#3:17pm | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kithtaehyung · 7 days ago

Text

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

title: yoongi’s interlude: fugue pt. i pairing: 3tan!yoongi x reader(f) series: masterlist | three tangerines | fireworks | house party | basketball | stay | sidewalk talk | friends | dalo | like that | anytime | sundress season | yoongi’s interlude | forfeit | flutter | video call | busted | broken pt. 1 | broken pt. 2 rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , smut ; brother’s best friend au, implied age gap au summary: he would do anything for you, even if that means leaving your light... to venture into his dark. note: fugue—in music, a compositional procedure characterized by the systematic imitation of a principal theme in simultaneously sounding melodic lines ; a state or period of loss of awareness of one's identity, often coupled with flight from one's usual environment. note 2: if you haven’t read them or haven’t read them in awhile, i highly recommend rereading busted, broken pt 1, and broken pt 2 before diving into this one. note 3: yes. i will hold everyone’s hand this time. warnings: language, flashbacks, time skips, angst, heavy isolation, brain fog, fugue state experiences, ruined instrument, depression allusions, alcohol mentions and consumption, fight scenes, spice from yoongi’s pov????, trauma, bro is a real one, drugs mention/use, the demons are being fought y’all, among other things😔, blood, yoongi please get up😭😭, darkness, jimin being his ride or die self, surprise reader cameo?, anxiety, ptsd reflexes, the ex is getting screen time🚶‍♀️‍➡️, friendship is truly power, yoongi just needs a gd hug😭, dark thoughts, tension, the ending.. oh god the ending<33 drop date: july 1st, 2025, 7:17pm est word count: 10.9k

—

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

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

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

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

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

Which is why it sounds like shit.

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

“Fuck, not that, either.”

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

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

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

“Are you even—”

No. It’s too early to fight.

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

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

Mm. It’s definitely incomplete.

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

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

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

So he does.

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

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

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

Write write write accomplish something, goddamn.

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

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

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

He’ll never be enough.

—

“You’re more than enough.”

—

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

More than enough…

You told him that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What was her name again?

Right.

Dom.

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

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

“She went in there with Kook.”

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

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

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

When Yoongi gives Dom a look, she folds,

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

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

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

“I know.”

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

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

“You’re lying.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But what he says is enough. “I am.”

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

“Now?”

“Yes, now. I have a plan.”

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

“Huh?”

“About your cousin.”

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

“Good. She deserves it.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

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

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

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

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

“I won’t.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“Because I—”

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

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

“Wait.”

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

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

“I wanna hear this.”

Fine.

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

“I wanted to call!”

“You wanted nothing to do with me!”

“No! That’s not true—”

“Liar!”

“I’m not lying!”

“You are!”

Alright, Yoongi’s had enough.

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

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

“We’re fine! It’s okay.”

“Open the door.”

“No.”

“You better be serious—”

“Promise!”

Yoongi wants to believe you. He does.

“We’re okay.”

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

And neither one of them vacate the doorway.

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

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

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

He wants to hurl.

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

“Dude, I said I’m—”

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

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

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

“What’s wrong with you?”

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

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

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

What did he do to you?

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

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

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

Was he really that cut off from everything back then?

Yoongi regrets that damning fact more than ever before.

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

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

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

“Of course it is.”

“The fuck it isn’t—”

“It is! Fucking hell, dude...”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mm. He doesn’t like that.

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

“Please.”

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

Only to see Jungkook glaring right at him.

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

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

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

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

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

Jeon better fucking behave.

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And every night, he fails you when he loses.

Every. Single. Night.

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

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

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

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

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

“Useless piece of—”

Shut the fuck up.

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

Every night until he doesn’t fail you anymore.

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not ever since she…

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

And he can’t fucking stand that.

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rohan G. [17:07]: omw sry

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

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

No fucking way.

How did Jimin even guess he’d be home?

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

Chim [17:08]: 😂😂😂

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

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

“No I didn’t.”

“I’m busy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your brother.

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

The very reason he had to say goodbye.

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

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

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

It works. For now.

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

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

“I’m gonna kill him.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Then get up.”

“And a hit.”

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Agreed. “Mm.”

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

Yoongi’s stomach convulses down the porch steps.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do what?”

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

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

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

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

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

And he has. So much shit.

“Stick around?”

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

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

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

After what he’s about to do.

“Also, no. I don’t,” he lies.

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

“Does she know, by the way?”

“Know what.”

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

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

“She could appreciate it. Knowing.”

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

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

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

“No. And I’ll think about staying.”

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

“You’re a good guy, Yoong.”

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

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

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

“Really? You never say bye.”

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

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

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

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

“You ready?”

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

“I’m trying to get out of it.”

“Out of what? A trip?”

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So why does that gut him even deeper?

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

The whole team acknowledges him in tandem.

—

Holy fuck, it’s over.

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

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

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

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

“Hey. You still out?”

Yoongi’s heart shatters on impact.

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

“Yeah, we’re still out. What’s up?”

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

“Thank god. There meat in there?”

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

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

“—be back soon. Thanks for the food!”

“Mmhmm. See you later.”

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

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

Yourself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yoongi [21:31]: 👍

Yoongi [21:35]: Clear

Why is he nervous? Why is he shaking?

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

Sixty seconds.

He can do that.

Any amount of time with you is enough.

“K.”

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

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

“Fuck.”

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

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

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

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

You aren’t talking.

That answers enough.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But it’s true.”

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

“Makes me wanna take you home.”

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

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

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

“Take you home?”

“Mmhmm.”

Even your arm feels timid under his touch? Shit.

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

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

If he wasn’t such a damn coward.

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

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

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

“Hmm?”

“I know we said we’d say something.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yoongi, please—”

“Can you do that?”

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

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

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

Say something. Please. “Babe?”

Tell him not to go.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Anything for you.”

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

This distance is necessary. But also fucking stupid.

Maybe you’ll forget about him.

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

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

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

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

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

“Yoongi, I—”

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

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

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

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

His name rattles around your mouth.

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

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

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

He loves you so fucking much.

“Fuck.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Hurry up, for god’s sake!”

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

You’re so beautiful.

He doesn’t want to go.

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

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

Fuck, he needs air.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

“I’ll be dead to me, too.”

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

“Just… Keep her busy. For me.”

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

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

He’s at least gotten past that part.

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

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

“Damn well hope so.”

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

“I know.”

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

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

“Same.”

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

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

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

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

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

This sucks ass.

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey.”

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

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

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

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

“He pulled us out. Ask him.”

Huh?

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

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

“Sounds like only good news to me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

—

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

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

He can’t catch a fucking break.

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

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

And this one looks a little too colossal to cross.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No surprises for you. Not again.

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

Yoongi [17:03]: Can’t talk now but

Yoongi [17:03]: Letting you know

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

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

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

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

Please don’t. He just needs more time.

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

Here goes.

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

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

Oh.

…Fuck, you’re really…

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

Did you really banish his worry just like that?

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

It is.

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

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

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

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

Shit.

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

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

You’re really something else.

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

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

Yoongi [17:11]: Fuck I miss you

He sends it before realizing what he even sent.

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

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

One drop.

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

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

Fuck, it hurts.

It all fucking hurts.

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

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

Yoongi [17:15]: Thanks doll

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

tbc in fugue, pt. ii

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

a/n: so... this is just the first part. and to be honest, i couldn't bring myself to write any of fugue until i saw that yoongi was okay. as soon as i saw his smile, that was enough for me to be brave again. there's a reason i couldn't write this until now, and you're about to find out why in fugue, pt. 2. a/n 2: thank you to every single one of you that's been here. any support, love, or encouragement means the whole world to me, and that's what has been keeping me going the past year, no matter how i'm feeling - high or low. i'm sorry for taking so long to update the main storyline again, but i hope this interlude will show you that i'm truly back to working on 3tan again. love y'all. so much. ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here! ++ more links: ⇥ masterlist ⇥ three tangerines masterlist

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

475 notes · View notes

dakusan · 2 months ago

Text

How skz texts you when you're upset

stray kids ot8 x reader | comfort, emotional support, quiet love, soft boys with warm hearts

🌙 synopsis: you're not alone. not ever. eight boys, eight different ways of showing up when the world feels too loud. some send you memes. some send you playlists. some just send a quiet “i’m here.” when you're unraveling at the seams, they don't ask you to hold it together. they hold you instead—in texts, in voice notes, in the silence between words. this isn't about fixing you. it's about loving you exactly as you are—soft, sad, and still worth everything.

