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jamminvroomvroom · 7 months

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no more mister shy guy.

OP x fem!reader

in which you can’t work out why he just won’t sleep with you

i am neither normal, nor am i hinged! i hope you guys get the vision, i literally wrote this last night possessed by some feral urge bc i just love oscar sm and i’ve been needing to write for him sooo baaad. enjoy! pls lemme know what you think <3

songs to set the vibes: delicate by taylor swift, good looking by suki waterhouse, my kind of woman by max demarco, feeling myself by wolf alice

warnings: 18+!! minors dni!! smut, pwp but also there is some plot? overstimulation, crying in a hot way, choking, unprotected sex (L bozo don’t do that!) the most minor moment of angst, fluff

2.8k words

you watch him make coffee, daydreaming, balancing your heavy head on your hand. you study him while your free hand taps against the kitchen counter, nails drumming a random beat. sunlight streams through a gap in the curtains, framing him golden. you don’t think he knows how pretty he is.

oscar is oblivious to the way your mind is ticking behind him, twisting the cap on the carton of oat-milk. you hear the plastic fall onto the counter and your tongue wets your lower lip as he reaches up into the cupboard, his back flexing beneath his shirt as he finds your favourite mug. you realise then how swollen your lip is, snapped out of the trance he had you in, the one that had you biting your lip so hard, completely mindlessly.

he’s bulked up over the winter break, filled out a lot over the course of his rookie season. he’s no longer the scrawny, anxious guy you’d met at your fathers work event a year ago, he’s broader, thicker in your hands, utterly delicious. as much as you like the way he looks, you like his mind a whole lot more. if only you knew what was going on inside it.

oscar is an enigma, quiet, hilariously dry, the kindest man you’d ever had the pleasure of meeting. you’ve been together since the start of the winter break, november, after awkward run ins and plenty of pining since the start of his first season. you’d travel to races with your dad, a mclaren sponsor, and run into the australian, stare at each other and pretend no one noticed. after months of teasing from lando, oscar finally got the kick up the arse that he needed and you’d said yes to dinner before he’d even finished asking the question.

it’s february now, a week til he needs to be in bahrain. the last three months had been serene, spent with a man made of sunshine, and you’re sad to see him go, as if you won’t be in the emirates a mere four days after him. you fear the way you’ll ache for him, having been inseparable since the dinner that started it all.

but then again, it can’t be worse than the way you ache for him now.

“sweetheart?” oscar is waving his hand in front of your face when you realise he’s been calling your name for a good 15 seconds, and you have, in fact, been staring. hm? you jump, staring at him bewildered. he looks amused. “you okay?” he coos, sliding the coffee across the island towards you.

“yeah, sorry, i, um, i just- why won’t you have sex with me?” you blurt, slapping your hand over your mouth as soon as you realise what you’ve just said.

oscar just blinks, mouth forming a little o, the permanent blush he seems to have increasing tenfold. you instantly feel guilty for ambushing him, but you were at the end of your tether. three months of nothing, nada, zilch. every move you made was refuted, ignored as if he was oblivious. you were ravenous for him, he’s so gorgeous! and you didn’t want to pressure him, but you were starting to feel like there was something wrong with you.

you’d wake up in bed with him wrapped around you, grinding against your ass in his sleep, and you’d revel in it, the rare times that he actually seemed to want you like that. you loved him regardless, of course you did, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t need to be… dealt with. urgently.

“i- um- what?” oscar splutters, and the bottom of his mug blinks against the granite.

“is there something wrong with me? am i not pretty enough?” you whisper, shy. “do you just not… like- do you not want to do that?” you ramble.

panic fills his face, and he’s rushing around the island, by your side in an instant. he takes your hands into his, finding your eyes. they’ve grown watery, a mixture of guilt and desperation swirling in them which makes him feel ill.

“baby, no, god no.” he rushes the words out, desperate to convince you that it wasn’t you. “you’re the most beautiful person in the entire world, prettiest girl i ever saw.” he promises. “i’m just… it’s scary.”

“oh, osc.” your face falls, and you want to throw yourself off of the balcony. “i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to pressure you. if it makes you feel better, i’m scared too. but i love you so much, i just want to feel even closer to you.”

“you didn’t make me feel pressured, i’m just sorry i made you feel unwanted. trust me, i want you like that. drives me insane. but i’ve never had sex before with someone that i love. not the way i love you, anyway. scared that i won’t be good enough for you.” he murmurs.

you’re hung up on the part where you drive him crazy, the part where he loves you like that, and then you remember how vulnerable he’s being, baring his entire soul to you, and you rip yourself from the fantasy.

your hands smooth over his shoulders, until you’re softly fisting a clump of hair at the nape of his neck.

“i love you. insanely. we’ll go slow.” you state. he moulds further against you, and you quickly realise it’s for leverage, because the next thing you know, you’re in his arms. he has his hands hooked under your thighs and he’s kissing you so, so deeply that you’re dizzy. you don’t realise that you’re halfway to his bedroom until he pulls away.

“i don’t wanna go slow anymore.”

oscar places you on your feet at the end of his bed, the large, plush king-sized mattress that is currently calling both of your names. your blouse gets unbuttoned first, his hands shaking in a way that makes you melt, and his lips trail over every inch of bare skin that he uncovers. when it finally falls to the floor, his pupils are blown wide, his hands palming intricate black lace. your jeans are stripped away mercilessly, his hands shaking less now, and you take it as a sign to crawl backwards onto the bed.

he stands there, watching you, apprehensive again. you can see how hard he is, how desperately strained his cock is through the light grey of his sweatpants, and so you switch tactics. your hand grazes your tummy, skimming up your abdomen until you reach a bra strap. you toy with the elastic, holding the kind of eye contact that makes him twitch, tugging it until it hangs loosely off of your shoulder.

“i need you, osc. i trust you.” you utter, soft and enticing. one finger runs under the cup of your bra, flicking over your nipple. he can just about see the hardened bud through the lace of your bra. it’s not enough, though, and every ounce of self control depletes when you whine, “want you inside of me so badly.”

the elastic band snaps and he’s on top of you, rutting between your legs like a man starved. you drag his shirt up and over his shoulder blades, moaning as you feel each and every muscle under your fingertips.

“just wanna make you feel good.” oscar rasps, rolling his hips even harder into your core.

“take these off.” you beg, pulling at the waistband of his joggers. he somehow musters the strength to pry himself off of you, just long enough to discard the uncomfortable material of his sweats, but as soon as he looks down, his plans change.

painted over the crotch of them is a shiny pool of your slick, and when his eyes flit hungrily to your core, he sees where you’ve soaked through your panties. you’re panting when you see the stain, and you just want to get him inside of you, but his priorities have changed. oscar collapses between your legs, head buried, tongue exploring.

he groans, carnal and needy, into the fabric of your underwear, laving his tongue over the lace. your eyes widen as he dives in, licking over the wet patch until he grows frustrated. you hear the tearing of the fabric, feel his big hands pawing at your thighs to spread them as wide as they’ll go. his tongue slides right inside of you and he whines. he fucking whines. the vibration nearly makes you scream. you can’t believe this is your oscar, the same oscar that had quivered with nerves a mere five minutes ago.

“oh my god.” you chant, rolling your hips against his face. you must be all over him by now, what with the way he’s sucking and slurping, obscene sounds of wetness sounding around the room. you’d be blushing a deep red if you weren’t so turned on, shaking against his bedspread which will probably need changing once he’s done with you.

you thought that maybe he was inexperienced and that was the source of his fear, but if he was, you never would have known. he was a natural in between your legs, nipping at your clit to get you even louder for him.

you cum faster than ever, and he’s mumbling something incoherent into your pussy when you do. you’re riding the high, midway through the bliss, when a thick finger slips its way inside of you. oscar realises that he can easily slide another in, and he does. he doesn’t thrust them in and out, he grinds them against your walls, and your mouth falls open as a silent scream forces it’s way out.

you cum a second time, in record time yet again, and he still doesn’t let up. he’s hitting that spot relentlessly with his fingers, keeping your clit between his swollen lips, and you’re begging him. for what, you’re not sure, but you’re whimpering his name like you’re going to die. and what a good way to go this would be.

his eyes meet yours, and he looks unhinged. that’s when you feel it. that all consuming, belly twisting rush.

“oscar!” you try to warn him, but it’s too late, and he knows it. he makes you squirt, because of course he does. the shy guy who was scared that he wouldn’t be able to please you makes you squirt.

he pulls his mouth off of you but keeps his fingers buried deep, eyes fixed on watching the way your pussy convulses.

“holy shit.” you cry. you’re staring down at him like you’ve gone insane. he’s smiling innocently.

“was that good?” he almost sounds shy and you want to kick him.

“are you… are you serious?” you rasp. oscar just shrugs. “get up here.” you reach for him and complies, slotting himself between your legs once more.

oscar resumes the rolls of his hips, and the friction of the grey fabric against your core makes your eyes roll back.

“please, oscar, fuck me.” you whine, his head falling into the crook of your neck. he bites down, leaving behind the sting of his teeth and a faint purple splotch.

“fucking love you.” he slurs, his accent thickening in a way that makes him sound that extra bit fucked out already.

“i love you.” you murmur, forcing his sweats down his legs. his boxers are wet, just like your panties were, and you can’t help but stare. oh, it’s big.

his boxers are peeled down and you can feel yourself throbbing. his cock hangs heavy, red and dripping, painfully hard. you reach for it, looking at him to make sure it’s okay to touch, and he’s rapidly nodding his head. your small hand struggles but you make it work, and his head tips back, exposing his thick neck that you want to suck purple. your hand works over him a few times, and a visible shiver running through his body makes you stop.

“you ready for me?” he asks through gritted teeth.

“please.” you gasp, locking your legs around his waist. “however you want me, ‘m yours.” you breathe.

oscar’s eyes roll back in his head, your words sending his brain blank, and then he’s pushing home, slow and deep.

“fucking hell.” he groans, guttural. you’re so tight, warm, soaking wet. he feels like the biggest idiot in the world for waiting so long for this.

“oh.” you gasp, your eyebrows knitting together. he’s so deep. “so full.” you pant.

“can you take it, sweetheart?” oscar’s lips bump your jaw. “want you to take it.” you nod profusely, desperate to hear him run his mouth even further. your eyes clench shut when you feel him move, just the tiniest bit, readjusting.

“move.” you plead. he’s staring down at you, watching every single micro movement of your face.

oscar pulls out the smallest bit and thrusts back in, nice and slow. the drag drives you feral, the weight of him on top of you makes you weak. you want to stay like this until the end of days.

“good?” he hisses, trying to keep composed. he’s finally inside of you, claiming you as his in the most intimate way of all. he tries not to think about how many times he could have had you begging under him in the last three months.

“so good, so good.” you repeat, pushing your hips up to try and meet his.

“so pretty like this for me. always so, so pretty.” he rambles. he realises that he never quite made it as far as getting your bra off, and he needs to see all of you. the cups are tugged haphazardly down, and oscar stares at your breasts like he’s never seen tits before. you hear him hum, low and greedy, and then you feel the wet drag of his tongue across your nipple.

the animalistic whine that he rips from you makes him thrust harder, upping his pace a bit. he can hear how much wetter you get when he picks up his pace, and he changes up his rhythm, pushing all the way in and dragging out again at lightning speed. your jaw goes slack and your eyes are damp.

“baby, what’s wrong?” oscar slows to a stop, and you want to scream.

“no, no, no, keep going.” you choke out, your throat constricting with a sob. “it’s so good. feel so good.” you sound drunk, all for him, and he loses his mind completely.

he taps into that athletic stamina, fucking into you with a newfound vigour that you didn’t think was humanly possible, and you feel things that you didn’t even know you could feasibly feel. you see stars behind your eyes, his face, and nothing else but bright white. calloused fingers find your clit, and you wonder fleetingly if he’s trying to kill you when he rubs messy shapes into the much too overstimulated bud. his teeth graze your nipple, and everything seems to come together perfectly.

thick tears run hot down your cheeks, only to be licked away by eager tongue. your belly tightens, aflame for him; he’s wound your body up perfectly and you’ve never in your life teetered so dangerously over the edge.

“can feel you, baby. want you to cum, okay? ‘n then i’m gonna fill you up.” oscar grunts. you clamp down on him even tighter, thanking god for oscar’s filthy fucking mouth and birth control, and then everything snaps.

you think you scream, you know that you’re sobbing, and your throat is raw when the wave hits. oscar keeps going, intensifying your pleasure, and when he finally let’s go, it’s the most beautiful fucking thing you’ve ever seen. it’s surreal, the way his neck flexes, eyes clenched tight, brown locks flopping over his sweat damped forehead. and the sounds he makes, god. he’s muttering into your ear, lewd and shameless, and a fifth orgasm nearly takes you under.

“gonna need you everyday like this, tight fucking pussy, all mine. can’t live without this now. fucking perfect.” he’s rambling, burrowing deep into you one last time. you feel his warmth spilling into you, feel his hot breath fanning your face. he licks into your awaiting mouth.

“fuck.” you giggle, breathless.

“good?” he raises an eyebrow, grinning bashfully.

“more than worth the wait.” you whisper, mustering the strength to lift your head just enough so that you can peck his lips. “you better not hold out on me ever again though.” oscar laughs at that and you feel the rumble in your flushed chest.

“you promise?” there’s the shy guy again.

“osc, honey, that was the best. ever. ever. need you to be mr sex god more often.”

“only if you behave for me.” he smirks down at you.

“there he is.” you sigh happily.

when he snakes his way back between your legs, lapping up the mess he’s made, and then some, you wonder just what you’ve unleashed.

whoops? lol

taglist

@thegirlinthefandoms @mcmuppet @japanesekel @vinvantae @ggaslyp1 @dr3lover @smiithys @rachstash @infinitebells @fizzpopsnap101 @gaily19 @icecoldtires @mysticalnightenthusiast @thatchickwiththecamera @oyesmendes @disneydaydreameralways @canyouseethesainz @ferrarifwendvale @fcbformulaeri @tony-stank3 @maih23 @nokiaholland @soleilgrec @carolineworld @anthonykatebridgerton @allywthsr @iamasimpingh0e @ophcelia @lovelynikol16 @coffeehurricanes @jennx03 @blueflorals @lqvesoph @sidcrosbyspuck @better-dead-than-smeg @buendiabebeta @pjofics @kovalcin @wintergilmore3 @for-writing-shit @youdontknowmeshh @im-an-overthinker @jule239 @darleneslane @jazzy722 @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @therealone4r @pleasecallmeunhinged @theonlyadrienne @spideylovin @charli123456789

(run outta space on my taglist lol, lemme know if u wanna be added or removed)

4K notes · View notes

reasonsforhope · 3 months

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THANK FUCKING GOD

"The Supreme Court on Thursday [June 13, 2024] unanimously preserved access to a medication that was used in nearly two-thirds of all abortions in the U.S. last year, in the court’s first abortion decision since conservative justices overturned Roe v. Wade two years ago.

The nine justices ruled that abortion opponents lacked the legal right to sue over the federal Food and Drug Administration’s approval of the medication, mifepristone, and the FDA’s subsequent actions to ease access to it. The case had threatened to restrict access to mifepristone across the country, including in states where abortion remains legal.

Abortion is banned at all stages of pregnancy in 14 states, and after about six weeks of pregnancy in three others, often before women realize they’re pregnant.

Justice Brett Kavanaugh, who was part of the majority to overturn Roe, wrote for the court on Thursday that “federal courts are the wrong forum for addressing the plaintiffs’ concerns about FDA’s actions.”

The opinion underscored the stakes of the 2024 election and the possibility that an FDA commissioner appointed by Republican Donald Trump, if he wins the White House, could consider tightening access to mifepristone, including prohibiting sending it through the mail...

Kavanaugh’s opinion managed to unite a court deeply divided over abortion and many other divisive social issues by employing a minimalist approach that focused solely on the technical legal issue of standing and reached no judgment about the FDA’s actions...

While praising the decision, President Joe Biden signaled Democrats will continue to campaign heavily on abortion ahead of the November elections. “It does not change the fact that the right for a woman to get the treatment she needs is imperiled if not impossible in many states,” Biden said in a statement...

About two-thirds of U.S. adults oppose banning the use of mifepristone, or medication abortion, nationwide, according to a KFF poll conducted in February. About one-third would support a nationwide ban...

More than 6 million people [in the U.S.] have used mifepristone since 2000. Mifepristone blocks the hormone progesterone and primes the uterus to respond to the contraction-causing effect of a second drug, misoprostol. The two-drug regimen has been used to end a pregnancy through 10 weeks gestation...

Biden’s administration and drug manufacturers had warned that siding with abortion opponents in this case could [have] undermined the FDA’s drug approval process beyond the abortion context by inviting judges to second-guess the agency’s scientific judgments. The Democratic administration and New York-based Danco Laboratories, which makes mifepristone, argued that the drug is among the safest the FDA has ever approved."

-via AP, June 13, 2024

Note: A massive relief and a genuine victory - this will preserve access to the medication used in 2/3rds of abortions last year, for at least another 2 years. (Probably minimum time it will take Republicans to get their next attempt before the Supreme Court.)

Still, with this, a sword that has been hanging over our heads for the last two years is gone. There will be a new one soon, but we just bought ourselves probably at least 2 years. The fight isn't over, but this is absolutely worth celebrating.

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lucyrose191 · 7 months

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BROKEN DECISIONS: HEALING| T.WOLFF

Pairing; Toto Wolff x fem!Schumacher!reader

Summary; You had learned to channel the pain from Toto’s actions into the need to protect and love your child. You were healing but will that be affected by Toto finding out the reason you suddenly disappeared?

Warnings; Age gap mentioned but not specified. Fluff.

Author’s Note; I know I said I’d post a Seb fic before this but this was so much easier to write and I had a lot more motivation for this. Possibly a part 3 if you want.

F1 Master List, Part 1

September 2024

The pain that had consumed you so overwhelmingly all those months ago had seemingly disappeared as you stared down at your daughter who lay in your lap, eyes closed as she slept peacefully, subtle puffs of air released as her chest raised every few seconds.

The thick tufts of bright white hair that sprouted from her head marked that little Alina Elisabeth was most certainly a Schumacher.

Maybe you should feel guilty for the relief that settled in you at the lack of resemblance she shared with her father but the love you felt in your heart as you stared down at the person you cared the most for in this world shrouded any negative emotion you could possibly feel.

The loneliness you had felt was also no longer lingering in your chest, your family had been your rock since the moment you arrived in Switzerland, your mother especially. Mick ensured her was there for you too, even though he was busy with the world endurance racing, he made sure he called frequently and tried to visit when he could.

You sent him a photo of his new niece as soon as you could after giving birth to her and he was already besotted and excited to meet her.

The pain from birthing her had also long been forgotten, unlike the memory of holding her for the first time.

It was hard to describe the rush of emotions that were bursting beneath your skin. You would go to hell and back again if just to experience this for the rest of your life, to continue living in this bubble of warmth and completion.

