#did I mention that i finally watched season 2?

[diwatopia]

★ pass on ; remus lupin.

info: comfort, ghost!remus lupin x gn!reader, under 1k. warnings: ghosts, mention of dead body, amateur detective!reader lol.

you live with a ghost, more specifically the ghost of one remus lupin.

if we're being completely honest, you're not even sure how you can see him, let alone live with the poor sod. he's sweet though, probably the sweetest man you've lived with, even if it's against both of your wills.

"what movie are we watching tonight, dovey?" he asks, hovering over the chipped wood of the apartment's floorboards.

he sits next to you on the sofa, limbs something akin to what a tangled mess with yours would look like. "hm, no movie tonight. maybe good omens, how does that sound?" you whisper, lazily curling into his side, well as best as you can manage, that is.

"sounds perfect. been meaning to re-watch season two by now," he hums in agreement, cheeks puffed out like a child as he exhales deeply.

"should we watch a season one refresher?" you ask with a cheeky grin and remus knows this smile all too well. it's more of a 'let's-rewatch-our-favorite-show-again-even-though-we-did-a-watchathon-weeks-ago' type of grin.

he snorts, shrugging. "not like i have much to do outside of the apartment anyways." he attempts to joke but it falls flat, his eyes drooping in disappointment at the remembrance of his ghostly being.

there's nothing that stops the frown from melding itself onto your lips, gazing up at him with an empathetic coo.

"we'll get a break in the case soon, rem." you whisper, tilting your head up to look at him with an assuring expression. you scramble to pause the intro that plays on the telly.

remus sighs, "i-i don't remember anything at all though. it's difficult to remember those last moments, let alone where my body is. maybe... we should give up, dove." his voice cracks slightly, as if about to cry but he quickly covers it up like he was clearing his throat.

"no, absolutely not. i'm not giving up on you, let alone stopping you from finally resting after all these years. you deserve it, remus." you urge, attempting to hold his hand but your very much alive body just glides right past his, your grimace matches his.

silence blankets over the apartment like a thick quilt, slightly suffocating yet so unbelievably warm that perhaps you wouldn't mind not leaving if it meant being this cozy with remus.

"i won't give up on you," you repeat.

remus catches your fixed look on him, crooked smile barely gracing his lips but hey, a smile nonetheless. "there's my rem..." you coo softly, watching as his cheeks turn a soft strawberry hue.

"i'll get you out of here," you assure him one last time.

★ diwa's notes: haiii sorry for this late ass post, i've been (tw: depression) mega uber super duper depressed but i'm trying to get back into wanting to write. perhaps i'll do a pt 2 for this??? idkkkk

© hobietopia 2024.

[penguin251159]

📺 9 favorite tv shows that I watched (for the first time) in 2023 🍿

Thanks for tagging me @elliecreed! 🤩😁 Yeah...this one was kinda tough cause I'm sooooo behind on everything lol. There's too many things I want to watch that I end up not watching much of anything new 🙃 but anyways!

1. The Last Of Us

2. Fargo (s5)

3. The Uncanny Counter (s2)

4. Beyond Evil

5. Our Dining Table

6. My School President

7. Wednesday

8. Home Economics

9. Stay With Me

If anyone sees this and wants to fill it out, consider yourself tagged! I need to add more shows to my ever growing must watch list lol

[sateurn]

😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

These sobs really limited my tags?????

I have so many more thoughts this is so so much less than 1/2. Broski. Big dislike

[coco-loco-nut]

Revelations

pairing: Daniel x reader

summary: Daniel casually mentions his wife after 11 YEARS OF THEIR RELATIONSHIP. Danny Ric comeback. 2025 season, he is back on rbr

request are open pookie masterlist part 2

—————————

Being an engineer for Red Bull was something else. You have been with them since you graduated college, and truthfully you never want to leave, the team is your family, having been with them for 11 years.

You met your husband through your job, both starting at the ripe old age of 23, and despite the potential HR violations, Christian Horner practically set the two of you up on a date after being oblivious about each other’s crushes. Thus began Red Bull’s best kept secret.

“Happy 10 years, Danny,” you kiss your husband, him watching you analyze data. Christian made him promise to never use you as a mole, and the two of you very quickly agreed. Even when he was on Renault and McLaren, work talk was kept quiet. Daniel had a great season last year and was brought back to Red Bull Racing, Christian promoted you to be his race engineer, knowing Daniel would listen to you.

“Happy 10 years, my love,” he hugs you tight. Your children are home in Australia with their grandparents for the weekend.

“Good morning, Ricciardos. Happy wedding anniversary,” Christian greets you, sitting for the pre-race meeting. Christian celebrates your wedding anniversary almost as much as you do, but he is a part of the family. He officiated your wedding at this track 10 years ago today, and he is the godfather of your eldest.

“Good morning, I printed out some data sheets so we can determine strategy. I noticed some unusual tyre degradation, while it could be from the unusually high track temperatures yesterday, it is something we should plan for today,” you start, passing out the papers. Daniel will never not be able to admire you. Sometimes he misses what people say because he stares at you, the exact reason Christian helped get you two together.

“Let’s grab some coffee then go on a track walk,” Daniel holds his hand out to you after the strategy meeting, you happily take it. After your lap around the track, you meet with the other engineers while Daniel warms up and does media. As you are watching the F2 race for valuable data, someone from PR comes over to you.

“Watch this clip,” she says and you oblige.

Daniel, you seem in better spirits than usual, care to share?

I don’t know mate, I am usually a pretty happy person.

Here I was thinking that maybe you finally had a girlfriend

Nah, I don’t think my wife would be happy about that… I wasn’t really supposed to say that. If you are watching, sorry! I’ll make it up to you, love.

Well, I hope there isn’t a couch in your future. Good luck today.

Thanks, but she’s put up with me for 11 years, I doubt there will be a couch in the future.

“Oh, he might have the couch tonight,” you laugh a little, honestly surprised it took 11 years for him to accidentally say something.

“Looking back at all the photos, he is wearing a wedding ring, how did we not see that?” You hear one of the Mercedes drivers say outside the garage.

“You saw the video?” Daniel asks as you playfully glare at him.

“I did. I have a winning strategy for you, so maybe you can move off the couch tonight. Lose and you stay there longer,” you tease. Being his race engineer helps so much because you can subtly say things and no one picks it up, and any interactions between you seem normal.

“Yes, Mrs. Ricciardo,” he smiles and goes to get changed for the race.

Last car in, good luck Daniel

I don’t need luck, I have you guiding my race

Ok, Daniel, whatever you say

The strategy works out well, and planning for the hotter heat was a smart move. Christian hasn’t told you not to race with Max, so you push Daniel for the overtake.

“Come on, honey badger,” you whisper. Daniel has had the better strategy and better pacing, all day so he easily overtakes and keeps the lead through the final five laps.

Okay Daniel, last lap, Verstappen behind, keep the pace.

Does this mean I’m off the couch?

Focus.

Sorry.

And that’s P1, P1 very good, Daniel. Red Bull 1-2. You are officially off of the couch.

LET’S GO! Thank you team! I couldn’t have done it without you guys. Thanks for the brilliant strategy, and for letting me off the couch. Best wife ever.

Mhmm. Happy 10 years. Parc Ferme is clear for you, pull in so the team can celebrate.

Let’s just say that F1 TV streaming your radio broke the internet, and the drivers when they all got out of their cars and into the garages. You followed the team to wear Daniel was parking and the team pushed you to the front. Daniel celebrated there with the team, taking his helmet off and kissing you. The team wolf whistles around you.

“Go to the podium, we will celebrate with you there,” you push him in the direction of where he needs to go. Unknowingly to Daniel, Red Bull chooses you to represent them for the Constructors Trophy.

“Mate, how did you keep that a secret?” Oscar asks Daniel in the debrief room.

“It wasn’t much of a secret. Everyone in Red Bull knows most of the relationship,” Max says and Daniel nods along.

“Honestly, I don’t know how people didn’t know,” Daniel laughs. The FIA tells them to start heading out to the Podium and Daniel searches the crowd for you when he steps out, but can’t find you. He’s shocked but extremely delighted when you step out and stand beside Oscar for the Constructors trophy. The mischievous glint in his eye is a loud warning that you will be sprayed with champagne. You happily stand through the national anthems, clap when Daniel is handed the trophy, and beam with joy as you are handed the second trophy. Soon enough you are presented with champagne and the go ahead to spray it is given.

“Max!” you squeal and hide behind him as you both spray Daniel.

“Quit hiding my wife!” Daniel laughs and in a split second, your cover is gone as Max moves to spray Oscar. You and Daniel both pour the champagne in each other’s mouth.

“Ew, that’s almost as bad as if you guys were to kiss,” Max laughs. Daniel gives you a devilish smile, pulling you close to him and capturing you lips with his.

“The kids are going to be so grossed out,” you laugh and Oscar looks almost horrified.

“THE KIDS?!”

[kithtaehyung]

broken, pt. 1 (3tan) | myg

title: broken (pt. 1) 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 rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , fluff ; brother’s best friend au, implied age gap au summary: chilling conversations prolong things even further… until everything goes to hell. note: this is only one half of what was supposed to be a whole chapter! broken, pt. 2 will come out after i've had time to make it something i'm proud of. trying to rush everything out didn't do any favors, so hilariously and ironically, broken is broken up into two hahaha. warnings: language, angst, tension, yoongi’s pov is longgg, alcohol consumption, tobacco mentions, bro🥲, yoongi in the studio😩, the studio boys make another appearance👀, …someone else makes their first appearance👀👀, scuffles, tense situations, did i say angst?, water bottles get their own warning, long hair yoongi, basketball yoongi🫠, crying, bro a ha ha, jimin has tats and he’s not afraid to show them, the chains stay on(???), …bad boy yoongi😀👍, honestly he is on another level of warning here don’t perceive me💀, the fluff is fluffing here like what, backstory we’ve been waiting for😗, yoongi on the phone, hand holding :’)), kissing :’)), oh god the kissing❤️‍🩹, there’s just a lot in both parts i'm sorry y'all playlist: broken (lp) drop date: dec 3rd, 2023, 4:00pm est word count: ...19.1k 🚶‍♀️

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Words abandon you.

They stand far from your form, pitying observers of your decaying state in front of the man you’ve been lying to. At once, you feel completely alone, not even Yoongi’s lingering presence helping when those eyes are piercing through time and space. Everything you’ve experienced over the past two years slings across your vision, from the first time you left your house in the pouring rain to get to Yoongi’s, to the car ride back you just took with his kiss still on your lips. 

All of those moments shattering into dust around your heels. 

Your feet make lines in them when you move to close the front door, something leaving your mouth before you can judge if it makes sense, “About what?” 

Zero sense. Absolute zero sense. Which your brother has absolute zero patience for. The drone in his question hits you like a punch to the gut, “Really.” 

“Just out late, is all,” you grumble, trying your best to not acknowledge an atmosphere so tense it’s almost crowded. “Jimin had another party, remember?” 

“Course I do.”

Huh? Wait. Why does he sound so—

“I was there.”

Dread launches up your veins, rocketing right to your heart in the middle of a pulse. He was there? You saw his car when Yoongi pulled up close to the house. He was there? When the fuck did he arrive? Oh, fuck, if he got there early enough… did he see you… and Yoongi…

No. There’s no way. Because one, Yoongi parked far down and around the corner. He made sure not to be close just in case you two could be spotted. 

With a thought you really cannot afford right now, you also assume he stayed that distance just so that he could pin you against his car. Fucking hell, focus! Upping the strength of your resolve to match cardboard, you lamely stall in your hunt for clarification, “You were?” 

“I was.” 

The watch on his wrist glints in its twist. When aggravated veins stare back at you, it’s obvious your brother is on the edge. Because he is deathly calm. “So where’d you go?” 

You blink, not having expelled a single breath since you stepped foot inside. 

Does he not know? Or does he know and he’s just waiting for you to finally spill? With all the hope in the universe, you yearn for it to be the first one. Because you cannot deal with a fallout right now. Not right after what happened with Yoongi. 

It’s just not the right time. 

“Yuri’s,” you blurt, finally kicking into gear and strategizing how you’re gonna finesse this. “She came and got me.” 

Your sibling just stands there, eyes a solid beam before he sighs at clasped wrists. 

Here it comes. He’s gonna ask why you didn’t say anything. Like he always does because for some reason you’re still not a true adult to him and he has to keep tabs on you at all times and you can’t just sneak around with his best friend in peace—

“K.” Your eyes shake once. “Just tell me next time.” 

And just like that, your brother vacates the foyer, dark dress shoes clacking as he retreats back into his room. Leaving you standing in silence. 

All the words around you just as speechless. 

Just like that, you’re gone again.

After watching you leave and wishing you didn’t have to, Yoongi shuts his door to rest ponderous thoughts on worn wood. Eyes closed and a storm on his mind’s horizon.

Just a little longer. He hopes you’ll understand. This is just something he needs. More than anything else. 

Exhausted, he peels himself from the door, meandering through the bog of his living room. Trudge, trudge, trudge to the dining table, skirting fingers along the edge and noting that it feels different than before. 

At least something in his apartment has changed for the better. 

Who would’ve thought that table would witness both an end and a beginning. That it would see the worst and best of him. If it was ever called to stand, there’s no doubt that it could recite all his failures and shortcomings. But he hopes that it would also attest to how much he’s fucking tried. 

As much as Yoongi wants to throw it out, he hasn’t. Because despite being withered to hell, all it needed to recover was the new company of a familiar face. 

And a little bit of summer rain. 

It watches as his thoughts move on, and soaks in the blues and pinks of sunrise as he crosses into the bedroom. At the feel of your lingering presence, Yoongi gnaws on his lip. 

What the fuck does he do now? The moment you leave, he wants nothing more than to have you back in his bed. It’s the one fact that he has come to fully acknowledge. Because there are many times you’ve caught him slipping. But when you’re lost to your dreams? Visibly at peace and safe under his sheets? That’s when he can’t even think straight. 

How your serenity throws him into disarray, Yoongi has no fucking clue.

But he can’t afford these feelings right now. Because how can he want you close while being the reason for this distance? Make it make sense. Don’t be a fucking hypocrite. Tsking, Yoongi once again accepts the consequences, heading to his bathroom before going back the fuck to sleep. 

Lies. Who is he kidding? There’s no way his rest will be the same without you. Especially since he doesn’t know when he’ll get to see you next. 

There is a way to remedy that. To put an end to your time apart. But Yoongi’s been so in his fucking head that it’s chaining him down and pulling taut. No matter how much he struggles, he can’t break free, and it’s driving him to the brink.

But last night? With you? Half moons mar his palms as he stands. Staring. Branding that whole memory into his heart.

After three months of questioning his existence. 

All it took was your soft hums to give him a reason. 

And you won’t ever know how much that meant to him. Not until Yoongi finally decides to tell you. Which will most likely be never. Maybe that’s why this time tears at his chest more than all the others. Maybe that’s why he stood in his doorway longer than usual. Maybe that’s why he can’t quite carry the weight in his chest.

Dumping himself on dark mountains—creations of his and your design—Yoongi buries his face in those valleys. Inhales those aromas like some hit he can live off of for however many days left he needs. 

Desperately grasping for a fading world where only you two exist. Drifting. Dreaming. Disarmed by a vibration on his nightstand.

The fuck.

Who is texting him this early. There are only a few people he has notifications on for wait it’s probably you saying you’re home.

Peeling himself off the sheets with a groan, Yoongi simply shifts his upper body to reach for his phone, squinty-eyed as he checks his screen.

And he doesn’t see your name.

Dumbass: 1 New Message

But your brother’s.

What the hell does he—

Dumbass [07:30]: We need to talk.

…Shit.

Yoongi grips his phone in panic, ice water streaming through his veins and mind set ablaze with potential scenarios.

He’s awake. You went home. And he’s awake. Fuck, did anything happen? Did you say anything? What are the chances this text means he found everything out? 

Shit. 

Does Yoongi answer now? Or does he sleep and pretend that this is just a text and isn’t a problem at all? Think. Your brother may not even be referencing you, or him. Right? It could be something completely different. 

Why can’t he fucking move? 

Every regret Yoongi’s kept at bay floods his brain, crashing into assumptions of your mental state and creating a massive whirlpool of dread. Just answer. Don’t answer. Just answer. Don’t fucking answer. Suddenly, another alert lights his home screen and it’s a call oh fuck—wait… It’s Jungkook? 

Why not. Sure. What’s one more issue. 

Picking up, Yoongi runs hard fingers through his hair as he answers.

“Hey, you coming?”

“Huh?”

“We have that session in thirty.”

The what. The session? Oh, fuck. The session. Yoongi completely forgot they had a recording booked today because they were so hyped last night to get a date for the release party shit. Vacating his bed, Yoongi answers with a low, “Yeah, I’ll be there.” 

“Yeah, don’t be late. It’s those guys from before.” 

Fuck, it’s that one. The dudes that stopped by the studio just as things were wrapping up, shocking everyone when they scheduled some time. Highly successful musicians and performers booking something with a no name studio? Things are rolling in the right direction and coming along fast. 

But as things go. If they don’t take this shit seriously, everything can crash just as quickly.

“Heading out,” Yoongi finally says as he yanks a hoodie from his closet, and a loud vibration against his ear makes him flinch. 

Dumbass [7:40]: Heading over

Fuck!

“You okay?” 

“Shit, yeah.” Yoongi grips soft material before his phone hits his desk with a thump. Hastily dressing, he grunts, “Maybe. Might be like two minutes late.” 

“Nah, come now.” 

He’s heading over? Your brother? If that’s the case, there’s no way he doesn’t know. 

Fuck, relax. Don’t overthink. If anything, there wouldn’t have even been a heads-up. Yoongi figures he’d just find out as soon as he’s thrown against a wall. Or the ground. Or right onto his coffee table that this very guy helped pick out. Shit, he needs to know but he doesn’t wanna find out. 

But nevermind him. Are you okay? Swiping his device, Yoongi quickly types a text before fast-walking out of his room, going on autopilot when he assures into his receiver, “I’ll get there.” 

Yoongi [7:42]: Going to the studio

“On time? You better!”

Goddamn, he’s juggling too much right now. 

As Yoongi breaks into the dining room, he hears a rustling on the line before other voices jut through the speaker. Sounds like Hobi and Joon are already there, and the next thing said further spikes his stress level another peak, 

“We’re already cutting it close with the prep.” 

Fucking hell, the prep. The mics, the tracks, the setup. They forgot to do all of it. Something inside of him starts snarling and almost pounces through the phone, “Fuck, we should’ve been ready already.” 

“Shit, I know.” 

“We can’t keep doing this.” 

“Dude, relax, I get it.” 

“Do you? Cus this is… Fuck.” 

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll get it done but it’s gonna be tight. Hey, where’s the… Damn it, what’s it called?”

Frustrated and rummaging through his pantry, Yoongi knows he sure as hell didn’t think about anything else as soon as he heard you crying on the line. If he had remembered while leaving the studio, he could’ve spared a brain cell to rush everyone back in. “The what.” 

“The… The overhead mic for the drums.” 

Of course, he’d repeat every decision he made last night. Over, and over, and over again. But any of them should’ve remembered this step before leaving, which pisses him off. The studio’s lack of experience is showing and it’s making him nervous. 

And Yoongi still doesn’t know what’s going on with his best friend. 

“We need two overheads for drums,” he corrects while swiping a water bottle from the counter. And he’s about to rattle off where they are when he feels another long buzz. 

Dumbass: Incoming Call 

Of fucking course. 

Mind whirring so hard he can feel steam, Yoongi quickly recalls where the mics are, “They’re somewhere in the back by the amps, but I gotta take this so I’ll see y’all there.” 

“Wait, where are the—”

Nope. Kook’s just gonna have to figure out whatever he’s asking on his own. Switching calls, Yoongi answers while opening his door, hastily putting out the food and water he grabbed from the kitchen. 

“Hey.” Fuck, is his voice shaking? What the hell is he gonna be faced with in the next few seconds? Can he freeze time and rewind and keep last night on repeat? “I’m about to head out.” 

“Don’t leave yet, I’m coming.” 

“No, just”—Yoongi dashes back inside before grabbing his wallet and keys from the bar—“You good? I can’t be late.” 

“Don’t lie. Y’all are done, right?” 

Don’t lie. Yoongi feels like hurling. 

“We got another project,” he huffs as he meets sunrise again, blazing a trail through his corridor and rounding the corner to his car. “A band’s coming in for a session.”

“Shit.”

There’s a pause on the line. And it’s the first bit of silence Yoongi’s had since he got the first bone-chilling text. Is his secret safe? Are you okay? Should he work extra late and run from a problem yet again? He’s very good at that. Running. If there was a medal for distance ran from issues, he’d be on the podium for both gold and silver.

“Okay, fine.” 

Relief is temporary. This could just be him biding his time in order to figure out what to do. Or maybe he truly doesn’t know what’s going on and Yoongi has a bit more uninterrupted time with you. 

Delusion is a great place to stay.

In any case, his friend’s behavior is alarming. What’s he doing up this early? And why is he wanting to swing by so bad if not to slice him into tiny pieces? Nerves slow on the downslope, Yoongi shuts his car door and lends his ear, “But serious, are you okay?”

“I just… Tch. I can’t even say it.”

He lets his friend go through a series of small sounds on the line, pulling out of the lot and hitting the road with tire squeaks. “What’s up,” he finally pushes, looking sideways and remembering the car ride home. 

There was no way Yoongi was gonna say no to you. He didn’t in this universe, and he’d bet his whole life he doesn’t in any other one, either. Not when your wings looked like you hadn’t used them in months.    

Pained, Yoongi hopes you’re completely fine and sleeping. Tucked away in a bed that captured part of his heart, visiting him in your dreams so that some version of him can be at your side. 

“Everything, Yoong.” 

But, as it so starkly turns out, he has to deal with reality. And with the fact that you’re just as far away as you were before last night. Maybe even further out of reach. 

So, so far away. 

“There’s a ton of shit, but. Fuck. Guess we’ll have to wait.”

Right now, deal with the studio prep and get through the session that will probably take awhile. After that, meet up with your brother and hope to god he doesn’t know. “K.”

“Just lemme know when you get back.”

Then, when all of that is done, Yoongi will be alone. Staring into the night and trying his hardest not to give up on himself again. “Yeah, I will.” 

“No running.”

“K.”

When the call ends, Yoongi lets out the harshest breath he’s ever let out in his life. Hoping you went right to sleep without dealing with any of that. 

“How did that sound?” 

Looking into the recording room, Yoongi raises a thumbs up as Hoseok clicks back to the beginning of the track. At their side, Namjoon hits a button on the console before speaking into a microphone, “Y’all wanna come hear it?” 

“We can move on. Wanna get the doubling done.” 

Huh? They’re gonna move onto vocal doubling already? With a few blinks, Yoongi think it’d be better if they—

“Okay!” Jungkook agrees from the couch, cutting out any other thoughts. “If any of you need adjustments, let us know.” 

“Yeah, actually, can one of you come switch this out?” 

Joon throws a suggestion over his shoulder, but Yoongi is already heading for the booth before his name is even mentioned. 

Get everything done smooth. Stay disciplined. Be professional, goddamn it.

Entering the soundproofed room will always make him want to occupy the mic instead. That feeling hasn’t gone away, and there have been countless nights where he’s spent time just sitting in this very space, visualizing what it would be like to work on this side of the glass someday. Deep down, Yoongi knows he could be somebody. But imposter syndrome runs deep. 

Avoiding cables strewn about the room, he offers his hands without a word, taking a guitar from the lead singer and making his leave—

“Hey.” He turns. “You’re good.” 

What? Where the hell did that come from? Did he even hear this guy right or was he just daydreaming again? Yoongi’s so thrown he can only stare with question marks for eyes. 

Amused, the singer simply points to the side of his beaming countenance. “You have an ear.” 

Huh. How the hell can this dude tell? All Yoongi’s done is indicate if a recording take was good or not, and given a few minuscule suggestions to the keyboardist and guitarist—instruments he’s well-versed in. 

Yet again, he’s so in his head that the man outright laughs, “Relax! You can talk to us like normal, you know. None of us care about etiquette shit.” 

“Shit, my bad,” Yoongi finally responds, instrument in his hands proving a little lighter. “Thanks.” 

“Of course.” Swishing long bangs to the side, the performer rests a hand on his hip. “We’re open to anything. We’d just tell you if your opinion sucks.” 

Eyes creasing with his lips, Yoongi puffs out a laugh. 

“Kidding. Only a little.”

Even though these people are world-renowned, they’re the first humble group to run through the studio. Everyone else has been either cocky, standoffish, or super opinionated, which made for unproductive hours.

Yoongi likes this change of pace. His shoulders start to feel composed, less scrunched than they had been since you left his place this morning. Comforted, he looks down at the guitar in his fingers.

Choosing not to say what he wants to. 

Should he? Nah. These guys know what they’re doing. Despite the nice offer to speak up, it’s not his place. Far from it. 

…But what would you tell him to do? What would you be proud of?

Committed to his answer, Yoongi grips the neck and decides without another thought, 

“Do the chorus again.” 

The whole studio stills. But all he’s looking at is the man in front of him, shaking his head when they ask, “Same way?” 

“Uhm. No.” As he hands the guitar back, Yoongi wordlessly checks if he can see the sheet music. When given the go-ahead, he scans the lines before pointing out a passage to note, 

“Mm. Here. Vocals are fine as is, but. Ride the build-up quicker and hit the next chord after a bit longer.” When he stops, he has to fight to ignore the eyes on him. There’s no doubt that his extended time in the recording room is being questioned, and his hand movements probably make him look stupid. “It’ll keep in time but hit harder.” 

Done. He said it. 

And the response that follows puts complete silence to shame. 

Instantly self-conscious, Yoongi swears he can hear Hobi’s pants shift in the control room through two closed doors shit he took it too far. Fuck, if these guys walk out now the studio is done for and he’ll be the only reason why—

“Well, goddamn. Let’s try that then.” 

Huh. They’re gonna take that?��

As he steps away, Yoongi feels slightly awkward doused in attention. Yeah, expressions seem like looks of approval, but they could just be polite. 

The man hums the chorus with Yoongi’s notes in mind, and his eyebrows tick a bit before he addresses the others in the room, “You heard him?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Yeah, we can try that.”

“Why didn’t you think of that, Woosung?”

Yoongi can’t keep his amusement under wraps as the singer laughs, addressing his keyboardist with a grin, “Damn, not even Sammy? Straight to Woosung, huh.”

“Sammy would’ve thought of it.”

Another bout of mirth spreads joy around the recording booth, and Yoongi shares a look with the singer before they both nod. 

“Let’s see how it sounds.” 

“K.”

Proud and adrenaline-filled, he turns to walk back to the door, head so buzzed he doesn’t know what to do. But when Yoongi can’t see into the control room anymore, he misses a stare through the glass.

A stare that lingers on him just a little too long. 

The rest of the session goes smooth, and Yoongi’s relieved that they haven’t asked him for anything else. 

After all. He doesn’t wanna push it, or step on Jungkook’s toes. What happened in the recording room only went down because you would have scolded him for not seizing that moment. And the suggestion he gave was lauded after the next take.

It was the first time since you kissed him goodbye that he felt a healthy pulse in his chest. Despite the chaos of the morning, amid the thoughts and worries penetrating his brain, you reached out and kept him steady in just the right moment. 

Fuck being his good luck charm. You give guardian angels shame and you don’t even know it. 

“Okay, we’ll take ten after this.”

Jungkook holds up an arm while agreeing, “Okay! We’ll save what we got!” 

Yoongi’s scanning the tracks when he feels hovering over his shoulder, and he already knows it’s the kid without looking. “Sup.”

“Nothing.”

“You sure.”