💌 a/n: hi hello yes. i promise i have a job (whilst looking for a new one) but i am also a girl with free time and nothing to do, so i write for you people. plus, i just think everyone deserves to be comforted like this, okay?? anyway. if you’ve had a hard day, I hope this felt like a warm hoodie straight from the dryer. or like… a text that says “u up?” but emotionally stable. as always, thank you for reading my little delusions 💗 p.s. i know it’s a short one but like... short and sweet, right?? i hope it’s sweet??? idk anymore 😭 p.p.s. YES I KNOW MY PIC AESTHETICS ARE WEIRD AND DON’T MATCH OR WHATEVER I’M TRYING… I SEE THE VISION IN MY HEAD OKAY THE EXECUTION JUST BE SUFFERING. leave me alone. smh. p.p.p.s no, i haven't made any songs to match this vibe. lmfao, soz •ᴖ•

📍credits: @cafekitsune for the dividers

🎶 Now Playing: "Star Lost" — Stray Kids

Bang Chan // 방찬 the gentle leader energy

[3:14PM] Hey, angel. I know today’s rough. I won’t push, but I’m here. Want to hop on call? We can sit in silence or talk, your pace. [3:17PM] You’re not alone in this. I promise. (You wake up to a Lo-fi playlist he made just for you, titled: “for when your heart’s tired”)

Lee Know // 리노 silent acts of care

[4:52PM] What do you need? Be honest. [4:54PM] I can cook. Or just sit with you. Or send you mean messages about the universe. [5:01PM] Here. Cat pics. Instant serotonin. (He drops off warm food at your door with a post-it: “Eat. Or I’ll be annoyed. 😒”)

Changbin // 창빈 aggressively loving

[5:03PM] WHO. UPSET. YOU. [5:04PM] I will fight them. Emotionally. And maybe physically. 👊 [5:07PM] Also… I’m proud of you. For just… being you. (He sends voice notes of him beatboxing silly rhythms with your name mixed in. Pure serotonin.)

Hyunjin // 현진 the poetic soft boy

[2:27PM] It’s okay to crumble sometimes. Even stars need to rest. [2:29PM] You are still whole, even when you don’t feel it. [2:34PM] Do you want a drawing? Or a distraction? I can write you a silly haiku. (You receive a photo of a messy sketchbook page with your initials in soft florals.)

Han // 한 chaotic comfort personified

[3:59PM] I see you’re feeling like 🍞 soggy bread. [4:00PM] BUT GUESS WHAT. YOU’RE MY FAVOURITE TOAST. [4:02PM] I’m gonna spam you with memes until you smile or block me. (He sends 17 voice memos. One is a fake commercial for “Anti-Sadness Spray,” voiced by him in 4 accents.)

Felix // 필릭스 human sunshine, through and through

[1:36PM] Hey, beautiful. I felt something was off today… Do you want hugs, words, or just my presence? [1:40PM] You deserve kindness even when your mind says otherwise. (You get a video of him baking cookies, captioned: “Saving one for you, always.”)

Seungmin // 승민 realist with a warm heart

[6:18PM] I know you think you’re being dramatic. You’re not. [6:21PM] Want comfort or tough love? [6:25PM] You’re handling more than most would. Let yourself feel it. (He sends a carefully curated playlist titled: “not okay, but surviving.”)

I.n // 아이엔 the shy but intuitive one

[5:40PM] Hey… are you okay? You don’t have to answer. Just wanted you to know I care. [5:46PM] Do you want to watch something later? I’ll even pretend not to hate romcoms. [5:49PM] You matter to me. Just… wanted to say that. (You later find out he stayed up playing your comfort game just to send you tips.)

#stray kids #skz #stray kids imagine #stray kids x reader #bangchan x reader #minho x reader #changbin x reader #hyunjin x reader #han x reader #felix x reader #seungmin x reader #jeongin x reader #sundaysoftdrops

421 notes · View notes

peachglazewrites · 5 months ago

Note

can you write abby x femme reader where the reader is so down bad for abby but abby only sees reader as her fwb. maybe you can also add abby still being in a relationship with owen. i thought of it while listening to casual by chappel roan and i need to be IN PAIN SO BAD

𝚒𝚝'𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚞𝚊𝚕

𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐: abby/femme!reader 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: angst, smut (18+ mdni), use of words like tits/cunt/pussy, comphet, unhappy ending 𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚜: pre-established relationship (friends with benefits), pet names (sweetheart, honey, baby, pretty girl), oral (r!receiving), masturbation (abby), outdoor sex (they're entirely alone in a field) 𝚊𝚍𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚘: no use of y/n, outfit descriptions, modern au, ellie and dina trying to be good friends, relationship with owen mentioned but no cheating 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 7k

𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: Abby is a great friend. She's funny, kind, and when you're both single, you hook up. If only you weren't in love with her, and she didn't always run back to Owen.

a/n: hello!! thank you so much for this request! i took direct inspo from casual by chappell roan for this and had a lot of fun! it's smutty, angsty, and the more i wrote the more i realised i was just writing Abby with comphet so there's a lot of that sprinkled in there too </3

i almost want to write a sequel where abby wakes tf up and realises she's a lesbian butttt only if anyone would actually want it…

i hope you enjoy! ✧˖°

̗̀➛ master list ̗̀➛ request your own here

[1:07pm] Abs 🥊💥: oh yeah? [1:07pm] You: Yeah, they look pretty good too [1:09pm] Abs 🥊💥: hmm maybe you should send them so i can double check [1:09pm] Abs 🥊💥: just in case 😇 [1:09pm] You: Just in case? [1:10pm] Abs 🥊💥: yeah [1:11pm] You: Of? [1:14pm] Abs 🥊💥: i was trying to be hot and fun [1:14pm] Abs 🥊💥: you’re making that difficult [1:15pm] You: You poor baby 😔 [1:17pm] You: Here. An apology [1:17pm] You: [sent an attachment] Abs 🥊💥 is typing...

“Hellooo?” Dina waves a hand in front of your face, snapping your attention away from the dancing dots next to Abby’s name. Ellie and Dina are looking at you when you blink up at them, your nose no longer buried in your phone.

The three of you have sprawled yourselves out in Ellie’s room, the air slightly hazy with the smoke of a joint she had passed around-- a pleasant hum settling in your bones. The smoke slowly curls out of the open window, curtains fluttering in the breeze.

Ellie sits propped up against her bed, legs crossed under her, guitar resting on her thigh as she picks at the strings. Joel just got her new ones yesterday, so she’s been fiddling with it all morning.

Dina has crawled out of the beanbag near her girlfriend to come bother you, kneeling on the floor next to your own.

Jesse was also invited, but got called in to work last minute. Boo.

“What’s got you so giggly over here?” Dina asks, placing a hand on your knee as she leans over, trying to take a peek at your phone.

You pull the device back to your chest, hiding the picture you just sent from her prying eyes. “Nothing,” you say far too quickly. “Just a funny post.”

“Uh huh,” she says, not even a little bit convinced. “Let me see, then.”

“What?”

“The post.” A smirk starts to form on Dina’s lips, knowing she’s got you. “Let me see it.”

“Oh, it’s—” You shift your gaze away from hers, looking back down at your phone. “It’s gone now. Y’know. The algorithm, and stuff.”

Ellie snorts, rolling her eyes. “The algorithm? That’s the best you can do?”

“Shut up, Ellie,” you hiss, narrowing your eyes at the girl.

Dina, finding an opening, makes a grab for your phone. You yelp, twisting away from her and holding the phone high above your head, out of her grip-- but that doesn’t stop her. She pounces on you, faster than you’re expecting, straddling you on the bean bag as she wrestles you for the device.

You yell, wriggling out from underneath her and falling to the floor with a thump, Dina following and landing on top of you.

“It wasn’t even that funny! Dee, get off of me!” You screech, laughing as you grapple with each other.

“Aha!” Dina cries, prying the phone from your hands and holding it above her head, pressing a palm to your forehead to pin your down. “Now, let’s see this ‘post’, huh?” She taunts, grinning down at you.

You can do nothing but watch helplessly as she looks to your phone, eyes widening at the screen. You catch a brief glimpse of the photo in the reflection of her eyes; the angle of your body as you lay in your sheets, back slightly arched for the camera, delicate blue lace clinging to your hips and chest.

A low whistle leaves her lips.