There was the slightest bit of lingering sadness towards the knowledge that Toto hadn’t been by your side yesterday and witnessing his daughter being brought into the world, maybe it was even unfair that he had been robbed of that opportunity but then you remembered how you had tried to tell him the news of your pregnancy before you left and how he refused to listen.

You weren’t going to beg and plead for him to listen to what you had to say, no matter what there news was.

You had a lot more respect for yourself than that.

It didn’t matter anyways, you didn’t need him and you’d ensure that Alina didn’t need him either. You have full confidence in your ability to raise her alone and give her the best life she could possibly have, a life that would provide her with opportunities others could only imagine having.

November 2024

Alina Elisabeth Schumacher was now two months old and each day it felt as though your love for her multiplied.

Even through the rough patches where you seemed lost in knowing what she needed or what was wrong, it didn’t deter you in the slightest. You had smiled more in the last two months than you had in the last ten years and it felt riveting.

Never would you have thought that a child could fill a gap in your life that you didn’t even know existed but here she is and your heart is full.

Your life felt whole and complete and you owed everything to her, to your little girl who had fixed your healing heart without even trying, just by simply existing.

Today was an important day, Mick was coming home after finishing the world endurance season, which he had performed amazingly in, and it was going to be his first time meeting his niece in person.

You had FaceTimed so much in the last few months, Mick hadn’t wanted to miss any part of his niece growing and so every night at around six he’d ring so that he could say goodnight to her, no matter what time is was where he was at.

Alina loved her uncle already.

It was around 2pm when you heard the front door open followed by the sound of bags dropping to the floor and Mick walking into the kitchen.

You didn’t waste any time in wrapping him into a hug. "Hey, how are you?"

Mick tucked his head into the crook of your neck and tightened his arms around you. "I’m great, it was amazing but how are you, are you okay?" He asked, pulling away and holding onto your shoulders as he looked you up and down.

You smiled at him in pure happiness. "I’m amazing, she’s amazing. Come and see her," you told him and grabbed his hand, pulling him upstairs to your room.

Alina was napping which is all she ever did at her young age but you didn’t care if she woke up because the look of awe on Mick’s face as he set his eyes upon her would make it worth it.

"She’s tiny," he whispered, reaching a finger inside the cot and smiling as she wrapped her fist around it. "She looked so much bigger over the phone, she’s beautiful, Y/N, really." He looked up at you and smiled.

"That’s because she takes after me," you smirked and he rolled his eyes, slowly pulling his hand away before turning to you.

"Do Mum and Gina know?" He asked.

You didn’t need him to emphasise, you both knew what he meant, the unspoken topic that neither of you brought up throughout your entire pregnancy and even after.

"No," you replied honestly, swallowing uncomfortably.

"Y/N-" he sighed.

"Don’t," you cut him off. "He didn’t want to know, Mick. He didn’t care and I’m not going to beg him to."

The sympathetic look he gave you in response to the defeated words you spoke filled you with the need to cry but you didn’t.

You simply stood there for a moment before sighing. "I think I’m going to quit."

Mick gave you a look of horror. "What!?" He whisper shouted. "You can’t, you’ve been with Mercedes for nearly a decade!"

You shrugged. "I don’t want to work for him anymore, not when he is adamant on acting as though he didn’t give me the wrong impression, as though I don’t have his daughter at home who he doesn’t know about because he didn’t care enough for me to tell him."

He didn’t say anything, knowing that your point was completely reasonable. He just hoped this didn’t ruin everything you had worked for.

December 2024

You walked side by side with Mick through the pits of the Yas Marina circuit in Abu Dhabi, drawing quite a bit of attention to yourselves, not only because this is the first glimpse anyone has seen of you all year but because of the three month old you held in your arms.

You walked into the Mercedes garage as though you weren’t about to reveal why you hadn’t participated in this season, pretending you didn’t notice how everyone paused what they were doing to stare as soon as you crossed the threshold.

Their stares burned into your skin but none more than Toto’s, you felt the trail his eyes left across your entire body and the way they settled on the sleeping baby in your arms.

You ignored the burning sensation he was leaving on your skin, instead focusing on the mechanics and other team members that were approaching to speak to you and introduce themselves to Alina.

It was around twenty minutes later before you were left alone, Mick took this opportunity to take Alina to go and show her off to anyone who would give him the time of day, you loved how much of a proud uncle he was.

"Can we talk?" His voice was low and gravelly in your ear as he spoke in a hushed whisper, startling you momentarily.

You scoffed and shook your head. "You weren’t up for talking in January, I’m not up for talking now."

"It’s important," he tried to reason and you laughed.

"What I wanted to say was important but you didn’t care, what was important to me wasn’t important to you. It’s not nice being on the receiving end of that, is it?"

You had hit the nail on the head with that one and by the stunned silence Toto was confined into, he knew that as well.

"Please, I know I don’t deserve it but can you please just come and have a civil conversation with me in my office," he pleaded, knowing that he really had no leg to stand on because he was the one that was completely in the wrong.

You wanted to make a comment about how poetic it was that he wanted to go and talk in his office, just how you did all those months ago and yet you had no luck but you didn’t.

You relented and agreed but that did not mean you were going to be easy on him.

You sighed and stood up from your seat, following him to his office.

You refused to speak first as he shut the door which resulted in a thick, heavy silence for a couple of minutes as you both stood there, Toto staring at you whilst your eyes strained on the ground.

"What happened in Abu Dhabi last year-" he started causing you to look up at him, not expecting him to even bring that up considering how certain he was to avoid it before.

"It wasn’t a mistake, I just- I spent two years fighting my feelings for you because you deserve so much more than I am. The baggage I come with- I’m divorced twice and I have kids and I’m so much older than you and you deserve so much more than to be with a man that comes with all that and can’t give you everything."

You stared at him blankly though you were surprised that he had supposedly felt something for you for an entire year before you noticed anything.

"I never thought of you as anything but my boss and a friend but then last year, the way you looked at me and the way you acted, I thought you liked me and it confused me, my mind was baffled the entire season but no matter what you caused me to feel, I fought against it but then with his forward you were in Abu Dhabi, you made me think you actually wanted me and even if you didn’t then that’s fine but what isn’t fine is leading me on with your stares and your touches and then leaving me alone in a hotel the moment I gave in and even after that when I tried to speak with you, you ignored me and dismissed me. Do you know how used and disgusted I felt?"

You knew the look of guilt on his face wasn’t fake but that didn’t change anything, his guilt was nothing compared to what he had put you through.

"I thought I was doing what was best for you," he replied defeated, knowing how pathetic he sounded and how weak his response was.

"I couldn’t look at myself without feeling the urge to throw up after the way you left me there and it was all down to your insecurities which are ridiculous by the way. I can’t believe you think I’d care about how many times you’ve been married or how many kids you have or how old you are, I only ever wanted someone who loved me and treated me right, you could’ve done that but the man that spoke to me in January, I’ve never seen you like that and that man is not someone I would ever be with."

"You didn’t deserve that," he replied in agreement. "I was overwhelmed by the guilt I felt for leaving you there and trying to ignore my feelings for you which I thought were wrong to be feeling but it is not an excuse for the way I spoke or dismissed you, it was wrong of me. I’m sorry."

"I know," you shrugged. "But I don’t forgive you, not right now at least."

Toto shook his head. "I’ll earn your forgiveness." He said confidently.

"Okay." You whispered.

The air between the two of you shifted as Toto looked at you apprehensively, shifting on his feet. "Your baby-" your heart thumped loudly in your chest. "Is she?" He asked, not needing to continue.

You weren’t going to deny the truth and so you replied honestly. "Yes, it’s what I tried telling you in January."

The look of anguish that appeared on his face was heartbreaking to see because you could tell he truly regretted his actions but it was simply the consequences of his decisions, he was still able to make up for it.

"What did you name her?" He asked quietly.

"Alina Elisabeth Schumacher, Elisabeth after my grandmother."

"You chose well…. Could I meet her?" He asked carefully, not wanting to overstep with you but of course you would allow him to see her, not only because your daughter deserved a chance to have a father but because you knew he was a good father and he would’ve been there had you been given the chance to tell him of her.

"I’ll go and get her." You told him, swiftly walking passed him and out of the door.

It was George that happening to be holding her as you re-entered the garage, the man looking up at you with a pleased smile. "Y/N! I’m happy your back, am I getting my beginner back next year?" He asked as he handed her over to you.

You smiled weakly and shrugged your shoulders. "I’m honestly not too sure yet, George but I’ll let you know."

"No worries," he waved you off. "She’s beautiful by the way."

You thanked him before turning away and heading back to Toto’s office.

Alina was wide awake now and her dark eyes were looking around curiously as you walked through the small corridor.

As soon as Toto’s eyes laid upon her you practically saw how he immediately fell in love with her, his eyes softened as they took in her features, probably trying to find anything that resembled himself.

"I think she has your eyes, but that’s about it," you commented lightly causing him to laugh.

He stepped forward and held his hand out for her, smiling and laughing as she reached out and grabbed his finger before shoving it into her mouth.

He looked at her in awe, as if he couldn’t believe she was a part of him. He reached out with his other hand and tickled her cheek with his finger causing her to gurgle around his hand.

"You can hold her," you told him, lifting her out towards him. He looked at you unsurely but you encouraged him with a nod and that was everything he needed to take her into his arms.

Alina threw away her grip on his hand as he held her and instead pressed both of her hands into his cheeks and pressed her face up against his causing you both to burst out into laughter which resulted in her copying you.

"She’s so small," he muttered almost to himself but you heard him.

"She didn’t feel it when I was pushing her out but she does look it," you joked but also serious, it had hurt like hell.

The mention of her birth spiked a sudden interest. "When was she born?" He asked.

"September 3rd, she was two weeks late, didn’t want to leave I suppose so I had to get induced."

He looked at you worried. "You didn’t do it alone, did you?"

You shook your head, "No, don’t worry, my mum was there with me."

"That’s good," he replied, pulling away from Alina’s grabby hands and instead brought her into a hug, resting the side of his head against hers.

God did he look good holding her.

Alina cooed and babbled as she lied her head on his shoulder and reached her hand up to grab his ear and pull on it.

The immediate connection between the two was impossible to miss and it was sad they had both missed out on this but you refused to let yourself feel guilty about it.

"Thank you for this," Toto’s voice broke you out of your thoughts. "I know I don’t deserve it."

You shook your head. "You deserve a relationship with her, no matter what I wouldn’t have kept her from you."

He smiled and tightened his hold on Alina, still struggling to believe she was really his.

He had four kids. Wow.

He did not want to think about how he was going to explain this one to them.

"We should probably go back out there, there’s still a race that’s about to start." You mentioned, hating to break him out of his bubble but he had priorities.

After much coercing, you managed to get him out of his office but he kept his hold on Alina, he didn’t think the team would suspect anything, they probably just thought he wanted to hold her but even if they did have suspicions, he didn’t care.

Everything felt right as he held her, now he just needed to make it up to you and he would do everything needed for you to forgive him because he wanted this, he wanted you and this family you had created, no matter how long it took.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

People who asked to be tagged or asked for a part 2:

@pear-1206 @luckyladycreator2 @urmotheris @lightdragonrayne @viennakarma @woozarts @carolloliveerr @nuggetvirgo @myescapefromthislife @minkyungseokie @oatmealandsugar @hc-dutch @arieltwvdtohamflash @grayxiu @bigsimperika @emilyval1 @eternalharry @msbyjackal

#formula one x reader #f1 fanfiction #formula one #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #fluff #toto wolff x reader #toto wolff fanfic #toto wolff x y/n #toto wolff x oc #toto wolff fluff #toto wolff imagine #toto wolff fanfiction #f1 fanfic #f1 imagines #f1 fic

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taintedtort · 11 months

Text

" NO NUT NOVEMBER! "

summary. how long they last during NNN

characters. nagi, bachira, rin

warnings. gn!reader, suggestive, no nut november

a/n. i did this prompt before with genshin, but it’s november again so i wanted to do it for bllk

NAGI

☆ reo thought it would be funny to make a bet, challenging nagi with a promise of a new game if he survived the entire month. he agreed since he’d been wanting the game for a while, and well… how hard could it be? apparently… extremely hard. the first week was fine, he barely even made an effort to restrain himself, too focused on other things. however, during week two, he realized how pent up he was getting. he had to actually make an effort, which honestly bugged him. week three comes along and he’s had enough, he can barely touch you without his mind running wild. decides the game isn’t worth it and that it’s too much effort to continue denying himself.

"forget that challenge, it’s such a hassle."

BACHIRA

☆ he tried to do it the year before, but forgot and failed on day 3, so this year he’s determined. he knows it’ll be hard, and he knows it’ll be inconvenient, but his ego pushes him to try anyway. barely makes it through week one, you have to keep reminding him of the challenge before he gets too carried away. halfway through week two, he’s so pent up that he’s begging you to touch him. you remind him yet again, but he insists, promising that he won’t cum and that he just needs a little taste. that, of course, was a lie. he couldn’t hold back and ended up fucking you on the couch.

"please? just for a second? my cock‘s throbbing, cmon."

RIN

☆ he thought it was the dumbest idea ever, but you were the one that insisted he try. you taunted him, poking at his ego and betting that he couldn’t last the whole month. he reluctantly gave in, rolling his eyes and scoffing at your teasing. he made it pretty far without much complaining, but even rin has his needs. during week three, he’s not only very needy, but also annoyed. he’s irritated that the challenge is holding him back, and he’s irritated that every time he tries to give up, you won’t let him. you tease him, telling him that you knew he couldn’t last, and your taunts always make him want to prove you wrong, so he holds out. he’s more moody than usual the last week of november, ready to take it out on you the second the month is over and he can end this stupid challenge. and he does just that. december 1st hits and he’s on you within a minute, hungrily kissing you and tugging at your clothes while grumbling complaints.

"that was hell, i’m never doing that again."

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ceesimz · 18 days

Text

Who falls in love in November?

part 2 of this, also known as the happy ending everyone wanted :)

Alexia had three days remaining of her time in Menorca after you left. Never in her life had a vacation been so miserable.

Even without you there, her head was constantly on a swivel when she was out, hoping she’d turn a corner and you were there waiting for her. She was withdrawn from social occasions with friends, stuck in her head thinking about how much she wished you were by her side.

But it wasn’t going to happen. It didn’t happen.

And to top it all off, she had no evidence you even existed aside from the book you gifted her, as if you were merely a figure of her imagination. A daydream she didn’t want to come out of. It was simultaneously the best and worst summer of her life, because she had you, and then she didn’t. You slipped out of her grasp before she could do anything about it, and that fact was eating her up inside.

To be honest, as she boarded her plane home, she had never been so grateful for a vacation to end. She slumped into her seat after storing away her suitcase and sighed heavily, looking out of the window of the place that she currently held mixed feelings about. The whole island was tainted by you and the memories that remained. At the thought, she slammed the window cover shut. It was a pitiful attempt to shove you out of her mind; to be fair to her, it worked for a few seconds. Except, when she reached into her backpack by her feet, her hand grabbed something and pulled it out.

Your book. The only thing that remained of your relationship.

Relationship? Could it be classed as that? Probably not. But what else could she call it? The greatest mistake of her life?

Since she opened the first page the night you gave it to her, she had probably read the note there a hundred times. And so what if she had traced the curvature of your handwriting with her finger as her eyes burned with tears that night? You weren’t there to see it, that’s the only thing that mattered to her.

This book means a lot to me, and from all the wonderful things I know about you so far, I think you’ll like it too. We haven’t known each other for very long but I hope that changes because you’ve already had a better effect on me than anyone I have ever met, and for that I am so grateful. Let me know when you finish it.

That last sentence, as well as the accompanying smiley face that was exactly the same as the one you had drawn on another note to her a few days prior, mocked her. She couldn’t reach you if she tried. She only had your first name and the city you lived in, there was nothing to go off of if she attempted to find you. The worst part of it all is that you could be her neighbour for all she knows, but the only thing she could do was hope that your worlds aligned sooner rather than later. You could live in the apartment right beside hers, or above it, or below. The possibilities were endless and it killed her.

Maybe it was sad and pathetic, but she couldn’t bring herself to read the story. There had been one attempt so far, and it only resulted in a throbbing headache, puffy red eyes, and a damp pillow. Another sigh left her lips as she dropped it back into her bag and zipped it up with more aggression than necessary, earning a strange glance from the flight attendant that walked past her just as she did so.

A little while passed before the plane got ready for take-off, and ever the rule-stickler, Alexia took one of her earphones out as the safety video played out. At that point, she realised just how screwed she was, because she couldn’t even look at a life vest on a fucking plane without thinking back to that day with you on the boat.

“Qué coño estoy haciendo?” She grumbled under her breath, slipping her earphone back in and resting her head back against the seat, eyes closed.

Unfortunately, that was a question she would repeat to herself a hell of a lot the following months. Because, really, not a day passed by without her thoughts being infiltrated by those days with you. The second she closed her eyes at night, she saw your face. When she woke up in the morning, she wished you were beside her, even despite the fact she had never once shared a bed with you.

At one point, sometime in September, she even found herself going along to one of Mapi’s dinners in Barcelona that she always planned. Alexia had been invited to every single one in the past few years since the defender had started organising them with her closest friends, but the blonde had only attended a handful in that time. Her attendance for this one was solely for the purpose of seeing you.

However, you didn’t show up.

There was one chair at the end of the table empty, and though no one ever took it, Alexia couldn’t tear her eyes away. She had a vacant expression on her face throughout the whole duration of the evening, forcing a smile when she had to and keeping her responses short. The people there that didn’t know her too well were probably a little weirded out, but Mapi could see heartbreak in her eyes and the realisation of what likely happened brought a frown to her face. She didn’t want to intrude on a situation she knew Alexia would prefer to keep private, but it hurt to see her friend so down like she was.

Only one conversation topic truly piqued her interest that evening. Near the end of the night, someone asked why you weren’t there. The single mention of your name had her heart racing.

“-has gone to England to see her family for a while.”

The person talking, who Alexia assumed was your friend, went on a bit more about your whereabouts, but the blonde had tuned out of it as soon as she heard that you weren’t even in the country, nevermind the city.

She had the urge to just get up and walk out of the restaurant there and then at the news, but she was here, at a restaurant with alcohol available to her, and instead she decided to throw her personal laws out the window for the night and have a few drinks. They didn’t numb the pain, in fact they probably made it more prominent. Alarm bells were ringing in Mapi’s head at the sight of her friend with an alcoholic drink in her hand, especially since the new season had just started, and she waited until everyone was leaving to bring it up.

“Ale, Ale, espera.” The shorter woman lightly grabbed her friend by the arm just as she started the walk back to her apartment. “Qué passa?”

“No, Mapi.” Alexia mumbled, shaking her head and continuing to walk. Mapi kept up the pace beside her, allowing the silence to sit for a bit, before the older woman sniffled a little.

“Oye. Habla, ahora.” Mapi demanded, halting their movements on the sidewalk as Alexia kept her head down.

“No es importante.” Alexia shrugged dismissively, opting out of looking at Mapi and instead observing the streets she had walked all of her life. Ones that you have probably walked too.