At this, Jungkook pauses before he sighs. “Yeah, it’s nothing,” he clearly lies. 

But Yoongi will let him figure out whether to run with that or not. He seems a little bothered about something, and it very well could be what happened in the booth. This is work, and they’re both adults. If he wants to talk about something, Yoongi will gladly have that conversation. 

Suddenly, a vibration erupts in his hoodie pocket, and his phone is fished out without him even thinking. 

Hustler: Incoming C—

Shit. You wouldn’t call him at work unless it’s urgent. Which is quickly throwing any possible theories about your brother not knowing out the window. 

But fuck, he can’t answer yet. There’s no way. Not only is he in very close range to someone you don’t wanna speak to right now, but he’d get blasted for being on his phone during a session. Hoping you can wait just two more minutes, Yoongi turns the buzzing off within his hoodie pocket, anxiously waiting for the take to start. 

Hoping to everything that Jungkook didn’t happen to see what was on his screen. 

As soon as everyone looks pleased—three takes and thirty minutes later—Yoongi quickly excuses himself from the control room. His head practically overheats on the way out back, but the gust of morning breeze serves to soothe it some. 

It’s been chilly lately. A bit grey. But whatever the weather has been outside, it’s no match for the atmosphere of his brain. 

Pulling his hood over hair he hasn’t cut in months, Yoongi looks around before ringing you up. Hoping that you’re good and didn’t have to go through a version of his panic earlier. 

Hustler: Outgoing Call 

Straight to voicemail? Shit.

Hustler: Outgoing Call

Fuck, still voicemail. Are you okay? On the phone with someone else? Did your brother actually end up finding out and things are worse than he thought? Clutching his phone, Yoongi glances up while giving it slight shakes, body on alert while deciding what the hell to do now. 

Maybe he can at least text you to ask what the hell happened this morning? Typing. Erasing. Retyping. Retrying. 

Yoongi [9:02]: Got a session today, doll. 

That’s what he had to say? That won’t do you any good, the fuck? Berating himself with a sigh, he takes a few steps while texting a follow-up. 

Yoongi [9:03]: Still going, but are you good?

Staring, it takes him a few seconds to decide if this is enough. If these two messages are gonna suffice to help him figure out what the hell he’s getting into later. 

It’s not. There’s too much he needs to know. 

Hustler: Outgoing Call 

When it doesn’t ring a third time, Yoongi gives up, cursing before turning and raking his hood off in distress.

Only to see Woosung materializing out of nowhere—relaxed, silent, and taking a drag. 

Shit. How much of that did he witness?

“Been there,” the man empathizes, blowing out smoke into crisp morning. After a swell of early traffic fills the alleyway, he continues, “In trouble?”

Great. With a sound of dejection, Yoongi answers to a stack of random boxes, “Might be.” 

“Don’t wanna commit anymore?” 

“I do,” Yoongi blurts without hesitation, looking right into eyes that have seen plenty more than he has. 

And it’s the first time he’s admitted anything out loud. To a stranger miles above him in status, no less. Hands stuffed in his pockets, he clarifies, “It’s just… There’s something I need to do first.” 

Wait a sec. Why the fuck is he talking about this so freely? This isn’t something he does. Privacy is practically his brand. So why is it easy to talk to this guy? It’s him, for fuck’s sake. But what’s done is done. Woosung probably won’t even remember this conversation even happened, or is already annoyed as hell he didn’t get a good read on him. 

To Yoongi’s surprise, his alley companion speaks again after another white wisp. “Mmm… Something you need to do?”

Well. Yoongi walked right into this one. Swallowing and knowing he can’t dip out, he sighs, “Some shit I wanna finish.” The smell of tobacco wafts around him when he looks at dulled skies. “Shit I need to get through.” 

An amused hum floats through empty space. “Been there, too.” 

Yoongi slowly turns to regard his client, watching as Woosung becomes very interested in wet concrete.

What kind of shit has this guy seen? Surely, he could have had some of the same experiences. The slight droop in his confident shoulders tells enough. But would he understand the exact same situation? 

No. At least, Yoongi hopes not. Quite fucking frankly, he hopes no one has had to go through the same shit that he has. 

“Let me know if you ever need help,” Woosung offers, shocking Yoongi to the point of speechlessness. As he drops his cigarette to squash it out, he runs a hand through wild dark locks. “We’ll be around again.” 

Wait. What? Yoongi can only blink. “Serious?”

“Yeah.” The man looks down the outside corridor, watching as people start heading to their jobs through a central courtyard. “Got a good feeling about this place.”

What does he mean by that. What can Woosung possibly mean by that what does he mean they’ll be back? To the studio? To the city? What’s happening. Yoongi simply lets a pause prevail before offering the only response he’s capable of,

“It’s the food next door, huh.”

That laugh has got to be top five in the world. Not as great as yours, but definitely up there in terms of what makes Yoongi feel like things are alright. Not that he’d ever admit that shit to anyone. Ever.

Mercifully, the conversation moves away from risky topics. Instead, there are talks about a tour one is planning for his band’s album, mixed in with mentions of equipment the other is saving up for. Then the rest isn’t about music at all.

Finally, it’s time for them to continue recording, so they know to head back inside. “Don’t wait,” Woosung advises as he turns on his heel. 

And Yoongi can only stare somewhere else. 

“If there’s something you need to get through...” 

Stare, and stare, and stare some more.

“Hit it until it breaks.”

Because he’s already aware. More than anyone.

As Woosung shuts the back door, Yoongi’s gaze finds the crushed cigarette at his side. Another reminder of how things were.

And a reminder that he’s still a fucking coward.

Hours later, Yoongi’s car awaits him in the lot. 

And when he realizes that you still haven’t responded, he shuts his door just a little too hard. 

Whenever his friend comes over for drinks, it’s always the same routine. 

Both of them don’t talk much, instead opting for a quiet greeting before someone dumps themselves on the couch while the other grabs a bottle and cups in the kitchen. As soon as glasses are filled, conversation sparks as a game plays out on tv—or a sportscasting show if nothing interesting is airing. 

But this time? None of it happens that way. Because when Yoongi opens his door, he’s pinned with a shadowed visage he's only seen piercing through others. 

And the whole arctic starts to seep into his bloodstream.

Raising a brow and giving space is his chosen course of action. Best to not disturb a beast if they’re already ready to lunge.

And his friend eyes him as he stalks into the house, scanning around in search of something—living room, dining table, even looking into the open doorway of the bedroom. 

Fuck. Relax. Don’t assume anything until things are on the table. Yoongi has got to pretend like tonight is normal and fine and that he’s obviously and positively not seeing and sleeping with his friend’s little sister. 

And that he most definitely didn’t eat you out where your brother is sitting now motherfucker he needs a drink. Or a smoke. Or both with a plane ticket out of the whole country. 

At least the television is already on. If it wasn’t for that ambiance, Yoongi’s head would be jam packed with every goddamn sound known to man. Including the adorable way you talk in your sleep, and how you strain so beautifully when you come fuck, fuck, fuck! Focus. 

What’s happened has happened. And what’s going to happen will happen. Whether it’s a consequence of his actions, or nothing to do with any of this at all. 

But when faced with everything smushing together at once? Yoongi will probably need to be revived no matter what the outcome. This is the most stressed out he’s been in years. 

Not only that, but his stress is more than obvious. Even now in the kitchen, he’s scanning through his bottles with a finger—an action he’s never done while sober since the choices are always predictable. Holy shit, he needs to pull it together. 

Has he ever been this panicked? Does he appear just as chaotic and disjointed as he feels? This is too new. This is very new and if he doesn’t regain control there’s no telling where this foreign road leads.

But the silence still remains as he turns. And apparently the road hits a dead end at his dining table. Since it’s occupied rather than the living room sofa. 

Sighing, Yoongi ambles to his friend, placing everything down with clinks and ignoring the way his furniture is getting burned through. Both whisky’s are ready. Yoongi’s already holding his. And your brother still hasn’t moved a muscle. Honestly, what the fuck is going on with—

“I went to Jimin’s last night.”

…What. 

Don’t react. He’s staring. Don’t fucking react. Take a drink. A sip. Pick up the goddamn glass. Doing so, Yoongi slowly brings the liquid to his lips, not quite following his own instructions as he asks behind a barrier, “How was it.”

His question is met with a laugh that isn’t funny at all. The kind that drags a finger along the chalkboard of your soul. And the next question directed his way pulverizes Yoongi’s denial,

“Care to share what’s been going on?”

He’s sick. Beyond sick. The room is closing in and closing in too fucking fast. Shit shit shit. There’s no way he saw. No fucking way. He parked down the street he deliberately stopped as far away as possible and you saw your brother’s car in your driveway. Did he get there after you left? And didn’t see you while also not hearing from hi—

“Why her, Yoong? Hmm?”

Fuck! 

Yoongi can’t feel the air in his lungs. Because there isn’t any. Just a barren wasteland of shriveled futures and cracks in the foundation of every relationship he’s had in his whole life. The millisecond before a crash and only his wheels spinning and spinning and spinning—

Your brother shoots out of the chair, making the glass in Yoongi’s palm feel infinitely more solid.

“I mean, fuck! After all the shit we’ve been through? You’re gonna go back to her?”

All the—shit, he can’t even—back to? Back to you? What does he mean by back to you? Does he know about the first ti—

Volcanic, the man interrogating paces beside the dining table. Back and forth, back and forth. A pause. Back and forth.

And Yoongi still feels frozen in time. Is this it? Is this when things come crashing down? Glass suspends in midair all around him; an orchestra trembles beneath his feet, waiting for the moment to rip into his rib cage with swift strokes and a flourish as he’s taken down. 

“Can’t fucking believe you.”

When Yoongi finally chooses to speak, what comes out only feels like a horrible attempt more than anything else, “Listen, it’s my fau—”

“What, you just decided to fuck that bitch again? Couldn’t stay away?”

Oh, fuck that. 

Wood scrapes into flooring as Yoongi vacates his chair, hard feet planted as he gets into the face of his best friend, his confidant, his day one. Only to speak so low only them two can hear, “How bout you use your fucking words already and I’ll tell you.”

“Yeah? Is that what you want?” They are only a breath apart. But no one’s going anywhere now. “Need me to spell it out for that fuckass brain of yours—”

“Say it—”

“Stop fucking your ex, dude!”

Yoongi’s back connects with the chair behind him, palms flinging back to brace himself through a jolt of pain. And his eyes go so wide they stretch at the edges.

…Motherfucker, what?

Your brother is not done in the slightest, but Yoongi can only stare as he’s being berated for something that is one-hundred percent news to him, too. 

“Everyone was happy when you finally left. All of us. Only for you to go and, what, get back with her?”

Nothing makes sense. This isn’t about you? Yoongi’s heart can’t even reset to start beating again. Everything is coming as shock after shock and there’s no way he can keep up at this pace.

His ex? Her? Where the fuck did that come from and why the hell does he of all people think that’s actually true?

“If you’re gonna be with her, you can count me out.” 

No. Never again. That would never, ever happen again. “The fuck are you even saying—”

“I’m not fucking joking, Yoong. If you’re seriously back with her then—”

“Look, I don’t know what the fuck you heard, but I’m not.”

“So everything I heard was a lie?”

“Huh?”

“He told me!”

He—who? Who the fuck would say that? And when how what the fuck and why? Yoongi stares, chest heaving with every inhale and exhale. Because he has a choice to make. Either he trudges into this lie and rubs sludge all over his bones, or he denies it like he wants because it’s not fucking true.

What the actual fuck. It’s already bad enough that someone sent this along the rumor mill. And it’s making him sick thinking about all the implications surrounding it. But it’s even worse that his best friend believes it so easily. He’s coming at him so quick without even asking if it’s true. 

The only silver lining—the singular bright spot in this hellhole—is that he can use it as an out. An out to protect you from wrath and further fury from your older sibling because if you were the rumor? He’d be laid flat on his floor next to a broken dining set.

“You gonna say anything or what?” 

Truthfully, Yoongi feels queasy knowing what he’s gonna do. But it’s for you. You, you, you. And for that, Yoongi will do anything. 

Even if it kills him.

“No, I, umm…” 

“No?” 

Just hurry up and fucking do it. 

Resigned, Yoongi lets the memories flood through. Every moment that’s haunted him from a distance charges forward as he surrenders to the pain of his past. “It’s—” Fuck, he can’t even begin to lie, head thundering, thundering, striking his heart in the rain. “I...” 

His friend halts. Tense before his shoulders fall back to normal. “You what.”

What the fuck does Yoongi do? What can he say when his brain is only firing up to beg him to run? Technically, he doesn’t have to say anything. He really doesn’t. But he can deflect. It’s what he’s best at, after all. He’s been doing it to you and he will do it again.

In the most defeated voice he can muster, Yoongi comes up with something that will placate his friend while still prolonging this horrid fib, “You don’t have to worry about that anymore.” 

“You sure?”

It’s true. More true than anything. “It’s over now.” 

A century passes. Then another. Then another. Every piece of furniture waits in silence as the television seeps back into his ears. 

Then his friend sighs, not looking back as he slumps into the same chair that you always occupy. And Yoongi hopes his sigh of conflicted relief isn’t witnessed. 

Following suit, he rubs his lower back before taking his regular seat again, not giving any shits about waiting to drink. 

His ex? 

As his throat warms, Yoongi starts to harden the more memories keep crashing into each other like jagged waves fuck he really hates how she was brought into this he swears as soon as he figures out who said this he is going to—

“Sorry.” Haze shattered, he lifts his gaze. “I’m so fucking stressed and hearing that last night just…”

“It’s done.” Yoongi reaches for the thick bottle, pouring more into his glencairn. Wanting to talk about literally anything else, he diverts the conversation, “But something else is up with you so say it.”

It works. The man inhales deep, rubbing his face with weary hands. When he rests elbows on wood, he finally talks about other things clouding his mind,

“Work is shit,” he groans downward. “They’re having me travel again.” 

“Domestic?”

“Yeah. But for longer. And I don’t…” Tapering off, he sits back, slowly playing with his glass. As if he doesn’t want to mention the next problem. 

When he finally does, Yoongi wholeheartedly understands the hesitation, “I dunno know what’s going on with my sister.”

Oh. Fuck, how the hell does he respond? Keeping his cool, Yoongi just repeats the question, taking out his phone and pretending to check his screen. “Your sister?”

“Yeah.” A sigh is sandwiched between explanations. “The past few months, I feel like.. They haven’t really been themselves.” 

A sudden crack splits him through.

“Not laughing. Not eating as much. Like even when they sound happy, I can tell it’s a front.. I don’t know.” 

The clunk of his phone hits the table very hard. 

No. No, no, no. Your texts have been so positive. So encouraging. Other than a few sad calls, you’ve been happy to hear from him just as he had been relieved to hear from you. Even in the car, you must’ve put your feelings lightly. 

Your wings. You’ve been enduring all that? For him? Yoongi’s heart rears its head, snagging one of his breaths and slamming both lungs into the floor.

And hatred paints his heart another shade darker.

“They finally went out last night, but. Didn’t come back until this morning.” Running rigid hands through his head, the man looks so pained. So helpless. “Same clothes, dude.” 

And Yoongi can only stare, feigning nonchalance but raging and tearing himself apart inside. “Mm.”

“I just… I know I suck at this, but. I don’t know what the hell to do. Or if I even do anything.” Your brother finally takes a swig, wincing at how much ethanol coats his tongue. 

Relax, relax, relax. As much as he wants to erupt on himself right now, Yoongi has to stay calm.

Not like he doesn’t know how. That’s usually how he operates, anyway. It’s hard to tell he’s struggling unless you look deep enough. And almost no one thinks to do so because his surface is all they want. 

But right now? He doesn’t think he can sequester this anger any longer. At him, his past, and his stupid present decisions. 

“Like I tried to say something but I just.. I felt like if I push too hard, they’re gonna shut down even more. Ever since that fight with Kook, it’s like..” 

Seeing an opening and keeping a neutral stance, Yoongi asks the most ironic question to date, “Are they seeing someone?”

At this, his friend shakes his head, eyes glued to dark amber liquid. When he answers, all the breaths in the world cut at once, 

“I think she feels all alone.” 

This hit is the strongest. Straight to the gut, breath stuttering and muscles clenching so hard they lock. It’s almost severe enough to affect how Yoongi feels around his eyes. 

“And it sucks not knowing what to do.”

Yoongi’s heart lurches, deflating and slipping out of the crack in his chest. Piercing on the jagged edges before slumping down onto a table that continues to judge him.  

You’re hurting. Your brother’s hurting. And it’s all his goddamn fault. Why can’t he just break free and admit shit? Why is he still haunted by the phantoms of his past? Why is he still so fucking weak? It’s clear that he hurt you. For months. You’ve been cheering for him that whole time while you’ve been visibly broken and it’s all because of his dumbass decision to—

“I’m heading out again.”

Yoongi raises his eyes. Because he can’t seem to move anything else. “When.”

Your older sibling takes a slower, more measured sip. Looking towards the channel playing in the living room, he answers, “After our game. Dinner Friday, game on Saturday, fly out Sunday.” 

“Mm. We’ll still be here,” Yoongi assures, keeping things as normal and neutral as he can. “Just like last time.”

How ironic. How hypocritical. He hasn’t been there for you in the slightest so how the fuck can he say that with a straight face. 

“Thanks. I know it’s a lot for y’all but..”

Not at all. Yoongi is more determined than ever to make everything up to you. It’s the least he can do after putting you through something he decided on the fly. 

On the run.

“Don’t worry about that,” he vows into his drink. Honestly, if you’ve been having second thoughts about this whole thing, he doesn’t blame you. Absolutely doesn’t blame you if you realize you’re better than this. But Yoongi’s at least gonna apologize in every single way he can. As soon as he possibly can. “We got it.” 

“K.” The man finishes his glass and goes to pour more. “Did I ever mention that she liked you?”

Now what— Coughing on whisky is a bitch and a half. Hitting his chest while both eyes squint from burn, Yoongi croaks out his exact thoughts, “What.”

At this, his friend finally breaks into his regular smile. Setting the bottle down with a hollow clunk, he points, “Don’t you fucking get any ideas. Jimin’s already on my shit list.” He scoffs out a laugh. “But it was obvious when we were younger.”

And Yoongi can only cough some more. He shakes his head through the sting, swallowing and trying to compose himself. He doesn’t know where the hell that came from, but he hopes your brother will understand when all is said and done. Even though he’s been the reason you’ve been so…

Yoongi almost fucking confesses.

“You’re a good person,” he blurts instead. Whether the guilt or last cough pushed it out, that’s still on the table. “You don’t suck at what you think you do.”

“You think so?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” 

The hell? Does this dude really not see how successful he is? How much he’s overcome and conquered and sacrificed? Truthfully, Yoongi wouldn’t be where he is today if not for your brother. Him. Jimin. You. Anybody. Which is what makes this ongoing betrayal… 

Unprecedented.  

“You’re the best out of all of us.” 

Your brother finally looks at him, though Yoongi isn’t doing the same. But he can still tell when a fist is held out for him to bump, so he does.

And they both share a drink in respectful silence. 

After a moment of them watching the tv, the man finally sighs. “Guess we did shape up pretty nice.” When he’s agreed with, he keeps going with a grin. “We were so fucking bad.”

Yoongi can only chuckle, much better memories fighting off the terrors. “Old me was a little shit.”

“You still are.”

“Says you!”

“I still am, too!”

Laughs precede big swigs of whisky and comfortable quiet. Bit by bit, shoulders start to relax with the surrounding air, and Yoongi lazily releases tension in his neck. 

After a few more pours, your brother decides to call it, using the bathroom before announcing that he’s gonna head out. Yoongi gets up from his chair to clasp hands goodbye, not expecting to hear one more plea,

“Break up with her, Yoong.” 

Shit. He sighs, and their conversation continues from the dining table to the front door. “It’s not like that.” 

“Yeah?” 

“It’s over now.” 

“For good?” As they stop beside the coat closet, your brother pins him with a look. “I was about to drive over and break down the door.”

Even though Yoongi shares a tsk with him, he can’t help but imagine what could’ve happened if that was the case. And it sends an unwanted jolt of chills. 

“Serious. I’m gonna keep saying this, but. she was just making you miserable, dude.” He slips on his shoes, smacking his foot on the ground to push one in place. “I’m sure it was good at first, but I mean… You gotta move on. You deserve better than that.” 

Anything would be better than that. Yoongi just disagrees with the whole deserving part. “I guess.” 

“You sure it’s over?”

“Yeah,” he assures, because that is something he intends to keep true forever. “It is.” 

“Good.” Keys jingling, your sibling then points into the open area with his whole arm, seven words leaving his mouth like ice, 

“Then get rid of that fucking guitar.” 

Ah. Among all the things. Of course he would bring that up, too. Jaw working, Yoongi looks away, now assaulted by all the torturous thoughts surrounding that painful reminder and fighting them off with no success. 

Get rid of it? He’s been trying. 

For three. Fucking. Months. 

“I might.” 

“…K.” 

And his best friend departs, leaving Yoongi inside and staring at the same black spot he’s kept in the corner for years. It has mocked him as he struggles. Laughed at him whenever he’s tried to throw it out. And aside from the times he’s made you feel better stinging himself on those strings, he has accomplished nothing except letting it win.

Pissed off and doused in guilt, Yoongi yanks himself away from the door, the instrument, and everything else except for his bed.

Keeping his shadow exactly where it stands. 

Yoongi knows he needs to talk to you.

But his phone exists somewhere on the other side of his bedroom door.

And he doesn’t have the strength to go get it. 

What time is it? 

All that greets him is darkness. 

Nothing new, but darkness all the same. 

Why was she mentioned? What does that mean? 

He needs to call you. He’s lying to his best friend. 

Her? You. His sheets still smell like you. 

Inhale. Breathe. Inhale. 

He needs to call you. But he’s so, so tired. 

And the darkness pulls him back under. 

Without even telling him the time. 

Buzzing. 

Faint, gentle buzzing softly lifts Yoongi’s eyelids before a loud series of smacks causes him to rush out of bed what the fuck? 

Oh. His phone fell outside. Fucking hell, his heart’s beating way too quick for that to be the only thing that happened. 

Head in his hands, Yoongi sighs deep before making his way to the dining table. And it takes all of his strength to bend down to reach for his phone. 

Hustler: Missed Calls (6)

Dumbass: 1 Message

Hustler: 3 Messages 

Chim: 7 Messages   

Chim: Missed Calls (3) 

Holy fuck. 

With only the light of his phone illuminating the dark, Yoongi rings Jimin up. His heart’s a little disappointed it wasn’t you calling just now, but it’s probably best to stay away while his brain is so scattered and torn. 

“Oh, fuck. There you are.” 

“Mm.” 

“Don’t scare me like that, bro. I was starting to get ready to drive over—” 

“It’s fine,” he juts in. “What’s up.” 

Alright, maybe he shouldn’t be an asshole. There’s no reason to let his lingering shadow from earlier control his temper now. Jimin’s just being himself, for fuck’s sake. 

“I, umm. I wanted to tell you I’m sorry.” 

Now that’s not what Yoongi expected at all. “For what?” 

There’s another pause on the line, and his reaction is immediate when he knows for a fact Jimin is fighting back tears. 

“I… I got so drunk last night, I—And I—”

Shit. A sinking feeling starts to weigh Yoongi down, his center pulling the rest of him in like a black hole. And he doesn’t need to hear the rest of this to know what this call is about. 

“He was looking for her, Yoong, and you weren’t there, either. He had this look, I—I couldn’t think of anything else to say in the moment and I told him—”

Jimin can’t even finish his confession. And it hits right in the gut. 

Despite his perceived persona, Yoongi doesn’t like hearing people cry. At least, if they don’t deserve to or don’t deserve to be sad—or if they’re you. He could care less about the rest.

But Jimin is one of the only people that can get him like this: eyes stinging at their edges and his chest concave. In the dark, though, no one can tell. No one can see him.

So he can openly swipe at his eyes before dumping tired limbs into a chair, catching his forehead in a damp palm. 

“I’m an idiot. I’m sorry.” 

Exhaling through his nose, Yoongi tries his best to calm his emotions. Because they are still raging and it’s going to take all of him to quell this tempest. 

Jimin knows more than anyone what this means to him. To you. The time you spent apart? If it wasn’t for his friend, Yoongi may have been in a much different position. If this was the only thing Park could do, then his effort has to be acknowledged. It worked like a fucking charm.

But goddamn, Yoongi wishes Jimin thought of literally anything else. He could’ve made up some random, some fling from another city, the damn studio itself. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he finally rasps out. “It’s just been a fuckin’ day.” 

Jimin sniffles before cursing at himself and, judging by the sounds on the line, Yoongi figures he’s opening his fridge. If he reaches for soju, that would not be surprising in the least, and now that sounds like a good idea.

“Same. Gah, I just… I should’ve warned you. I didn’t know he went over there.” 

“He told you?” 

“I called him after you didn’t answer earlier.” 

“Oh. Yeah, I passed out after he left.” 

“Ah.” 

Something shuts before there’s a crisp clink on the line, validating exactly what Yoongi was thinking. 

“I really am sorry. What did you end up saying?” 

“That it’s done.” 

A hum. 

“That’s very true.” 

There’s a question that Yoongi thinks to ask. Context that he needs. But as important as this information is, Yoongi doesn’t feel like talking about it right now. Or ever. But now still counts. So he switches the conversation over to something less daunting, “Practice still on tomorrow?” 

When Jimin laughs out of surprise, it gives Yoongi the smallest kick of energy.

“Ah, someone actually ready to go for once?” 

“Yeah. The plan is to make this game quick.” 

A hearty swallow spills out of the speaker before a hum follows, 

“Mm, that reminds me. Got something that might help with that.” 

What the hell does that even mean? “Huh?” 

“I’ll bring it over tomorrow. You might find some good uses for it.”

Yoongi rubs the grogginess still clinging to his face. “All these years and you’ve never given me a straight answer.” 

“Where’s the fun in that?” 

“Knowing the answer.” 

At least Jimin’s back in a good mood. Or a better state than puffy-eyed and regretful. He doesn’t have to share the pain in this, too. It was an honest mistake. 

“You’ll know it when you see it.” 

“Annoying.”

“Love you, too!” 

Yoongi’s huff billows through his nose, and Jimin’s energy almost brings enough strength for him to clear the table. 

Ehh. He’ll leave it alone. He’s been pretty good at that lately, too, no matter how early or late it is in the night. What time even is it? Checking his phone, Yoongi’s brows crease when he figures that out. Why the hell are they even on a call right now? “Wait, is it really three?” 

“Huh? Yeah. I’m telling you, dude, I was getting worried.” 

He was really about to drive over? “Sorry. I really did just pass out.” 

“Mm. Well, I’m gonna go do that now.” 

“K. Same time tomorrow?” 

“Ah, a little earlier. Just so I can give this to you before everyone else shows.” 

That just makes Yoongi infinitely more curious. “Seriously, what did you get?” 

“Relax! You will like it.” 

“Chim, I swear—”

“You’ll thank me later bye!”

As soon as Jimin disappears from the line, Yoongi is left alone again.

Exactly where he always ends up. 

Exactly where he doesn’t want to be. 

But now that he’s done dealing with those notifications, Yoongi roams lidded eyes over his screen again. 

Wait. You called him six times? Fuck. What did you text? Were you wondering where he was, too? 

Hustler [20:01]: HOLY FUCK!! my phone died after i tried calling you this morning and i just fully woke up to charge it😭 he’s not home so call whenever  

Yoongi clutches his phone a little tighter. 

He very much would’ve rather been in your bed with you all day. 

That sounds like fucking bliss. 

Hustler [23:37]: tried calling but he’s home now. are you ok?? idk what’s going on with him but i think we need to be careful

Shit, Yoongi didn’t get to tell you. You’ve probably been worried about that every second you’ve been awake today. 