“Shit, you look good.” Dina squints at the photo, removing her hand from your forehead to pinch at the screen, zooming in. “When did you even buy that? Where did you buy that?”

You sit up enough to snatch your phone away from her, swiping out of the picture before she can look at it any longer.

[1:18pm] Abs 🥊💥: holy shit [1:19pm] Abs 🥊💥: you weren’t lying

“Dude, are you sending nudes from my fucking house?” Ellie asks, eyebrows raised, fingers pausing on her guitar.

Heat crawls across your cheeks, tapping the screen to swipe out of the messaging app and locking your phone. “They’re not nudes. I’m wearing underwear.”

“Babe, there was so much nipple peeking through that thing,” Dina says, still sitting atop of you.

“Okay, well now I’ve gotta see. Gimme.” Ellie reaches, making grabby hands for your phone.

You groan, letting your phone drop face down onto your chest as you cover your face with your hands. “I fucking hate you two.”

“I love you too,” Dina coos, giggling and rolling off of you to lay next to you on the floor, propping herself up on her forearms.

Ellie settles back with her guitar, strumming lightly at the song she’s been working on. “Who are you even sending that shit to, anyways?’

“Is it that butch from the bar last weekend? She was so hot.”

“Hey, I’m right here?” Ellie says, waving her hand to her girlfriend. Dina blows a kiss in her direction.

The hands stay glued to your face as you swallow, throat suddenly thick. You mumble through your fingers, knowing that neither of them would be able to make out what you said. A hand wraps around your wrist, prying it from your face.

“Can’t hear you,” Dina sings, shuffling closer. Her hand slides up, interlacing her fingers with your own, squeezing. “Come on, who is it?”

You nervously look to Dina’s expectant face, behind her to Ellie who’s not looking over, but has her head tilted to make sure she catches every syllable. You turn your head up to look at the ceiling, concentrating on the glow-in-the-dark stars and planets Jesse got Ellie for her birthday last year, unable to look at your friends.

“I’m texting Abby.”

Ellie misses a chord, a slight fumble as she whips her head up to look at you. Dina’s smile shifts slightly, a hint of something sympathetic behind her eyes. She squeezes your hand gently.

“How is she?” Dina asks, watching your profile.

“She’s good. She just got hired at this new boxing studio in the city as a personal trainer. It’s a really good gig, and she enjoys it a lot.” You smile softly, fiddling and twisting one of the rings on your finger. “Pays a lot better than her old gym, too.”

“How’s Owen?” Ellie asks, voice cutting through the hazy air.

Your body tenses, anxiety curling in the pit of your stomach. You knew this was going to happen.

“I don’t know… They uh—They broke up a couple of weeks ago, so I haven’t seen him.”

Ellie scoffs, turning back to her guitar as she mutters something under her breath. You completely miss it, but Dina doesn’t.

“Ellie,” she scolds, leaning over to whack at her ankle.

Your phone buzzes against your chest, and you can’t help but be thankful for the distraction, tilting it up to peek at the preview on the lockscreen. Two text messages block the squished together faces of you, Ellie, and Dina; your and Dina’s lips pressed to either side of Ellie’s freckled cheeks. Jesse stands behind the three of you, hands pressing you and Dina closer to Ellie, grinning as the girl groans and squirms between you.

[1:25pm] Abs 🥊💥: let me come see you [1:25pm] Abs 🥊💥: we can grab food?

You can’t help the small smile that spreads to your lips, biting your cheek as you unlock your phone to reply.

[1:26pm] You: Tonight? [1:27pm] Abs 🥊💥: please 🙏

“Well, it sounds like things are going well for her,” Dina says, rolling on her side to look at you, bringing the hand still laced with yours under her cheek as she rests on it. “New job, hot girl sending her nudes in the middle of the day…”

You roll your eyes, locking your phone and letting it fall back against your chest. “They weren’t nudes.”

“The technicals on whether they’re nudes or not doesn’t matter when they’re that hot. I don’t even send Ellie pictures like that.”

“You don’t send pictures at all,” Ellie pouts.

“Els,” Dina turns to look back at her. “The last time I sent you a photo of my tits, you set it as my contact photo.”

Ellie’s pout smooths out into a knowing smirk, an amused huff leaving her as she reminisces.

Dina turns back to you, rolling her eyes. “Anyway. I guess this means that things are chill with you and Abby again?”

You shrug, fingers flexing amongst her own. “I mean, yeah? We were always chill.”

Her cheek twitches as she forces her smile, her eyes softening into something that you refuse to acknowledge as pitying. “I know,” she says, tentative. “But things were kind of… tense when her and Owen got back together last time, remember?”

You stiffen, that twisting in your gut making you feel ill. “She was just—She just had a lot going on.”

And she did. Her and Manny had to move all of a sudden, she was starting to hate her old job, her truck broke down, and Owen kept trying to reach out again after he was the one to break things off.

So much was going on in Abby’s life, and you were there to help her through it. Late night calls when she couldn’t sleep, motivational texts to get her through her day, a day off from your own job to help Abby and Manny move everything to their new place. Just like a good friend would, because that’s what you are. Good friends.

Good friends who kiss sometimes, whose nighttime calls end in whimpers and soft moans, her voice flowing through the speaker as you cum on your fingers. Good friends who fuck on the mattress on the floor of her new room while her bedframe leans against the wall unbuilt, too desperate to wait until it’s all set up.

That’s just how things are between you. You’re there for her whenever she needs you, and if sometimes that need is something more carnal, driven by lust? As long as you’re both single, you don’t see the issue.

Except she’s never single for long-- those break ups with Owen never truly sticking. Give them a week or two before he starts texting again, another few after that for Abby to text back. And each time you hope, maybe wrongly so, that she won’t do it. That she’ll realise things with Owen just aren’t meant to be, and that maybe she’d be happier with someone else; someone who gives her both the space and attention that she needs.

That she’ll realise that you’ve been here the whole time.

But she never does, and it stings when she texts you that her and Owen are back together, knowing that it’s not just a casual update, but a temporary end to your arrangement— a hiatus, waiting for when they inevitably break up once more.

So yeah, she was busy, but so were you—busy ignoring her texts and her innocent offers to hang out. You promised yourself that you would spare yourself, that you wouldn’t let yourself get hurt anymore by hoping and wishing for something that was never going to happen.

But just like Abby, it only took you a couple of weeks of texts for you to finally respond back.

And so, the cycle continues.

Dina squeezes your hand, feeling you drift off somewhere in your mind. You turn your head slightly to look at her, feeling the familiar sting of embarrassment at the look in her kind eyes.

“I know, babe. We just worry.”

You frown slightly, brows drawing together. “Why? And whose we?”

Ellie scoffs, the sound sharp over the strum of her guitar. “Nice one, Dina.”

She ignores her girlfriend, holding your gaze. “We—Ellie and I—”

“And Jesse.”

“Ellie--” Dina pinches the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes as she tries to tamp down her frustration. “We just want to make sure you’re happy. That this is what you want.” She looks to your again, words spoken soft between you. “All that you want.”

You slowly extricate your hand from hers, pushing up on your forearms to sit. “Of course it is,” you lie-- like a liar. You know neither of them believe you. “This is how it’s always been with Abby. We talk, we hang out, and when we’re single, we ‘hang out’. It’s not a big deal.”

“It’s not. Of course it isn’t. We just—”

Ellie cuts Dina off. “We hate seeing you get hurt over and over.”

You sit up even further, drawing your knees to your chest, making sure your dress falls over your knees. “I’m not— No one’s getting hurt. Abby’s really sweet to me.”

“Then why does she only text you this much when Owen isn’t around?” Ellie asks, guitar forgotten in her lap.

Embarrassment and shame twirl around each other, dancing atop that churning in your gut. Your body heats with it, blood rushing to the highs of your cheeks and the tips of your ears. “That’s not true.”

It is, and you hate that they’ve picked up on it too.

Dina sighs, sitting up with you, placing a gentle and friendly hand on your knee. “It’s okay that she does, but only if you’re okay with it. I know you…” she trails off, pressing her lips into a thin line, hesitating about going there.

That feeling inside of you bursts, lighting you on fire. You feel it down to the tips of your fingers, morphing and changing into something darker— frustration. “Know what, Dina?”