“Es importante!” Mapi argued, before she pushed down her frustration and addressed her captain much more calmly. “Si estás así de triste, es muy importante, Alexia.”

“Stop, Mapi! Leave it, it has nothing to do with you.” Alexia snapped, before turning away and heading back in the direction of her flat.

The fact she slipped into English, now of all times, told Mapi everything she needed to know. Things hadn’t gone smoothly between you and Alexia. Whatever happened, Mapi would stay out of it until she was needed. That didn’t mean she was any less disappointed at it though. Not at you, or Alexia, because regardless of what had or hadn’t gone on, she didn’t blame you and she knows neither of you would have blamed each other too. Whatever had occurred was left in the hands of the world to sort it out.

Though, if she had known it was just a miscommunication that could have been easily solved, she would have grabbed you both by the ears and lectured you to no end.

The truth is, if Alexia wasn’t so stuck in her misery and just read the book given to her, all of her problems would have been solved. In her opinion, if she did read it, it would just mean finding out more about you that she couldn’t have. But, as a matter of fact, getting to the end of the story would give her the one thing she wanted all along.

By the time November rolled around, Alexia and the rest of the Barcelona team were well into the season in most competitions already. The league was going well, they had won the two Champion’s League games so far, and they had just beaten Real Madrid in the first game of the fifth, albeit unofficial, infamous competition of the season- El Clásico.

A win like that always had to be celebrated, and none of the blaugrana players were going to pass up a night of partying in Barcelona afterwards.

There was just one small thing Mapi failed to tell Alexia before they arrived at the club, however.

—

Your life after that vacation didn’t really change. The only noticeable difference was the heartache and the anguish you felt after arriving home that no one would understand. In secret you met, in silence you have to grieve.

Except, your pain wasn’t quite the same as Alexia’s. Hers surely had an expiration date, she would get over you at some point. Yours would only get stronger the longer you spent apart from her, the anxiety turning the scenario you were in from a nightmare into a reality.

You had no doubts that Alexia was a busy person, so for a few weeks, you gave her the benefit of the doubt when it came to reading. But a few weeks turned into a month, then one turned into two, and before you knew it, it was November. Maybe she didn’t want to see you again after all, maybe those few days were enough for her.

That summer felt like a lifetime ago, an out of this world experience that was nothing more than a dream. But it was real, you know it was, because you still feel the phantom touch of her lips on your shoulder and the comfortable warmth of her hand in yours. You still remember every detail about her, like the moles on her face and the depth to her hazel eyes, or the tattoos on her back and the strength of her arms when she embraced you. Not even your wildest dreams could have created such a person like Alexia. She was more than anything you could have wished for.

Perhaps you could have searched her up online, the blonde was apparently a prominent public figure after all, so it probably wasn’t that hard to find out more about her. You didn’t want to do that though, in the weirdest way, it would feel like invading her privacy. What could be found online was most likely not a true representation of her. Though she wasn’t yours anymore, and she never really was in the first place, you knew the media’s perception of her would be so different to who she actually was, and indulging in that would be a disservice to the woman you had the honour to love, even if that was for just a week.

In your time since Menorca, you had gone back to your normal life like nothing had happened. As if nothing had changed outwardly, when internally, everything had changed. You had been introduced to the true beauty of life, what it means to feel seen, only to have it ripped away from you. And maybe it was your fault that it wasn’t yours to experience anymore. If you could go back in time to that final moment in the bar, you would have done everything differently, especially if you had known it would end like this.

At some point in September, the city you loved became nothing but a mental challenge. Alexia could be anywhere, yet in your opinion, there was no morally correct way to try and find her. It all got too much, and you had to escape. Going back to England seemed like a good idea at first, however in hindsight, it just made things worse. Somehow it made the pain, regret, sorrow, it made all of it reach new heights. During the taxi ride back to your apartment in Barcelona afterwards, there were tears in your eyes that hardly left for the next two months. No matter what you tried, you couldn’t get her out of your mind, even though you were probably long gone from hers.

A night out in the city sounded perfect suddenly, in November. One mention of it from a friend of a friend, and you were in. There was some special occasion apparently, according to María, but you didn’t care that much to pay attention. All you knew was that the club was booked for you all, there was a ticket with your name on it, and alcohol waiting for you.

Only, you didn’t expect to meet a familiar pair of eyes at the bar a few hours into the night.

“Ale?” You whispered under your breath at the sight of the woman a few metres to your right, leaning against the bar with a near empty beer bottle in her hand.

With the music thumping throughout the club, there was no way she heard you. But her eyes averted to her left anyway, and they landed straight on you. Her entire body froze, eyes wide whilst the rest of her face seemed void of emotion. It was hard to get a read on her and considering there was a fair amount of alcohol in your system by this point, it wasn’t surprising when the anxiety took over and made you doubt everything.

Did she still feel the same way about you? Was there already somebody else for her? Maybe you didn’t mean as much to her as she did to you. There were probably thousands of other people she could have, when you took her supposed stardom into account. The scale of her fame was still a mystery to you, but at that moment it was too overwhelming to think about. What business did she have falling in love with someone who was nothing more than a fly on the wall?

Nobody ever noticed you, you were just there. Alexia was… Alexia. There weren’t enough words in any and all languages to describe what a person she was.

Unbeknownst to you, Alexia was freaking out too. Not in the way one would initially expect, though; there was one overwhelming feeling for her that wasn’t fear or anxiety, it was relief. Complete, utter, all-consuming relief, because you were right in front of her. Within arms reach, basically. Despite all the possibilities that could occur from here on out, she was just happy to see you.

However, her face hadn’t changed in the time the pair of you had been staring at each other agasp for the past however long, and it didn’t change as she cautiously took a few steps closer to you. With each step she took, your anxiety grew. It grew and grew, until she was about a metre away, and it reached its peak.

In true anxiety fashion, the fight or flight kicked in.

A proper glance at her face and you were breathless, and not in the swooning, romantic way, but instead out of pure panic. The club was too loud, too restricting and suffocating, and the only option that seemed plausible was getting the hell out. You didn’t care about the people you bumped into, or the voice shouting after you. The situation that confronted you back at the bar was more than you could handle and it seemed to be an insurmountable challenge that you weren’t quite prepared for.

In your mind, Alexia was done with you. The heartbreak was tearing through you already and had been for months now, you didn’t need a run in with her to increase that, and you definitely didn’t want closure. Too long had passed, you had grown content with the realisation that she had moved on seamlessly.

It took a matter of seconds for Alexia to lose sight of you in the crowded room, and what didn’t help was the sudden barrage of teammates that seemed determined to drag her to the dancefloor. They were buzzing off their copious amounts of alcohol compared to her one bottle of beer, completely unaware of the turmoil she was going through due to the winning high they were still riding. She saw the disappointed look on their faces as she brushed them off and it hurt for a moment, before she remembered the situation she was in, and then the celebrations were forgotten entirely.

The moment she exited the club, she spotted you outside the next building over, a restaurant with outdoor seating that was closed due to the late hour. You were sat in one of the chairs there, head in your hands with a leg bouncing out of intense anxiety. Alexia knew she was the reason for your current state, it didn’t take a genius to figure that out, but she also didn’t want to leave you alone when you were so clearly worked up. If you pushed her away, fine, she’d leave. She just wanted to try first.

As she prudently walked over to you with a few gentle calls of your name, like she were approaching a skittish animal, you glanced through your fingers to find the one person at the centre of your anxiety approaching you. Rather than tell her to leave, or get everything off your chest in a ‘screw you’ way, or simply pretend she didn’t exist, you removed your hands and sat up like you weren’t just having an anxiety attack. Your people-pleasing habit had no boundaries.

“Are… are you okay?” Alexia asked softly, standing a few feet in front of you with her hands, that itched to reach out and comfort you, holding onto the chair behind her which she leaned on just as an excuse to nervously fidget with something not too obvious.

“I will be.” You gave her a tight-lipped smile that you paired with a quick sniffle and a brush away of the tears on your cheeks.

To anyone else, this whole situation probably seemed ridiculous and unnecessary. Why not just exchange details in the first place? Why not ask Mapi, a mutual friend, for the other person’s details? There were so many seemingly obvious solutions and ways this could have been prevented.

But love isn’t so simple. It’s a risk to take, a fact that often goes unacknowledged and underappreciated. Especially when your heart has already been broken and stuck back together so many times, it’s hard to hand it over again. It is a delicate organ, the only one other than the brain that has the ability to feel, to hold sentiment and adoration.

There’s no rhyme or reason as to why people decide to harm it, but Alexia isn’t one of those people. She’d take your damaged goods and glue them back together with gold if she could, and you’d do the same for her. When all is said and done, there is no blame or resentment present, just guilt and regret. Your souls are too pure for hatred, they’re professionals at harbouring love for those around no matter what, and it’s evident with the way you both treat each other, despite all the unspoken sorrow and devastation individually experienced during all these months.

A week of pure, whole-hearted, unconditional love was worth all the months of anguish. That was an easy conclusion both of you had come to somewhere along the way.

“I…” There was so much that Alexia wanted to say, but she had no idea how to verbalise any of it or where to even start. She believed that nothing she could say would live up to the moment.

“We don’t have to do this, Ale.” You decided for her. Your words exuded a confidence that wasn’t there at all, and you figured that it was probably evident in your anxiety-filled appearance, but what’s the harm in trying.

“Do what?” Alexia replied with her face scrunched in fearful confusion. Ale. She had missed you saying that.

“Do the awkward back and forth whilst ignoring the fact we fell in love four months ago.”

It hurt to admit it out loud.

For months, this pain had been nothing but an internal one, hidden in the background of your thoughts at all points of the day whilst the world around you was none the wiser. The only external signs of such an event were the mascara stains on your pillow after a night of crying and the tear tracks engraved onto your cheeks when walking into work the next day.

You fell in love four months ago. And the person you were still in love with stood before you. But time had passed, and perhaps that love had to be left behind.

“Maybe I don’t want to ignore that.” Alexia’s shoulders were up in a shrug for a few moments, her heart beating away so fast in her chest that a pit of nausea had formed at the sentence she had just uttered. You looked up at her through tears that glistened in the street lamps, a glint of hope in your eyes that you loathed. In just one statement, you were wrapped around her finger again.

“What do you mean?” You questioned firmly, voice distant despite the crack in the middle of it.

“Maybe… I am still in love with you.”

Laughter wasn’t quite the response Alexia was expecting, especially spiteful laughter. Disapproving laughter with anger so clear in its undertones.

“How can you say that after you’ve obviously moved on? After I’ve heard nothing from you all these months?” You scoffed. Your pent-up exasperation wasn’t even at Alexia, she just so happened to be there and saying all the wrong things to act as the catalyst for the eruption.

No, the anger was entirely at yourself. You opened up your heart to someone you knew you couldn’t have, and still had the audacity to be so hurt by the anticipated turn of events. Alexia was never to blame, it was you.

“What? I don't understand.” Alexia retorted, and it’s unexplainably hard to continue your onslaught of misdirected blame when there’s so much pain in her voice.

“You had so much time to contact me, and yet you didn’t. I can read the room, Ale, I can tell when I’m not wanted, and I get it.” The fight left you then, your body deflating of all its tension as you curled back into yourself.

“I had no way to get to you! I don’t get it, cariño, I really don’t, because I have loved you still all these months and I missed you, and if I did have a way to get to you, I would have taken it because I have lost myself after losing you!”

“Oh, so I just gave you my favourite book with my number in the back of it for no reason then?” You scoffed once more, shaking your head as you willed the tears away once more.

Just a few feet in front of you, Alexia was going through about a million different emotions, thoughts, feelings, all that good stuff, at once. Her head was spinning, dizzy at the gravity of what you just said.

“I didn’t read your book.” Alexia whispered, her voice quiet and dripping with awe, still stuck in regretful astonishment at the fact the solution to everything had been under her hands all this time.

Your number, in the back of the book that was right beside her bed. She had you right under her fingertips and she didn’t even know it.

“What do you mean?” You asked in the same tone.

“I could not bring myself to read it because I missed you too much. Your number is really in the back? You are not doing some… some cruel joke?”

As if you’d ever.

“No! I swear, I wrote it in there that night in the bar when I gave it to you. I thought you saw me write in it!” You exclaimed, overcome with all sorts of emotions at the new revelation.

It had been a stupid mishap, nothing more. No malicious intent on either side, no animosity (aside from the last few minutes), and most of all, throughout this whole thing, there had been no love lost. It was just a mutual misunderstanding. That label felt too simple for all the turmoil that had occurred, yet at the same time, an exhilarating amount of relief came with it which soon overrode the seething irritation that flashed by. The possibility of exploring a relationship with Alexia was so much more thrilling to focus on than all that could be different.

There was no use in dwelling on what could have been if this mistake hadn’t happened. Far too often have you done that in the past, and it’s never gotten you anywhere. Alexia had done the same during those lonesome nights after hours spent in the presence of thousands of people in stadiums across the world - going from being surrounded by countless adoring fans to nothing but overwhelming silence was something she had struggled with. It opened up a world of vulnerabilities for her, as she thought and thought and thought until the mental exertion exhausted her and she finally fell asleep.

Something that came with her ACL injury was the introduction of a psychologist, and it had forced her to change so many aspects of her life for the better. Like in this scenario now, where just like you, she wanted to disregard what hasn’t happened, and instead focus on the moment, and all the amazing things that could happen. Because, really, what was standing in her way apart from the threat of a road not taken? And the best thing of all, is that with one look in your eye, she knew you felt the same.

She knew you wanted the simplicity, rather than making it more difficult for yourselves which had happened already since that last goodbye in the bar. Once the realisation settled, the only thing left to do was acknowledge that fact.

“I didn’t. I didn’t see you write in the back, only the front.” Alexia murmured, pausing for a few seconds as the pair of you fell silent.

The pulse of the music could be faintly heard, as could the distant chatter of people passing by, but none of that mattered when the prospect of the future hung within reach between you both. It was that that had Alexia turning the chair she held onto around and slumping down into it out of shock. The adrenaline had run its course, and now it left a tranquil euphoria, a brewing excitement that took its time to build.

“So… you haven’t moved on.” You said about a minute later, holding back a smile that broke out anyway when Alexia laughed at it all.

“No. Not at all.”

Words seemed a little useless from then on. There were coy smiles on each of your faces afterwards, when everything had been hashed out and made clear despite it being slightly overdue. The only thing you could do was stand from your chair, walk the short distance that separated you both, and gaze down expectantly at Alexia. She stood too, the tables turning so that she was the one looking down now, but that didn’t matter for long, because before you knew it, her arms were back around you and embracing you so tightly that your feet lifted off the ground. You laughed into her neck, which in turn made her laugh too, and then the pair of you were just a mess in each other's arms.

It felt like someone had come along and stoked the fire in your heart again. The coldness that had settled in your bones at some point during the last months was gone, instead it had been replaced with the love you’d lacked for too long. This time, it didn’t have a time limit, you were free to relish in the fact that from this day on, there was always going to be someone on your side, a person there just for you. And there was a certain level of pride that came in knowing you were going to be that for Alexia too, because the way she held you so close to her heart, metaphorically and in this moment literally too, told you enough about how she felt.

When you leaned back and looked up at her, you saw the future in her eyes, one that didn’t seem so dauntingly alone and gloomy. There were also tears there too, to your surprise, and it only amplified what you knew about her already; she was made for you. She loved you.

“Please tell me I will not lose you for a second time. I cannot do that again.” She admitted the secret quietly, and before you had even found the words to answer her, the admission was stored away safely in your soul.

“No, you won’t. I… I think I need you, Ale.” You told her, closing your eyes as you rested your forehead against hers. You sensed the relieving sigh that Alexia let out and shared how she felt; at peace.

“I need you too.” Alexia mumbled in reply, her voice cracking with emotion that for once isn’t drowning her, instead, she feels more alive right now than she had since summer. “Te extrañé mucho. Mucho.”

You smiled. A genuine one, with no layers or falsity to it. You smiled because you could, because Alexia and all she was in that moment allowed you to feel worth your weight in gold, something that hardly ever came naturally to you. But with the blonde woman holding you so tentatively, firm in her love despite her fears, you owed it to her to provide the reaction her character brought out.

“I missed you a lot too.” You breathed out, years worth of inadequacy and shame leaving you as you did so. “I’m sorry for causing all this. And for-”

“Why are you apologising?” Alexia cut you off, pulling back from the embrace as her hands gently landed on your shoulders and the frown you had strangely missed came out in full force.

“Because I just made all this so difficult and caused you so much pain for no reason, I should have thought it through more and n-”

“No, don’t.” She shook her head and tugged you back in, her arms around your shoulders and a hand on the back of your head with her thumb stroking up and down comfortingly. “Don’t take yourself down that road. Do not place blame on yourself when there is none there. Please don’t. It is not your fault.”

All you could do at that was nod into her chest. Alexia’s advice hadn’t failed you thus far, so why stop listening to it now.

“I’m so glad I found you again. In a club of all places.” You said, giggling into her shoulder as she chuckled.

“I didn’t know you would be here.” Alexia stated, keeping her hands on your waist as her eyes were wide and adoring as they moved all over your face, almost as if she was in disbelief that she was really with you.

“María invited me, I don’t normally come to these things, but… I guess it’s a good job I did.” You replied bashfully, Alexia nodding immediately and making you laugh once more. “She said it was a big occasion or something? I don’t know, but it must be pretty big if the whole club is booked out.”

“It is a big thing. For us, anyway. I…” She glanced up at the building she was in earlier and her smile faltered a little. She was caught in two minds; she wanted to spend time with you, now that you were in her arms she didn’t want to let you out of her sight, but she also had made commitments to be here with her team tonight. It was an abnormality for her to agree to a night like this, but the excitement and the pleading from her teammates made her give in, and their joy at her attendance made it worth it. “The team won a big game earlier, so they wanted to celebrate. I don’t go to these things too. They begged me, so I should probably go back to them.”

“Okay.” You said, trying to disguise the dejection burning through you. Her hands gripped your sides a little tighter, like she knew what her words had done anyway.

“Will you come back in? With me?” She asked hopefully.

“I don’t know, I don’t want to intrude on your time with your team, especially if it’s a big celebra-”

You were interrupted once more, but there wasn’t exactly any complaining from your side. Alexia’s palms were cradling your cheeks, fingertips light and warm on your soft skin, and in much the same way as she did after that first date, she kissed you. Firmly and fervently, months worth of longing reaching its peak and crumbling with each movement of your lips. It was just as mind-numbing as you remembered- you’d thought a lot about those few kisses in Menorca and how you hadn’t had enough. There was no way you could ever wait that long for one again.

“You will not ‘intrude’ on us, I promise. If I could, I would take you on a date right now, but they will be angry if I do. When you are around, there’s no one else I want to spend time with.” Her eyes bored into yours as she held your face securely in her hands, ensuring you couldn’t look anywhere but at her and take in the honesty of her words. “I want you there. You.”