And he couldn’t even make it out of his goddamn room to help. 

All he comes with is worries for you. What kind of shit is this? What is he even doing? He even outright told you that you were dating only for that to be ripped from your hands for months. Why are you still giving someone like him a chance? 

Hustler [23:40]: but all i wanna do is see you

Fucking hell.

Nothing in the world can stop his heartbeat quite like you can. With that smile, or those eyes, or the simple shit like this. Not even lightning can strike him the same way. 

Despite the consistency Yoongi has with admitting his own shortcomings, and despite the way he keeps reminding himself he doesn’t deserve you…

All he wants to do is see you, too. 

You’ve been more than he ever would’ve imagined—your consideration, your intellect, your mind. And there have been times when you’d look at him as if he was the center of your galaxy. 

After all this time. All these days and nights. 

You still don’t realize that he was destined to orbit you.  

It’s been decided long before his mind was made up—at least, the part of him that doesn’t traverse the dark side. His heart had been tugging him to you ever since that rainy day, no matter where he’s drifted or which direction he’s gone in. All of them lead back into your arms. 

But just like the feeling he gets walking into the recording booth, imposter syndrome eats him alive and doubt scavenges on what’s left. 

He will never be good enough for you. One of these days, you will realize that you don’t have to settle for him. It’s good now, but you’ll only give him so many chances, which he is swiftly running through at breakneck speeds. 

How fucking stupid. Having these thoughts while wanting nothing more than to hear your voice. 

Just like everyone else, you’ll eventually be done passing through. His winter will return after your inevitable departure, all the warmth you give focused on something else that deserves it more. 

Something that isn’t broken. 

Yoongi whips his head up at the sound of buzzing, noticing thin lines of light beneath his phone on the table. 

What. No way. 

From the rapid beats inside his chest, he shoots his hopes right into the dark. 

And they burst into beautiful sparks when he reads his screen. 

Hustler: Incoming Call 

But just like the streaks of color he witnessed with you on that balcony, his brightness is short lived. Because as soon as Yoongi answers, the way your throat constricts scorches his windpipe through.

And the first thing you attempt to get through makes his eyes shut tight. 

“Are we… is this over?” 

Fuck.

“I get it, if we are. If you—if you don’t wanna do this with me anymore.” 

Fuck. Fuck everything this is not happening right now. “Hold up,” Yoongi breathes, body on full alert. “What’s going on?” 

“I thought… When you weren’t picking up, I—”

“Breathe, babe,” Yoongi softens, hating, hating, hating himself all over again. “I passed out before you called. That’s it.” 

“Oh. Shit, I really thought—”

“You would know,” he whooshes, syllables squeezed out by the mountain of regret on his back. After hearing what he put you through? Hearing how you sound now? There’s no way he can do that shit again. No more disappearing from the grid because he can’t fight himself. “You would know if I was done.” 

Your sniffle sinks the ship with his heart inside. 

“Are you? With me?” 

Yoongi folds, fingers digging through his hair and blocking it in hard chunks. The amount of things he wants to say to you could wrap the whole world before repeating. But he settles with a truth he can say out loud, 

“No way in hell, doll.” 

Please. Don’t cry. Because he can only handle feeling his eyes sting so much in one night. There’s only so much he can take before he’s grabbing his keys and speeding over—friends and brothers be damned. 

“Okay… I’m just. It’s been a day.” 

That’s okay. 

Because he’s had a day, too. 

“I don’t wanna bother you with it, though, it’s so late.” 

Please keep going. 

Please don’t leave him alone. 

“Talk to me.” 

Like a gentle stream, your recap—though not ideal—washes away the weariness from Yoongi’s eyes. Lifts the weight he bears on his shoulders, even if just a little bit. 

You’re so good at that. 

“Well. Umm. He saw me coming home this morning. And, umm. It was weird. I don’t know why but I think we have to be really careful. And ugh, it—. It sucks because he’s going on a trip soon and I don’t wanna stress him out even more but I—” 

Shit, you’ve probably been holding all of this in ever since you got up. You don’t know that your brother believes something entirely different. But of course you’d be considerate, even now. That’s just who you are.

“I, umm. I feel so fucking bad about it but I don’t wanna mess him up right now. Or maybe he knows but just won’t say it? Fuck, sorry, I’m trying not—to—”  

The phone goes mute, and Yoongi’s head suddenly weighs ten times heavier. 

“He doesn’t know, babe,” he soothes, hating how he can’t be there to comfort you with more than his word and waves in the sky. 

If he was stronger, things could be different by now. Vastly different. Vastly better. You would cry less, he knows that for damn sure. Weak, weak, weak. That’s all he fucking is. 

The only one he seems to be strong for is you. “He came over earlier.” 

“Fuck, really?” 

“Yeah.” 

You pause, seemingly to roll this information around that beautiful mouth of yours, and Yoongi has the strongest yearning to kiss all your worries right out of it. 

“What did he say?” 

Shit. You’ll just have to forgive him later. Because Yoongi chooses not to tell the whole truth. You don’t need to bear the same worries as him, anyway. They aren’t yours. He will shoulder all of those on his own. Because he’s the reason for them in the first place. “Nothing about us.” 

“Oh, thank fuck.” 

Good. Your relief is all that matters. But Yoongi still feels bad for not being able to pick himself up. You could’ve known that a lot sooner if he was stronger. If he was better. “So don’t worry, doll.” 

“Okay. What about you? Are you okay?” 

Huh? Your questions catch him completely off-guard. It’s almost comical how his first reaction goes straight to a No. But sticking to his earlier stances, he won’t bother you with any of that. There is a truth that he can admit. One that’s always true and will continue to be so. “Just wanna see you.” 

And this is when his eyes slowly shut. Don’t. Don’t cry.

“Me, too, baby.” 

Hearing that? Chipped and broken from your lips? That is another thing Yoongi can’t handle. His heart beats once before it free falls, and he clutches his phone just a little tighter. 

Fuck everything. He’s gonna find a way to do this. All of it.

“I’ll figure it out.”

“You will?”

He’ll figure out how to move mountains to make it up to both you and your brother. 

“Just a little longer.”

He has to.

“Okay.”

Neither of you deserve this. And he doesn’t deserve either of you. Truly, the only thing he deserves is to be alone. And judging by the way things are going, it’s only a matter of time before you start resenting this behavior and leave, too. 

“Thank you.”

What? Something in Yoongi flickers, and he lifts his whole head to eye his screen. 

“For putting up with me.”

Oh. Of course you’d assume you’re the issue. Seems like you need the same type of assurance that he does. Both of you the same? Who would’ve thought his bruised soul would sync up with a perfect one like yours. 

At this, he holds his breath before chuckling soft. “This has been the highlight of my day, doll,” he admits, finally breaking into a tiny smile and sitting back.

“Really?”

Wait. There was another good part of his day. But he wants to save that for when he can tell you in person. “One of them. But you’ll hear about the other one later.”

“Boo.”

Cute. Wait, isn’t it absurdly late? You have to be up for work in mere hours. It’s a miracle you reached out when you did. “Don’t you have to be up soon?”

“A ha… Yeah.” 

“What are you still talking to me for?” 

“I miss you.” 

Well. That’s not something that he expected. And your admittance being so immediate actually sends shivers down his arms. 

Yoongi can only laugh to himself. He knew he had it bad, but this feeling is something else. “Don’t do that.” 

“Don’t do what? Miss you? Yeah, right.”  

God. You’re getting too fucking good at this. He’s gotta fight back or else his throne will be taken before he even sees you again. “Just a bad night to say it, doll.” 

“Why?” 

Perfect. “Cus I’m willing to get in the car.” 

“Fuck.” 

Yoongi happily lets his mouth slant when you groan, chuckling into the receiver and getting up to clear the table. When he flicks on the kitchen light, he doubles down, “Wanna try again?” 

He knows you’re gonna say no. Even though your brother doesn’t know, it’s definitely not a proper time to sneak you out—as much as he fucking wants to. Fuck, to be the one sneaking you out of your house… Maybe there’s another version of you both out there that’s done it. A version of him watching a version of you creeping out to his car, face shining in nightfall and etching a permanent smile into his heart.

“I hate you.” 

Yoongi should’ve expected that. The sudden laugh that flings out into his liquor cabinet ricochets off multiple bottles, and he shuts it while sporting a wide grin. “That’s better.” 

“Ha ha.” 

You’re smiling, too. Cute ass. Just the fact that he knows makes him excited for the future, and he’s determined to make it count. Make it worth it. You deserve every goddamn apology he can give. “I miss you, too, babe,” he whispers, grabbing the glasses from the table to wash in his sink. 

“Nu uh! You hate me, too.” 

Wait. Did you…

Did you just pout? 

Hell no, that’s outright cheating. That’s when Yoongi will never be able to win. Putting the phone down, he promptly states his new plan into a basin, “Nah, I’m going to sleep.” 

“Wait, huh? Why!” 

“Nothing.” 

“I swear to god—” 

“Nothing at all,” Yoongi lies, voice straight as he can muster while hot water runs over his hands. It’s a good kind of sting as his chilled skin adjusts, and he cleans one glass before he hears you ask in his ear, 

“Getting ready for bed? Or are you in the kitchen?” 

The smallest smile graces his face. “Guess.” 

“Kitchen.” 

The hell? “How’d you know?” 

“You’re always in there.” 

Can’t deny that. The glasses are both set to dry in the dishwasher as Yoongi’s amusement dies down, and his next comment flows out before he can think much of it, “You like to keep me in here.” 

“It does seem to be where we end up, huh?” 

“It does.” Which is fine by him. He’ll never forget all the times you’ve been in here. Your laughter and your storms, he will remember them all. 

“The world said let them cook.” 

Your giggles will be the fucking end of him one day. Fuck, he can’t wait to see you. He may even find a way to see you before the game. 

But for now, Yoongi will figure out how to talk to you, every day, no matter what. Texts, calls, whatever the fuck. The effort has got to show from now on. No more of this dark headspace shit. He needs to try harder and figure it out faster. For you. 

“Go to sleep, doll,” he huffs with full cheeks. 

After another adorable batch of sounds, you rustle on the line before sighing, 

“You better sleep, too.”

“I will.” 

With a blink, Yoongi notices two things. One, he just cleared his table and cleaned up without even thinking. And two, despite feeling like absolute shit the entire day and dreading the coming of night, falling asleep won’t be an issue. 

Because of you. It’s always you. 

Maybe there’s a way out. Maybe he can finally face it all and come out on the other side. “Talk to you tomorrow, babe.”

“I’d like that. And you’re sure he doesn’t know?”

Just like that, the demons are knocking again. Closing his eyes, Yoongi murmurs into the receiver, “I’m sure.” 

There will come a time when he will tell you. But that will be way in the future, when he is ready. For now, you’ll just have to trust that he’s telling the truth. Not the whole truth, but enough for it to calm your nerves. 

“Okay. Good night, baby.”

One more heartbeat to get him through the night. 

“Night, doll.”

When the phone cuts, Yoongi’s hand falls, his stare shifting straight to the living room. 

Right towards the corner that stares back. 

It’s been five days.

But it feels like you’ve aged twenty-eight years.

Ever since your brother confronted you—after your much needed reunion with his best friend—you’ve been floating through time. Lost. Confused. Wondering why that conversation went the way it did and gnawing at your sanity bit by bit. 

And even though Yoongi explicitly told you he didn’t say anything concerning your relationship, you still haven’t shaken that feeling. No matter where you are, who you’re with, or on a pretty Friday like this one, you feel… Strange. 

When you saw your brother waiting, you for sure thought you were gonna get grilled. It was a given you were gonna break as soon as he started asking deeper and more specific questions. The fallout was gonna happen in your own house right at your door. 

…So what in the fuck was that?

You shift your legs, the chill of the office failing to comfort you in your manufactured, building distress. 

Somehow, that version of the conversation proved much, much worse. Because now you’re spiraling trying to figure out why he just took your lie as the truth. Truthfully, you feel nauseous. And as much as you need to get some semblance of closure, you still feel hesitant. Because if he’s just biding time? He’s not just thinking about what to do with you. 

He’s thinking about what to do with Yoongi, too. 

This is so hard. 

The only thing—the only thing—keeping you grounded. Is Yoongi himself. 

Ever since the call you never thought he’d answer, you’ve been contacted every night. What was once days of radio silence quickly shifted to him reaching out however he could, hours of the day be damned. Just last night, in fact, Yoongi sent you texts at four in the morning, and you beam just thinking about what he said so casually.  

Yoongi [3:57am]: That keyboard I told you about is fucking dope. Just got it today and it won’t let me sleep lmaooo

Yoongi [3:58am]: I was gonna say sorry for texting but fuck it you’re getting all the updates :) 

No matter what it is, be it a text, call, or video chat, Yoongi seems fully committed and in the moment. Present. And it’s been… Really nice. If you didn’t have your brother’s shadow hovering over your brain, life would be practically perfect. 

Forcing yourself to actually work, you manage to get some small things done. Even the meeting you attend goes smoothly and you leave any outside worries on the other side of those glass walls.

So when you get back to your desk, an awaiting paper bag makes you pause. And your whole body prepares to weep.

Only one person has ever sent you food while you’re at work. And staring inside the parcel, you would’ve been able to tell who it was from even if said person had never sent any before.

There’s a small note on top of a to-go container—one that you immediately recognize as that super good restaurant next to Jungkook’s studio. 

What the hell? How did Yoongi know you wanted some this whole week but didn’t wanna risk being so close? With careful fingers, you pluck the tiny paper from the bag, opening it with care before your eyes get so teary eyed you can’t even read.

Tonight.  

This man.

I got the next one.

This wonderful, charming man. 

But you’re getting what I need so here’s the list:

Goddamn it, Min Yoongi. 

Seeing an actual list of food squeezes a laugh through your throat in a squeak, tears rushing out of your ducts before they’re hastily swiped. 

After five days. Yoongi really just sent you on a grocery run to surprise you with another meetup.

The gesture is so him that you cannot help but shake your head, ruefully huffing to no one and pocketing the note in your bag. And all your worries scatter even further. 

A dinner before the big game is risky, for sure, but at this point you couldn’t care less. Your brother has his own work outing tonight, anyway, and you are dead set on breaking all of this to him soon.

Even though you are very much unprepared. And he is going to lose his fucking mind if he doesn’t know already. Fuck.

You’ve had all five days to think it over. All the possible combinations and possibilities and outcomes. Some of them are extreme, some of them are hopeful. But for a majority of these projections, you have a feeling that none of you are gonna leave it without wounds. 

And you don’t know how you’re gonna save both of them if theirs are cut too deep. 

Regardless, that’s in the future. Not now. Right now, you are staying in the present and working like molasses until you can jet out the door, nary a care nor concern weighing on your heels.

Tonight. He’s gonna cook for you?

You’ll have the first substantial meal you’ve had in months.

Even though you want nothing more than to see Yoongi, your nerves are still buzzing and bumping into each other nonstop. There’s a lot you still need to know. Like why he was radio silent for months, and why your brother has been a little weird this whole week. 

Save it for later. Hopefully Yoongi will tell you why eventually. Or that gap will stay elusive to your brain forever.

Sliding into your car, you dump your bag in the passenger seat before pulling out the list, clutching it close and taking a leap that could either calm your nerves or spike them. 

Yoongi: Outgoing Call 

When he picks up, you legitimately don’t answer. Because even after all this time, you still can’t quite function when you hear that deep voice addressing you directly. 

“Hey.” 

All you have to do is say something. Anything. You could rattle off the damn list, stumbling over all the syllables just like they’re currently smushed together in your fingers. 

But you don’t snap out of this trance until he speaks again. 

“Hello?” 

“Hi,” you squeak out, clearing your throat while watching other people walk to their cars. “Hi, sorry. I just umm.” 

You just what? Somehow lost all sense of language just from him saying hi? Get it together. Stop that racket in your stomach and say what you were gonna say. “Thank you for the food. I’m off work now so I’m heading to the store.” 

He simply huffs a quiet laugh.

“Get whatever you want, too. Just let me know how much it is.” 

Huh. Did Yoongi just say all those words in that order? If you heard him right, forget the damn food. You’re close to speeding directly to his place and breaking down the motherfucking door. “Oh, I definitely will,” you respond with instead of hauling ass, the words pushing through your lingering smile. “And don’t worry about that, I got it.” 

“You sure?” 

“Yeah! I got big girl money now.” 

Yoongi laughs again on the line, fuller and closer this time. Are you on speaker? 

“It’s like that? Maybe I should work there, too.” 

“Oh, you’d hate it,” you giggle, scheming hard in your head for tonight already. Pretty bubbles in your ribs lift all your spirits. “I’m actually pretty bossy here.”

The groan that seeps through your car should be illegal. 

“That is literally what I’ve been wanting to see.” 

It’s your turn to chuckle as you finally make your way out of the parking lot, heading right to the market that you know for a fact has all of what he’s asking for. “I’m only that way at work, though.” 

“Do better.” 

Your immediate response makes his laugh crunchy in the speakers, and you go along with him because life is good. Life is fucking great right now. “Never mind, you’re paying. And I’m getting stuff for dessert now, too.” 

“What? Who said anything about dessert?” 

“Me,” you huff out in pride. Since he wants to see that demanding side come out so bad. With a fleeting thought, you think about what it could be like if you end up confident enough to— 

“I’m starting to regret this.”

“Regret what?”

“Everything.”

Liar! Your cheeks hurt as you look both ways before making a turn. “Can’t fool me. You’re excited.”

“I am.”

The way there was no hesitation sends shivers up your spine. But it’s partly because you thought you’d be faced with another joke or dig. Not a sudden one-eighty. Stopping at a light, you clear your throat before shyness puffs right out of it. “Well, good,” you state while checking your mirrors. “Cus I am, too.” 

“That’s a given, though.”

“Excuse you.”

Yoongi laughs before you hear the sound of cabinets, and you wonder which ones he could be touching. 

“Mm, babe. One more thing.” 

Can he stop making your heart beat two times at once? “Hmm?”

There’s a little bit of pause, followed by the clank of a pan on metal. When you hear another hum, you wonder what he could possibly—

“I think we’re out of condoms.” 

Who is out of what. If you weren’t still at a red, your foot would’ve slammed on the gas because what the fuck! All you can manage out are sounds without substance, random syllables, gibberish. Nothing is computing in your head. 

“Wait. Or are we?”

Okay, Yoongi needs to stop with that two-letter word before your behavior turns downright criminal. With as much seriousness as you can manage, you accuse, “Are you just fucking with me?”

And his response launches you forward just as the light turns green, 

“Yeah. That’s why we’re out of—”

“Alright!” you cut in, stopping stopping stopping him because for whatever reason, this conversation is too much. Despite seeing this very man naked in many, many ways, just having this talk with him is making you shier than ever before. “Guess I’ll, umm. Get those, too.”

“Nah, you don’t have to.”

“Oh. Found some?”

“No.”

Wait. If he didn’t find some why is he telling you that you don’t have to— “Oh,” you peep in realization. A very sudden, jaw dropping realization. “Goddamn it, you’re too distracting now, bye.”

And he finally breaks with laughter that’s contagious as hell. Which isn’t fair when you’re pretending to be upset with him. Even when you can’t see Yoongi, you can imagine the way his cheeks rise and his eyes crease. The way the whole room illuminates when he’s packed with happiness. 

And you want that to be the case forever. 

“You’re just lucky I’m not there with you.” 

“Yeah, you’d be annoying as hell.” 

“Damn!” 

As the market comes into view, your teeth shine as you grin, roasting this man quickly becoming one of your favorite pastimes. 

“To be fair,” you start to amend, fingers drumming on the wheel as you decide whether or not to say what you want. After deciding that there’s no wrong answer here, you softly admit, “I really do wanna get groceries with you.” 

There’s no words that come out in response. Only the slight movements of shuffling and water running and what could be more cabinets closing. But you don’t really know for sure—

“It’s gonna happen, doll.” 

You clutch the wheel.

“Cus I want that, too.”

One of these days you’re gonna see this damn cat again. 

Foot connecting with Yoongi’s door, you grunt as multiple bags burden your limbs, pride digging divots along your arms—second trips be damned. 

It doesn’t take long for him to let you in anyway, and you swoon at the way he doesn’t even ask while taking some of your baggage. But the kiss on your cheek makes your heart bang into everything between the front door and the kitchen. It’s so distracting that you barely smell the spices greeting you, too. 

“Thanks for getting all this,” Yoongi says as you both cross onto tile.  

“Of course.” Lifting the much lighter load that you have, you revel in the small thumps and thuds on his counter. Not really knowing why. “Let’s put this up before I yell at you.”

His laugh comes out in hisses while you both start reaching into bags. “For what!” 

“Sent me everywhere to find some of this shit.” 

“You could’ve asked somebody.” 

Feeling a bit silly and high off his presence already, you repeat his words in a goofy mocking tone, and the way he blows out air sends your belly fluttering. 

And just like that, things are back to normal again. No worries about your sibling, or work, or anything else looming by the door. Inside is what matters, and the whole apartment fills with jabs and jokes as groceries find their homes.

But Yoongi finds a bag you had separated from the rest, and you snap your mouth shut when he looks inside, something rising in your core when he turns to you with an eyebrow raised. And a smirk so salacious it makes you quiver. 

“What about it,” you squeak out, crumbling when he simply takes the bag and flings it through his bedroom door. “You said you—we were out, so…” 

“That’s a big box, doll,” he points out on his way to your tightly bitten lip. Mouth slicing through your sanity, he approaches you with a glint in his eyes. “Got something you wanna say?” 

“Nope,” you whoosh out oh god he looks way too hot in those sweats wait is that a growing bulge? “Although I will say it took me forever to pick out what—”

Sparks ignite your hands when your lips are claimed, launching them into his shirt and tugging him backward because you’ve been waiting way too long to kiss the shit out of him. 

And Yoongi responds in kind, pinning you to his fridge and so, very obvious that he’s been waiting for this, too. 

Heaven probably wonders how to replicate this feeling. How to imitate this treasured yearning that only he can pull from the depths of your ocean. Deep, deeper, deepest. All these kisses. Your ascending affection. 

“As much as I wanna throw you on my bed,” Yoongi jokes, pulling away and giving your cheek a light tap. “I’m taking you somewhere.” 

And you’re so thrown from the impact that your brain mini-resets. “Huh? We’re leaving?”

“Uh huh.”

Hold on. Wait. Is this what he meant when he said he’s getting the next one? You’re going out to eat? Together? No. No, there’s no way. Yoongi knows that’s the worst possible thing to do right now, as much as the idea is sending your belly in a frenzy. “Are you sure? What about dinner? Won’t people… You know.”

“It’s ready already,” he reveals. “By the door.” 

Your head snaps to where he points out, even though you can’t see through the bar. “Really?” No wonder it smells like a cooking aftermath. All those smells twirling around your head. How did you not even catch the dishes in the sink? 

But hold up, you just bought a shit ton of food! “Then what the hell was the run for?”

Yoongi blinks. Then he does it again. Expression stone still, he responds as if you were privy to his plans this entire time, “I told you to get what I needed.” 

Your turn to blink.

“And I needed food.”

This man is going to be the death of you. Affronted, your jaw hangs before you grit through a smile that betrays you, “Oh, you—” 

“So thanks,” he quips through another tilt of his lips. “Let’s go, doll.” 

The begrudged sound that leaves you makes him kick his head back on the way out the kitchen. 

“Eat.”

The container on your thighs warms you through. “Now?”

“Mm.”

“I can wait,” you assure, watching as night paints the surrounding scenery in navy and black. “We can eat together.” 

“Just a bite then.” 

Turning to Yoongi, you don’t see a change in his face as he eyes the road. The veins in his arm catch all the streetlight, and you gulp before your gaze falls to what he made. Music fills the car, and you decide that maybe you do feel a little hungry. So you listen to instruction, popping it open and being careful as you pluck a piece to try. 

There’s no denying it. This motherfucker is a chef. “Fuck, this is good.” 

Your borderline moan sends Yoongi’s shoulders bobbing, and you will never get over those low, gravelly laughs. “Sorry.” Your hand hovers over your mouth in embarrassment. “I don’t react like that unless I’m alone.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Yeah, well,” you swallow. “Course you don’t.”

A tiny peek of teeth show as Yoongi smiles, and you don’t expect what he offers next, “Just be you, doll. It’s just me.”

The next bite of food pauses on the way to your mouth. “Oh,” you murmur. “Same for you then.”

“Nah.”

“Why not?”

“Cus we wouldn’t make it to where we’re going.”

That was legitimately the worst time to put food in your mouth. Sputtering, your words come out low and chortled, “You fucker.”

His hisses are brief before he dips into silence again. As he slowly turns the wheel, you can see a glimpse of something deep in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he suddenly apologizes, swallowing as you keep your gaze. 

What is that look? Weren’t you both just having a good time? “For what, baby?” 

“Everything.” 

Your lungs flinch. This is definitely not what you expected to hear on the way to wherever the hell you’re going. “Oh.” 

Yoongi still doesn’t look your way, and with each pass of a light over his face, you catch quick snapshots of those eyes you’re still so shy of. “I, umm. I didn’t expect shit to pan out this way.” 

“It’s okay,” you whisper. 

After a slow motion of disagreement, his head falls forward just a bit. And your eyes find his hand clutching the gear shift in what you sadly think is frustration. “I’ve just thought about some things,” he starts, another song playing. “How worried you must’ve been.” 

You look forward. Because this is the part where you can’t face him. “I was. But not for the same reason as last time.” Without a hesitation of your own, your palm reaches between your seats. And you can tell Yoongi watches as you take his hand to hold. 

“I was worried about you,” you correct with softness. “It was hard because I didn’t know what to do.” Don’t fucking cry. You filled quite a few buckets already. “When you started not really saying much, I just… Hoped it was for a good reason, so. Yeah.” 

You feel your hand gently pulled, which is already enough to make you melt. But when it’s kissed, you don’t know what the hell to fucking do. 

“I’m sorry, doll,” Yoongi whispers into your skin, lips brushing with every syllable and painting a canvas of his reconcile. “I won’t leave you hanging like that again.” 

There’s a tiny fire in the back of your throat, the embers reaching your eyes just a little too aggressively. You attempt to squash the growing flames before they flare. “Oh. Umm. Thank you.” What else do you say? Yoongi’s being wonderful, but why do you feel… sad? Why is there lingering snow on your windowsill? “Were you worried?” 

“Me? Umm.” He stops at a light that he clearly didn’t want to stop at. Resting your conjoined hands on his pliant thigh, his jaw works as he observes them.

And you wonder if he thinks they slot together perfectly, too. 

“…Yeah.” 

Fuck. “About what?” 

“That you’d hate me.” 

Your heart meshes his fingers with yours. “Yoongi.” 

“Or that you shouldn’t be with someone that’s gone this much.” 

Fuck, he’s doing it again. Regressing. You’ve seen it happen in his kitchen and you’ll be damned if all that work, all that peeling, all that resolution amounted to nothing wait, wait, stop. This isn’t gonna be an overnight fix. And you have no clue what’s been happening, so just keep trying, trying, trying. 

“I’m used to people leaving,” you joke, but not really. “Like seasons.” 

He whips his head to you, and you backpedal because that probably sounded so random. You’ve got to think about filtering your thoughts a little more now that you’re getting comfortable. Yoongi says you can be yourself, sure, but you have to admit your quirks are a little out there. “I know it’s weird, but..” 

He’s quiet as the light turns green. And when you don’t finish, he admits, “I think the same.” 

“You do?” 

Your hand is brushed as a hum peppers it from above. “Mmhmm.” 

“Well.” That’s interesting. You didn’t know anyone thought about that stuff like you did. Now you wonder if there’s anywhere else your wavelengths sync, and if they’ve been syncing up all this time. “At least you come back.” 

