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chlorinecake · 10 months ago

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A SUCKER FOR THE TASTE ✦— 𝐋.𝐇𝐒

▹ PAIRING — experienced husband heeseung x virgin f. reader

▹ GENRE — smut, fluff, newlyweds au

▹ SYNOPSIS — As teens, you were the uncanny duo that fell in love at first sight. Some odd years later, and you’re now a newlywed couple, spending your first night together in a fit of nerves as you navigate sex and other new feelings…

▹ WARNINGS — KINKTOBER SPECIAL, basically just pussy drunk!husband!heeseung making you squirt for hours on the night of your honeymoon, marriage themes (duh), mentions of food, dom and sub dynamics, kissing with tongue, overstimulation kink (reader cums multiple times), oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, petnames (baby, angel, pretty, sweetie), that’s all

▹ WORD COUNT: 3.3k — DAY 1

YOU AND HEESEUNG were like Romeo and Juliet; two people from totally different walks of life, and honestly, no one ever would’ve guessed you two’d end up falling for each other.

Sometimes, it’s hard to tell any time had passed between the first moment you met Heeseung with a hickey on his neck in the lunch hall to now as you sit before him on a king sized bed, ring fingers clad with beautiful bands to match as you stared into each others eyes, speaking a love song of unspoken words.

“You’re fine with waiting til marriage?” You remember asking him a few weeks after you first started dating as teens, “you won’t think I’m a prude for wanting to keep things traditional?…”

“Of course not, sweetie,” you remember him answering while cupping your face in his hands, “a girl like you is worth the wait—” He whispered in between kissing your lips, “—and so much more…”

Since that moment, you and Heeseung have stuck to your guns, not even so much as showering together to keep your purity intact until the right moment…

… That fateful day when you’d say “I do” and he the same, right before venturing off into the sunset on angel’s wings to explore another country together.

Another life, might I add, as a married couple on your extravagant honeymoon…

Everything was so magical in your head, too… but regardless of that, Heeseung was too big of a fucking dork to let himself be romantic for once.

Just an hour ago, he had told the hotel receptionist “you too” after she congratulated you both on getting married—

“Grrrrrrrrr,” he pouted, scrunching his nose at you.

“Did you just… growl at me!?”

“Yes, and I’ll do it again if you keep resisting,” Heeseung threatened playfully, pointing an accusing finger at your frame now.

Sighing, you raised your hands beside your head as a sign of compliance, parting your lips slightly as you held your head back for him.

“Alright, don't move this time, alright? We can do this!” He ordered more passionately this time, cradling a single grape between his fingers before angling his wrist backwards and launching it towards your mouth.

“Oh my gosh, I finally caught it!” You shouted with excitement, words coming out a bit slurred as you bit down into the sweet fruit, “Tastes like victory,” you continued, making Heeseung grace you with his thundering ovation.

“Brava!” He began to cheer, but the rest of his sentence was interrupted by his own burp, which only elicited a fit of embarrassed giggles from the both of you…

Two empty glasses of wine sat on the hotel nightstand beside the bed you were currently sat on, and if it wasn't obvious enough, y'all were already starting to experience the giddy effects of the alcohol dancing in your systems.

“So,” you smiled, a laugh still present in your throat as you fed him a white grape from the bowl between you two, “we're the couple that eats pie in place of dinner now?”

“Sure... but not just any pie,” Heeseung corrected, leaning closer to your ear as he whispered, “blueeeberry pieeee.”

You're not sure if it was the wine or the honeymoon high, but you can't help yourself from laughing out loud at Heeseung's behavior in this moment—

“You’re a legend for always vibing with my horrible sense of humor, y’know that?” Your husband remarked while tilting his head at you endearingly.

“Your humor is definitely one-of-a-kind, but I wouldn't want you to change a thing about it,” you returned tenderly, right before feeding him a fork-full of blueberry pie from the dish between you two, feeling your heart swell as he smiled into the bite.

The kind of smile you’d have a hard time getting out of your mind later—

“Thanks, babe,” he said, a bit of dark blue jam resting in the corner of his mouth now as his eyes sparkled with what you could bet was pure flattery.

You always liked it whenever you managed to get Heeseung all flustered before you, considering how he was usually the one to make you a blushing mess with only his words.

“You've uh...” you stammer slightly, “you've got a little something on your lip there...”

“Really?”

“Yea, just... let me get it for you real quick,” you continue, licking the pad of your thumb before leaning forward to dab at the jam on his mouth.

That's when you noticed his lips curving into a subtle smirk as he whispered in a low voice, “You got it, baby?”

“Y-yea,” you stuttered again, feeling your face heat up at his words, and if you didn't look so hot to him right now, he would've pinched your cheeks—

“Whoops,” Heeseung gasped facetiously, pouting at the streak of blueberry jam he very intentionally just smeared on your lower lip, “must be the wine making me so clumsy today...”

Your eye almost twitched at the sight of him licking his finger clean, a rush of nerves swarming in your stomach now

“I-it's okay, Heeseung,” you said while lifting your thumb to your mouth, “I've got it...”

“No you don't,” he chuckled at your shy demeanor, right before closing the space between you two, taking your face in his hand and kissing you.

And yes, you saw this coming, but it took you a few seconds to fully close your eyes, letting them flutter shut as you both sighed at the taste of each other, almost as if the contact relaxed you…

The kiss was slow at first, with you and him simply breathing against each other’s mouths as his velvety lips moved against yours.

But that pace didn't last long once Heeseung broke from the kiss to move the bowl of grapes and pie out of the way, a few of the glossy green ovals hitting the ground with light thuds as his right hand found the small of your back, pulling you even closer to him.

The kiss grew more intense from there as both your heads were tilting into each other, wet smacks filling the room now as his tongue prodded against yours with every passing second.

“God, you taste so sweet,” Heeseung groaned, desperately clinging to your waist which only made you moan in response.

You and Heeseung had made out countless times in the past, but you could tell something was different this time... you never felt this worked up with him before, and you knew it wasn’t just gonna end with a kiss—

“Can’t wait to taste other parts of you, too, baby…” he hummed, kissing along your neck while pinning your delicate wrists above your head.

And that’s when you felt it…

The twitch between your legs and the heat rushing throughout your entire body…

You were wearing a plaid pajama skirt and white top that matched Heeseung’s plaid sweatpants and long sleeved shirt, as you simply expected to only eat some dessert, discuss the rest of your honeymoon plans, and head straight to sleep right after.

Now though, you knew you wouldn't be able to get much rest with your emotions like this… at least not comfortably, that is…

You’re between his lap at first until he guides you onto your back, kissing down your neck, between your breasts, and down your stomach as he lifts your top, stopping at the waist band of your skirt given the way your body tensed up suddenly.

“Is everything alright?” He asked softly, glancing back up at you with a swollen look to his pouty lips, given all the kissing they had just done.

You knew what was happening right now..

Heeseung was doing exactly what you had asked him to do, and as much as your body craved it, your mind kept fighting it for some reason…

FLASHBACK —

“Just… don’t make it too… formal, okay?”

“Formal?” Heeseung repeated with a slight chuckle as you sat beside each other on the plane that morning.

“Well, yea… I just don’t want to make a big deal out of it—”

“But it is a big deal, baby,” he cut you off by placing his hand over yours. “We’ve been waiting a long time for this, y’know?… Not just to have sex but—” he leaned closer to you as he whispered this in your ear, “—to make each other feel good… in all kinds of ways…”

His breath tickled your ear in that moment… similarly to how his lips were tickling you now as you laid before him on the mattress, his head hovering over the space between your thighs.

“We don’t have to go any further until you’re ready, love—”

“I’m ready, Heeseung,” you said while nodding, but he waited to continue, knowing in his heart that there was still something you needed to get off your chest.

He backed away, pulling your shirt back over your stomach and sitting on the bed normally now.

“Heeseung,” you said again, drawing his sparkly doe eyes back to you.

“I’m listening, love,” is all he replied with, offering you a warm smile, “what’s on your mind?”

What’s in the way? You internally asked yourself right after, knowing deep down that you had no reason to feel so nervous with him right now…

Heeseung had never alienated you because of your inexperience with sex before, and was always very understanding of your moral and sexual boundaries.

But now, things were different; you were a married couple, and one of the many perks of that was being able to explore each others body in a comfortable way…

Turns out though, it was all just your own insecurities clouding your judgment, and you hated that you couldn’t shake the nerves bubbling in your stomach…

“It’s just that,” you started nervously, fidgeting with your manicured nails, “I… I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“Yeah, I know,” your husband nodded sarcastically, trying his best to resist the urge to kiss you again—

“And…well, you have a lot more experience than me with this kind of thing,” you continued, lowering your head.

“So what?”

“What if I don’t meet your expectations?…”

“Expectations? What do you mean, ____?”

“Well, you’ve been with a lot of other girls and what if I’m not as good as them? What if you don’t like sex with me?…”

Heeseung’s heart would’ve otherwise dropped at your words, but instead, he smiled softly, taking your chin in his hand and lifting your head towards him. “You’re nothing like those girls I was with in the past, ____, and that’s my favorite part about you,”

You looked into his eyes as he continued, “I’ll be happy with whatever happens tonight. You wanna know why? Because I did it with you, and I love you with my everything, princess…”

“I love you too, Heeseung,” you replied meekly, flashing him a soft smile as he kissed your cheek.

“No expectations tonight, then… okay, baby? I just wanna please you,” he whispered, slowly guiding your body back down against the mattress with a secure hand. “I wanna make you feel so good,” he continued, placing another kiss to the center of your lips.

Heeseung started by letting his plush lips wander all over your body again, lifting your shirt up once more to leave open-mouthed kisses all over your stomach.

“You're so beautiful,” he murmured with warm breath against your skin, caressing your inner thighs with his hands until you naturally craned them open, inviting him to your pulsing core.

Your breath hitched once you felt his nose burry between your clothed folds, but your little sounds only excited him even further, and he wasted no time in removing your panties completely now.

“Heeseung,” you whined, watching him through half-lidded eyes as he spat on your cunt, toying with the moisture there using his middle and index finger.

“Just relax for me, angel,” your husband cooed with a soothing tone, and you're not sure if it was the alcohol or the petname he just called you in his bedroom voice, but your head was starting to feel very dizzy.

And if you weren't so horny, you would've felt bashful in front of him like this... half-naked, and trembling when he's hardly even touched you yet.

The coldness of his wedding band against the warm flesh of your thigh sent shivers down your spine, and he wasted no time in inviting his fingers into your sopping hole, one at a time until your walls practically sucked him in.

He then started to leave kitten licks against your sensitive bud, complimenting the pace by pumping his wrist towards your pelvis with his digits still exploring the gummy walls of your cunt.

Admittedly, you had tried fingering yourself in the past, but it never felt as good as the way Heeseung worked wonders inside you right now, but you still needed something...

Something to hold onto… something to grab, and Heeseung could immediately tell once your nails started weakly nipping at the bed sheets, your pussy throbbing more and more—

“Hee,” you moaned, feeling his fingers curl deeper and deeper inside your tight cunt, “need to touch you so bad...”

“Yea? Wanna hold my hand, pretty?”

All you can manage to do is nod desperately, making him chuckle slightly at your neediness.

“If you hold my hands, I need you to promise to keep your legs open for me on your own... can you do that for me, love?”

“Y-yes,” you stammered, and with that, Heeseung got to work on licking your slick from his fingers before finding your hands in his.

But your core was already missing the stimulation, making your hips rise up and down as if thin air would provide enough friction to ease your craving.

And that's when he licked his first stripe up the center of your pussy, and you're sure your eyes rolled to the back of your head at the sensation.

It didn't take long for the pleasure to escalate from there, either.

His lips wrapped around your clit and sucked you in like a starved out man. His tongue was applying pressure in all the best ways before sinking into your hole, filling you up just enough to have you arching your back on the bed.

You felt your first orgasm wash over you, but you knew your husband had no intention of stopping so soon.

You were mewling beneath him at the overstimulation, thankful that he at least slowed down the pace of his tongue, even though he was still very earnestly slurping at your juices…

“Could eat this pussy for hours, princess… you’re just too delicious…” he groaned, and you felt the bed shaking from the way he was rutting his crotch against the mattress, furrowing his eyebrows as his kept eating you out.

“Come on baby, let me hear you,” Heeseung practically begged, his tone sounding so hoarse, so drunk as the vibrations from his voice only tantalized you even further, “tell me how good it feels...”

“F-feels s-so fucking good, baby,” you moaned, words coming out in fragments given how cloudy your brain was becoming, and you're pretty sure you had your second or third orgasm shortly after as your hands squeezed his, so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

His tongue was licking between your folds so well, the textured muscle making your skin tingle all over but in the best way imaginable.

Heeseung didn't plan on any of this to happening, which is why it felt so good in the first place. It was natural, raw, and so so messy…

Your own cum was dripping all over his chin and lips, and he was loving every single second of it.

He was obsessed with it. The way your clit throbbed against his lips, the way you squirted your juices all over his face, the way your thighs squirmed while struggling to stay open, and your angelically desperate cries of pleasure as he drew out orgasm after orgasm after orgasm.

He wished he could watch your face contort with need as he fucked you with his face and tongue, but he couldn't look back up at you no matter how hard he tried… He had to keep his face buried between you…

Your strength eventually gave out and your grip released his hands that soon found one of your tits, gripping the mound of flesh in a way that only drew you even further over the edge.

Your hips had even developed a mind of their own, humping against his face like a bunny in heat as he whispered filthy nothings against your cunt, as well as sweet somethings that you'd hear for the next hour or two that Heesueng spent with his pointy nose brushing against your clit.

“You're so fucking wet for me, angel...”

“Love it when you come all over my face.”

“Pull my hair, baby... harder than that...”

“So so beautiful, and just for me.”

“Keep those pretty thighs open just like that, baby…”

“You taste so fucking divine...”

“Please don't tell me to stop... just one more, baby... I know you've got it in you...”

He found just as much enjoyment being between your thighs as you did in having him there, making you cream on his tongue again and again until you finally hiccuped the words, “N-no more, Hee... p-please, I can't t-take anymore...”

But your begging only made Heeseung even greedier, letting his fingers find your clit where he applied enough pressure and stimulation to break that last orgasm out of you, leaving you a shaking mess as he kissed you down, harder than a bullet in his own pants from getting to see you like this so many times and for so long in just one evening.

A series of shaky whimpers filled the room now as your husband crawled back over you, kissing you with his swollen lips while caressing the side of your fucked-out face. “You did so good for me, baby... especially on your first night...”

“Th-thank you,” you said with a weak chuckle, still feeling your orgasms fresh in your hips and thighs as he kept soothing you with his touch, your breath shaky in your chest after hours of coming undone with him…

That's when he moved over to lay beside you, and your eyes almost immediately caught sight of the thick bulge resting behind his pants, and you couldn't help but feel a little bad now given how he didn’t get much action the whole time.

“Do you want me to...” you started timidly, moving your hand to touch him up til he stopped you.

“Not tonight... we can have fun with that tomorrow,” Heeseung smiled, making you giggle again as he changed his position to make the bulge less noticeable, “for now though, let's focus on getting you cleaned up... sound good?”

“Better than good,” you replied tenderly, kissing him on the cheek before he got up from the bed and headed toward the hotel bathroom where he planned to run you a nice warm bath.

“Wait!” Your husband called out suddenly, just as he caught you trying to get out of the bed on your own.

Running over, a confused look remained on your face as he picked you up from the mattress bridal style, carrying you to the bathroom.

“I didn't forget how to walk, Heeseung,” you giggled, keeping your hands secure at his shoulder as he cradled you into the tub.

“I know,” he laughed, helping you get your top off and over your head as the water ran in the background, “I just didn't want my precious wife accidentally stepping on any of those grapes I dropped earlier...”