“I’ll go with you.” You responded like you were in a trance. You basically were: entranced by the affirmation that she wants you and you only. The blonde grinned and ducked down again to kiss you, more than content to revel in your touch now that she has you again.

After that, Alexia took your hand tight in hers and led you back into the club. You trailed behind her, happy to follow her lead, blushing each time she looked back at you with her charming smile that overflowed with utter joy, until you found yourselves back in the main area of the club. Understandably, the vast group of people you didn’t recognise, probably Alexia’s teammates, were partying hard together. There were people on each others’ shoulders, drinks being spilt, some rather abysmal and slurred singing, and a number of new faces that lit up when they saw Alexia again.

“Some of them are a bit loco. You will get used to them.” Alexia said into your ear, and when she moved back to gauge your reaction, she instantly recognised the uncertainty in your expression. Her arm curled around your waist, her lips pressed a kiss to your shoulder, and she gave a reassuring smile. “I will be with you, I’m not going anywhere.”

Like always, she stuck to her promise. Not for a second did she leave your side as she celebrated, introduced you to her teammates, and hardly took her eyes off you. Some part of her was always touching you, whether that be her arm around your shoulders, her hand brushing against hers as a finger linked with yours, a palm resting on your lower back as she guided you through the bustling room. And though it took some time to settle into the crowdedness, you eventually found yourself joining in with her teammates as they danced and took you in like one of their own.

Throughout the night, the blonde midfielder couldn’t hold back the smile on her face. Watching you fit right in with the people she considered family, whilst knowing to some degree how much you struggled with these things, flooded her with so much admiration and appreciation for you. It reached a new level, and though it was something she didn’t understand, each second she spent with you she felt herself falling more and more in love. Even if you did say ridiculous things like…

“You know what my favourite thing is about football? When you guys sit there at the side with your little blankets like the grandparents from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.”

She might have rolled her eyes at the declaration, but somehow she adored you impossibly more after it. Especially when the group of her teammates you were with burst out laughing at it, some firing off into teasing arguments at it as you turned to Alexia and gave her a beaming smile at the reaction. Before any of the others could wrap you up in a conversation again, she simply took your hand like she did earlier and walked you both over to the bar. Mapi, who had been part of that group and had almost passed out from pure elation when she saw the pair of you walk in together at the start of the night, watched you leave and nudged Ingrid vigorously. The poor Norwegian had been subject to all of the defender’s speculation and conspiracies of what had transpired between her two friends, and the dark-haired woman wasn’t sure if it was that or the current overwhelming excitement of her girlfriend that was worse.

Alexia ordered new drinks for you both at the bar, before turning to where you stood beside her and smiling softly down at you. You entertained her gaze, mirroring her smile as you waited for her to speak. But instead of doing so, she moved to stand behind you and tugged you back against her while her arms enveloped you completely. Her chin found home on your shoulder, her heart bursting at the seams when she heard you let out a content sigh. She turned her face into your neck then, discreetly scattering kisses up and down the skin there.

“Ale, what are you doing? All your teammates are here.” You told her quietly, leaning back into her and covering her arms with yours.

“Me da igual. Tendrás que perdonarme por ser tan pegajosa, pero no puedo apartar los ojos ni las manos de ti.” Alexia murmured, reaching around to grab her glass and take a sip from it, before focusing her attention back to you by kissing you. Her lips were cold from the ice of her drink, but they quickly warmed up against yours as she indulged in the kiss without a care for her surroundings. It was only when your drink was placed on the wood of the bar that she broke it off, smirking down at you and the blush to your cheeks.

If this was how she was going to act, you didn’t want the night to end.

Fortunately for you, it didn’t. Something you had learnt over the years was that the Spanish knew how to have a good night, and this was no different. The music kept coming, the euphoria kept running, and the dancing didn’t stop for a second. As the hours went on, Alexia came more and more out of her shell, and you saw a new side of her that made you weak at the knees.

Her actions got bolder as her inhibitions left her, and if she was clingy before, that only increased. Even when she substituted her alcohol for water, as did you, her affection continued to pour out. You were more than happy to revel in all she had to give. This was what you had longed for since the summer, and it still felt surreal that you were here right now.

Seeing Alexia so carefree and happy sparked the same feelings in you, it willed you to be just as open and unabashed in your joy, and it was fastly turning into one of the best times of your life because of it. But there were other feelings too, ones that were becoming quite unavoidable as they built up throughout the evening. And when the celebrations somehow amped up, there was a certain level of acknowledgement between you and Alexia. Your eyes communicated that to each other, coy smiles shared between you both in anticipation.

The pair of you continued to dance together, none the wiser to the partying around you anymore. You were more than content to stay in your own little bubble, allowing the tense thrill to grow whilst waiting for the other to make the first move. Unsurprisingly, it was Alexia who cracked, her next actions conveying the desperation that fizzed between the two of you.

“I think I said I had to make it up to you after our first date, no?” She hummed from behind you, one arm around your stomach as the other brushed your hair from your neck so that she could attach her lips to your pulse as she awaited your answer.

“Yes. Please.” The second word slipped out unknowingly, only realising what you had said after Alexia smirked into your skin. Her confidence radiated from her, and you took it and ran with it. “Don’t act like you don’t need it too, la reina.”

“Don’t call me that.” She grumbled and you turned in her hold with a raised eyebrow, your arms linking around her neck.

“What would you like instead?” You challenged, feeling her hands tighten their grasp just slightly.

“You know. Ale. Alexia.” You hummed and nodded, leaning a little closer and kissing her jaw on your way to placing your lips beside her ear.

“And where would you prefer me to call you that? Here, in this club where you can hardly hear me with your friends all around? Or in your apartment, in your bed?”

It was that final question from you that had her breathing in sharply and leading you out of the club for the final time that night. Earlier, when you left in a rush, you were wracked with anxiety and self-doubt. Now, you laughed with the woman you loved as she flagged down a taxi and clambered in behind you. She listed off her address as you gazed meekly at her from your seat, heart eyes so glaringly obvious despite the dim light of the car. Granted, she could probably feel your stare more than she could see it, though there wasn’t much else that the midfielder wanted to focus her attention on.

She smirked and shook her head when she noticed, her hand travelling across the middle seat and reaching its destination on your thigh. You placed your own over it, squeezing it once and averting your eyes to the city’s scenery that passed by, unable to maintain your infatuated look due to the overloading feeling of ardour that reinforced itself every time the footballer was in your vicinity.

Throughout the car ride to Alexia’s apartment, it was majoritively silent, bar the deafening beating of your heart in your ears that grew in its volume the closer you got. The driver’s GPS sounded out as he parked outside the building, and Alexia rushed to pay him before getting out and offering her hand to you. You took it with a shy grin, swinging it between you both as you made your way inside.

Back at the club, the tension was palpable and unmistakably charged. However, it had taken a turn during the short journey. Now it was teeming with nerves, both aware of what faces you when you step foot in that apartment. There’s exhilaration and simmering desire too due to how much you want it, it was something that had been thought about individually late at night. Ultimately, this would add a whole new layer to the growing relationship, and neither of you wanted to wait a second longer to be able to savour the aftermath and the moment.

And in the end, it was inexplicably better than you could have imagined. Once the initial awkwardness wore off, the desperation took over and gave the night a tale to tell. You hadn’t experienced anything like it– it was tentative and ineffably intimate and something you wouldn’t forget. It was perfect.

Most importantly, it didn’t leave you in a pit of anxiety afterwards. Being able to freely relish in the moment when it was over in the comforting hold of the figure you loved so wholly was something you appreciated greatly. Words wouldn’t do it justice, what it meant to you. All you could do was return the benevolence handed to you on a silver platter and hope that Alexia understood the gravity behind your actions.

The sheets covered your sated bodies, you with your head on her chest as her arms held you securely and sincerely, and they rustled when she reached over into her bedside table for something. You leaned up a little in confusion, watching her curiously as she searched around the drawer, only to pull out the bane of your existence.

“What are you doing with that?” You asked humorously, nestling back down into the warm, sturdy body beneath you.

She had gotten out your book. With a hum, she opened it and flicked to the back page. There she found your number, written clearly just as you had told her.

“I don’t believe it.” Alexia mumbled, one of her fingers tracing the ink there. “It really was there.”

Quietly, without disrupting the serenity of the room that had settled, you took it from her hands and dropped it onto the table on your side. Then you turned back to her, brushing some strands of hair from her face as you rested upon your elbows and cupped her face. You looked at her with a pointed gaze, leaning down to place a slow, meaningful kiss to her lips, before pulling back.

“Forget about that. We’re here now.” You whispered, thumbs stroking softly over her cheekbones as she accepted your words, willing herself out of that regretful mindset. Because she had you, right where she wanted you.

“We’re here now.” She repeated with a loving smile, one you instantly reciprocated as you nodded at her response.

On a night like this, there wasn’t much else that needed to be said. So you laid back down then, on your side as Alexia copied your position with the covers pulled up to your shoulders, face to face and barely able to make out each other’s features in the dark room.

That book, the one you nervously handed over to Alexia back in Menorca, was possibly one of the most revealing things you had done. It didn’t quite go the way you expected it to go, but it didn’t matter in the end. You got the result you wanted and it was so much better than you anticipated. There was still a lot to learn, about each other and the lives you led, though nothing felt unaccomplishable now that you had Alexia on your team.

Alexia didn’t quite know when your book had moved from the top of the table into the drawer, but it probably had something to do with how much it hurt to look at. It still didn’t fill her with the best thoughts whenever she saw it. She had no doubts that you being with her now would change that. She could see herself reading it in the near future, with you on the opposite end of the sofa, your feet in her lap as she got a glimpse into your soul. New memories could be made with it, and even right now, despite the grievances she had with it, it was still something she treasured deeply and she knew that would only become more true as time went on.

In your current position, you could just make out how deeply she was looking at you. There were a lot of things swirling around those favourite eyes of yours, but it was the insecurities there that you hadn’t noticed previously which caught your attention. Wordlessly, you willed her to voice them, and she did.

“Things might get difficult sometimes.” She began, and you acknowledged it with a gentle nod and a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “There is… a lot that comes with my job that I do not enjoy. I am afraid it will come between us.”

You could only guess what she meant. Finding out exactly what that was, was a task for another day. Right now, she needed your belief and your assurances, you knew that.

“I don’t care about that. As long as you promise that I’ll have you, then I don’t care about anything else. I only need you, that’s all. The rest is just background noise.” You told her, pleased to see those doubts dissipate before you, her whole body language changing as it did.

“You do. You do have me. I promise.” Alexia stated firmly, quietly sighing out of relief and exhaustion.

The day was beginning to take its toll on her. It had been pretty packed, with a full game of fiercely competitive football, partying, a whole load of emotions, and the events afterwards that had gotten her to this point. Sleep didn’t come so easily to you, even after all that had happened. You gladly took the extra time to rake your eyes over Alexia’s face, who seemed so at peace as she began to drift off. There was a brief moment where you envied that fact, but you shoved that thought away as quick as it came, because that was the old you. There was a new version of you now, and it was one that did have the capability to experience that very same tranquillity that Alexia was in the midst of. And it was all down to her, the woman resting in your arms.

There was just one more thing you needed clarity about, and it unfortunately meant disturbing the blonde’s bliss, but it couldn’t wait.

“Ale, will you go on a date with me?” You asked shyly, waiting for her reaction with a grimace, for what reason you weren’t sure of. She chuckled under her breath and subtly shook her head, which was indeed not what you were looking for, until she spoke before you could panic.

“You really just asked that after we spent the evening together and had sex?”

Your hand covered her mouth immediately, though the damage was already done and she laughed at that fact.

“It was a simple question that needed a simple yes or no.” You attempted to come across as serious, but there was a smile already there as Alexia pulled your hand away and nodded.

Her lips found yours in what you thought could be deemed as the softest kiss in mankind, before she leans back just enough to be able to murmur her answer against your lips.

“You don’t have to ask.”

—

there's a bit of pressure and nerves that comes with writing a part two like this so i hope i took the right path with the plot and that it was worth the wait 🙃

#alexia putellas x reader #woso x reader #woso #woso community #alexia putellas one shot #alexia putellas #woso imagine #woso fic

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casuallyimagining · 11 months

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Set Me Free || myg

min yoongi x female reader

Summary: Tired of being told how to live his life and unsure of where he stands in the world, Yoongi--your soulmate--yearns to be free. When you give him what he wants, it causes a rift in your relationship that seems irreparable. 12 years later, you find him back in your life. Can you mend your relationship? Do you even want to? Word Count: 14,377 Genre: friends to enemies to lovers, supernatural au, witch & familiar au, soulmate au, angst, fluff Warnings: death of a parent (brief mention), alcohol, soulmate breakup, smooching

Notes: banner by @itaeewon. thank you to @daechwitatamic and @oddinary4bts for beta-ing and listening to me struggle my way through this. as always. and extra thanks to ella for helping me write Yoongi's letters and to my friend tanya for giving me a super helpful base for the ending.

It’s cold. The late autumn wind rustles through amber-brown-orange-yellow leaves, swirling the fallen ones into little tornadoes that scuttle across the pavement. The cold doesn’t bother Yoongi, necessarily. It’s been a while since he’s been here, in this town, on this street, but even after so much time, his body remembers the chill of November in the same way his feet remember the way to his destination. He shoves his hands deep into his pockets and pauses at the street corner.

It’s strange being back here. He’d once known this neighborhood so intimately, he could map it in his sleep. Not much has changed in the almost 13 years he’s been gone. The park on the corner is the same. The playground, massive to an eight-year-old with a near-infinite imagination, stands resolute, its plastic and paint sun-faded and weathered. Further up the block is the head of the trail that snakes its way through the forest, where he’d spent countless hours playing pirates as a kid and exploring as a teen. And there, at the end of the street, is his destination.

The closer he gets, the more his stomach roils with nerves. Thirteen years since he’d walked down this sidewalk. Thirteen years since he’d walked onto that front porch. Or rather, 12 years, 5 months, and 11 days.

But who’s counting?

There’s a light on in the front room of the house, he can see it through the big window despite the shades being pulled closed. He hesitates. He’s spent days–no, weeks–playing out in his head how this was going to go. In a moment, he’ll know if any of those scenarios were correct. And frankly, right now, he’s terrified.

What if you start to cry? What if you slam the door in his face? What if you hug him? What if you yell at him? What if you don’t answer? What if you want to talk? What if you never want to see him again? What if you invite him in? What if you have someone over?

He takes a deep breath and knocks.

It takes a second. He can hear shuffling around on the other side of the door, so he knows his knock was heard. But the longer it takes, the sweatier his hands get, and the more he considers turning and running away. The door opens before he can make a move.

You stand in the doorway, bathed in the warm light of the living room lamp behind you. And shit, Yoongi doesn’t know what to say. In many ways, you haven’t changed since the last time he saw you, but at the same time, you look so different. He can see in your eyes the moment the realization hits, and your expression changes drastically. You looked tired–and Yoongi can sense that it goes deeper than just physical exhaustion–and you were slouching, but now, you’re standing ramrod straight, and there’s a hard look in your eyes. One he knows all too well.

“Hey.” He raises a hand, offers a wave that, in hindsight, is rather pathetic. You stare at him, unblinking, and slowly, he lowers his hand. “I uh… I heard about your parents,” he says softly, scuffing his shoe against the wood of the porch. “I’m sorry you have to go through it.”

“Brave of you to show up.” You sound almost bored, but Yoongi knows–he senses, in that kind of primal, gut feeling he gets when it comes to you–that it’s an act. “You know I could turn you into a bug and squash you if I wanted to.”

“I know.”

There’s a tense moment where you stare at each other, the scowl you wear pulling your lips downward and creasing your brow. But then you heave an exhausted sigh.

“Why are you here, Yoongi?”

“I…”

I want to apologize.

I’m so sorry.

I miss you.

It all catches in his throat. He coughs in a meager attempt to entice something–anything–to come out of his mouth. “I wanted you to have this.”

He holds out his hands, and in an instant, he’s holding a box. It’s full but not heavy, and he thrusts it out in front of him in your direction.

“A 10-year-old shoebox?” You do nothing to mask your surprise.

“Letters,” he corrects. “You don’t have to read them but… I wanted you to have them.” He pushes the box into your arms, leaving you no choice but to take it. Then, he steps away and nods his head. “Thank you for not turning me into a bug. I am sorry about your parents. I… guess I’ll go.”

Without another word, he trots down the porch steps. And then, in a blink, he’s gone. Disappeared into the night.

You sigh and shut the door, the box he’d given you cradled in the crook of your arm. You don’t have the energy for this right now. Honestly, you aren’t sure that you’ll ever have the energy for it, but certainly not the day before your parents’ funeral.

Whoever had decided that witches and their familiars die together clearly never thought of the ones left behind.

You collapse onto the couch, placing the box beside you. This would be easier if you weren’t alone. It would be easier with Yoongi, your brain supplies less than helpfully. You curse yourself. You curse him. After all these years, you thought you were over it, over the abandonment, over the betrayal. But all it takes is for him to show his stupid face, and you can feel it all bubbling up anew. Angrily, you push the box off the couch. It explodes when it hits the floor, what seems like thousands of pieces of paper tumble out and scatter from the force.

The forest was almost silent as you stalked the trail. Not even the birds were happy that day. Twigs snapped under your feet. You weren’t even paying attention to where you were going, your feet carrying you along the path that you’d hiked countless times before. You needed to get away, to escape, to calm down. But you couldn’t, because what you were running away from was hot on your heels.

“Would you slow down?” You could hear the frustration in Yoongi’s voice as he followed you. You ignored him. “Goddamnit,” he breathed, picking up his pace. “Will you at least listen to me?”

Quite frankly, you didn’t care what he had to say in that moment.

“It wouldn’t be a permanent thing,” he continued. “I just… I don’t know. I need to do this.”

You stopped, sliding a little on the damp new growth below your feet. “What the fuck are you talking about? You’re not being oppressed, Yoongi. No one’s stopping you from going out and exploring the world.”

“Maybe this way of life isn’t for everyone. Maybe not everyone wants their whole existence to be predetermined at birth. Maybe not everyone wants the universe to choose who they’re supposed to be with and how they’re supposed to live.”

His words stung, and until then, you weren’t quite sure why. Rejection. Not just of how you lived, and who he was, and how things had always been. But of you. Yoongi was your familiar, you were destined to be together in some way since you were six years old and the bond gem first appeared. Not all witches and familiars were in romantic relationships–your parents were, sure, and Yoongi’s parents–but plenty of them had other partners, lives separate from each other. Platonic soulmates navigating the world together.

Until a few months before, you’d been content with that. There was no doubt you’d been best friends from the jump. You’d been practically inseparable through school. Then, months before, he’d kissed you at the winter market. Right there in the park, under the aurora. Before that, you hadn’t thought of him as any more than your best friend. But the kiss had unlocked something inside you. And now…

Now he wanted you gone.

“You want to be free that badly?” By some miracle, your voice sounded positively venomous, even though you felt like you could crumble at any moment. “Fine.”