Yoongi squeezes your hand tight before he holds it against his lips. Again. Fuck, this is a lot. You’re so wrapped up in his gesture that you don’t catch what he whispers. 

“Hmm?” 

He glances at the center console before putting your hand back on his thigh. 

“Always, doll.” 

And the fire you stepped on rages back with a vengeance. Heat and sting surrounds your eyes, and you don’t hide how you press your feelings into his skin. “Me, too.” 

If you weren’t lost in the surrounding scenery outside, you would have caught Yoongi’s look. But all you feel is his hand clutching you tight, and it breaks you down all the same. 

The rest of the drive is spent with him telling you to eat more, and a bunch of your sing-alongs to almost every song that comes on. It seems like the tiny bit of closure opened you both up, and you don’t even realize that you’ve been on the road for a really long time. 

But finally, Yoongi pulls up to a building, and you’re haphazardly rapping along to a song before you notice. Wait. What? He drove you to a rec center? 

Your fingers curl around his forearm before you even notice. “What’s this?” 

“Where we’re going.”

Hold on, you’re going inside? “Are we even allowed to be here?”

When Yoongi responds, his teeth make you shiver as he smirks. “Can’t say for sure, no.”

“Then why—”

He unlocks before you can finish, and you’re left in an empty car until he rounds the hood, coming over to your side and opening the door. You almost don’t hear what he says next, too focused on the jewelry swinging from his neck as he bends forward. 

But you catch it, and glance once more at the sight in front of you before biting your lip—in nervousness or excitement, you can’t decide.

“You comin’?”

Damn. Obviously, you want nothing more than to see him here. And it’s much too late for anyone to be around. But if something happens… Whatever. 

Your mouth finally unsticks. “If we get caught, you’re gonna pay for this.”

And you can’t resist his stupid grin. “Now get your pretty ass out before I put you in the back.” 

“Yoongi!”

Grinning, he leads you out, and you follow him to the trunk. After bouncing his stowed ball a couple times, he decides to lean in and reach for something else. 

Wait. Is that what you think it is? “Did you always have that in there?” you ask, pointing to the contraption that Yoongi’s using to air up his basketball.

And he does a horrible job at suppressing a smile. Which makes you burst into flutters and beats beats beats. “You liar!” Oh, you are gonna wipe those laughs from his throat. “I had to change up my plans because of you!”

Palming the ball, Yoongi tilts his head dangerously to one side. “And I got to see you,” he proudly claims. “So I’ll take it.”

You hate how the memories come packaged with what’s haunted you. What else happened during that time, and what happened after you left. But there’s no way you’re gonna bring that up. Not when the night has transformed into something so magical. 

So you just clutch your food and lean on his car, opting to compliment him to wipe the murk away. “Got to see you, too,” you puff into the brisk night. Because you harbor a bit of nostalgia in your bones. And because he still makes you shy. “You and your stupid hair.”

Another bout of hisses wisp into your side. As you turn to regard Yoongi again, he slips his chains into his hoodie before continuing, and you swoon at the veins popping out of his skin with each pump. 

How can he look so perfect doing the simplest things? So unfair. 

After seconds that feel like an hour, Yoongi’s done. And he scans the parking lot before telling you to follow him. 

What you expect is some outdoor courts. Maybe getting past a gate or two. So when you approach a back door lit by the shine of a single light, you freeze. “Are we really going in?”

Fishing something out of his pocket, Yoongi simply turns over his shoulder. “Yeah. Why not?”

“Oh.” You didn’t think you’d actually get inside the building. If there was an outside court just as accessible it would’ve made sense. Can you even bring food in here? Is that question even relevant? “No reason.”

“So I shouldn’t bust in?”

Huh. “What?”

“I’ve already done it a few times, so.”

“Wait!” Nerves throw your hand on his bicep before you can stop. “What if someone sees us?”

He’s so warm. And so toned. And if he plans on taking his hoodie off? You’re not prepared for whatever the hell he has underneath. 

Voice softened, Yoongi tries to placate your paranoia, “They won’t, doll.”

“Are you sure? If we get caught here they’re gonna call the police and I am definitely not… Gonna…”

The object in his hand jangles, and you clearly see he was just joking the whole time because keys—keys—stare you in the face. 

What is it with him and keys? 

When Yoongi speaks, you feel like you’ve never done anything bad in your life, and suddenly the thought of trespassing with an official way in is so scandalous, 

“You picked the wrong night to be a good girl.”

You have to admit. Seeing him so mischievous and dashing makes you wanna follow him wherever the hell he goes. Even if it gets you in trouble. Even if you were breaking in tonight, you would be all in. And that thought should frighten you, but it only does because of the wings tickling your rib cage. 

How can he make you feel rebellious and yet still so shy? The power of Min Yoongi. He’s way too good at destroying you.

When you glare, the man only grins, hisses of laughter leaving him way too happily before he unlocks the door to no alarms or sirens. He doesn’t need to throw a wink your way, too, but of course he does as he lets you in. Which causes you to float through the dark entryway instead of walk oh he did not just slap your ass!

A jolt in your cunt causes you to regard him in shock. To which he hums in a feigned question. “Hmm?”

With nothing but darkness and his cologne surrounding you, it’s only natural that giddiness takes hold. Truthfully, you’re packed with so much adrenaline that you feel a little wild yourself. “You��ve been waiting to do that, huh.” 

“So fucking long.”

You are not surviving the night. And you don’t give a single shit.

But as shy and out of control as you feel around this man, you also feel safe—even in a faraway, dark building that you’ve never been in before. That’s gotta say something about him, right? 

Yoongi feels along the wall beside you for lights, purposefully bumping your chest with his front even though he’s securing a ball with an arm. When you question his joking decision with noises, a chaste kiss on your lips shuts you right up.

“You’re in the way,” he jokes through what you think is a smile, and you’re about to move when he flicks on a switch very far away from your shoulder.

Liar! Your jaw drop must be comical because Yoongi’s grin stretches astronomically wide. But you cannot find a retort because seeing him so chill while you’re stiff from paranoia has you at a loss.

Is this how he used to be all the time? This carefree, all caution to the wind? He’s so fucking handsome like this. No wonder he’s pulled so many hearts just like yours. 

When you still don’t find any words to say, Yoongi makes it harder, stepping so close that you have to swing the plastic container away. Taking one of your hands in his free one, he gives it a warm squeeze while murmuring,

“You’re so cute.”

“How,” you ask just as softly.

And Yoongi responds with lights in his eyes. “Just are.”

Your lips mesh with his as he keeps your fingers secured, and suddenly every cautious thing in your body gets launched into the skies, too.

But it ends as soon as it begins. And Yoongi backs away from you with a smile, 

“Eat.”

“Huh?”

“Eat, doll,” he orders before turning and dribbling onto the court.

When you call out that he hasn’t eaten yet, Yoongi tells you that he already did. When you look around to figure out where to even sit, you decide on the closest set of bleachers and make yourself as comfortable as you can.

Which is impossible. Because they’re bleachers. Which is now triple impossible. Because Yoongi just shucked off his hoodie and the only thing he had under it was his chains goddamn it.

If you weren’t already sitting down you would’ve fallen right into the next dimension. How the fuck are you supposed to eat in these conditions shit he’s walking over! 

Your throat seizes as Yoongi approaches, face trained as if he isn’t aware of his overwhelming presence. All he does is bend to place his sweater next to your legs. But the quick smooch on your lips makes you swoon harder than you ever have.

And the way his silver taps your chest makes you mentally hold on for dear life. Wait. What the fuck, Yoongi’s taking them off right now? Right in front of you? Just as you're supposed to eat oh okay he’s handing them to you great wonderful fantastic.

The metal links feel so warm yet slightly cold to the touch. Weighty, yet light. But you clutch them in your hand as you connect a gaze to his.

“Relax,” he orders, lightly slapping the side of your thigh. “No need to worry.” 

And with bangs swishing, he goes right back to the ball waiting for him. Leaving you starry-eyed to hell with silver in your palm.

…Did all of that just happen? Is any of this even real? Quite frankly, you fucking forgot what you were even worried about. 

No matter what he does—simple lay-ups standing in place, dribbling to different spots to shoot, or even lazily jogging after the ball—you’re so enthralled with his actions that you forget that you’re not supposed to be here. 

And it takes your last bite of food for something to finally hit you. How does Yoongi have keys to this place? Where the hell did he score those because you don’t think he ever mentioned anything about working here. Or anywhere else other than the studio. 

Yet another mystery to add to this walking, bare-chested enigma. 

But there’s another question forming behind your eyes the longer you watch him practice, the more you notice how he’s actually going hard. Yoongi’s really good right now. A lot better than what you’ve seen of him before. 

Has he been coming here more often than he’s let on? And why does he look so… serious? You’d be surprised if he even remembered you’re here. 

Setting your empty container down, you gather the chains in your hands again, deciding to slip them over your head for safer keeping. After, you grab a water before stepping down the bleachers, hanging a little ways away until Yoongi notices you’re courtside.

And when he sees you, he stops practicing immediately, jogging to you so sweaty and shining and gross and handsome and— “Wait, you’re all swea—”

You’re pulled into a kiss the same time you hear a basketball drop, salt on your tongue and damp palms on your cheeks. And you melt right into the shiny wood floor, drifting, drifting, sailing into dreamland even though you’re technically already there. 

“Sweaty,” you whisper into his hot breaths of exertion, a twinge between your legs when he kisses you even deeper—breathing, inhaling, taking you in. “Gross.”

“Thanks.” 

You flash a smile against Yoongi’s lips, giggling because this is all better than anything your brain could’ve conjured on its own. When you ask why he’s going so hard, all you get is a question in return,

“You’re perfect, you know that?” 

Huh? Blinking, you suddenly don’t remember your own train of thought. “What did I do?” 

“Nothing.” He presses a wet mouth to your nose. “Did you eat?”

Laughing, you reassure him, “I did, I did.” 

“Good. You bored?”  

“Huh?”

Yoongi leans to softly take your lips this time, and you want to say he’s approaching the legal limit for kisses tonight. “Thought you came over cus you wanna leave.”

“And stop seeing you play? I could watch this forever.” You squeeze the water bottle a little tighter. “Just checking on you.” Another strike hits between your legs when Yoongi takes another, lazier glide over your mouth, and you sigh when he tugs you forward by your bottoms, fingers slick from use. 

You could do this for eternity, too.

“Well I got about five more minutes in me, so..”

This man. 

“Forever might be a stretch.” 

“Ah, shut up. Here,” you offer through a giggle, holding the water out for him to take. 

“Thanks.” When he does, he tilts his head at just the right angle to cut you through, gulping down liquid and making you do the same to your nothingness. 

So unfair. “You looked like you were going pretty hard.” 

Lowering the bottle, Yoongi shifts his jaw before taunting something a ways off. “I kinda was.” 

“It was kinda hot.” 

His laugh makes you smile, and his next swig makes you weep. “Nah, but. This is our practice gym. I can just zone out here, so. It’s been one of those things.” 

Ah. Was this one of the places Yoongi ended up during those months apart? You wish he could’ve brought you along sometimes. Or at least thought about asking. It’s nice just to be around him while he does something he likes. Gaining courage, you say exactly what’s on your mind, “You can always bring me, too. If you want.” 

And it’s true. You don’t really have to do much when you’re with him, because just being around him is what brightens your day. Lifts your mood. 

But you have to admit that watching him play basketball while shirtless is the biggest fucking win in history. 

When did Yoongi get so close? When did his eyes retreat so far away? “I didn’t wanna bother you with this,” he admits, a drop of sweat clinging onto his chin. “I don’t even put music on.” 

“You never bother me,” you whisper back. Hoping that he believes you and that he will start to accept that as fact. Because it is. “Even if you’re being annoying.” 

The bottle crinkles as he smiles, and there’s a soft kiss to your lips that has no real desire behind it. Just a nice peck that sends you careening down a hill of flowers. “You won’t be feeling that way tomorrow, babe.” 

“And why is that?”

“Cus of what I’m wearing.” 

And he says that while half-naked? Like any look on him could get any worse. “Oh,” you scoff out, fully calling his bluff. “As if.”

Well, fuck. You don’t enjoy the smirk plastered on his face. It has you both dreading and excited for whatever demon you’re gonna run into tomorrow. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He shrugs as he starts to hand the water back. “We can go soon, by the way.”

“Okay.”

But before you can grab it, Yoongi pulls the bottle from reach. “Unless,” he teases. “You wanna play me.”

“What.”

His grin shines, face glistening and turning your insides to jelly. “You told me you’d win, so. Let’s see it.”

You said that? While sober? How does he remember something like that when you can’t even recall a time or place you’d tell him something so bold. “When!”

“Right after you woke up once. Said you’re a master?”

Oh. That was ages ago. Fuck, you already forgot how did Yoongi remember? 

“Oh. Well.” Your nose turns up in feigned haughtiness. “Wouldn’t wanna throw you off your game before a championship.” 

“Uh huh.”

“I’d make you cry what the fuck!” 

Water spills down your head in rivulets as you freeze, stunned and watching Yoongi jogging his laughs back to the bleachers like a punk. “Think you got something on your face, doll.”

“Yoongi!” What the hell possessed him to do that to you here? Racing after him with purpose, you slam into him just as he reaches for another bottle, shoving a laugh out of his throat and making him catch himself on hardwood. “Nu uh, gimme that!”

“It’s mine, I just ran out—”

“Bitch!” You lunge for another bottle lying further away, distancing yourself to quickly rip the cap off and to avoid feeling his slick back on your hands. 

And it’s a lawless gym as both of you start spraying water, arcs and splashes of bottled liquid spewing over the court and soaking into your clothes and his bare skin. Which proves to get worse and worse for your wellbeing the more he gets soaked in your attacks. 

Running ends up being the only option to avoid getting completely drenched, and you hightail it behind bleachers before your waist is grabbed. “Fuck!” 

“Uh huh.” 

You try to wrestle out of his hold, his wet forearm digging lovely into your stomach, and you’re temporarily let go just so Yoongi can spin you around. 

Your back connects with solid wall, the impact shooting a grunt out of your throat before you laugh out of pure disbelief. “I can’t believe, you got me to do that,” you rush out, sentence punctuated by your breaths more than anything else. 

Here you are. Under bleachers. With Yoongi’s skin caging you with radiating heat.  

You can only stare as he drinks you in, no doubt looking at his silver around your neck and your chest heaving from exertion. Butterflies float across your stomach when his smile drips, and you fold as soon as he swoops in. 

Everything in your being pulses hard. It’s so visceral that you teeter on the edge of sanity and logic, and the thoughts slipping through your mind are just as wild as you feel. Before you’re even aware of it, a mischievous finger slides along the hem of his shorts, and you jump at the downright boulders rolling down your front, 

“Careful, doll.”

“Hmm?” You feel bad. And it feels fantastic. “What was that?” 

More gravel slides down his tongue, and you shake at his attractive as fuck threat, “Fuck around and find out then.” 

Your giggles add feather lightness into his murky laughs, but you’re so preoccupied that you don’t notice his hand between your legs until he slaps the inside of your thigh. “Yoo—!”

“Unless.” He leans forward. “My baby’s too scared.” 

Holy fuck, you might be. Is he really willing to do something with you? In a public place very similar to where you’re gonna watch him play tomorrow? You don’t know why the fuck that’s attractive as hell, but it is. 

Yoongi grips your chin, eyes falling to your lips and brows knitted before claiming your lips even harder. And despite your bones vibrating to hell, you put your all into the kiss, relishing in the growing hardness you feel against your front. An animal starts to wake inside your core, and you almost feel like stroking it. Feeding it. Raising it only for it to consume you in return. 

“Fuck it, we’re leaving.” 

“Huh?” Dazed, you let your vision refocus as Yoongi chuckles at your hazy state. 

“Fuck this. I’m taking you home.” 

For some reason, the game makes you nervous today. Even while Taehyung strides into the gymnasium with you, there’s a lingering feeling swelling in your stomach, and you don’t have any reason for it yet. 

At least this is another rec center entirely. Because there’s no way you would’ve sat still knowing you had a clandestine meeting in the same place not even twenty-four hours before. 

But the activity already bustling around hardwood catches your attention. Not on both sides, since only one team is here, but they are active on the other end doing drills. 

Wow. They look really intimidating, matching jerseys that were clearly done professionally and warm-ups having a set routine. You wonder if this is gonna be a tough game for… Wait. That’s your brother under the basket. That’s them? 

Fucking hell, Yoongi was right.

Because you’ll already never get over how attractive he looks in athletic clothes.

But team jerseys? 

Seeing this man rock a basketball uniform with his toned arms and legs so visible makes you want to claw your way out of your invisible cage. 

When the hell did they even get those? And why is he already slightly drenched during the warm-up alone? 

As soon as you see him make a lay-up, you know for a fact that you shouldn’t be here. 

Yes, you’re gonna stay and yes, you’re gonna cheer for them all game. But you are absolutely gonna feel like jumping him, which will in turn make you wanna bolt and run all the way out of town every agonizing second. 

Shit, shit, shit. You’re gonna have to try your damned hardest to unstick your eyes from that man the whole time. Already, you can hear Taehyung’s teasing, and your groan is to lament your future state.

Your name suddenly rings across the gym, and four feet pause in your ascent up the bleachers. When you catch both him and Jimin waving you down from their courtside chairs, you tilt your head in intrigue. 

They want you to come over there? What the hell is this about? 

Sighing, you turn. “Guess I’ll go see what they want.” 

“Here,” Tae offers his hand. “I’ll save you a seat.” 

Your bag is transferred to his grip while you nod, and you step down onto the court, wondering if you’re even allowed to walk onto it to see them. And Jimin’s grin can be seen from miles away. “Come here!” 

You gingerly step onto shiny wooden floors, making your way over and becoming hyper aware that someone else notices your presence. But you’re so puzzled as to why there’s no one on the other side of the court yet because isn’t the game about to start? 

Where’s the other team? As you approach their row of chairs, your hands immediately find your hips. “What’s up?” 

Jimin’s eyes stay creased as your brother explains the reason he waved you down. A very stupid, very innocuous reason. “Can you keep score?” 

“Me?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Why me?” 

Your brother uses his jersey to wipe sweat from his brow, and you wince at the brand new material getting gross already. “The girl that usually does it for us is sick.” 

“And you know the game,” Jimin quickly tacks on, rubbing at some tattoos on full display. Wait, are there more than you remember? When did he get more ink?

Your sibling asks another question you had in mind, “You aren’t gonna cover those?”

“Nah. Not today,” the man elongates in a stretch. “Just got another one. This one!” 

Ah, you were right. “I like it.” 

Jimin couldn’t look more proud. But enough of that because you really just wanna go back and observe the game from another place entirely. “Can’t y’all find someone else to keep score?” 

“We don’t think anyone else can,” your brother explains, looking over your shoulder. “At least, not the people coming to watch us.” 

Cool. You get to be met with heat and sweat from all these guys without compensation. How is this something you would say yes to? “Well. I don’t really feel like being a scorekeeper for free.” 

When your sibling laughs with Jimin, they share a look before he says so matter-of-factly, “Told you.” 

You’re sticking with that. If you’re gonna sit next to a bunch of smelly people, they’re gonna pay… you… somehow.

A ways down the row, you catch Yoongi dumping himself onto a random chair, head tilted back before he hangs it forward to wipe sweat from his forehead. 

And suddenly this temporary gig doesn’t seem terrible in the slightest. 

Because one, you can sit on a team bench that will have his fine ass right there. And two, this will give you a way to objectively focus on the game. You won’t have time to be distracted by a demon and his hair that’s gotten criminally long. 

“I’ll get us all dinner,” your sibling slices through your thoughts. “After we win.”  

“Fine,” you sigh, taking the end seat and shooting one more glance to the other side of the court. “Then I get to p—”

The air around you squeezes inward. And all sounds plunge underwater. 

Because you recognize someone you knew from a dark club walking onto the court, his team looking just as sharp and cocky as his eyes. 

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. 

You don’t notice the way Jimin’s hands flex, nor the way a familiar presence walks up to join your brother. 

All you can do is stare back. 

And without even realizing. 

You’re already rubbing your arm.

-

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tbc. :((

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a ha ha... so how do we feel? | taglist | discord!

a/n: okay, hello, loves. apologies this part took so damn long to post! can you imagine if i tried to post everything at once LMAOO yikes talk about too much at once. but i hope this part was enough to still be good on its own, and broken, pt. 2 will be... well. you can probably guess that's where a majority of my brainpower is going to go. a/n 2: thank you all for being here! it's been an amazing two years working on this series and i cannot tell you how grateful and appreciative i am to have such wonderful people alongside me. i hope this series continues to be there for you when you need it, bc it has become that for me, too. ++ 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

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Let him cook

Charles Leclerc x Masterchef contestant!reader

Series Part: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

A/N: Got this idea because the masterchef trophy is similar to the Australian GP trophy. This is going to be a series

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Charles_Leclerc Add professional chef to the list

User1 aint no way you cooked this

User2 nice try Charles but we all saw that pasta video

CarlosSainz55 mate drop the # of the private chef you hired, these look delicious

Charles_Leclerc I told you that I made this myself CarlosSainz55 Lies!!!!

PierreGasly since when did you learn how to make coq au vin???

Charles_Leclerc not you too PierreGasly you should invite me sometimes so I can judge your cooking

Y/NCooks posted a photo

YNCooks last date night before i enter masterchef australia. credits to the boyfriend for the lovely photos

Friend1 Y/N i know this is your dream for a while now. I hope you win. We will cheer for you our next masterchef australia!

YNCooks awww stop! ur making me cry

User1 OMG she is finally competing, goodluck Y/N!

User2 Y/N always talk about how its her dream to enter masterchef, I'm gonna watch it everyday and hope she wins it!

User3 Goodluck Y/N! I hope you become the next masterchef australia!!!

Mystery Box challenge episode

There was a building reputation in the kitchen that you are one of the strong homecooks of the season. After winning the past 2 mystery challenges, you were extremely determined to do well and seek for a third streak. The mystery box today was all about italian cooking, a cuisine that you have been comfortable due to the close ties of your boyfriend being signed to an Italian team.

"And what do we have here with you today Miss Y/N" Matt Preston asked as he approached the work table together with George Colambris "You seem rather comfortable and in your own zone. Its like an ordinary Tuesday date night"

You gave a small chuckle with that mention "That's actually pretty on point of you to say as Tuesday is my date night with the boyfriend"

"Ah so maybe that's why you are so inspired because you are in love"George teased.

"Well I have to admit that there is a little pressure to do well in this challenge or my boyfriend's family will get mad at me"you quipped back a reply.

The judges suddenly leaned a little interested to learn more about your personal life, "So your boyfriend is italian?"

"He is not but he might as well be. He spends a lot of time there"

"It must be hard to not see him a lot since you are here competing" Matt says

"It's a price we are willing to pay. He has been supportive of my dream as I am with him" you gave an encouraging smile as you continue to chop the sweet potatoes.

"We hope to meet that boyfriend of yours because he is one lucky man because that dish looks delicious!" George says before they left the station.

Somewhere in Bahrain, Charles Leclerc is grinning upon watching the replay of the episode. He was beyond proud of what you have achieved as a contestant in MasterChef. He wished that he could do more to express his support towards you but you have an agreement with him to keep things lowkey for the meantime. It was a reasonable decision as he didn't want to overshadow your career but it was nice to know that you two are a private thing but never a secret.

He was so engrossed to repeating the boyfriend clip that he didn't notice that Carlos snuck up beside him.

"What are you watching there?" Carlos asked his teammate

"Oh its nothing" Charles says as he immediately exited the Youtube app "I didn't notice you there, you scared me"

"If you weren't too into your phone then you would have noticed me calling you" Carlos explained "What are you watching on your phone that got you smiling like that?"

"Nothing, I just saw an ad"

"Hmm sure an ad" Carlos was pretty sure that Charles was watching MasterChef but he couldn't care anymore to ask which country because there was too many so he decided to just let it go "Cmon Fred is asking for us, were late for a meeting"

"Carlos! Why didn't you start with that?"

Cake challenge

You were exhausted because you spent the early hours of the morning watching the Jeddah GP. It was a thrilling race to see Charles bag his first podium of the season so you can say that its worth it. Besides, you were able to talk to him after the race so it sweetens the deal even more.

Filming begun for MasterChef and the judges brought out balloons for the mystery box challenge.

"Your challenge today is to make the most imaginative and creative birthday cake that you ever had" Gary explained "The pantry is filled with all the cake flavors you can ever imagine so be creative and show us what you've got"

Baking has never been your strongest suit. It was all about precision and measurements as small increments can make a huge difference. Today, you were determined to do well and you wanted to use the podium finish of Charles for the cake.

It was a struggle to bake the cake, cool it, and pipe it in under 60 minutes. You felt the pressure getting under your nerves as your hands started shaking when you were piping the cake details with 10 minutes left. There was a sigh of relief when you finished just 5 seconds away from the judges calling the time.

There were plenty of beautiful cakes in the room so it was a shocker for you that the judges called you in front to present your cake.

"Judges what I have for you today is a three layer cake with the raspberry,almond, and pistachio with chocolate to seperate the layers and a lemon buttercream frosting."

"You told us you can't bake, that seems like a lie" George says as he cuts through the cake "Look at that layers"

"The layers are actually inspired by the italian flag, its an homage to the boyfriend. Its actually a cake that I made thinking about him" you explained.

"That is simply gorgeous. The cake is very moist and the balance with the flavors is that its not too sweet or nothing overpowering. Your boyfriend is a lucky lucky lucky man to be baked a cake like this" George complimented.

"Does your boyfriend cook?"Matt asked as he took a bite

"Oh God no. I have to cook or else the kitchen will be on fire"you laughed "But I can't drive so maybe that's his payback"

"You seem to show the beautiful dynamics of your relationship when you cook something inspired by him. I wish you two the best" Matt's genuine comment was a heartwarming moment.

Its unfortunate that you didn't win this challenge but you were able to showcase your support for your boyfriend.

Melbourne GP meets MasterChef

This was another challenge as you were elected as a team captain for the second team challenge. You were extremely nervous when you were transported with your team mates from the blue kitchen to an unknown location. It was even more nerve-wracking after you've realized where you are.

"Welcome to the Albert Park where the Australian Grand Prix is underway for this weekend" Matt introduced "Your challenge is to prepare two dishes: a pasta and a fish dish to be served to the talented drivers in Formula 2"

There was a little sigh of relief as you were dealing with the Formula 2 drivers. It was a lot of weight on the shoulder if you will be serving food to your boyfriend.

"The practice sessions will be starting in a few minutes. You have 90 minutes to prepare your dish and an hour to serve them"

All you know was that you started organizing the team to put them in charge of the dishes that you will be making today. You cross your fingers that the color red brings luck to your team today.

Meanwhile, the paddock was buzzing with cameras and Charles immediately noticed that there were some new film crews around the Formula 2 drivers. His eyes did a double take after he recognized the face of three familiar judges he often sees on MasterChef Australia.

"What's going on? Isn't that MasterChef Australia judges?" Charles quizzed

"That's MasterChef Australia, they have this team challenges and they will be feeding the Formula 2 drivers" Silvia answered as she was informed earlier that morning about the extra exposure in the paddock today.

"Why Formula 2? Why not us?" Charles whined

"If you want then you could go ask Ollie for food" Silvia suggested

That sets a lightbulb moment for Charles as he excused himself to talk to the young driver. He will not miss the opportunity to taste the cooking of his secret girlfriend and support her in doing her craft.

It puzzled Ollie Bearman to see that Charles has been looking for him once the practice session was over. He was even more confused by his request.

"So you want me to get you food?" Ollie asked "Doesn't Ferrari have a catering?"