It went without saying that Heeseung had always been a loser, but he was your loser, and that fact alone was the bandaid that covered up every preconceived notion of him you ever created in the back of your mind…

You didn’t see him the way other people saw him… as the former man whore, troublemaker, or hopeless goof from high school, ‘destined’ to never change…

You saw him as the adorable nerd who accepted you for the things you saw as flaws… as the guy who still wore character themed PJ’s every once in a while that you now get to call “Hubby,” “lovey,” and “mine…”

⋆♱✮ Huge thanks to everyone who read this little fic of mine, which actually concludes DAY 1 of my Kinktober Event !! If you're interested in reading more works like this, feel free to check out my main enhypen masterlist or my kinktober masterlist by clicking one of these links !!

⋆♱✮ PERMANANT TAGLIST:

@squoxle, @nishiimuranights, @ashgonedash

@yourmomscuntis2tighy, @wonbinisbabygurl

@watamotee33, @addictedtohobi, @ot7sevenlvr

⋆♱✮ KINKTOBER TAGLIST:

@pasteltheghost16 @fawnpeaks @melonvrs

@mheretoreadff @skzfelixlove @inishij

@yaorzu-blog @andromedawillburyyou @ramyeonzprincess

@zaihypen @simjaeyunns @gardenwonnies @hynier

@idontknowhowtomakeusernames @enhymeowz @minhosimthings

#enhypen #heeseung x reader #lee heeseung smut #heeseung hard hours #enhypen hard hours #heeseung fic #heeseung ff #heeseung fanfic #enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen fanfic #enhypen ff #lee heeseung #heeseung hard thoughts #enhypen smut #heeseung smut #kinktober 2024

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unproduciblesmackdown · 2 years ago

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you always knew marble hornets is good b/c fr from 2010 on the Many fans &/or the particularly Enthused &/or Dedicated &/or Lasting fans was noticeably to us all like hmm tending to be many people who are big fans of aLex Guy from the tunnel rip Brian Tim Questions Investigations Answers....i presume it still skews that way. i.e. Tastehavers i.e. Marble Hornets Is Good b/c it can resonate with queer experiences unlike horror that straight people are like "Hell Yeah truly this is good" about, which is a waste of everything

#sort of half pondered / rhetorically questioned / some theories floated at the time like hm why Is this a bunch of gays transgenders etc....#but also just correctly taken as a stamp of quality and nobody is exactly pressed about it #marble hornets #certainly nothing particularly heterosexual is going on or even has too much of a medium & space to go on #certainly there is Not any particular backdrop of ''''normalcy'''' whether via We Are All So Straight or anything else #certainly there Is a lot of ''so this guy is looking for or thinking about or trying to successfully connect with in 1 way or another #Another Guy'' but of course like the queer experiences / context Resonance isn't just ''could these Same Genders kiss or whatever''#in this & in all things always fr....#again that first of all there is never a backdrop / context / assumption of Normal World Normal Guy Normal Life #what there Is regarding that is pretty distant & bare bones. glimpses of ''yeah no matter what That's an interruption of your life''#like i said that like the way things are presented kind of everyone always is figuratively wandering alone in a wintery forest #there's a lot of not just solitude but Isolation / alienation / disconnect. that there's a continuous Mystery where also our protagonist/s #are trying to piece together things like not just a sequence of events but the resultant narrative. ''solving'' the identity & Role of #other parties here & also their own. us as the audience invited to do that too b/c it's always unreliable narrators / protagonists & b/c #[it's not really an arg!! it's not really an arg!!] but ofc b/c we're Meant to have room to be Analyzing & Theorizing & discovering info #b/c markedly the [so: what's going on. what is that literally? what is it figuratively? as a theme?] is even more open ended for us with #people pointing out the resulting flexibility. it can be pretty much whatever. there's kind of rules but what if not really? what if: and #what can you do about it anyways? and: and what works best is people finding the rare & isolated person who already knows firsthand what #is going on &/or will go ''hmm yeah idk that resonates'' if you try to discreetly venture to see if so. but even then you're just a few or #just two people & at any time you could be endangered / attacked just kind of because. we could go well beyond 30 tags but like ofc as #also in all things it won't be Thee entire consummate queer experience b/c that doesn't exist & also it doesn't all have to fit perfectly #into a metaphor when [what does even if one was deliberate? & it wasn't deliberate here like & this will all represent lgtbq times]#but anyway one can see how ''well something's sure going on here. kind of increasingly encompassingly / intensely''....a classic #like tim's right also as in calling all marble hornets enjoyers skinamarink is a good time. do i think it's meant to be about [everyone &#their mom (lol) who points at it & goes That's A Tuesday. Yeah regarding growing up in a household as an abused/neglected child] Prob Not #yet (a) lotta room for interpretation (b) word of god knowledge being (i) invoking a Child's Perspective (& physical pov even) b/c of in #fact trying to evoke / being inspired by the like abstraction of childhood nightmares & (ii) saying it's basically hansel & gretel okay so #we have a the witch(tm) but who also in said story may be implicitly an antagonistic / mistreating human ''false'' parent anyway....#interesting! (that is to say it's easy to suppose combining these elements = thee mundane horrors well represented for once in our lives)#& alternate ''theories'' seem p literal the Coma Dream the Hell Fr like ok both have any basis but cmon. how to beat the skinamarink.mp4

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roanofarcc · 3 months ago

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DREAMWALKER

pairing: bob reynolds x enhanced!reader

summary: you use your dreamwalking abilities to try to soothe the storm in bob’s head.

warnings: mentions of nightmares, trouble sleeping, childhood abuse, and themes of despression. very soft with bob getting some more much needed comfort. gen!reader.

word count. 2.3k | masterlist

The Watchtower was bathed in silence as most of its inhabitants slept. You were among them for a while, free-floating through their dreams as your abilities overtook your sleeping form as they did every night. Your body needed the rest, but dreamwalkers’ minds never could, as when their eyes fluttered closed, their minds roamed from dream to dream of whoever was near.

Before you moved in with your newfound team, you simply observed dreams as a passerby when you slept. But since living in the Watchtower, you learned quickly that your tough-skinned roommates suffered from an endless brigade of nightmares, whether they remembered them when the morning sun rose or not.

You felt their fear, their regrets, the cold submergence of dread that flooded the depths of their subconscious. It was invasive, your abilities, something you could not turn off. Instead of watching their nightmares, you busied your wondering mind by re-painting the dark scenes of their minds. Shadow-filled rooms and unforgiving hands, you spun into warm homes and gentle caresses. You spent your nights scrubbing their minds of bloodstained missions and unhealed wounds, replacing them with scenes drenched in hope and reminders of the goodness that resided inside them.

It was your secret, your silent mission to remind your friends both when they slept and when they were awake that they were not too broken that they could not be put back together. You drenched their dreams in lightness, in goodness, hoping that it would bleed into their waking form.

That night, however, as you floated from dream to dream, one was missing. You forced yourself to wake, following your instincts to where the only mind you could not find may be hiding, avoiding the scenes of his mind that were the most complicated you had ever witnessed.

You had never encountered a dream you struggled to fix. Even the darkest, most horrible nightmares you could reshape with ease. Memories of torture, of gut-wrenching deaths, you could soothe and redirect to soft touches and pull the sweetest memories of those lost loved ones to the forefront of that person's mind.

Bob’s mind was the only one you had met that was so resistant.

“You’re up late,” you said, softly approaching the hunched figure at the kitchen counter. Bob’s hands were wrapped around a mug of half-drunk tea, and his eyes looked heavy with each slow blink.

He did offer you a small smile, but he tensed as you caught him awake at such an hour. “Oh, y-yeah.”

You leaned on your elbows across from him at the counter, taking him in. His figure was swallowed in a sweater and hair askew, which told that he had attempted to sleep.

“Trouble sleeping?” you asked.

Bob nodded as his eyes slipped onto his mug. “You too?”

“Not exactly.” His brows furrowed, confusion melting with the clear exhaustion that shaded his face.

You hadn’t told the others of your unavoidable venturing into their minds because you knew how vulnerable dreams and nightmares were. They were personal, uncontrollable by most. While you had no judgment in any of what you had seen, the good, bad, and ugly, you didn’t want them to feel any shame. Perhaps it was wrong, but there was no controlling or preventing stepping inside their dreams unless you gave up on sleeping entirely. You only touched their nightmares, lingering just long enough to reshape the scene to something nice that would not leave them reeling in the morning. The deep, soul-boring personal things you did your best to block out and erase from your mind come morning. You would only tell when it could be helpful.

“I was looking for you, for your dreams, but I couldn’t find them.”

“My dreams?” Bob repeated, his fingers fidgeting with the paper on the end of his tea bag.

You nodded. “I can only control my abilities when I’m awake,” you explained. “When I sleep, I end up in everyone’s head. Since I started living here, I make sure you guys are having nice dreams and I get rid of your nightmares.”

Bob blinked, surprised and still confused, rightfully so. Your abilities were complicated, but he knew what that was like better than most. “You’ve seen inside my head?” he asked quietly, eyes cast downward, and lips drawn in a frown.

“Sometimes, you're a bit trickier than the others.” He closed his eyes briefly at your words, his body leaning forward like it was too heavy for him to carry. “Their nightmares are easy to change. Yours are…are stubborn.”

“Sorry,” Bob apologized like a reflex. It was your turn to frown.

“It’s not your fault. If anything, I’m sorry. I just want to use what I can do for good instead of just peering into people’s heads without them really wanting me there. If I can help, it makes me feel less bad about it.”

Glancing upwards, Bob hesitantly met your eyes that hadn’t left him. “But you can’t control it,” he said, too understanding for you but not for himself.

“I can’t,” you said. “Just like you can’t help that void inside of you. These things are a part of us, Bob. They don’t go away, so we have to do what we can with what we’ve got.”

He seemed to soak in your words, going quiet for a few moments before he shook himself out. “At least you can do good with yours,” he sighed. “I still don’t know how to be Sentry without…the other part taking over.”

You reached out across the counter, gently brushing your fingers over the back of his hand, allowing him the time and space to pull back if he wanted to. Instead, he slowly flipped his hand over, and you grasped it with a comforting squeeze.

“One day you will,” you assured him. “One day you’ll learn how to balance both. But it’s not going to work if you don’t get some sleep.”

He squeezed your hand back. “Yeah, I don’t know if I can do that. I mean some nights are fine, but others are…uh, bad. Really bad,” he said. “I think it’s better if I don’t sleep sometimes, you know?”

“What if I could help you?”

Bob slowly let go of your hand. He never liked to touch someone for too long, too scared he’d pull them back into a shameful, tragic, or agonizing memory. He was working on little touches: hugs from Yelena, pats on the shoulder from John, or holding your hands to calm himself down when everything was too overwhelming.

“You said my mind was stubborn; that you had a hard time figuring it out?” he questioned.

“When I’m free floating through everyone, it is. I don’t have direction really, or an anchor when I’m alone. But if I had a tether, I think I could chase away the nightmares.”

Bob looked hesitant, but curious too. “How would you do that?”

You smiled softly. “Do you trust me?”

Without thinking about it, Bob answered, “Yes,” almost automatically.

With his answer, his trust in you, you led him from the kitchen and into his bedroom. It was an organized mess, a reason for everything's placement in Bob’s eyes but no one else's. Books were stacked all around, and Yelena had bought little plants for everyone’s room as housewarming gifts. Bob had clothes strewn in piles, but the sweaters he wore more often were carefully placed over the back of his desk chair.

You rounded his bed to the side he didn’t look to sleep on, by the way the pillows and blankets were settled. He watched you, lingering and fidgeting in the middle of his room. As you sat on the edge of the mattress, you patted the comforter, beckoning him to join you.

“I-I don’t know about this,” he said. “What if I bump you in the middle of the night, I send you into a nightmare? I don’t know if I can stop that from happening when I sleep, and you could-”

“Bob,” you said his name with such gentleness. It caused the worry on his face to start to melt just slightly. He looked exhausted, too. “You said you trust me. And I trust you. While we sleep, it’s my mind that’ll be in control, not yours, I promise.”

He dragged his feet across the floor, pausing at the edge of his bed before climbing in. His body was stiff as he lay down beside you. You rolled onto your side, studying him. If you also hadn’t been so tired, you could have gazed at him for hours, remembering every curve of his face and curl of his hair. In your eyes, he was intriguing and impossibly handsome.

You brushed some hair away from his face, allowing you to see him better in the low glow of moonlight and the city lights that snuck in through a crack in the curtains. Bob’s eyes fluttered before he forced them open, peering at you with a tense jaw. Dragging your fingers down the side of his face, you rested your hand on his jaw.

“Just relax,” you whispered. For a moment, it seemed like he was going to keep fighting sleep, but as your fingers ghosted against his jaw, his eyes closed.

You did the same, resting your hand on his shoulder as a way to tether yourself to him. It only took a simple touch for you to gain more control over the person whose mind you wanted in. For so long, you had used that ability to manipulate and hurt people, hurting yourself in the process. But you wanted to do good, to be more than a weapon. Instead of causing nightmares, you turned to easing them back into lighter dreams.

You weren’t going to let Bob’s complicated mind fight you when he also deserved beautiful dreams instead of being tormented by the one thing no one would escape.

Falling into someone’s head had become more graceful for you over time as you grew stronger and more sure of your abilities. There was a ghost of resistance that met you, but your sleeping form lightly curled their fingers around Bob’s shoulder and surged on, bypassing the darkness that snaked out from the corners of his mind, determined to remind him that they were still there.

The nightmare that Bob found himself in was similar to the one you recalled occurring through a cracked floorboard in the attic he hid out in when the Void spread across the city streets.

When you were tethered to a person, your person appeared in their head, rather than watching the scene from above in your free-floating state, unable to be perceived by whose mind you were in. You stood in what looked like a little boy’s bedroom, fit with science posters on the wall and toys scattered across a plush rug in the middle of the room.

The toys were abandoned, and there was a coldness that drenched the room. In the corner stood a little boy, a young Bob with unruly hair and matching pajamas. He sat on the ground, holding the side of his face with trembling fingers as a shadowy figure loomed over him. A man three times the little boy’s size screamed, waving his hands around, which elicited a flinch each time from little Bob.

Tears fell down the kid’s face, and a growing, angry redness showed on the skin half-hidden under his hand.

You felt hot with anger and cold with sadness at the same time, the two emotions bleeding into one. You were there to change the scene, but for a moment, you stepped forward, wanting nothing more than to place yourself between the little boy and the angry man screaming how much of a burden he was. You wanted to hold the little boy, tell him how wrong his father was. But instead, you heard your name whispered from behind you.

Spinning around, you came face to face with the grown-up version of Bob, wet eyes and something between embarrassment and heartbreak written on his face. You let out a breath, unraveling the feelings of the nightmare from around you, allowing something else to take hold.

You let Bob’s mind to the talking, telling you the things he associated with goodness, hopefulness. Piece by piece, the nightmare fractured before it was replaced entirely.

When you opened your eyes, a sun-soaked scene took hold. It was warm, smelled like cut grass and a distant barbecue. An empty swing set sat in a bed of mulch, which was soft under your feet.

Young, peaceful, safe. Those words echoed in your mind as you observed the scene.

“I remember this place,” Bob said, wearing a small smile that fit him so beautifully in the sunlight. He approached the swing set, running his hands over the dark green posts that looked freshly painted. “I used to come here when I was little, when my parents would fight. I’d sneak out and wait here until the sunset.”

He grasped the chain of the swing, tension falling from his shoulders as he then took a seat. You joined him at the second swing, lowly pushing yourself back and forth as the chains squeaked.

“Thank you,” Bob rushed out after a beat.

You smiled softly at him. “You deserve more dreams, Bob. Less nightmares.”

“More dreams,” he repeated, chewing on the words in deep thought. Then, he gazed at you, his eyes sparking and cheeks flushed as if he were a young boy who spent the day outside playing. “I-I think I have a few in mind, now.”

Back in his bedroom, you slept with your hand falling down onto his chest, resting over his heart and head comfortably on his shoulder.

The darkness stayed put, cast out for the night as he dreamed of you seated behind him in the one place he found solace in as a child. And as an adult, he started to find solace in you, in his dreams, and when he was wide awake.