“Wh-”

There’s a saying your mother told you once, back when you were a child. You and Yoongi had found a turtle in the woods, stuck in the mud. His little turtle leg had been hurt, and you’d rushed it to your mother immediately. Familiars were excellent with animals, and she was no exception, healing the turtle in days when it should have taken weeks. You and Yoongi had both cried when you had to release it back into the wild–you’d both so wanted it to be your friend. ‘If you love something, set it free,’ your mother had said, ‘Sometimes it’s the kindest option.’

Kinder for whom?

The chain around your wrist snapped easily when you wrapped your fingers around it. The incantation meant to keep the bond gem safe became meaningless as soon as you wanted it gone. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been without it around your wrist. You loved it, with its gem of swirling, inky black and navy blue. It reminded you so much of Yoongi, deep and calm and unwavering.

Without a word, you tossed the bracelet to the ground. Yoongi’s eyes widened as it hit and the gem cracked. For good measure, you stepped on it, crushed it into dust. There was a pitiful swirl of blue magic that puffed up from the dirt. When you moved your foot, there was nothing left of the bond gem or its chain.

“What the fuck?” Yoongi’s eyes were glassy when you finally looked at him. He looked almost as crushed as you felt. “What the fuck?”

“You’re free.” And this time, you couldn’t hide your sadness behind your anger.

He didn’t follow you as you walked away, and honestly, it was for the best. It was faint, but you could still feel his emotions, and you weren’t sure you could handle that kind of heartache in person.

There is paper everywhere. Hundreds of pieces, folded neatly in thirds. You have no idea how Yoongi had fit them all into the shoebox. He must’ve enchanted it. Groaning, you start to pick them up.

Letters, he’d said. You flip through some as you gather them up. Now that they’re on the floor, they aren’t in any particular order, but it quickly becomes clear that these letters span years. There are some from 12 years ago, written shortly after he’d left. Some are more recent. You stare at one, from December of the year he left. Glancing through it, you expect it to unearth your anger, your rage. But it doesn’t. Just like seeing him again, all Yoongi’s letter brings is sadness. Grief.

You’d spent the past 12 years grieving. Sure, he hadn’t died, but when he left, you’d lost the closest relationship you would ever have. In 17 years, you’d grown so accustomed to having him there, that when he was gone, there was a Yoongi-sized hole left in your life that you had to learn to fill. And you did your best, sewing yourself back together and moving on. But it wasn’t the same.

Glancing through his letter, it seems you weren’t the only one struggling. You aren’t sure if that’s a comfort or not.

It’s been almost a year since the night market–one year since everything started crumbling around us. I still remember it like it was yesterday. It felt right in the moment, didn’t it? I really thought you would understand.

I’ve tried to figure out where things went wrong. But shit, I can’t wrap my head around it. Why did you react like that when I told you I just wanted to be free?

At the end of the day, I guess we didn’t understand each other as much as I thought we did. As much as this bond brings us together, I guess it doesn’t reveal everything. But… that night I just wanted to kiss you, and so I did. Maybe it was selfish. Sometimes I wish the bond didn’t exist, that we could just be free to choose things for ourselves. That we weren't forced into what the universe wants from us… Maybe that’s selfish, too.

Why couldn’t you understand? I just wish I could turn back time and make you understand. Maybe then you wouldn’t hate me, and maybe then I’d stop hating myself too.

Because watching you destroy the gem nearly killed me, but it wasn’t half as bad as watching you walk away. Should I have run after you?

Would you still be there if I had?

You sigh and lean back against your couch. That damn night market. You hadn’t been back to it since the year he’d kissed you. It’s silly, but a part of you blames it for everything that happened. Because Yoongi’s letter is right. It had marked the beginning of everything going wrong. It wouldn’t change anything, but there’s a part of you that won’t listen to logic, that refuses to believe that maybe, if he hadn’t kissed you–if you hadn’t kissed him back–he wouldn’t have left.

The night market was beautiful. It always was, but that year was particularly beautiful. The park had been decorated in all of its sparkling, winter glory. Candles twinkled in the trees, suspended by sheer force of will. Through some magic you weren’t familiar with, they’d enchanted the sky, and an aurora shimmered far above, slowly swirling in greens and blues and purples. Snow fell gently, and you weren’t sure if it was natural, or if it was also magic.

You browsed the various tents and tables, going from one to the other to see the different things people were selling. Some had crafts, others baked goods, and some were even selling things like potion ingredients and spellbooks. There were a few tables dedicated to familiars–books on shifting and specialty items and insets and jewelry for bond gems.

Yoongi followed you closely, clutching a hot chocolate. You knew he wasn’t cold, the temperature was nowhere near low enough for either of you to be uncomfortable, but the way his fingers tapped against the paper cup, you knew something was up. You could sense his anxiety, could feel it in the pit of your own stomach.

“Want to go sit?” you asked softly, gesturing over to the picnic tables they’d set up under one of the sparkling trees.

His eyes widened. “No, that’s okay. You’re looking.”

“I’m done. Let’s go sit.”

“I-” He deflated a little and didn’t argue further, allowing you to lead him over to one of the tables.

You sat side by side on the bench, backs against the table, and watched the snow fall around you. The night was peaceful, quiet for the most part except for the occasional laughter that bubbled up. Most of the older crowd had left, leaving only the teens and young adults to explore the market. You watched the other festival goers in silence, Yoongi’s arm pressed against your own.

“You okay?” you asked softly, bumping your shoulder into his own.

Yoongi being quiet was nothing new. He was an observer, a listener, he took in information like a sponge. Which wasn’t to say that he was never loud and boisterous, that he didn’t talk incessantly to the people he cared about. But he was absolutely the calmest presence you’d ever been around, even compared to the adults in your life.

But you could sense what he was feeling, could feel his nerves and unease and conflict. And you knew that he’d rather explode than burden anyone with his feelings. So you prodded. Ever so gently. Because he was your best friend, and when he was suffering, you were too.

He stayed quiet, and when you turned to look at him, he was much closer than you were expecting. A moment passed. You shared a look. You’d always thought that Yoongi’s eyes were pretty, but in the twinkling light of the candles above, they were deep pools of warm, dark cedar and flecks of honey. Slowly, subtly, he leaned in–or maybe you did, you weren’t sure– as though some mysterious force was drawing you together. An emotion flashed in his eyes, but you couldn’t quite take the time to consider what it may have been because he was kissing you. Lips chapped from the bitter wind moulded against your own for the shortest of moments. It was tentative and delicate and brief, but as he pulled away, your mind reeled.

That day had affected you in ways you never would have expected. Before, you’d never considered Yoongi as anything more than your best friend, the platonic other half of yourself. And then the kiss, and suddenly, it was like you’d been awakened. For as long as you could remember, your thoughts had been filled with Yoongi. Of the things he liked, the things he didn’t, of spending time with him, of the academy (with him). Suddenly, you were suspecting that maybe there was more to that, more than just the bond of a witch and their familiar.

You sigh. The letters are all finally back in the box, though nowhere near as nicely as they’d been before you’d kicked it and it had exploded. You should get up. You should go to bed. You have to be up fairly early for the funeral. But you stay seated, the box of letters in your lap.

Seeing him again was hard. You’re willing to admit that. You’d spent 12 years convincing yourself that you were fine, harboring anger and resentment and frustration, all for it to melt away the second you saw him. The bond makes it tough to stay mad at him, but it doesn’t let you forget the betrayal.

You stand out of the way, looking out over the funeral attendees in the park. Your parents didn’t have a lot of friends, but there are enough people here that you’d officially call it a crowd. They’re all mingling–you’d bought beer and wine, and if you didn’t know any better, it could maybe be a party and not a wake. You tighten your fist around the bond gem in your hand. For as long as you could remember, your dad had worn it around his neck, tucked under his shirt. The gem is like your mother–bright pink, fiery orange, deep yellow–and when you were a child, you’d loved to look at it, mesmerized by the swirling, glittering colors.

The gems have always been a gift from a familiar to their witch, given to symbolize the soulmate-like bonds between them. Most witches–especially those who were romantically involved with their familiars–wear them as jewelry. They don’t really do anything, though some people claim it made their magic stronger (you aren’t really sure about that, seeing as most gems appear in childhood).

As a child, you hadn’t been particularly close with your parents. Especially as a teen, you would have much rather hung out with Yoongi than them. But they were kind, and supportive, and for the most part, they left you to do your own thing. They’d been almost as devastated as you when you’d crushed your bond gem.

Days after your fight with Yoongi, the doorbell rang. Your mother had opened the door. You were upstairs. You’d stayed home from school that day–sick, but not in the way the administrators would have accepted. For a few brief moments, you’d ignored whatever visitor was downstairs. But then-

“She’s not here.” Your mother’s voice drifted up to you. She sounded disappointed.

“Please.” It was Yoongi, you’d recognize his baritone from miles away.

Quietly, you’d slipped out of your room and crept down the hall, sitting at the top of the stairs. You could hear your mother sigh, could see her shift her weight from one foot to the other. Your father appeared from the kitchen and joined your mother at the door.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea right now,” he said, shaking his head. He leaned against the doorknob, pulling it a little more shut in the process so it blocked you completely from the door’s sight.

A long moment of silence passed before your mother called, “Yoongi?” You couldn’t hear his response–he must have already gone down the porch steps. Your mother continued, “It can be scary, and you’re both still young. Give it time.”

The door shut quietly, and both of your parents looked to where you were sitting. You could see it in both of their eyes. Sadness, but something else. Something that looked a little close to pity.

A laugh draws your attention, and you smile sadly as you watch your mother’s coworkers laugh at some memory. But then you notice, just behind them, a shadow close to the ground and suddenly, you’re distracted all over again. Because there, half-hidden by a bush, sits a black cat. Cedar and honey eyes watch you intently, its dark fur swirling and shining like a thousand galaxies. Your hand tightens around your parents’ bond gem, the chain pressing sharply into the flesh of your hand.

He doesn’t move, just sits there patiently. Watching. He’s there as people approach you, offering condolences and hugs that you don’t particularly want; he’s there when people start trickling out. And he’s there when you’re the last one left, all alone under the large oak tree in the center of the park.

It’s quiet as you stand there, staring down at the bond gem in your hands. This is the part you’ve been dreading. Because you don’t want to keep the damn thing–you could if you wanted to, but there’s also tradition to think about. But it’s also weird to give up the one thing that is so emblematic of your parents. You wonder if they’d felt like this when your grandparents had died.

At least they’d had each other during it.

You can sense him approach, even though his steps are completely silent. And though he comes closer, he keeps his distance. On one hand, you appreciate it. On the other…

“If you’re going to be here, the least you could do is be here,” you say quietly, looking down at the gem in your hand. It sparkles a little in the light.

Thankfully, he doesn’t ask you to explain. He takes a few slow steps forward until he’s standing beside you. It’s weird, having him this close again. You’d been too overwhelmed last night to actually observe, but now, you’re exhausted, yet alert.

His hair is longer–as a teen, he’d kept it short, but the ends curl and sit just above his shoulders now. He’s filled out and put on some muscle, and though he’s still a little on the lankier side, his shoulders have broadened. He wears cologne now, the scent light, like lavender, citrus, and sage. So much has changed, and yet it’s the same eyes that watch you with a soft curiosity.

You look up to the tree, watch its branches wave in the wind. You used to think that the centenarian boughs touched the sky, and even still, it towers above everything else in the park. The leaves sparkle, their iridescence catching the light to make the tree look like something out of a fairy tale. You sigh and tighten your fist around your parents’ bond gem one more time before opening your hand.

At first, nothing happens, but then the gem glistens and rises out of your grasp. It joins the other leaves close to the top of the tree, becoming just another sparkle in the prism.

For a while, not even the birds make a noise. You just stand there, looking up at the tree that has stood sentinel over most of your life. The wind rustles the leaves, and they shimmer as they move. You have no idea how many leaves are up there, how many bond gems have been placed over time. Thousands–maybe hundreds of thousands–of witches and their familiars, most forgotten to the annals of time.

It’s strange, knowing that you would never be memorialized by the tree.

“Let me buy you a coffee,” Yoongi whispers from beside you, husky baritone cutting through the silence.

Yoongi isn’t sure why you say yes, but soon enough, you’re walking into the Green Bean just behind him. He’s uncomfortable, people have been watching you since the park, and their stares are starting to burn holes in his back. He says nothing about it until you’re in line at the cafe.

“What are they staring at?” he whispers, leaning close so that only you can hear in the semi-busy cafe. He chooses to ignore how you tense up ever so slightly.

“You’ve been gone for 12 years, what did you expect?”

Right. He supposes he should have expected their animosity. But it’s not just him they’re watching. He doesn’t miss the way people stare at you, watch you warily as you simply exist. His mind races. Was that his fault? Did his absence cause so many unintended consequences?

You order a coffee and choose a table in the far corner of the cafe, away from everyone but still near the window. He sits in the chair across from you, the hard metal shockingly comfortable despite its harsh lines. An awkward silence settles over you both, but Yoongi’s not sure what to say, so he lets it linger. He watches you stare out the window. Which is a little weird, right? But he can’t bring himself to drag his gaze away. It’s like after 12 years of being away, he just wants to look at you.

The barista calls out your orders and Yoongi stands to grab both of them from the counter. He places one oversized ceramic mug down in front of you, and the other, he wraps his hands around. It’s warm, almost hot, and he dares not take a drink yet. You stare down at the foam on top of your drink, one finger hooked around the handle of the cup.

“What happened to them?” he asks softly. When you look up, surprised, he clarifies. “Your parents, I mean. I… didn’t hear how they…”

You sigh, tap your mug. He can sense the deep sadness you struggle with and is just about to tell you to forget he asked when you speak. “I always kind of thought it would be dad who’d go first.” Your voice is barely above a whisper. “He was always so frail when we were kids. But mom got sick last year and…” You shrug. “One of the neighbors found them.”

“I’m so sorry.” You wave him off. “No. Honestly. They were nice.”

“Thanks.”

He nods, and silence settles again. But then something you said pops into his mind, striking him as strange. “You aren’t living here anymore?” Mentally, he slaps himself. Why did it come out like he’s surprised? He supposes that he’s always just kind of pictured you still… here, in town.

“I’m over in Ashland,” you say, generally gesturing west, toward the city. “I work at the library at the university.”

“Yeah?” He raises his eyebrows. “How’s that?”

You shrug. “Mostly good. It’s a job. The library’s usually pretty quiet, so…”

“That’s really cool.”

Ashland is big, much bigger than here in square feet and at least 10 times the people. It’s a real city, with skyscrapers and functioning public transportation and one of the country’s top medical universities. He’s proud of you, he realizes. You’d always planned to leave for the city, too constrained by life in such a small town. For the longest time, he’d planned on going with you. And then, of course, he’d ruined it. It stings a little to know that you’d gone without him like that, that your life had continued as planned, that maybe he hadn’t meant that much in the grand scheme of things.

But then your eyes meet, and he’s confronted by the anxiety and sadness you’re feeling, and he knows he’s just being stupid. Again.

“So, uh…” He feels a wave of nerves wash over him–they aren’t his own. You tap your half-empty mug. “What have you been up to?”

If he’s honest, Yoongi wasn’t expecting you to ask about him. He’s shocked enough that you’d even agreed to be here, let alone that you were interested in his life. “I was traveling,” he starts cautiously, gauging your reaction. You blink slowly, watching his every move. If you can sense his apprehension, you don’t react. “But now I’m up north in Ulmae. I’ve got a pretty good thing going at this restaurant on the North Shore.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, uh…” He chuckles, a little nervous. “They’ve got me bartending on the weekends and let me do music during the week.”

Your eyes widen a little, and you lean forward. “They let you play?”

“It’s only like an hour a night-”

“No, shut up. That’s amazing!” You grin, big and genuine, but Yoongi can sense a tinge of sadness in it.

He’s disappointed when you both finish your coffees and you stand up to put your cup in the little tub by the counter. It’s starting to get late, the sun is starting to set and the streetlights have turned on. It was nice, catching up with you, short though it may have been. It’s not lost on him how strange it is, having to catch up with someone that was once practically a part of him.

Together, you stand outside in the chilly early evening air, looking down the street toward the park. Over the roofs of the shops and houses, Yoongi can just barely see the centinel tree with its sparkling leaves. People walk past–people he recognizes but couldn’t possibly name–some are more subtle about it, but others practically break their necks to stare at the two of you. Suddenly, Yoongi feels exposed outside the cafe, like there are eyes everywhere. He hates this, hates feeling like he’s doing something wrong just for wanting to talk to you more.

You sigh, scuff your shoe against the concrete of the sidewalk, shove your hands deep into the pockets of your dark jeans. “I… probably shouldn’t even ask,” you start warily. “But do you want to come back for a drink?”

The house is the same, yet somehow also different, like one of those spot the difference puzzles come to life. The layout of the living room is the same, but the couch is a different style and color. There’s a blanket folded the same way under the coffee table, but it’s clearly a different pattern than he remembers. Most of the photos are the same, but there are 12 years’ worth of more of them.

Apparently, the stash of alcohol your father kept in the built in cabinet beside the television hasn’t changed.

You pull out a bottle of whisky and two glasses, setting them on the coffee table with a gentle ‘clink.” The shoebox he’d given you sits on the floor. The lid is off, the letters contained within are a mess. Have you read them, or did they spill out? There’s no way for him to really know.

Silently, you hand him a glass and sit on the other side of the couch, grabbing one of the throw pillows to hug in your lap. You sip at the double in your glass stoically, and for a moment, you stare at him. He has to resist the urge to squirm under your gaze. There’s something different about how you’re sitting, something in your aura that he didn’t notice in the cafe. Maybe you’d been saving it for private, but he can sense that you’re reining your emotions in.

But then finally, after what feels like an eternity, you turn over your hand. Two pieces of paper sit in your palm. “I’m going to need you to explain these.” The two letters float over to him and open themselves in front of him.

The first is dated only a few years after he’d left.

I’ve been struck by a thought. I had tacos earlier, and I just know you would have loved them. Which made me realize that there’s still part of me that thinks about you at every turn. Your friendship was such an integral part of my life, and not having it anymore feels like there’s a piece missing. Last week it was a song on the radio. Before that, a stray cat I saw that I know for certain you would have loved. Everything reminds me of you, everything leads back to you. You’re everywhere and nowhere, and…

I would like to see you again. Someday.

How have you been doing? Where has your life taken you? I can only hope it’s treated you kindly. It’s what you deserve.

The other is from the day he turned 25.

A quarter of a century, and for some reason I feel incredibly old. With it comes some realizations, things I didn’t understand before. Maybe I was too young, too blinded by my own need to feel free… but it never was about being free from you. I can’t even begin to imagine how hurtful it must have been for you…

I never wanted to make you feel like I was giving up on you, like I didn’t want you. I never wanted to make you feel rejected, because it wasn’t you I was trying to be free from.