“Look, you’re an adult. You can sleep with whoever you want,” Ellie cuts in. “But you’re not dumb. You know exactly what she’s doing and you’re letting it happen. And if that’s what you get off on, then fine. But we hate seeing her use you like this—”

“Ellie, she’s not using me. I’m not being used.” You stand up, ripping yourself from Dina. “It’s just sex. We both get something out of it, and if I happen to like her company outside of that because she’s my friend, then that just makes it better.”

You stoop down, collecting your bag from next to the beanbag, shoving your phone inside.

Dina calls your name, reaching out for you. You dodge her, stepping back towards the door.

“I’ll… I’ll text you guys later, or something. I have to go.”

♡ ︎♡ ︎♡

Abby tells you to be ready around seven thirty, that she’ll grab you two some dinner before swinging around to pick you up at your place.

It gave you plenty of time to cool down before needing to get ready, crashing and taking a nap the moment you got home from Ellie’s.

You feel guilty for fighting with your friends. As much as you hate the idea of them being able to see through you, to be able to tell how you actually feel-- they’re just trying to look out for you. They love you, want the best for you.

But them knowing… Your friends seeing how infatuated you are with Abby, how you let yourself be dragged along like a dog on a leash, desperate to please and feel desired by her… It makes you feel ashamed.

So, you ignore the texts you wake up to.

[2:31pm] Deedee 😽: Hey babe. I’m sorry about this afternoon. If you’re feeling up to talking about it please let me know. [2:32pm] Deedee 😽: We can go to that bakery you like. My treat. [2:32pm] Deedee 😽: I love you. Be safe 🤍🤍🤍

[2:43pm] 🌿Els 🦕: [message unsent] [2:50pm] 🌿Els 🦕: sorry. dina said that was shit. [2:54pm] 🌿Els 🦕: be careful [2:54pm] 🌿Els 🦕: always here for u [2:55pm] 🌿Els 🦕: 💚

[3:14pm] J-Man 🐴: You’re seeing Abby again?? [3:14pm] J-Man 🐴: That’s cool… [3:17pm] J-Man 🐴: Why didn’t you tell us?

You slowly start getting ready at four, taking a long ‘everything’ shower, only hopping out once your skin is smooth, soft, and smelling of your cherry blossom body wash.

You spend way longer than necessary picking your outfit; something cute but practical for the cooler weather. You make a bit of a mess, but finally end up laying out a combination of pieces on your plush, purple blankets. A babydoll top to wear under a chunky knit cardigan, a long flowing skirt that brushes your calves. You’ve even selected cute underwear, that same blue lace set that you wore in the photo you sent Abby.

You keep your makeup simple, focusing more on your eyes than anything else. Abby described them as doe-like once, and now you make it a habit to spend a bit more time curling your lashes, lining them with a delicate wing. Some blush and a sparkly lip gloss that faintly smells like bubble-gum completes the look. Soft, feminine.

You’re painting your nails when your phone buzzes on your bedside table, interrupting the music playing through the speakers. You lean over, holding your hands out to try to avoid smudging them, glimpsing at the screen.

[7:13pm] Abs 🥊💥: picking up food now [7:14pm] Abs 🥊💥: be there soon, pretty girl ❤️

Your heart beats wildly in your chest, your bottom lip catching between your teeth as you get back to painting your nails. Thoughts of your friends and their concerns drifting from your mind the closer it gets to seven thirty.

It’ll be fine.

It always is, right?

♡ ︎♡ ︎♡

You press a manicured hand over your mouth, supressing your giggles. “He didn’t…”

Abby nods, grinning around her chewed straw. “Yeah, he did. All ‘prom-posal’ style with a big sign and everything.”

“Oh, Jordan,” you sigh. “I’ve only met Leah once and even I know she’d hate to be asked out like that.” You shake your head, reaching into the bag between you for another fry.

Abby shrugs, sucking the last of her shake from the plastic cup. “Well apparently she liked it enough to say yes, so…”

“She was always going to say yes, though,” you say, popping the salty shoestring into your mouth. “They’re obsessed with each other.”

Abby scoffs, humour in her tone, placing the empty cup off to the side. “Yeah, you can say that again.”

The two of you are sitting in the bed of Abby’s truck, shoes kicked off as you curl amongst the blanket and few pillows piled in the back, softening the metal underneath. She’d driven the two of you out to a field, some property a friend of her dad owns, parking under the open night sky. The moon was high and bright, casting a soft glow across everything it touched, giving you just enough light to see.

She looked sinfully good in your driveway when she came to pick you up; leaning against the truck in her muscle tank and utility jeans, a dark green overshirt open and rolled up to her elbows. Her dad’s dog tags from his brief stint in the military right out of high school hang around her neck, a faded friendship bracelet that matches with her best friend Mel tied around her left wrist.

She had grabbed the two of you burgers and shakes from a local diner Abby loves to visit on her cheat days—a strawberry shake for herself and a sweet vanilla one for you.

The night so far has been taken up with picking at each other’s food and catching up all the stuff you’ve forgotten or have been too busy to text about. A lot of it is just gossip, but you don’t mind. You cherish her company, and could happily sit here for hours talking about anything at all as long as she was the one with you.

“How’s the new studio treating you?” You ask, nudging her lightly. You’re still snacking on the fries in the bag, your shake and burger having long since been eaten.

“It’s good. There’s a lot more women on staff at the new place which is nice.” Abby steals a fry from between your fingers, popping it into her mouth.

“Hey!”

She smirks, shrugging and licking the salt from her fingers. You’re momentarily distracted, brain short circuiting as you watch the trail of her tongue.

You swallow, clenching your thighs together as you look back down to the bag. “Less bro-y?”

She laughs, a beautiful sound that warms you from the inside out, reaching for her own fries. “Yeah, much less bro-y.” She shoves a couple in her mouth, covering it as she speaks around her mouthful. “A couple of my clients transferred over when I moved which is good. Felt bad leaving them behind.”

“Did Yara follow? You liked her.”

Abby nods, wiping the salt off her fingers on the thigh of her pants this time. “I’m covering her sessions, actually. Paying out of pocket. She’s had to take in her brother so everything’s kind of gone tits up for her. Boxing was the only thing she does for herself, so…” She shrugs, leaning back against the truck cabin, head tilted up to look at the stars overhead.

You sit there transfixed, lips slightly parted as you look to the woman next to you. She’s gorgeous, her side profile making butterflies stir in your belly. Her nose is strong, slightly curved at the tip, crooked from it getting broken and reset over and over again. Her cheekbones are prominent and littered in freckles, a jagged scar under one eye that she tells you a different story for every time you ask. Her jawline, though strong just like the rest of her, is also surprisingly soft, slightly rounder under her chin-- one of your favourite places to kiss.

Handsome.

“You’re a good person, you know?”

The highs of Abby’s cheeks darken; you can just make out the colour under the light of the moon. Her eyes flick down to yours. “You flattering me?”

You shift to face her more, leaning against her muscular arm. You catch the way her hazy blue eyes drift from your own, down to your chest which is pressed against her bicep, flesh peeking out from your top. Her cheeks darken even more, a delightful pink that makes her freckles more prominent.

“I’m being serious. You do stuff like this all of the time, just because you felt like it.” Abby’s eyes wander back up to your own. “You’re really kind. I love that about you.”

Something flashes across her face, so quick that you can’t make it out before she schools her expression again, a lazy smirk tugging on her lips.

“Yeah?” She tilts her head slightly, stray strands of hair that have fallen out of her braid tickling her cheeks. “You sure you’re not buttering me up?”

It’s your turn to flush now, skin prickling with heat under her gaze that bores into your own. “And what would I be buttering you up for?” Your voice is quiet, soft between you.

Her eyes roam across your face, down to your lips where you’ve drawn the bottom one between your teeth. One of her calloused hands comes up, cupping your jaw gently to swipe a thumb across your cheek. The pad of her thumb moves to press against your glossy lip, pulling it free.

“I don’t know,” she whispers, leaning in close. “You tell me.”

Her thumb swipes across the tackiness of your lip, the gloss rubbing off and onto her skin, sparkly and smelling like bubble-gum. She leans in impossibly closer, breath smelling like strawberries from her shake, nose bumping against yours softly.

You snake a hand up her broad chest, manicured fist curling into the front of her tank to pull her down, pressing your lips against her own.

You both sigh at the contact, finally feeling each other again after so long. The kiss doesn’t stay gentle, quickly devolving into hungry, messy kisses, Abby licking into your mouth to claim you.