#bob reynolds x you #robert reynolds x you #bob reynolds x reader #robert reynolds x reader #bob reynolds #robert reynolds #thunderbolts #thunderbolts*#marvel #mcu #marvel fanfiction

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astrologydray · 6 months ago

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Pluto through the degrees

Pluto’s degree in the natal chart adds a layer of intensity, transformation, and power dynamics to its placement. Since Pluto moves slowly, its sign reflects generational themes, but the degree can show a more personal, specific expression of Pluto’s energy in your life.

0° – A raw, potent expression of Pluto’s transformative power. This degree indicates an individual who is here to experience deep soul-level change, often initiating powerful shifts in their environment.

1° – A pioneer of transformation. Can be unafraid to venture into the unknown, breaking societal or personal taboos with ease. May experience profound changes early in life.

2° – Balances power and stability. This degree carries a subtle yet strong intensity, often leading the individual to confront hidden fears or authority figures.

3° – A strategist and deep thinker. Pluto at this degree may indicate someone who uses power subtly but effectively, often working behind the scenes.

4° – A strong foundation for transformation. This degree can bring challenges in family or home life, forcing the individual to break ancestral patterns.

5° – The creative destroyer. This degree brings a dramatic approach to change, often leading to reinvention in careers, relationships, or self-identity.

6° – A healer’s degree. This Pluto placement often signals someone who undergoes personal crises but emerges with the ability to help others transform.

7° – Highly intuitive and possibly psychic. This person may feel a deep connection to the unseen realms and have an almost instinctual understanding of power.

8° – Magnetic and intense, with a natural authority. This degree often manifests in strong leadership skills or a deep desire to control one’s fate.

9° – A revolutionary and visionary. This Pluto degree is drawn to radical transformation, often shaking up institutions or personal belief systems.

10° – A mix of intensity and practicality. This degree may bring an individual who understands both destruction and reconstruction, making them adept at long-term planning.

11° – The “Master Number” amplifies Pluto’s intensity. This degree often signals a person who influences others on a mass scale, whether through leadership, psychology, or spirituality.

12° – A mystic and alchemist. This degree carries an almost supernatural ability to shift energy and manifest transformation.

13° – A karmic degree. Pluto here suggests deep, fated experiences, often linked to power struggles or the need for personal rebirth.

14° – The shadow worker. This placement indicates someone who is drawn to uncovering hidden truths, either in themselves or in society.

15° – A powerful creator-destroyer archetype. Can be relentless in pursuing transformation, with little patience for stagnation.

16° – Associated with breakthroughs and breakdowns. Pluto at this degree often brings sudden, intense shifts in life direction.

17° – The communicator of deep truths. This person may write, speak, or teach about power, trauma, and rebirth.

18° – A degree of karmic cycles. This Pluto placement may indicate themes of death and rebirth, both metaphorically and sometimes literally in close experiences.

19° – The balance between darkness and light. This person must learn to wield power wisely, often facing moral dilemmas.

20° – A master of reinvention. Pluto here gives the ability to start over from scratch, no matter how many times life forces change.

21° – A social transformer. This person is often drawn to activism, systemic change, or dismantling outdated power structures.

22° – Amplifies Pluto’s ability to destroy and reconstruct. May have a significant impact on the material world.

23° – A degree of secrecy and hidden influence. Often associated with people who work behind the scenes in powerful positions.

24° – The magician’s degree. This Pluto placement suggests an ability to channel and harness energy for deep transformation.

25° – Highly independent and willful. This person resists control but also struggles with their own power dynamics.

26° – The investigator and researcher. Pluto here brings an intense desire to uncover the truth, often leading to careers in psychology, law, or the occult.

27° – A revolutionary spirit. Pluto at this degree often leads people to be involved in drastic societal or personal changes.

28° – A shamanic energy. This placement carries deep, spiritual transformation and often involves a profound rebirth at some point in life.

29° – Pluto is at its most extreme here. The person may experience intense crises, forced transformation, or a last-minute awakening that alters their life forever.

#astro notes #astrology #birth chart #astro observations #astro community #astrology observations #astrology degrees #astro

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danilovefest · 1 year ago

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from: Box Repsol Blog

Dani Pedrosa: Also a samurai in the water

Hi Dani. First of all, thanks for coming to Box Repsol and talking with us so we can learn more about the things you do when you’re not racing.

Did you have time to do any water sports during the summer break in July?

The truth is that between the testing and the promotional events, my holidays weren’t too long, but I did manage to practise a few water sports. I did some wakeboarding with some friends, where you ride on a board over the surface of the water while holding on to a rope, being pulled by a boat, and I was also lucky enough to try out an electric wakeboard at home. I usually go to Lake Geneva (located between France and Switzerland), which as you know is very close to where I live. At the end of the summer I went water skiing (similar to wakeboarding but with skis) and wakeboarding in Salzburg (capital of the state of Salzburg in Austria).

Do you ever try to take trips so you can practise these types of sports?

In theory it’s a good idea and I would like to be able to, but in reality I never have enough time for trips. Maybe in the winter, but I prefer to go somewhere hot and, of course, to be with my friends.

Where’s a good spot you would recommend for water sports?

I’m lucky to have Lake Geneva right on my doorstep, so I usually go there.

Do you notice a big difference being on water rather than on asphalt? What does each surface feel like?

Yes, there’s definitely a huge difference. For beginners, it doesn’t hurt as much when you fall. The truth is that, over time, you can get the same sensations on water as you get on the asphalt, and you begin to understand how it responds. But it’s very different from riding a motorbike.

Do these sports help you at all with MotoGP?

I never thought about it that way, but maybe working on balance and using your torso could apply to MotoGP.

Of all the sports you’ve tried, which do you consider yourself to be good at and in which would you like to improve?

I’m not especially great at any of them, but I’m good enough to have fun doing them. I enjoy all types of water sports (wind sports as well as motor sports), but windsurfing tops my list. Of course I’m always trying to practise and get better, but time is my enemy…

What would you think of signing up for a jet ski championship?

Ha, ha, no thanks, but I have signed up for an amateur windsurfing competition. Wish me luck!

Do you prefer to do sports by yourself and focus on improving, or do them with friends and have fun?

A bit of both. I like to cycle as part of my training, and that’s an individual thing (you’re alone on the bicycle, pushing yourself and your body to the limit), but at the same time, you’re with a group of friends. So I enjoy the best of both worlds.

Are there any water sports that you’d like to try but haven’t tried yet?

Sure, maybe kitesurfing (instead of getting pulled by a boat, your power comes from a kite) or wakesurfing (after the boat pulls you up, you let go of the rope and surf on the boat’s wake). I’ve never tried either, but it’s always good to try new things.

What’s the best feeling you get when you practise water sports?

The best is planing, when the board skims across the surface and you can feel the speed. But then there’s the time you spend in the water, the scenery, the sun, the photos, the friends sharing the moment; it’s all special.

Do you have any advice for people who want to practise water sports for the first time?

Just do it! The worst that can happen is you fall in the water. It’s really fun and there’s a lot of options out there for everyone, regardless of skill level, physical condition, age, etc.

#theme: other ventures #dani pedrosa #media: text #source: box repsol blog

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p1astr81 · 2 months ago

Note

heyy!! what about reader trying to avoid sleeping with oscar and he thinks that she’s not attracted to him or doesn’t want him and he gets upset after she doesn’t want to tell him what’s wrong but keeps reassuring him that she’s attracted to him and he kind of gets mad until max or someone else (who is readers best friend) tells oscar that the reader had a toxic ex who pressured her into doing stuff she was uncomfortable to do and then oscar goes on to apologize to her.

i’m sorry my explanation doesn’t make that much sense but i’m sure with your writing it’ll be really good🙏🏼(please make it like really really angsty)

warnings: the themes mentioned in the req

Sex wasn’t something that Oscar needed in a relationship. It was usually a nice bonus, but it wasn’t a requirement.

Especially when it came to you.

He loved you. He’s pretty sure he’s loved you since the first date. Which is why he hardly cared when you dodged his advances to go all the way.

Well, he hardly cared when it was new. In your first few months. But it was nearing eleven now, and he started to question whether he was the problem.

He’d just won in Monaco and raced to his drivers room with you after the race. As soon as the door was closed, he had you pinned against it. Like magnets, your lips found each other’s, Oscar taking the lead with desperation.

His hands traveled to your waist, slipped under your shirt. The contact was warm as he ventured up your torso. You knew what he wanted.

He should’ve predicted it, but he was still a little hurt when you pushed him away. “Uh,” you started, racking your brain for an excuse. “I think�� media. They’re waiting for you, right?” You chuckled awkwardly, struggling to make eye contact when you saw his flushed cheeks.

He checked his watch. “I’ve still got 15 minutes.”

“Better early than late, right?” Your eyes darted around the room.

He hesitated, and then, “why do keep doing this?”

You blinked, knowing what he was talking about. You played dumb anyway. “What?”

“Pushing me away. Any time it gets slightly intimate.” The irritation rose in his voice.

Like it would make the conversation go away, you shrunk in on yourself. Despite being caught, you lied through your teeth. “I don’t push you-“

“Yes you do! Every time I touch you!” His voice got louder. Anyone walking by surely would’ve heard. And he must’ve noticed, because when he asks you a quiet, “why?” his voice has dropped.

Your misty eyes darted around the room, searching for an escape. There wasn’t one.

“Is it me?” He asked. “Are you just not attracted to me? Is it just the money? Is that why you’re with me?”

“No! Jesus, fuck, Oscar.” You shook your head, hands running through your hair. “You think that low of me?”

His eyes close, realizing his mistake. “No, I shouldn’t have said that.” He muttered.

“Of course I find you attractive. Every bit of you.”

He sighed. “Then why?”

Your mouth opened as if trying to find the words. They failed you, and your lips sealed shut.

He shook his head, a disappointed sigh passing his lips when he moved by you to leave the room. To leave you alone.

One of your friends had joined you for Monza. He minded his business, let you spend time with her. But when you dismissed yourself from the breakfast table to use the restroom, Oscar practically jumped your friend.

“Sophie.” He said desperately, leaning onto the table.

She eyed him, confused, suspicious.

He eased back. “Uhm, do you think…” god, the question was so embarrassing. “Do you think y/n likes me?”

She looked at him like he’d lost his mind. “I’d sure hope so. You’ve been dating for over a year.”

“Yeah, but, like,” he sighed. “Is she- you know, attracted to me?”

She only stared at him as if figuring out which of his five heads she was talking to. “Have you lost your mind?”

“Sophie,”

“Yes, she finds you attractive. Jesus, she raves about your looks nonstop when you aren’t around. Honestly, I wish she didn’t find you attractive sometimes.” She shook her head, taking a bite of her orange.

His next question was much harder to ask, much more personal. “Then why does she shut me down every time I try to… you know.”

Slowly, Sophie returned her orange to her plate. “Right.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “If I tell you, you can’t let her know that you know.” She said, glancing at the hall down which you disappeared. Oscar inclined his head, urging her to continue. “Her ex boyfriend wasn’t very nice. He didn’t really care what she wanted and he would…” she shifted uncomfortably. “He would pressure her into sleeping with him.”

Guilt crept up on him, growing like the vines on an abandoned house. Goosebumps sprung on his skin despite not feeling cold. He’d messed up. Incredibly so.

“Don’t even think about bringing it up. I’m serious.”

Despite nodding at the time, he did anyway. Later that night, as you were getting ready for bed. He caught you off guard. Standing in front of the bed while he sat on the bed, stomach churning with guilt and nerves.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for accusing you of not being attracted to me. I’m sorry for being a dick, I didn’t know. I didn’t know about what he did.” Oscar rambled on, finding it difficult to meet your eyes.

You stared at him, shaking your head repeatedly. You couldn’t understand. How had he— Sophie. “She told you?” Betrayal choked you, catching your breath.

“Yes but only because I asked it of her.” He confessed. Your eyes were like a window to your brain. He could see the conflict. The hurt. “Don’t be mad at her. Be mad at me.” He urged. “But I’m sorry.”

A heavy sigh passed your lips. You caught your bottom lip between your teeth and joined him on the bed, sitting on the very end. The silence was hung in the air like a thick morning fog. You stared down the thick white comforter. Meeting his eyes was too difficult a task. “I said yes once. The very first time.” You spoke. “After that…” you shook your head. “He always said I wanted it then so I obviously wanted it every other time.” It was hard for you to get out. Your stomach twisted at the memory. Your throat pinched, your voice coming out pitchy, squeaky, and quiet. Tears rolled down your cheeks in steady streams.

Oscar wanted to comfort you, to wrap his arms around you and squeeze the pain from you. But he was afraid to touch you. He was afraid of how you’d react.

You couldn’t stand the silence that followed your confession. When you finally looked up at Oscar, took in his sympathetic gaze. “Will you say something?” You sniffed. “Please?”

“Can I-“ he moved, just an inch, hesitating. “Can I hug you?”

Nodding, you reached out to him. As soon as your fingers made contact with his hoodie, you collapsed in his hold. You sniffled, head in his lap while he stroked your hair and held you. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I never wanted you to feel like it was your fault that I- that I wouldn’t-“

“Hey, don’t apologize.” Oscar soothed. “You have nothing to apologize for.” And when he kissed your head, it eased all your worries. Because he didn’t take advantage of you when you were most vulnerable. He stuck by your side until it was resolved and you were at peace.

And you loved him for it.

#f1 #formula 1 #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #f1 blurb #f1 fluff #f1 x you #op81 #oscar piastri x fem!reader #oscar piastri au #oscar piastri angst #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri one shot #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader

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kithtaehyung · 1 month ago

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

title: yoongi’s interlude: fugue pt. i 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 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. i will hold everyone’s hand this time. 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 drop date: july 1st, 2025, 7:17pm est word count: 10.9k

—

It doesn’t work it doesn’t work it sounds like shit.

Clacks erupt as Yoongi shoves his keyboard, its thump overshadowed by the rough rolls of his desk chair.

Pacing along one side of his bed, he goes over what he just heard, fingers splaying across his face before becoming weights at his sides.

This isn’t a good sign. He’s gone at this project for months with absolutely nothing to show for it, any progress on it plummeting after his self-imposed exile days ago.

To be fair? This is his fault. With the overload of the studio, his own project hasn’t been getting the attention it needs. Amongst other personal work he doesn’t want to confront.

Which is why it sounds like shit.

Yoongi hums a run of notes before muttering what he wrote, stopping at the same spot and trying to amend the lyrics with another turn of phrase.

“Fuck, not that, either.”

He walks out of his room, absentmindedly rapping with his hands and tsking when he hits a snag.

Without fail, Yoongi ventures into his kitchen, walking past the fridge and into his laundry space to grab a bottle from a top shelf.

Logically, he really should just invest in another bar cart. It’s kinda shitty having all these bottles where his washer and dryer sit. But why the fuck would he do that after what happened last time?

“Are you even—”

No. It’s too early to fight.

Grabbing a dark green bottle and a glass, Yoongi heads back to his room, trying his damned best to figure something out and shoving the memory back in its box.

A clunk and clink thump down when he does, him pouring a good amount before replaying what’s on his screen.

Mm. It’s definitely incomplete.

What the fuck is it? What’s he missing?

Be serious. Yoongi knows exactly what��s missing and he’s known this whole time. It’s sitting in his living room laughing. Taunting. Maniacal.

Fuck, focus on something else. He can do this without that goddamned guitar. Write.

So he does.

Yoongi writes, and writes, and sets it all free.

Something about life. More about liquor. Mentioning the only things keeping him company after he secluded himself like an idiot. Flying, flying, flying. Falling, falling, falling.

What the hell are these bars? These lyrics are strange.

Write write write accomplish something, goddamn.

Morning slinks by as he loses himself, thrown into a kaleidoscope of life and words and spirals in the dark.

Rain. Rain rain rain no tears only rain. Ripping a page. Thunder in silence thunder in darkness lightning striking the lines. Flashes of blue and a blank digital workspace. Another page torn away. Tracks that make no sense. Fog. Shadow. Another page crumbles in his hands.