I was so scared of having my whole life laid out in front of me. I never took the time to think what my life could be with the bond–I only ever thought about what the bond meant for my life. All of the expectations, what comes with being a familiar, our roles in society and the universe…

I realize now that I could have–should have–communicated it all better. If only so that I wouldn’t have lost you. So that it wouldn’t have led to me making you feel like I was rejecting you. Maybe it wouldn’t have mattered; at the end of the day I was still walking away from you. But at least maybe I could have made it more clear that it was never you that I wanted to be free from.

I’m sorry. I feel like it’s useless to say, but I am so sorry for not realizing any of this before.

Wherever you are, I hope you’ll understand. Take care until I see you again.

I hope I see you again.

Yoongi sighs. The letters–all of them, not just these two–tended to be rambling diatribes, a snapshot of his thoughts as he worked through his feelings about his own life and everything and you. He’d been an idiot when he left–he was 17 and full of himself and terrified of the world but too proud to admit it–and it had taken him far too long to realize a lot of important things.

For a moment, it’s quiet as he thinks of what to say. How should he even begin? But apparently, he’s quiet for too long, because you wave your hand and the letters fold themselves back up and float back down to the shoebox. When you speak, you sound exhausted. “Why are you here, Yoongi?”

“I-”

“Because if the roles were reversed, I don’t know that I’d have the balls to come back. On one hand, I’m impressed. On the other…” You trail off and shrug.

He’s quiet, not sure how to respond. He’s got lots of thoughts, lots of feelings–of course he does–but right now, you’re a wall, and he’s not sure how to read the situation. He’s not sure what you need to hear right now. So he says nothing.

You laugh, but there’s no humor in it, and you look down at the glass in your hand, stare into the dregs of the amber whisky you’ve nearly finished. “I’m running on like two hours’ sleep,” you admit. “But fuck, Yoongi, I… I was so convinced that I’d never see you again. I wasn’t sure I wanted to.” Then, softer. “I’m still not sure.”

“Why?” It’s out of his mouth before he can even think and god, he just wants the Earth to open up and swallow him whole.

It takes a second for you to process his absolute trash heap of an asinine question. But when you do, your face contorts into somewhere between anger, disappointment, and heartbreak. “What do you mean, ‘why’?” You practically spit the question at him. “You… you… Do you know what it’s like to have the most important person in your life tell you that he wants rid of you?”

“I never said-”

“You wanted to be free. From all of it. From me.” You pick at the corner of the pillow in your lap. “And then you just come back out of the blue like nothing happened and drop this damn shoebox at my feet-” from where it sits on the floor, the shoebox explodes, letters flying everywhere, “-and you just… What did you expect, Yoongi? What do you want?”

“I don’t know!” He sounds a little desperate when he says it, and he hates that, hates how pathetic it makes him sound. So he shrugs, takes a deep breath, leans back a little. “I don’t know,” he repeats. “I just… I missed you. And then mom told me about your parents, and…” He runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back off his forehead and out of his eyes. “And then I was on a train.”

You stare at him for a moment, a little gobsmacked. You have no idea how to respond. What do you say to that? Where do you even start? There are a hundred things you could say. You’ve played this scenario out a thousand times in your head over the years–what would you do if he came back?–but somehow, it never played out like this. In your mind, he’d never told you that he missed you.

You’d never considered that he would miss you.

But you should say something, right? It’s weird that you’re sitting there, just staring at him in complete silence. Has your jaw been clenched the whole time? Does he think you’re angry with him? Quickly, you school your face into something a little more neutral and say the first thing that comes to mind.

“How long are you here for?”

Truthfully, you probably should have asked sooner. You’ve been wondering since he showed up on your doorstep last night, but it never seemed like a great time to ask.

He sighs. “‘Till tomorrow.”

You nod, probably longer than it makes sense to, but it takes you a bit to process. Tomorrow. He’s back in your life for two days, and then he’s gone again. That’s not even enough time to catch up, let alone actually talk with him. And that’s… you aren’t sure how to feel.

Yoongi watches you quietly and takes a sip of his drink. He’s barely touched it. “Maybe…” he says after a moment, leaning forward to put his glass on the coffee table. “Maybe I should go?”

Part of you wants to tell him no, to ask him to stay, to tell you more about his gig working at the bar. Anything to keep him here and talking to you. But there’s a more logical part of you that’s overwhelmed, that needs some time to think. He’s offering to go, which means that he’s either uncomfortable or his train leaves early in the morning. Or both. He stands, thanks you for the drink, and you follow him to the door. He hesitates just outside, opens his mouth as if to say something and closes it almost as quickly.

You say nothing. And for the second time in as many days, you watch him leave without another word.

The playground was almost empty. Mama said it was supposed to rain, but she’d also said that you would go anyway, for a little bit. You were trying to learn how to swing on your own, and plus Yoongi and his mom were going to be there, and he’d said he’d bring his trucks to play in the sand.

But he wasn’t there yet, so you were on the swing. Mama pushed you, her hand firm on your back, and you closed your eyes. You were flying, wind in your face as you launched forward into the air. And then, just as suddenly, you were falling, swinging backward.

“Remember what I said,” mama said softly. “Kick your legs.”

You weren’t quite sure what she meant by that. Your legs were little, and when you kicked out, you felt more like you were going to slide out of the swing seat than anything. You heard her laugh a little, but her hand was on your back once again, propelling you forward.

A few minutes passed in a blur of forwards and backwards. You still didn’t quite understand the whole swinging on your own thing, but mama’s rhythmic pushes kept you going. But then, a small voice at the edge of the playground yelled your name, and you heard excited footsteps in the wood chips. Mama helped you slow to a stop, and you jumped off the swing.

A little boy, his dark hair cut short by his own mom, ran toward you. He was carrying an armful of small cars and larger trucks. He skidded to a stop in front of you, a wide, gummy grin engulfing his face and crinkling the corners of his eyes.

“I brought all my trucks!” he announced, looking down at the toys in his arms. “You can be the green one. Here.” He tried to hand it to you, and another fell in the process.

You picked it up and took the green truck from him. It was bright green–the same shade as the lime popsicles Yoongi’s mom usually bought–and it had big wheels. You followed him to the sandbox and you both plopped down. It didn’t take long to have a whole city constructed. Granted, it was all made from rocks and wood chips and other small things you found around the sandbox. But it was a city and it was beautiful.

Yoongi drove his truck over a bump, making engine noises as he pushed it toward you. As he drove the truck down another sand hill, bumping and bouncing it over sticks and rocks, something fell out of the sleeve of his jacket. It was perfectly round, and it rolled to a stop in front of you. You picked it up and inspected it. It was some kind of rock, hard and shiny, but it was also colorful, and you were pretty sure rocks couldn’t be blue.

One look at the rock and he frowned, calling for his mom. She came over immediately and crouched down to see what he was so concerned about. Your mama followed her, and she was the one that saw the rock in your hand first.

“Oh,” she said, her hand gently smoothing down your hair. “You two have found your gem.”

“Wha’s that mean?” Yoongi asked, looking up at his mom.

She smiled and sat in the sand beside him, pulling him into her lap. She held out her arm, twisted her bracelet around so that he could see it. “You know how I have this from your dad? It’s like that.”

“But-”

“Your friendship is special,” she continued, pinching his cheek. Yoongi laughed. “It means you’ve gotta look out for each other now.”

For a moment, he was quiet. But then he nodded, just once. “Okay!” He held out his hand to you, tiny palm face up. “Can I have it?”

“It’s not yours anymore,” his mom said softly, brushing his short hair back. “It’s a gift.”

You looked to your mama and she nodded. “Take care of it,” she told you. “You only get one.”

Middle school was the worst. Everything was difficult. Social situations, interactions with your parents, school. At the time, it all seemed like it was unfairly hard. Making it worse, of course, was getting sick. As a kid, you were never sick that often. Yoongi was a different story. For whatever reason, familiars were just more susceptible to illness, and when he got sick, he got sick.

It was the middle of the semester, and Yoongi hadn’t been to school in days. Your teachers hadn’t even asked, they’d just started giving you packets–homework and printouts of their lessons and extra materials–so he wouldn’t fall behind. So you stopped by his house after school. His mom let you in, offering you some of the snacks she was making for Yoongi before you headed up the stairs to his room.

You knocked gently before entering. The knock was a politeness–you were close enough with him and familiar enough with his room at this point in your life that you could just barge in without warning and you knew he wouldn’t mind. He looked like hell, stuck in his bed buried in blankets. It was clear he’d had a fever at some point, because his hair looked damp and sweaty.

But he sat up when you walked in, coughing deeply before speaking. “You’re going to get sick, too,” he protested weakly.

You waved him off. “Everyone’s sick.” You pulled over his desk chair to the side of his bed and started to go through your bag. “Ms. Miller gave me your math homework, but if you understand it, you’ll have to explain it to me because I have no idea what she’s talking about.” He giggled at that, gummy smile soon hidden by his hand as he coughed. “Here’s the novel for Brown’s class. She said she’d talk to you about making up the paper when you’re back.”

It took a surprisingly long time to go through eight classes’ worth of homework and assignments, but you’d put sticky notes at the front of each packet explaining things, too, so the fact that he was half-asleep for most of your explanation didn’t really matter.

“Will you stay?” he asked when you were done. “Help me with some of this?”

“What happened to not wanting me to get sick?” you teased.

“I mean, you don’t have to. If you want to go home, that’s fine, too. I just-” He coughed, burying his face in his blankets.

“You staying for dinner, hon?” Yoongi’s mom called from the bottom of the stairs.

“Yes please!” you responded, shuffling through the stack of packets you’d brought for Yoongi. “Wanna take a stab at math?”

Halfway through the fall of your senior year, Yoongi started to get… weird. Cagey. Like he was trying to hide something and figure out particle physics at the same time. You’d tried asking him about it a few times, only for him to wave you off with a quiet “just thinking about some things.” After that, he’d be back to normal for a few days. But every time, like clockwork, he would fall back into it.

Finally, on the third day of the new year, he pulled you aside. Tucked back into the dormant foliage of the park, away from prying eyes, he stood, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He was nervous, you could feel it deep inside you, but to be honest, you didn’t really need your bond to tell you what was plain to see.

“I…” He trailed off, unsure of how to continue. His brows furrowed in thought, and after a moment, he motioned for you to sit. “I need to tell you something.”

“Okay?” You sat on the edge of a big rock, confused.

“I…” he started again, sitting beside you. You could feel a spike of nerves, and he took a breath to steady himself. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, and I think… fuck, this is harder than I thought it would be.”

“You can just say it,” you told him. “It’s just me.”

He nodded and mumbled something that sounded a lot like ‘that’s the problem,’ but after a moment, he continued. “I need to be free of all of this.”

“What?”

“Haven’t you ever thought that maybe the universe doesn’t know what it’s talking about? That maybe you’d be happier if you chose things for yourself?” He frowned. “There’s rules for gifts. We’re only good at certain types of magic because of how we were born. We have to celebrate holidays certain ways, we have to do specific things on our birthdays-”

“-and we get told who we’re to bond to.”

He recoiled at your words. “That’s not-”

“But it’s true, right?” Your gaze fell from him to your hands. “It’s just one more thing you don’t get to control.”

Yoongi sighed. “I just… want to be able to choose for myself.”

Suddenly, you were sick to your stomach. This was the last thing you’d expected. You didn’t particularly like all of the traditions, either, but you were 17. What the hell were you going to do about it? But this felt like he was saying he didn’t want you. You hadn’t yet talked about the kiss at the night market a few weeks prior, but you’d never guessed that he’d do such a sudden about-face.

“Right,” you said softly.

“Just… think about it?” he asked, dark eyes pleading.

You didn’t like where this was going, didn’t like how it made you feel. But you nodded anyway. Maybe he would change his mind.

Days gave way to weeks and months, and before you knew it, spring had come. Yoongi hadn’t changed his mind. If anything, he’d gotten more insistent.

“I want to find myself,” he’d told you once. “I need to make sure this is how I want to live my life.”

“I just need to get away,” he’d said one day while you were doing homework together. “Start fresh somewhere new.”

And then, on the way home from school one day, he’d said, “I need to be free of it all.”

And you’d snapped. Three months of hearing him talk about it, three months of him basically saying that your entire way of life was wrong and that he was chafing to get away. You couldn’t help it.

“Fuck off,” you’d told him, taking the trail behind the houses at a faster pace. Despite being so attuned with nature thanks to his familiar genes, he’d had trouble keeping up with you.

He’d pushed. And eventually, you’d given in. Because despite everything, you’d loved him, and if he was unhappy, you wanted to fix that. And now…

Now you’re sitting alone at the train station at ass o’clock in the morning. The train station has just barely opened, and already you’re inside, clutching a cup of coffee. There are a few other people here, milling around, waiting for their early trains to god knows where. You can feel them watching you, can feel them trying to make it subtle that they’re staring. At this point, you’re used to it. Word travels fast in small towns, especially when that word is as earth-shattering as a broken bond gem and a falling out between a witch and their familiar.

You try to ignore them, focus on your coffee and the posters across the waiting area from you.

Report any unattended or suspicious luggage to National Rail personnel.

Bags larger than this poster must be checked into the train’s luggage car.

Please remain seated until your train is announced and National Rail personnel give authorization to enter the platform.

You scroll through the news on your phone. Read the posters again. Stare out the window at the coffee shop across the street. And wait. A train arrives, and the couple that had been staring at you leaves. You sigh and stand to throw out your now empty cup.

Just as you do, the door to the train station opens. You turn to look, and there stands Yoongi. He’s wearing a black shirt, a bag slung across his body. His hair is pushed back off his face and he’s wearing his glasses. He’s clutching an absolutely massive travel mug and his phone in one hand, the other rolls a small suitcase behind him. He looks sleepy, but the second his dark eyes land on you, he jolts a little, as if electrocuted into being awake and alert.

“Hey,” he says cautiously, approaching you.

“Hey.” You wave slightly–awkwardly.

“What are you doing here?” His voice is soft, still a little gruff from sleep. You get the sense that maybe he hasn’t said much of anything to anyone this morning.

You sigh and gesture for him to follow you to a bench. The next train–his, you presume–isn’t due for another 20 minutes. You have time, but not much.

“I didn’t like how we left things,” you admit. “I… I wasn't sure if you were serious.”

“Serious?” His head falls to the side slightly, confused. But then, it seems, he understands, and he nods. “I did miss you–I do. I spent the entire ride here thinking about how seeing you again was going to go.”

“Were you right?”

He chuckles. “Not exactly.”

You hum and nod, and for the briefest of moments, silence settles over you. The stationmaster types away at his computer, the clacking of the keyboard the only sound in the entire station. But then you force yourself to say something that’s been on your mind since he showed up on your doorstep two days ago.

“It’s been good seeing you again,” you say, and even though you mean it, you can’t bring yourself to look at him. “I… think in a way, after so long, I made you the villain in my head. It’s good to see that you’re… not that.”

“I am sorry,” he whispers. “That was the worst thing I have ever done, and I just…”

“I get it.”

“What?”

“I think I kind of always did, but… it just hurt too much to think that you were including me in everything that you wanted to get away from, and I just-”

“You were the last thing I wanted to get away from.” Maybe it’s the waver in his voice, maybe it’s the way he ducks his head to make sure he makes eye contact, but you believe him. He sits his mug down on the bench beside him and gathers your hands in his. “I was so fucking dumb. I would have taken you with me in a heartbeat, but god I was too stupid and selfish to take ten minutes to think.”

“I thought maybe I’d done something,” you admit quietly. “I thought that maybe after the night market-”

“No! Oh my god, no,” he exclaims, his hands tightening around your own. “You’re my best friend! I lo-”

“Train 49–the Northern Limited–will be arriving on the platform in five minutes,” the stationmaster announces, not even bothering to use the building’s intercom. “I’ll take you over to the platform when you’re ready.”

Yoongi groans.

“Here.” You pull your hands away from him and immediately miss the warmth of him. But you reach into your pocket, unlocking your phone and shoving it into his hands in one motion. “Put your number in.”

For a moment, he stares at you, dumbfounded. But then the stationmaster opens the door to his office, and the noise jolts Yoongi into action. He types quickly and hands you your phone. You don’t even look at it, just lock it and shove it into your pocket. He hands you his phone and you enter your own contact information before giving it back.

You stand at the same time, and for one brief, quiet moment, you worry that maybe he’s just going to leave it at that. But then he rubs the back of his neck and glances toward the stationmaster.

“I’ll text you,” he promises.

You nod, almost mechanically. You weren’t expecting it to hurt this much to see him leave again. As he turns to gather his things, something comes over you.

“I- Can we-” You sigh, take a deep breath. “Can I have a hug?”

He makes a noise somewhere between a hum and a squeak, and it takes almost no time for the pink to start blossoming on his cheeks. He sputters for a second, and you can feel his shock. But then he opens his arms, and you find yourself taking a small step forward.

It’s shockingly easy to fall back into him, to step into his arms. He’s warm, and solid, but still also somehow soft. His cologne lingers on his clothes, all lavender-y and citrus-y and sage-y. Your arms fit around his waist, and for a moment, you let yourself pretend that this is normal, that nothing ever happened and that he isn’t leaving. But you hear the train horn in the distance and you pull away. You kiss his cheek as you part, and his eyes go wide in shock.

“Text me,” you tell him firmly, reaching down to grab his coffee mug and hand it to him.

“I will. I promise.”

And with one last, fleeting look, he steps onto the elevator with the stationmaster to go over to the platform.

You stand outside the station long after the train departs, feeling very much like you did when he’d left the first time. You should be feeling optimistic–for the first time in a long time, you feel like maybe there’s hope. For you, for your friendship, for… whatever comes next. But it’s hard to feel any sort of positive when he’s on a train back to a city seven hours away, and you have to go home in the exact opposite direction in a few short days.

As you’re walking back to your car in the lot down the street, your phone dings. When you unlock it, you get the sudden feeling that you’re flying, like a horde of butterflies have erupted within you. It’s nerves and it’s excitement and maybe, it’s also a little bit of hope.

Yoongi 💙: thanks again for not turning me into a bug

“I’ve been thinking,” Yoongi says one late night, his deep, sleep-deprived voice distorted ever so slightly by the distance and the speakers of your phone. You can barely see him–there’s a dim light that just slightly illuminates his face, but the rest of the room is dark.

“Dangerous,” you joke.

“Rude.” He nuzzles down further into his pillow. “I’d like to come visit,” he admits softly.

For a moment, your mind goes blank. There’s a fluttering in your stomach, hundreds of butterflies trying to escape at once. He’d kept his word after the train station, texting and calling you frequently over the past couple weeks. You’d text throughout the week–little messages about bad days and delicious lunches and cute dogs–and then on the weekends, one of you would inevitably end up calling each other. You’d spend hours on the phone, sometimes talking, sometimes just existing in the silence between you.

The video calls were a recent development. Since they began, you’d watched him cook dinner, he’d played piano while you worked on a spreadsheet for work, and one early morning, he’d called you on his way home after bartending so he wouldn’t fall asleep on the train.

“What do you mean?” You laugh a little. Maybe it was a little obvious what he meant, but you wanted to hear him say it.