"Its not just food, its the MasterChef Australia food" Charles explained without giving out too much information "I just love the show okay?"

"You can come along, I'm sure they don't mind" Even better.

So here is why you were genuinely surprised to see that Charles Leclerc is walking inside the MasterChef tent with a red and blue plate in his hand. He was grinning wildly as if he was a kid on a sugar rush.

"Ohmygod we are serving food to Charles Leclerc!" one of your teammates whispered.

"Hi goodafternoon! What's the dish for today?" he asked politely.

"Well we have a pan fried cod with a pea puree and then some green grapes some fennel over there and then for the pasta lemon ricotta and beet tortellini" you answered as the team captain "We hope that its up your liking"

Charles gave you that smile that seems to light up the whole room, "I look forward to it, thanks!"

Its moments like this that you wish that you could reach out for him but you understand that its not yet the time. Its nice to see the support that you have for each other even though its all in private and away from the eyes of the media.

"Goodluck on your race Charles!"

There was a smile on both of your faces as you both continued to go chase your dreams.

[reiderwriter]

can i request for a mean!spencer x bau!reader? like they are not enemies but there's just this really intense sexual tension with prompts 2, 30, 48, and 49? thank you!

#2 "I wouldn't fuck you if you were the last person on earth.” #30 "You're not as hot as you think you are.” #48 "You belonged to me before I even made you mine.” #49 "I'm so fucking obsessed with you.”

A/N: Thank you for requesting! Sorry it took almost an entire season to get it done 😭 I hope it's as good as you expected it would be :D

Warnings: slight BDSM themes, Dom!Spencer, dry humping, choking, thigh riding, finger sucking, cum play, facial, penetrative sex, use of contraception, probably more that I don't remember right now... 18+ Minors DNI

There was no one you wanted to spend the night with less than Spencer Reid.

He was annoying, and frustrating and most importantly never knew when to shut the fuck up.

No one was better at getting under your skin, and no one seemed to relish it quite like he did. It wasn't that you hated the man, just that he had the presence of an unkillable mosquito in your life.

He was irritating.

“Y/N, are you even listening to me?”

“I try not to make a habit of it,” you rolled your eyes, pushing past the man as you both finally made it to your motel room for the night.

You weren't sure if this was divine punishment or Emily's idea of a joke, but you'd ended up with Reid as your roomie for the next week.

As your case location was remote and as back waters as it could get, you'd ended up needing to bring Penelope Garcia along with you physically. And with only four rooms available, the eight members of your team had to all scramble for acceptable roommates and, having gotten off the jet last, you'd drawn the short straw.

Rossi had been quick to pair up with Luke, citing Spencer's snoring habit as reason enough, and the girls had happily fallen into two pairs. It was your lucky day.

With your hands busy with your bags, you tossed the key to Spencer quickly and waited for him to unlock the door, eager to escape the cold chill of the night.

“Hurry up, Spencer, or we'll both turn into popsicles out here.”

“Not only is that physically impossible, but it also isn't that cold out here, Y/N. Don't you think you're being a bit sensitive.”

You stuck your tongue out at him and he let out a sharp chuckle as he finally managed to unlock the door.

Despite your best wishes, stepping over the threshold didn't solve your problems. Instead it seemed to present even more.

“Fuck, how is it colder in here than it is out there?” You said, shivering violently as you stood in the doorway. If you thought that was reason enough to cure though, you thought you'd practically spit fire when you saw the sleeping arrangements for the night.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Your body forgot its fight to keep warm, letting your blood run cold as you found yourself face to face with one singular, though large, bed. Another cursory glance around, and the heart motifs on the walls and pink themes cushions on the bed suggested that this was likely the motels joke of a Honeymoon Suite.

“Emily did mention that we booked out their last four rooms.” Spencer said, walking up beside you and frowning deeply as he took in the same scene you did.

“She said nothing about the rooms being igloos though, Spencer. I never thought hypothermia was going to be my cause of death after spending the night with you in the room.”

“You think I'd shoot you.”

“I think I'd shoot myself.”

He scowled a little at that and moved to check the room's thermostat. Although it was presently reading 215° so you didn't know how much good that could do.

“There's no sofa,” you grumbled as you watched Spencer move to the small bathroom.

“And there's no hot water. And according to the sign on that table, there's nothing we can do about it until the morning.” You picked up the sign yourself, just to verify and practically moaned in frustration.

“This is insane, we'll freeze to death.”

“It has to drop below 32° in here for us to even possibly freeze death. There's no wind, rain and we have blankets, so maybe you should focus less on being dramatic and more on what we can be doing to warm up.”

“I'm sorry, Doctor Genius, whatever can I do to warm up? Please impart some of your wonderful knowledge on me, I beg.” His eyes flashed with some annoyance and you quietly enjoyed the expression, happy to have affected him as much as he affected you.

“You can start by stripping.” It was his turn to enjoy the abject look of horror that crossed your face in that moment, and you were convinced that of he let even a hint of a laugh out, you'd throttle the man.

“I'm sure you'd just love that,” you grumbled, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Well, there's no water, no thermostat and no other source of heat, so if you're so worried about hypothermia, there's only one solution viable to us right now.”

“You're joking. You want us to huddle together for warmth?” You backed yourself into a corner as you tried to distanced yourself from him as he suddenly began divesting himself of clothing.

As soon as he reached the top buttons of his shirt, you let out a quick squeak and turned around.

“Unless you want me to watch you get undressed too, I suggest you hurry up and do it before I get into bed.”

You quietly cursed and started unwrapping each of your layers, fingers fumbling with the cold already seeped into your skin.

“I am not getting naked, Spencer Reid.”

“I didn't ask you to. Just get comfortable.” You turned around to shoot him a glare, but when you noticed his back was turned - and bare - you lost all memory of the purpose of the movement.

You'd never quite realised before how broad his back was. His shoulders looked strong despite his lithe frame, twisting rather attractively as he pulled his nightshirt over his head. You were almost disappointed that he wasn't facing you, suddenly curious about Spencer Reid's happy trail.

You snapped yourself out of it and continued to change, wrapping your coat around your waist to hide your legs as you switched your pants to your sleep shorts. It was an awkward fumble, but at least the lights were low.

When you were finally ready, your steps back to the bed were hurried and near painful as you felt colder than ever.

Spencer was already there, and without a second thought, you pulled the quilts up and plastered yourself to his side. He was the only thing in the entire room offering you a modicum of warmth, and you weren't going to let your personal hot water bottle go just because everything that came out of his mouth was hot air.

“So you're a big fan of this now, huh?” He said, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you in. Your back was pressed against his chest as you both laid on your sides, piles of duvet and blankets laid out on top of you. You hated to admit it, but this position was comfortable.

Maybe it was just months of working cases non-stop and perpetual singleness, but the feeling of a man at your back was infinitely pleasing.

“Don't expect anything more Spencer Reid. I wouldn't have sex with you if you were the last man alive.” The words were harsh, and if you were being honest, a little bit untrue. Your small peak at his back earlier had definitely sparked an interest in you that was bubbling up in your throat. Like bile.

“You don't have to worry about that. You're actually not as hot as you think you are.” His words were tinged with the same faux bitterness as yours, but you refused to hear it. Instead all you felt was another unpleasant heat spreading throughout you, quiet anger plotting in your stomach.

You knew you probably shouldn't push it, but you needed Spencer to eat those words. Desperately.

Your mind ticked through a few options before landing on one. If you were so unattractive, then surely there's no way he'd physically react to you.

Scooting your body closer to his, you take advantage of the less than comfortable bed, making each of your movements similar to ones you would make when getting comfortable. Except, of course, with the added bonus of making sure your ass pressed directly up against his crotch, moving up and down and grinding into him.

You felt him slightly stiffen behind you, and decided that a few we'll time groans of frustration could go a long way to spurring him on.

So you began letting little gasps and sighs out, graduating to moans when you thought he wouldn't question it, each small movement rubbing against him deliberately.

What you'd failed to remember though, was his hand on your waist. Although you knew he was awake beside you, despite the now late hour and somewhat comfortable bed, his hand held you firm. Or it did until you risking bounced yourself gently against him, and his now limp hand slipped underneath your shirt.

The moan you released then was genuine, the cool touch of his fingers against your burning skin causing you to flush and shiver at the same time. You cursed your earlier self for valuing your comfort over your general peace of mind, because as Spencer's hand once again settles centimetres away from the edge of your boob, you desperately wished for your bra back.

You stopped moving, hoping that if you just pretended to sleep for a few minutes, his hand would reach higher and he'd prove to you that he did think you were attractive. He didn't though, showing off how gentlemanly he was. It pissed you off. Most of his good qualities pissed you off, and you were sure that said more about you than him .

You tried your best to just give in, to even out your breathing and let the black haze of sleep take over but his hands on you were maddening, and you found your body reacting in much the same ways you'd wished him to react.

It didn't help that he'd casually shifted his lower body away from you slightly in your stillness, letting himself fall onto his back rather than his side. As he made this shift, his hand trailed across the expanse of your body before cutting all contact with you altogether.

So much for huddling for warmth if all he had to do to return you to record heats was stroke you like that.

You needed to feel him again, so, feigning the most realistic sleeplike movements you could muster, you turned your body in his direction, and placed your head over his chest. You weren't finished, just proceeding with caution. Your hands obviously fell over his chest, if slightly lower than you'd expect.

It was only when your leg finally came up over his that he broke his silence.

“I know you're awake, Y/N,” he whispered in your ear, a solid hand on your thigh holding it down right over his crotch. You felt your prize and grinned in your sleep.

He was hard. You'd won. It was time to play.

You opened your mouth to purr victoriously at him, but he moved so abruptly you were never expecting it.

Shifting his hands to your ass, he hauled your body over him, letting his hands stay on your hips as he began to help you shift them back and forth. You moaned at the friction, even as your head stayed rested on his chest. The movements were shallow, just a teasing but you already felt more aroused than you had in months. Slowly, your hips started moving for themselves and his hands moved onto more important things.

“Am I suddenly the last man on Earth, Y/N?” He smiled, tipping your head up so you could make eye contact with him.

“Go to hell.”

“I think we're already there, don't you?” With that, his large hands sat you up, meeting with no resistance as you let yourself become pliable.

“Show me.” He whispered, hands right on your hips, pushing into your flesh just a touch part forceful.

“Show you what?” You narrowed your eyes, but you knew exactly what it was he wanted and that you weren't going to out up much a resistance before giving it to him.

“Show me how much you want to fuck me. Since your mouth isn't honest, I'm going to have to listen to your body.” You let your hands fall to his chest, pushing lower until you reached the hem of his shirt. He'd pushed the quilts off of your torso, letting the cold air attack your upper body, so you knew your hands were cold, and the hiss he let out at the contact was satisfying enough to shut up and actually start following his directions.

You shifted your body up and down, grinding and dry humping his crotch, wishing for him to stop being a tease and just get it over with.

He wasn't letting you compromise, though. Each small sound that left your body met with a soft smirk from him, each halt in your movements a prod from his hands. You'd tried to still your hips entirely once out of frustration, but he'd delivered a slap to your ass that had you gushing, desperate to reach a release even if he'd only allow you it this way.

“I don't think you're trying hard enough.” His voice was lower than before, something gravelly to it as he began pulling your clothing off one item at a time. Your sweater went first, before he flipped your positions and shimmered your shorts off your body, taking underwear soon after and then you were bare to him and he was rolling you once again.

“That's better. Now, where were we?” He moved your hips for you again, but his eyes stayed focused in the rigid peaks of your nipples, bouncing with each rock of your hips. You weren't sure if it was the cold temperature of the room or your sheer need to cum that had them reacting, but you knew he was seconds away from wrapping his tongue around one and giving into you, so you just accepted it.

His hands stayed put, still on your hips, though the direct contact was heating you slightly more. If you looked down, you were sure you'd see a wet patch against his sweat pants, so you didn't.

You just moaned and whimpered searching for your orgasm on top of him.

“What's wrong, Y/N? Do you need my help to finish?” He noticed your every insecurity, your weakness and exploited it. You were running close to inconsolable, desperate to hit that climax now, more than ever before, so you just nodded at him profusely, desperate for him to touch you in whatever way he could.

It wasn't his hand you felt on your clit, though. It was your own, he wrapped a hand around your fingers and bought them up to the correct stop, showing you exactly what he'd like to see.

“Touch yourself, Y/N. Touch yourself and wish it was me.” With the friction from grinding against him for so long, the satisfaction from the rigid tent underneath you and your hands taking his guidance, it was really not long before your pussy finally twitched familiarly and sighed, soaking his pants underneath you as you shuddered in delight.

He had to ruin your moment of bliss by talking.

“Is that enough, slut? Or do you really need to be filled right now?”

You didn't care if he saw you sticking your tongue down his throat as you collapsed on top of his chest as an answer to that question, or if he saw it as what it was - a desperate attempt to shut him up. All you knew was that he tasted sweet and hot, and that his hand wrapped around your throat was also hot as he pulled you up and off of him.

“Let me be clear. I am in charge.” A simple shift of his legs was enough to flip your positions, landing on top of you ungrateful, but you didn't care.

Using his new high ground, he wedged your legs open and slid a single finger inside you as you moaned. He too found success in silencing you by sticking his tongue down your throat, forcing you to battle him for dominance you knew he'd never allow you.

Having cum only moments before, you truly believed that there was no way he was going to push another one out of you after so little time. The night was full of surprises though.

As you relaxed into his intrusion, he opened you up with a second finger, then a third. You already felt yourself building towards your end goal, but it was his head dropping to tour cold nipples that finally had you cumming around his fingers. His mouth was wet, tongue warm against your skin, and he toyed with you so effectively, you practically forgot your previous qualms.

“See? You belong to me before I've even made you mine.” It irked you that he was right. Had this been any other man, you're sure you'd be bragging about such passionate sex for weeks with your friends. You were resentful that it was him, but you didn't want it to end yet.

Your arms pulled up to hide your face as he traced kisses up and down your chest, fingers coming free to pay attention to your since abandoned nipples.

“I can't wait to fuck you. You're going to feel so good wrapped around my cock,” he whispered into your ear as he pulled your arms away from your face, making sure your eyes were focused on him before his next line.

“You have no clue what you started. I'm so fucking obsessed with you.”

His hands fell to your face, where his thumb pushed against your lips, slipping into your mouth where you sucked on it, getting it wet as his cock teased the folds of your pussy, running up and down with each gentle push of his hips. You entertained him for a moment before pushing up slightly, his thumb falling from your mouth as you blindly reached for the bedside table. Pulling it open, you were relieved to find what you were looking for.

“If you're so fucking obsessed with me, Spencer, show me.” Carefully unwrapping the package, you grabbed his dick and gently slid the condom onto him, making sure it was secure before you propped yourself back on the pillows, waiting for him to initiate once again.

“Pillow princess. You're acting like I haven't been dreaming of exactly this for the last 12 months.”

You couldn't waste time processing those words before he again ran his cock through the folds of your pussy, then sank himself deep inside you. And you meant deep.

The sudden impact robbed you of your thoughts, pushing out every miserable thought and leaving you with just Spencer and pleasure. The two concepts soon became synonymous as his hips lazily sent him careening in and out of you.

His strokes gained speed gradually until the only words shared between you were the animalistic pants of pleasure, his voice driving you insane as you tried not to get overstimulated before you could cum for a third time.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, Spencer-” your moans turned to screams as your orgasm rolled over you, his dick hitting just the right spot inside you that forced your nails to bite his skin, and forced your voice to scratch at your throat as it pushed up from your gut.

Noticing your relentless twitching, Spencer immediately pulled out of your cunt, allowing you a moment of reprieve. Pushing up to his knees, he moved to your side, his crotch parallel with your face as he rolled the condom off his dick.

Stroking himself to completion, he came right over your lips, your eyes dripping with lust as you licked them clean, catching the dribbles that fell down your chin with your fingers and popping them into your mouth as well.

After your whorish display of desperation, it took a full ten minutes for your brain function to resume.

In that time, Spencer had cleaned both of you up speedily with a hotel towel, wrapped an arm around you and began spooning you once again, his chest warm and comfortable against your back, his scent intoxicating.

It didn't stop being so when you finally came down from your post-cum bliss.

“You're not allowed to tell anyone what happened tonight,” you said, turning over to look him in the eye.

“Nothing from tonight, got it. What about tomorrow?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, am I allowed to tell them how I plan to wake you up tomorrow, and how your current state of dress made it possible, if not directly invited it?”

You flushed at his words, tingling already at the mention of tomorrow.

“We're sharing a room, Y/N. If you think I'm not going to be inside you whenever were both free, you're entirely mistaken.” His voice was clear - not even a hint of hesitancy in his voice.

“I'm not letting you go that easily, Y/N.”

[miley1442111]

unfair- a.hotchner

a/n: he's an asshole in this for a while btw. i wrote this with fem!reader in mind but i don't think there's any mention of it so imagine what you like! mad spoilers for season 3 episode 20- Lo-fi (aka i verbatim copied dialogue from it). 'ly' means 'love you'

summary: what happens when Aaron is met with an ex-fling in the workplace that seems to hate you, surely he'll be by your side, right?

pairings: aaronhotchner x reader, platonicBAUteam x reader

warnings: general criminal minds topics, mentions of murder, mentions of panic attacks, general relationship angst, reader getting hurt, mentions of guns and bullet wounds, mentions of death, suggestive themes at the end

Part 2

You hated New York. You hated the bustling crowds, the rude people, and the barely breathable air. 

“Is it just me or does Agent Kate kinda look like Haley?” you overheard Jj say, and your heart dropped. Aaron and Haley had only been legally divorced for a few months, but they’d been separated for a lot longer than that. Your relationship with Aaron had grown into a 10 months long rollercoaster of highs and lows. He was hard on himself about the divorce, about not seeing Jack enough, but you were always there to comfort him. Jj blushed when she realised you’d heard and mouthed a ‘sorry’ your way. You nodded as an acceptance of her apology and continued with the case. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kate had been shooting down your ideas all day. It could’ve been something as simple as lunch ideas, or something relating to the case, she didn’t care. Your input was unnecessary and unwanted. This led you, the only licensed psychologist on the team to be silent as Aaron, Kate and the nypd cops bounced ideas and facts about the psychology of the unSubs back and forth. You knew that what they were saying was outdated. You knew it, and yet you kept your mouth shut, not wanting to give her another reason to silence you. You weren’t even that mad at her, more at Aaron. Why wasn’t he speaking up for you? He alway did before and he promised he would intervene if someone was being unfair and not listening to you in the workplace. He made that promise to the entire team. You were hurt by him, and by the rumours you’d heard. And then you thought back, since you’d gotten to New York, he’d barely glanced your way, his eyes focused on the case or Kate. Derek slumped in the chair beside you, pulling you out of your thoughts. 

“She’s a real piece of work, everything I say is just the wrong thing,” He complained, a tired tone in his voice.

“Want to go back to the hotel? I could use an early night if no one is going to utilise us,” you offered, exhaustion and hurt guiding you against your better judgement. 

“Sounds like a plan, sugar, you and me sharing like old times?” he asked tentatively, clearly sensing the upset you were carrying. 

“You and me Derek, as always,” you smiled. You had known before-hand that the hotel only had so many rooms and in the beginning of the BAU, you and Derek would always share, since he was the person you were closest with. He took your hand and gave it a small squeeze before standing up to gather his things. You stood up too, grabbing your bag and coat. 

“Leaving so soon?” Kate asked, clearly malicious intent behind her eyes. 

“Yeah, just tired and all, listening to you spew absolute bullshit is exhausting,” you yawned and gave her a fake smile as her jaw dropped. Aaron sent you a look of warning, one you met with your own hardened eyes. “Goodnight,” you waved at the cops you had befriended, who waved back, all too happy that someone had finally put Shelly in her place. 

Derek and you walked to the hotel hand in hand, just as you used to, he got the room key, you showered in the bathroom as he watched tv, then vice versa. You texted Aaron a simple, ‘sharing with Derek. Ly xxx’ before you let yourself fall asleep, comfortable in the clean hotel bed. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

You always wrote it out. He thought to himself as he rushed to the hotel, mere minutes after you sent the text. He had been tired and maybe his vision was clouded with Kate, an old fling of his if he was being honest. He pulled at his tie in the elevator as he caught his breath. When the doors opened on the floor of your room, he found you standing on the other side, your eyes semi-shut as if to try and conserve your drowsy state, a habit he knew you possessed and loved. This brought an ease to him, a small smile made its way onto his lips. You had your headphones on too, which meant you really were sharing with Derek. His smile dropped. 

“Honey,” he sighed and you yawned and rubbed your eyes. 

“Aaron?”

“Yes honey, can we talk-”

“In the morning,” You cut him off, “I’m just getting ice. The ice machine on this floor is out of order.”

“It technically is 1:34 am,” he corrected and you sent him a glare. He shut his mouth. “Can I at least kiss you goodnight?” 

“I don’t know, is your mouth not too tired from kissing Kate’s ass today?” You stifled a chuckle at your own joke as he sighed. 

“Honey if you let me-” 

“Please, for the love of god, shut up, I’m too tired for this,” You got off as the doors opened and closed them behind you, pushing the button back to his floor. You grabbed your ice and took the stairs instead of risking him being there. You got back into your room and fell asleep again, even more to think about. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

You walked into the police precinct with Spencer, ready to help him with his geological profile when Aaron stopped in front of you, and Spencer continued walking on. 

“We need to talk,” he essentially demanded and you rolled your eyes and tried to push past him to follow Spencer but he grabbed your waist and started walking you both into an empty interrogation room. 

“Are you planning on interrogating me?” You chuckled as he let go of your waist and started pacing around the room. “What is the problem here?” You asked. 

“Why don’t you tell me? Something I did made you so upset that you decided you wouldn’t sleep in the same bed as me, something I did made you not tell me you love me, and something I did made you not let me kiss you goodnight. So please, just tell me!” He was frantic, the early signs of a panic attack clear in his body language and face. 

“Aaron, come here,” you walked over to him, wrapping your arms around his neck to hold him. His hands pulled you closer to him, squeezing you tight into his chest. “I was just mad about Kate not taking mine or Derek’s ideas, and how you didn't help either of us out. I just wanted some space to clear my head-”

“Were you jealous?” He asked, pulling away from you.

“No? I was frustrated that mine and Derek’s ideas were being shot down, this has nothing to do with Kate.” 

“Then why did you say what you said last night? It made her deeply upset,” he explained and you rolled your eyes. 

“Because it was true? Maybe next time, let the registered and licensed psychologist with 2 phDs speak?” 

His eyes were trained on you. “Not everything always has to be about you, some people are very sensitive to things like that-” 

“I’m starting to think I should be jealous of Kate” you knew it was a low blow but it was one you were willing to take. “I’ll see you around, agent.”

You left Aaron alone in the room, a frown that was bound to stay all day. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Derek had been right to station BAU team members on platforms and we were about to have another body. 

“Hotchner,” a brief pause. “Does it look like it could be one of our guys?” Aaron spoke into the phone.

“What’s going on?” Derrick asked, 

“We’ve got eyes on one of them, he’s on the subway platform at 59th and lex,” Aaron’s eyes met yours and you looked away, focused on Penelope’s voice over the phone..  

“59th? We could have been right there,” Derek sighed, clearly frustrated with Aaron’s behaviour. 

“Garcia, can you get eyes on him above ground?” 

“If he makes it to the park, we've lost him,” Kate explained.

“We could've had that guy,” Derek stressed. 

“Even if we were on that platform, odds are he would have moved on to somewhere more isolated,” Kate argued. 

“Maybe, but it was worth taking a shot,” Derek shot back.

“We had every available man on the street,” She scoffed.

“And I suggested to you that you use this team,” Derek seethed. 

“Second-guessing doesn't do us any good right now,” Aaron piped up. 

“Hotch, how am I supposed to look these cops in the eye and tell them that we're actually here to help them?” Derek demanded, even you were getting angry now.

“We're here to present a profile. That's what we need to do,” Aaron said in that terrible deadpanned voice that made you want to shake him until he was the real Aaron again. Your Aaron. 

“I said to put us at express stops- 14th, 42nd, 59th and that's exactly where they hit!” Derek snapped.

“It's not your place to have this discussion,” Aaron crossed a line with that.

“My place?” Derek questioned.

“You need to back off,” Aaron scolded. 

“We got 7 bodies, man,” Derek said, shocked that Aaron would ever treat him like this.

“Which is exactly why we need to stay focused,” Aaron countered.

“Focused. From where I'm standing, All your focus is on her, not on this case, you're ignoring your girl, so it's not on y/n, but on her,” Derek rebutted. 

“Take a walk, now.” 

You gasped when Derek called him out, but as Derek walked off he offered you a hand, one which you took, and left Aaron with Kate. Derek left to go ‘take a walk’ to a bar nearby and you sat in an office, going over the case with Emily and Spencer. You all ended up sleeping in the office, you chose to be as far away from Aaron as possible. The next day, you were positioned with Emily. 

“How’s it going with Aaron?” She asked and you let out a groan. “That good huh?”

“He’s being such a dick, I have no clue what to do,” You sighed. 

“Maybe talking to him will help?” She offered and you shot her a glare. 

“He doesn’t want to hear me, he just wants to talk,” you explained, hopping off the train and walking up the platform steps. You heard a gunshot and looked around, knowing he was close. 

“Garcia? Where is he?” Emily asked.  “He’s headed our way.” You ran towards the way he was coming from and spotted him, chasing him the other way. You were faster than Emily and stopped in the alleyway. He shot. He grazed your side and Emily shot him and grabbed his gun. 

“Y/l/n?! You ok?” She called back to you. 

“It was just a graze, I’m fine,” You took a deep breath as the adrenaline wore off and the pain started to seep in. Emily and you waited for the ambulance and you started getting stitched up as the rest of the team arrived. Derek came straight to you, Aaron hot on his heels.

“You good sugar?” He asked and you nodded as the needle went back into your skin. 

“Not my first bullet, probably not my last,” you joked and you saw Aaron’s eyes widen. Spencer and Jj shot you a look of concern from behind Aaron and you sent them a thumbs up, Spencer and Jj nodded, understanding that you were ok.

“Can I have a minute alone, please?” Aaron cleared his throat and Derek rolled his eyes but obliged anyway, walking away. “Are you ok?” 

“Yeah, great. Nothing like a bullet wound to put a pep in your step,” you remarked, sarcasm flowing freely. They finished with the stitches and put a dressing on the wound. As soon as you were out of the paramedics hands, Aaron wrapped you in an all-consuming hug. 

“I was so worried,” he whispered. 

“Yeah, so was I, I didn’t think you could get your head out of your ass in time,” you snorted, hearing others laugh at your joke. Aaron rolled his eyes and cracked a smile. 

“I was being unfair, wasn’t I,” he sighed, his hands resting on your waist. 

“Yes, yes you were.” 

“I love you, and I’m sorry I didn’t show it,” he offered and you smiled and kissed him softly. 

“You know it’s going to take a bit more than a few pretty words and a hug to make this right, right?”

“Oh I know, but I was hoping you would at least be in the same bed as me tonight? Then I can at least start apologising,” he smirked and you laughed. 

“Maybe,” you mused. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

[bedsyandco]

3 times people asked if you and Auston were together + 1 time you finally are?

note: been in a little Auston mood lately and I always enjoy writing my silly little leafs. Feat. teammates JT, Willy, Mitch, Morgan and Matty Marts (miss you king) I don't love this but it's been sitting in my drafts for 2 weeks so...this is a little silly especially the last part

warnings: none? i think…

wc: 1.2k

1 ★ Christmas

It was one of the few days off the guys were given across the season and most of the team were gathering at the Tavares house for christmas dinner. A tradition John started when he became captain.