No matter what, it’s not enough. She was right. He’s a failure and it’s too early to fight. Another page discarded. She was right all along.

He’ll never be enough.

—

“You’re more than enough.”

—

Yoongi peels open heavy lids hours later, mini plastic piano keys and his sleeve the only silhouettes in the light of his awaiting screen.

More than enough…

You told him that.

Yoongi breathes into his arm, feeling what little life in him he has for tonight. The sliver of existence jump started by your words. By you.

You, with hands that he could hold for balance and dear life.

You, with all the stars of his galaxy in those eyes.

You, with fingers on his jacket unknowingly saving him from falling into himself—again, and again, and again.

What he would give to have you knock on his door one more time.

But not yet. Not until there’s only one shadow existing in his place. And judging by the jitter in his bones, he’s gonna be dealing with a lot of them.

Slowly readjusting his glasses, Yoongi observes his screen, remembering what happened at your house to force this distance. That damn confrontation. His damn fault.

The night was going well until the incident. The way you went where he couldn’t follow, only to be stopped by one of your friends before he could attempt.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

What was her name again?

Right.

Dom.

Her cousin had the heart that he broke with his brutal honesty. Yoongi suspects he won’t be on her good side for quite some time, despite knowing he will never, ever purposefully do anything remotely the same with you.

It’s true. As much as he fucks up when it comes to you, he’ll be the first one to be there when you need him. Which is exactly what he’s trying to do now.

“She went in there with Kook.”

Dom pauses with a fury in her eyes, now aimed at someone or something else. “Shit, okay. Well. They can handle themselves.”

Is that true? Are you gonna be okay? That’s all he wants.

But judging by the look you gave him, this isn’t a conversation you’ll walk out of without wounds.

When Yoongi gives Dom a look, she folds,

“Maybe. Fuck, he better not try shit.”

“Like what?” What the fuck does she mean by that?

“That boy had it bad. Probably still does. And they already saw each other the other day.”

“I know.”

That earns him a look. “She told him she was seeing someone. That true?”

A nod. “Depending on what happens here, I’ll say something, too.”

“You’re lying.”

Huh? That’s not a lie in the slightest. Yoongi really will air it all out if he has to, because he’s feeling fiercely committed.

Granted, dating was something he gave up before, so it’s not far fetched not to trust him. But seeing you? Being with you? That’s the most natural conclusion in his currently scrunched eyes. “Why would I lie about that?”

“I dunno? To try shut me up or whatever.”

It can’t be helped. This is what happens when his reputation precedes.

But Yoongi won’t let it control him. Not when he finally has something he cares about more than anything. “I’m not trying shit,” he calmly assures, “Unless he does.”

“Oh,” Dom breathes, eyes unblinking and darting across his face like hell. “You’re serious.”

Whether it’s because he can’t stand around too long, or because he cannot describe how accurate that statement is, Yoongi can only hold his tongue, looking away with a curt nod.

Nah. He can’t say what he really wants to right now. At least, not to her.

But what he says is enough. “I am.”

Dom waits a bit. Most likely juggling the conflicting emotions in her head about you and her cousin’s past. But she finally breaks, “Gimme your number.”

“Now?”

“Yes, now. I have a plan.”

Yoongi stops before realizing he doesn’t have time for hesitation. Obliging, he types his number out for Dom to copy while blurting out a regretful, “Sorry.”

“Huh?”

“About your cousin.”

“Oh.” Her face has mastered the combination of shock and confusion. “Well, thanks, but she’s fine now.”

“Good. She deserves it.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

Yoongi huffs before slipping back, “So what’s the plan.”

She texts him her name before sighing, looking at your door. “You and I both know she’s not gonna come out right after that’s over, whatever it is. So I’ll go in there after she has some space. Just text me when you’re good to go in.”

Hold up. Dom’s really sticking her neck out? For him? Yoongi feels like this isn’t deserved, but he can’t let a sudden development distract him. “K.”

“I mean it. If you fuck up this time, I swear to—”

“I won’t.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“Because I—”

As soon as Yoongi hears the first raise of your voice, he abandons everything entirely, his body moving on autopilot before Dom can grab at his arm.

And he’s right at your door, just about to reach the doorknob before another hand grips his wrist.

“Wait.”

Shit, he knows exactly who that is. And it’s not Dom.

Looking up, Yoongi faces his best friend with confusion, not caring how this looks and wondering why they’re supposed to wait in the first place. When he questions with a raise of his brow, he gets a whisper in return,

“I wanna hear this.”

Fine.

Both of them stand there, eyes trained on the ground and deciphering what they can. Getting more and more furious by the second.

“I wanted to call!”

“You wanted nothing to do with me!”

“No! That’s not true—”

“Liar!”

“I’m not lying!”

“You are!”

Alright, Yoongi’s had enough.

And a shared glare with his friend ends their wait, your brother twisting the locked knob before shouting, “What the hell’s going on in there!”

Some people down the hall look over, but Dom’s already directing them to move along. She seems pretty alright.

“We’re fine! It’s okay.”

“Open the door.”

“No.”

“You better be serious—”

“Promise!”

Yoongi wants to believe you. He does.

“We’re okay.”

Your brother looks right at him when he hesitantly backs down, “…Okay.”

And neither one of them vacate the doorway.

No matter what, he’s gonna stay. Even if your brother bails—which he won’t—Yoongi will be here. Because he’s set on that statement being nothing less than fact.

Even though he’s slowly starting to realize he may need to lay low after tonight.

Despite being on the same page, Yoongi has a feeling his emotions are being silently questioned. Those looks aimed his way feel loaded as fuck.

He wants to hurl.

No, no, it’s time to think things through. After tonight? He’s gotta lay low and keep distance. Don’t make any moves or risk you being anywhere near his place—

“Dude, I said I’m—”

Oh, fuck you just opened the door and Yoongi’s heart roars to escape his chest.

Nope. Still stuck to the same page as your brother, he’s going in. Because he’s gotta know what the hell is going on in here.

He waits while you all hash it out, observing from a ways away until what the shit why are you getting shoved off— “The fuck—”

“What’s wrong with you?”

Your outburst in his arms catches everyone’s attention. But he’s not letting your boiling energy go until you fight because your heartbeat is racing through your back. Holy shit.

You have to breathe or else your heart’s gonna give out. And Yoongi wants to tell you that, tell you anything to let you know you know he’s in your corner. But he can’t do anything except fucking stand there until you shake him off.

Let it go. Let things play out. But what the fuck have you and Jungkook been talking about?

What did he do to you?

A dangerous mix of anger and suspicion twists his brain tight, tugging on itself and pulsing pressure along his forehead. Because controlling himself right now? Requires one thousand percent of his power.

Because whatever happened between you two left scars that reopened tonight, and Yoongi can’t do anything but watch you bleed.

What went down? Could he and your brother somehow have prevented it? Although, he wasn’t aware of your relationship with the kid, so he can’t fault himself for not being somewhere he didn’t know about. But how? How did he miss this part of your household life?

Was he really that cut off from everything back then?

Yoongi regrets that damning fact more than ever before.

Your change in tone catches his attention. “It’s alright, okay? We’re just talking.”

Right. A simmering fire, your brother asks what he’s thinking, “…So it’s like that?”

Jungkook’s reply throws kindle on flames, and you have to snuff your brother out before he does anything stupid,

“Of course it is.”

“The fuck it isn’t—”

“It is! Fucking hell, dude...”

A pang worms its way into Yoongi’s side. When he swivels his head around the room, he can deduce exactly why he feels all sorts of messed up: Jungkook looks like he wants to defend you from your brother. Which should be a good trait.

But Yoongi can’t fucking think straight because the heat of his best friend’s aura has set him ablaze, too.

And you look like you don’t wanna be here at all, fuck.

It’s not just the heightened tension, either. There’s another matter that’s pressing his heart hard against his ribcage, and he’s doing everything he can to save it. To no avail, of course.

Because there’s no way to tell your brother about everything now. Not after this disaster of a confrontation.

When you speak, his thoughts quiet to mirror the room, “Look. We’re just talking. But I need to speak to him alone.”

Mm. He doesn’t like that.

Of course he understands. And Yoongi knows your brother will listen and they’ll leave in just a second. But he’s busting in if he hears shouts again and there will be no question about where he stands with you.

“Please.”

It’s that one plea that makes him relent. Because of course he will give you anything. But in dropping his thoughts, Yoongi finally looks up and over your shoulder.

Only to see Jungkook glaring right at him.

Shit. Shit. That’s not a look he needs to receive from the kid unless he fucked up in the studio. Anywhere else, especially in regards to you? Laying low is definitely the move after tonight.

Yoongi will be wading too far in deep shit if he doesn’t.

“Trust me,” you softly beg, to which he internally sighs.

Yoongi trusts you with his life. On top of that, he has no doubt you’ll stand your ground after holding your own against all three of them. If you wanna do it alone, he’ll respect that and your brother most likely will, too.

But the other guy in the room with hair dyed seventy shades lighter is on thin fucking ice.

Jeon better fucking behave.

Decision made, Yoongi follows your silent sibling out of the room, briefly looking at the walls covered with memories and hoping the night ends as one of the good ones.

—

Thunder rolls in the distance, lulling Yoongi back to the present company of his monitor. The same one he’s been using for awhile now, along with the same keyboard controller that he really needs to upgrade.

Of course, he can still pull magic off with the tech in front of him. But it would be a little easier to weave complexity with more piano keys at his disposal.

Not that it matters when his brain is fried. There’s no way he’s getting anything else done tonight.

Successfully giving up, Yoongi trudges to his bathroom to relieve himself, bumping a shoulder on his doorway with a hissing curse.

Of course the pain would come on the tailend of that memory. He was too hopeful then and he’s perfectly hopeless now.

Seconds later, a sniff mingles with running water as he washes his hands, staring down the mirror while thinking about a fonder time.

That day remains his safe haven. Yoongi will never forget the look in your eyes after you both drenched each other, water and shining smiles coating every spot of your skin. What he would give to live that moment again, one where he felt his heart grow ten sizes despite its dark confines.

With another blink, you’re gone, taking all the color with your departure and leaving emptiness behind. The only sounds Yoongi can hear are the hum of his aircon and the gentle rush of water.

Shit, the faucet is still on? Who’s running up his water bill now?

Hair shifts forward as he reprimands himself, shaking a tired head filled to the brim with decisions he needs to file through. Can't take too long in the shower now. Who knows how fucking long he left the sink on.

Fuck, he misses you. Please come back and tease him for being a hypocrite.

It’s only been a couple weeks since he left and, for the most part, it’s been manageable. The calls with you have been a lifeline, Yoongi needing them just as much as you have expressed. And when you shyly but bravely showed him some sundresses you got the other day, he had to grip his sheets in an iron fist to keep from rushing out the door.

But after you get off the line, after darkness falls on his eyes? That is when he fights. Again, and again, every night since he made you blindly trust him with every beautiful fucking bone in your body.

And every night, he fails you when he loses.

Every. Single. Night.

Sometimes, Yoongi wakes in a shuddering mess, scrambling to sit up and checking the entirety of his room to make sure she’s not there.

Other times, he doesn’t even bother sleeping. And those nights are the longest, the ones that leave him with chasms under his eyes.

Washing those same carved valleys now, Yoongi rubs his face under shower spray, raking hands through his growing hair before dousing it.

You stood in this very space more than you ever should have. And he guarantees that, when you were here the first time, you were trying to get something off your arm that wasn’t gonna wash out.

God, he fucked it all up from the very beginning. There’s no running from that, just like how there’s no running from the words he’d been punctured with before.

“Useless piece of—”

Shut the fuck up.

He will deal with her later. Same time, just like every other night.

Every night until he doesn’t fail you anymore.

—

Showering lasts a lot longer than Yoongi intended, much to his own chagrin.

Granted, a longer wash or two isn’t gonna fuck up his bill too much. But it’s the concept of all that waste that his parents instilled in him. Don’t take more than you need. Maybe he should’ve heeded that concept when dealing with his mountain of greed.

That’s what it is, right? Keeping things tight with your brother; going around his back to keep seeing you; keeping truths away from the one that looked at you with dying stars in his eyes.

Yoongi’s surprised he hasn’t collapsed from the weight of his implications yet.

But he does just that after feeding the cat outside, falling onto his bed suddenly hesitant to call you.

God, does he want to. Your voice, your gentle words, your contagious laughter—all of it’s right behind the press of a button, and yet…

Tonight’s grim has decided to visit him a little early, it seems.

But this distance was to conquer it all, right? So why can’t he get the fuck up and do it? He needs to if he wants a future with you. If he comes back into your life with this sludge on his shoulders, this monster on his legs? He’s only gonna stumble, when he should be walking alongside you. You deserve the parts of him he’s proud of, and right now, not much of those exist anymore.

Not ever since she…

Fuck. He won’t get to talk to you, after all.

And he can’t fucking stand that.

—

Another week passes, laughing at Yoongi’s continuous inability to find a musical breakthrough.

Why can’t he get his shit together? He knows he can do this. There’s no question he’ll hit his stride and come up with something great.

But that moment is nowhere in sight and it’s been stomping on his airway, not letting him breathe and questioning his skillset second by second.

A few hums of his phone distract his chugging, sputtering train of thought, and he reaches for it in hopes to see your nickname.

But disappointment seems to be the chosen track today, because these names aren’t yours.

Dumbass [17:05]: We hooping today??

Dumbass [17:05]: At the gym and no one’s here

Fuck, he forgot they were gonna be doing that during some weeknights. Sometime in the last couple days, Jimin brought up the idea to practice at a rec center further out, something about avoiding being watched by any neighboring competition.

The dedication to intramurals this year is admittedly touching. Despite what people think about Yoongi, he does admire shit like this, especially if it truly surprises him. That’s why he gravitated to you in record time, right? You don’t care who sees that you care, and that’s more attractive than anything.

Getting him to admit his admiration is another story, though. He’ll say it, but his friends have to work for those words.

While you get to hear them as often as he thinks them.

Waiting to hear from the others, Yoongi blinks when more messages slide through.

Rohan G. [17:07]: omw sry

Chim [17:07]: Getting something first then heading over!

A knock pounds on Yoongi’s door as he types that he can’t make it tonight, and he perks at the sound, adjusting glasses that shifted in his haste.

No fucking way.

How did Jimin even guess he’d be home?

Dumbass [17:08]: Five bucks says Chim’s talking about Yoong

Chim [17:08]: 😂😂😂

Rohan G. [17:08]: Liked ‘Five bucks says Chim’s talking about Yoong’

Mumbling, Yoongi makes his way over, opening the door with an accusatory deadpan. “You wasted gas coming here.”

“No I didn’t.”

“I’m busy.”

“No excuses!” Jimin lets himself in, scanning the living room and noticing a lone soju bottle on the coffee table. “Wait, who are you drinking with without me?”

Shit. Yoongi forgot that was even there. Did he really forget to put it away? Did he end up finishing the whole thing?

…Why can’t he remember any of that? “No one.”

“Oh. I was about to say.” Chuckling to no one, Jimin goes to throw the glass in the kitchen recycling bin, and Yoongi notes with slight terror that it sounded very, very empty. “Been there. Now get ready, hurry up!”

Yoongi groans, not wanting to do this. At all.

But it’s not basketball he’s referring to. In fact, playing pick-up will be a perfect distraction from his harrowing thoughts.

However, there’s something else he’ll have to confront when he’s there in that gym. Something he’ll have to deal with during every practice.

Your brother.

Seeking the private space of his closet, Yoongi sighs to himself as he grabs a tank, recalling the last real conversation he had with his best friend. One from that same night he keeps going back to.

The very reason he had to say goodbye.

It’s still so vivid he can smell your brother’s cologne. After the confrontation in your room, leaving you to fight for yourself proves too hard for him. But it proves even harder for the guy practically torching your door with his glare.