He groans a little, stretches one arm up before covering his eyes with it. He peeks out at you through the cook in his elbow, one singular, dark eye sparkling, even in the poor quality of the video. “I miss you,” he mumbles, and you almost don’t catch it, it’s so muffled by his arm and your phone’s speaker.

You hum. The butterflies in your stomach make themselves known again. “I guess you could come.”

“I don’t have to if you don’t want me to.”

“Hey now. It’s against the rules to take something like that back.”

He laughs. “What rules?”

“You know. The rules.” You gesture vaguely before pulling your blanket up a little further on your body. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten the rules?” He grunts. “Being away for so long has rotted your brain, I’m afraid.”

“So rude.” His arm is still obscuring his face slightly, but you can see his big, gummy smile as he laughs. “No, but seriously. Are you busy next weekend?”

You frown. You’d been trying to forget about next weekend. “Normally I’d go home for the new year,” you say softly.

“Why don’t,” he begins, stifling a yawn. You’re a little surprised he’s made it this long without seeming tired. It’s almost 3am. “Why don’t I come hang out? We can do new year’s stuff together.”

“You’re sure?”

“Of course.”

“What about work?”

He shifts, the arm that was over his face now supporting his head under his pillow. “I make the schedule. They’ll deal with it.”

“Yoongi.”

He continues on, ignoring you. “I can work the day shift and get a train right after work on Friday, but I wouldn’t get there until late, is that okay?”

You sigh. It would be nice to not spend the holiday alone. And it would be nice to see him again. Sure, you’ve been talking to him in one way or another, but it’s different than having him in person. You finally agree, and he shoots you a smug, sleepy smile.

The week passes at a glacial pace. Work is slow because of the break in classes for the upcoming holiday, and spending time in an empty library is infinitely less entertaining than you’d expect it to be. Most of your coworkers have taken off, so you’re mostly alone with your thoughts. You fill the time with paperwork, completing literature loan requests for the University’s faculty and doing intake for the newly released journals the library has subscriptions for.

In the small handful of weeks since you’d seen him last, you’d replayed things in your mind. But mostly, you’ve been stuck on how nice it is to have him in your life again. You aren’t fooling yourself. You haven’t forgotten. But there’s a part of you–a large part, if you’re honest with yourself–that hopes that this is a step forward, that you can be close again. Maybe not how you were, but something that resembles a friendship.

After an eternity, it’s Friday. You sit outside of the train station in your car, parked in one of the pick up spots just outside of the main door. The trickle of people into and out of the station has slowed significantly now that it’s dark out–you’ve never seen it this dead. It’s late, the station is getting ready to close, but there’s one last train that has yet to come in. There’s another car parked a few spaces to your left, and you wonder briefly about who they’re waiting to pick up, but it’s fleeting.

The door to the station opens automatically, and out steps Yoongi. He rolls a suitcase beside him, a messenger bag slung across his body, his other hand shoved deep into his hoodie pocket. He looks around, confused, his gaze going back and forth between your car and the one to your left. You turn on the dome light and wave and he nods.

He gives you a quick greeting as he opens the back door, shoving his bags in the back seat. When he finally climbs into the passenger seat, he sighs deeply, resting his head against the headrest for a moment before turning to you.

“Hey,” he says softly.

“Hey. How was the train?”

He groans. “Long.”

You hum. He’d worked a short, early shift so he could catch the last train from Ulmae to Ashland. He looks and sounds exhausted. But he’s here. He’s not a face on a screen, he’s in your car. You resist the urge to reach out and touch him. It’s strange. You’d been without him for nearly 13 years. It’s only been a few short weeks since you’d seen him last, but you’re giddy, practically bursting with excitement at the fact that, for the next two and a half days, he’s here. With you.

You drive in relative silence, willing the lights to be green more for Yoongi’s sake than your own. The radio plays a soft hip-hop song, and you vaguely recognize it as one of the bands he’d been obsessed with in high school, but you don’t turn it up. You’re fairly certain that he’s fallen asleep, his head lolled slightly to the side so that he’s facing the window.

It’s a damn miracle that there’s an open spot in front of your building, but you gladly take it. There are people in your building who don’t know how to parallel park—who refuse to do it—but you’d taught yourself just for instances like this. For a moment, you think you’re going to have to wake Yoongi up, but just as you cut the engine, he unbuckles his seat belt and stretches.

Your apartment isn’t large, but it’s bigger than most for what you pay for it. You’re on the seventh floor, the top floor of the building, and your bedroom has a lovely view of the building beside you. But if you lean a little to one side and press your face up against the glass, you can see out into the city beyond, and the university campus in the far distance.

He sits his bags down in your living room and plops down on the couch. You’ve already set out some blankets and a couple pillows for him. The clock on your microwave says 11:05.

“You’re probably exhausted,” you say. “I’ll let you get settled.”

Immediately, he picks his head up from the back cushion of the couch. “’m not tired.” Ever defiant. But you can tell he’s lying. You can see it in his eyes how groggy he is. Normally, he’s up much later than this–you know, because sometimes, he calls you–but between working an early shift and the six-hour train ride, you don’t blame him for being a little sleepy.

“I put some towels out in the bathroom,” you tell him, gesturing down the hall. “It’s the door on the left. Let me know if you need anything else.”

“Thanks.”

And with that, you leave him there in your living room. You can hear him unzipping his bag as you retreat into your room.

An hour later, you find that you can’t sleep. Not that you’ve even tried. You aren’t even sure why you’re so wired. But you’re sitting in your bed, legs covered by a sheet, in the dim light of your bedside lamp. You’ve had friends stay over before. But this… you feel like you did as a kid, having your first sleepover. Except back then you were wired on soda and sugary snacks and it was a treat to stay up late. Now, you’re just…

You hear the bathroom door open and shut, and after a moment, Yoongi stands in the doorway to your room.

“You have the softest towels in the world,” he says, hair hanging in damp strands in front of his eyes. He pats and scrunches it dry with one of the fluffy grey towels you’d set out for him.

“Would you believe I got them on clearance?”

“I’ll just have to stuff one in my bag, then.”

“I charge a 5% fee for any towels that leave the premises.”

At that, he laughs, a groggy, squeaky sound that shakes his shoulders and crinkles his eyes and leaves a wide, gummy smile in its wake.

“So… what’s the plan for tomorrow?”

“I haven’t really thought about it.” He shoots you a look that says he doesn’t believe you, and you relent. “Well,” you pat the bed beside you, inviting him to sit, “There’s this thing every year in the park to watch the meteors,” you say as Yoongi eases himself onto the mattress. “But it doesn’t start until late.” He hums. “Was there something you wanted to do?”

“No, just-” He stifles a yawn. “Curious.” He leans back against the headboard, settling in.

Just like that, you fall easily into conversation. It’s comfortable, calm. Just two old friends chatting. He likes your apartment, thinks the tile in your bathroom is really nice. He asks about your job, nods along as you tell him about working in the library and your coworkers.

And slowly, his reactions become slower, delayed, until he finally doesn’t respond at all. You look over, and his chin is tucked against his chest, his breathing gentle. Asleep.

For a moment, you consider going out to the couch. It would be weird, right, to stay here with him? But as you’re about to kick the blanket off, you pause.

We’re adults. Adults can share a bed. It doesn’t have to mean anything. You’re mature enough to let this just be two people sleeping in the same space.

At least, you think you are.

But as you settle in yourself, snuggling down into your blankets and turning off the light, you’re suddenly faced with the quiet peacefulness of his face. He’d always been handsome, and now that you’re both older, you can appreciate just how beautiful he really is. He sighs and slides down a little, his hand brushing against your arm as he gets more comfortable.

Oh no.

You sit on the floor of your living room, a box of pizza on the coffee table that you’ve shoved out of the way. Yoongi’s beside you, your backs against the couch as you watch some anime he’d been trying to convince you to watch back in high school. You’re three episodes in, and you don’t have the heart to tell him that you don’t really care for the basketball-themed show. Part of you is still afraid that if you say something wrong, he’ll be gone again.

His arm rests casually behind you on the cushions, far enough away that it’s more a comfortable way to sit than any sort of advance, but that doesn’t stop the smallest of butterflies from making itself known in your stomach. This Yoongi is so different from the Yoongi you knew—the one who, as a kid, got excited by construction equipment and the concept of ice cream, and as a teen spent his free time hiding from his parents, playing the piano and hanging out with you (though neither were mutually exclusive). He’s quiet, comfortable in the silence, comfortable with letting things linger.

You’re a little jealous of it, to be honest.

Yoongi leans forward slightly, and a piece of pizza meets him halfway, floating gently into his grasp. “Do you remember,” he begins, settling back in against the couch, “when we were 16 and we went camping?” You hum an affirmative. “We spent most of the week playing old board games with my parents.”

You smile at the memory. If anyone had asked back then, you would have told them it was lame that you’d had to spend the whole time with Yoongi’s parents. But now? That was one of the more fun summers you’d ever had. “What made you think of that?”

He shrugs, mouth full of pizza. “I dunno. But I’ve been thinking about it a lot recently. Things were so much simpler then…”

You nod and hum softly, but ultimately, you say nothing. Much simpler indeed.

“You know,” Yoongi begins, zipping his coat up to his chin, “when you said ‘park’, I was kind of expecting it to be in the city.”

“I think technically it is.” You lock your car and meet him at the front of it.

“We drove for an hour!”

You shrug. “Big city.”

He laughs and shakes his head, incredulous. He can’t tell if you’re being serious or not, but there was a sign on the way in with the university logo on it, so he supposes that whether it’s part of the city or not, it doesn’t really matter. There’s a well-lit trail that runs from the shale parking lot up a hill slightly to a clearing that overlooks the city and the rest of the park. It’s busy–people mill about around the parking lot, and he can see a steady stream of visitors on the trail up to the clearing.

He adjusts his coat–it’s cold, and both his shoulder and his senses ache with the impending snow–and when he’s ready, the two of you start walking toward the trail. It’s astonishingly busy, and as you weave your way through the crowd, leading him up the hill, he grabs your hand.

So we don’t get separated, he tells himself. For a moment, he expects you to pull away. Not maliciously, he’s not expecting you to scoff and throw his hand away. But what he isn’t expecting is for you to tighten your grip on him and tug him this way and that as you get closer to the clearing. His hand is warm where your skin touches his, like he’s holding a candle a little too close to the flame.

The clearing is massive, mostly flat but not entirely, with gentle rolling slopes that provide some extra elevation here and there. On one of the little hills, a few food trucks are set up, though how they got there, Yoongi isn’t really sure. Someone must have magicked them through the path or up the hill or something. There are picnic tables scattered around, mostly near the food trucks, but throughout the clearing, as well. Towards the edge of the clearing, there’s a cliff with an overlook that has a spectacular view of the city vista below. People are everywhere. Of course, there are a lot of college-aged kids hanging out in big and small groups. But there’s also a shocking amount of people that are Yoongi’s age and older–professors, he assumes, and university staff here to enjoy the evening. Almost all of them are holding drinks, and just about every one of them seems to be paired with someone.

It’s subtle sometimes, seeing bonded witches and familiars. Of course, the ones who are romantically involved tend to be more obvious, but the ones that are just friends are just as easy to spot once you know what to look for. It’s the people who stand so close together they’re almost touching, the ones who lean in a little extra close to whisper something. And the clearing is full of pairs standing in each other’s personal spaces.

You tug on his hand to direct him off to the left and he blindly follows, squeezing your fingers ever so gently as a response.

There’s a pair of people at one of the tables by the food trucks. They spot you almost immediately, and one of them stands to greet you. He’s a little taller than you are, made even more obvious when he gives you an awkward, one-armed hug over the picnic table’s bench. The other one–a woman–remains seated, eyeing Yoongi.

For a hot minute, it’s weird, as he stands there in silence while you chat with the man and woman. It’s not even the side-eye that the woman’s shooting him. The man is handsome–Yoongi’s not blind–and you are friendly with him. But there’s a moment, the briefest of moments, where you gesture somewhere off to your left. And when your body moves, Yoongi’s arm moves, too, and a little part of him, a silly, childish, hopeful part, soars.

You’re still holding his hand.

Eventually, you introduce him to the two. Alice works the reference desk in your library while she’s doing a doctorate program in linguistics. Her partner is gone in the winter, fighting fires in the far south. Despite her harsh side-eye, she greets Yoongi with a smile and a polite handshake. Jihwan, on the other hand, is the head baseball coach at the university. How the two of you met, Yoongi can only guess, but you make no mention of Jihwan’s partner, and Yoongi doesn’t see a gem anywhere. He almost–almost–starts to feel bad for the guy, but then he opens his mouth.

You ask a simple question, gesturing with your head to the food trucks. “What do they have good?”

“The pierogi guy from last year is back-”

Jihwan interrupts Alice. “Too much butter.”

It’s not even what he says. It’s how he says it. Like you and Alice are toddlers, like you can’t be trusted not to drown yourselves in carbs. But you roll your eyes and Alice scoffs playfully, and Yoongi realizes that this is not the first time Jihwan has done something like this. And suddenly, Yoongi hates this guy.

“Apparently, he’s got a new flavor this year,” Alice says, continuing like Jihwan never interrupted. “But the taco guy is also back-”

“Is the popcorn guy back?” you ask. laughing. “Because I kind of want a front-row seat to that.” Yoongi must look confused, because you explain. “Pierogi guy’s daughter was engaged to taco guy’s daughter. But last year, pierogi guy and taco guy just started yelling at each other-”

“-It was amazing,” Alice adds.

“It was ridiculous,” Jihwan mumbles.

You push him. “It was a little like having our own little telenovela here.”

Cautiously, Yoongi asks, “Why were they fighting?”

“No one knows.” You shrug. “But it launched a campus-wide food war. Everyone was choosing sides. It was like the year the Moondance tried to change its logo.”

Jihwan and Alice look at you, a little confused. But Yoongi knows exactly what you’re talking about. Somewhere around when you were preteens, the owners of the Moondance diner decided that its logo was outdated and wanted to update it. The whole town had been in an uproar, whole neighborhoods entering into a Cold War-esque stand-off over their preferences. People who had been friends for 50 years were suddenly in an unsolvable, unending argument. All over a color palette swap and a slightly newer font. Yoongi hadn’t cared much one way or the other–all businesses change their logos at some point, right?–and he always suspected that you didn’t either, but you’d both gotten swept up in the chaos of it all. It was stupid, ridiculous fun, and he’s pretty sure that his parents still have the buttons you’d made somewhere in their house.

You finally let go of Yoongi’s hand when you’re standing in line at the taco truck, and he’s painfully aware of how empty it feels now. You don’t go far, though, standing close enough that your elbow brushes against his every once in a while. You’re scrolling through your phone, reading some news article to pass the time. It’s gotten darker since you’ve been there, and looking up, he can just barely make out a couple pinpricks of stars in the sky. The clearing is fairly bright, with little flickering balls of light criss-crossing the space like bistro lighting, and the lights from the city below don’t help to make the night sky visible.

You pay for his tacos–”I get an employee discount,” you say, brandishing your university id like it’s a black card–and Yoongi doesn’t think that you were in line that long, but when you return to the table, Alice and Jihwan are gone.

“Where’d-” He’s not even asked the question, but you’re already shrugging.

“Alice’s probably off calling her fiance,” you say it like you’re back in high school, all singsong-y and mockingly, “and who knows where Jihwan got to. Probably trying to take someone home tonight.”

“He seems…”

You sigh. “Yeah.”

“How’d you meet him?”

A pang of… something hits him. Your expression falls, ever so slightly, and he regrets asking. But after a brief moment, you clear your throat. “He and I are the only two on campus without gems.”

Oh.

Well.

That makes sense.

“So they…”

You pick a piece of red cabbage off your taco and eat it. “Yeah, they know.”

Which explains Alice’s side-eye earlier. The weird emotion he’d gotten from you is gone now, and you seem to have just brushed right past the awkward feelings.

He hums, not really sure what to say. What’s there to say? So instead of saying anything dumb, he does the safe thing. He changes the subject.

“No wonder they didn’t kick the taco guy out of the festival this year.” He takes another bite of his taco. “This is the best al pastor I’ve ever had.”

“His chimichangas are amazing, but he only makes them on special days.”

“More special than…?” He gestures vaguely. Around you, the lights have started to dim. Yoongi isn’t really sure when that started, but things are definitely less bright.

You laugh, and something inside of him warms.

He hasn’t even finished his tacos yet, but the vibe in the clearing starts to dramatically change. The crowd gathers tighter, a palpable buzz in the air. Alice has returned and stands alone near the head of the table. She’s looking up at the sky, and when Yoongi looks up, he sees why. There’s an aurora in the sky, gentle waves of effervescent greens and blues swirling through the heavens, just like the night market all those years ago. It has to be magic of some sort–the city isn’t far enough north for it to be natural–but he can’t tell who’s doing it.

A hand on his shoulder pulls his focus back to the ground. You’re there behind him, bathed in the dim glow of the floating lights around you. By now, it’s almost dark, but even in the low light and deep shadows, you’re beautiful.

“Come on,” you say softly. “Let’s get a good spot closer to the lookout.”

He follows you through the crowd, weaving around the bodies to get closer to the edge of the clearing. It’s tight, and you grab his hand so you don’t get separated. Normally, Yoongi isn’t a huge fan of crowds like this. You’re a small island in a sea of people, and he barely has room to turn in a circle without bumping into someone. You stand close–close enough that he can feel your warmth through the chill of the night.

The city spans the valley below, a forest of metal and windows and concrete. A bright spot in the middle of an otherwise dark night. But then, individually at first and then more, the buildings’ lights begin to flicker out.

“They’ve been doing this festival since before the city got public electricity,” you explain, answering his question before he could even ask. “It’s kind of a big deal.”

With the lights of the city mostly out, the stars above are much brighter. He can almost see them twinkling and winking as they burn, millions of billions of lightyears away. The night sky is beautiful, and his eyes drift around to locate the constellations he’d learned as a child. Almost immediately, he finds Perseus, right beside his wife Andromeda. You’d loved the myth of Perseus slaying Medusa when you were kids, and even though he hadn’t looked for the constellation in over a decade, finding it is still ingrained in him.

He nudges you slightly, pointing up to the constellation. But just as he does, a pinprick of light streaks across the sky. You squeeze his hand as more streaks start to appear and the gathered crowd buzzes with ‘ooh’s and ‘aah’s. The meteors are all sizes. Big and bright. Small and thin. They aren’t constant, only a few show up every minute, but it’s beautiful to watch.

There’s a strange sensation growing in his chest, something warm and fluttering and all-encompassing. You lean a little closer and the feeling grows. You must sense something–he’s never really been sure what his emotions feel like for you–because you look up at him. For a moment, you look confused.

Yoongi isn’t really sure how it happens, but what he does know is that suddenly, your face is centimeters from his own. He thinks that maybe someone bumped you and you took a step closer, but maybe that’s just his brain trying to fill in the gaps. He also knows that he’s the one that closes the space between you, leans in and brushes his lips against yours. It’s quick, a little impulsive, and truthfully, it feels a little forbidden.