Auston was watching you from across the room, a smile on his face as he saw you talk to Tessa about something. His smile widened as he watched you throw your head back laughing. When he looked back in front of him, he found 4 pairs of eyes staring him down.

“What?” he asks

“Nothing,” John, Mitch, Willy and Morgan say all at the same time.

“Here we go,” Auston says rolling his eyes

“We didn’t say anything,” Morgan says and Auston gives him a deadpan look.

“Yet” Morgan amends his statement

“Just get it over with,” Auston sighs

“You brought a date,” Morgan starts

“To a team event,” John says

“A woman. A really hot woman.” Willy says grinning a little when Auston glares at him.

“You never bring dates to team gatherings. Ever.” Mitch says

“First of all, it’s not a date, she’s a friend. The same friend I’ve been telling you guys about for months-”

“In all those months you failed to mention that she’s a woman,” Mo points out

“A very hot woman,” Willy says again and lets out a little laugh when Auston punches him on the arm.

“I don’t see why that matters,” Auston mumbles

“Mm you don’t?” Mitch asks looking at him pointedly

“So there’s nothing going on between the two of you?” John asks

“No. Now are we done with the interrogations?” Auston asks and wait for them all to nod before making his way over to you. He wraps his arms around waist from behind as you look out the window admiring the christmas lights.

You shriek when you feel his cold nose press into your neck.

“You little rat, don’t do that!” you say turning around and looping your arms around his neck.

“What you just call me? A rat? Careful, or you’re walking home tonight in the cold.” he says, pinching your waist and you laugh.

“You would never let me walk home alone…would you?” you ask pouting slightly when he jokingly takes a few seconds to think about it.

“No, of course not. I would just be punishing myself since I’d be worried sick about you the entire time.” he says and you smile, resting your cheek against his chest.

“Let’s go eat, I’m starving,” Auston says, squeezing your hip and you laugh.

“When are you not?”

Throughout dinner Auston has a hand on your thigh, tracing patterns lazily, and keeps his gaze on you, choosing to ignore the piercing stares of his teammates.

2 ★ Playoffs

“Auston, wait up, I’ve got something for you.” JT says as the guys all walk to the parking lot after practice.

Auston grimaces when John hands him the jacket, knowing he did it now so that Mitch would see it.

“Is that a…no way.” Mitch says, grabbing the jacket out of Auston’s grip and holding it out in front of him to examine the back. “Is this for who I think it is?”

“Your mom?” Auston asks immaturely and Mitch glares at him.

“The mom jokes are never funny.” Mitch replies and John shakes his head at them, saying goodbye and getting in his car, leaving Auston there to deal with Mitch on his own.

“She gets a jacket huh? What’s next a key to your apartment?” Mitch asks teasingly and his eyebrows shoot to his hairline when Auston doesn’t reply, simply snatching the jacket back and putting it on the passenger seat of his car.

“Oh my God. She already has a key, doesn’t she? Does she have a drawer?” Mitch asks and Auston sighs knowing Mitch wasn’t going to let him go home until he had the answers he was looking for.

“Yes she has a key. And yes she has a drawer, but it’s not like that! Sometimes she comes over and it’s way too late to drive back to her place, so she stays the night and then she has to go to work the next day and she needs something to wear- You know what it doesn’t matter, you’re just going to make it something it isn’t anyway.” Auston says resigned

“Something it isn’t? She has a WAG jacket and a key and drawer in your apartment. Pretty sure it is what I think it is. Why are you so against it anyway, do you not feel anything for her?” Mitch asks, tone serious. Everyone could see that there was intense chemistry between you and Auston, and Mitch knew him. He wouldn’t give a key to just anyone.

“I don’t have time for a relationship right now and we really are just good friends,” Auston claims, hoping Mitch will drop the subject.

Sensing Auston is done with the conversation, Mitch tries to get one last word in before he leaves.

“So uh, when do I get a drawer and key to your apartment? We're friends…”

3 ★ Mitch's wedding

Mitch was standing next to Matt and despite it being his wedding it felt as if at this very moment all eyes were on the two people on the dance floor. You and Auston. It was almost as if people were in a trance, not able to look away as Auston bends down to whisper something in your ear.

“I’m glad he finally has someone,” Matt says

“Oh they’re not together,” Mitch replies and laughs when Matt’s jaw nearly drops

“There’s no way,” Matt says turning his gaze back to the dance floor just as you rest your head on Auston’s chest and his hands slip dangerously low on your back, resting just above your ass.

Matt doesn’t buy it that there’s nothing going on between you and Auston. Having experienced it himself, he knows what that type of chemistry, intimacy and feelings look like.

“People are staring,” you mumble into Auston’s chest and he looks around the room. He was so caught up on you he didn’t even notice that there was barely anyone else on the dance floor, a lot eyes on the two of you.

“What can I say, we put on a good show,” Auston says and you scoff.

“It’s you they’re looking at,” you reply and Auston shakes his head.

“Trust me baby. No one is looking twice at me when you’re standing next to me in that dress. You look stunning,” he says, and your cheeks flush as his eyes run down from your eyes, to your breasts, down to your legs and all the way back up.

“Aus?” you whisper and the way you look at him nearly knocks the breath right out of his lungs because he knows what you’re about to say.

“I know. You don’t need to say it. I feel the same way,” he says and pulls you closer again, kissing your temple and making eye contact with Mitch and Matt across the room, both of them laughing when Auston discreetly flips them of behind your back.

+1 ★

liked by mitchmarner, morganreilly and others.

austonmatthews: happy birthday to the best friend I could ask for. so blessed to have you in my life. thank you for everything you do for me. I love you❤️

view all comments

mitchmarner: feel so betrayed that you called her your best friend. I see how it is.

willynylander: wait until you find out that they've been dating for almost 2 months and he didn't tell you

mattymarts: no way they're finally dating?

mitchmarner: 2 MONTHS?

mitchmarner: you can stay in Arizona. that's where liars belong.

morganreilly: if he stays in AZ who's gonna get you all those points?

mitchmarner: actually come back so I can yell at you

yourusername: love you🩷

sydmartin: happy birthday love! 😚

username22: there's so much going on in this comment section I think we're completely skipping over the fact that Auston has a gf??

leafsfan3416: mitch's comments😭💀

user96: they're so cute

[qlossytbh]

𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐲 - 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝 𝐱 𝐛𝐚𝐮!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 you and spencer seem to have a lot more in common than you let yourself on to. (based on 1x22)

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 brief spoilers for 1x22, strauma dumping between reader and Spencer, the two of them have fucked up childhoods, sexual tension (?), fem!reader, mentions of schizophrenia, mentions of depression and attempted suicide, reader has a fucked up dark humor (don’t we all!)

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 3.3k

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 this was honestly just an idea that came to me while watching season one finale, he’s just so *chefs kiss* and I wanna give him a hug. BY THE WAY IM ONLY ON SEASON TWO SO DONT SPOIL. i feel like it’d be super funny for season 1/2 Spencer to be with someone with a super sarcastic and twisted humor

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭ੈ✩‧₊˚

It was an uncomfortable silence if you were being quite honest.

You acknowledged how the events of that day personally affected Spencer— you really did.

It felt as if the air was thick and both of you wanted to speak but none of you considered doing so. You glanced over at Spencer from your spot next to one of the file drawers, letting your mind wonder on how he was holding up.

You saw him shift in his seat on the couch while his eyes scanned through a few of the files that sat comfortably in his lap.

It had never even occurred to you— what Spencer's mother had been through. Earlier, while she was helping out with the case, things seemed normal. Sure, she was a little reserved and seemed constantly on edge, but you thought that was just another one of her odd traits.

However, when you and Morgan were covering for Reid earlier today, he practically jumped head first into a room with a bombed UnSub that was keeping Rebecca Bryant hostage.

You thought you misheard, but Spencer briefly started mentioning his mother and then stated very explicitly that she was borderline schizophrenic. You looked over at Morgan in shock.

Spencer was one of those people who had always been a closed book when it came to himself, because god knows he loved to talk about other things. It was like a type of distraction, the consistent talking.

Since you and Spencer had become friends he never really talked much about himself. He always preferred hearing you ramble on about whatever it was getting you worked up or irritable. He found it massively endearing when you'd arrive at work and immediately start venting rapidly and furiously about something as stupid as your abhorrence towards slow drivers.

Spencer could be a little more uptight and calculated, struggling to let loose while you however, usually took most things with humor. You joked around— sarcasm being your main powerhouse of humor, which unsurprisingly was very hard for Spencer to catch onto. You found yourself regularly explaining to Spencer that you were only joking. Never had it annoyed you, you only felt able to find it cute.

But that's exactly why you and Spencer worked so well. Spencer's grounded way of thinking encouraged you to see things in a different light and he brought the best out of your critical thinking. He worked as a real life anchor and you helped Spencer get out of his overthinking, grounding him and helping him see things with a little less, eloquently.

What you lacked he recompensted, and what he lacked you recompensated. The two of you filled the gaps the other was missing. And it’s why the two of you understood each other so much.

But in situations like the one you were currently in, you truly wondered how much he could be potentially hiding about himself. You felt like you knew him so well but at the same time, you knew absolutely nothing.

You began wondering if that’s what drawed you in so badly. Spencer appeared to have so much he was hiding and all you wanted to do was insert yourself into his head and dissect every and any thought possible. You truly wanted to understand his way of thinking— those things that, essentially, made him, him.

You shifted on your heels, sneaking glances at him and trying to figure out the best way to go about was. Because by the way his knee bounced nervously and the familiar furrow in his brow, you knew his head was racing uncontrollably.

You needed the silence broken so without another thought, you set the file down, using a bit more force than preferred and made your way to the couch he was sitting on. He sat on the left side, allowing his elbow to rest on the arm rest while he continued scanning his eyes through the papers that sat in his lap.

Without a single word, you sat on the farther right side of the cushion and faced him. Your eyes bored into the side of his face and after a few seconds, he turned to you, feeling your piercing gaze on him.

You narrowed your eyes. "What's going on in that pretty big brain of yours?"

He fumbled with the papers in his lap, growing nervous. He opened his mouth to answer but clamped it shut.

He started, gesturing to the papers “Uh, I'm reading through the various files about the case and how we—"

"No— I mean, how are you?"

He looked at you, severely muddled. A smile ignited onto his face, tugging at the corner of his mouth like your sudden antics humored him. "I'm....good?"

"Good..!" You continued, suddenly feeling your cheeks grow hot. This was severely embarrassing "Great, yeah. That's— uhm, great."

There was a silence, again. You were beginning to hate silence. You looked down at your hands and nervously played with the rings that sat comfortably on your fingers. This was harder than you thought it was going to be.

"You're blushing," He stated bluntly, scanning your face. Your eyes suddenly blew wide and you felt yourself choke on your own air. "Which either means you're feeling embarrassed, or nervous, or—"

"What? No!—" You grumbled and pointed a warning finger at him. "Don't go all profiler on me. We’re not talking about me—“

"But didn't I specify that I was doing good...?" He asked, sounding genuinely perplexed. You deadpanned at your best friend and he suddenly grew small under your gaze. You dragged a hand across your face with a groan.

"Spence, thats not what I meant—“ You looked him in the eye and took a breath. "Are you ok?"

Spencer definitely took his time answering. You sat there, probably looking somewhat stupid waiting for his answer as all he did was scan your eyes, looking for— you didn’t really know what he was looking for.

Spencer was confused. He tried rolling back on something he had told you that’d cause your brows to furrow as deeply as they did. Realizing he wasn't catching on, you continued.

"You know for someone as smart as you, you sure are slow," You shoved his foot with your own and smiled at him. "I didn't know about your mother."

"Oh.." He then slumped with realization as a weak smile reached his face. He looked down at his files and fumbled with the corner of one of them, folding and unfolding it gently.

"Yeah, 'oh'," You teased. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Spencer trusted you more than life itself, he knew he could tell you but right now he felt this distinctive piercing anxiety that was causing him to shift nervously around you. Vocally admitting something that he may have some underlying issues with, letting you know that, terrified him.

It was hard for you as well. You cared about him and if you were to guess with what you know about Spencer, you'd take a wild one that opening up isn't his favorite thing to do. Thinking he could be potentially going through things without anyone to talk to you made you sick to your stomach.

You couldn't blame him though, you had the same problem. He looked up at you and just watching you, waiting for him patiently to tell you anything was enough to make him crack.

"Schizophrenia is a life long illness," He said. "Her meds keep her stable but she still has bad days at the sanitarium."

You nodded your head softly as all your attention was suddenly directed to him and only him. "I don't remember much about when she was first admitted but I do remember that she used to always read me these poems."

You smiled warmly, and he followed suit. When his gaze switched from you to the wall in front of him, you opened your mouth to speak. "How come we never realized you ever leaving to go see her or visit her?"

"Because I didn't," He admits. His brows furrowed faintly. You sat in silence, pushing for him to continue speaking. "I don't."

"How come?" You asked. He shook his head and pulled his lips into a straight line. He didn't really have an answer to what you had just asked, even though you’d hope he would.

His shoulders shrugged slightly as he seemed at a loss of words. "I think it's because in some weird, meticulous, twisted way I see myself when I see her."

"I write her letters everyday, just so I don't feel— you know, guilty, but knowing that schizophrenia is genetically passed on—" He shook his head, not even wanting to finish that thought.

"Spence," You said, shaking your head with furrowed brows. "I didn't know."

He looked at you and got deeply intimidated with the concern in your eyes so he attempted to brush you off. "You— You had no way of doing so,"

"I mean yeah, I guess.."

Yet another silence dwelled upon the room and you found your head racing at a thousand miles per hour. Thinking back and forth as to how you could have possible missed it.

Spencer looked over at you, alarmed by your sudden silence. He saw your gaze glued onto the ground and knew instantly that something was up. He noted how the corner of your lips were tugged tightly to the side and the soft familiar crinkle in your brow— how could he not tell that you were overthinking this? It was as clear as day, at least to him.

"What's going on in that pretty brain of yours?" He quipped, nudging your foot and causing you to snap out of your trance.

You felt the urge to laugh. Your favorite thing was when Spencer teased because it was so out of character of him. It was one of his scarcest traits, but it did exist in him when he wanted it to.

Not entirely ready to talk about what had awoken in your head, you decided to joke around. "How come you get ‘pretty big brain’ but I only get ‘pretty brain’?”

You could physically see it in his eyes— how he rescanned and revisited your conversation, immediately growing nervous at the possibility that he had offended you in any way. "You calling me stupid, Dr. Reid?"

"What? No! I meant—" He shook his hands franticly, turning his body to face you, face growing red. "That you can uhm, also have—"

You let out a soft laugh and he stopped, clamping his mouth shut. "You’re joking,”

The collar of his shirt acutely grew tight. When the sound of your laughter filled the room he could feel everything stop. He could feel every inch of his skin melt off and into a pile of putty on the ground. His cheeks grew hot and were practically burning to the touch.

You leaned forward, giving the end of his tie a soft pull. "Now look who's blushing."

You let him go with a laugh, and fell back shaking your head while Spencer's breaths grew even shallower, growing more nervous by the second.

You crossed your arms over your chest and looked at the floor, smile fading slightly.

"I get it," Your words had taken Spencer off guard. He looked over at you but your gaze remained on the floor.

"What—" His voice came out all wobbly so he quickly cleared it out as embarrassment seeped in. "What do you mean?"

"You're not alone with all the— fucked up family melodrama crap," You shrugged and spared him a glance, one of true empathy and not some made up bullshit. "I get it."

Spencer watched you closely and realized, due to your body language, basically just by knowing you, that something was up. He waited intently, expecting you to go on further— knowing you would.

You brought one of your knees to your chest while the other hung off the couch. "I remember when my sister was admitted to a psych ward, I had this huge inner turmoil, kind of similar to what you telling me about now with your mom."

You’d never shown any signs of having this going on in your personal life that he almost felt stupid for not seeing it, but you knew how to hide things pretty damn well. You'd always been so put together, and the brightest light in every room.

It was crazy how someone could be going through the worse and can hide it so well.

"She was severely depressed, she tried to end her life like, four times?" You rested your chin on your knee and laughed to yourself. "Lost count after a while."

Your face fell in realization "That's not funny—"

It wasn't a topic or time to joke around. He smiled to himself, finding your dark twisted humor somewhat concerning, but also endearing.

"Anyways, the first few times didn't really take a toll on me, and I'm not sure I can say why," You paused. "Maybe I just didn't allow myself to feel because I knew that if I did, I'd fall apart and I couldn't let that happen,”

You picked at a small fuzz on the end of your pants “I didn't want anyone to know what had happened and maybe if I avoided doing so, I could also pretend like it never happened but the time she ended up in the hospital was scary, to say the least."

"I had called 911 and she couldn't be alone before the ambulance arrived. When I tried to stop her from leaving the house, she attacked me," You took a deep breath and smiled. "Couldn't even do anything about it,"

"She got taken to the hospital and I never spoke to her again," You shrugged, pulling your lips into a straight line. "Things just fell apart after that but, I don't feel guilty about not seeing her... I think."

"I offered her help and comfort, time and time again, after every attempt, I'd always tell her that I was right here if she needed me." You shrugged. "I wasn't going to let her treat me like that after I had offered to help so many times, theres a certain point where you just can't help anymore, it’s hard to when they don’t want to be helped. I had to accept it wasn't something I could fix, as much as I wanted to."

Something about seeing and listening to someone's vulnerabilities and deciding to stay around was so sacred to you. Being the comedic relief for others was your way of avoiding letting anyone know and see your darkest sides, but somehow Spencer gave you enough security to let that go and be fragile with him— you felt protected.

"Look at us," You gestured. "Bonding over deep rooted family trauma's."

He shook his head and let out a laugh that was music to your ears.

"You know," He quipped, finding your eyes again. "It’s crazy how most people don't know what's going on with someone else until they directly tell them, no matter how close they are,"

"Here, people usually tell me their secrets all the time, so I know a lot about others" He shrugged with a smile, diverting his eyes from you once again and right into his lap. "I think it's cause they know I don't have anyone to betray them too."

You frowned. Is that really what he thought? That he had no one to go to? He shot you a grin from the side. "Except my mother, I tell her pretty much everything."

"I knew you were a Momma's boy," You accused, letting the playful glint in your eyes reach his. He rolled his eyes.

“I hope you told her about me,” You joked. “I’d be severely devastated if you haven’t.”

It was initially meant to land as small banter but Spencer’s eyes discernibly softened, looking down at his hands as if somewhat reminiscent of a fond memory. “I did actually,"

Your laugh faded but your smile still remained— Affectionate and soft, and directed only towards him. He looked up at you, attempting to scan every depth beneath your eyes bit by bit.

As the pulse in your throat throbbed against your neck, you scooted forward on the couch, allowing yourself to be closer to him. He swallowed thickly, before you took his hand into your own.

"I think with what you said before," You started, looking at his hand in your own while your fingers carressed his knuckles delicately. "People go to you because they know they can trust you— and not for the reasons you think they do,"

"I haven't told anyone about my sister, and I didn't tell you with the security that you wouldn't tell anyone because you don't have anyone to tell," You looked at him. "I told you with the security of the very own trust that I have in you, because you’re— well, you,”

Never before had Spencer proved to you that you weren’t someone he could confide in, and how stupid did you believe it to be that he thought he was only there to be a secret inbox.

He was so much more than what he thought of himself.

Just like you had stated before, you and Spencer brought the best out of each other, even if that meant talking about the worst.

You then signaled him to open his arm, enough to give you some proper space. "Scooch."

You fumbled around before letting yourself fall into his side, cuddling into him as much as you could and letting his arm drape around your shoulder. You grabbed his free hand and interwinded it with yours, smiling at how irrevocably perfect his hand felt in yours.

Your face flushed at the newfound proximity, but it felt too good and too natural that you didn't have it in you to overthink. Spencer somehow just complied to your wishes, immediately allowing his body to relax into yours.

After a while of the two of you basking in each other's touch and comfort, you pulled away momentarily. "Also, if you ever scare me again the way you did today—“

Spencer knew you were talking about dropping his gun and jumping head first into danger, but he listened tentatively at your warning nonetheless.

“I will make it my personal job to make your life a living hell."

He rolled his eyes laughing, and pulled you closer into his side."Yes ma'am"

[lazyjellyfish300]

The Woman He Didn't Choose 🌹

AU Bachelor Miguel O'Hara x Fem contestant reader

Synopsis: You went on a dating show just for kicks and giggles but faceplant when Miguel is the Bachelor. You made the final two, but he didn't choose you. Angst ensues.

A/N: I started the new season of The Bachelor and it got me thinking, what if Miguel was The Bachelor 😏😏 and what if it ended badly??!! 😫🤗 I'm thinking of using this as a segue into a new series where it'd be like Bachelor in Paradise where you're a contestant along with Spider-Verse favs like Peter B. Ben, Felicia, MJ, Jess. And there could be a lotta smut 😇 and I might bring Miguel back somehow 🤭let me know what you think.😝

If you're unfamiliar with the TV show The Bachelor, usually the finale is aired live, and the live audience watches the footage of the proposal/rejection of the runner up together and then brings the contestants back out to interview them on stage. Here's an example of what I pictured in my head.. ALSO please listen to the song at the beginning it's literally the PERFECT break up song for Miguel. 😫 Word count 4.6k

DISCLAIMER: I have changed the name of the show for copyright purposes, I don't own or have rights to the TV show The Bachelor and all credit goes to the rightful owners.

TW: ANGST, BREAKUP, SELF DOUBT, GASLIGHTING, INSECURITY, JEALOUSY, MENTIONS CYBER BULLYING ,MENTION OF SEX BUT NO SMUT, DESCRIPTION OF TWO PEOPLE MAKING OUT

Part 2 , Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹

The camera pans to you sitting on a green velvet chaise lounge upon a sleek, reflective stage. Your legs were crossed at the ankles, red bottoms peeking out of the slit of the elegant black evening gown you wore.

Your lips were in a pout, trembling as they threatened to give way to a spill of tears that would fall in a neverending cascade down your cheeks. 

You were being made to watch the most horrific heartbreak of your life played back on live television.

Having Miguel look into your eyes mid thrust when the cameras were off and he was on top of you in the Fairytale Suites in Thailand and whisper,

 "I love you....I think you're the one....",

watch you walk down a sandy beach clad in a flowy pink dress that cost $60k and stand in front of peaceful cerulean waters, hands entertwined, look you in the eyes and proclaim in a shaky voice, 

"I feel stronger love for Xina...," was the unforgiving papercut, and being pinned underneath the relentless barrage of scrutiny, hatred, and criticism from the viewers was the lemon juice being poured on top of it. 

You watched yourself on the screen sob as you got into the backseat of the black Escalade as Miguel grimly shut the door behind you. You were taking deep, shaky breaths and leaning on your elbow as you tried to make sense of this profound stab wound he just gave you. Your reddened, teary eyes looked at the camera as your confessional.  

"I.....I don't know what just happened...." You rub your temple and look out the window, your lip trembling and your face scrunching in agony. "The craziest part of all of this is....I still love him...." 

A hushed, sympathetic awh emerges from the live audience. 

You leaned over and cradled your head in your hands in frustration as the black suburban continued to drive. 

"I just.... *shaky breath* wanna.....*choked sob*... be happy...when is it my turn to be happy...?" you break down as the screen fades again to black. This time focusing on you, perched on the chaise lounge onstage. The heartbroken woman Miguel did not choose for his wife. 

The tall host, Jason Donner, is sitting across from you in a black armchair. He has neatly groomed, sandy blonde hair and stubble dotting his square jaw and white, pearly teeth. He looks at you, green eyes in a solemn expressesion. He addresses you, and then the audience in a quiet voice. 

"Wow...that was...truly..... one of the most heartbreaking moments we've seen, I think in all of The Eligible Suitor Nation's history..." 

He says your name quietly, then continues, "Now I am, so, so incredibly sorry that this did not have the happy ending you were hoping for..." 

You're not looking at him but staring off, sad eyes still in a doe-like expression, a tear has escaped your left eye and is trickling down your cheek, followed shortly thereafter by another from your right. 

Jason continues, "Tell me...what are your thoughts as you watch that playback for the first time?" He pauses to hear your answer. 

You stay silent for the longest moment, then you finally break your statue-like gaze and take a deep breath, looking down at a spot on the floor so the audience's piercing stares don't throw off your train of thought.

You suddenly feel a rise of anger and frustration in your chest. What kind of question is that? How do you think I'm supposed to feel? 

You try and keep it cool, the chains of the hefty NDA contract you signed to be on this show keeping you on your best behavior tonight. 

"It feels.....awful, Jason." You look at him, and shrug your shoulders. "I really don't have words for it besides that. It feels awful to watch that." 

Jason nods and leans forward, bringing his fingers  to his mouth in a contemplative manner. "How did it feel when he said Xina was the one, I mean did you see this coming at all?" 

You let out a deep sigh and can't help but roll your eyes a little bit. "No..... no, I did not see this coming, Jason, okay?" You say in an exasperated tone, your words edged with annoyance. "You know what..." 

You stand up, shaking your head. "I can't do this." You rip off your body mic and throw it on your seat. "I can't fucking do this...." You gather up your dress train and carefully walk down the steps of the stage and briskly off the set towards your dressing room, sharp heels echoing as they hit the floor, letting out a large sob as soon as you're out of view, one of the cameramen chasing after you. 

Jason looks at the camera a little mortified by your sudden reaction, but the camera crew and producers are silently rubbing their hands together, the promise of high ratings clouding their vision like stars in their eyes. That's it, bring on the drama. You were delivering tonight. 

Jason clears his throat and flashes a smile at the camera. "Don't worry folks, this has all happened before..." 

The audience gives a nervous chuckle. 

"We'll give her a moment. But just remember, you'll get to catch her again on the beaches of paradise where other hot members of The Eligible Suitor Nation such as the likes of Ben Reilly, *audience cheers* , Felicia Hardy, *audience cheers*, and Peter B....*audience goes nuts* will have a second shot at love in our steamy Singles in Paradise, premiering this summer." 

Jason smiles and raises his voice a little more to be heard over the squeals of the fans. 

"We'll take a quick break but when we come back we'll hear Miguel's side of the story, and, a little later the happy couple will be making their grand debut for the first time in public since their romantic engagement in Thailand, which you'll need to see to believe. I must warn you all, it was probably one of the most romantic proposals we've seen in the show's history. Don't go anywhere folks."

🌹🌹🌹

In the beginning, your friend jokingly submitted an application for you to be on the show after you wouldn't stop bitching about your ex. She reassured you when you freaked out at the email you got from production, confirming your application was accepted. 

"This will be good for you! Even if you don't marry the guy, at least you can get famous and have fun, be on TV for a little bit, get some free alcohol, maybe a nice date or two, yanno? Besides, you'll have a whole new roster of guys at your doorstep after they see your hot ass on television." 

You were still upset until she gave you a list of reasons not to be. Sure, this could be fun, you eventually concluded. You only had a 1 out of 30 chance of winning anyway, why turn a blind eye to the possibilities that could come out of this? 

When Miguel was announced as the eligible man you were going to be fighting for, you quit breathing when you saw how handsome he was. Tall, dark, a little stoic, a little nerdy, wants a family? He was literally pulled directly from your wildest imagination. 

You were intimidated by how attracted to him you found yourself, but you decided when you stepped out of that limo, that you were going to keep your walls up and just enjoy the ride. You greeted him with a shy smile. 

The producers had this weird idea to play up the dramatics that you were supposed to walk in with a bunch of fake autumn leaves from the craft store and throw them in the air and proclaim you're "falling" for him as your signature greeting. 

You walked up to Miguel as he stood in front of the mansion, wearing a poker face. You threw the leaves in the air and one of them flew and smacked him in the face. 

"Ppppppbbbbbbtttfffhh!" 