Anticipating a historic fallout, Yoongi lays a firm arm over your sibling’s front, challenging those burning eyes before forcing him away, away, away from your bedroom door.

He tries to rush back, but Yoongi’s there again, shoving towards the open hallway with all his might and warning his best friend with no words at all.

It works. For now.

Shrugging, the man visibly inhales as they head into the noisy house, passing through and going straight to where Yoongi assumes correctly.

Seconds later, they’re in a bedroom he has been in more times than yours, him settling into a stiff desk chair while your brother sits hunched over on sagging sheets.

“I’m gonna kill him.”

“No you won’t,” Yoongi quips, staring up at framed vinyls and jerseys. Voice neutral, he explains with logic, “If you’re charged with his murder, she’ll be charged with yours.”

“Yeah, but.. Did you see her back there? She looked so..”

Yoongi’s heart pangs. Because yes. Yes, he fucking did. Not only did he see you, but he felt you—the anger, the sadness, the confusion. Honestly, he has the same threatening thoughts as his best friend, but there’s no way they’re being let loose.

So he can only hum in acknowledgement. “I know.”

After a long beat, your brother forces the frustration from his lungs, “I need a fucking drink.”

“Then get up.”

“And a hit.”

Yoongi’s eyes follow the gesture your brother aims toward his desk, and he grabs the lone pack before tossing it over.

Minutes go by as they meander through the house, ignoring the curious looks and shouts to play cards. After procuring a bottle and glasses from the kitchen, they head out not to the full backyard, but into the open air of the front porch.

“Give us some space for a sec, guys,” your brother calmly asks, not shocking Yoongi but startling the small gathering in the area. Everyone quickly apologizes for no reason before filing inside.

Leaving the two of them alone against the world. As it has been. As it should be.

Fuck.

Yoongi watches his friend approach the wooden railing overlooking the garden, arms resting on mahogany that he just got refinished two weeks ago. As he licks dry lips, he listens to the man he’s known forever, hating how he feels like a fraud.

“I knew they had a thing, but.. I dunno what to think now.” The fidget of his leg mirrors how Yoongi feels. “He’s the only one I trusted with her.”

Damn. So what the hell happened between then and now for Kook to lose it all? Is the same fate awaiting him when his own truth comes into the spotlight?

Silent and aching, Yoongi walks up to join his friend, offering whisky and his two cents, “Maybe something happened.”

A sigh precedes a pouring of liquor. Your brother really is going through it if he’s serving himself a double, and it’s not easy to watch. “Why didn’t they tell me?”

Well. Many reasons, Yoongi imagines. Definitely not coming from a long period of terrifying experience, of course.

As he pours his own glass, he asks with a hint of anxiety, “Would you've listened if they had?”

They both know the answer, so he doesn’t understand the hesitation before the man finally concedes, “…I dunno. Probably would’ve just kicked his ass.”

Both of them let out knowing huffs of amusement, no doubt picturing the same scenario. “Uh huh.”

Your brother is the first to default back to wallowing. “Nah, but… He hurt her, dude. Did you see how she looked?”

“You asked that already,” Yoongi points out before taking a fig and tobacco-infused sip. “But no, I was mostly watching him.”

He earns a shoulder covered look before a grateful, haunting, “Thanks.”

That’s Yoongi’s role to play, after all. Watching out for anything and anyone that would do you harm while your brother is away. It’s how things have been for a minute, even Jimin and now Taehyung taking up that position alongside him.

It sets a lingering ache in his stomach to know his place is so close, yet so damn far. The fact that he’d perpetually be just out of reach should be enough to drive him mad. But your brother is his number one. His life saver. His everything.

A sinister voice tugs on Yoongi’s ear, reminding him how easy it’s been to betray the guy despite all that supposed loyalty in his veins. What a joke. What a traitor.

He swipes the wisp away with a scratch. “Do you trust her?”

“It’s not that. It’s… It’s always been everyone else I have an issue with.”

Agreed. “Mm.”

“I mean, I trust you,” his friend continues, straightening to pop a cig from its box. As he grabs it with wet lips, words get muddled but still ring clear, “Not in that way with her, I’d fucking kill you, but. I know you got my back, too.”

Yoongi’s stomach convulses down the porch steps.

And at the flick of a lighter, his last shred of hope goes up in flames. “Uh huh.”

“I just… I know I overreact. I’m not above thinking I don’t. But I just gotta be sure she has someone good to her.” Restless smoke billows out as a contemplative arm falls. “I know I haven’t been around lately.”

Ah. Yoongi’s stomach is about to have a companion, his heart dangling from the cliffs of his ribs.

Someone once told him that life begins and ends with choices. Decisions make branches from your tree, consequences and outcomes spiraling from each major base. The ones made with good intentions sprout leaves; the ones made with ill will wither away. Those are the ones that weigh you down with no effort—the ones you have to cut before they stunt your growth.

As his fingers graze over a proverbial machete, Yoongi wonders if the choices he made with you in mind count for the better. They have to, right? If he’d make them again, that counts for something, yeah?

Talking into his glass, Yoongi responds to the one that told him all this in the first place, back when he pulled out the diseased roots poisoned by a smile. “Then do that.”

“Do what?”

Even if these decisions were made with good intentions, they’re still twisted. And there’s no way to straighten them when a soul feels way too similar. “Stick around for a sec.”

Be there with you when he walks away from the most beautiful branch he’s ever grown.

As much as he’s fighting himself to not do it this way, it’s inevitable. This is a horrible line to walk between the both of you, and he’s quickly seeing less and less options.

Because if he tells your brother about the two of you now? It’s over. But if he keeps this up with you and strains the bond with your family? The guilt will eat him alive.

You both mean the world to him. Which leaves Yoongi with an impossible scenario unless he gets his shit figured out.

And he has. So much shit.

“Stick around?”

“Yeah. Like a few months or so.” If he needs more time than that, he’ll legitimately go insane.

“What’s with the sudden advice? You miss me that bad?”

Yoongi doesn’t know what to say. At least, not without choking on his own self-affliction. “So she knows she’s got someone after all this.”

After what he’s about to do.

“Also, no. I don’t,” he lies.

Your brother gives a playful shove before looking into his glencairn. “I guess I could move some trips around. They don’t really need me for the time being anyway.”

“Does she know, by the way?”

“Know what.”

A shrug. “Anything. Why you even have this job in the first place.”

“No,” your brother admits before taking another hit. “She doesn’t need to worry about that shit.”

“She could appreciate it. Knowing.”

A look is sent his way. “You’re acting like you know her.”

Fuck. Think. He cannot fuck this up before it even starts. “Is this really about me?”

Yoongi is taking a huge gamble here. But it works. Most likely because both of them are way too tired to think about uncomfortable things anymore.

“No. And I’ll think about staying.”

Beat irregular, Yoongi’s heart prepares for the free fall.

“You’re a good guy, Yoong.”

And it slips from the ledge before he’s ready. “You, too.”

“Me? Don’t I know it,” your brother jokes with a laugh, straightening and smushing his cig in an ashtray. “I’m gonna make my rounds again.”

“Probably gonna head out soon,” Yoongi says, the organ in his chest slowly losing its pulse. “Just gotta say some byes first.”

“Really? You never say bye.”

Tonight, Yoongi will. He has to see you one last time before going back to his personal hell. “Sometimes. You just never see me.”

The door opens with a slight creak. Because this part of the front porch hasn’t been redone yet. “Ah, whatever.”

As a wave of aroma wafts through the foyer, Yoongi blurts another idea before he can stopper his worrying mind, “Leave her some food, too. She’s gonna need it.”

The last thing he sees before a voice cuts in from above is your brother’s backward look.

“You ready?”

Thrown out of the memory, Yoongi flicks his gaze to the one filling up his bedroom door.

Bedroom door. His bedroom. They’re gonna go practice. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“Okay…” Jimin gives him a look that calls him out like no other. It’s quite impressive how he’s always been able to do that.

But the nosy man doesn’t pry this time. “Then let’s go.”

—

Playing goes well. While it’s clear none of the guys are at their best, they’re gonna get there. Even if it’s building stamina, which Yoongi desperately needs. But if they keep practicing like this? It could actually make them a threat the rest of intramurals.

But your brother has been subdued all night. To the point where Jimin shoots Yoongi some choice looks to go over and ask what the fuck is up.

Fine. He’ll deal with it. When he travels down the sideline to start the conversation, turns out the quiet mood is because of work,

“I’m trying to get out of it.”

“Out of what? A trip?”

“Yeah.”

“Just don’t go,” Yoongi poorly advises, wiping forehead sweat with his tank. A quick push forces laughter out his lips.

“You know I can’t do that.” Sporting a frown, the busy man sighs loud. “Especially when I’m in line for a promotion.”

“Wait, what?” Hold up, that’s a new development Yoongi didn’t see coming. Though he should have, since this guy is a nerd and one hell of a charmer. “Since when?”

“Trying not to say anything to jinx it.” Hide it all he wants, his smile contradicts his humility. Yoongi can’t help but give him a raised brow. When Jimin jogs up, he listens in with curiosity. “But yeah, they’re in talks to move me up.”

The dusty blond yells in shock, hand over his mouth as some dribbling around them stops. The guys on the other end of the court still keep shooting around, though, squeaks of sneakers pinging off stark gym walls.

“Trying not to say anything, huh,” Yoongi drawls, smirk collecting some loose sweat. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Fuck off,” your brother counters with a grin. A real one this time. “I did wanna tell you guys, just in person. But nothing’s guaranteed yet so if I don’t get it, no clowning.”

“Nah, you’re gonna get it,” Jimin assures, patting him on the back and recoiling at the moisture. “Ah. Are you aware you feel like a wet rag?”

While Yoongi’s shoulders shake, your brother’s dip as he grows sheepish, “I know. Nerves got me playing a little too hard.”

Humility. Shyness. These emotions are hard to come by when it comes to him. When did he get this soft? Is he actually hanging out with you like Yoongi intended?

If so, that’s good. You both need it. The distance is working.

So why does that gut him even deeper?

“Alright, let’s put those nerves to use then,” Jimin offers, tone leaving no room to argue. Calling out to the whole court, he shouts, “One more game then we’re done!”

The whole team acknowledges him in tandem.

—

Holy fuck, it’s over.

Hearts pumping and breath ragged, everyone dumps themselves on the court floors when your brother finally, mercifully makes the winning shot.

Of course the last game took them fucking forever. No one could make a basket from being so worn down, and Yoongi’s muscles started protesting so hard they were gonna force him horizontal without his say.

Someone’s phone vibrates from the bleachers, and no one even moves to check if it’s theirs. Only huffs, exhales, and gulps fill the large space, body heat and sweat weighing the air down.

“Ah, shit, that’s me,” your brother rasps, twisting his watch while lying flat on his back. Tapping the glass face with his nose, he answers with enviable energy, “Hello!”

“Hey. You still out?”

Yoongi’s heart shatters on impact.

His gaze flicks to Jimin’s before he tilts toward fluorescent ceiling lights, splayed hands keeping him upright and eyes closing in longing.

“Yeah, we’re still out. What’s up?”

“Just wondering. Dinner’s in the fridge, saved some stew for you.”

“Thank god. There meat in there?”

As you prattle off a stinging response, Yoongi slowly smirks despite his ribcage tearing itself into scraps. What he would give to come home to you making dinner, joining you to help and watching your cute ass bustle around his kitchen—your kitchen.

One day. One day, one day, one day.

“—be back soon. Thanks for the food!”

“Mmhmm. See you later.”

As much as your voice soothes, Yoongi can’t help but think you sound… What is that he hears? There’s something in there that’s making his chest clench impossibly hard, digging into his head and making him regret everything all over again.

No. It’s not what you sound like, it’s what you don’t.

Yourself.

Which is not what Yoongi intended. And his control over the dark part of his mind slips a precarious amount.

His walls slam so far down that memories flood in, whisking him back to the moment he both wants to think about and banish from his heart all the same.

The one he replays in his mind over, and over, and over again.

After his talk with your brother, he did end up saying goodbye to some friends around the house. Did he do it because he wanted to? Sure. But mostly he did it to procrastinate saying goodbye to you.

However, when he gets a text from your friend, his heart stutters and braces for a total meltdown.

Dominique S. [21:30]: Going in there now.

Yoongi [21:31]: 👍

Yoongi [21:35]: Clear

Why is he nervous? Why is he shaking?

Dom opens the door with haste. “One minute,” she warns, and Yoongi already knows she’s the type to count every second. “Then you’re on your own.”

Sixty seconds.

He can do that.

Any amount of time with you is enough.

“K.”

Yoongi enters to see your face so torn his heart lurches, propelling him the rest of the way until he’s close enough to pull you in.

Yes. Let it out. Let it all out while he’s here.

“Fuck.”

Yoongi does everything he can to relieve you of anything that doesn’t serve you. Squeezing his embrace to keep it imprinted around your soul long after he parts. Your voice is music along his bones, steadying him upright when he wants to crumble at your feet.

Even if this is all he gets, this is enough. It’s enough, not enough, enough.

But he has to know if you’re gonna be okay, and reality sets in like quicksand.

Fuck, this is really the last time he’s gonna see you. Fuck fuck fuck he needs more time. “What happened?”

You aren’t talking.

That answers enough.

“Don’t sweat it,” he amends, kissing your forehead and stepping back at arm’s length. “You gonna be okay?”

Shit. You look like you’ve been shattered and are attempting to find your pieces. And Yoongi despises that look because he’s been there before.

Before. Sure. It’s more truthful to say he’s still searching for most of his.

“Yes. No. I just, umm. I need a minute.”

“You don’t have to go back out there, you know.”

“But you do,” you counter. “And I just wanna see you.”

For a moment, Yoongi abandons his priorities and his whole upper body calms. Because you have that power over him. And he’s fine with being at your mercy whenever you demand it.

His voice comes out so soft, “You can’t keep saying shit like that.”

“But it’s true.”

Smart ass. What he says next is a knife twist into his side, because he wants it so fucking badly he’ll do anything,

“Makes me wanna take you home.”

But not now. There’s something he has to take care of first before he takes care of you. Something slithering around his living room and waiting for him to leave you behind.

You’re doing everything he wants, from closing the distance to circling arms around his waist. Fuck, if he could choose one thing to linger, it would be the feel of those hands pressed against his shirt. And his reverence on your temple to keep your mind safe.

“I want you to do that,” you admit into his tee, “All the time.”

“Take you home?”

“Mmhmm.”

Even your arm feels timid under his touch? Shit.

If only he’d done things properly. Yoongi would have spent this whole night by your side and taken you home at the first drop of a fucking tear. “You know I’d do it if I could, doll.”

If he were someone else. If he had come clean before.

If he wasn’t such a damn coward.

Why did it all come crashing down over the course of a day? How could this disruption derail the quickest path to happiness in a second?

Path number two is long, and arduous, and dangerous. But Yoongi’s gonna brave it all for you. A clean slate is what you deserve, not this room marred with grime and his shortcomings, his own demons tearing at the walls.

A warning knock slams his brain into overdrive, and he must look like a mess right now because you’re staring and staring hard fuck! “Listen.”

“Hmm?”

“I know we said we’d say something.”

The understanding in your eyes is misguided. And it cracks his heart in two before he interrupts your hopeful strategy.

“There’s no way. At least, not tonight. Jungkook—”

“It may need to be a bit longer than that.”

He’s never felt so hollowed out in his life.

“So you probably won’t see me for awhile.”

There’s already a ring of fire around his eyes.

“Yoongi, please—”

“Can you do that?”

This is all he can say? This is all he’s gonna give you? Judging by the blockage in his throat and the ache along his heart, Yoongi realizes he can’t explain himself. It’s too shameful. It’s better if he doesn’t.

But watching hurt and confusion prick your eyes is setting his lungs ablaze. Fuck, you deserve someone better but also fuck that because he’s gonna fight for this shit. This is the only path he can see. The one he must travel himself.

And he’s already burning your features on his eyelids, if only to see your outline in every blink.

Say something. Please. “Babe?”