A soft moan spills from your lips and you tug once more, pulling Abby with you as you lean back against the truck, needing to feel her weight against you. Abby obliges, never being able to say no to you when you make those pretty little noises, shifting to cage you in against the cabin of her truck. One of her arms comes up to support her weight as she slides to fit her body between your thighs that you part for her, skirt bunching up to make room.

“Missed this,” Abby groans, pulling away to kiss hotly down the side of your jaw. Her plush lips latch onto the skin of your neck, nipping and licking where your perfume is the strongest.

“Abby—” you gasp, arms wrapping around her neck, nails digging into the muscles of her shoulders as you arch into her, your head tilting back and thumping against the truck.

She hums, kissing down further to your chest, teeth grazing against the swell of your tits being pushed up by your bra. The hand on your cheek moves down, slowly pushing the sleeve of your cardigan and the strap of your top off your shoulder, giving her more skin to bite and suckle on.

You bring a hand up to thread through her hair, nails scratching against her scalp as you push your chest into her mouth. She groans, a deep rumbly sound that goes straight to your cunt.

“Been thinking about this,” you confess, hips twitching as she cups you through your top, barely hold back a whine as she pinches your hardening nipple between thumb and forefinger.

Abby chuckles, vibrations working across your skin as she palms you. “Yeah, sweetheart?” A particularly hard suck on the swell of your tit, making you moan. “What about?”

Soft pants leave your lips, your eyes fluttering closed as the warmth grows between your legs. “Fuck… Y-Your mouth—”

A grin splits Abby’s lips, eyes crinkling as she looks up at you, taking in the way your head is thrown back. “My mouth?”

You nod, swallowing hard as she drifts down, lips taking over for her fingers as she bites you through your top. You whine, high in the back of your throat, blinking your eyes open to look down at her.

She’s so unbelievably hot, big eyes smiling up at you as she teases you between her teeth, drawing those sweet noises from your throat. She’s playing you like a damn fiddle and she’s loving every second of it.

“Mmhm,” you moan, licking your lips. “Always feels so f-fucking good. Need it so bad--”

Abby breaks away from your chest, fingers taking back over the second her mouth leaves you.

“Where?” Her voice is low as she rises up, nosing along your soft skin while she moves up, up, up-- until her lips are barely brushing yours. “Here?”

She leans in, capturing your lips in a desperate kiss, all tongue and teeth and so, so wet. She pulls away far too quickly, a string of spit connecting you, hot breath fanning over your open mouth as you try to pull her back in. “This where you need it, baby?”

You do, you need her to kiss you again so fucking badly, but you know what she’s asking. So, you reluctantly shake your head, looking up into her fiery eyes. She smirks, shifting to kiss back down to your chest, burying herself in the fat of your tits, like she belongs there. She groans, hand moving down to grip your waist as she looks up at you.

“What about here?”

Your hips shift, back arching as you press her closer, feeling yourself growing wetter as she groans in appreciation. Your panties are soaked, thighs hot and sticky as you squirm beneath her.

Your head shakes, not trusting your voice right now while she’s looking up at you like this.

“Oh, I see,” she says teasingly, hand on your waist straying down, fingers dancing along your thigh to where the hem of your skirt is bunched up between you. Sparks shoot through your veins when her hand touches bare skin, thighs clamping around her hips as you feel yourself throb.

God you’re desperate.

Her touch is featherlight, grazing teasingly up under the fabric of your skirt, higher and higher until she reaches the edge of your panties, soft blue lace that tickles her fingertips.

Her strong hand, so big and warm compared to your own, cups you over the lace, ring and middle finger pressing against your weeping cunt. A shuddering gasp leaves your lips, hand in her hair tightening, the other scrunching the fabric of her tank across her back. She moans, muffled against your tits.

“This is where you need it, huh? Can feel how fucking wet you are,” she grunts, pulling away from your chest to lean up, capturing your lips once more in a desperate, hungry kiss.

You whine and keen into her mouth as she works you over, hips stuttering up to grind against her palm, your clit swelling against the friction of your soaked panties.

She pulls back, panting as the two of your catch your breath, eyes hooded as she looks down at you, black swallowing that lovely blue, tongue peaking out to lick at her swollen lips. Without another word she shifts, slowly sliding down your body, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses in her wake. It’s sensual and so fucking hot, her hand not stilling from where she fucks you through your panties.

She kisses down your sternum, your stomach, your hip, pausing when she gets to the fabric of your skirt. She uses the hand not rubbing at your clit to move it out of the way, smoothing her big hand up your thigh to drag the fabric up, pushing it to bunch at your hips.

Your hips cant up, and Abby gets an eyeful of you for the first time. She swallows, staring down at the lace she instantly recognises from the photo you sent, the blue that sits flush and clinging to the shape of your pussy.

“Fuck, baby,” she groans, moving to rest on her stomach, swollen lips kissing and nipping at the smooth skin of your thighs. “This all f’me?”

“Yes—Abby—All for you,” you whimper, coherent thoughts already slipping from your brain.

She pushes your thighs wider as she moves up, head disappearing underneath the fabric of your skirt as she finally, finally nudges up against your cunt. Her strong nose bumps your clit as she presses against the straining fabric, inhaling deep, tongue pressing thick and flat over the soaked gusset.

You both moan simultaneously, you at the hot, cloying feeling of her tongue against your clothed cunt, her at the first taste of you through the lace.

“Oh god—” You scramble at the fabric of your skirt, tugging it up and tight in your fist to see her pressed between your legs. “T-Take them off—please, I need to feel you—”

Abby’s already got her fingers hooked in the elastic, shuffling back to peel the lingerie off your slick pussy. You bring your knees up to your chest, wrapping an arm around them as you help her slide them off your ankles, biting your lip at the way she grips your calves and manhandles you.

She balls up your panties in her fist, shoving them in the back pocket of her jeans as she settles back down. Her strong hands grip the fat of your hips, pulling you down further on the truck bed so you’re lying flat on your back. She throws one of your legs over her shoulder, the other she presses down to the bed of the truck, opening you wide for her.

“Such a pretty pussy,” she murmurs, breath hot over your cunt, wrapping a strong arm around your thigh, fingers playing lazily in your folds. You squirm beneath her, twitching your hips up towards her face.

“Abby…” you whine, looking down at her, chin touching your heaving chest as you watch, eyes wide and hazy.

She flicks hers up to meet yours, a smirk splitting her lips as she uses two fingers to part you before finally leaning in.

You throw your head back against the blanket at first contact, the flat of her tongue swiping up the entirety of your cunt, the tip lightly flicking against your swollen clit. You take a deep breath, hips twitching under her at the sensation, sharp zaps of electricity setting your nerves alight.

“Shit,” you curse under your breath, the hand gripping your skirt tightening.

Abby hums, indulging in a few more kitten licks before she’s wrapping those swollen. pouty lips around your clit, sucking the bundle into her mouth. She suckles, the lewd slurping sound making your cheeks turn bright red, the rhythmic throb punching the air from your lungs.

She releases you with a smack of her lips, flattening her tongue again to run up through your folds, briefly tonguing at your clenching hole as she passes, but always straying back to your clit, never getting tired of the way it pulses in her mouth.

“So fuckin’ sweet,” she murmurs, accent growing stronger the more pussy drunk she gets. She won’t admit it out loud, but she fucking loves being down here, drinking you up. If she had less shame, she’d beg you for it.

You push at the back of her head, pressing the heel of your foot against her back to urge her on, burying her deeper against you. She groans, messily licking up everything you give her. Drifting down, her nose nudging against your clit as she starts to fuck you with her tongue, the pulsing muscle slowly stretching your out the deeper she gets, slippery and so fucking hot.

You gasp, a choked off sound that has your toes curling as you hold her there, your hips coming up to grind against her face-- the way her nose feels against your clit making your head spin.

“Holy shit—Abs, baby—” You can hardly form a sentence, broken noises leaving your throat as you use her, fuck against her like your own personal toy. You could cum just like this, and she knows it.

Abby grunts, her shoulder dropping to the bed of the truck as a hand slips under her hips, hastily unbuttoning her jeans. A low groan, long and vibrating against your cunt leaves her lips as she sinks the hand past her boxers, shifting up onto her knees to get a better angle. You can feel the way her arm moves under your thigh, the way she rubs furiously at her clit as she fucks you on her tongue, drowning in you as you gush against her nose and mouth.

