#Hi sorry its a lot of angst HAHAHA

[kithtaehyung]

broken, pt. 1 (3tan) | myg

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

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Words abandon you.

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

All of those moments shattering into dust around your heels. 

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

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

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

“Course I do.”

Huh? Wait. Why does he sound so—

“I was there.”

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

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

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

“I was.” 

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

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

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

It’s just not the right time. 

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

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

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

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

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

All the words around you just as speechless. 

Just like that, you’re gone again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And a little bit of summer rain. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

After three months of questioning his existence. 

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

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

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

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

The fuck.

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

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

And he doesn’t see your name.

Dumbass: 1 New Message

But your brother’s.

What the hell does he—

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

…Shit.

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

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

Shit. 

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

Why can’t he fucking move? 

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

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

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

“Hey, you coming?”

“Huh?”

“We have that session in thirty.”

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

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

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

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

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

Dumbass [7:40]: Heading over

Fuck!

“You okay?” 

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

“Nah, come now.” 

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

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

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

Yoongi [7:42]: Going to the studio

“On time? You better!”

Goddamn, he’s juggling too much right now. 

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

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

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

“Shit, I know.” 

“We can’t keep doing this.” 

“Dude, relax, I get it.” 

“Do you? Cus this is… Fuck.” 

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

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

“The… The overhead mic for the drums.” 

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

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

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

Dumbass: Incoming Call 

Of fucking course. 

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

“Wait, where are the—”

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

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

“Don’t leave yet, I’m coming.” 

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

“Don’t lie. Y’all are done, right?” 

Don’t lie. Yoongi feels like hurling. 

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

“Shit.”

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

“Okay, fine.” 

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

Delusion is a great place to stay.

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

“I just… Tch. I can’t even say it.”

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

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

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

“Everything, Yoong.” 

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

So, so far away. 

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

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

“Just lemme know when you get back.”

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

“No running.”

“K.”

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

“How did that sound?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey.” He turns. “You’re good.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kidding. Only a little.”

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

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

Choosing not to say what he wants to. 

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

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

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

“Do the chorus again.” 

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

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

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

Done. He said it. 

And the response that follows puts complete silence to shame. 

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

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

Huh. They’re gonna take that? 

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

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

“Mmhmm.”

“Yeah, we can try that.”

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

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

“Sammy would’ve thought of it.”

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

“Let’s see how it sounds.” 

“K.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, we’ll take ten after this.”

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

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

“Nothing.”

“You sure.”

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

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

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

Hustler: Incoming C—

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hustler: Outgoing Call 

Straight to voicemail? Shit.

Hustler: Outgoing Call

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hustler: Outgoing Call 

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

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

Shit. How much of that did he witness?

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

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

“Don’t wanna commit anymore?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s the food next door, huh.”

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

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

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

And Yoongi can only stare somewhere else. 

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

Stare, and stare, and stare some more.

“Hit it until it breaks.”

Because he’s already aware. More than anyone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And the whole arctic starts to seep into his bloodstream.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I went to Jimin’s last night.”

…What. 

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

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

“Care to share what’s been going on?”

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

“Why her, Yoong? Hmm?”

Fuck! 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can’t fucking believe you.”

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

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

Oh, fuck that. 

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

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

“Say it—”

“Stop fucking your ex, dude!”

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

…Motherfucker, what?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So everything I heard was a lie?”

“Huh?”

“He told me!”

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

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

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

“You gonna say anything or what?” 

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

Even if it kills him.

“No, I, umm…” 

“No?” 

Just hurry up and fucking do it. 

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

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

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

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

“You sure?”

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

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

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

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

His ex? 

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

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

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

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

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

“Domestic?”

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

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

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

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

A sudden crack splits him through.

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

The clunk of his phone hits the table very hard. 

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

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

And hatred paints his heart another shade darker.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I think she feels all alone.” 

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

“And it sucks not knowing what to do.”

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

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

“I’m heading out again.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

On the run.

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

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

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

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

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

Yoongi almost fucking confesses.

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

“You think so?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” 

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

Unprecedented.  

“You’re the best out of all of us.” 

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

And they both share a drink in respectful silence. 

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

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

“You still are.”

“Says you!”

“I still am, too!”

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

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

“Break up with her, Yoong.” 

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

“Yeah?” 

“It’s over now.” 

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

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

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

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

“You sure it’s over?”

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

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

“Then get rid of that fucking guitar.” 

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

Get rid of it? He’s been trying. 

For three. Fucking. Months. 

“I might.” 

“…K.” 

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

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

Keeping his shadow exactly where it stands. 

Yoongi knows he needs to talk to you.

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

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

What time is it? 

All that greets him is darkness. 

Nothing new, but darkness all the same. 

Why was she mentioned? What does that mean? 

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

Her? You. His sheets still smell like you. 

Inhale. Breathe. Inhale. 

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

And the darkness pulls him back under. 

Without even telling him the time. 

Buzzing. 

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

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

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

Hustler: Missed Calls (6)

Dumbass: 1 Message

Hustler: 3 Messages 

Chim: 7 Messages   

Chim: Missed Calls (3) 

Holy fuck. 

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

“Oh, fuck. There you are.” 

“Mm.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m an idiot. I’m sorry.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He told you?” 

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

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

“Ah.” 

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

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

“That it’s done.” 

A hum. 

“That’s very true.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where’s the fun in that?” 

“Knowing the answer.” 

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

“You’ll know it when you see it.” 

“Annoying.”

“Love you, too!” 

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

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

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

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

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

“K. Same time tomorrow?” 

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

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

“Relax! You will like it.” 

“Chim, I swear—”

“You’ll thank me later bye!”

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

Exactly where he always ends up. 

Exactly where he doesn’t want to be. 

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

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

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

Yoongi clutches his phone a little tighter. 

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

That sounds like fucking bliss. 

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

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

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

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

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

Fucking hell.

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

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

All he wants to do is see you, too. 

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

After all this time. All these days and nights. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something that isn’t broken. 

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

What. No way. 

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

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

Hustler: Incoming Call 

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

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

“Are we… is this over?” 

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

“Oh. Shit, I really thought—”

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

Your sniffle sinks the ship with his heart inside. 

“Are you? With me?” 

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

“No way in hell, doll.” 

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

“Okay… I’m just. It’s been a day.” 

That’s okay. 

Because he’s had a day, too. 

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

Please keep going. 

Please don’t leave him alone. 

“Talk to me.” 

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

You’re so good at that. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck, really?” 

“Yeah.” 

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

“What did he say?” 

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

“Oh, thank fuck.” 

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

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

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

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

“Me, too, baby.” 

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

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

“I’ll figure it out.”

“You will?”

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

“Just a little longer.”

He has to.

“Okay.”

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

“Thank you.”

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

“For putting up with me.”

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

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

“Really?”

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

“Boo.”

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

“A ha… Yeah.” 

“What are you still talking to me for?” 

“I miss you.” 

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

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

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

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

“Why?” 

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

“Fuck.” 

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

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

“I hate you.” 

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

“Ha ha.” 

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

“Nu uh! You hate me, too.” 

Wait. Did you…

Did you just pout? 

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

“Wait, huh? Why!” 

“Nothing.” 

“I swear to god—” 

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

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

The smallest smile graces his face. “Guess.” 

“Kitchen.” 

The hell? “How’d you know?” 

“You’re always in there.” 

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

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

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

“The world said let them cook.” 

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

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

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

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

“You better sleep, too.”

“I will.” 

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

Because of you. It’s always you. 

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

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

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

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

“Okay. Good night, baby.”

One more heartbeat to get him through the night. 

“Night, doll.”

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

Right towards the corner that stares back. 

It’s been five days.

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

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

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

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

…So what in the fuck was that?

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

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

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

This is so hard. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tonight.  

This man.

I got the next one.

This wonderful, charming man. 

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

Goddamn it, Min Yoongi. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tonight. He’s gonna cook for you?

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

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

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

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

Yoongi: Outgoing Call 

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

“Hey.” 

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

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

“Hello?” 

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

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

He simply huffs a quiet laugh.

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

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

“You sure?” 

“Yeah! I got big girl money now.” 

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

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

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

The groan that seeps through your car should be illegal. 

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

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

“Do better.” 

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

“What? Who said anything about dessert?” 

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

“I’m starting to regret this.”

“Regret what?”

“Everything.”

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

“I am.”

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

“That’s a given, though.”

“Excuse you.”

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

“Mm, babe. One more thing.” 

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

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

“I think we’re out of condoms.” 

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

“Wait. Or are we?”

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

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

“Yeah. That’s why we’re out of—”

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

“Nah, you don’t have to.”

“Oh. Found some?”

“No.”

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

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

And you want that to be the case forever. 

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

“Yeah, you’d be annoying as hell.” 

“Damn!” 

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

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

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

“It’s gonna happen, doll.” 

You clutch the wheel.

“Cus I want that, too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You could’ve asked somebody.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh huh.”

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

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

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

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

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

Your turn to blink.

“And I needed food.”

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

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

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

“Eat.”

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

“Mm.”

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

“Just a bite then.” 

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

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

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

“I don’t mind.”

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

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

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

“Nah.”

“Why not?”

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

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

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

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

“Everything.” 

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

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

“It’s okay,” you whisper. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…Yeah.” 

Fuck. “About what?” 

“That you’d hate me.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You do?” 

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

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

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

“Hmm?” 

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

“Always, doll.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Where we’re going.”

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

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

“Then why—”

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

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

“You comin’?”

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

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

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

“Yoongi!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So I shouldn’t bust in?”

Huh. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

What is it with him and keys? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So fucking long.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re so cute.”

“How,” you ask just as softly.

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

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

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

“Eat.”

“Huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks.” 

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

“You’re perfect, you know that?” 

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

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

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

“Good. You bored?”  

“Huh?”

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

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

You could do this for eternity, too.

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

This man. 

“Forever might be a stretch.” 

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

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

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

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

“It was kinda hot.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And why is that?”

“Cus of what I’m wearing.” 

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

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

“Okay.”

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

“What.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh huh.”

“I’d make you cry what the fuck!” 

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

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

“It’s mine, I just ran out—”

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

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

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

“Uh huh.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Careful, doll.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck it, we’re leaving.” 

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

“Fuck this. I’m taking you home.” 

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

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

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

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

Fucking hell, Yoongi was right.

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

But team jerseys? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Me?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Why me?” 

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

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

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

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

Ah, you were right. “I like it.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. 

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

All you can do is stare back. 

And without even realizing. 

You’re already rubbing your arm.

-

-

tbc. :((

-

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

a/n: okay, hello, loves. apologies this part took so damn long to post! can you imagine if i tried to post everything at once LMAOO yikes talk about too much at once. but i hope this part was enough to still be good on its own, and broken, pt. 2 will be... well. you can probably guess that's where a majority of my brainpower is going to go. a/n 2: thank you all for being here! it's been an amazing two years working on this series and i cannot tell you how grateful and appreciative i am to have such wonderful people alongside me. i hope this series continues to be there for you when you need it, bc it has become that for me, too. ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here! ++ more links: ⇥ masterlist  ⇥ three tangerines masterlist

[mydearesthrry]

casual - h.s.

a/n: self indulgent because i will never get over the fact that half of this happened to me literally verbatim because im a loser ok bye. this is my way of coping enjoy please i got so carried away ugh the impact of a british man hahaha. i suggest casual by chappell roan or …what are we? by lizzy mcalpine

wc: im guessing 1k>

warnings: angst thats really it harry’s lowkey a cunt but its not him ok. THIS IS FRAT BOY HARRY FOR THIS ONE!!!

y/n was startled to see her front door swing open, harry stepping into the threshold to get away from the cold air outside. “hi baby.”

“hey, h,” she replied, stepping up from her place on the couch to meet him where he was toeing off his shoes. “how was your day?”

y/n’s hands ran up his chest to his shoulders, pushing his coat off his figure and hooking it on the coatrack. “it was okay, how was yours?”

“fine, thank you,” she smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “tired, i guess.”

“that’s not good, princess, you need to get your sleep. can’t have my pretty girl all sleepy, hm?” he grinned, wrapping his arms around the girl and pressing a kiss into her temple.

“yeah, just had a lot on my mind recently, i guess.” she says through a sigh, unwrapping harry’s arms from her body, walking away from him toward the kitchen.

“like what?” harry questioned, following behind her like a puppy.

“i… nothing, it’s not important,” she considered it. she really did. but it just… she couldn’t find it in herself to ruin what they had so easily. to ruin them so easily. “don’t worry about me, really.”

harry physically recoiled as if he’d been burnt, “i want to worry about you, y/n. i want you to be okay, always.” he’d used her real name— a true indication that she’d offended him.

“i- i know, i’m sorry. i jus’ don’t wanna bother you with my stupid stuff.” she glanced up at him through her lashes, refusing to make eye contact.

“it it has to do with you, it’s not stupid. now, tell me, princess, what’s wrong?” he tried once more. he could tell that she was getting closer to telling him the truth, he just needed to coax it out of her.

“can we sit?” she asked, harry immediately nodding and grabbing her hand to lead her over.

“so, what’s on your mind?”

“i’m scared to tell you.”

harry looked confused then. “why?”

“because… if you don’t know, and i don’t know, then it doesn’t make sense for this to keep happening,” she paused. “and i don’t want to lose you.”

“wait, what are we even talking about? lose me? why would you lose m-“

“you confuse me.” that’s definitely one way to put it.

“what?” harry tilted his head, his hand still covering hers.

“i- it’s just, sometimes i really can’t tell if you want me, or if you’re just keeping me around just to keep me around. like, sometimes you treat me so platonically it confuses me, and then other times you’re rattling off how i’m the only one for you. i know we said no strings, i know, but i know you don’t really see me as a friend. there’s no way that this is just casual, harry.”

harry didn’t know what to say. staring down at their intertwined hands, he cleared his throat and bit at his lip.

“what is it, please just tell me what’s on your mind,” y/n pleaded, squeezing his hands.

“i… honestly don’t know, my love, im sorry,” he finally said, but he chose to twist the knife. “i don’t know what we are.”

oh.

oh.

“oh, um,” she whispered, sliding her legs off of harry’s knees, withdrawing her hands from his grasp to slide under her thighs. “yeah, i… i didn’t think you would.”

“i’m sorry, princess. you won’t lose me though, y’do know that, right?” he could sense her sadness like it was his own. his phone ringing distracted her from her thoughts, the name reading ‘Claire’, making a scoff leave her lips.

“go handle business, i’ll be upstairs.” y/n said coolly, standing from the couch once more. as she began her trek to the stairs, harry grabbed her wrist.

“don’t be like that.” he grumbled, pressing the pressure point between her thumb and pointer finger.

“be like what? i’m gonna go take a nap, didn’t you just tell me to get some rest?” she smiled, but he could see the hurt in her eyes.

not exclusive, more than friends, less than lovers. how could she be so naive?

“are you sure?”

“your phone’s still ringing.”

“that’s unimportant. are you okay?”

“peachy.”

he knew she was lying. he just didn’t know what she wanted to hear.

“okay, pretty girl, dream of me, yeah?”

“mhm. see you later, lock the door if you leave.”

“i will, i’m sorry.”

as she walked away, she could hear his voice fill the living room.

“hey angel, i’ll be there in 20.”

more than friends, less than lovers.

—

part 2

[astairo]

Hi!y.

I saw your post about wanting to write for hazbin and I was wondering if you could do a Lucifer x Angel!Reader who is Angel Dust’s sister? Like she had to come check on the hotel, If you’d like to add in another character maybe Adam and her were friends so when became a demon she went to visit him not knowing Angel was there, or she fell or something and they reunite and Lucifer falls in love at first sight?