Tell him not to go.

Tell him to go out there and fucking confess because he’ll do it.

Something painful replaces the beats of his heart, changing the tempo and forcing them staccato. The skip, skip, thump of his chest almost buckles him forward, but Yoongi forces himself to stand tall. Resolute. Decisive.

But tell him anything you want and he’ll do it.

Fuck, he can’t deny anything anymore. The thoughts that have plagued his mind for months are now the ones he invites in without hesitation. Because he’s done pretending they’re lies.

He’s yours. It’s always been this way, long before you even knew it. If only you could read his mind because it has hell of a lot more to say than he does, because right now? If you break down then he’s right there with you.

Fuck, this is a mistake. His gut is screaming and protesting and there’s nothing he can do to placate. What the fuck is he doing? Why can’t he feel his own heart anymore? “Doll, let me know because—”

“Anything,” you choke out, searing his eyes a whole deeper shade. “I’ll do it.”

Goddamn it. Yoongi already wants to abandon his idea because you look so lost and he’ll scrap it all if you tell him not to go please tell him not to go be selfish be selfish yell at him and be selfish—

“Anything for you.”

Fuck.

The pang in his chest tells him all he needs to know. How this is a big fucking mistake but he can’t think of any other way out. He’s doing this for the both of you. You and him. For you, for him—

“For us,” he corrects, diving in to give you the deepest kiss filled with his greatest fears.

This is for the long run. Yoongi’s decidedly, one-hundred percent in it for the long run.

As long as he keeps fighting his demons. Each and every single night.

And with that, he pulls away, turning to retreat into the real world that proves absurdly cruel.

Leaving you is already making him weary. Knowing he’s going into that apartment alone for days. He won’t get to see you at all. There will be nothing but work and the occasional drink with Jimin, which even then he may start to turn down.

This distance is necessary. But also fucking stupid.

Maybe you’ll forget about him.

Maybe you’ll realize life is probably better without him in it.

But above everything, he really fucking hopes that you’ll come find him again.

Your fingers on his arm are what Yoongi feels first. But his body reacts in a second as soon as you tug him back into a kiss.

And his eyes catch fire as they squeeze, ribcage clenching and gasping for air when you do that desperate tug on his clothes. Shit shit shit if you do that again he’ll never fucking leave your side.

Everything else disappears except you. Your breaths, your lips, your unending consideration for his space. He asked and he got it, which makes this one act of resistance tear him right through, and he pours every ounce of himself into making you understand how much he wants this.

“Yoongi, I—”

Don’t say it. Not when he’s about to break everything apart.

Fuck, you were really gonna say it. Yoongi knows it in his fucking bones and his heart is gasping. Fuck.

Of fucking course this is how he finds out. Right before he leaves? Right before he ventures into himself to confront everything he doesn’t wanna see?

This alone will be his guiding light. The knowledge that you feel the same way he does and the reason for everything he’s gonna fight through. “I know.”

His name rattles around your mouth.

“It’ll be okay.” You have to believe him.

Because he’s gonna find it hard to believe himself. “Okay?”

Your face contorts in a way that has his eyes scorching. Without knowing anything about why he’s gonna leave or how long it’s gonna be, you’re looking at him with vehement trust and searing willpower. So goddamn strong, just as he needs to be.

He loves you so fucking much.

“Fuck.”

He smashes his lips so hard against yours that you react, your saltwater sloshing against his cheeks just in time to hide his falling tears.

He needs this. You need him to do this. Everything he’s about to do, it’s all for you. You, you, you.

Because he knows you’d go with him anywhere, but when it comes to his inner fears, that’s not somewhere you can follow. That’s a place he has to walk into on his own, knowing he’ll be swallowed in darkness until he finds his own dimmed light.

Yoongi pulls away right as Dom opens the door, but he doesn’t even flinch at the sight of her. Because he wants you to see that. He wants to show you where he stands for real.

“I got us,” he vows, planting one more kiss on a forehead he reveres so much.

“Hurry up, for god’s sake!”

Yoongi finally steps away, slowly increasing the distance and already feeling his heart pleading to feel yours again.

You’re so beautiful.

He doesn’t want to go.

But with one final look, Yoongi leaves, and it’s a miracle he stepped out of your room in one piece because he feels like he left his better half inside.

Didn’t he say you were his good luck charm? Who the fuck leaves their guardian angel behind? He can’t think about how you looked. Those tears will be flooding into his dreams.

Fuck, he needs air.

Brain scrambled, Yoongi heads straight down the lesser tracked hallway before escaping to the guest room. When his wrist is grabbed, he flinches so hard it strikes like lightning. “Just give me a sec.”

Dom’s voice can command anyone with ease. “Look at me.”

So he does. Annoyed he can’t have time to get his shit together but obeying nonetheless. What’s the fucking point anymore. He’s already lost it all.

“Oh,” she quietly observes. “You look like shit. What happened in there?”

What a succinct summary. Yoongi wipes a bit of his face with the back of his thumb, looking away on pure instinct.

“I’m about to swing so you better start explai—”

“Whatever I’m about to do, I’m doing it for her,” Yoongi admits out loud. So easily. So naturally that Dom blinks and can’t do much else. Sighing, he closes his eyes. “But I can’t just… I dunno how to say it yet.”

“What?”

Everything is too hard to lay out right now. Doesn’t matter what the fuck it is, it’s fighting to stay in his arid throat. “I… Got shit to deal with first. Shit I know she’d want me to fix.”

“You sure about that? Cus it looks like you just cut everything off.”

Dominique is being too fucking accurate right now. His hatchet is bleeding. That branch was his life force. “For now,” he solemnly sighs. “But I have to try.”

“If this doesn’t work, you’re dead to me.”

“I’ll be dead to me, too.”

At this, Dom reels back so far it’s comical. “What are you saying? Hello?”

“Just… Keep her busy. For me.”

“Umm, no, go back. What the fuck are you planning to do?”

Oh. Yoongi gets what Dom’s thinking, but that’s not what he’s talking about.

He’s at least gotten past that part.

“Nothing like what you’re thinking.” Yoongi scratches an ear. “I just need to get my mind right. I don’t wanna bring any baggage into this, but. If you haven’t guessed, I have a fucking lot.”

“Fucking men,” she scoffs, smushing her lips in aggravation. But after a drawn-out silence, she softens and offers sincerity. “Actually? I can respect it. You’re doing something right, at least.”

“Damn well hope so.”

It takes awhile for Dom to respond. But after multiple thoughts sail across her eyes, she sighs, sliding braids across a shoulder. “I’ll do my best to help. But.. We both know something’s gotta give at some point.”

“I know.”

“K.” She walks off with a warning stare. “Hope you know what you’re doing.”

Yoongi doesn’t respond until she’s out of earshot. Because the only one he needs to convince is himself.

“Same.”

That single word is the last to echo through his mind as Yoongi opens his eyes, feeling hardwood floors under his fingers as he tilts his head sideways.

Hold up. How long did he wander? The rest of the team clatters along the bleachers, picking up their bags or changing into dry clothes.

Jimin spots him looking first. “You gonna join us or stay behind?”

Yoongi puffs out a breath before his eyes find the ground. “Don’t tempt me.”

He means it as a joke. But deep down, he’d rather be anywhere other than home right now. Which is quite the setback since that’s where he’s supposed to get shit done, the place that’s supposed to feel safe.

This sucks ass.

“Get up, man,” your brother offers with an outstretched hand. “It’s late.”

The whole time he waits before clasping it in an upward tug, Jimin doesn’t sway his stare.

And the whole car ride back to his place, Yoongi tries his best to ignore all the long looks aimed his way.

—

Why do his keys run from him when he truly needs them to cooperate?

Keys jangling in his hand, Yoongi finally locks his door, fast-walking down the outside hall and making a beeline to his car.

He doesn’t know how he woke up with no alarm, but he’s grateful he shot up when he did. The studio has a packed schedule today, and he’s the session producer while the others are working on mixes.

The crisp morning air caresses his skin before he opens a car door, and Yoongi takes a second to observe the sky.

Overcast. Not as bad as it could be, though he hasn’t seen the Sun in days.

Truthfully, he hasn’t felt it either after abandoning its warmth in a room far away.

His engine starts before he makes his way out of the complex, and the soft music from his phone reminds him of you. Reminds him of the empty seat next to him that has seen better days and even better nights.

After he severed his heart, Yoongi remembers saying goodbye to a few others. But not by choice. The last people he said those words to were the same people he was going to be seeing again bright and early the next day.

Once again, he’s back to that same night.

“Hey.”

Yoongi turns, seeing Jungkook gesture out to the front door. When his hairs stand on end, he curses to himself, fighting to show any emotion as he follows the boy outside.

Whatever happens, he’s not losing to this kid.

But when the door creaks open, Yoongi notices the company with a few blinks. What are Joon and Hobi doing out here? Weren’t they just in the backyard?

“What’s up,” he asks, and they stop their conversation to shrug. He watches silent as Namjoon points to the youngest one out there,

“He pulled us out. Ask him.”

Huh?

Two thoughts race through the halls of his mind. On one hand, this has to be a studio talk given the present company, so it has nothing to do with you. And second, this could either be bad news or good news, and he really, really needs the latter.

“Good news and bad news,” Jungkook starts. Of fucking course. “We already have another project.”

“Sounds like only good news to me.”

Yoongi nods with Hobi at Namjoon’s quick reply. Because being trapped in his apartment was gonna drive him to the brink. But having something to accomplish and an excuse to go outside? It’s a goddamned godsend.

“Yeah, well—just listen real quick, okay?” Shifting his weight, Jungkook takes out a slim device to take a sweet-smelling hit. Something he tends to do when he’s getting a little anxious—and Yoongi damn well knows the root of that anxiety from tonight. “This one’s another multi-track recording deal. And we, uhh. We start first thing tomorrow.”

Hoseok gawks. “Wait. What do you mean tomorrow?”

Yoongi can’t even hide the matching question on his face. Because yeah he needs the distraction but what the fuck? When the hell was Jungkook gonna tell them? “You didn’t think to tell us sooner?”

“It all just went through tonight,” Jungkook hastily defends, unlocking his phone to prove himself. The blue light outlines his features, and Yoongi notices with a stinging pang that the boy’s eyes are stained with sorrow. “Lemme just, umm.. Lemme find the email.”

Seems like all three of you aren’t sleeping well tonight.

But he’s gotta keep focus. Even if the deal just went through, next day start is one hell of a turnaround. There’s gotta be more Jungkook isn’t saying, and Yoongi hopes to everything divine that the kid knows what he’s doing.

Poor management will break them without so much as a sweat if they aren’t careful with their calendar.

“Here,” the youngest finally blurts, forwarding all the guys the email and pocketing his phone. “This is the first one.”

“First one?” Namjoon asks, prompting all heads to pop up. “There’s more?”

Shit. One multi-track recording deal is already gonna occupy a lot of studio time. What the hell did Jungkook get them all into?

“We also have another gig, same type. In about two weeks from now.”

Two weeks isn’t a lot but it’s doable. And that means Yoongi will have at least fourteen days of temporary daytime relief.

“But we’re gonna wanna wrap up the first one before then. The other one is high profile. We’ll give these guys all our attention.”

And that is what sets off a little alarm bell in Yoongi’s head. Shouldn’t they provide everyone that works with them all their focus? Why would they cherry pick if they set the deal?

Vision blurring into a road instead of your porch, he grips the wheel while checking his back mirror. Wondering how he’s gonna get everything done today.

Did Jungkook get the workspace ready? Are all the plug-in’s he usually likes already set aside? Is everything connected to the pre-amp’s?

Yoongi hopes so. He’s lax when it comes to most, but not within the soundproof walls of a studio.

But he’s gotta be careful. If he ends up butting heads with a certain headstrong kid in there, there’s no telling what comes flying out of that box.

Clouds float above when he finally drives up to his normal parking space, and Yoongi sits with himself for a second. Thinking. Composing.

Grateful for anything that’s keeping him from losing his goddamn mind.

—

One day, you texted him a song because you miss him.

And for the next three, he let it loop until he understood every part.

—

The practices. The more sporadic calls. The studio sessions.

Everything has proven a much needed distraction from his shadows. But he still has the strongest urge to alleviate the tears he knows he’s causing to just see you for one fucking day and fuck.

He can’t catch a fucking break.

You’re trying your hardest to deal with his bullshit distance. Yoongi knows it; he can feel it. Frankly, all he wants to do is come back to you, but he can’t until he moves forward. This is the only way.

However. As soon as he feels like he can step right, another hole hollows the ground.

And this one looks a little too colossal to cross.

“How long do they wanna book now?” Hoseok thankfully asks for everyone else in the room, referring to the second gig opportunity revealed at your place.

“Just one more week than planned,” Jungkook confirms, looking at his phone and scratching his head. “But they’re paying good.”

Namjoon is the next one to speak up, “You still haven’t told us who’s coming.”

Cheeky as ever, the youngest bursts into a grin. And his response ices the room, “That’s cus it’s still a surprise!”

What. This isn’t how things are supposed to work.

Yoongi prods his cheek while Joon groans. “Now’s not the time for surprises. We just got our last mess cleaned up.”

It’s one of the reasons they’ve been held up in the studio for longer than Yoongi wanted. He absolutely loves being here, smelling the leather and instruments and getting to drown out his thoughts with music.

But when things that could’ve been avoided go wrong? That’s what pisses him off.

And not just him. Hobi and Joon have been less than passive about their discontent when all of them weren’t given the full rundown of what samples were cleared and which weren’t. So when Jungkook finally gave them the list that he “thought they knew,” the tension between them all reached a new peak.

Mistakes like that can cost hundreds of thousands of dollars. They’re lucky it hadn’t gotten to that point of no return yet, but.. water under the fucking bridge just plummeted down another cliff.

It’s a little while later—after Kook still refused to say who was coming to their fucking studio—that Yoongi heads to the hallway to take out his phone.

Because as soon as he gets updates? He’s letting you know.

No surprises for you. Not again.

Yoongi [17:02]: Just got booked for another week

Yoongi [17:03]: Can’t talk now but

Yoongi [17:03]: Letting you know

Head hitting the wall behind him, Yoongi closes his eyes for what seems like a century. What is time right now anyway? These past few weeks have either been sludge or a rushing current, and both are dragging him under.

He knows he keeps letting you down like this. And you’re probably wondering what the fuck is going on, because why wouldn’t you?

If you decide to cut things off, he can’t be mad. This was his decision, so he’ll face those consequences no matter how severe they slice through.

You’re gonna think he’s doing something else.

Please don’t. He just needs more time.

Shit, his phone just vibrated twice. Tension mounts his shoulders from pure habit, knowing that he’s gonna be met with either disappointment or wrath.

Here goes.

Hustler [17:07]: how’s ur back feel from carrying everyone so hard🥴

Hustler [17:07]: jk its ok<3 you’re getting recognized and it’s about time

Oh.

…Fuck, you’re really…

Yoongi can physically feel his cheeks lift as he starts to smile. And that smile turns into a quick grin before his relief puffs out of his mouth in a laugh.

Did you really banish his worry just like that?

Pushing off the wall, Yoongi huffs once more to the empty hallway before taking two paces to his side, looking at his phone again to make sure what he just read was real.

It is.

Fuck, he doesn’t even know what to say.

Yoongi [17:09]: Lmaoo I’m saying. They better run me my check and cover my hospital bills.

He laughs again. And he doesn’t even know why. It’s not like you said the funniest thing in the world. What’s happening to his chest?

This is so unlike all the other shit he dealt with before that the joy suddenly meets a monster in his ribs.

Shit.

Little pricks of fire light his eyes, searing the corners and spreading to the rest of his face. His little sounds stop, and his back thuds against the hallway wall again.

Phone at his side, Yoongi glances up at the ceiling. And it’s certainly not to stop anything from falling. Yeah. Sure.

You’re really something else.

And his decision to keep you at a safe distance is starting to piss him off.