He pulls away, not far enough to make it seem like he’s made a mistake, but enough that it gives you an out, if you want it. His brain starts making all these calculations–what he should do if you back away, what he should do if you slap him, what if you don’t react.

But then you whisper, “Why’d you stop?” and your hand slides up his chest to grip the lapel of his coat. You tug with a surprising amount of force, and when your lips connect, he feels himself soaring.

His entire world narrows to the points where your bodies connect. The firm touch of your knuckles against his shirt, the way your leg presses against his, but mostly the heat from your lips as he deepens the kiss. You fit against him perfectly, as if you were made for each other. He’d only kissed you that one time, but somehow, he’d missed it, missed you.

When you finally pull away, you stay close, pressed against his chest–though whether that’s fully your choice or because of the crowd tightening around you is anyone’s guess. He can feel your heart pounding, and when you shoot him a small smirk, he’s pretty sure that you can feel the pace of his own pulse. Your grip loosens on the collar of his coat and you smooth it down coolly before your arm wraps around his back. Without a word, you cozy in, pressed close as your gaze returns to the sky and to the stars.

For a moment, he stands there, unmoving, mind empty. But then it’s like he snaps out of a trance, and he snakes an arm around your waist, holding you tightly. His focus shifts to the shooting stars above, catching one just as it streaks across the sky. As he stands there, staring at the heavens and feeling your steady breathing, his mind begins to wander.

12 years, 7 months, and 3 days. He’d spent most of that time wondering what would have happened if he hadn’t left. If, after he’d kissed you at the night market, he’d been satisfied with whatever life had come after that. He’d been so scared back then, of losing control, of his life not being his own. But now, none of that matters.

Now, he’d give up almost anything to stay here, in this moment, in your arms.

okay so like... what do we think? how are we feeling? I was originally planning on having this be much longer, but I was so stressed out from grad school, I just wanted to get it out now. I'm so excited to hear your thoughts! and let me know if you want to see a part 2 (and if so, what you might want to see in it!!)

#yoongi x reader #min yoongi x reader #bts x reader #yoongi fanfic #yoongi fic #suga fic #suga fanfic #bts fanfic #bts fic #min yoongi fic #min yoongi fanfic #myg x reader #bts soulmate au #bts supernatural au #set me free

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kamiversee · 7 months

Text

➶-͙˚ ༘✶ 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙁*𝘾𝙆 𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏

✧.* CHAPTER 35 || The Failing Streak

[ { SYPNOSIS } ] ➤ A tale in which Gojo Satoru blackmails you into seducing a list of people to clear his debt. Sounds easy enough, right?

[ { CHAPTER CONTENT } ] ➤ language, fluff, & a tinge of angst.

[ { WORD COUNT } ] ➤ 3.6k

[ { PAIRINGS } ] ➤ jjk men x f!reader. gojo x f!reader. geto x f!reader. toji x f!reader. choso x f!reader. sukuna x f!reader. nanami x f!reader.

[ [ chapters mlist } ]

——WRONG, AS USUAL. Oh, it was so clear that Nanami was the only person on the list who could actually be considered difficult or hard.

And the crazy part about it was that it wasn’t him who made his level of difficulty so high, it was more of his situation. You considered him to be the hardest on the list because, well, you couldn’t get a hold of the damn man.

Sitting down and having a conversation with him? Oh please, it was damn there impossible. Being able to get a hi or hello out to the man and hopefully lead to flirting and seducing him? Yeah, not a snowball’s chance in hell were going to accomplish such a thing so easily.

Worst part about it was always that it wasn’t his doing. None of it was intentional, simply coincidental. But even so, it was frustratingly coincidental enough for you to consider Nanami the most difficult name to check off the list.

After your deed with Sukuna, you still spent some time not exactly talking to Gojo. Even after you went out of your way to send him a thank you text, which you don’t normally do, for the money he sent-- Gojo only replied by hearting your message.

You didn’t like how he avoided you, even though it was probably best for the two of you considering all the shit he’s keeping from you and how desperately you wanted to understand him. But, all of his avoiding you only lasted two more weeks before you were set to see the man.

To keep the timeline in check, the week Gojo originally took you to see Nanami, on the Friday after Sukuna’s party, it turned out that Nanami only goes out every other week. The following week, in which Nanami would’ve been at said nightclub, you didn’t go because you needed a day or two to recover from Sukuna. Leading up to now, two weeks after Sukuna and dating to the end of November.

You felt like you were running out of time for some reason, even though Gojo assures you that Nanami goes to said Nightclub every other week and has been doing so for maybe two years straight.

As of this very second, you were dressed in this lovely blue dress with matching blue heels, all of which Gojo had purchased for you, as you sat in the passenger seat of the man’s car.

Time was moving by fast and yet slow at the same time. On days like today, when you were starting to work toward seducing a new person, the hours dragged on. Yet, on days when you didn’t do anything regarding the list, they’d fly by in the blink of an eye.

It was like your studies, classwork, and finals didn’t even phase you anymore. This was crazy to think about when just a year ago around this time of finals season had you swamped and panicked like crazy. Yet, this year it seems that you weren’t worried at all.

Your studies were always held at the top of your priority list, no matter what. So, as the year slowly crept up to its end, you weren’t one bit unprepared for your tests since you spent almost all your free time studying.

Back to the current though; here you were in Gojo’s car. Had a word been said to each other so far? Not really. Gojo only greeted you for a moment with a hey, not even placing his eyes on your own like he usually would, and then he asked if you were ready. After you responded with a yes, he was quick to turn the radio up to fill the silence and begin the drive.

You didn’t remember the drive being as long last time but it felt like you were in the car with Gojo forever and not talking to him or not hearing him talk to you was eating away at your insides. It was so unusual.

Even though you hated Gojo, and yes, hated because you’re not sure if that’s still how you feel despite what you may tell him, he’d still talk your ear off no matter what. But now, he was so quiet.

If it wasn’t for the radio playing their end-of-year tunes, you’d be dying in the awkward silence. Even so, at one point the man seemed to be annoyed by the Christmas songs that played and you watch him move a hand to change the station, quickly going to a random one that played some kind of R&B.

He seemed more relaxed once the songs changed and you couldn’t help but steal multiple glances at the man. They were very short glances though, never anything more than a peak over at him. Gojo wasn’t dressed up like the week prior because he didn’t plan on going inside with you this time, just dropping you off.

The low hum of the car along with the slow tunes of the music eased into your ears as he drove and drove and drove. It was rather late into the night so as you stared straight ahead, you lost yourself in your thoughts.

You wanted to say something to Gojo, anything to get him to talk but, you didn’t know what. You weren’t even sure why you wanted to speak to him so badly, there was a time when you wished for him to shut up and now he was.

You hate how the universe does this to you. When you wanted him silent he’d talk for hours and when you wanted him to speak, he was mute.

Part of you debated on asking him if he was okay or how he’s been these past two weeks. There was this burning curiosity inside you in regards to Gojo, the image of him sobbing into your chest plaguing your mind endlessly and you even felt like you could still hear his broken words and pitched voice.

Your eyes squeeze shut at the memory. No matter how shitty he’s treated you or treats you, you don’t think you ever want to see that man cry again. It was the most beautifully disturbing image ever. He looked like an angel the more you think about it.

His eyes were glossed over and appeared to be all glass-like due to the azure shade embedded into his irises, those pretty fluffy white eyelashes of his, thinned and coated with water, his pale face fused with shades of red and pink along with the way his eyebrows, eyes, and mouth would twist and contour into sadness…

You had to shake the image out of your head. You never want to see something so angelically sad in your life again. It almost haunts you how Gojo Satoru seemed to be the prettiest crier.

As you shake yourself from your recollection, the car comes to a stop and your eyes open. You were at the nightclub already. Your mouth suddenly went dry and you didn’t want to go in just yet. Going in meant you would meet Nanami, hopefully sleep with him by the end of the night, and possibly never get the chance to talk to Gojo properly again.

The sound of Beyonce’s voice was in your ears and you furrowed your brows as you looked at the screen in between you and Gojo. Haunted by Beyonce was on, the song nearing its end, and at that one part, the kinda’ part that would make someone feel like they were in a scene from a movie.

You finally turn your head to Gojo, looking at him fully instead of a mere glance. Gojo looks so damn perfect? Your heart throbs in your chest and you don’t know if it was the music drilling into your ears or the man beside you but…

He had his eyes up on the sun visor where a little mirror was, making sure he looked okay. You don’t think he knew you were staring at him-- taking in his clear skin, gorgeous side profile, sharp jawline that led you to look at his neck, a hickey you left on him present even after it being weeks since you last slept with him, and the white t-shirt he wore clung to his body like always.

The echoing of your heartbeat got louder and louder the more you stared at him, the song was almost over and you swear it was in slow motion that Gojo turned his head to you, meeting your unwavering gaze. At that very second, time had either stopped or frozen and you felt your breath hitch.

Those blue eyes of his were dilated like crazy as they met your face. His lips were so plush and rose-tinted, his cheeks decorated in a faint blush simply because he’s caught you staring at him and you saw the way his eyes softened. A look of never-ending love was given to you and you felt like you could die happy because of that look alone.

He didn’t need to say anything to you, his eyes said it all, and they helped you overcome your confliction within seconds. Your eyelashes fluttered into a slow blink and Gojo didn’t say anything but his gaze flicked down to your lips for a split second, then back up to your eyes.

Gojo Satoru was-

You had to turn away. Your heart was pounding in your chest and your breathing suddenly caught up with you, nearly making you choke. Holy shit, this can not be happening right now. You are not falling for your blackmailer.

Right?

You don’t hate him but you can’t love him. You don’t love him. Right?

Your face is heated and you brought your hands over yourself to try and collect whatever the hell emotions just blossomed in the pit of your stomach. You could feel the way your heart rate was beating differently. Curse Gojo and the stupid song for having you feel this way.

The soft, yet deep sound of your name being said causes the hairs on the back of your neck to stand up. Why are you suddenly so nervous? What the hell is wrong with you?

“You alright, sweetheart?” Gojo asks and god his voice is so sappy with love and emotion that it makes your stomach churn.

You can’t look at him so you remain turned away, “Mhm, I’m f-fine.” You hated the shake in your voice, the nerves so clearly obvious.

Gojo can’t read what it is you’re experiencing but he wishes he could. He wants to know why you turned away so suddenly with your face all flustered. “Look at me,” The man whispered.

You couldn’t. There was already something wrong with your heart and you absolutely could not look at the man right now, “I uhm…” You exhale softly, “I should head inside…”

A hand is raised to the door and you go to open it but Gojo’s hand is suddenly on your thigh, his touch making your body tense, “I know I’ve been quiet but, I don’t want you to go in there all nervous. What’s wrong, love?”

Oh god. That. That’s what’s wrong. Love, sweetheart, sweets, whatever it is it always yanks you by the strings of your heart and wraps them around your neck, leaving you in a heart-wrenching chokehold. You wonder if Gojo even realizes how in love he sounds when he speaks to you.

“N-Nothing,” You whisper, still yet to look at him.

Gojo sighs, “You’re lying, sweets. What’s wrong, c’mon, tell me before you go.”

“Fuck,” You whisper out loud, just barely catching his ears. You then turn your head to him and Gojo’s eyes go wide at your expression.

He’s never seen you look at him with such dilated pupils outside of when you were horny and, that couldn’t possibly be the case right now… right?

“Satoru, I… Something’s wrong,” You murmur, you don’t know where you’re going with this but he wanted you to say something so you’re trying your best to do so.

Gojo blinks a could times to make sure he’s not imagining the look in your eyes. “Damn right something’s wrong, did you drink or smoke before I came to get you?” He suddenly asks.

You shake your head no.

“Then…” Gojo blinks, “Why’re you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“You’re pupils are dilated.” He points out.

Your eyes widen, “A-Are they?”

“Mhm,” Gojo hums softly, almost in awe. He then whispers your name, “Are you…”

“N-No.” You say, feeling like he was about to ask if you were horny.

Gojo tilts his head, “Okay well…” He doesn’t know what to say or how to feel about the dilation of your pupils. He only sees it from time to time, a few times when you talked about Choso, and almost every time you were horny.

So if you’re not horny… or high, or drunk… then…

“It’s not a crime,” Gojo comments.

You grit your teeth, “Might as well be.”

His brows tense. He can feel the emotions you’re experiencing exuding off you, “You’re allowed to-”

“I shouldn’t.” You cut off,

He frowns, “But you can-”

“You told me I shouldn’t.” There’s a shake in your voice that doesn’t go unnoticed.

“I…” Gojo sighs heavily, “I know but, i-if you do then I…”

There’s so much going unspoken but the two of you knew what either was saying, you understood each other more than either of you realized.

“You what?” You ask him.

“Well, I love you too.” Gojo shrugs, “But, you already know that.”

“I don’t-,” You huff, wanting to deny the fact that you love him in the first place, “Satoru, I… I can’t love you.”

“I know,” His voice is so soft, so gentle with you. He understands what you’re going through and can see the worry in your face.

Your voice trembles, “I shouldn’t be-”

“But you are.” Gojo cuts off, he knows it and he’s not going to let it go. “Your mouth tells you that you aren’t but, your heart and soul know.”

“K-Know what?” You ask breathily.

“That you’re falling for me.”

“I’m not.”

Gojo grins, “I’ll catch you if you do.”

“I didn’t fall,” You say firmly, “I t-tripped but, I never fell. And I won’t.”

“Watch your step next time,” He whispers.

You turn your head and meet his eyes again, “I will.”

The two of you gaze at one another, both of your pupils unknowingly dilated and both of your hearts swelling with emotion. You open your mouth to say something, not even sure of what, but Gojoj cuts you off.

“Go inside,” He says, voice gentle.

“What if I don’t want to.” You mumble. When did you grow so attached to Gojo? Why are you afraid to part from him?

“Oh sweetheart,” He shuts his eyes and sighs, “You know the repercussions behind that.”

“There doesn’t have to be any though, you don’t-”

“There needs to be.” He interrupts, putting that wall of his right back up. “Go inside, we aren’t doing this again.”

“Satoru-”

“Please, go inside my love.” Gojo murmurs.

You shift and his eyes open. Gojo is met with your hand making light contact with his face and like always, he melts into your touch. “Satoru,” You say again.

“Yes?” He hums.

“Before I go,” You’re speaking slowly, unsure if you want to say it out loud. Once you do so, it’ll be official.

Gojo rubs his cheek into your palm before moving his hand over your own, turning his head, and kissing your hand softly, “What is it, sweetheart? Tell me.”

“I don’t hate you anymore.” You finally voice out.

The man’s poor heart could only take so much. He inhales a sharp breath, “Okay.”

“Remember that,” You continue, “I don’t hate you, Satoru.”

“G-God,” He stammers, “You’re gonna make me cry again, sweets.”

“Save your tears,” You chuckle.

He nods, “For another day?”

“Are you really referencing The Weekend right now?” You giggle.

Gojo smiles, “Yeah.”

“You’re an idiot,” You comment.

“Your idiot.”

And there’s your heart pounding again, “Don’t say that.”

“Y’know what you are?” Gojo asks, peering into your eyes with nothing but affection, “You’re my eternity.”

“What does that even mean?” You’ll never get over his way with words.

“My forever,” Gojo explains, “But I believe forever has an end and, eternity doesn’t. So by that I mean,” He leans toward you and his forehead rests against yours, “No matter what happens, even through death, my heart will always beat for you.”

You feel uneasy hearing him say that. It’s beautiful like always but, there’s something deeper lying beneath his sugar-coated words, “Satoru…”

“Hm?” He hums.

Your hand caresses his cheek, “Can you promise me something?”

“Anything,” Gojo says with zero hesitation.

“Promise me you won’t hurt yourself.”

He’s quiet for a long moment, your words ringing through his ears. Then, he sighs heavily, “It’s far too late for that.”

You frown, “I mean physically.”

“I…” Gojo trails off. Were you really worried about him harming himself?

“Promise me.” You say again, needing to hear him promise you in order to feel okay.

“I promise.” Gojo tells you, “I’ll never physically hurt myself.”

You knew he’d already mentally hurt himself so you didn’t feel the need to have him promise not to do such again. But, with the way he’d been acting over the past month or so, you needed to make sure that the man wouldn’t go on and do something insane.

So with that, you end up parting from the man finally, feeling much better about the situation now that you’d spoken to him. You’re at peace now and he is too, him more than he let on.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ .　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Now, here’s where things got tricky.

Nanami Kento.

As stated earlier, you end up having difficulty catching the man at the right time.

On this second attempt to speak to him, as you entered the nightclub, you were actually able to spot him with no problem. The thing is, while you made your way over to him, you watched the man drop a couple of bills onto the bar and then get up and leave.

Okay, you didn’t want that to stop you at first, thinking to accidentally run into him and then go on from there. Yet, as you tried to do so, you didn’t even bump him at all, nor did he see you. Nanami had walked right past you and right out of the building.

There went your second attempt. As for the third attempt, which then dated into the second week of December, you missed him yet again. That time, when you arrived, he was talking to this short brown harried man with big bright doe eyes.

You didn’t want to just walk up to Nanami, you wanted it to be as natural as possible so, you didn’t approach him then either and waited for a moment where he was alone. The brown-haired man went off in the direction of the bathroom and you had gotten up from your seat with the intent of approaching Nanami.

…Only to be beaten by some other woman who approaches him. He didn’t seem too interested in what she had to say but he spoke to her nonetheless, conversating long enough for the other guy to return to him and make you miss your opportunity.

Thus, the third attempt down the drain.

This led you to a bit of a pause. Why? Well, since it was the second week of December, for you, it was also the last week of the semester.

This meant that the following week, and or, the remainder of December was winter break for you. That means that the next time you would see Nanami would be just after Christmas and possibly before New Year's.

You had plans for those weeks so, you’d have to skip coming to this nightclub again. That frustrated you because, well, that means you’d be trying to get with Nanami in the following year and almost a month from now.

It sucked but, you were content with that. It’s not like you could get ahold of him as it was anyway. So, after that night you went home by Uber.

How were you to spend your winter break exactly? Well, most of it you wanted to spend with Shoko but you and her worked it out where on Christmas week, you’d go home to your family to spend most of that day with them and then return in the afternoon.

Shoko didn’t have family to go home to and you knew she spent her Christmases with Gojo and Geto but even so, she pleaded for you to spend it with her and them this year and after a talk with your family, it was agreed that you’d do exactly that.

Nanami would have to wait until the holidays were over.Which was completely fine but, you weren’t expecting such an eventful Christmas… Perhaps it’ll go down as the most memorable for you, especially since it was just full of surprises.

GOJO SATORU ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

GETO SUGURU ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

TOJI FUSHIGURO ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙈𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙪𝙢

KAMO CHOSO ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙎𝙚𝙢𝙞-𝙈𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙪𝙢 / 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

ZEN'IN NAOYA ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙀𝙭𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙡𝙮 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

ITADORI SUKUNA ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙎𝙚𝙢𝙞-𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮???

NANAMI KENTO ☐ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙃𝙖𝙧𝙙

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