Sorry if that’s a lot hahaha

I hope you’re having a wonderful day!

My Green Light

Lucifer Morningstar x Reader

2.2k words

After news of the first man being in Hell makes its way to heaven, a fellow winner makes their visitational descent. Not long after, a short king’s wings couldn’t help but flap.

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of sex, slight angst, fluff

A/N: Absolutely LOVE this one! This was also inspired by The Great Gatsby’s ‘My Green Light’ which is sang by our short king himself, unedited.

“It’s not fair, Sera!”

Sera looked at you, conflicted. It’s been weeks since the extermination and the council was a mess. “For the last time, Y/n,” the seraphim spoke sternly, “You are not permitted to go down to Hell. It is far too dangerous.”

You shook your head, “Adam is my friend, Sera! Hell is a terrible place, and a man like him needs some sort of reassurance.” She listened as you reasoned out, frowning. Adam wasn’t the best of angels, but he deserved a little company.

Eventually, she relented to your requests. She looked at your face and sighed, “I’ll talk to the council and see what I can do for you.” A flicker of hope grew brighter in you, “Thank you, Sera! Thank you!” She gave you a tired smile, “Keep in touch.”

With that, she left for her office. You smiled and made your way to Lute’s office, which also used to be Adam’s. “Lute,” you knocked once, “Lute?” The door creaked open.

The door swung open, revealing a very tired and disheveled looking Lute, “What?!” Her anger soon dissipated once she realized it was you, “Y/n, what’s wrong?” You offered her a sad smile, “I was talking with Sera, and we might have a chance to see Adam.” Lute’s attention was now on you, “Seriously? Like you’re not fucking with me?” You placed the upper pair of your arms on her shoulders as the lower pair grasped her hands softly, “I’m being serious! We’ll see Adam again and I can finally reunite with Anthony!”

Lute grimaced at the thought of your brother. She had told you about the meeting with the princess, only to reveal that your brother, Anthony, was in Hell. “The crazy porn freak?” she quirked a brow, causing you to sigh, “I suppose that’s one way to put it.”

“Y/n, you’re better off not meeting up with him. You’re too kind of a soul to even associate with sinners,” she reasoned. “No,” you shook your head, “I haven’t seen him in decades! You have the opportunity to see Adam, and I’ll take this as the opportunity to reconnect with family, Lute!” She watched as you pleaded and begged her.

Lute looked conflicted, “I don’t think I’m ready to even step foot in that shithole, Y/n. I mean, look at me,” she gestured to her missing arm, “They’ll eat me alive, and no doubt you, too.”

“Just this once,” you mumbled pathetically, “I’ll be careful.”

Lute frowned, “Fine, but no funny business. Last thing the council needs is a scandal between Hell and one of the purest souls in Heaven.” Your eyes lit up, jumping to wrap your arms around her, “Thank you, oh, thank you!”

You felt the tense in her shoulders relax, leaning into your touch as if it was the only comfort she’d had in days.

-

“Charlie!” Lucifer grinned as he burst through the doors. It had been days after they had finished the new hotel. “Dad,” Charlie greeted as she finished checking in a few sinners. Ever since the extrermination, sinners had been checking in left and right for a shot of redemption.

“I was thinking, we could build a duck—“ the king was interrupted by a groan. The royals turned to face the first man himself, who slouched onto one the couches. “What is this bullshit about ducks? It’s like fucking everyday with you. Do you do anything else other than being shit-faced, fucking losers?”

The king stiffened as he went to hit the man, only to be held back by his daughter, “Dad, no. Like everyone else, he deserves a second chance. Even if he doesn’t seem to be deserving of it,” she mumbled the last part but looked at her dad pleadingly. Lucifer’s shoulders relaxed as he sighed. He loved his daughter more than anything, and if this was how he could keep her happy? Then so be it.

“Fine, but don’t expect me to like him, sweetheart.”

Charlie smiled at her father’s words, “Thanks, dad. It means a lot that you’re here.” Lucifer smiled, “My pleasure, sweetheart.

The two embraced one another, only to be interrupted by loud straw sucking. Lucifer inhaled sharply as he glared at Adam. Adam, who drank a soda, looked at the two smugly, “Cut the sappy shit already. And don’t look at me like that, bitch.”

Before Lucifer could snap at him, the doors opened to reveal a very worn down Angel Dust. “Fuckin’ fuck, just make out already,” he groaned as he made his way to the bar. The two rivals stopped to stare at the spider in disbelief. “What?” the spider shrugged, “Come on, I can’t be the only one feelin’ the tension. Nothing a little hate-fucking can’t fix. Get me my usual, Whiskers,” he nodded to Husk who grumbled in response.

The two blinked before pushing away from each other.

“Oh, fuck no!”

“Not with that fucking shit-bag!”

The porn demon quirked a brow, “Just sayin’ the possible inevitable.” He turned to grab his drink and enjoy himself.

Adam and Lucifer made eye contact and grimaced. “Get the fuck out my way,” the first man grumbled as he walked towards his room. “I will!” the short king huffed and crossed his arms. “Can you believe him, Char-Char? Absolutely disgusting sinner behavior…” he trailed off as he watched her hug Vaggie. He looked at his wedding ring and frowned. “What was that, dad?” Charlie looked towards her father. Lucifer sadly smiled and shook his head, “Don’t worry about it. I’ll see you later?” His daughter smiled sympathetically, “Are you sure?”

He nodded, “I’m sure.”

With that, he made his way up to his personal suite. He leaned on the balcony, staring up at Hell’s red sky. He looked back down at his ring finger, scowling. He grasped the ring and pulled it off swiftly. He pulled his hand back and threw it forward, only to keep his fist closed with the ring inside. He just couldn’t let her go. He led his closed hand to his chest, cradling it.

His moment of despair was quickly interrupted by a bright light in Hell’s red skies. Lucifer’s eyes widened and squinted at the light source. He thought nothing much of it. What could this mysterious light have possibly done for him? It probably was another lighthouse, or was it a signal flare? Nevertheless, he was drawn in, intrigued by it. The light suddenly beamed down to the ground, a faint zip roaring through the air. The king of Hell watched as the beam made contact with the ground right in front of the hotel with a crack. Debris surrounded the area, causing residents, including himself, to cough as it entered their lungs.

“What in the ever loving duck?” he questioned and coughed.

As the air cleared, a faint glow emitting through the dust caught him off-guard. He watched as the dust revealed what he could only describe as a work of art. Stunning, he thought, Absolutely stunning. He observed from his balcony, watching as your eyes looked around in awe and anticipation. He could feel your presence drawing him in. You looked up to make eye contact with the fallen angel briefly, sending him a smile before entering the building.

Without hesitation, he pocketed the ring and made his way down to the lobby. He shoved against sinners in his way, eager to see you again.

-

“Adam!” You squealed as you made your way to the man, jumping to hug him. You chuckled as he grumbled in response, inevitably hugging you back. “Bitch, what the fuck are you doing here? Aren’t you a little too sensitive for a place like this?” he chuckled as he roughed your hair up despite your protests.

“I am not sensitive, Adam,” you grinned, “It’s good to see you haven’t changed one bit.” He scoffed, “Hell isn’t gonna fucking break me, bitch. I’m no pussy.” You rolled your eyes, “Yeah, yeah, whatever.” He flicked your forehead, causing you to yelp, “Don’t fucking roll your eyes at me, bitch.”

“Watch me,” you stuck your tongue out at him.

He chuckled at your antiques, leading you to sit down on one of the couches, “How’s up there without me? Has everything gone downhill since the original dick is gone?” You sent him a soft smile, “Well, I wouldn’t say downhill,” he quirked a brow as you chuckled nervously under his gaze, “It just…hasn’t been the same without you.” He sprouted a grin, “Of course, bitch! Without the dickmaster, heaven is just as shitty!” You scoffed and hit his arm, “Ego!’ He yelped, “Don’t hit me, bitch! You do realize I am the original dick, right?” he whined. “Let me be sympathetic in peace,” you huffed.

“Whatever,” he muttered gingerly. A few seconds went by before he spoke up again, “So how is she?” You cocked your head, “She?” Adam sat up, looking serious, “Lute. How is she?” Your eyes softened, “She’s…she could be better.” Adam nodded, “And her,” he hesitated, “her arm?” You sent a reassuring smile, “Healing. Trust me, Adam. She’s getting better as we speak. She just misses you.” Adam lightly smiled at the thought, “Will she come and visit?” You paused to think, “When she’s ready.” He nodded and leaned back. You watched this with a soft smile, “You really care about her, don’t you?” Adam looked at you with sad eyes, “I do. I just wish I could’ve shown it better.” You pat his back gently, “I’m sure she already knows.” You two smiled at each other, only to be interrupted by the doors opening.

”I need a strong one, Husker,” a familiar voice groaned, causing you to sit up. Adam, who noticed your sudden pique of interest, sent you an encouraging smile, “Go and find out for yourself, bitch.” You smiled back before nervously standing up from the couch.

“Anotha one, Whiskers!” Angel called out, grinning at the grumbling feline. You made your way over to the bar, legs wobbly.

“Anthony?”

You watched as the sinner stiffened at your voice, He turned to face you with doubt and recognition, “Y/n, sei davvero tu? (Is it really you?)” You wrapped your arms around you, nervous, “Si fratello. Sono io, (Yes, brother. It’s me,)” your eyes looked at him with fondness.

Angel leaped from his seat and pulled you into him, whispering soft thank you’s and praises, “It’s been too long, sweets.” You wrapped your arms around him in return, “Way too long,” you mumbled against him. He pulled away and examined you, “Ya look just like me, just a little more modest,” he chuckled weakly, causing you to laugh too. “We’re family aren’t we?” Angel’s eyes widened at the mention of family, “Speaking of family, how are Ma and Molly?” he worried. “Mama and Molly are quite alright. They’ve been a little shaken up after they heard about sinner exterminations, thinking you’d been…” you trailed off as your shoulders slumped.

“Well, I’m here, sweets. I’m not double-dead quite just yet,” he chuckled as he hugged you once more. “How long till you go back?” he asked, realization dawning on him. “A few days. A week at most,” you frowned as sadness crept its way back into your chest. Angel frowned at the thought but shook it off, “Then I suppose we make the most of your time here,” he started to smile. You smiled back, clinging onto him, “What first?”

-

The two of you spent the whole day catching up with one another, laughing, crying, and reminiscing in each other’s presence. “And then I said,” he paused and got into character, “‘Fuck off, Val,” and walked away like t’was no one’s business.” The both of you giggled at his story, “Very brave of you, Tony. Always standing up for yourself without a care in the world,” you giggled and leaned on his shoulder, “To think your boss has the nerve to do this to you knowing you're under her royal highness’ jurisdiction is quite courageous.” Angel scoffed, “No kiddin’,” he clunk both your glasses together before downing his drink.

Both your laughter echoed throughout the hotel’s lobby. Unbeknownst to you, a certain royal stopped to stare. Lucifer hid behind a pillar, admiring how you lit up the room. “Heya, short king,” he snapped out of his thoughts when Angel spoke up behind him. He turned to see the spider holding another bottle of alcohol, “HEY—hi, fuck, ahem! Hello, hello, Angel,” he squeaked and stuttered, “Was just looking over the lounge, checking if everything was in order—“ Angel held a hand up to the king, “You got hots for my sister?” An awkward silence fell between the two.

Lucifer gulped and eventually nodded, “She’s quite the angel.”

The porn star snickered, “That’s Y/n to ya,” he looked and waved at you, smiling when you waved back. “Ya know,” Angel started as he looked back at the king, “She can do ya good. Help ya move on from whatever happened. Stop staying on red when you’ve got a green light right there!” Lucifer’s eyes widened as he looked back at you. The two of you made eye contact as you waved shyly. Smiling, he waved back before glancing back at Angel, “You really think she’d let me?”

Angel let out a laugh, “I know my sister like I know my hair. The question is would you let her?” The spider snickered and gave the king a soft nudge before heading back over to you.

Lucifer looked down and fished into his pocket, opening his palm to find his wedding ring. He looked back at you and smiled softly, “Maybe I could.

A/N: A part 2 is in the works!

Hazbin Hotel Taglist: N/A

[avonne-writes]

I was reading Broken Things and Silence again and I have some angsty questions, feel free to save answering them for a time when you’re in the mood for angst 🤭

So I was wondering if Gale in the future ever gets suicidal thoughts again, does he think about it? About the river? Does swimming ever trigger such thoughts for him? Or does the distance he put between him and his abusive parents, in addition to John’s love, heal those wounds completely? You mentioned in your reply to my comment that his parent’s treatment will never stop affecting him.

another question, Gale picks up a piece of a broken beer bottle by the bridge and puts it in his pocket, does it have any significance afterwards? Does he just throw it away later?

btw I’m obsessed with Bucky’s bubblegum toothpaste it’s so Bucky! 😍 does he ever tell Gale why he chose it? I know it’s probably because it tastes like Gale’s kisses. Sorry for the lengthy ask! 😅😘

Thank you for the great questions, I love answering these!

Yes, unfortunately, Broken Things is not the last time Gale has suicidal thoughts. In his mind, it works like a door that can’t be fully closed once it has been opened. Once he considers suicide a possible option (even acts on it as we saw), it always stays a possible option. It calms him in distressing situations, which is not a good way of coping but he doesn’t grow out of it.

Swimming doesn’t trigger those thoughts in him, it soothes him. It helps him resolve his distress in a healthy way, so it's actually good for him.

Bridges, however, do trigger him. I think he might have a problem crossing bridges on foot after Broken Things. Needs someone there with him to do it.

Broken glass also triggers him. He gets upset and restless if someone breaks something made of glass in his vicinity or if someone steps on glass shards. He flinches.

Gale heals a lot and gets better over the years, but there are lifelong effects of what he went through. Some are harmless and don’t affect him negatively - e.g. he likes sensory deprivation during sex and loves physical affection - but he has a massive issue with the idea of having his own kids, and this almost leads to them considering divorce.

Also, people are sometimes surprised how lovey-dovey he and Bucky can be even later in life, but Gale always needs it because he has a gap in his heart to fill.

Then, of course, there's the entire problem of dealing with his parents and how he relates to them over the years. He needs to talk to Bucky after every interaction to talk it out.

Regarding the broken glass he picks up, no, he doesn’t throw it away, he keeps it for years. He brings it to his and Bucky's shared apartment and hides it in his drawer. He holds it in his hand if he's really distressed and alone. I think he might keep it until Bucky proposes. The ring replaces its function in a more positive way.

Hahaha Bucky's toothpaste 😄 I think Gale knows that Bucky chose it because he chews bubblegum a lot, but they don’t talk about it.

Don’t apologize, I love asks like this so much! They let me share more about the characters ❤️ Thank you, dear!

[culxiaa-fn]

[Mark of Love]

There is a theory, a fairy tale about how mole is where the places where your past lovers frequently left a kiss. Ace thinks it's ridiculous, ridiculously "cringe" and ridiculously Sappy. Yet Ace out of all people knew it, no matter how much he denied.

This comes from one theory that is quite popular. Kantokusei is looped by someone's magic. Also the moles(?) The location is based on my own body HAHAHA I'm forcing myself to look at my own body while showering then i noticed I have quite a lot of beauty marks. I have no idea why I'm writing ngl very self indulgent.

- Fem&AFAB!reader

|| slight suggestive, nothing serious it's just Ace being bratty. Slight Angst at the end(?)|| Hint that kantokusei's death || Ace Trappola return by death era ||

--- Masterlist ---

Everyone got one or two moles on their body either its an easily visible area or more hidden one.