Maybe it will take less time than he thought. Maybe the shadows won’t linger much longer. Maybe. Maybe maybe maybe not maybe—

Yoongi [17:11]: Fuck I miss you

He sends it before realizing what he even sent.

Which catches him off guard, staring at his phone until your typing indicator pops up. Waiting like a man starved until your message slides through.

Hustler [17:12]: i miss you too.. but focus now and tell me all about it later

One drop.

One single drop pings onto his screen before Yoongi snaps his head back up, feeling the monster launch itself forward for a kill.

And he stumbles down the hall, past a few doors, rounding a corner and bursting through a back door into the alleyway before gripping fingers around his phone.

Fuck, it hurts.

It all fucking hurts.

Hunched on his knees, Yoongi breathes rough as fear rushes in from all sides, inundating his head with thoughts of disappointment and trauma. And he can’t even focus focus focus on the now because the past is doing its best to haunt him. Tell him he doesn’t deserve this. Berate him for being happy about anything anything anything he can’t have anything he doesn’t deserve it.

Yoongi fights to do one thing first. He has to get this out before he’s too far gone because you more than deserve one pathetic act of effort.

Yoongi [17:15]: Thanks doll

And that’s the last thing Yoongi remembers before his brain goes dark.

tbc in fugue, pt. ii

so... thoughts before part 2? | join the server! | fugue pt. 2

a/n: so... this is just the first part. and to be honest, i couldn't bring myself to write any of fugue until i saw that yoongi was okay. as soon as i saw his smile, that was enough for me to be brave again. there's a reason i couldn't write this until now, and you're about to find out why in fugue, pt. 2. a/n 2: thank you to every single one of you that's been here. any support, love, or encouragement means the whole world to me, and that's what has been keeping me going the past year, no matter how i'm feeling - high or low. i'm sorry for taking so long to update the main storyline again, but i hope this interlude will show you that i'm truly back to working on 3tan again. love y'all. 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

#here we go...#part 1 of 3!#bts fic #bts fanfic #yoongi fic #yoongi angst #yoongi x you #btsfic #bts angst #bts smut #*latest #ryenwrites #3tanfugue1 #bts imagines #bts reactions #yoongi smut

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mercurial-chuckles · 7 months ago

Text

I met them, and now I’m their queen!

Pairing: Steve Rogers x F!Reader x Bucky Barnes | Stucky x F!Reader Warnings: Fluff | Language | Hot supersoldiers alert | Clingy supersoldiers | We've got game supersoldiers | Protective and borderline obsessive | Wet thoughts | Allusions to hot nights | Slight angst but happy ending | Confession | Friends to Lovers trope | Poly relation | Long one ~5k | Written in a feverish haze. Any, I mean, any craziness can and will be blamed on deliriously Nyquiled-mind! Lemme know if I'm missing anything. A/N: It really started with, "Let's write a drabble," and well, IT DID NOT end up being a drabble! But blame the two hot super soldier specimens for taking reins and striding through dominantly. This was supposed to be published (along with three other fics) on New Year's, but times have been testing! Anyhoo, Sydney and I—ever indulgently—worked ourselves up with some ideas and this burgeoned, and we both decided to collaborate having similar title and prompt. Inspiration: — confession to get it off their chest before the new year starts Read Sydney's I met them, and now I'm their princess and smother her story with love and affection! Forever grateful to Sydney for giving me the push to publish this and for giving this long-ass fic a read while I was sick and whiny! @buck-star Also, if there are any Windows 11 users, do you know an easy way of typing the em dash (Alt+0151 is no longer an option) Every time I have to use, I have to copy and paste and it's been a pain in my butt. So, any shortcuts would be a great help! Note: Do not Steal, Copy, or Plagiarize any part of my work! Banner credits to me. Picture credits to internet! Divider credits to @buck-star Thank you :) Check out my other works: Masterlist

Indulge Away!

'Have you been Naughty or Nice?'

I've been disastrous. You thought, snorting, looking at the quite colorful, only-for-adult-eyes kind of a poster.

While walking briskly to the truck in the parking lot, your eyes inadvertently fell on the shirtless guy with a Santa hat and red trousers posing sultrily. The show had been for Christmas Eve, now nearly a week old. Lucky patrons!

And your useless, absolutely horny mind brought images of two rugged, burly-looking muscular supersoldiers adorning the costume, and you shuddered.

Nope. No. No. Do not go there.

*Thud*

The distant sound startled you, and you looked down the deserted street but found nothing. You became aware of your surroundings and realized you were standing before a shady-looking strip club. Heart pounding, you hurried toward the truck you'd parked at the end of the street.

The local hill town was vastly different from NYC. By 8 p.m., the main street was completely vacant; the local stores were all closed for the night except for the convenience store at the gas station on the end of the main street and a local vet hospital, both of which you paid a visit tonight.

You quickly got into the truck and navigated out of the small town towards your temporary abode, decked in the woods near the lake.

It was New Year's Eve, and the entire day's theme was a series of unfortunate events and bad decisions.

Earlier that afternoon, having used up all the leftovers, takeouts, and groceries, you decided to venture out to find food. You cursed yourself for being so pathetic and unplanned. It was a hard bet you'd find a store open today or tomorrow.

You should have planned better, but it was what it was, and your poor mind couldn't possibly think logically when it was going through so much. So, forgiving yourself, you decided to drive to the town, hoping to get something to stock up the tiny kitchen for the next couple of days before you can go grocery shopping like a responsible adult.

But lo and behold, you had a flat tire. After groaning and cursing at your fate for a whole three minutes, you realize your aunt mentioned that you could take her truck around if it's still working.

You grabbed the keys and went to the garage. The truck seemed in good condition, with no flat tires. GREAT! You tried to start, but it won't budge. The check engine light blinked red.

Upon further inspection, you realized the spark plug was out and saw a pair of them in a cabby on the metal rack. You weighed your options, changing the spark plug in a somewhat cold and dim-lit garage or changing a tire in the chill out in the dark. It was an easy choice.

So, for the next two hours, you replaced the spark plug. Huffing and out of breath, you started the engine, which purred to your satisfaction. Feeling accomplished, you went to the only open convenience store and stocked up on some groceries. Fiona, the cashier, was a middle-aged lady who didn't talk much, unlike the other folks in the town.

When you went to pay, you realized you had left your phone. You must have left it in the cabin when you went to search for the truck keys.

Ugh! Sometimes, you hated that you remembered directions. It made you less dependent on your phone. Luckily, you had your wallet on you.

After bidding bye to Fiona, you loaded the two brown bags into the truck. It was then you heard the yowling and the hisses. You saw the small white kitten by the lamppost in the parking. It looked like an Angora. She hurt her leg and was profusely bleeding. Your heart tugged painfully.

You unzipped your coat slightly and carefully lifted her up. She clutched at your shirt, meowing. You rushed to the convenience store inside, scaring sweet Fiona almost to death. You explained about the kitten, and she gave directions to the vet. She even called, telling them you would be coming with an injured cat.

So, you thanked her and decided to walk since it was not far, and the poor kitty seemed far too comfortable in your arms. As soon as you reached the corner house in the location, a young guy and a woman were waiting outside. The woman introduced herself as Darlene. She seemed nice and took the kitten gently from your hands. You waited for a bit while Darlene checked on the injuries.

However, the weirdly creepy receptionist, Mark, seemed to take too much interest in you, and he asked questions. A lot of questions. And he made you pretty uncomfortable. Luckily, Darlene walked out to tell you all was fine and that she would keep a watch on the kitten overnight. You were grateful that it wasn't anything serious. You promised to drop by tomorrow after she said it was okay for you to visit since it was a holiday.

Mark told you he'd walk you to the truck and wouldn't take no for an answer. By some miracle, Darlene understood and called him for something she needed. He begrudgingly got to work, giving you time to escape.

Yeah, it had been one crazy evening. Now that you think of it, the past month has been the same way.

****

In retrospect, it started with you getting buzzed after the Thanksgiving dinner at the compound. The seemingly innocent discussion with Vision about the white hole and string theory shifted to abstract physics. Then, it veered to your favorite multiverse causality, which brought to this discussion about your supersoldiers.

"You have such affection for them," Vision remarked.

"Of course I do," you replied breezily, sipping down the espresso martini. "They're my best friends." You grinned.

Vision tilted his head, studying you, dissecting your thoughts. "It is more than that," he said gently. "You love them. And it transcends friendship."

"What? No," you scoffed, a nervous laugh bubbling up. "That's... I mean, Vision, come on. It's not like that."

You defended, deterred, and denied. And you argued passionately with Vision that he was wrong and entirely out of his depth.

He gave you a smile. "One only argues this fervently when the truth threatens to unravel their carefully constructed narrative. No?"

And the point hit home like Thor's lightning.

Love? That wasn't love. That was friendship. Mutual respect. Admiration, loyalty, and the way they made you feel so cared for, and so so protective, it ought to be friendship! That's all it was. Wasn't it? Friends spend all day, every day together. Friends, just know what you need before you even say it... Friends do that. Totally!

You shook your head, muttering about Vision overanalyzing human emotions, and excused yourself to refill your drink. But his words trailed you, seeping in and breaking every carefully shackled, dreamy thought you occasionally had.

And your eyes landed on them. They were in the kitchen with Sam and Bruce. When your eyes met Steve's, he was already gazing at you. He wiggled your favorite ice cream in his hand, scooped it into a bowl, and winked at you. And Bucky's eyes softened when you met his gaze. He was in a mid-argument with Sam and casually leaned beside Steve, giving you a grin.

Your breath stilled. And something fucking snapped in place, and that realization disrupted everything.

Holy Shit!

Sitting on the nearby couch, you trembled as the flooding thoughts overtook your senses and limbs.

You've been inseparable for years now. You've known Steve even longer since he came out of the ice. Steve and you both were there to help Bucky through his healing. It had been a long journey through ups and downs, but you all were here with a somewhat stable life.

Now, there were times you felt extremely frustrated with the way they treated you, extremely protective and like you were delicate. They were there through your every whim and craziness; likewise, you were there for them. Though initially fostering a crush on both, becoming friends with them sidetracked your crush, or that was what you thought. Apparently not!

That rigid fact of love and its effects took hold of you, and you became even more aware of your predicament as time passed. Your thoughts buzzed as Steve casually sat beside you, eating ice cream while Bucky stole a few spoons from yours. The situation worsened when they fussed over your unusually quiet behavior, asking a hundred and some questions if something happened or if you were falling sick. You pulled yourself together and told them you were fine and downright rejected them staying over.

You woke up drenched that night, not from a nightmare; it was more of a wet dream starring two supersoldiers. What followed was you being hyper-focused on every little thing and how obsessively protective they were with you. And your heart was craving more, basking at their every little action.

It was bad.

And it got worse as the dreams continued and their worry for you catapulted, wondering what's going on with you.

Now, personal space was not a concept with both men. They were practically living two doors away in your apartment complex. And they were always around you.

You were starting to realize how fucked up the situation was. There was no way in the world this could work out. You loved them both. And you were acutely aware of their love for each other. How was this ever gonna work out?

Afraid of losing them, knowing you had no defenses against their piercing awareness of every flicker of your expression and every erratic heartbeat, you decided to take some time away. After all, distance helped you hate your family less. Out of sight, out of mind, right? You thought, why not try?

But it was not that easy to suddenly up and leave. Opportunity came in the form of a mission in Arizona. It was a level-2 mission, a low-level, routine assignment, far below the high-stakes operations you usually handled with the Avengers. Kert Harrison, the mission lead, seemed pleasantly surprised when you volunteered.

You let Steve and Bucky know only after you were strapped into the jet, delivering the news as casually as you could manage: the team needed a tech assistant, and you'd joined at the last minute.

Thus started the careful ghosting.

And the group chat exploded with messages. Bucky demanded the details, cursing up a storm, and you replied, 'Chill out, Sergeant, you know I can't communicate that stuff.'

You've ignored them after that. The mission was simple, walk-in-the-park simple, walk-in-the-house simple. Kept you occupied, though. But once the mission was done, the pit in your stomach grew, and the thought of seeing them terrified you.

"A little more time would help," you told yourself, "Just a little more time to breathe."

Knowing that Captain Softly Stern and Sergeant Toughly Tender would be your doom if you were anywhere close to them in this mindset, you ran for the hills. Quite literally.

Your aunt Ellen had a cabin in a small mountain town in NC. Conveniently, she was in Hawaii, leaving her cabin all alone. So, you decided it could use some company.

You then dropped a vague message telling them your aunt needed you, a family emergency, which was far from the truth.

And it sounded like the perfect Christmas. To be home alone.

But the problem was the cabin was not just lonely. It was alone lonely. The nearest town was 20 minutes away. Decked somewhere in the deep woods, a few other cabins surrounded near the lake. It suited Aunt Ellen, though. She occasionally came up to write or chill from the hustle and bustle of California.

And it didn't help that the whole setting felt like a Stephen King novel waiting to manifest. You couldn't help but internally whimper, but you sucked it up, pushing yourself to make it through.

You ignored the worried calls, always leaving them a text reply with a vaguely convincing excuse.

Guilt burgeoned your chest steadily for not spending Christmas with them. For the past few years, you three cozied up on the winter nights, cooking, baking, arguing, decorating, binge watching & cringe watching and the whole prospect had become a tradition.

Two days before Christmas, Steve had left a message asking if you could make it home. Home. He called it home, and your heart pained.

'Not likely, Steve.' You texted him.

'🥺🥹😭💔' he replied, making you almost break down and cry. He never sent any sort of emojis, and you always teased him about it. 'Emojis do the whole work and some, Steve.' You had told him a long, long while ago.

Steve might have thought this was the time to come after your heart with the series of emojis he sent. You had no guts to reply.

Bucky, however, seemed to stop buying your excuses after you ignored his calls. He stopped calling and texting altogether. It was typical Bucky. He got passively aggressive until you gave in. And you mustered a ton of courage to not just call or text.

Christmas morning, you woke up feeling like the Grinch. The memory of the worst Christmas when you were fourteen has been replaced by Christmas this year. This one felt far worse.

Steve left a voice message. "Merry Christmas, sweetheart. It's not the same without you." He sighed, voice soft and tattered. "We…miss you," his soft, broken voice shattered your heart even more.

Bucky, on the other hand, ignored you royally. But by the afternoon, he left a text with two words, 'Merry Christmas.' And your shattered heart further splintered.

This brilliant need-some-space vacation idea was supposed to be an escape, a way to clear your mind, to get over everything swirling inside. But it was only making things worse. It felt like you were meditating on them, and only them?

Ugh!

You mustered courage and called them that evening. Bucky picked up first, his voice gruff, replies short and clipped. "Fine. You doing good?" You hummed. "How's your aunt?" Steve piped in. They must've put you on speaker.

"She's ok," you said, and before they prodded, you asked them about their day. They mentioned getting your gifts, but other than that, they hadn't done much. The conversation felt hollow, and guilt weighed heavy on you. You felt like the worst person in the world.

Hurriedly, you said your goodbyes, fighting the tears that threatened to spill.

And then, you succumbed to the loneliness that clung to your heart and the messiness that tangled your thoughts. You spent six agonizing days in the cabin in the woods, fighting every instinct to run back to them.

That was a week ago. Seven horrible days ago. Today was New Year's Eve, and you thought you could use some sustenance, but it had already been one hell of a day.

Driving back to the cabin, you felt someone was watching you. You shook it off, chalking it up to the weird encounter with Mark. He'd set your nerves on edge, that's all. And at least the kitten was alright.

Pulling into the cabin's garage, you parked your car, not noticing the unfamiliar vehicle parked on the other side. You made your way to the other side to grab the grocery bags. The cold mountain air nipped at your skin.

The sound of boots against the gravel made you freeze. Your heart slammed into your ribs, and your pulse raced. There were a few other cabins nearby, but why would someone trespass, you wondered.

Was it Mark? Had he followed you? You grabbed the nearest thing within reach, a hammer, from the small wooden table.

The sound of heavy steps approached closer and closer, and you tightened your grip, preparing to swing. You almost threw the hammer, too, but realizing who stood there made you whimper in relief and dread.