You lift your head up from the bed, blinking your hazy eyes open to look at the sight before you, the way she pulls you closer with the arm wrapped around your thigh, how deep she’s buried in your pussy as she works her own, the sounds of her wet cunt muffled through her jeans.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck—” you pant, needy sounds growing higher and higher in pitch as you watch her. You want to keep watching, want to sear the image of her fucking herself like this into your brain but your head falls back, back arching as you press up into her mouth.

“Gonna— Abby m’gonna fucking cum—”

“F-Fuck-- Yeah?” Abby groans, flicking her tongue over your sensitive clit. “Gonna cum on my fucking face, pretty girl?” She sucks your clit into her mouth, dragging her tongue over the bundle as you squeal and squirm underneath her.

You let go of your skirt, both hands coming to the back of Abby’s head as you tug on her hair, nails scratching against her scalp. You can’t tell if you’re trying to push her away or keep her there.

“I’m cumming—I’m cumming, I’m—” You mouth drops open, jaw slack as a loud moan spills from your lips. Your hips snap up, freezing in place as your thighs tremble, that coiling feeling in your gut snapping.

Abby groans, lapping hungrily at your cunt as you cum, swallowing everything you have to give her. Her hips twitch as she fucks herself, rocking against her hand as she works herself to the edge.

She’s relentless, suckling you and making borderline pornographic noises as she practically eats you alive. She pulls you closer, using that single arm wrapped around your thigh to bury herself deeper, nose coming back in grind against your throbbing clit.

That familiar feeling builds again, quicker and more intense than before.

“A-Abby you’re gonna—” Her tongue slides deep inside you, curling as she messily thrusts. “O-Oh fuck I’m gonna cum again—”

“Do it,” she murmurs, words slurring together as she fucks you, mind hazy and filled with nothing but your pussy against her face. “Need it so bad—"

Something bursts behind your eyes, white hot and all consuming. Your second orgasm shatters you, nothing but a long keening whine escaping your throat as you lock your thighs around Abby’s face, keeping her pressed so tight against your spasming cunt.

“Shit—I’m—” she gasps, a loud groan ripping from her throat as her own hips stutter, her orgasm rushing through her as she works you through your second, trapped between your thighs.

The muscles in your legs give out, thighs falling open and releasing Abby from where you were crushing her. You have to physically pull her away when it gets too much, when her tongue goes from being perfect and just what you need to overstimulating. “A-Abby… Too much…”

She parts from you with a groan, her wet cheek coated in a lewd mixture of her spit and your cum resting against your twitching thigh. She slips her hand out from her jeans, wiping her slick fingers on her inner thigh as her hips collapse down onto the truck bed.

You both lay there, catching your breath, the hand on your thigh rubbing soothing circles, your fingers gently massaging her scalp.

“That was…” You trail off, blinking your eyes open to look up at the stars. “I think you fucked the words out of me,” you giggle, smile growing as Abby laughs against your thigh, hiding her face against the flesh.

“Shit,” she sighs, laughter in her voice. “I really fucking needed that.”

You hum, raking your nails down her scalp. “Me too.”

♡ ︎♡ ︎♡

It takes you a bit to get situated again, gently cleaning each other up with the wipes you stashed deep in your bag, buttoning up jeans and pulling down skirts. Abby refuses to give you back your panties, keeping them buried in her back pocket for her to take home.

You’re sitting up against the truck cabin, back straight as Abby sits in front of you, letting you comb out and re-braid the hair that you messed up with your tugging and pulling. It’s nice, intimate, makes your heart pound wildly in your chest.

“There.” You finish tying off the end, letting the braid fall against her strong back. “You sure I wasn’t too rough?”

Abby snorts, leaning back to lay against your soft chest. You hook your chin over her shoulder, arms snaking around her middle. “Nah. You never are.”

You hum, pressing a chaste kiss to her cheek. “Just checking.”

The two of you sit there, basking in the post-orgasm glow as the sky glitters above you. The sex is always amazing, but this is your favourite part; where Abby is loose and happy, free with her affections. Where she welcomes your touches and kisses, offering them in return.

It’s so cruel of her.

A buzz from the corner of the truck bed, lower than the purr of the crickets hiding in the grass breaks the peaceful silence. You try your best to ignore it, to cling to Abby in this moment, but it buzzes again, then once more.

Abby sighs, leaning out of your grasp and over to her bag in the corner, rifling through it for her phone. She turns it on as she rests back against your chest.

“Who is it?” You ask, trying to be as casual as possible.

She sighs, locking the screen and dropping it face first onto the blanket next to you. “Owen. He’s been blowing up my phone all day.”

Your stomach drops, the taste of strawberry on your tongue souring at the mention of his name.

You can’t help but feel a bit guilty for your reaction, knowing that really, Owen isn’t that bad of a guy. You’ve met him a few times, and though it kills you to admit it, you enjoyed his company. Everyone does. He’s just… nice.

“What does he want?”

You know what he wants, what stage of the cycle you’re trapped in.

“He wants to meet up, grab coffee or something.” Her voice is even, though slightly softer than usual. She picks at one of the rips in her jeans, no longer looking at the sky.

“Oh.” You shift, clearing your throat. “Are you going to go?”

The muscles in her back tense against your chest. Her breathing stutters, just for a second, before she breaths out long and slow. Resigned.

“Yeah, probably.” Then quieter, so much so you almost don’t catch it, “I miss him.”

Your heart shrivels up in your chest, shame and embarrassment crushing you under its shared weight.

You know how this goes; it happens the same way every single time. But you usually get a bit more time than this, a few more chances to commit the feeling of her to memory before Owen convinces her to ‘meet up to talk’.

“Why?” You ask before you can stop yourself, too much emotion slipping through your voice. “Why do you keep going back to him?”

Abby just shrugs. “It’s easy. He’s… familiar. Safe.” She pauses, like she’s trying to think of things to say, reasons why it should be obvious. “My dad likes him.”

And that’s it. That’s everything she offers you, because she has nothing else to say.

She leans back, bringing a calloused hand up to cup your cheek. You subconsciously tilt into it, your body seeking out every single touch of hers that she so graciously offers you.

She leans in, lips brushing yours ever so softly. Genuine.

Final.

“Come on. Let’s get you home.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ request your own here! . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

#abby anderson #abby anderson x reader #abby x reader #abby anderson smut #abby smut #abby anderson x reader smut #the last of us x reader #tlou x reader #abby x f!reader #abby x fem!reader #writing requests #request fill #reader insert #peachglazewrites

403 notes · View notes

thatbuddie · 1 year ago

Text

after buck and eddie get together, eddie starts giving buck absentminded kisses all the time.

kiss on the forehead after he passes him his morning coffee. kiss on the cheek while buck is cooking dinner. kiss on the back of his hand as buck drives them to bobby’s house for a family bbq. kiss on top of his head while they cuddle watching a documentary. kiss on his shoulder while they sit on the station couch reading in between calls.

but buck’s favorite kisses? the ones edde blows him from a distance. when no one is looking during a call and they have to separate, buck doing evac and eddie treating some minor burns. when buck is pulling out of the their driveway to go meet maddie and jee for lunch and eddie sees him off from the front porch. during their family night out at the movies with chris in between them before the action film their son chose and they’re both probably going to hate begins.

every single blown kiss is always followed by eddie mouthing “i love you” at him, and every single time buck feels himself start to blush, the butterflies in his stomach staging a very chaotic and uncoordinated flash mob.

there’s something so exhilarating about knowing that no matter how close or far away they physically are eddie always wants to be kissing him. like eddie knows just as well as buck does that his lips were always meant to graze buck’s skin and leave behind goosebumps for hours to come.

even when they can’t see each other at all, buck knows eddie is thinking about it too because eddie does not go more than 3 hours without sending him little 😘 emojis. he doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t contextualize them because he doesn’t need to. it's just random 😘 throughout the day, scattered in between the rest of their texts.

buck [3:33pm]: got caught in traffic, chris and i will be there soon! eddie [3:33pm]: ok, hen and denny just arrived eddie [6:03pm]: 😘

eddie [11:27am]: can you write “chris dentist appointment” on the kitchen calendar for 10/17? buck [11:31am]: done! eddie [11:32am]: thanks, baby eddie [2:16pm]: 😘

buck [10:08am]: we also need eggs! buck [11:43am]: remind me to replace the lightbulb in chris’s bedside lamp eddie [1:14pm]: 😘 eddie [3:09pm]: your amazon package just arrived buck [3:09pm]: yaaaaaaay eddie [7:24pm]: 😘

eddie [6:02am]: 😘 eddie [8:56am]: 😘 eddie [9:07am]: 😘 eddie [12:31pm]: 😘 buck [3:17pm]: 😘😘😘

#buddie #911 #hey did you know eddie diaz is a fucking sap? because he is and when he and buck finally get together his sappiness grows exponentially #it just explodes!! and buck who is also a die-heart romantic just eats it up!!!! they're all about the kiss emojis and the hand holding an #post-it notes around the house and the flowers on a random sunday and the wearing shirts that match the other person's eyes and #the pictures in wallets and the slow dancing in the kitchen and the pet names and the feeding each other ice cream #everyone around them loves them and hates them so much. chris especially.#anyways sorry i woke up feeling some kind of way about them today wow

550 notes · View notes

nanaarchy · 1 year ago

Text

Hey chat !!!! I'm going insane.