There is a tale, a bed time story, an old wives tales- how beauty mark is the place where your past lovers like to kiss.

Ridiculous, Ace thought it was ridiculous- nothing more nothing less, it's just a silly story.

Yet, when lying on the bed with her right by his sides, kantokusei is showing all her moles. The areas where he knew the best.

After all... There's no smoke without fire... All fairy tales come from somewhere that hold some sort of truth. And Ace out of all people knows this, tiny dots across kantokusei body, like an artist painting on his empty canvas.

Of course he knew, of course he remembered, he is the one that left those marks afterall.

Lower right, below your lips

Ace loves to tease kantokusei, he lives for her angry faces, the grumpy hufs and he loves when kantokusei sulk about it.

Call him sadist or anything, but lives for her angry pout quietly sulking refuse to admit her loss.

But it won't be long, Ace despite his words of being chosen is often very provocative, and when he wears that extremely annoying and punchable smirk, he has this charm that allows him to easily win people.

Ace:"Neeeee~ kantokusei, I'm sorry... Stop giving me a cold shoulder. I'm a very sensitive person you know?? "

[name]:"..."

Ace: " come on, it's been a while since we spent time together without anyone bothering us, are you sure you want to spend it like this??"

Ace: "I will give you a kiss, So can you stop sulking? I'm sorry okay..?? I will replace the pudding that I ate so yeah? Come on~"

Slowly Ace comes closer, purposely he misses her lips.

[name]: " Hmm..., don't tease.."

Ace:v" mm? I won't give it unless you forgive me~"

On right shoulder

Ace is by no means a genius, but that doesn't make him a hardworking person either.

I mean studying is tiring you know?? All these numbers and names that he has to memorize??

The warmth from his girlfriend and the softness of the bed is not helping him at all.

Yet, his girlfriend is just annoyingly hardworking.

And Ace had enough, who studies when their boyfriend is right here?? Normal people already gave up 30 minutes ago right??? Yet why is his girlfriend still stubbornly refusing to rest?

If being whiny is not enough then times to plan B.

Ace: "kantokusei~ we have been studying for a while now... Let's take a nap?"

*kiss* *kiss*

[name]: "you mean me right? You have been procrastinating"

Ace: " It's very comfortable right now, we still have 2 days until the test. Let's take a nap?"

Moving her hair out of his way, his lips connected to the exposed area.

*kiss* *kiss*

[name]: "Ace, you are distracting"

Inner left thigh

Running while it's pouring is really not a good idea. In Ace's defence, the planning part is usually done by Kantokusei, I mean there is a reason why Rook-senpai call Kantokusei "trickster".

And Kantokusei managed to trick Azul ffs of course he left the thinking part to her.

But Kantokusei is tired from thinking today, they just finished their magic history test after all, so Ace being a good boyfriend he is will help kantokusei do the thinking.

Doesn't mean it's a good idea- and now they are soaking.

[name]:"Ace, do you have extra pants or shorts?? My laundry didn't make it-"

Ace & [name]:"where's your clothes?" "where's your pants?”

Ace: Woah woah, aren't it a bit early to be seducing me?? Kantokusei so lewd~

[name]: where's YOUR clothes?!

Ace: now, now I'm not the problem here. You see many shirtless guys around here- Kantokusei you have to be careful you know? Men are wolves.

Ace Trappola can never take his eyes off this person, either from a sheer absurdity of some words that left her mouth, or to make sure this person didn't get in any unnecessary trouble, Ace can't avert his eyes from this person.

When they start dating, Ace finds out one thing about him that surprises even himself. He is clingy, and craves kantokusei's hand on his body and his hands on her body.

Either by secretly entwining their hand under their desk, to keep his hand on her shoulder, Ace needs some form of contact.

Now in all her glory, thighs exposed, Ace feels like a very deprived virgin. And not any languages or words can explain what possesses him to pin her on the sofa and bite kantokusei's thigh.

Two above left eyebrow

Ace is far from "boyfriend" materials in fact he is far from it. In fact people have said to him he has a very irritating personality and punchable face.

Ace is not a perfect boyfriend, every word that leaves his mouth can be irritating. Every time he speaks it very much has the potential to pissed some off.

Yet at this time when her tears drop on his hand, it sears his skin, every chocked sobs feels like a sword piercing his heart.

At times like this, Ace wishes he was good with words so he could stop those tears from flowing out of her eyes.

Instead, Ace left a faint kiss above her eyes, no Ace won't ask her to stop crying, Ace knows how frustrated it can be. Instead he hoped this clumsy action could bring some sort of comfort to her.

In the middle of the ring finger at right palm

Again, it happens again. Smoke, fire, collapse building, aching all over his body, blood stained his hand and distant sounds of a monster growling. How many times has Ace seen this sight? How many times has he been through this.

He has to- he NEED to find her. Only kantokusei can calm that spoiled cat. Only kantokusei can stop that damn cat from throwing tantrums.

Ah, again and again and again and again and again. Ace is sick seeing this view. Red everything is red.

Ace thinks red suits her, but not this kind of red. The jam from the unbirthday party tart, the red roses where they painted it together, the red mark Ace put on her face as a joke to make them match.

Ace thinks red suits her because red is his signature color. But this, Ace feels like he's gonna throw up.

Ah but he did throw up didn't he? The first few times he saw this sight.

Again he failed, again and again and again. Just what does he have to do?? Grim's rampage will be stopped later, he knows, just how many times do you think he has been through this. That's good right? A monster is defeated by a knight, that's how a fairy tale goes right?? That's when they reach their happy ending right??

Ace is selfish, he won't let this world have their happy ending without her, even if it means having to go through this hell a few hundred times more.

[name]: "Ace..."

Ace: "hey, dont talk, save your energy"

[name] : "Ace, grim... "

Ace: " worry about yourself right now"

[name]: "Ace....? What are you doing..?"

Ace: "sorry, forgive me. I'm so sorry. Let's meet again later okay? In front of the Great Seven statue remember? We always meet there"

And so with a kiss on her palm. A promise, an oath.

Ace think the world can go fuck themselves.

If it means going through this hundreds or even thousands times so he can achieve the ending where both her and the world save that he will do it.

[xalygatorx]

Unbound | Chapter 10, "What You Want"

Áine Ts'sambra—a wayward half-drow bard with a painful past—has her world upended when she's snatched up by a Nautiloid ship and furnished with a tadpole to the brain. In her journey to remove the infestation before it can turn her and her newfound companions illithid, she not only finds that their solution has more layers to parse through than she can count, but that a particular vampire in her party does as well.

Unbound is an ongoing generally SFW medium-burn romance based in the world of Baldur's Gate 3 between Astarion and a female OC. Any NSFW content will be marked in the Warnings section. Contains angst, fluff, explorations of trauma, spice, graphic fantasy violence, and a guaranteed happy ending.

For anything additional on what to expect (and not expect), check the preface post.

Summary: The party has reached the Grove after a stressful few days on the road from the goblin camp. The tiefling refugees and Zevlor join their camp for the night to celebrate their victory and rest up before resuming their journey to Baldur’s Gate. While making her rounds, Áine receives a proposition from Astarion. 

Pairing: Astarion x Fem!OC

Warnings: 18+/NSFW (p-in-v sex); Astarion romance scene #1 spoilers; suggestive content & dialogue; angst; trauma (intrusive thoughts, self-loathing); lightly proofread; encouraging comments welcome to assuage my anxiety over whether I could do Astarion’s inner monologue justice here hahaha jk unless

Word Count: 8.3k

Listening to: White Winter Hymnal - Fleet Foxes, I Will Love You (Even If It Kills Me) - Too Far Moon (again)

“When I come near, your odor alone is enough to make my neck sweat and my hairs stand on end.”

Easily able to hear the conversation taking place in front of Lae’zel’s tent, Astarion snuck a glance at Áine’s expression, seeing if he could gauge her interest based on look alone. He nearly shot the piss this lot passed for wine through his nose at the sight of her impossibly rounded chocolate eyes and the polite smile plastered across her lips. His mind cemented that sight into a memory that he could only hope would enter his reverie’s nightly rotation and serve to chase at least one recollection of the horrors he’d endured back to its rightful shadows.

Then again, even if caught off-guard, perhaps she’d say “yes” to Lae’zel. He focused back on their conversation and turned his gaze toward the tieflings drunkenly mingling nearby to obscure his intrusion.

“I want to taste you,” Lae’zel was saying, her confidence palpable. It was an honest pride, unlike the sort Astarion wore at times, he realized. She truly believed these things of herself and he envied her for it. “Perhaps tonight. Perhaps later. But I want it all the same.”

Astarion listened with figuratively bated breath for Áine’s answer. He would make his final advances tonight regardless of what she told Lae’zel or anyone else. 200 years’ worth of perfecting his methods under threat of torturous punishment from Cazador would not be for nothing when he finally had a personal use for his skills. If she said “yes” to anyone else, then the plan would simply adjust rather than fail, just like when he’d thought she was seeing Shadowheart.

Not particularly to his surprise but to his benefit, Áine was in the process of letting the githyanki down gently. “I’m sorry, Lae’zel, I don’t feel the same way. But thank you. I think.” Astarion smirked, obscuring his expression behind another sip of whatever acrid brew lay in his wine bottle. 

For the time being, he let his attention wander across the party and their guests, letting the rest of their conversation wrap up without his ear. Áine seemed to be making the rounds around the camp and all its residents, regular and temporary, so she would eventually end up at his tent as well. And if she didn’t, he supposed he’d go seek her out, but Astarion had complete confidence that she’d come. Several times, if all went accordingly.

Meanwhile, Lae’zel was taking Áine’s polite rejection with as much confidence as she’d delivered its related proposition. “Your loss, I fear,” she said, still smiling. “One day soon you will wonder how my lips might have tasted. How my fingers on your skin might’ve felt… And you will wish you could return to this lost moment.”

Áine wasn’t often at a loss for words, but she was now. And yet still she admired Lae’zel’s self-assured demeanor where most would have crumbled in her place at being rejected for a post-party romp. In fact, she’d seen a couple of those responses firsthand already just that night. She was beginning to think Shadowheart may have been onto something when she’d told her all those nights ago that the majority of their camp wanted a shot at her. The idea made her more anxious than flattered. 

With Lae’zel and her steady unfazed response, however, Áine allowed herself to just feel flattered. “If that does come to pass, I know I’ll have no one but myself to blame,” she said, smiling. “I hope I’m as confident in myself as you are someday.”  

Lae’zel smiled back at her, the tilt of her thin lips no longer holding a sensual edge but one of camaraderie. “You deserve to be. I can firmly state that your only major fault that I have witnessed thus far has been your taste in mating partners,” she said. Áine laughed, content to sit in self-deprecation as Lae’zel added, “Oh, but do enjoy yourself this night. I intend to, myself. Wyll or Astarion in particular both look rather tempting...”

Áine’s brows rose, her eyes sliding toward where Astarion stood at his tent. He watched the party with an expression flitting between amusement and a glower, occasionally raising a green glass wine bottle to his lips and seeming to regret it every time. Despite the twisty faces he pulled, he was immaculate as always. Just looking at him made her chest tighten a little, as had begun to happen any time he caught her eye in the past few days. Truly, she’d felt that twinge ever since he’d kissed her that night which already felt like so long ago. 

And amidst that twinge at Lae’zel’s mention of propositioning Astarion was…jealousy? She had no right to be jealous, but she—unlike a certain vampire—could admit that she was. Perhaps he’d be taken with a proposition from Lae’zel, after all. She didn’t hold any sort of right to him and he could do whatever he liked. A simple fling was also often preferable in these times and a much easier task to manage for most, and Áine wasn’t most. As much as it ate at her, she supposed it might be best for all parties if his fancies turned elsewhere and she could start squashing the feelings growing inside her. 

“Well, I just passed Wyll on the beach for whatever it’s worth,” Áine told Lae’zel. “And you can, of course, see your other interest from here… Whatever you do tonight, Lae’zel, I hope you have a nice time.”

“And you as well,” Lae’zel said, inclining her head. Áine couldn’t help but feel heartened when she saw the githyanki’s gaze flicker first toward the beach rather than the tent adjacent to hers.

Áine made her way around the tents further back from the fire, careful to give Gale’s tent a wide berth following their own exchange earlier in the night. His advance she’d seen coming more easily than Lae’zel’s, which had come out of left field, but it hadn’t made her any more ready for it. No matter how sorry she felt and how she communicated that to him, he still tried and seemed increasingly bitter toward her responses each time. 

She’d feared something similar from Wyll, but with his new devilish appearance courtesy of Mizora’s punishment for his refusal to kill Karlach—which had come to pass during their trek back to the Grove—he was more doused in angst than anything down by the shoreline. Áine sighed to herself as she approached Halsin, her dour expression fading only to offer a smile and wave to Mol as she passed by. She hoped that Wyll found it in himself to join the party before it wound to a close. Of all the people who might judge him for his new appearance, she really didn’t think the refugees he’d helped so much would be among them.

“Halsin!” Áine greeted the Archdruid over the jubilant, but occasionally raucous party noise around them. She took in his empty hands and asked, “Can I grab you a drink?”

“Oh, no thank you,” he chuckled. “In truth, I rarely imbibe. The stuff goes right to my head and, before you know it, I’d be breaking into song or declaring love to the first person I lay eyes on.”

Áine laughed. “That hardly sounds like a detriment to a good party, but no pressure, of course,” she said. 

With all the other noise in the vicinity, Astarion now found Áine’s conversation to be out of earshot, only able to pick up the occasional dulcet note of her voice amongst the clamor. It was most certainly not because he’d grown accustomed to seeking out her voice. At the thought, he remembered seeing her by the fireside just a few nights back with tears streaming down her face, her fingers still positioned diligently against her lute strings. 

Astarion pulled a face and took another swallow of wine, which caused him to pull an even stronger face. Bleeding Hells, he wanted a proper vintage, but more than that he wanted to know what that tree trunk of an elf had just done to make her grin like that!

“But I digress,” Halsin was saying, “there are many grateful people here who want to spend time with you. Go on now, don’t waste a night like this talking to me. We will discuss your problem tomorrow.”

Áine frowned at both halves of his statement. “Firstly, it wouldn’t be a waste. But second, I thought you said we could run through some things once we reached the Grove. But we’re putting off the conversation again?”

Halsin frowned. “I understand your eagerness. However, it is something better discussed on a fresh morning, I think. Your parasite shows no further signs of turning before the morrow and a well-deserved night of recreation and rest awaits you.” He offered her an encouraging smile and waved her on. “Enjoy yourself. Seek out some wine before it runs dry—there are a lot of thirsty people around here.”

Yeah, no kidding, Áine thought, artfully dodging both Lae’zel’s and Gale’s eyes as she was dismissed from Halsin’s company. She trotted along toward Shadowheart’s tent, dodging a very tipsy Bex and some other well-drunk tieflings along the way. Áine couldn’t help the smile that formed on her lips at seeing everyone so happy. Even if they ran into trouble on the morrow, like Halsin had said, at least they had tonight.

“Everyone seems to be in high spirits, don’t they?” Shadowheart suggested as she drew closer, brandishing a silver goblet. “Can I tempt you?”

Áine paused heavily, suddenly uncertain of what she meant and opting for caution. “...With what?”

Shadowheart’s lips curled into an amused smile. “Wine and glorious friendship.”

“Yes, please,” Áine said, drawing a chuckle from Shadowheart. “Sorry, it’s been a minefield out there tonight. I’ve begun to err on the side of overcareful.”

