jeff. It’s hard for her to let go of the version of herself she always saw in her head but she couldn’t keep lying to him, he didn’t deserve that no one does, in her opinion.

ღ The first time you two had sex was also the first time she ever came. She was breathless and fell asleep in your arms soon after muttering that she didn’t know she could do that.

ღ Jackie who’s a sucker for soft, gentle, slow sex, she loves to kiss you slowly and look you in the eyes while your fingers are buried deep inside her and your bodies are pressed against each other’s.

ღ Jackie who, is a queen of preparation therefore a queen of aftercare, you want water, snacks, massages, kisses, shower you name it she’ll give it to you.

ღ Jackie who, loves to cook, bake especially and has you try on all the different food she makes while you hug her from behind.

ღ Jackie who, buys you two promise rings and has you promise you’ll never leave her. You would never leave her, you couldn’t.

ღ Jackie who, to everyone’s surprise is the one to propose to you, she takes you to a pretty place with a nice view and has a whole speech that has her crying at the end of it while she kisses your lips after you say yes, as you taste her tears on your lips.