You said the cheesy ass line, "I'm falling for you Miguel! Geddit?" 

"The shock?...." Miguel gave you a confused look and your cheeks began to heat with embarrassment. 

"Well, I'm from a small town, we're kinda known for our fall colors during the season." You say with a smile. You brushed one of the stray leaves off his shoulder. "I just want you to know I'm very excited for this journey and I can't wait to talk to you more when we go inside?" 

After the initial obnoxiousness of your introduction Miguel managed to put on a polite smile. "Absolutely," he answered. "we'll talk more inside. Thank you for coming." 

You gave his hands a squeeze and walked down a stone path into the large Tuscany style mansion, Miguel's eyes lingering on your figure for just one more moment before he let out a deep sigh. 

🌹🌹🌹

When you started out on the show with 29 other women, you managed to keep a low profile for several weeks, staying out of trouble and befriending most of them, even becoming a fan favorite. Tweets sent out every week with a hashtag in front of your name in support, and constantly ranking in the top 10 favorite contestants in the fan polls on social media. But, it never occurred to you that you had a real shot until, on week 3, a date card with your name on it made its way into the mansion.

Your master plan of just 15 minutes of fame quickly morphed into a life or death situation for your heart when you went on that amazing first date with Miguel to see your all time favorite rock band: Goo Goo Dolls. They played Iris and brought you on stage in front of everyone. You slow danced as the song played, and he leaned in close, softly singing the lyrics in your ear, dedicating the whole thing to you. 

"You're the closest to heaven, that I'll ever be and I don't wanna go home right now. And all I can taste is this moment. And all I can breathe is your life. And sooner or later it's over. I just don't wanna miss you tonight..."

And if the whole scene couldn't get any more romantic, a delicate shower of rain began to fall, and you and Miguel shared your first kiss which quickly snowballed into a makeout session on live TV.

Ever since that date, you became one of his favorites. Sometimes you swore he would look for you first as he entered a room. His eyes scanning urgently until they came to rest on you where they would linger for just a moment. Scarlet eyes that seemed to bleed only for you. 

A language only you two could understand, before he'd gently look away, not wanting to give away his undeniable pull towards you in a crowd of many. 

In between dates, you'd send little tokens to him through the producers like a sticky note that said "thinking of you..." or your favorite dad jokes. He'd read them with a smile and have them respond for him in the form of small Hershey's kisses or a sticky note that said in his messy handwriting,"couldn't stop thinking about you, either"

You'd giggle on top of cloud nine when he'd answer you back and you hid them quietly in your suitcase, not telling a soul. 

Watching him kiss and date other women was much, much more difficult than you expected. Sometimes the way he'd look at one of the other girls would cause you to want to throw in the towel right then and there. 

When you heard that he had kissed them, you couldn't get that mental image out of your mind, much less when you unfortunately witnessed it with your own eyes at one of the pre-elimination ceremony cocktail hours. 

The way she was straddling his lap, making herself look so small in it....the way he was groaning into her mouth, the sounds their lips were making as they moved against each together, letting his hands wander down her back and come to rest on her ass...

The painful sting of jealousy was so unbearable that you just ran away, tears burning hot down your cheeks until you could lock yourself in the bathroom and just settle in a heap on the floor, hand clasped around your mouth so nobody could hear you cry. 

It was so fucking unfair. You couldn't even be upset because this was what you signed up for. You thought you had a fairly strong grip on your self worth when you started the show, but every day tested you more than you ever thought possible. 

You spent hours every morning getting ready with your hair, makeup, and outfits, walking out with your chest high, only to see the way one of the other women's hair just fell so flawlessly or how she barely needed any makeup to look perfect, or how her body just looked way hotter than yours in her tight dress,  causing it to deflate once again. 

But those moments when you finally had him all to yourself felt like you were the only woman in his world. Miguel knew just the right words to hum into your ear and just the right way to touch you with his fingertips. There was no place on Earth like his arms. His heartbeat was a lullaby that could calm you like nothing else. He was making you fall rapidly like no other man from your past could. You buried your head in the sand, taking his words at face value, foolishly believing that he wasn't repeating the exact same thing to everyone else. 

You took the sweet nothings he'd whisper to you and make it gospel. Speeding naively down a road that lead to a dead end of disappointment. Week after week, as the show's episodes aired, the illusion you built yourself crumbled. Words you thought he conjured up just for you reduced to the punchline of some sick undercover joke as he turned around and repeated them to the next woman. 

Realizing the walls of the house you lived in were made out of porcelain. The stone of his betrayal knocking it to pieces. The curtains peeling back revealing layer after layer, causing your mind to go mad with self doubt, not even sure if you knew this man who you uprooted your life for and handed your dignity and heart over to on a silver platter.

 Who was this man who sang those sweet lyrics in my ear while we slow danced like we were straight out of a movie? Who was this man who I followed to the ends of the Earth, made a fool out of myself on live television for? You felt a deep pit in your stomach after every episode. 

Not only did you have to contend with the troubling confusion that this man who you thought you loved wasn't who he said he was, you had to deal with the fact that the show's production was now trying to twist your character for the sake of drama. 

You noticed that things you said were taken out of context and edited as spicy sound bites, painting you as this drama queen and passive aggressive trouble maker in the house. You sort of became their selected agent of chaos once the other firecrackers eventually got eliminated and needed someone new to fill in the villain's shoes. 

You watched the episodes play back with a puzzled look on your face. You knew what you said, you went on the dates, you heard the words that were being spoken, you kissed the man, you gave your body to him, and yet, everything you thought you knew was being challenged before your very eyes. Piecing together two separate versions of him that lived in your head. You thought you were slowly going insane. 

When it eventually came down to you and Xina as the final two for Miguel to choose from, Xina was the soft spoken, drop-dead gorgeous, intelligent, cookie-cutter, Christian sweetheart that every man could hope to bring home to meet his mother. 

Conchata and Gabe took an immediate liking to her during the meet the parents episode right before the finale. During hometown visits, Xina's parents were an endearing couple who had been married for 30+ years who she had an amazing relationship with. If you had to lose Miguel to any woman, then of course it would have been her. 

Meanwhile, you were the framed "bad girl" with tattoos and a cursing habit. You were a little more open about your sexuality, making crass jokes with the other women in the house. You'd definitely burn up if you were to enter a church. At hometowns, your home life was comparatively messier to Xina's with divorced parents and an absent father. 

Your mom and siblings met Miguel and loved him immediately, of course. Every week as the show aired and drew closer to the finale, you had to endure seeing endless tweets and memes putting you down. Lots of older women calling you a whore, saying you're trouble and telling Miguel to run for the hills while lifting up Xina at your expense. 

Conchata disliked you instantly. She raised an eyebrow at your top that was slightly too low cut, and your thigh tattoo that peeked out a little under your skirt. At least Gabe thought you were cool, but you remember how nervous you were sitting through filming when Conchata was grilling you on the patio outside the luxurious suite she was staying in.

"How do you feel about my son?"  She asked, silently giving you a test you were unaware you were taking. 

You paused for a moment. "Well... I love your son, ma'am. I can see myself spending the rest of my life with him." 

Conchata raised an eyebrow. "But do you even know him? You've only been dating him for a few weeks. I know him better than anyone as his mother, and it seems as though he's made really strong connections with some of the other women." 

You tried to shrug off the knot in your tummy her words just left you. "Well...I do, Mrs. O'Hara. He makes me feel special every time I see him. He and I communicate really well and always check in with one another. He has everything I'm looking for in a life partner: strong willed, calm, kind, hard working, intelligent...he makes me happy and I would be honored if he chose me." 

Conchata didn't react, just tightened her lips in a straight line and took another sip of wine. "I see...well, I'm glad that you feel that way and you take such an interest in my son. But, do you honestly see him choosing you at the end of all of this?"

You feel your gut clench again at her question, anger, confusion, insecurity rising within you all at once, but you manage to fake a smile and say, "Well, I can see him as my husband, and I want him to choose me. But, it's ultimately his decision alone. All I can do is hope for the best."

Conchata clicks her teeth and gives you a fake smile. "Indeed...that's all you can do, right?" She stands up. "It was lovely chatting with you."

She already turns to leave before you can muster out a weak, "you too..." 

🌹🌹🌹

Now, tonight on the live season finale, your head was in your hands, with your ears covered like a small child in your dressing room, trying to drown out the sound of the crowd cheering hysterically as Miguel walked up on stage, shaking hands with Jason and sitting on the couch. You heard another loud, lasting round of applause from the audience as Xina eventually walked out joining him. 

You finally felt brave enough to walk back outside and watch the scene from one of the screens backstage, but once you walked up to see it closer you immediately wish you just stayed curled in a ball in your dressing room. 

Xina looked so perfect next to Miguel. Her raven hair fell in soft layers just past her shoulders leaning against him with a hand on his thigh and one of his hands tenderly holding onto the side of her hip, nearly resting on her ass. A gorgeous, dainty solitaire diamond on her ring finger on her left hand. 

Miguel was looking at her through love-blown pupils as she spoke in her quiet, low, sultry voice, the grin on his face widening even more when her lovely dark eyes came to rest on him between sentences. They were in love. And he was happy. She was happy. There was no denying that now that you forced yourself to see it with your own eyes. Who were you to stand in their way of being together, if they were building a life together they both equally wanted....right? 

Even if your heart technically was the collateral damage.

You couldn't pull your gaze away at how perfect they looked. But simultaneously couldn't comprehend how the same man sitting next to her was the one who sang you that song. The same one who took you on a carriage ride in Scotland. The same one who would wink at you after he'd give you a rose at each elimination ceremony. The same one who held you while you began to cry about missing your dad, a shared pain between you two that you could bond over, the same one who spent all night taking his time on you in a dim hotel room in Thailand and told you that you're the one, all for him to suddenly flip overnight and choose her instead. 

You felt like you couldn't watch anymore and just walked back into your dressing room, quickly packing your suitcase, wondering if it was too late to cancel your flight tomorrow and just hope there was room on the red eye flight tonight instead. Wishing you could fast forward time to a place where the sound of his name would no longer feel like a million knives cutting into you. 

🌹🌹🌹

Some time later, a soft knock comes at your door. Before you can ask who it is, he's already walking in and you feel sick to your stomach, the sounds of his footfalls a not too distant memory that you could still distinguish as his. You try to wipe your eyes, not daring to turn around. 

"What is it?" You ask in a flat tone as you resume folding your clothes and squeezing them into your suitcase that threatened to overflow. 

Miguel is looking at you with a sorrowful expression. "I need to apologize to you..." 

"I don't want to hear it." 

"Please..." he begs, walking up to you so you can nearly feel his breath on the back of your neck. 

You turn and face him and his lips part a little bit when he sees how much hurt you're in. He goes to cup your face but you swat his hand away and walk to the other side of the room instead. 

Miguel clenches his fist and closes his eyes. 

"At least tell me you'll be alright..." 

"-oh I'll be fine." You say firmly, crossing your arms. "I've lived without you before, and I'll figure out how to do it again." 

Miguel looks at you with a sad expression. It hurt him to think you actually wanted a life without him in it, but he couldn't blame you. He got what he wanted. He chose the woman he loved the most, and this was the consequence. But deep down he's too selfish to think about you moving on. 

Was it his ego? Was he really prepared to let you go for good? Were his feelings for Xina exaggerated and rather clouded by the whole fairytale notion and weak logic of finding a forever companion on a reality game show? 

He couldn't have his cake and eat it too. He knew he had to let you go. He knew you didn't want an apology, you didn't want to hear a sob story or excuses or false hope that you would always have a piece of his heart, even if it was true deep down. He thought carefully for a moment, then he finally said in a soft voice,

"For what it's worth, I really do wish you the best..."

You look at him. And, just for a moment those lingering feelings you tried so hard to bury make themselves known as he's wearing a look on his face you haven't seen since he was still in love with you. 

Tears threaten your composure again and you quickly turn around, gazing upwards in hopes of keeping them in. "Don't do that..." you say in a near whisper. 

Miguel responds in an equally hushed tone, the tension much more palpable. "Do what....?"

"Look at me that way...." The tears are flowing and you know you need to wrap this up now before you or him say something you'll regret. 

"You're looking at me the same way you look at her..." 

A lump forms in Miguel's throat because he realizes he really does still love you. But he loves Xina too. He made a choice and a commitment to her and it was time to see it through. But that didn't make this farewell any easier. He whispers your name again and you shake your head. 

"I'm fine. I'll be fine. I promise." You give him a weak smile as the tears blur your vision. He takes a step towards you but you shake your head quickly, shifting past him to grab your suitcase. 

He closes his eyes in defeat and tenses his jaw, a tear escaping the corner of his eye. 

You hobble past him with your heavy suitcase, struggling to carry it in your heels. You prop open the door and look back at him one more time and he looks at you, giving you a weak smile. You nod, and your anger subsides for just a moment. "I meant what I said...you know...before..." 

Miguel's chest rises and falls. You don't have to elaborate for him to understand. He still remembers the hidden way you two used to communicate, even if this may be the last time he ever does. 

"Thank you..." he says gently, meaning it. 

You swiftly turn your head, pulling up the handle on your luggage and gather your dress in your free hand as the door softly clicks behind you. You make sure you're out of earshot before you break down crying again. 

As your flight coasts gently through the midnight sky, you lean against your window as though it was Miguel, or at least the version of him that lived in your memory. You close your eyes this time, the distant glow of the moon outside lulling you and beckoning you to a place where your thoughts can't torment you at last, succumbing to a well-deserved rest. 

Miguel stands in his hotel room, gazing at the cityscape outline in the distance, the same moon standing watch in the obsidian skies above. Xina gently calls for him and he turns around and gives her a tired smile as he crawls in bed next to her and holds her close. He shuts off the beside lamp. His mind quickly shakes off the memory of the color of your eyes before he drifts asleep. 

🌹🌹🌹

[wildestdreamsblog]

Latibule Season 2: II

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader (Mafia/Detective AU)

Summary: In which he lost his latibule.

Warnings: Secret Identity, Yandere behavior, Obsessiveness, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, Violence, Mention of death, Disability, Sexual themes, If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.

A/N: A late valentine's gift <3 I’m so sorry for taking so long. A lot happened and work is the busiest and and and life.

Masterlist, Latibule 2.I

“Hyung, did you hear me? I said-"

Kim Namjoon sighed from the other line, headache already creeping up his temples from the boatload of information Jimin was dumping on him on the other line. As who he considered to be the only sound and sane one among the seven, Namjoon was accustomed to being the voice of reason, getting the boys out of tight illegal situations, and managing the members. Min Yoongi might be the head of the mafia, but all seven of them were leaders in their own right and fields.

Seokjin was the head of the medical field, Namjoon of the twisted world of law, Jungkook of the technology world.

And this definitely was one of Namjoon’s specialties: stopping the fearless and heart-stricken leader of Bangtan from kidnapping a woman in broad daylight. For fuck’s sake, he wasn’t even against the illegal act itself, but could he just do it when there weren’t eyes watching him?! When the sun wasn’t at its highest?! When he wouldn’t be tomorrow’s headline?!

He ran his hand through his disheveled hair, glaring at the eldest hyung who was chuckling to himself. Seriously, he thought doctors were supposed to have no life and no time to annoy their friends? Why then was the Chief of the hospital barging in his office and lounging on his fancy sofa?

“I’m glad you found this amusing, hyung,” he commented dryly which only made the eldest laughed harder. “This isn’t something to laugh about.”

“What?! We all know something is definitely wrong with Yoongi. This isn’t news to us! This only confirmed our suspicions!”

“You could at least be supportive of what he’s going through right now.”

“Namjoon,” he started when he was finally done laughing, wiping the tears from the side of his eyes. “How do you expect me to be supportive of him right now? He’s on the verge of kidnapping a woman because he thought she looked like her. Does that make sense to you?”

He tilted his head before standing up, his movement elegant as he crossed the room to where Namjoon was sitting behind his desk. He smiled down at him, his hand supporting his weight as he leaned down on his wooden desk. “Dead people don’t exactly come back to life after burning from a fire as immense as that one, do they?” he asked, his tone light yet his eyes held faux curiosity. And at that moment, an air of danger surrounded the office. He could see the coldness that reflected on Jin’s eyes.

Namjoon knew when to back down, especially when Jin was in this mood. It was almost comical how quickly Jin’s emotions could switch, and it was definitely not amusing how bloody the effects could be. He wasn’t exactly the mafia prince for nothing. He, of all people, knew how perceptive and strategic Jin was. Never once did he do anything without a reason. And precisely because of that that it took him a moment before he answered. He lowered his eyes for a second before returning to Jin’s now amused ones. “They don’t, hyung.”

Jin nodded before turning to leave, his hand was in his pocket, his stance relaxed as though nothing was amissed. He had opened the door when he paused as though he remembered something. He twisted his body, his eyes trained on the famous attorney before his lips twisted into an entertained smile. His finger was now resting on his lips.

“Ah, unless they’re actually not dead.”

—-

Min Yoongi was like a man possessed, never leaving any stones unturned as he religiously looked for his angel.

He looked at every single piece of record of the town that the town had, employed several people to look for you, searched every available CCTV to trace any evidence that you existed, that you weren’t merely a figment of his imagination, that you weren’t merely indication of his declining sanity. Yet all roads lead to nothingness.

It was like any leads he got were mere fragments, offering little clarity or direction in the investigation. Likewise, it seemed as if someone was making sure that he’d go nowhere with the little pieces of evidences he was able to gather of your existence.

As days turned to weeks and to months, he was starting to be convinced that you were just his imagination playing tricks on him, that his mind was just too cruel to conjure an image of you, that it was just too sick to think that you came back to him. In this moment of profound longing, when the ache of your absence weighed heavily on his twisted soul, he couldn’t help but ponder about his choices in life.

On some days when he missed you the most, he thought that this must have been his karma for living his fucked-up life brutally. On a day like this when he should have been celebrating your birthday, when you were supposed to turn a year older, when you were supposed to be by his side as you blew your candle, he thought that this must have been his penance, a consequence of the twisted journey he had decided to walk on.

But wasn’t this just too painful?

Wasn’t his punishment too cruel to have the world gave him you, only to wretch you away from his arms?

Wasn’t it too cruel to have loved and lost you?

Yoongi let out a humorless chuckle, the puffs of smoke coming from his lips as he looked at what once was your home. It was your birthday, and tomorrow was your second death anniversary.

How he survived the existence without you, he would never know. He decided that he would never stop looking for you because accepting that you were gone from this fucking earth was not an option. He could feel inside the dead heart of his that yours were still beating. He knew a love as immense as what he felt for you wouldn’t die as easily as that. No.

Min Yoongi would find you.

“Happy birthday, my angel,” he whispered to nothingness, only the moon bore witness to his greeting, the night enveloped him in a solitary embrace. The echoes of his sentiment lingered in the air, hoping that his words reached you where you were.

---

“Happy birthday, eomma,” Jung Hoseok finished the song lightly, clapping the chubby little hands of your son in sync with the tune of the song. Your son was giggling as he bounced him on his lap, looking over his long lashes to Hoseok.

“Careful, the candle’s just in front of you,” he warned before shuffling the cake an inch closer to you. He came home almost an hour ago from his work in the docks with a box of cake in his hands he bought. You could no longer count how many times the three of you moved over the year, the last one being the most suspicious to you when after you came home from the market, he had already packed your bags. Before you knew it, he was already driving away from the town.

You lived in so many places.

You never felt at home in any of them.

It was unfair how you only felt at home when you were in his arms.

You clutched your walking stick on one hand, the other cautiously running your hand on the table to detect the cake’s placement.

“I’m not fully blind yet, Hoseok,” you admonished him teasingly before closing your eyes and wishing with all your heart that your son grew up happy. You wished to the heavens that his fate was kinder to him, that he didn’t have to suffer the way you did. You prayed that his fate was free from the shadows that haunted your own past.

You wished that he could live the life he deserved.

“Eomma,” he called for you, lifting his chubby arms to go to you. Hoseok cooed at him before lifting him to your lap carefully. You felt the warmth of his little arms encircling your neck, tiny lips pressing sweet kisses on your cheeks before erupting into giggles. "Eomma!"

A smile graced your face as you soaked in the pure joy radiating from your beloved child. Leaning in, you planted a loving kiss on the person you now cherished most in the world. His eyes lit up in response, a mirror image of his father's, carrying the same warmth and affection he did when he looked at you.

Hoseok watched the two of you from his seat. It was almost comical how he loathed your son’s father with all his heart, only to love his son with the same intensity. If he couldn’t end that bastard brother of his, if he didn’t have it in him to finish the job and kill you, then he would just take the life Yoongi was supposed to live.

He would never let go of the two of you- not when he found peace in this little family. The only way he would let go of this was if the only person he loved came back to him. But that was impossible, right? After all, Yoongi made sure that she would cease to exist in this world.

Wasn’t this the crueler revenge, he thought. Wasn’t this what Min Yoongi deserved?

It was almost amusing to think how he could have been dead if not for one of his brothers that saved him and you that fateful night. He could have almost missed this little slice of heaven had it not been for his brother, the only one who knew that he was still alive.

---

Almost two years ago, somewhere in a small province of South Korea

You woke up with a start, your heart beating faster as evidenced by the spike in the heart monitor attached on your bruised skin. The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor, attached to your bruised skin, echoed in the room, its pace mirroring the accelerated beat of your heart. The sudden awareness left you momentarily disoriented, and the sterile environment around you hinted at the gravity of the situation. As your senses sharpened, you couldn't shake the feeling that the throbbing in your chest was not only from the abrupt awakening but also from the lingering echoes of a disconcerting dream or a painful reality.

Every single thing that happened went back to you.

Every single detail of that night, of the way he smiled so tenderly at you, of the way he softly told you that he would be back, of the way a strange man entered your house and threatened you.

The recollection was vivid, etched into your consciousness like a haunting melody.

You remembered the way Suga’s face became cold the moment he saw that man. You remembered not seeing even a trace of the man you loved.

You remembered the truth and the pain that came with it, and then you remembered thinking it was your end. Beyond it all, beyond all the betrayal, lies and deceit that unfolded, you remembered wishing that he would be fine after all of that like the fool you were.

Wincing, you lifted your fragile hand to your shoulder, feeling a faint pain where the bullet had pierced your skin.

“Don’t move,” a tired voice sounded on your left. Startled, you turned to look at the source, only to find the man who attempted to kill you leaning against the wall, his own arm bandaged, his handsome face colored with faint bruises.

Hoseok didn’t come out of it unscathed, no. He looked so hallow. It was like he was a lost child, like a man that lost his purpose, like he was a shell of what once was a soul.

He must have seen your alarmed expression. He waved his other arm, his jaw clenching from the events that transpired. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

You blinked at him, never trusting a word that came out of his mouth. It would be difficult for you when you saw how he unleashed hell that night.

“I-I,” you swallowed, your dried throat making it harder to speak. “d-don’t believe y-you.”

He watched you for a moment before nodding his head. That was fair, he thought. “How are you feeling? You’ve been unconscious for almost a month.”

What?

“Y-you waited that long to kill me?” you asked, your voice hoarse as you sat down. If he was going to end you, then you wouldn’t take it lying down.

Wordlessly, he crossed the room, lifting the glass of water on your bedside table, the straw turned to you. “Drink.”

You glared at him, distrust and anger in your eyes as you met his emotionless ones.

“I’m not going to kill you.”

You scoffed, turning your head away from him to look at where on earth you could have been. The hospital room was small, the window offering no clue as to your whereabouts. You wondered where Suga could have been.

Did he make it out alive?

Was he hurt?

Was he looking for you?

Did you want him to after what you knew?

“I do draw the line on killing expectant mothers.”

Latibule 2.III

[beauspot]

Thoughts on my second watch of Good Omens 2

i heard the fly buzzing in my first watch but didn’t know why and now i know

Maggie my sweet darling angel baby i love you

Aziraphale turning their car yellow

crowleys “no more dying” in extreme scottish.

Disposable Demon i’ll save you from these awful people i promise 😭

Aziraphale’s little smile when he says “smitten” to Crowley

i wonder if crowley was especially hurt because aziraphale seemed to be able to forgive gabriel who tried to kill him but can’t seem to forgive him being a demon.(still seeing all of this as a metaphor for internalized homophobia, like aziraphale knows he’s not the perfect angel he wants to be and he’s projecting his feelings about that onto crowley)

I can’t believe we got an actual ball. like pride and prejudice, bridgerton ball.

the beautiful score that started playing when aziraphale brought the chandelier down

i didn’t even realize that when they walked in the outfits changed. mrs sandwich made me realize(also i love her)

Nina being the only one to question the weird magical shit Aziraphale and Crowley do sends me so bad.

Season 2 took everything i liked about the first season (aziracrow, queer subtext, gay people, archangels, and beelzebub) and expanded on it

The adorable smile on Aziraphales face when he asked Crowley to dance 😭 he’s so pure(i should have known something was up, everything was going too well)

Crowley saying i won’t leave you on your own and Aziraphale saying i know 🤒

why isn’t aziraphale able to miracle nina and maggie??

crowley and mrs sandwich flirting. too cute

crowley saying he’s neither nice nor a lad.

crowleys little run in heaven when he’s following muriel

maggie giving the middle finger to the demons and laughing in their face when they tried to belittle her. queen

defensive aziraphale is so badass. just because he’s soft doesn’t mean he can’t stand up for himself or the people he loves

the random guitar solo in the final episode theme is so bizarre to me. why is it there?

ahh the raining hearts symbolizing crowleys vavoom plan!

crowley’s heavenly outfit not being white but “light grey”

the relief in aziraphale’s voice when crowley came back 😀

also him mumbling about the halo like he did with the sword 😭 but he sure loves to boast about the things he’s done right to crowley

aziraphale and crowley doing magic together has the power to set off alarm bells in heaven and they barely tried, they’re just in sync

saraqael was such a good addition to the cast.

crowley smiling at aziraphale going off on the angels and demons

“where beelzebub is, is my Heaven.” 🥹

the little knowing look after crowley mentions alpha centauri

the way they just interrupted michael’s speech by leaving 😭

i think that aziraphale was about to ask crowley to move in but that’s my opinion

the look the metatron gave crowley is so strange. i don’t like that

“JUST US. NOT YOU.”

“You’re not helping, angel.”

the softness in aziraphale’s voice when he talked about making crowley an angel again? how can you hate him! he thought he was doing the right thing!

also the miscommunication these two have is completely out of hand because crowley asked aziraphale if he said no and aziraphale hadn’t given an answer AT ALL to the metatron. the metatron told him to take his time. he went back to tell crowley the news first.

crowleys confession makes my stomach hurt. the way his voice broke when he said “we’ve spent our existence pretending that we aren’t.”. the way he had to force himself past his anxiety to tell aziraphale he wanted to spend eternity with him? fuck.

the way aziraphale tells crowley to come with him. like and through all of this they are losing each other, oh my god.

“i need you!” god aziraphale punch me in the face next time why don’t you?

i feel like in all this anger towards aziraphale a lot of people are ignoring that he put himself out there too. he was telling crowley he needed him just like crowley was

“no nightingales.” FUCK YOU GAIMAN

the way aziraphale touched his lips after. dear GOD. someone get michael sheen an emmy

seeing aziraphale struggle against his wanting to kiss crowley back and his fear and wanting him to come back to heaven further supports my internalized homophobia analogy

also even knowing the kiss was going to happen because of the spoiler it still didn’t quell my shock. nor did it ruin the scene, i think it actually surprised me more because it did not happen how i thought it would.

side note i saw some people saying they thought the kiss was going to be a cop out in some way. like a body swap or as a joke and i don’t really know why?

it just occurred to me that both aziraphale and crowley thought the other one was just doing that thing they do where they say they won’t help, or they’re on their own but they eventually come back not knowing that the other was completely set on these plans they had. this wasn’t like armageddon or saving gabriel.

the second coming…of jesus…

crowley cutting off “a nightingale sang in berkeley square”...i’m gonna jump

this being the ending for the next 3-4 years. oh.