“I told you that the others were firmly on the prowl,” the cleric said, pouring a goblet for Áine. “Even more true now than it was when I first said it. At least you’ve almost gone full circle at this point, only one or two more stops to make if I’ve paid appropriate attention.” Behind a sip of wine, she mumbled, “Only one of high importance though by my estimation…”

“What was that?” Áine challenged her with a laugh at how utterly smug Shadowheart looked after she lowered her goblet again. The bard took a sip of the wine she’d been gifted, her brows rising as the rich fruity notes graced her tongue. “My goodness, where did you find this?”

Shadowheart gave Áine an ambiguous look that reeked of mischief. “I may have nicked one of the vintages that Wyll stashed away in his tent,” she said. “But you’ll never get me to admit such a second time.”

Áine laughed. “Shadowheart, shame on you!”

“What?! You probably pilfered this bottle, yourself, before the little rat scurried off with it,” she pointed out, refilling her goblet with abandon. “He can’t steal every good wine he sees for himself, he has to share with the class. I’ve simply liberated a single bottle as a treat and you’re welcome for it.”

Áine couldn’t help the amused smirk that found her lips, the heady wine layering on top of the weaker blends she’d already taken that night—many of those pressed into her hands by happy attendees wanting to share their spoils—and making her head pleasantly swim. “Thank you for sharing,” Áine said with a sassy curtsey, a gesture returned by Shadowheart as the two giggled. “What did you mean by ‘only one of importance’?”

“You know what I meant,” Shadowheart said, taking a deep sip of her wine. “Unless I’ve missed you speaking to him, but I daresay I haven’t.”

“Astarion?” Áine asked and, at Shadowheart’s dubious look, she said, “I haven’t just yet. Not for any reason, I just—”

“Prefer to save the best for last?” Shadowheart suggested. Áine started to speak but ended up pursing her lips, silenced by embarrassment. The cleric grinned triumphantly. “Well, go on, what’s the concern? Are you worried he’ll join the list of people to ask you to bed tonight?”

“No!” Áine said but quickly recanted. “I mean, a little.” 

Shadowheart measured Áine’s expression before she slowly asked, “...or are you worried he won’t join that list?”

“I don’t know,” Áine admitted. “For all the reasons we discussed, this sort of thing is a big deal for me in ways that usually just inconvenience others. And while I felt guilty turning down Lae’zel, Karlach, and Gale, I—”

“Karlach, too?” Shadowheart asked, surprised. “I must’ve missed that conversation.”

“She was the first I said ‘hello’ to tonight,” Áine said, “and she was very kind about it. Like you were.”

“That should be the standard, you know,” Shadowheart pointed out. “Anything less than respect shouldn’t be tolerated.”

“Do you know how many people I would have had to ‘not tolerate’ if I followed that rule?” Áine sighed. “And that isn’t a ‘oh look at me, people want to have sex with me’ sort of brag, it’s just the uncomfortable truth.”

Shadowheart frowned. “I suppose. At least you don’t people-please. I would worry about you more if you did.” Áine’s heart warmed at the cleric’s protective tone. “Right, so which are you hoping for then? That he’ll ask or he won’t? Because I’m wagering he will, for whatever that’s worth.”

Áine blushed. “I truly don’t know. I suppose I’ll know if he suggests something,” she said. “That’s all to say if he even does. Lae’zel had an eye on him earlier, so who knows? He may have plans by the time I end up talking to him.”

“You’re counting on that, aren’t you?” Shadowheart asked suddenly. “Because it’s easier than facing the decision yourself.”

“You’re alarmingly observant when you’re drinking,” Áine remarked. She sighed. “It’s all been tension so far and it’s been…nice. I’ve never been interested in someone like this before and I’m afraid I’ll mess it up. By what I’m like as a person, as a partner, or by my actions in the moment. By doubting myself and the truth of my feelings.”

Shadowheart studied Áine, taking a deep breath and releasing it in a sigh. “Far be it from me to encourage you toward that rakish vampire—and, believe me, I don’t believe his intentions to be pure regardless of who he associates with—but if one of you is to ‘ruin’ whatever you have going on, it will not be you. And if you do then so be it,” she said, shrugging. She swirled her wine around her goblet, looking at its dark currents thoughtfully. “In my experience, the regret we feel at not seeking something out is stronger than that which we feel at seeking something out and finding it wasn’t what we thought.” 

Shadowheart’s gaze lifted back to Áine’s. “All that to say, at least you’ll know if you try. But do be careful. I am a cleric after all and can fashion a stake in mere minutes if need be.”

Áine gave her a tender smile and collected Shadowheart into a hug. “Thank you.”

Shadowheart hugged the bard close, resting her chin against her shoulder and gently patting her back. Over Áine’s shoulder, she caught Astarion’s eye who was attempting a surreptitious glance their way. He froze when they locked eyes, at least until Shadowheart gave him a teasing wag of her brows while she still held the object of his interest in her arms. 

Astarion scoffed and looked away with a roll of his eyes, causing Shadowheart to chuckle. Áine felt the movement of her chest against her own and asked, “What is it?”

“Oh, nothing,” Shadowheart said as they parted, sipping her wine. “Here, have one for the road,” she added as she topped off Áine’s goblet. “And, again…be careful. But also enjoy yourself.”

Shyly, Áine smiled and inclined her head in thanks for the advice and the wine. Sipping from her goblet as she turned to head back into the fray, Áine’s eyes wandered the party, but they of course settled in a predictable spot. Astarion’s vibrant crimson eyes caught hers the moment she did, snaring her attention as wholly as ever and affirming that she would indeed have to face whatever would end up surfacing between them that night. Perhaps nothing would—but the possibility of “something” unnerved and electrified her at once.

Clutching the goblet from Shadowheart in her palm like a lifeline, Áine crossed the distance to where Astarion stood waiting, contemplating his bottle and the wine within until she stood before him. “Good evening so far?” Áine wondered, measuring what was gone from the bottle he held to try to determine that.

“It is now,” he said, smooth as ever. Áine gave him a scolding look but couldn’t keep the smile from her lips. Astarion smirked and commented, “You know, I never pictured myself as a hero. Never thought I’d be the one they’d toast for saving so many lives. And now that I’m here…” 

Áine watched him pause to take a long sip of his wine before he finished his thought. “I hate it. This is awful.”

The bard laughed. “Surely it can’t be so bad? We did a good thing.”

“The tally of lives didn’t change much—a few goblins killed to save a few tieflings,” he said with a shrug. “And what do I get for all my hard work? A pat on the head and vinegar for wine.”

“Oh stop, you got to kill a horde of goblins, too,” Áine chastised him, her tone affectionate despite her scolding. “And the wine is not that bad.”

Astarion’s brows rose and he challenged her by offering the bottle. Áine rolled her eyes and shook her head, but took the bottle in her free hand, tilting it back to take a sip. When a rich, dry red wine hit her tongue, she looked at the bottle and then at Astarion, bewildered at how he could find anything wrong with the blend.

He mistook her baffled expression for distaste. “See what I mean? Awful!” 

Áine licked her lips, a motion that Astarion followed with keen interest, as she looked back down at the bottle. “It tastes relatively normal to me, but perhaps our palates differ,” she suggested, although she was wondering why he was trying to drink wine in the first place. He’d told her and Gale once in passing conversation that any food he’d tried since turning tasted wrong on the tongue, wouldn’t wine have the same result? Maybe he wasn’t ready to accept that yet. “Try mine?” Áine offered instead, holding out her goblet. She decided to withhold that it was an expensive vintage for now until he tried it. For science, of course.

Astarion took the goblet she offered, his wintry touch ghosting across her warm skin and, she thought, lingering a bit longer than usual. When she stole a glance at his face, she found him watching her with an intensity that caught her off-guard. Without breaking eye contact, he tried the wine she offered him, and she saw his throat work again before he said, “I admit it is better, but still leaves much to be desired.”

Áine wasn’t going to be the one to tell him that wine wouldn’t taste good to him anymore if even these decadent reds didn’t pique his interest. She didn’t have a death wish. 

Astarion handed her back her goblet, politely refusing the bottle when she tried to return it to him, giving up on that one completely. He sighed loudly. “All I want is a little fun. Is that so much to ask?” he griped.

Áine was occasionally sipping the wine from her goblet, resting her lips against the rim even when she wasn’t. The cool metal was a helpful grounding tool. She snorted a little, glancing toward the festivities taking place all around them. “And what do you consider ‘a little fun’?” she asked. Here it was—either he’d suggest something akin to what everyone else seemed to be hungry for that night or he’d flip her expectations and crave something else. Violence, perhaps. Mischief, most certainly. 

“By the Hells. Sex, my dear. A night of passion.” 

Shadowheart had been right. Áine paused heavily, her lips still brushing the rim of her goblet as she looked up at him and studied his expression. He had his rake mask on, not a crack in it to be seen. 

While she introspected a little at how his suggestion made her feel, she said aloud, “Ah, I see,” with a soft laugh. As somewhat of a test, Áine nodded toward Lae’zel’s tent and informed him, “I was talking to Lae’zel a little bit ago and she mentioned having half a mind to seek you out for some extracurricular. For what that’s worth.”

Astarion’s brows rose. “Is that what you want?”

Now it was Áine’s turn to be confused. “What do you mean? You said you wanted sex.”

“Yes, and you’ve suggested that I seek out Lae’zel, or let her seek me out,” Astarion said. “Is that what you’d prefer I do?”

Áine frowned at him. “I want you to do what you want to do. Always. Consider it a heads-up, if nothing else.”

There was that assertion of autonomy again. Astarion didn’t know how to handle her when conversations took this turn. He hardly knew how to handle himself and he hated that feeling. The rest of it, he craved. Dangerously. However, Astarion also craved needling her a little. “Right, now who’s jealous?” he accused with a crooked smirk.

Áine gave him a sideways look that reeked of disapproval, which only egged him on. “I am not jealous,” she declared, but she was lying and they both knew it. Instead of continuing to persist, she grumbled into her goblet and took a deep gulp of wine.

He watched her intently, gauging every microexpression in her pretty face as he said, “What if what I want is a night with you?” Her face visibly warmed over and she didn’t speak right away. He found himself filling the silence when she didn’t. “I know, me and everyone else this eve. It wouldn’t take my specialized range of hearing to guess that you’ve had such a proposition at every stop tonight.”

“Shadowheart didn’t ask,” she supplied, her lips pursing as she realized he was pretty much correct about the others. “Wyll didn’t either.”

“Shadowheart doesn’t surprise me. She already took her shot,” Astarion commented, his unanswered question hanging painfully in the air while they chitchatted around it. “Wyll does surprise me though.”

Áine shrugged and inclined her head back toward the beach. “He’s having a time. When I checked on him earlier, he wasn’t keen on joining the festivities. He’s still adjusting to his new look and he was wary of the tieflings seeing him like that.”

Astarion scoffed. “Was he, now? Oh, boo-hoo, ‘no one at the tiefling party knows how hard it is to have horns,’ now that makes complete sense,” he remarked.

“Shush,” Áine half-cackled, giving him a playful shove. “Gods, that’s not funny. You’re positively evil for making me laugh at that.”

Astarion smirked. “An absolute villain, I know,” he bantered back. He’d stepped closer to Áine after she’d given him her little shove and he was comfortably cloaked in her bouquet—the delicious, tempting scent of her blood combined with soap and mint leaves. “Did you want Wyll to ask you?” he asked, dropping his voice to a low husk.

Áine shook her head, having to tilt her head back some to meet his eyes when he was this close. “No. I was relieved that he didn’t,” she said honestly. The quiet stretched again, and then apropos of his earlier question, Áine finally gave him a slow nod. “I would say yes, by the way.”

Astarion was a little slower on the uptake, unsure if she was referencing back to his original question or if he was experiencing a form of wishful thinking. “Yes to what, dearest?”

Áine swallowed against a suddenly tight throat and replied, “To you. If what you wanted…was me.”

Astarion gave her a rakish smile. “But we’re not jealous, are we?”

Áine gave him a hard look in return. “Don’t make me change my mind.”

“Fine, fine,” the vampire said with a chuckle, raising his hands in surrender. “Once things quiet down… Once everyone’s asleep, we’ll find each other.” Astarion nodded toward the far side of their camp. “The little glade we set up in when we last passed through here isn’t far from here… That should give us plenty of privacy to…get to know each other better.” 

Still a little timid, Áine nodded back. She was nervous, but it was a nice sort of nervous. One might even call it “butterflies.” Gods, she was deep in it already. However, she’d decided she would follow what her gut told her to do this time and when he’d suggested that he wanted to spend the night with her, the thrill that had hummed through her bones and the heat that had warmed her from her belly to her heart told her all she needed to know. She wanted to know what happened next for them.

To him, she said, “I suppose I’ll see you there, then.”

Astarion smiled, the expression perfectly dashing and sensual as he murmured, “Indeed, you will, my love… Indeed, you will.”

His voice and the words he wrapped within it did funny things to her heart and Áine gave him a look before that look crumbled into a soft laugh and a smile. “Right,” she murmured, handing him her goblet. “I leave you the ‘still much to be desired but better’ wine and will now make myself scarce.”

Astarion accepted her offering and raised the goblet to her as she stepped away. In truth, the wine she’d offered him was as acrid as what was in the bottle she took with her, but it was less to choke down, he supposed. Someday perhaps he would admit to himself that wine was as much off the table as any other consumable that wasn’t blood, but today was not that day. 

He watched his little bard find her way to Alfira, greeting the other woman with a fond hug and finding herself immediately furnished with a borrowed flute. Subconsciously, he rotated the goblet against the press of his lower lip until he found where she’d rested the metal against hers, her warmth still lingering there. Astarion closed his lips over the spot, disguising his fixation with a sip of wine that nearly drained what remained in the goblet. 

As his eyes traced Áine’s movements—her dancing while she and Alfira performed, the rise and fall of her breasts as she portioned her breath between the flute and her steps, every time her hair caught the light of the fire or the moon peeking over the canopy, the joyful sparkle in her eyes that he found himself hoping he represented one small part of—he took a moment to collect himself. 

Astarion, at no fault to himself or his allure, had been almost certain that she would give him the polite “no” she’d delivered around the camp several times already that evening. He’d had competition from their allies, even from some of the tieflings, and even though he knew he was the obviously correct choice amongst them all, she’d still picked him of her own volition. He was positively preening, but he was also wary. Wary of how easily this singular woman’s “yes” had set him aflame, the “heart of a schoolboy” feeling anew yet again, and also how the personal stock he was developing in winning her over might cause him to make a mistake. 

This is a transaction, he reminded himself firmly. Sex was always a transaction, regardless of feeling. He’d learned that swift and soon and had been reminded of it every day since that first time allowed out of the kennels to prowl the streets and lure back a prize he’d deliver to his master. His former master. 

Astarion’s jaw set. This was hardly any different. He’d chosen her as a target, an easy one at that, and would follow through on executing his plan as he’d originally intended. The only difference was that he’d get to keep this prize and its benefits of protection. He’d never have to hunt, to lie, to bed for another’s gain again.

He was in control of this situation, he reminded himself as he returned his pensive stare to its subject, teaching himself to dismiss the things that transfixed him. He wouldn’t be controlled by her or by his feelings for her, he wouldn’t be tricked into a vulnerable position, into servitude, into capture by the tangential side-effects of physical intimacy. Astarion brought those additional walls down around his mind and heart, remembering his foolish attachments from those first few victims he took in Cazador’s name. The guilt, the heartache, the shreds of hope—all of it had simply added to his misery in those sparse stone dungeon rooms after he’d delivered those first ill-chosen innocent souls to their fate.