Ever since my first listen to TMA, I've had a huge question that NEVER got answered.

Never. Not in the whole series, not Q&As or the wiki or anything. I thought I would never find answers. I thought it would be forgotten. I thought it was a small insignificant detail and I'd have to live with never knowing the truth about it.

Now with TMAGP 19, I might finally know the answer.

Maybe. Maybe maybe. But It Could Be. And now I'm losing my mind at the implications.

((For the record, I know that the stories and worldbuilding are inherently separate - hell, there are even timeline differences in the cases I'm using as evidence. But the overlap might be important, especially when it comes to the Web.))

Spoilers for both shows below!

Its branches were exquisite, and delicate, swaying slightly from small eddies in the liquid, and they shone with every spectra. I must confess that to look upon it, one was – (sigh) filled with profound wonder at its exquisite elegance. [...] Even I, steeped in worldly matters as I am, recognized The Lord’s words to Adam, and was much dismayed at the implication. Isaac then plucked the delicate fruit with ungloved hands and held it before me. [...] The creature was taking root. Strands of its mottled brown hair were extruding downwards between the floor, seeking the dark earth below. Then, too, its back began to sprout, radiant branches unfurling and thickening before me, reaching upwards towards the sunlight with a seemingly insatiable desire. [...] I tell you here, Robert, it saw me, and it knew me. (TMAGP 19 - HARD RESET)

It was an ornate wooden thing, with a snaking pattern of lines weaving their way around towards the centre. The pattern was hypnotic and shifted as I watched it, like an optical illusion. I found my eyes following the lines towards the middle of the table, where there was nothing but a small square hole. Graham noticed me staring, and told me that interesting antique furniture was one of his few true passions. Apparently he’d found the table in a second-hand shop during his student days and fallen in love with it. It had been in pretty bad shape but he’d spent a long time and a lot of money restoring it, though he’d never been able to figure out what was supposed to go in the centre. He assumed it was a separate piece and couldn’t track it down. (MAG 3 - ACROSS THE STREET)

Re: Magnus Institute Ruins. By RedCanary on Saturday April 23 2022 12:17pm. The photos from the spelunk seem properly gone, but I did find an old wooden thing with a bunch of similar symbols on. Some kinda empty box, not really sure what for, though. Gonna see if I can get the light right for a decent pic. Edit: No dice, I’m afraid. Must be something up with my phone camera. Really not helping the whole paranoia thing either. Anyone know anything about photographic distortion? Gonna see if I can borrow my dad’s SLR tomorrow. (TMAGP 1 - FIRST SHIFT)

Adelard Dekker stood in the corner. He was straight and motionless, his lips moving rapidly, though no sound came out of them. In the centre of the room, stood a table carved from dark wood and wrapped all over with a sprawling, intricate pattern. And in front of that table was the thing that had said it was my cousin. It was long and thin, the tops of it bent against the ceiling and its stick-like limbs flailed from too many joints and elbows. Wrapped around it were thick strands of what I think was spider’s web, stretching back into the table, which I now saw pulsed along its carved channels with a sickly light. The face at the top of that gangly frame was like nothing on earth. (MAG 78 - DISTANT COUSIN)

Now... Now I get it. I get it. I finally gave an answer. Or, at least, I think we'll get a concrete answer soon. But I think I get it.

I think I get where the web table comes from. I think I know what it's made of. why it glows. why it had a hole in the middle. I think I might know how the web gained control and sentience so much faster than the other fears. and, if it still manifests in the same way in the Protocol universe, how it also quickly became "the manager" of other fears, as theories suggest.

More importantly, I think I know what was up with the mysterious tree from so, so long ago.

Now I have an answer.

Why was there an apple buried in Hill Top Road?

I opened the box and sitting inside was a single green apple. It looked fresh, shiny, with a coat of condensation like it had just been picked on a cool spring morning. I picked it up. I wasn’t going to eat it, I’m not that stupid, but more than bleeding trees or phantom burning, this confused me. As I took it out of the box, though, it began to turn. The skin turned brown and bruised and started to shrivel in my hand. Then it split. And out came spiders. Dozens, hundreds of spiders erupting from this apple that was rotting right before my eyes. I shrieked and dropped it before any of them could touch my arm. The apple fell to the ground and burst in a cloud of dust. I backed away and waited until I was sure all the spiders had left before retrieving the box. I smashed it with a crowbar, and threw the remains into a skip. (MAG 8 - BURNED OUT)

And now I have an answer. Maybe.

416 notes · View notes

ultralspblr · 17 days ago

Text

LET THE MORNING DECIDE (PRT 1)

Modern AU: Sinners

Stack x OC x Smoke

Mature Audiences only (18+) // EXPLICIT LANGUAGE

PART 1 / PART 2 / PART 3

.・゜゜・.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.・゜゜・．

Saturday 7:23am

There she was…well, there they were. All three of them. Last night felt like a dream. Lena had always been so prudent. Never in a million years did she ever think that she'd wake up wedged between the two men she'd loved longest and wanted most in her life.

What started as a fun game of Truth or Dare between friends quickly turned into a passionate night where Truth met Desire. Now awake, a million thoughts swirled in her mind. Her muscles ached from hours of intertwined limbs and wandering mouths. She was exhausted, but in the sweetest way possible.

She'd been up for several minutes, just staring as dawn began to spill through the skylight above them. With it came the warm tinge of regret. Not the type of regret that carried guilt or shame, but the kind that created unease from an impending storm that had yet to come.

Smoke and Stack slept on, facing her, their arms draped across her waist as if one slackened grip might let her disappear. Lena laid there, breathed them in, and let herself feel wanted just for a minute before she recounted in her mind the steps that led to her present situation.

.・゜゜・.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.・゜゜・．

Friday 12:53pm

Lena couldn't wait to clock out. It was Friday. Payday. Most people didn't even bother to show up to the office because of the long weekend ahead. She could have wfh today, but she liked the silence.

Her grey cubicle sat in the furthest corner of the room, closest to the windows, but miles away from the exit. She usually kept her desk clutter free aside from the leaning tower of documents threatening to slide off her desk. At its center sat her computer; to the right, a fake plant propped up a cracked frame holding a weathered photo of her and the twins.

Lena had met Smoke and Stack back in tenth grade study hall, when she signed up as a volunteer tutor. They were lanky then, still growing into themselves, but even back in high school, they stood out.

Smoke, the older twin, was silent, a boy of very few words, but carried himself with a type of confidence that made people notice him whenever he entered a room. Action was everything with him, and what was understood didn't need to be spoken out loud.

Stack, however, was the more boisterous twin. Quick minded and slick talking, he could charm the panties off a nun. He was the type of person who knew how to work the room and everyone who was in it. Always there to lighten the mood or flip the energy on a dime.

What started as a few study sessions turned into a regular thing, and then something deeper. By the end of the semester, Lena wasn’t just tutoring them; she was their go-to girl, and they'd been inseparable ever since.

Lena had been working diligently until her phone buzzed. Stack's name lit up her phone's notifs, and sent a surge of excitement down her spine.

1:12pm - StackMo: Wyd??? 👀

1:15pm - Lena: At work, bout to get some lunch w/Chelle. Waiting on her to come down so we can head out together😋 Wyd?

1:17pm - StackMo: Just got up. Bout to pick up me and Smoke's fits for tonight.😏

1:18pm - SmokeMo: NIGGA, YOU JUST GETTIN UP? You should've been up!! We got shit to do!!! I'm over here at the club calling yo' damn phone cause I need you down here.