[repulsiveliquidation]

Thorn in My Side || Jessie Fleming

warnings : mentions of injury and surgeries. insinuations of cheating and false accusations. angst. happy ending and smut will be in part two.

summary : you get injured, its Jessie's fault. or so you thought.

a/n : as i type this, i think i've figured out how to incorporate the smut! i'll get to writing as soon as this is posted! i'm not sure if it makes much sense, here's to hoping. enjoy.

“for your UCLA Bruins, number 21, Jessie Fleming!”

Jessie steps forward and smiles, waving to the flood of Bruins fans in the stands cheering them on. You clap with a scowl on your face, watching as the girls in the stands ogle and fawn over her. You’re admittedly jealous of her for reasons unbeknownst to you, but seeing the 5’5’ Canadian made your blood boil.

She was good on the football pitch and was smart to go along with it. Jessie had it all. Being called up for most of her time in school and playing for her national team made her well-known in the soccer world from the moment she was here in America.

She was ferocious on the grass, a fearless midfielder who put everything out there.

The game was a close one, tied at the half 2-2. There were lots of contact, tackles, and battles that made it clear to anyone watching that there was tension between you and Jessie. One always found the other; if one had the ball, the other wanted it.

You had possession, running towards goal. There was a flash of blue and you were on the ground yelling in pain, hands clutching at your ankle. There was a loud pop and your ankle began to swell. The trainers came over and were hauling you off on a stretcher almost immediately, the ref showing Jessie a yellow for the unsafe tackle. It wasn’t a red card because really you fell a little weird and her studs were nowhere near your ankle.

She looked genuinely sorry, taking your hand in hers as you were stretchered off. You were in too much pain to care, shoving her hand out of yours and your teammates pulling her away from you.

A broken ankle was what they said. It was a clean break but you needed surgery and that meant no more soccer for the season.

Just great.

They put you in a wheelchair before you head to the hospital, your parents are already at the stadium to take you. You hear the final whistle blow and your teammate rolls you in, the girls all feeling sad when you tell them the news. There’s a little Bruins blue in the sea of Trojans in front of you and there’s a Canadian standing there digging her cleat into the grass, wanting to apologize.

Megan and Kasey stand beside you just in case things get a little heated. Jessie steps forward and looks more sorry for you when she sees the bandages and you in a wheelchair.

“Is it broken?” she asks genuinely, looking at your leg and then at you.

“No thanks to you,” you snide, rolling your eyes at her. “What do you want now, Fleming?”

“I wanted to apologize, I didn’t mean for this to happen,” she says sincerely but you’re too bitter to hear her take ownership of her actions.

“You knew what you were doing, Fleming. You’ve always been out to get me our entire college career and now in our final year you finally get what you want!”

You don’t know the tears were starting until they did, pouring down your face hot and fast. She looked a little mortified and pale, backing away and saying she was sorry over and over before a sea of Bruins pulled her away to celebrate their win.

The whole car ride to the hospital you spent weeping, thinking about how you’re not going to be able to play your senior year out like you had hoped. But more so of the look of pure horror on Jessie’s face when you accused her of hating you so much that she would purposely hurt you.

She looked on the verge of tears. Like hurting you scared her.  

You scared her.

||

“The break is clean, but rehab will take a while if you’re not careful,” said Dr. Jeff, the attending podiatrist.

“How long?”

“You’re looking at 14 to 16 weeks, kiddo. Two years if you’re stubborn like most of my patients are.”

“16 weeks sounds great.”

“Smart kid you got here,” the doctor tells your parents with a smile, “I’ll schedule you in for surgery today, you should be out of here by the end of the week.”

The doctor leaves and your mother begins to fuss, propping up pillows and getting your nurse to bring you more jello. Your father, on the other hand, has a look of all-knowing on his face.

“I’m sorry Dad,” you begin, head hanging low the moment your mother leaves the room.

“Don’t be sorry, peanut. These things happen. Better now than when you’re on a professional team, yeah?”

“She didn’t really make me break my ankle did she?” you ask, looking up at your dad who was rubbing your back as the tears filled your eyes again.

“It was the perfect tackle, kiddo. You just fell a little funny is all.”

“She looked so horrified when I said she did it on purpose,” you sob, leaning into your father’s stomach. He held you tight and cradled your head, your heart hurting more than your broken ankle, the face Jessie made when the words left your mouth etched behind your eyelids.

||

There are plenty of flowers in your room the moment you wake from surgery. Lots of cards and get well soon balloons hung from the ceiling. You were still groggy when your teammates visited, Megan was sure to bring lots of Sharpies to sign your cast with, all the girls leaving a nice note for you on it.

There was an hour left for visitations and your parents just left to wash up at home. You were mindlessly scrolling through the terrible TV channel selections while finishing your 5th Jello cup when there was a knock on the door.

“Come in!” you yell, thinking it was a nurse coming to check your vitals again. What you didn’t expect was to see a brunette Canadian poking her head through the door.

“Hi,” she said sheepishly, standing by the door unsure if you really would want her to come in.

“What are you doing here?” you ask as kindly as possible, eyes flickering towards the clock above the door, “it’s late, why aren’t you back at school?”

“Spring Break, my parents are down from Canada so I asked to see you before we drove back,” she says quietly, stepping in a little more. “Can I come in?”

You nod, unsure if your mouth would be polite enough. Anger still seethed in your bones but the look of sheer horror on her face was still fresh in your mind.

“How bad was it?” she begins, still standing near the now-closed door.

“Clean break, should take 16 weeks if I’m careful.”

“That’s good. The doctors here are great.”

“They are quite convincing, they know how to get a patient to stay on their medical plan.”

“Did you get Dr. Jeff?”

“He accused me of being stubborn.”

Jessie laughs and you smile, a light blush creeping up your cheeks. It’s an adorable sound and her face of laughter replaces the one of fear you had burned into your mind.

“I’m really sorry for all this,” she begins but you cut her off.

“It wasn’t your fault, my dad said it was a clean tackle. I just fell funny.”

You looked up at her and saw the relief on her face and she stepped forward, taking your hand in hers. You took a deep breath and reciprocated her ownership of her mistakes, feeling the weight lift off your shoulders the moment you looked her in the eyes.

“I shouldn’t have said what I said the other day Jessie, that was not fair to you.”

“Heat of the moment love, don’t worry about it.”

Your heart clenches hard when the pet name slips out of her lips and you smile, hoping she didn’t see your eyes dilate and feel your skin warm up. She nods and bids goodbye just as her phone rings which tells you her parents are waiting outside.

You sit there giddy and a little starstruck as she disappears out of view. Your hand is warm from her touch and you can still feel her hand holding yours. You thump your head back and curse loudly, before grabbing your leg in pain temporarily forgetting that you were actually hurt.

You giggle and bite your lip, shaking your head when your phone dings.

Maybe: Jessie Fleming.

“You look cute when you’re flustered.”

You clap a hand to your mouth and smile, face heating up with a dark blush.

“You did this, you better fix it.”

“I think we can make that happen, love.”

You don’t think you slept much that night, texting till the sun came up. Your parents came in to check on you in the morning and found you with your phone still on call with Jessie but you two were asleep. You woke up to your doctors talking to your parents and discussing your rehab plan. There was another text from Jessie, making your heart skip a beat.

“You’re also very cute when you’re sleeping.”

Over the next few weeks, you two talked constantly. Jessie kept you company when you were bored at rehab and you kept her company while she was training on her own. You called her every night before bed, giggling and laughing well into the night most nights.

“How is rehab coming along?” Jessie asked as you were lying back on the examination table to relax your ankle. She was in her bed, looking as stunning as you had been denying yourself the chance to admit.

“Good, looks like I can put pressure on it by next week if Tiff lets me,” you say, side-eyeing your trainer Tiffany who was doing cupping on another teammate’s back.  

“Girl, I will hold your papers hostage, don’t test me,” Tiffany jokes, waving the lit fire stick at you.

“Yes ma’am I’ll be super-duper extra careful!” you answer with a salute, making Jessie laugh so loud it rings through the room. Most of your teammates know the thing you’ve got going with her and think it’s cute.

All but one.  

Megan.

She stood at the door listening to you ramble on about Jessie this and Jessie that, her blood boiling at the thought of you being buddy-buddy with the girl she believed to be the one who hurt you.

Megan was a freshman who was from Florida. She was a great pick from her high school team, and the best defender on the East Coast. She made the team here at USC and to say the least, she fit right in.

There was homogeny that wasn’t there before she joined and the linkup between you and her helped you take her under your wing. She looked up to you and was so ecstatic to play with you after watching you on TV.

She felt that Jessie took away her only chance to play with you before you graduated.

Jessie needed to pay.

“Hey, weird question,” Jessie starts, one night while you two were tucked in bed and on the phone with each other.

“Yeah?” you ask, turning over onto your side. Jessie looked a little concerned but you shrugged it off, the girl was known to constantly look worried.

“Someone sent me this photo but it’s from an unknown number, I thought it was weird.”

Sent.

You looked at it in shock.

It was you. Kissing a girl on the basketball team.

“Jess this isn’t me.”

“I’m not blind you know, that’s you.”

“Jessie, I swear this was doctored! I’ve never talked to this girl, let alone fucking kissed her!”

“Then why did the fucking photo come with a text that said, “She’s not who you think she is,”?”

“I don’t know! No one else but the girls know about you and me! I promise Jessie please!”

“I need some time to think. Leave me alone.”

She hangs up.

The tears fill your eyes as you stare at this photo. You don’t even think you’ve crossed paths with this girl, having not been the biggest fan of basketball. But your face was clearly there and hers was too. Her lips were on yours and you looked like you were enjoying yourself.

You think and you think hard. You didn’t go to any parties lately with your leg and you haven’t been to any games of theirs. You stared at the photo for hours, wracking your brain for some kind of explanation.

An explanation as to why Jessie looked so hurt at the thought of you with someone else.

[buggachat]

So, this is very important. Emilie or Amelie?

(Answer: Amelie. But seriously, I'm getting ahead of myself, let's talk about it.)

This is kind of a long post. If you don't want to read all of my ramblings, feel free to skip to the final point. That's the important one.

A mysterious woman who is clearly one of the two Graham de Vanily twins was in attendance of the party at the end of the episode. But is she Emilie (Adrien's dead mom, revived by Gabriel's wish) or Amelie (Adrien's already alive aunt)?

Here's the thing. The answer to this question is actually extremely important. Emilie being alive would be a HUGE deal and would have extreme consequences on the narrative and themes of the show.

Seriously. We need to know whether or not Emilie is alive. So, let's discuss— what do we know?

1. Amelie should be at this party.

Seriously. Amelie would be at Adrien's party.

You know who is in attendance at Adrien's party? Not just his friends, but also adults in his life. Nathalie. Su-Han. Jagged Stone. Penny Rolling.

You know what Penny Rolling's relationship is to Adrien? She's the manager/new girlfriend of his friend Luka's recently-undeadbeated-dad. And she was invited to Adrien's party.

Seriously. This is a party of any significant character. Everyone and their mother was invited and— hey wait, where's Félix's mother? Félix is here, and certainly our favorite mommy's boy would invite his mother along. Surely Adrien's aunt would be invited to Adrien's party.

You know, Amelie's aunt, who had a not insignificant arc in the story? A family member to the Agrestes, who we've seen struggle, who would well deserve a shot of her smiling at a party at the finale?

Amelie, who had some unresolved tension with Nathalie, centered around their respective relationships with Gabriel? Tension that would likely be rectified after Gabriel's demise?

Not only would Amelie be at this party, but I absolutely believe she would be sitting next to Nathalie. (I mean, they do know each other. Who else at that party does Amelie even know?)

If that's not Amelie, then where is she?

Oh, and side note, what was the shot just before the shot of the mysterious woman? Oh, that's right. Amelie's son.

2. She only appears for a brief flash, given no more significance than any other character in attendance.

There's a reason why everyone is using the same shot of the mysterious woman when discussing her. That is the only shot of her. There are more shots of Penny Rolling than of her.

Here's the thing. Either Emilie is alive in this final scene, or she isn't. So, how would you expect this scene to play for these circumstances?

Here is a complete list of everything I would expect if Emilie were not alive:

A brief shot of Amelie.

Here is an incomplete list of some of the things I would expect from a "Emilie, the mother of the deuteragonist and ghost that has been haunting the narrative for 5 Seasons, is alive now" reveal, at the bare minimum:

A shot that lingers on Emilie.

Emilie, seated with Nathalie AND HER TWIN SISTER.

A shot of Emilie opening her eyes during Gabriel's wish.

The newscast, which they watch during the party, having a mention of "... and Parisians are still celebrating the rescue of Emilie Agreste, who was previously missing but recently found!"

Adrien literally acknowledging that his dead mother is suddenly alive at all? AT ALL? Looking at her, mentioning her, literally ANYTHING from him? I mean, seriously, what did he think happened—

3. Adrien's perception of his mother's reappearance would need to be addressed. It was not.

Adrien does not know the wish was cast.

Adrien does not know anything.

Here's the thing. While, yes, Emilie has been described as "missing"/"disappeared" in the show, it is absolutely clear to the audience that Adrien has been under the impression that Emilie is dead.

We know this from the painting in the foyer that depicts Gabriel and Adrien in mourning. We know this from the way that Adrien (correctly) draws the conclusion that "Nathalie has the same illness as my mother, therefore she is dying". We know this from the way that Adrien speaks about his mother in past tense, how he encourages his father to move on and date Nathalie, how he has never once in the show seemed to be under the impression that Emilie could come back.

So, if Emilie suddenly came back........... someone would need to explain it to Adrien. He would need to be fed another lie about it. We would need to be made privy as to what he believes happened.

Examples of how this could have been easily achieved:

Again, the newscast. Nadja acknowledging that the missing Emilie Agreste had been found. Maybe mentioning that "she was found being held captive by Monarch" or something. I dunno, whatever lie that works.

Adrien, during his conversation with Marinette, mentioning what happened to Emilie from his perspective, the same way he vocalized to her what his perception of Gabriel's death was. I mean, seriously, Adrien was already doing this expositional dialogue... why wouldn't he mention his mom during it?

4. Leaked production material does not change the final product.

Yes, scripts were leaked of this season. There are deleted scenes in the storyboards. There are script changes and allusions to certain things and mentions here and there in these materials that suggest that the mysterious woman could have, at some point in production, been Emilie.

... at some point in production.

So, here's the thing. This is the most solid Emilie argument we have. In fact, I'd argue it's the only argument that holds any real ground at all. .......... and it's in content that we aren't supposed to have.

( Actually, it's the only real Emilie argument I've seen... period. The only other one I've seen is the fact her statue is gone, but I'd argue that the removal of her statue has symbolic weight no matter what. It was a symbol of Gabriel's obsession over her, the way that she haunts the narrative, the way she looms over the Agreste household. Alive or not, this is not the case anymore. So it makes sense to remove it. )

If your interpretation of the source material is solely, and I mean SOLELY based off of out-of-context snippets of things that were in the writer's room Vaguely At Some Point, things that now directly contradict the final product, things that the audience was absolutely under no circumstances meant to see...

You're not interpreting the episode. You're interpreting out-of-context snippets of a rough draft of it.

So, here's the thing. I've seen some of these leaks, I've seen a lot of people talk about these leaks, I've seen the rumors and I've heard the gossip. I'm not going to parrot it, because honestly, I'm still annoyed that the leaks exist at all. It feels a bit insulting to the art form, tbh, that incomplete scripts are being passed around and touted as significant and more accurate than the actual completed script.

But I'll say one thing:

If the rough drafts of scripts, deleted scenes, etc pointed to Emilie being alive.......

Why did they remove them?

(The answer is simple: because they changed their minds. And you don't have to stress about or mull over why they did it, because you were never supposed to know that it was changed, because you were never supposed to know about out-of-context rough drafts of the script in the first place. It doesn't matter. It's not the product. Writers are allowed to toss around ideas and scripts and then change them. It's unimportant and you're not supposed to be privy to it. It's not for you. It's not what they made. It's certainly not more accurate to the direction they're headed than what they settled on. )

Point is:

IF THE LEAKS DIDN'T EXIST, YOU WOULDN'T BE CONFUSED.

YOU ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO SEE THE LEAKS.

YOU ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE CONFUSED.

5. So, Astruc on twitter.

Okay, I love perusing Astruc's twitter for snippets of information as much as the next obsessive miraculous fan. I have perused his twitter a lot. Astruc always addresses comments and concerns under like 20 layers of coyness.

People ask him, "is it Emilie or Amelie"? And basically, every time, he responds with some variation on "pay attention and you'll know".

He's been shooting down people presenting the clues they find to him, on both sides of the argument. Some examples (which include the Amelie wearing black and Emilie wearing white thing):

So, what does this mean, beyond the already known fact that Astruc likes to mess with us?

Obviously, I'm not Astruc. I don't know his mind. I also don't have much of vested interest in dissecting everything he says, nor do I take his word at face value a lot of the time (again, he likes to mess with us).

However, I think two things are fairly clear here:

It IS possible to know whether or not Emilie was revived by watching the episode.

It's not the small details he wants us to look at. Admittedly, color schemes and set dressings are small details. It's not the big picture. It's not important. It's not the heart of what he, or any writer in his position, would want us to interpret.

( Side note, but if nearly every single Emilie argument is based off of things NOT ACTUALLY IN THE EPISODE, then doesn't Astruc saying the answer is in the episode shoot that down right off the bat? But hey! I digress. )

So, what is the big picture? What are the things that writers are truly proud of? What is the thing that a writer would want us to pay attention to? What are the details of the show that can help point us to what transpired in the episode? What—

6. The WRITING of the ENTIRE SERIES, INCLUDING within THIS VERY episode, the dialogue, the themes, the character beats, the symbolism— Literally. All of it. Points to Emilie. STAYING. DEAD.

This is actually the heart of my point.

Emilie absolutely was not revived here.

Here's the thing. The themes of grief and loss and mourning are extremely present within the Agreste arc. Throughout the entire series, the following has been hammered in by the writing:

Gabriel is obsessive for wanting to bring Emilie back. His desires are not healthy or sound. He is delusional. He is hurting Adrien and Nathalie by living in this fantasy.

Gabriel should have moved on.

Nathalie wants to move on.

Adrien has already moved on.

EMILIE HERSELF wanted them all to move on.

Emilie is a nearly angelic figure. Adrien is literally the deuteragonist of the series. Nathalie is a morally grey character with a clear redemption arc. Gabriel is the antagonist.

The "better" the character is, the more certain they are that Emilie should not be revived.

The CORRECT choice, if Gabriel and Nathalie chose the "right" path from the start, would have been for Gabriel and Nathalie to focus on parenting Adrien themselves, instead of obsessing over bringing a dead woman who has already come to terms with her death back to life. That's what Emilie wanted. That's what Adrien wants. That's what Nathalie has wanted but was too afraid to say. That's what Gabriel refuses to accept.

Look, if I go in depth into the scenes where this is addressed, I'd be here all day. Instead, have a screenshot compilation, I guess.

Again. That's been a core message of the series this entire time. And while I don't have screenshots of it being spoken so plainly in seasons 1 and 2, Gabriel has always been depicted as sinister, and his obsession has always been framed in the wrong.

Now, if you're one of those people who refuse to analyze the text at all or interpret what the messages of the show are on the grounds of "the writing sucks so who cares, it's probably just inconsistent writing and they forgot about the themes in the final episode" or whatever, then like. Ok. But here's the thing— this theme is even more hammered home in the finale.

Guys. I'm serious. What the hell do you think the scene before the wish was saying?

Gabriel, at his lowest moment, brought down. Gabriel, detransformed and on his knees before Bug Noir. Gabriel, at the final hour of his life, near tears, still obsessing over his wife, still thinking of his wife his wife his wife above all else, as Bug Noir lays out the literal themes of the show to him in all their beautiful glory.

And then literally forces him to watch the very videos that he had tried to force Nathalie to delete. Forces him to face the very words he refused to acknowledge. Forces him, at his lowest, to come face-to-face with the truth he denied.

.... And it hits him. What she's saying hits him. Because how can he deny Emilie's own words? The very woman he's doing it all for? How can he bring her back to life when she would want nothing less? How can he force the love of his life to live knowing that someone had died for her to, when she didn't want that? How could he have lost himself so much in the madness?

And then Bug Noir comes in with THIS

.... And Gabriel says....

.... Note that, he does not continue to deny it. He does not plead his case that Emilie should be alive. He is no longer arguing that. Here, he has seemingly begun to accept the premise that Emilie should not be brought back to life. Instead, he has a new premise:

He does not want to be alive if Emilie is not.

Gabriel is not selfless. Gabriel is not a good man. Gabriel says, earlier in the episode, flat out, that he is more than willing to kill whoever it takes, whatever rando he wants, to get what he wants.

Here's the thing.

Gabriel wants to be with Emilie.

Gabriel is willing to kill anyone, whoever it takes, to make this happen.

Gabriel realizes Emilie does not want to be alive.

Gabriel decides that he will honor Emilie's final wish......... only partially.

Because Emilie wanted both Gabriel and Nathalie to take care of Adrien. But Gabriel does not want that. It's not that Gabriel is above killing someone to save his own life, it's that he realizes that he, too, does not want to be saved. Because he does not want to live in a world without Emilie.

He would rather be dead, with her, than alive and caring for his own son.

Gabriel Agreste's wish is a suicide. I mean, we already knew this— but I mean, literally. It's not a selfless sacrifice. It's not one final act of goodness. It's a suicide. He decides he wants to die, and he decides that he will save Nathalie in the act— because it's what Emilie wanted, and Gabriel is obsessive. The only person who would reason with him is Emilie herself.

And what does Gabriel's wish look like? How is it depicted to us?

Gabriel and Emilie, cast in a white light. Emilie lifts from her coffin, notably still limp, as Gabriel rises up with her.

He rises up with her, notably supporting her limp head with his hand. She is still unconscious. And he is joining her.

One last selfish act. The final nail into his "trying to be a dad" coffin. He doesn't want to be a dad anymore. He only wants to be with Emilie. And he will gladly pass that responsibility, the responsibility of parentage, onto Nathalie— The only character in the show who has been showing an explicit, vested interest in LIVING to take care of and be a parent to Adrien.

Nathalie is alive. Nathalie is well. A life for a life. One life for one life. That's all that's depicted. That's all that's shown.

Is it TECHNICALLY POSSIBLE that more could've been a part of that wish? Is it TECHNICALLY POSSIBLE that the wish could've been more complicated? Is it TECHNICALLY POSSIBLE that some random other person died? Is it TECHNICALLY POSSIBLE that all of that dialogue and that entire scene and the entire buildup of Emilie's recordings were just soooooo lol random and that Emilie just decided that she's totally cool with being revived and alive now and that the entire themes of the series were a lie?

I also think it's technically possible that Marinette has secretly been a hamster wearing a human suit this whole time, and Lila is actually secretly a sentimonster made by Gorilla. And maybe this show isn't a romance, actually, and that Adrien and Marinette aren't meant to be endgame. In fact, maybe the entire series was a big prank. Maybe I'm adopted and my parents lied to me about it.

But how it looks, from what I see, from what I've watched, what just happened is....

Gabriel accepted that Emilie is dead.

This made Gabriel want to die, too. Because he doesn't care about Adrien as much as he cares about Emilie.

So, he did. And he shirked parentage onto Nathalie.

Is this "winning", by the way? By any stretch? Is this "Gabriel getting what he always wanted"? Is this "Gabriel being proved right"? Is this a lack of consequences? Are we really going to call a broken man, who has been slowly turning to ash and rotting away for an entire season, who suffered and was beaten down and, at the very end, had the only people ever in his corner (Nathalie and Adrien) cursing his name and wanting him dead.... him being right all along? Is him committing suicide the series justifying his actions? Is him committing suicide (again, not a selfless sacrifice) him "doing good" and "being redeemed" by the narrative? Is a faux image of him, a false narrative, a complete fictional person that he never truly was being celebrated by ignorant Parisians, him "being redeemed"? I suppose that's another essay altogether. But I'm tired of writing.

also, there was still only one goddamn twin at that party

[mikanotes]

happy sweet home season 2 release everyone!!! i just watched the final ep and started screaming. here’s something quick! greetings from, lee eunhyuk x gn!reader, warning sweet home season 2 spoilers possibly ooc eunhyuk im trying to decide how different he shld be, mentions of scars. cheers

“Took you long enough.”

Eunhyuk scoffs silently, hands buttoning up a white shirt over his figure. Unharmed. Clean. Possibly unstoppable, now. His gaze is on his own reflection but his focus is on you, sitting nearby with your back towards him.

“Mm.” he hums, a small smile pulling at his lips. “Did you miss me?” he asks, something like a teasing tone to his voice.

You turn to look at him through the mirror and he raises his eyebrows. You roll your eyes and turn back. “No.”

Eunhyuk smirks a little at that. He tugs at his collar to make sure his shirt looks fine, out of habit, then heaves a deep sigh and turns around. He walks over to the couch you’re sitting on and sits at your side, eyes on the book in your hands.

“Is that why you kept things for me?”

Clothes. A pair of glasses. Books he used to read during your time at Green Home.

“Who said they were for you?”

Eunhyuk is dead. Anyone from Green Home would have agreed with this statement. This fact. But you refused to believe it. Parting ways with the rest of the survivors you knew (as well as the only other person who shared your feelings on this matter), avoiding the military and living in isolation, you had decided to try and make living bearable. Settling in an old apartment in a small building near the river. With enough practice from before, you had traps settled around the place and at least one or two weapons.

You used to stay at the shelter at the stadium, but hated all about it. It was much too many people and too much change all at once. No matter how organized it was, you couldn’t find it in yourself to stay. So you left, and made your own home.

Maybe it was luck that you came back to check on Green Home a day after Eunhyuk came back.

(Maybe it was meant to be.)

“How long have you been living here?” he asks quietly. He watches your eyes scan the page on your book, watches the twitch of your lips when you hum in thought, watches every detail that he missed during this time. Time passes weirdly in the state he was in, and a lot changes. A lot doesn’t. Like feelings. “I missed you.”

You turn to look at him and he tilts his head. His expression is serious and his voice is as steady as it always is.

“Thank god, you survived.”

You stare at him for a while, silent, before looking away. “You didn’t even give me time to answer.” you sigh. “It’s been ten months here. I spent two at a shelter before I got sick of it.”

“Was it bad?”

“Terrible.” you say, “I’m sorry I left Eunyu there. She can handle herself well enough, though.”

Eunhyuk sighs at that. That’s a whole other problem. At least she’s alright. “I’ll find her eventually.” he nods to himself, gaze on the floor. “I have a lot of people to find, anyways.”

“You’re so strange.” you comment, suddenly closing your book and shifting your whole attention to him. Eunhyuk does the same in turn, gaze focused on yours.

“As in?”

“You’ve changed.”

Eunhyuk blinks slowly, before narrowing his eyes. You’re not wrong. But not right either.

“You too.”

You reach your hand to his face and hold the side of it gently. He tilts his head slightly into your palm, not breaking eye contact. It was worth waiting, even if just to see you again. Your eyes are colder and your skin gained a few more scars. He’s mildly annoyed he couldn’t keep away anything that hurt you, though he knows it simply wasn’t possible. He could direct his anger towards the other people that were with you.

But humans are just so… weak. How could anyone ever count on them?

“In any case, you don’t have to worry anymore.” he says, sounding almost cold. “Not even a little bit.”

He’s here, now, and he intends to make sure you won’t have to change more than you already have because of this hellish world.