Misery would have no company from him. Never again.

It occurred to him later, while slipping off his shirt under the cloak of shadow just past the trees circling the clearing, that despite telling himself that he was in full control of the entire situation, the entire seduction, that he was awfully anxious for that to be true in its entirety.

Astarion chalked it up to how much of his guaranteed personal safety relied on this and also from the mild pressure he’d felt start to build by being the partner Áine had chosen out of several available options. It was different than seducing someone in a tavern or from a street corner. He wouldn’t be taking her to her death afterward—he’d see her the next day, travel on as usual, and likely even sleep with her again at some point if she asked or he felt a need to renew his “contract,” so to speak. And he had no doubt she’d ask. But it was something quite different to know that this encounter wouldn’t be the last he had with someone.

He worried the inside of his lower lip with the edge of one fang, firmly pushing down the anxiety rising in him that made as little sense as the foreign symptoms of desire that he’d only seen in others who looked upon him for ages but hadn’t felt within his own body for centuries. 

Astarion grumbled at his physical betrayals, setting his well-worn and oft-repaired ruffled shirt down on the grass in front of him as he sifted through his mind for some of his best lines, the ones he felt most comfortable delivering and also a few with a good track record for success. “I’ve wanted you from the first moment I laid eyes on you,” was always a strong choice. And it was a line he’d used a thousand times over as well. That would help him numb himself a bit and dissociate from what was soon to come. 

Or so he hoped, anyway. Maybe she’d changed her mind or passed out after all the wine and dancing had taken their toll on her.

He’d no sooner thought that than he heard familiar, hesitant footsteps working their way from the direction of the campsite. Astarion’s mouth twitched with a faint smile that echoed a feeling of triumph, of anticipation…and of something bittersweet. He wasn’t a monster, after all. He did feel a touch guilty for reeling her in like this. The poor thing was infatuated, just as he’d intended for her to be, but he knew quite well he’d played the rake as well as ever. Of course she was entranced by his practiced façade. He’d yet to meet someone he’d tried to seduce who didn’t end up under the spell of its glamor.

It is, after all, all you’re good for.

Astarion dropped his head forward, wincing at the voice in his head reciting something Cazador had told him so many times that Astarion had begun to hear it in his own voice, telling himself the truth of things. He heard the footsteps nearby when they crossed the edge of the clearing, and then when they stopped, too. 

He shelved the despair that clawed its way forward with incrementally more success in each attempt to overtake him again. There was no Cazador in this scenario, there would never be again. The only person he needed to worry about for the moment was growing evermore hesitant just shy of his hiding place and would retreat to camp if he didn’t show himself soon.

Roughly, lovelessly, Astarion rubbed himself through the taut leather of his pants, his jaw tightening as familiar nausea seeped into the pit of his stomach. He winced as his own touch turned harsher, hateful even. His mind recited old lines, ones he was soon to use on a surely unsuspecting Áine and ones he used on himself to ensure he would perform as he must. Remember to tell them how much you want this, he ran through in his head, his palm still grinding against his cock until his anatomy was bullied into arousal. Now stay hard until she finishes. This is your payment. This is a trade. Remember that and remember to smile.

One shuddering breath later, Astarion donned the mask as professionally as ever, all traces of self-loathing, of pain, of grief for what he’d lost neatly leeched from his exterior, nestled like a leaden ball behind his bared chest, where his heart should’ve beat. And then he stepped out into the moonlight.

Áine was still there but looked as though she was just considering heading back. She stilled her step when he showed himself and he watched her eyes trace down his torso, across his muscular arms, before they snapped back to meet his. She reminded him of a fawn, which was a far cry from the hellion he knew she could be—it made seeing her like this that much more new, that much more a secret between them. He’d be gentle with this prey, Astarion told himself, eager to hang onto this vision rather than the more dangerous alternative of looking at her and seeing her. If this endured, he would remain fully in control. 

“There you are,” he greeted her, remembering to smile. “I’ve been waiting.” Astarion inclined his head as he approached her, his gaze trailing languidly across her clothed body, noting where the fabric clung to a curve, where it draped across her toned limbs. 

He also kept a speculative eye on her expressions and how she reacted to him, body and words. Her attraction to him was consistent in how it gave her away—he could feel her heat already from where she stood, just at arm’s length, and hear her heart flutter first in nerves and then in wanting. Astarion noticed that the more of this he took in, the less nauseous he seemed to feel, perhaps because his attention was elsewhere. Áine smiled at him, either what he offered or what he’d said pleasing to her.         

Emboldened, Astarion added, his voice a calculated, sensual husk, “Waiting since the moment I set eyes on you… Waiting to have you.”

Something about that didn’t land. Áine gave him a peculiar look although her smile lingered and he wasn’t sure what had tipped her off. He’d heard himself give a flawless delivery of a line that had made many a man, maiden, all weak at the knees. 

Áine smirked as she fiddled with the ties of her shirt, rolling the tiny knotted ends between her fingertips. “Before or after the headbutt?” she asked. “Or perhaps because of the headbutt?”

Shit.

Astarion pursed his lips, already mentally lashing himself and working on a recovery. Of course she’d found that funny rather than sexy—he hadn’t accounted for how different their meeting had been from the others he’d scouted. They were no sensual brush of hands in a tavern near closing, no whispered word against the ear whose echo carried only to an inn room door, no loveless meeting of eyes in a darkened street where the fire of carnal favors were the only ones with light on offer. 

They were a dagger to the throat, an offer for companionship, a roll in the dirt, and yes, even a headbutt when he hadn’t let her go the first time she’d asked. They were a quiet conversation fireside, a snarky comment and an answering laugh, a sometimes-bard and sometimes-swordswoman with a sneak-thief archer protecting her flank, an injury and a salve in perfect alternation thus far.   

The part of the salve this night it seemed, Áine smiled at him, the crescent of her lips warm and inviting and putting the moon above them to shame. “I could always replicate our meeting,” she offered. “You don’t have me yet, you know.”

“Don’t I?” Astarion challenged her, a little unnerved by her now. She was turning the tables by flirting with him, by seducing him. He couldn’t recall ever being seduced. Never needed to be, really. And he didn’t need to be now either, but it felt…nice to have her eyes on him, to be met with a—he cursed himself for even thinking it—partner in this sense. There was no power struggle either, it seemed, which was also new. His earlier attempts to keep his mind away from Áine as a person rather than something to hunt and catch were failing one after another and the way she spoke to him felt kind and playful. She spoke to him like an equal as much as she ever had. “You’re here, after all. And…I don’t think you want to talk.”

“No?” Áine bantered back seamlessly. Perhaps his slip had been to his benefit. She seemed somehow more relaxed, more interested than before, even when his little lines had been working. What a strange one you are, he thought, still studying her as she asked, “What do I want, then?”

He was back on track. “I think,” Astarion purred, stepping closer as his hand traced the air around her, not yet moving to touch her, “you want to be known.” He smiled at her meaningfully. “To be tasted.”

Áine’s lower lip caught between her teeth. He could feel the heat coming off her skin as her blush deepened, he could smell her desire and it could only rival the bouquet of her life’s blood that he’d come to recognize without question. An alien sensation coursed through him and went straight to his cock where it still pressed against the seamed leather of his trousers. It jarred him and, were he any less broken, he may have thought that had been his own first taste of desire. But Astarion felt nothing when it came to sex. He’d been broken of that long ago. It hadn’t even taken a year.

She interrupted his internalized confusion when she turned the tables on him yet again. “And what do you want?” Áine asked, her voice hushed into a murmur that sent a shiver up Astarion’s spine. No, it was the air. A wayward breeze, he corrected viciously. She wasn’t allowed this sort of influence on him, this was what he meant to do to her. And clearly was, but…had he ever been asked what he wanted? Especially on the precipice of carnal pleasure? 

What did he want?

His hesitation did not breach his mask. “What do any of us want? Pleasure,” he reasoned simply, perfectly present while his thoughts careened down forbidden paths. The best he could do was block out his wayward mind, focus on what he had complete control over at last—his body. And yet wasn’t he just repeating its most habitual motions? Now wasn’t the time to question himself. “Yours. Mine. Our collective ecstasy.”

Astarion could see the way her eyes grew heavy with lust, the cadence of his voice purposeful and near-hypnotic. He could see her beginning to bend—he simply needed her to break. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? To lose yourself in me?”

Part of him wanted her to say “no.” Not to refuse him, but to tell him that wasn’t what she wanted. To tell him that this was somehow more than just a bit of dissociation, at least for him, more than what he logically knew it really was. And she did see something in his eyes, or so it seemed to him, that made her hesitate. 

Yet as different as she was from anyone and everyone before her, Astarion artfully derailed her train of thought with the simple gesture of skimming his fingers up the length of her arm, her skin like summer against his icy touch. Áine leaned in toward him, her lashes fluttered, and a soft sigh eased her lips apart. It was all the answer he needed, the only one he was comfortable receiving despite all his contrary wishes. Astarion smiled and whispered, “I thought so.”

Áine’s eyes remained conflicted despite their lack of focus and Astarion relied on his distractions winning out before he could discover what had her faltering. He couldn’t stop to wonder if he’d let something slip through his otherwise carefully curated façade. It didn’t matter. 

His fingertips trailed up her sleeve, tracing the sweep of her collarbone until he reached the ties of her shirt, and his carefully tended nails found purchase on one of the knots she toyed with. Astarion’s eyes flickered up to meet hers as he tugged the tie loose, taking the hem of her shirt and lifting it over her head. This was a procedure. It was practiced. He’d help her undress and then he, with her help if she preferred, would disrobe. Then he’d simply initiate with a kiss, lay her down in the grass, and uphold his part of the unspoken bargain. It was the most repeated pattern in his lifetime. All he had to do…

Astarion’s regimented thoughts, the rehearsed little moves he’d run through in his mind, all sputtered to a halt the moment he let her shirt flutter to the grass and he laid eyes on her naked body again. He’d counted on having once already seen her topless down in the river that night, thinking that this at least would have no way to distract him again. And yet the sight of her lavender skin, star-shaped scars, and perfect, pert dusky breasts all highlighted by the celestial landscape above them left him stunned all over again. 

Luckily—or perhaps not—for him, Áine was too busy minding her own clothing to notice him staring, his mask forgotten for an instant. She fumbled with her belt with nervous hands until he reached out and hooked a finger in the strap, pulling her toward him and catching her parted lips in a kiss when she looked up. Nimbly, he unfastened her buckle and untied the laces of her trousers all while his tongue explored her warm, yielding mouth. 

He felt her fingers at his waistband and smirked against her lips. “Eager little thing, aren’t you,” he mumbled and claimed her mouth again before she could snap back, causing her to whimper against his tongue and fangs instead. Astarion barely swallowed the growl that rose in his throat at this new sound of hers, surprised at himself and how tightly wound he felt. 

She succeeded in loosening his trousers but he snagged her persistent hands in his own before she could go any further. Astarion placed Áine’s hands on his shoulders and reached down to get rid of his own pants, suddenly anxious at the feeling of someone else’s hands touching his skin, his clothes, trying to strip him down to touch his cock. Memories of pawing, grabbing, chafing touches from rough, hungry hands seeped in like a sickness and he tensed against the intrusive tactile flashbacks. 

Astarion broke their kiss and swallowed thickly, opening his eyes to look at the woman before him and remind himself precisely where he was and what was happening outside his tortured mind. He could feel Áine’s hands twitch against his shoulders, but they stayed firmly where he’d put them. Trusting her to resist her obvious desire to touch him, Astarion focused on finishing the removal of his trousers and then hers thereafter before scooping her up into his arms. 

He cradled her ass in his hands and backed her against a tree, kissing her again. She kissed him back, harder and more passionately this time, and he readily followed her lead for the moment as he felt her legs hook around his hips and draw him in toward her heat. He punished her mouth with his, cursing her warmth, her intoxicating scent, her beautiful body, her kindness, all of it straight to Avernus. She was far from his first warm body and yet she still felt like a first as he smoothed his hands over her thighs, unable to help the quiet growl that surfaced from his throat this time with her satin skin laid open and bare against his palms. He felt her shiver against him, her arms tightening around his shoulders as her back arched, pressing her body needily against his while they devoured each other as if starving. 

This would get messy quickly if he didn’t check himself. He hadn’t promised an impassioned, tortured lover, after all, he’d promised the artful, cunning seducer. The patient wolf, the beguiling rake. Besides that, he couldn’t comprehend still how the first could even be happening. Astarion had warred with himself throughout every step of putting his plans for her, for them, into motion and yet it was all coming to a head with the delirium he found himself exposed to now. Everything he’d thought would resolve itself when he finally slept with her was just intensifying with each second that ticked by. As if to prove his point, she impatiently squirmed against him and he very nearly took her on the spot.

Astarion circled an arm around her waist, holding her still as he reached between her legs, finding her plenty hot and wet for him to get this wrapped up. The tiny moan that escaped her when he touched her went straight to his now rock-hard cock. Áine threatened his self-control in a way that terrified him. It was the polar opposite of the way Cazador’s power over him had terrified him, but it terrified him all the same. She made him feel as if he’d come apart from her slightest touch. A lack of control, to him, in any form was unwanted, and more frightening still was realizing that some part of him wanted her to render him helpless. It went against every single thing he’d sworn to himself during his imprisonment in the last two centuries and everything he’d sworn to himself since stepping off that Nautiloid.

Astarion took her down to the grass, allowing himself to memorize and savor her despite his fear of what she may be capable of with him. Áine met his gaze and a flash of consideration entered her beautifully lust-laden eyes before she tilted her head back and bared her neck for him. Astarion’s eyes flickered between her face and her neck, his throat beginning to burn with the rest of him as he weighed her offer if it was truly an offer. 

As if answering his thoughts, Áine nodded and temptation won out. Astarion buried his face against her neck, running his tongue along her pulse before he bit her at the same time he positioned himself to slide into her warm, wet cunt. 

The instant he did, any semblance of control he had, he lost.

Astarion maintained his clarity for the sake of not bleeding his lover dry, but the rest of his body acted with abandon. He found a rhythm between their hips, angling himself to pump against her inner walls that already clenched around him with every thrust. Swallowing the mouthful of blood he’d taken, he licked her wound closed and concentrated on his thrusts, gratified when her little moans became trembling, barely controlled mewls and her legs tightened around his hips. 

Astarion was so focused on bringing her to her peak that he hardly realized he was reaching his for the first time with someone else. He could force his body into anything—he’d learned that without room for doubt over the years—and had sorted out how to perfectly fake an orgasm if needed. Not that the vast majority of those he bedded cared whether or not he came. It was something he was so unused to monitoring during sex that when it hit him, it hit him harder than he could’ve thought possible.

As Áine muffled a cry against the back of her hand, her body shaking under him as she came, Astarion suddenly felt himself go over the edge with her, gripping her tightly as pleasure ripped through him, a quavering groan that he just barely managed to bite down rising in his throat as he flooded her with his seed. They both shivered through aftershocks in each other’s arms, but through the mind-numbing euphoria, something else resurfaced in Astarion.

That guilt again. For ever thinking of this as a chore, like something he had to do to ensure his safety. For every time he’d squashed what he felt while touting their match as something real and normal and without deception. For setting Áine up to wind up with nothing but his broken, worthless, rotten soul at the finish line when he’d wordlessly promised so much more. 

For not being able to give her something real, no matter how desperately he now realized he wanted to.