1:22pm - StackMo: 🙄....Anyways....U comin to the party t'night Lena? 👀

1:23pm - Lena: Oh yea, HAPPY BIRTHDAY Y'ALL 🎂 🥳 🎉

1:25pm - StackMo: Thank ya, thank ya 🙂‍↕️

1:29pm - SmokeMo: NIGGA DO YOU NOT SEE ME CALLIN U!!! ANSWER DA PHONE FOOL!!!!!

1:30pm - StackMo: So U comin to the party or nah 🤪?

1:31pm - Lena: Yea, I'm comin 🤗 What's the dress code?

1:35pm - StackMo: Fly N Freaky. We comin as fly. Ladies are comin as freaky 😈

1:36pm - Lena: Oh 😶...Let me see if I got something suitable in my closet 😅 lol

1:37pm - SmokeMo: Don't worry bout the dress code. Just come as yoself. Besides, you'll only be celebratin one twin, as my worser half will be dead IF HE DON'T GET HIS BLACK ASS OUT THAT GODDAMN BED!!!!

1:38pm - StackMo: C...U DTM 🙄… I'm already omw🤨

1:39pm - SmokeMo: .... Nigga, I see yo’ location.

Lena couldn't help but laugh to herself as she let the bickering twins continue to bicker like two grumpy old men. She didn’t even notice Chelle walking up until her friend flopped into the cubicle next to her.

Lena had the biggest smile plastered to her face.

“Girl, what's got you smiling so big?”

“The twins are actin’ up in the chat again. Today's their birthday, and they were asking to see if I was coming to their party or not.”

“And you are going, right?”

Chelle's eyes narrowed like she already knew the answer.

“I'm going, I just gotta find something appropriate to wear.”

“APPROPRIATE?! Ain' shit appropriate about them niggas. I wouldn't be surprised if the theme was to come in nothing but glitter....just naked”

“Well....Stack did say the theme was Fly N Freaky.”

Chelle rolled her eyes.

“Oh Lord. If I had a dollar for every freaky-ass theme they came up with. Remember when the cops showed up last year and ended up staying for the party?”

Lena chuckled, cheeks turning red. A time was had that night, and she remembers every part of it. She was proud of her boys.

Most people had known the SmokeStack twins for years, their reputation often preceding them, and not in the best light. With the advent of opening their nightclub, they've taken a bad rep and flipped it on its head.

Smoke managed the business. He drew up the plans, closed the deals, and ran the operations. Stack was the pitchman. He found the funds, charmed investors, and promoted the club. In no time, the twin's business that they started a few years ago had taken off.

Chelle leaned in, grinning slyly at her friend.

“Mmhmm...So which twin you 'gon be going home with tonight?”

Lena straightened up her back instantly.

"Neither one! It's not even like that with them."

“Mmmhmm…”

“I’m serious!”

She said, looking away.

“Smoke said I could just come as myself... but...”

“But?”

Chelle pressed, nosy as hell.

“...I just… don't want to look outta place, is all. Nothing more, nothing less."

Chelle threw her hands up in protest.

"Fine, I'll let it go....for now. So what are you going to wear?"

Lena, now looking at her friend with hesitation, hands fidgeting together, before she blurts out her answer.

“I was just gonna put something on from my closet.”

Chelle gave her a pointed look. That “girl, now you know better” stare. And honestly, she wasn't wrong.

Lena was far from being a fashionista. She wore her glasses out of habit, not need, and stuck to a neutral wardrobe: linen V-neck shirts, slacks or mid-rise boyfriend jeans, cardigans or blazers she paired to pull everything together… or to blend in. The only real showstoppers were her accessories: shoes, bags, and jewelry collected during her debutante days, tucked in her closet like old memories waiting for their second life.

They held the silence until Lena broke.

She got up, leaned on Chelle’s shoulder, arms locking onto hers, looking up to her in a pleading manner. Chelle looked down into Lena's puppy dog eyes, both women breaking into a giggle.

Chelle exhaled, chuckling at her friend's persuasive front.

“I'll help. But it's going to take A LOT of work. So grab your purse, and leave that laptop here. The work day is done, and the weekend is calling us."

Lena squealed, locking arms with her friend as they headed for the exit and out into the afternoon sun.

Friday 4:50pm

.・゜゜・.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.・゜゜・．

“Now bih. I know that is not what you decided to pick out. Go put that back!”

At this point Chelle started to get irritated with her friend. The two had spent the last three hours going from store to store at Clarksdale's only mall. When Chelle signed on to help Lena out, she didn't think it would take almost all afternoon, but she should have known better.

They were inside Club Juke, the raunchiest boutique in Clarksdale. The walls were lined with outfits backless, blinged with rhinestones, and some outfits looked more like statements than fabric.

Lena mumbled.

“What's wrong with this one?”

Chelle pinched the bridge of her nose, lips pursed as to hold back from cussing her friend out.

“What's NOT wrong with it?!”

Of all the things Lena could have picked out, somehow she chose a beige, sleeveless, turtleneck, ankle length, body contouring maxi dress. Chelle was confused as to how she was even able to find that dress here.

Chelle paused and leaned against the round clothing rack as if to collect her composure.

“Lena baby, you gotta work with me! You're not going brunching with your mama and her church friends. You’re angling for two birthday boys and a room full of Clarksdale’s baddest.”

Chelle didn't lie. Smoke and Stack were always attractive men and never had issues garnering wandering glances from women. Stack rotated so many women in and out, you'd think he was selling ass. Smoke wasn't shy either. Unlike Stack, he held a steady stream of visitors who came to "catch up" whenever they passed through town.

Lena’s shoulders curled inward. She clutched the hanger like a shield

Chelle's face began to soften. Her lips parted into a frown as her downturned eyes pierced Lena's saddened gaze.

“I just want you to stop being scared and make that leap before it's too late. Better you warm their beds than some random filly”

Lena’s laugh came thin.

“...Beds…Plural…Classy...”

“Facts.”

Chelle’s gaze flicked to the dress.

“Put Sister Wife Beige back, and let’s find you something more enticing.”

The levity of Chelle's words sounded harsh, but Lena knew it came from a place of tough love. She didn't know when it happened, but over time, feelings for both twins had settled deep within her heart. She secretly loved when Stack would teasingly flirt with her, even though she met his comments with a simple nudge or an eye-roll and fastly changed the subject.

As for Smoke, she looked forward to feeling the weight of his gaze, piercing every part of her being. She’d avoid eye contact just to keep from unraveling, yet from the corner of her eye, she could always feel him watching her.

They were her only friends, besides Chelle. Crossing that line was out of the question, but lately, Lena had felt uneasy about their relationship. Their schedules were packed, their time scarce, and now she had to schedule a damn calendar invite just to hug them.

“EARTH TO LENA!!!”

Chelle snapped, drawing attention from everyone in the store, including the cashier in the front.

“Y'all can go back to shoppin'. Nothin’ to see here”

She then turned back around, eyes focused on Lena.

“Girl, are you okay? I've been trying to get your attention for the longest. Got me screamin’ in these people's store.”

Lena, now out of her daze, was now focused on her friend holding up a gaudy outfit.

“Oh, hell no…..No……NO!!”

"OH HELL YES!!!"

“How would I even put that on? There's barely any material there. It's just straps…and rhinestones…”

“Exactly! That's all you really need for a Fly N Freaky ass party.”

“I'm NOT buying that, and I'm certainly not wearing it.”

“YOU ARE WEARING THIS! Don't worry about buying anything, because it's on my man today.”

Chelle held up a platinum credit card with a name inscribed on the front that did not seem to belong to her.

“Does Chance know you have his credit card?”

“Girl, what HIS is MINE, and what's MINE is MINE. That's how relationships work.”

Lena busted out in laughter.

“Oh,and before I forget…..”

Chelle’s eyes gestured down.

“What?”

Chelle gestured again. This time, she looked directly at Lena's pants. Blinking intensely.

"Wha-? Are you having a stroke?? What are you doing?"

Chelle sucked her teeth. Tired of friends obliviousness.

“Lord, pray for her!....your situation..is it...SITUATED??”

"OH!!!...Well…"

Chelle stops Lena before she can even answer.

“Fine!”

Exactly! So quit your whining! I’m buying this outfit for you, YOU’RE GONNA WEAR IT, and that's the end of it. Besides, we still have to tame that ‘situation’ before the party.

Defeated but buzzing, Lena followed her to the register. Every step a mix of dread, excitement, and something she half expected all along.

75 notes · View notes