"What the fuck? What are you two doing here?" you yelled, confused and rattled.

Steve briskly walked toward you, his expression concerned. "Is that blood?" he asked, his eyes narrowing as he tried to get a look at your neck and hands.

Oh? You glanced at yourself and then up at them.

"Are you hurt?" Steve repeated his question sternly, pulling down the zipper to your jacket, completely unbothered.

"HEY!" You shook your head, stepping away from his hold. At least you tried.

Before you could protest, Bucky came closer, his brow furrowed as he unzipped your jacket, swatting away your tiny hand. Both of them froze, staring at your shirt. You glanced down and groaned. You'd forgotten you were wearing a Captain America T-shirt now covered in blood.

Steve blinked, visibly surprised. They had no idea you owned any Captain America merchandise, let alone a few bobbleheads, one of a metal-armed man and another of the man himself holding his shield, both of which you'd secretly bought earlier this year.

Bucky turned you around, cold fingers holding your chin up, demanding if you were hurt. Your breath hitched, looking up at him. His stubble was slightly grown, and the stressed look on his face made you more worried. You glanced at Steve; he looked like he hadn't slept in days, and his knuckles looked marred like he had been going at the punching bags.

"I'm fine." You whispered, not meeting their gaze and staring at the soft blue undershirt covering Bucky's broad chest. Steve had taken the hammer you still held in your hands and carefully placed them on the table.

"Start talking before you give us a heart attack," he sternly demanded.

You rolled your eyes and cleared your hazy mind. You took a steadying breath before explaining to them that it wasn't your blood and what had actually happened with the kitten, omitting Mark of course. When you finished, you glanced up at them, who looked at you angrily.

Bucky sighed, and he took another deliberate step closer to you. "Family emergency, huh?" he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Then why are you here playing house in the middle of nowhere while your aunt Ellen is in Hawaii?"

Your eyes widened, "How the hell…?" your question faltered on your lips as you caught the guilty look in Steve's eyes while Bucky shrugged smugly.

"Never mind. Don't answer that," you muttered, reminding yourself that you were talking to Captain America & the ex-Winter Soldier.

Steve zipped up your jacket when you shivered from the sudden gust of wind. "Let's go inside," he ordered. You nodded, reaching for the bags, but Bucky was already there, pushing you aside.

"Get your ass inside. I've got them," he grumbled, clearly angry at you for ghosting them.

You walked with Steve and Bucky beside you, fumbling for your keys, but Steve simply pushed the door open. "Don't bother," he mumbled.

"Unbelievable," you muttered. "You pried open the door?" you squeaked.

"Your phone was inside. Your car was outside. No sign of you," Bucky said defensively. "What the fuck did you expect us to do?"

When you glanced at Steve, who tended to be less of a rule-breaking hazard than Bucky, he shrugged, "Oh, I was this close to breaking it down. Thanks to Bucky, we managed to keep it intact." Steve chuckled, holding the door open for you and Bucky to enter.

"Ugh," you groaned, storming into the cabin with them trailing behind.

"Nice shirt, by the way," Steve commented as you walked in, "Didn't know you were a fan."

"Of course you like it," Bucky chuckled, glancing at Steve with that grin you were all too familiar with. Steve straightened up proudly.

"Do you also have a Winter Soldier plushie hiding somewhere? No judgment if you do." Bucky snickered, reaching you, dropping the bags on the counter, and effectively cornering you in the small kitchen.

Your face burned. "It's my aunt's. She's a fan. I found it lying around," you lied poorly.

"Uh-huh," Bucky smirked, and Steve grinned, knowing all the signs fully well.

You cleaned up your hands, washing out the traces of blood here and there. You felt agitated. They were here, the stupidly gorgeous men. Your friends. Your everything. They couldn't possibly understand the volcanic arc stretching your mind right now.

You grabbed a bottle from the neatly stacked row in the cabinet, placed it on the counter, and unscrewed the cap. Sidestepping Bucky, you quickly made your way to the living room. As soon as you sat down, you chugged half the bottle, feeling the cool liquid help clear some of the tension that had been building in your chest.

"What the hell are you two doing here?" you asked, feeling utterly exhausted and emotionally drained.

You heard them approach you as Steve settled beside you and Bucky sat on the wooden coffee table before you. For a split second, you thought it would give away, but the table looked sturdy.

You sighed and refocused on getting your brain to work, but it felt impossible with them so close.

Steve took your left hand into his large, firm grip. He traced his thumb along your wrist, his touch sending waves of warmth flooding through you, and for a moment, your heartbeat stuttered, racing beneath his fingertips. You tried to steady your breath, but it only intensified the sensation.

"What are you doing here, doll?" Bucky asked seriously, and you averted your gaze, trying to pull away your hand from Steve's, but he wouldn't let go.

"Steve," you muttered softly, helplessly, and he reluctantly let go.

"Uh…I…" you started, heart thundering. This was supposed to be your solace, your way out of the whole thing, and here you were being asked to confront. You hated it.

Your head started pounding. You rubbed your fingers to your head.

Bucky stood abruptly. "Alright, sit tight. I'll make you some tea. It'll ease your headache."

"No!" you snapped, your voice rising. "Stop that. Do not make tea."

Bucky froze mid-step, genuinely baffled by your sudden outburst. "Okayyy. No tea," he said slowly, folding his arms. "But I'm not giving you coffee. You'll end up awake all night, and it gives you a stomachache," Bucky argued.

You buried your head in your hands, feeling overwhelmed and helpless. How do you not become hyper-aware of all these little things? How? They never would get it.

Steve leaned closer, still maintaining distance, but his hand caressed your hair, comforting and enraging your senses, "Hey, did you eat anything besides cereal?" he asked, and you looked at him confused.

You couldn't help but scoff internally. How the hell would you know that, Rogers? But you didn't voice your thoughts aloud. Knowing he knew you better.

"Okay, we are not talking until you eat something. Go change, wash up. I'll make you something," he ordered.

With a dejected sigh, you dragged yourself up and headed for the shower.

The shower helped, mostly. It washed away the blood and tiredness, surely, but also washed some of your inhibitions away.

You headed back to the kitchen, where you heard them.

"Slice it, Buck, not Julienne."

"It tastes the same. How does it matter?" Bucky argued.

You couldn't help but chuckle. This was familiar. This felt like home. They were home. And there they were, making sandwiches and looking utterly comfortable, their shoes and jackets discarded. They also looked sinfully hot, those tight undershirts clinging to their muscles, and the agonizing thoughts returned.

"I miss your t-shirt," Steve quipped with a grin, eyeing your plain red t-shirt and leggings as you walked closer. "Again, that's my aunt's. Get over it, Steven." You muttered.

Bucky leaned against the countertop, his intense gaze fixed on yours. You walked up to him slowly.

"Sorry for yelling at you," you told him sincerely. His gaze searched yours, and his insanely pink lips curled into a small smile.

"C'mere," he said, his voice low and warm, pulling you into a hug before you could respond.

You melted into him immediately, feeling the heat of his body against yours, the familiar comfort of his embrace washing over you. That perfect mix of musk and something undeniably Bucky wafted over your senses and calmed the chaos inside your head. You tightened your arms around him, the ache of missing him--of missing them--filling your chest.

You could feel the deep rumble of his chest against your cheek, the sound vibrating through you, sending a warmth that felt grounding and exhilarating. And when he tightened his hold around you, pulling you just a little closer, your breath hitched. You flushed, overwhelmed by the intensity of it.

"'S all good, ok?" he murmured softly, his voice so reassuring it made your heart ache. "Let's eat."

Reluctantly, you pulled away, blinking as you tried to steady yourself, the flood of emotions threatening to spill over.

When you walked towards Steve, he grinned at you, and you leaned your forehead against his large bicep, feeling it flex as he worked. His familiar warmth settled around you.

"I hate it when you don't take care of yourself," Steve said. You stepped away before Steve decided to lecture you more.

You grabbed the plates and started setting them aside, wanting to keep busy to avoid the tension in the room. Your furtive glances toward them didn't go unnoticed. Both Steve and Bucky were quiet as you ate in silence. You hated yourself for not suggesting that you play something on the TV to distract from the discomfiting silence. But you were paralyzed emotionally.

When you tried to clear the plates, Steve gently stopped you. You reluctantly handed him the plates, feeling small in the space between you.

Bucky seemed to notice your unease. "Want to have that tea now?" he asked quietly, his eyes never leaving you. You averted your eyes; instead, you leaned against the wall for support. You nodded in response, trying to pull yourself together but not quite succeeding.

Bucky moved to prepare the tea, and you let yourself stay quiet, not looking at him--at either of them--afraid that if you did, you'd spill everything you'd been trying to hold back.

You felt so pathetic and helpless. Wanting to seek their comfort but feeling that would be unjust.

And you watched Steve walk to you, wiping his hands on the towel before walking closer.

He reached for your hand, his grip warm, and it felt perfectly assuring. You could feel the tension in his fingers, the way he held you as if he already knew the answer to the question he was about to ask.

"Let me ask you something. Did something happen that you're hiding?"

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making it difficult to answer.

The intensity of his look only seemed to make it harder. You shook your head slightly, your voice barely audible as you mumbled, "No."

"Did Buck or I hurt you?"

"No!" you said, loudly and firmly.

"Then why?" His voice softened even further.

You stared at him, feeling the truth stuck in your throat, tangled in a way that made speaking impossible. Your eyes drifted, landing on Bucky, who stood just a few feet away, his posture tense, his eyes flickering between you and Steve.

You couldn't bring yourself to do it. You couldn't say it. You'd spent years building something so beautiful with them, something so right. And if you let it out, if you gave voice to the fear and guilt swirling inside you, everything could come crashing down. What if you lost them? Everything between you, the connection, the love, the trust. What if it all fell apart because you were too weak to keep it together?

That thought should have stopped you, should have held you back.

But the tears welled in your eyes despite your best efforts to hide them. You pressed your palms against your temples, trying to stave off the pressure building inside you. Still, the overwhelming rush of emotion was too much.

"Hey, hey…" Steve's voice was soft, and suddenly, his hands were on you, gently pulling your hands away from your face, coaxing your gaze back to him. His eyes, filled with nothing but tenderness, locked onto yours. "It's okay. Whatever it is, you can tell us. We're not going anywhere. You're not going to lose us."

You couldn't stop the tears from falling now.

You had no idea what to say or what to do next. All you knew was that you had avoided them to overcome the feelings, but here you were, confronting them head-on.

"You've been my home, both of you," you whispered, voice trembling as you looked at Steve and then Bucky. They were both silent and looked almost terrified.

"I was scared when I realized that... that..." You couldn't finish the thought. Steve and Bucky's eyes locked on yours, looking like they were waiting for something.

"I'm scared, selfish, messy, and all complicated," you continued, your voice breaking with every syllable. "I'm not strong enough to lose you both…" You sucked in a shaky breath, fighting to keep your composure. "I'm selfish. To want something I don't deserve. And you might just hate me after I tell you."

You sounded so pathetic to your ears. You couldn't look at them anymore. You couldn't face them. Without thinking, you walked away, stumbling to the drawing room, where you collapsed onto the couch, curling in on yourself. You clutched your t-shirt tightly by the sides and let the tears flow freely, everything from guilt to pain to fear pouring out.

You felt Steve and Bucky both hurry towards you. Steve knelt before you, large palms rubbing your thighs to calm you.

"Look at me," Steve said, voice barely above a whisper. "Say it," his commanding tone was merely begging, pleading.

And you obeyed.

"I can't keep this in anymore, Steve. It's suffocating me. I love you both, and I'm so scared."

You said it, sealed your fate.

For a moment, there was nothing. Complete silence.

You could feel Steve's grip on your legs loosen, his hands falling away slowly as if the weight of your confession had stunned him. Then, Bucky's breath hitched from behind you. His presence shifted, the weight beside you on the couch telling you he sat beside you.

You shut your eyes, silently crying.

You did it. You messed up. Didn't you? You felt ashamed. This was the moment you feared the most. They'd never look at you the same way. You'd ruined everything.

"Do you think I'd let just anyone touch my hair?" Bucky asked, his voice low and trembling. You looked up, confused. What did that have to do with what you said?

"What?" You managed hoarsely.

"You," he said, his deep blue eyes locking onto yours. "I let you cut my hair. I hate when anyone touches it but with you... it's different. It's always been different."

"Bucky..." you whispered, but he didn't let you interrupt.

"I loved you the moment you held me close after that nightmare in Wakanda. Do you remember that? I was a mess, and you just… didn't let go. Not until I could breathe again. I broke your finger by mistake at how tight I held you." His voice broke, and he swallowed hard.

"I love Steve. I've always loved him. And then... I loved you, too. It scared the shit out of me, but it's the truth." Bucky sniffled, and continued, "Ever since Thanksgiving, you've been distant, and I was terrified, thinking I'd done something terrible and lost you forever. And it fucking hurts, sweetheart."

Your breath caught in your throat. You stood up, stumbling ungracefully as you stepped away, needing to breathe. Bucky moved behind you, his hands on your arms, steadying you. You let him hold you. He tugged you closer, your back against his strong chest, his arms winding on your stomach, letting you put all your weight onto him, effectively calming you.

Steve stepped forward, holding something small in his hand. Your eyes widened as he held up a familiar notebook.

"Do you remember this?" he asked softly.

You nodded, stunned. That's the tiny notebook you gave to him. Years ago, right after he came out of the ice.

Steve opened the notebook and flicked through the pages. Your breath hitched as you saw it filled with sketches of you, Bucky, and moments you'd shared.

"You told me to fill it with things I wanted to remember," Steve said, his voice warm and full of emotion. "But all I could think about was you. I was so scared to feel love again. I loved Bucky for so long, and then you came into my life, and I... I didn't know how to go about it."

Steve exchanged a brief, meaningful glance with Bucky. His eyes softened as he continued, "But then Bucky returned, and I realized he felt the same. I've never been very religious, doll, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't pray for this every darn day."

Bucky chuckled softly, the sound deep and reassuring. "Believe me, we'd be a mess without you," he said, gently kissing your hair. "I love you," he murmured.

"I love you," Steve echoed, gently kissing your cheek.

You blinked rapidly and your mind was reeling. The world seemed to stop around you. Your heart raced, and your breath caught in your throat as you processed their words. But then, confusion took over.

"I... I don't understand. I can't choose," you stammered, your heart torn between the joy and the overwhelming fear of what this meant.

"You don't have to," Bucky said firmly, lips touching your right ear sensually, sending shivers down your spine. "Steve and I are a package deal. You get him, you get me, and vice versa. Take it or leave it. Actually, scratch that. Just take it."

Your lips parted in disbelief, and looked at Steve. He nodded, looking at you hopefully. You let out a nervous chuckle.

"What did you put in that sandwich? I think I'm high," you mumbled, laughing softly.

Steve smirked, his eyes twinkling joyfully. "Apart from Bucky's horribly chopped tomatoes, nothing you don't like," he teased. He crouched slightly to kiss you softly. Just a barely present touch, but it lit a fire so quickly that you trembled. He tasted perfect, just like him, soft and manly.

Bucky followed suit, twirling you in his arms, lifting you to his level, his kiss more fervent, grounding you. He tasted musky and familiar, spicy and so so him.

You pulled back, wide-eyed, your heart racing.

"Oh, boy," you whispered, a dazed smile across your face.

The distant sound of fireworks startled you, and the three of you turned toward the window. Faint remnants of flickering lights lit up the sky. The neighbors must have set the fireworks on the lake.

"Happy New Year," Steve said softly, his hand finding yours and Bucky's.

"Happy New Year," Bucky echoed, his metal arm wrapping around your waist.

Happy New Year, indeed!

And tomorrow, you'd text your aunt out of courtesy, letting her know you have visitors over, while keeping all the lewd details to yourself. Then, you'd go to the vet to check on the kitten, which the three of you decide to adopt and name her Alpine. A purrfect New Year, indeed!

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