Next chapter: Chapter 11, "Old Scars"

[hirschkuh-im-traum]

We'll meet again

the plot is: (Y/n) started a new life, but every day she feels more and more lonely.

tw: a short episode with being attacked by a thief, Alastor is little bit out of character and he also lives through some trouble times, possibly grammar mistakes (english is not my mother-tongue.) I guess that's all. Well, maybe a little bit angst but there will be a happy ending (if I may call it like this)

I'm sorry it took so long, I had another busy week at university. I guess fics will appear once every in seven to ten days

The part three, by your side

*. ⋆ ✧.·:·.* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *.·:·.✧ *. ⋆

(Y/n) had been living in New Orleans for three years already. She liked this city very much. It captivated her with its charm and picturesque streets.

She had a job that didn't bring her much earnings, but brought her a lot of joy. She made the podcasts about literature. (Y/n) usually told about classics but she loved the most to tell about the older books, that were not popular in modern world. She liked to popularize the unknown, yet interesting books, because their influence was as strong as the influence of more popular stories.

From the money that was her dowry she bought a house. It located outskirts and stood alone near a forest, so (Y/n) felt herself like she was at home, but nobody demanded anything of her now. She also liked this house being near the forest, because it was very important to her to be close to nature. She did her strolls under the majestic branchy trees almost everyday and couldn't hide a smile when she understood how many deer lived in this area.

People said that this house once belonged to a famous radio host who was also a serial killer, whose crimes were discovered only after his death. He buried a body in the forest and a hunter mistook him for a deer and shot him.

(Y/n) softly smiled when she first heard this story. It was just a hearsay, a very old story, but (Y/n) liked the thought that she lived in the house of her devil.

When (Y/n) moved in her new house, the neighbours knew about it only after a week. Her nearest neighbours, a married couple with already grown-up children, who lived in fifteen minutes walk, came to her to congratulate with the new home. (Y/n) gave them a welcome, not too warm, and never let anyone in again.

She got a reputation of an unsociable and reserved lady very quickly. Nobody knew where she was from. Her speech was strange. She had a strange accent and knew many languages, but she didn't speak any of them as it was her native. She seemed out of this world. She usually appeared on the streets early in the morning or in the late evening. She wore long dresses, a long pearl beads like in 20's and a black veil, covering the upper part of her face.

She didn't have much aquaintences, didn't have friends. Sometimes she went to the city to the meetings to discuss some business, connected with her podcast. Rarely (Y/n) invited somebody in her place. It was only women. But she never let them to cross the threshold. (Y/n) and her guests sat in the garden in the backyard and chated about something.

(Y/n) liked her life in New Orleans. She didn't feel alone, didn't feel any pressure of her family. She felt absolutely free and safe.

The one thing that didn't leave her mind was he.

She missed him every day.

* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *

Once in the late evening she was on her way home from the studio. She recorded an excellent podcast! She was sure, it wouldn't be popular, but it wasn't the main thing. She did her job because she liked it. All she had to do is to read, to write scenarios, to talk about her favorite topics and then she just had to apply the necessary effects and cut out what didn’t sound very good. That day she talked about a German novel from neinteenth century.

"Salutations, my dear hearers! Today I will tell you about the miraculous story of Peter Schlemihl. The man without his shadow... Hahaha! Oh, my! whenever I read this story I can't stop laughing! I'm very sorry for Peter and for his solitude, of course, but don't you think that he could benefit from his position? I mean, he had no shadow, so what?! People should be afraid of him, but instead of it, he was afraid of them! I find it quiet pathetic..."

"Moreover he had the devil's help by his side. But he failed to benefit from the deal. He chose money, another stupid decision of him. I would choose something more potent, what I could you use both on earth and in hell."

"Well, I shouldn't to tell you everything at once, when you probably haven't even read this book. So, let me to discuss the author's life with you, it was no less entertaining."

She enjoyed that day. She was walking along the road on the grass and thought about devils, shadows, contracts...

(Y/n) thought about Alastor. About his voice, which she hadn't heard for three years already; she thought about his smile, words, touches, protection.

His protection.

"What on earth does "choose wisely" means?" (Y/n) muttered, "Won't I stop trusting anyone the moment they attack me? Well, let's imagine. I did trust somebody, and allow them to be too close to me, but the moment they, for example, raise a knife over me, they wouldn't be the ones I trust anymore, would they? But why then does this point exist at all?"

(Y/n) didn't know that the answer was on her way.

She heard steps behind her and turned back. She saw a silhouette. It was in several meters behind her, quickly steping forward. (Y/n) saw that this person had a gored skirt and a leather coat.

"Only a woman," (Y/n) thought and breathed a sight of relief.

She turned around and continued her way, trying to remember what she was thinking about.

She walked without thoughts for some time. The night air was chill, and she breathed it with pleasure.

Suddenly the steps behind her became louder, and, before (Y/n) could thought anything, she felt that something squeezed her neck. Something thin cut into her skin. She began to suffocate. (Y/n) tried to remove that thing from her neck, but it was too tight. She heard the woman's voice behind her, "Hush, everything will be alright, I won't hurt you." (Y/n) felt that she was losing consciousness. Her eyes rolled up and legs gave way.

* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *

As she opened her eyes, she felt a strong headache. With a weak moan she sat. She felt dizzy, but cool and wet morning air made her feel better. It was dawning. The sky was grey. A light fog surrounded her. The crows croaked in the woods. It was still dark but just in several minutes the sun would rise. How long had she been lying on the road? She touched her neck and saw little blood stains on her fingertips.

That woman... What did she do?

(Y/n) checked her bag and understood that that woman robbed her.

So what did that mean? It meant that (Y/n) relaxed when she saw, that she was stalked by a woman. (Y/n) never thought that any woman could rob the other one. She sighed deeply, stood up and slowly headed for her home. Her knees were shaking.

* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *

She looked in the mirror. Pale face, dirty hair, a red line on her neck. It looked like (Y/n) was beheaded and then put her head on the place again.

She took a bath, treated the wound, changed her clothes. She was depressed and didn't want to think about anything.

In silence she moved to the desk where she worked. The best way no to think about anything is working. So now she was going to edit her last podcast.

When she heard her own voice, deriding the shadowless man, she couldn't help watch at her shadow. It was deeply black as usual, so black that it could be seen even in the darkness of the night. Just like on the road last night. Did that woman noticed the anomaly? (Y/n) didn't know, but even if so, the woman didn't run away in fear, she made her to lose consciousness and robbed her. The woman didn't care about who or what was (Y/n), the woman only wanted to get what she desired.

So maybe she wasn't the only one like that? Other people, desired something and saw no obstacles, they also did not care about essence of her and her shadow.

That meant that if (Y/n) wanted to be never harmed, she couldn't trust anyone.

She looked at her shadow again. At his shadow. She craved for seeing him again. It was so long.

She stood up, brought a candlestick from the living-room and matches from the kitchen and headed for a corridor at the far end of the house.

This corridor was the longest in the house and it was dead-ended. If the killer from the past had kept his victims in this house, and if they had tried to escape, they would probably have been caught in this hallway.

When (Y/n) moved to the house, she did some minor renovations: changed the wallpaper, updated the furniture that was too old and falling apart. She left the paintings, photos even and hunting trophies. A lot of antlers were hanging on the walls in this long and broad corridor.

She stopped in front of the dead-ended wall. It was also the darkest place in the house, as it had no windows. The only source of light were the candles in the sconce. She placed the candlestick on the floor and sat between it and the wall back to the candles, so a big black shadow fell on the yellow wallpaper.

She was waiting. Just give him time and he'll come.

Slowly the shadow grew bigger. Antlers grew on its head big as the branches of a tree. Its shoulders became sharper and its neck lengthened. An old radio, which she thought was no longer working, suddenly turned on. A soft white noise filled the hallway. She didn't move when she heard a familiar voice behind her.

"I apologize, my dear, but I cannot be by your side right now," He said very quietly, she barely heard him because of the crackling. She didn't say anything.

"I have some business... that I must complete." He said it, drowning in the white noise more. She knew it meant that he was exasperated.

"Are you in hell now?" (Y/n) asked without taking eyes from the macabre shadow.

"I am, dear." His voice became softer. "We met in wrong time, mon cher..." Quiet calmy crackle. "I wish we could meet more often."

"I was attacked." (Y/n) said as soon as he finished his sentence. Not because she didn't want to listen to him. The point was her eyes we're filling with tears as she heard his tender whispering. She didn't want to cry if he couldn't wipe of her tears away.

The corridor filled with a nervous crackling. It took long enough for him to answer.

"And how could it happened? Don't you trust anyone?"

"It was a woman," She answered, as it could explain anything.

"Ah, now I see."

Somnolent noise filled the air again. She noticed how strange he was this time. He usually knew what to say and never kept silence for too long.

"Tell me, how are you, dear?"

"I'm fine."

She couldn't take this suffocating atmosphere anymore. Suddenly she wanted to scream his name, to cry, to crash the radio, where he was hiding. She felt hate and despair, love and hope.

The shadow moved, as if the candles' flame was disturbed by somebody's inaccurate movement. The white noise almost disappeared, and she felt somebody's presence behind.

She was still sitting on the floor and saw two shadows on the yellow wall. Her usual, yet too black, shadow and his one, with deer ears, little cute antlers and a cane in the hand. His shadow leaned over her and she felt his breath on her cheek and then her neck.

"It won't work that way," he whispered, looking at the red line, crossing her neck. "Are you sure, you don't want to rewrite the contract?" She heard a smile in his words.

"I assure you that it will not happen again. No one can even come close to me."

"I see," (Y/n) could feel like his words touching her skin. She was glad, she was sitting on the floor, otherwise she could fall because her knees were too weak.

Their shadows blended in one.

His wet lips gently touched her wound. She felt his sharp fangs on her skin. (Y/n) didn't want to move away, she wanted to press herself to his mouth. Alastor raised his head higher, leaving a trace of hot breath on her cold skin, and left a kiss on the crown of her head.

She saw Alator's shadow bent in the waist and his head touching hers, when he left the gentle quick kiss.

He straightened up.

"Remember your words, dear. I don't want to see any wounds on you, unless I gave them," He chuckled. "Until we meet again, dear."

The sound of his footsteps faded away until another radio crackle was heard. It spilled over into an old song, repeating his last words.

* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *

Since that day (Y/n) became more isolated. She stopped to invite anybody even in her garden. Her reputation of an uncommunicative woman became stronger. She only read books, recorded podcasts and made her forest strolls, which became more frequent.

(Y/n) didn't feel lonely.

Since last meeting of her and Alastor, the shadow became more independent. When (Y/n) was alone, the shadow could change its form, it smiled and grimaced. Sometimes it could even take a physical form. Then (Y/n) could even touch it.

Slowly the shadow turned into something more than a dark figure underfoot. It became her friend.

*. ⋆ ✧.·:·.* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *.·:·.✧ *. ⋆

Several years had passed. (Y/n) had fame and yet she still was the biggest mystery for her listeners and residents. But she had tired of her loneliness. She didn't want to accept that she could feel lack of intimacy. All this years she ignored that feeling, but every day it became stronger. It was eating her alive. The shadow was friend, indeed, it protected her and saved in time of need, from both men and women. People dissapered and nobody could find any trace of them. It brought (Y/n) joy at first, but with time she tired of suspicious glances and the strangers under her windows. They were so annoying...

His shadow could even touch her, it could embrace her, they even danced sometimes, but she still felt like something was missing.

It was like you watch at a home landscape and understands that something has changed, but you can't understand what. Until you notice that an old tall tree didn't touched the sky with its green leaves anymore.

She couldn't deny that she missed Alastor. Not just felt longing for him, she felt like she had missed him, as if she had lost him. This feeling grew stronger with everyday.

"I need him more then ever," (Y/n) thought. Being without him felt like a torture. The feeling of losing him scared her. Couldn't he die in the hell? She didn't want to even think about it. The pain grew stronger, when she realised that it was his home town, it was his house, it was his shadow. He was everywhere, and yet never beside her. Just a torture.

* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *

"I WANT YOU TO FUCKING COME!" She screamed at the top oh her voice; so load that her throat hurt. She suffocated with sobbing. She felt so furious. (Y/n) had cast the spell for three times already, but he hadn't come.

She needed him, she wanted him; why was he ignoring her call?

She hated him that moment and hated herself. He promised to come whenever she wanted him, but he had been ignoring her for all these years.

"ALASTOR!"

Suddenly a flash of bright green light filled the room. Shadow tentacles were moving in the the fog. In this explosion (Y/n) saw his figure. Alastor was down on all fours, as if he was suffocating from pain. When the green fog disappeared (Y/n) noticed that his eyes were coloured in black. He glanced at her from under his forehead, and his eyes changed into their usual crimson colour. His red hair stood on end, his teeth were sharper than usual, the tails of his frock coat were tore. All his appearance told (Y/n) that something had happened with him. She had never seen him... so weak.

He looked away and stood up. The macabre lights and shadows disappeared. He looked normally now. Alastor stood opposite (Y/n) with his shoulders wide and with a self-satisfied smile.

"Verily, my dear, your command is much stronger then powers of overlords of hell."

She stood silently. He had come. Tears of rage ran down her face.

"Why, my dear!" Alastor exclaimed in surprise, "What has happened?" He made a step forward her and leaned over, "Why are you crying?"

She looked at him with her eyes burning with anger, "Why? Why?! You're asking me why?!"

Alastor didn't expect such fit of anger. He drew himself up and let her to continue. As she screamed, she gesticulated wildly, pulled her hair and looked at him like mad.

She didn't care who she was yelling at. She was devilishly angry and wanted to let all her anger out. He didn't stop her, letting her to vent all the emotions, even if he found it extremely senseless.

"I've been crying for you for..! for four years! I tried to summon you for numerous times! And you never showed up! Tell me, is the hell so far, that you can't even hear my screams, my cries, my prayers to you?!"

Her fury almost frightened him, and he thought what a powerful overlord could she be. Even a human she was frightful. She knew black magic, she didn't care for people's lives, she loved only herself and her power. But her words made him to feel pain I'm his chest. She was so deeply hurt. He was the cause of the pain, and for the first time in his life, he didn't like it.

She stopped screaming. She breathed more heavily and looked at him with teaful eyes. Pain in his chest became stronger.

Alastor said, pressing his hand to the chest, "I am ever so sorry, my dear. I apologize. There are some forces... That I can't resist."

(Y/n) was silence for several minutes. He couldn't understand what was on her mind. And then she said the thing Alastor didn't expect to hear, "I forgive you."

These words hit him. She said it so seriously, with clear eyes. He always tried to act like a gentleman, as his mother though him, but when he apologized, he always felt superior to others. He looked up on others with a wide smile. He found it funny, how he could to say "magic words" and then people or demons actually could take their armour off. But was he like that towards her? She was hurt by him indeed and yet she forgave him. Alastor understood that he needed her to forgive him, and that he apologized with all his heart. He felt sorry that they hadn't seen for so long. He missed (Y/n). And he was also glad that she summoned him in the moment, when he was in a quiet unpleasant situation. So, he was assuredly sincere.

But still he was amazed.

She looked at him, already calmed down. Alastor stared at her in wonder.

"We all have some... Difficult things to do sometimes, don't we?"

"Yes, indeed, dear."

(Y/n) looked at grandfather clock and asked Alastor, "And I suppose we don't have so much time, do we?"

He looked at the time too. If he weren't in the state he was now, they would have a lot more time.

"I'm afraid you're right, dear."

"How long?" She still looked at the clock.

"Until the dawn, I believe," He said quietly, coming closer to her.

"Only six hours," Murmured (Y/n) and turned to Alastor so quickly, he stopped in wonder, "Then you will do everything I ask."

"And I ask you now," She continued, because Alastor was silent, "to stay with me for this night, and you won't disappear or go away."

"If you wish, my dear."

(Y/n) took a candlestick from a commode.

"Follow me," She said.

* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *

Alastor followed her through the dark corridors lightend only by the candles in her hand. The walls were lined with woods, the furniture was old-fashioned, some floorboards creaked underfoot. He couldn't take his eyes off every object that arose in the dim candlelight, when they passed by. Alastor knew, if (Y/n) weren't here with her light he still would have found the way to the bedroom where they headed for. Everything was very familiar. His heart was aching.

"My dear, tell me, is this house- "

"Your house?" She interrupted him, not turning back, "Yes, it is."

Alastor heard smile in her words.

"Honestly, I didn't know it was yours when I bought it. Well, I was told that a serial killer lived here, but I thought it was just a commercial. But I understood that it was true, when I realised how hard it was to get it. After all, I had enough money to buy anything I wanted to."

"So they remember me?"

"Of course they do!"

Alastor was pleasantly surprised. He was an unknown serial killer and a famous radio host when he was alive. He liked his double life, but he liked more when people were afraid of him. And he was a little sorry, that no one knew about his crimes, when he was alive. And when (Y/n) told him the legends about him, how children frightened each other with stories of his deeds, Alastor was glad.

They came up to the bedroom door. (Y/n) stopped and asked Alastor to wait outside the door until she changed her clothes. As she disappeared behind the door, her shadow slipped under the door, mergering with his one. He tipped his head, looking at it.

In the bedroom (Y/n) changed her dress to a cotton nightgown in nineteenth century style. She turned on the lamps on the night tables and saw her shadow. It was her own shadow. Pale, dim, so abnormal. (Y/n) thought how defective looked her shadow without deep black colour of him.

She hastened to the door and let Alastor in. As he entered, the shadow backed to her. She breathed a sight of relief, but she thought about her addiction to the power and him.

She slowly came up to a big bed and lay under the blanket. The demon stood still in front of the bed. It wasn't his mother's bed, that once stood hear in this room. Some thoughts from his past filled his mind.

"Com here," He heard (Y/n)'s voice. She sat in the bed, surrounded by dark-red and white pillows. Her hair was plaited, naking her neck; she looked innocent in the nightdress, fit loosely on her body.

"Pardon?"

"I said," She said with a smile, beating each word with her palm on the mattress, "Come. Here."

He slowly came up, and sat down next to her. She glanced at him with a blink of fun in her eyes.

"Tell me," She said with a sly smile, "Do you have hooves?"

Alastor looked at her frowning but still with a smile.

"Just wondering," She smiled softly, "I just can't let you in my bed unless you take off your shoes."

She looked extremely cunning but he still saw traces of sadness in her eyes. He definitely didn't like what she invented to do, yet he took his shoes off and even his coat and lay beside her.

(Y/n) looked down on him and lay.

They looked at each other in silence in dim lightened room. She didn't realise how much she missed his crimson eyes, his wide sly smile, his funny sharpe ended nose and his deer ears. Several minutes ago she was so mad, she could kill him. Now she thought that to spend time together was much worth than any fights. (Y/n) moved closer to him and lay her head on his chest. Alastor turned on the side, so she clung closer to him. One of his hand laid under her head, other one embraced her waist. Alastor knew, her height was above average, but in his arms she still was very small.

"Do you demons ever sleep?" She wispered.

"Yes, dear, we do," He answered with a quite chuckle, "But not me, I'm afraid. Insomnia."

(Y/n) felt heat of his body. She clung even closer to get warm. Alastor's touches and breath were very hot; his breath tickled her skin; his right hand patted her head, and his left one squeezed her waist. She felt his claws gently touching her scalp and it gave shiver down her spine. The atmosphere of dark bedroom, his soft touches and quite radio crackling, his warm made her eyes close.

"I'm afraid to fall asleep." She mumbled and opened her eyes. Alastor saw her eyelashes were trembling.

"Why, my dear?"

"I want to feel you presence," She spoke very quietly, "but if I fell asleep, I wouldn't feel you anymore. And I want to spend every twinkle we have together."

(Y/n) felt his breath above her head and how he pressed his lips to the crown of her head. Then he pulled slightly back to look at her, and he saw tears in her eyes. He didn't like tears, especially when it was so much of them. With his long forefinger Alastor gently wiped her tears away.

"My dear," His voice was very low, "What is use of crying? I'm here. Wasn't that you wish?"

"It was, right, I just... Uh. Well, I missed you much and now..." She hid her head in Alastor's chest. She remembered last four years. And three years before it. The memory of her pale shadow flashed in her mind and (Y/n) shrank. It seemed like she wanted to bury herself in his rib cage. "To be honest I don't like my life. It feels like a threshold of life. Your power and protection freshed me, but I still feel like I don't belong to this world."

Alastor silently listened to her. Her breath became more intermittent, and he understood that she was crying again.

"I hate myself for being addicted to you, and yet I'm still like this. I'm so weak, so pathetic. I'm not even sure if you want my soul... It's the darkest and the coldest place in the whole Universe. It is more greedy and merciless than the Black Hole. But there is the only star in it. Just one warm star. And it burns for you. For you only, whatever you like it or not."

Alastor was impressed with her such poetic speech, but for the woman who had spent her entire life communicating only with books, this was normal, he thought.

"The only star in her soul that burns only for him," He thought. Such a lost girl. Such a lost soul. But he felt a strange longing for her. He didn't understand it and didn't like it. But he couldn't help it. Just as she couldn't stop her tears, he couldn't stop himself to touch her, to press his lips against her head, to call her "dear" putting a special meaning into the word.

She looked into his eyes and then looked down at his lips. They were the same colour as his skin — grey. She was looking there for too long, and Alastor raised an eyebrow, smiling expectantly. She leaned to him, but Alastor shown his teeth in a smile and moved a little bit back. (Y/n) smiled to him and left a kiss on his forehead. Alastor felt his cheeks pinked up.

"I'm sorry," She wispered and buried herself in his chest again. She didn't cry anymore, just lay in his arms movelsee as if she was already dead.

He was thinking. It could really be the last night they spend together. He didn't know when he would be free again. He tried to do everything that was possible, but it was still not enough to get back his freedom, to find the backdoor of that deal. But while he was here, in this house and in this room, with (Y/n) by his side, he could not to think about it.

Alastor made a decision. He made (Y/n) lie on her back and leaned over her. She opened her eyes in wonder, as he put one on his hand on her shoulder so she couldn't move. (Y/n) tried to bend her knees but touched his foot, no, his hoof. It gave her a very strange feeling, making her blushed. Alastor made the lamps to light even dimmer, and (Y/n) could see now, that his eyes radiated the red light. She opened her month to say something, but he leaned lower and kissed her. It was a long, deep kiss. His mouth was hot and wet, and she slowly closed her eyes. The metallic taste filled her mouth and she felt the touch of his tongue. She quietly moaned, and he pressed closer. His hands were searching her body; the lamps lighted up brightly and then go out again; she embraced him tight; sometimes she gently touched his ears and softly laughed, when they twitched, and he looked at her with assumed displeasure.

*. ⋆ ✧.·:·.* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *.·:·.✧ *. ⋆

After several days the newspapers told about a woman died in the forest near her house, in the house where a famous serial killer had once lived, and in the forest where the killer had died. It was after two weeks since (Y/n) and Alastor had met for the fourth time. After that night she woke up alone. She was the happiest and the saddest person in the same time. She went to the woods and didn't appear again. Some of her colleagues became worried and decided to visit her, dispite the fact tha she didn't receive anyone. The house was silent, and they checked the garden that was also empty. And then they went to the forest. They were looking for her for several hours and found her under a tree, a big and wide pine. A young deer bent over her body. It disappeared into the depths of the forest, seeing people. Her body had already begun the process of rotting. It was hard to name the cause of her death. There were only theories. People called the house where she had lived cursed. They told eerie stories about the deer in the woods. What a strange animal, they told, one man was mistook for a one and got shot, and other woman was guarded by the same animal. Residents noticed that with the death of the woman, people stopped disappearing without a trace. But none of the bodies were ever found. So New Orleans residents decided, that the famous podcast host was the murderer, and that she had a unique way of disposal of the bodies. People made up legends about a foreign woman who killed her enemies, guarded by the spirit of a last-century killer and who was friends with his shadow...

*. ⋆ ✧.·:·.* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *.·:·.✧ *. ⋆

A new overlord appeared in the hell. A woman in a long black dress, with green wide eyes and big antlers. Nobody knew her name, and she was called The Wood Witch. The Radio Demon was especially close to her. Soon they took control over the hell. They were the most dangerous and enigmatic overlords. They never seperated from each other. Those demons who still believed in love considered them the most lovely couple. They captured the hell and nobody dared to stand in their way.

the end

*. ⋆ ✧.·:·.* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *.·:·.✧ *. ⋆

invitation for a deernner: @noraunor

[the1975attheirverybest]

Hi lovely just been checking up with your blog and earlier you asked about the ideas for one little scene moments ( btw I loved the one you posted, what I love about your writing is how detailed you are I can see that and feel it in my head love you so much for that seriously ) so I love angst (i'm sorry ) so wanted to send you this. Girl/reader is being done with Matty's unwillingness to understand her pov during a fight and is out of words, gives up and agrees with him without any emotions and this is where it hits him. He then tries to show her he does get it which is hard bc she gave up. i Hope it makes sense sorry that might be a complicated

Omg this is so so so sweettt???? 🥹💗💗💗 and it makes me happy to hear that cuz I often feel like I’m better at writing dialogue than I am at scene-setting, plot, emotions, etc. and it bugs me sometimes hahaha. So this means a lot to me for real 💗💗

anyways, I THINK, I know what you mean. Let me know if this is not it. I’ll be happy to give it a second shot.

———

“I just don’t think it’s unreasonable to expect my girlfriend to be on my fuckin side.” Matty huffed, the heat of the argument making his skin feel too warm for him. He looked down at the marble of kitchen island as he sat at the barstool, pushing his half empty cigarette packet around with his finger, and watching it slide from one side to the other. his knees began to bounce as soon as he sat down, the nervous energy flowing through him, but he did his best to avoid looking into her eyes.

“I’m just pointing out that irony has its limits. I’m not saying abandon the entire show-“

“No, not at all. but you ARE saying you wouldn’t enjoy seeing it.” His lips moved before his brain could think, still addressing the sliding cigarette packet, he spoke with a clenched jaw. “‘So, how’s the new tour Matty? Seen the reviews, it looks great!’ ‘Yeah, yeah, thanks, mate. My girlfriend hates it, but hey, at least Rolling Stone thought it was alright.’” She shook her head in disbelief, walking around the kitchen island and towards the fridge to pour herself a glass of water.

“I am, and always will be, you’re biggest fan and you know it.” She grabbed an empty glass off the dish rack, pulling the fridge door open with her free hand.

“Didn’t sound like a fan when Brad asked you what you thought. Sounded like a- a- Twitter troll.”

in the silence, Matty could hear the gulping sound of the water pouring down her throat. She set the now empty glass of water on the marble counter, inches away from his cigarette packet.

In a calmer, more composed tone, she restated the point that she felt she’d been making all day. “I merely pointed out that, as it stands right now, the show feels like it’s more of the same thing. And that if your goal is change, evolution, a female perspective on this whole question of masculinity wouldn’t hurt”

“But that’s the fuckin point!” Finally, the frustration feeling bigger and stronger than his body, Matty stood up, sighing loudly and pulling at his own hair. “To take the thing to his absurdist limit such that it becomes a parody of itself. Besides I refuse to participate in the false dichotomy of male versus female. To fix one you must become more like the other? What kind of bullshit artist do you think I am?”

He finally picked up the cigarette packet and lit one, taking a drag that forced him to stop and breathe in for a moment.

her lips parted, instantly, ready for the rebuttal. Ready to explain to him, for the hundredth time in the past hour, that she wasn’t suggesting what he thinks. That she wanted him to try harder to practice all the things that he theorizes. To ask himself what he’d feel if he were to be vulnerable, without the safety net of a joke, or an act, to fall back on. But as she prepared her next argument, running through her thoughts before she spoke them, the feeling of defeat overwhelmed her. She’s been at this a while. Trying to explain what she meant in different ways. Some gentler, more indirect, leaving it up to Matty to draw his own conclusions, others louder, more blunt, unequivocally disagreeing with him. But Matty was so trapped in his own vision to step outside of himself and entertain an alternative. She took a deep breath, squeezing her lips shut. Then, she exhaled, looking at Matty as his fingers nervously tapped against the marble surface. “okay.” She said simply. “I get it.”

Matty blew the smoke up towards the ceiling. “I’m just saying” he spoke authoritatively, like a lecturer clarifying complex concepts to a room full of novice students. “I know what I’m doing. And I wish I could the sense that you believed in this thing as much as I do.” He finally turned to meet her eyes.

“I do. I believe in it.”

“I trust the audience. They’ll get it. I don’t think they’ll think it’s the same show all over again.” He was doubling down, but the more he spoke, the more he seemed to doubt his own words.

“yeah, you’re right. I think they’ll get it.”

she walked in a semi-circle, around Matty’s body, retrieving her empty glass. It still held on to some of the coolness from the water that had left it. She set the glass down in the sink, turning on her heels and walking out of the kitchen without sparing him a second glance.

she felt foolish that this had even turned into an argument. She was certain that normal couple had communication issues, or argued about whose family they should spend the holidays with or whose turn it is to do certain chores, not, the limits of irony is performance art or Matty’s fear of and simultaneous desire for sincere self expression. The thing is, she knew that to their relationship, this is a communication issue. It was important to Matty that she be a fan of his artistic choices because his work is who he is. She often looked at what he did and saw him. Saw the way his mind works, how he feels about important parts of his life, what he’s proud of, what he’s afraid of, what he loves or hates, what he wants to change. She got to know him this way. To her, his inability to concede to her judgment wasn’t just a difference in aesthetic theory, it was an unwillingness to relinquish control over the argument. He wasn’t even trying to put himself in her shoes and see things her way. he felt attacked by her criticism of something that came directly from the depths of his mind and heart, and his response what to push back. She’s been lost in thought, so she had no idea when Matty had appeared in the living room doorway. His head cocked to the side, his gaze downcast. “Do- do you really think there isn’t enough honesty in the new show?” His tone was inquisitive now rather than accusatory. hesitantly, he walked towards her on the couch, one step at a time.

“the shows fine, Matty.” She looked right through him, at the wall behind him.

“it’s important to me that you like it.”

“I do. I like it.”

matty clicked his tongue. “Please, don’t be like that.”

She looked directly into his eyes, this time, and he could see her anger. “Like what, Matty? Supportive! I thought that’s all you wanted from your girlfriend. Well, here I am. Being supportive.”

He stopped inches away from her, dropping to his knees and hopping to be at eye level with her waist. He placed his hands into her lap, palms down, gripping the tops of her legs desperately. “I want- I need to - need you to be proud of me.” He rested his head against her knees, begging for physical intimacy to bridge the emotional gap that had formed like a chasm between them.

reluctantly, her hands found their way to his hair, caressing it lightly, a sign of compromise. Meeting in the middle. “I do want you to be supportive.” He spoke into her legs. “I’m being supportive. I’ll be supportive.”

He shook his head, his curls moving around her fingers. “No, not like that. I think- I think you were being supportive before. By pushing me to be better. I don’t want a cheerleader, I want you.” hid hand reached over his head and grabbed her wrist. “I love when you argue with me. Please never stop arguing with me.” Pulling his head off of her, he leaned over and kissed her hands. “Please promise me?”

[castlebyersafterdark]

I don't know! Why am I like this!!

hehehe ok firstly, shoutout to the peeps who can't watch panels due to the celebs, i can't relate but i feel for you! i struggle to watch them because of the awkwardness of the fans instead haha - awkward questions, silly questions, repetitive questions, people who burst into tears when they come to their turn. im sorry i just find that hard to watch lol! maybe its my inner journalist itching to be there and ask the real q's. or maybe im too british! pull yourself together, man! (said in a stiff military accent lmao) just kidding.

but as someone who used to find it harder than i do now to engage in this kind of content, my unsolicited advice that may not work for you is to really focus on being interested in what they have to say or are trying to say and what that might mean. then your brain kind of cuts out/dismisses the umming and ahhing, just sees it as a side effect instead of a tick or annoyance. obviously some speakers are worse than others but i honestly find most people in ST to be ok speakers, with the worst perhaps being finn. the others are all amenable and confident public speakers. i get the finn angst, it's never comfortable to see someone else who is uncomfortable... but he's fascinating, so i try to treat him as a fascinating person to observe when the empathy kicks in too hard and makes me want to hide lol.

which leads me to say vinny I AM HUGGING YOU RIGHT NOW! can't believe people were mean about you crying when another started crying - this is literally pure kind empathy at work and you are such a dreamboat for that. me and my whole family are the same, so i feel lucky to have had that experience. actually we used to be told not to cry as kids, only because my mum knew it would set her off too (she was already crying as she said it haha).

Yeah - good advice!! I really want to listen to what these actors have to say so it's a major power through moment every time!! And yeah, also not saying it to be mean but it's the fans primarily, but people can't help the reaction they have, and I know I'd fuck it up if I tried to ask something in public, which is why I never would. Actually, I'd try to be really funny and charming and it would fall completely flat and make me just seem like an ass so also, would never approach the mic at a con hahaha.

It's the same with live music or theater - I have this sinking fear in the pit of my stomach sometimes where as good as the show is, god if something goes wrong on stage and they flub lines and have trouble recovering or seriously mess-up a song or have a mishap, I would be dying inside and probably have a silent internal panic attack myself and wish I was anywhere else!! Get a grip, man, I am saying to myself!!!

And... thank you for the kind words. It's ok, I've manged to come out on the other side fine and unchanged, with people in my life who've made it known it's ok to be emotional, and be too much, and to feel deeply. And there's nothing wrong with being a guy who tears up a lot. (Part of what draws me to Will - I love him and I love his sensitivity and the way he feels so deeply. I've never seen a character like him before. Why when people complain about him being a crybaby it's a major 'shut up and let him be' moment from me! And Noah seems to also be similar so I feel kinship with that lovely guy). Listen. I grew up with 4 older brothers so. The little gay baby is my lot in life and it's totally fine now, but there was a lot of enduring bullshit growing up and breaking away from terrible friends and then finding people who let you be you. That's the goal in life. Find people who you can support and who will support you in turn, all sides. ❤️❤️❤️

[favterukanes]

Ok I got TERU SONGS!!!!!!

a lot are sad/angsty sorry not sorry- again the songs are sad, angsty, and just songs that reminds me of him for no reason ^^

Numb little bug by our last night (one of my personal favs)

Juliet by cavetown (this song is also in my Terukane Playlist-)

Fight fire with gasoline by self deception

Straight to hell by dead things

People I don't like by UPSAHL (this one also reminds me of the sunflower trio)

Purgatorium by awake at last

Hostage by no resolve

Graveyard by our last night

Daddy issues (remix) by the neighborhood & syd (YES OK- )

My way by NEFFEX

In fact (the carousel remix) by Gregory and the hawk (this would actually be a song about Kou-)

Family line by Conan gray (I literally love this song-)

Look who's inside again by bo Burnham (the ultimate Teru song in my opinion-)

Like a villain by bad omens

Kate's not here by girl in red

Scars that I'm hiding by from ashes to new

Mouth full of razors by memory of a melody

Hell and back (remix) by Jerome the prince

Darkest days by becko

Rät by Penelope scott

Mememe by 100 gecs

There are some hard bops in here (tho I love all of them) so I hope you enjoy!!! ^^

HAHAHA u cant have a Teru playlist without angst. Its impossible!!

WOOOOOAAHHH. FIRST ONE IS ALREADY A BANGER?

At this point the entire lyric matches with him!! And its such a great music too. I wish i could pick a single bit of the music to put here but it all matches ??!! Σ(°ロ°)

-

I'll always love cavetown & his musics, no matter the hate ppl give to him!!

And i have such a soft spot for this music, and how poetic it is ugghh!!

-

HAHAHAH couldnt miss daddy issues in a Teru playlist.

-

i loved "in fact" thats exactly the type of music i like to listen to!!??!? And it is so amazing im flabbergasted!

-

FUCKKK, FAMILY LINE IS SO GOOD. Totally shocked with this playlist now, just woah.

-

YEYEYEYEYEYEYE BO BURNHAM!!!

With Teru's prideful self, aahhhh !!!

-

I dont even have anymore to say!! Just that i loved ur whole playlist !!

funny how this playlist show how badass Teru is but at the same time so pathetic, THATS IT!!!

Big bops here, i had fun listening (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

[100-yardstare]

🌦️, 🤪, and ❤️?

Sorry for getting to this so late, anon! Thank you bunches for sending these. This was fun lol.

Answering for my upcoming Sonic Boom centered Insert and fic.

🌦️: Would you be accompanied by mostly fluff or angst fanfics? Both? Explain why.

ANGST! Omg, so the premise starts as an isekai and since we're talking about Boom!verse here, it has those Adventure Time vibes where it is a gag-type story, meant to be funny and not taken very seriously but later hits you with a super serious plot (my goal at least). So the whole shifting worlds/dimensions thing could become its own creepypasta, and my character would get a lot of angst and psychological horror fics.

🤪: What is your trait that fanon would exaggerate?

Because Boom!verse exaggerates a lot of personality traits on purpose (example, making Eggman over the top funny whilst taking away his threat level), this question works out perfectly for my self insert. She would be written off as a tired, existential, "wine aunt" (although I do not drink wine, maybe coffee aunt? Idk). Like, "please God I just want to be alone", type of exaggeration but keeps getting forced into shenanigans.

Like this and holding a Kit Kat bar (kudos to an old friend of mine that drew this of me hahaha):

❤️: How popular is you x your f/o? Are you a rarepair?

Eggman is one of my f/os anyway sooo. Idk, how I have it planned out, it's kinda obvious to the reader that they like each other and it's pinning but they’re idiots in the Boom!verse. So, if my insert was a canon character then it would probably become well known and get joked about a lot. For other universes like main!Eggman it would be popular with a specific set of people who like problematic relationships cause he's an evil guy, come on. There is a different flavor for everyone going on here though with the Kegg ship, due to the different versions of Eggman and my insert.

‘Imagine Your S/I Was Canon…’ Self-Ship Asks

[northerngoshawk]

😡🫦😀 for the fic ask game!

hi hello sorry this is eons late um--

i really don't have a great reason to give on why except school + hyperfixation on Genshin so, uh--

i think this ask was from this ask game? idk but the emojis seem to line up so... yeah. better late than never ig. hahaha....

😡which fic did the characters control the most (like you wrote a whole ass plan AND THEY DECIDED TO FUCK IT UP)?

i'll be honest, there isn't a lot of cases where that happened? almost, if not all, of my fics tended to stay on the path i meant for them to go upon - although it may also have to do with the fact that i don't tend to plan that tediously out anyways hahaha

i think if i had to choose a fic, i would go with a thousand and one lifetimes. it was just meant to be only a few words each section, but then each section kept growing. and growing. and growing. and--

yeah, ig it can't be helped tho. i really, really love the platonic (and potential platonic!) relationships Aang could have with the rest of the cast in ATLA, not to mention that AUs are my bread and butter and i love love LOVE exploring established dynamics in a newfound setting.

🫦what is your biggest regret in one of your fics whether it be something you wish you didn't do, or you wish you did do?

i think one of the things i regret was writing bleeding out (with you to carry me home) in general, mostly because it just... it feels like gratituitous angst. it doesn't really have much of a purpose, other than to produce some kind of angst. maybe it was a fix i needed when i was writing it in the moment, but now, looking back... i just don't think it serves much more of a purpose beyond that.

with that being said, a specific regret i have is writing the platonic zukaang section in there. not because i don't like it or i don't want it there, it's that i feel that it's one of the only redeeming qualities of this fic. it's a pretty nice jewel of writing, and i think it deserves to be in a more... thought-provoking fic, ig? idk.

maybe i'm just being overly harsh to my past self, the same way most of us are to our past writing skills. it's not like i'm gonna delete the fic or anything either, i guess it's just me wondering what could've been.

😀which of your fics did you not think a lot people would like but they did?

hands down The Dishonored Blade. it was an incredibly niche fic that was written just for me, and considering it combined ATLA and League of Legends, i'm still surprised i got the amount of kudos i did.

i think a part of it could have been it was written and published during 2021, when the ATLA fandom craze was still happening and thus a lot of people from both fandoms were present at the time. especially when compared to its sequel The Darkened Path (which was written in 2023), i feel like i would have to attribute most of my kudos to the fandom craze.

either way, i'm still pleasantly surprised at the kudos count and even fans who commented on this piece! there was even a reader who was knowledgable about the League of Legends lore and asked to see a more fleshed out universe of this form. it really warms my heart knowing that even the most niche of fics will find its place somewhere... even if it's not where we initially thought.

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

who's your fave BSD character and why?

what's your fave work of fiction?

Oppenheimer or Barbie?

Do you write OG stories too?

In your fanfictions, would you rather write fluff or angst?

do you have a best friend?

when writing, do you focus on plot first or characters first?

also how do you do such good analyses on characters with barely any screentime JFIRGR is that like a psych major thing? hehe anyways..

laast question: do you have a pet? TT and what's one problem (external or internal) that you want to fix in your life?

(lmao those are two last questions but uhm, yeah.)

(sorry for the rambles, im just bored and rlly curious TT)

Oh hello! It’s cool I don’t mind!

Favourite BSD character: This is really tricky because every time I think I have a favourite I remember something really cool about another character… I don’t think there’s a single character who I don’t find interesting. In terms of writing I really like Kyouka, Mushitarou, and Akutagawa. Atsushi I would actually hang out with and I am prepared to defend as an excellent protagonist. I also really like Yosano, Chuuya, Teruko, Ranpo, and Odasaku! Also my extremely overlooked fave is H. G. Wells from 55 Minutes… I love her so much she’s so cool…

Favourite work of fiction: Hmm… you know I’m honestly not sure I could pick a favourite. I’ve read a lot of stuff and watched a lot of things… however for the purposes of this blog I have been overrun by Trigun emotions and Hatoful Boyfriend had a death grip on me for most of high school.

Barbenheimer: Probably I’ll go see Barbie at some point. I actually don’t watch a lot of movies but this one seems pretty cool!

Do you write OG stories: Ohh how do I answer this…? Yes 100%. I have so many original plots in my head, and I have tried to write them several times. I have one ongoing right now on my side blog called The Capture of Light… I’ve been very slow to update but it’s there. My oldest story that I’ve been working on is a series called the Interworld… I’ve been working on it and revising it since I was 13. I worry it’s too needlessly convoluted though. The problem is that I’m never satisfied so I keep scrapping and restarting it… so can I really say I write them? :/

Fluff or angst: Angst all the way. I like to write suffering, but I generally will write in a bittersweet hopeful ending. :) Depends on what’s tonally appropriate though.

Best friend: Yes I do have a best friend! I’ve known her for 9 years now. She’s actually on here; her account is @doodle-storm. She doesn’t update a lot but I’m sure she’d appreciate it if you checked out her art or said hi. :)

Plot or characters first: I make a rough plot outline with key points I have to get to, then I make detailed character notes and designs. The way I see it, the best way to make sure your plot stays cohesive is to make sure you know your character’s motives at all times. That way, even if the plot winds up changing a bit, I still have a good idea of how the characters will react, no matter what situation I put them into. If I can transplant them into any random scene or situation and know how they’ll respond, I feel comfortable that I know them well enough to write.

Analyses: Hahaha, honestly the psych knowledge helps but… I think that might just be me. I’ve kind of always done stuff like this it’s just now I have people who actually read it instead of telling me to shut up ehehe. I think the key is to isolate the main themes of the story. A good story will have its characters all model or echo these themes in some way. From there, it’s a lot easier to read character motivations, even if they don’t have a lot of screen time. Another important thing to remember is “explanation not justification”. You should be able to explain the motive behind a character’s actions. This does not mean they’re justified. This really helps with analyzing villains or morally grey characters. It also helps you to understand people in real life!

Pets: None unfortunately. 😞 If I weren’t allergic to cats I would have a cat though. I love cats. They also tend to headbutt my legs a lot so I think they tend to like me too. I have to resist the urge to pet them every time. …I fail. Every time. I go home and sneeze for two hours with itchy eyes. It was worth it.

Problem I wish I could fix in my life: Well I have some mental health problems so I guess I wish I could. Not have those. Yeah. I’m looking for support about it. I’m trying. Hehe.

This was fun! Thank you! Can I shoot some of these questions back at you? I’d love to hear your answers! :D

[babacontainsmultitudes]

Swiftli? Grant/Marco? Mercedes/Carol? Autumn Oak/Linda Stampler? (spreading my own propaganda <3)

For the ship ask thing :)

Also sorry that it’s kinda a lot lmao

Hiya!!! Hehe very interesting choices, love this, let's get to it!

Swiftli: COMFORT SHIP ALERT!!!

So, okay, the thing about this ship is that it's not my default ship for Linc or even necessarily Taylor? But that's not to say I'm conflicted, no, I really like these two together!

*Romantically* I think it kinda took me a while to feel the appeal of this ship? But then like... One night on a whim I found myself making a really silly playlist for them and... That made me understand it? At least what it is for me. This and, @raemeh (iirc) made a post about their first kiss being a surprisingly good one and- gee idk that made me go 😳 as well hahaha.

And yeah! Like I said this is absolutely a comfort ship for me, they're very silly and cute together, love to rotate them around in my head, might even write them at some point who knows!

Marco/Grant: OUGH THE CUTIE PATOOTIES OH MY GOSH I'M PUTTING THEM TOGETHER IN A LITTLE JAR AND SHAKING THEM AROUND AND THEN UH GIVING THEM SOME PRIVACY EHEHEH

At the start of S2 I think it's fair to say that of all the kiddads I was probably most curious to see what kind of person Grant ultimately got with, I suppose probably because relationship troubles are such a big thing for him in S1! And I just want the best for him honestly ahaaa

😫 And I wasn't disappointed! Marco is so sweet and they're so cute together and eghhsibgosesg-

Er, despite this I'd actually like to see some angst/conflict between them? Grant has a lot of explaining to do tbh, and I sorta don't want everything he's hid and lied about to go without consequences from Marco... But of course I'd want them to work everything out in the end! I think that would make me love them even more tbh.

In general I really just want more of these two in canon! They need to kiss... Otherwise, y'know in general I have a good chunk of ships for Grant but... Ultimately so long as Marco exists in the same universe, I tend to imagine them getting together in the long run.

Mercedes/Carol: Oooh interesting! Not a ship I've thought too much about tbh, but I could get behind it! I think my main hang-up if anything is that usually when I imagine ships with either Henry or Mercedes, either one of them doesn't exist in that universe or they never met, or it's a poly thing! In this case, I'd probably like this best if Hen and Mercedes have an open-relationship sorta deal (I mean they sorta canonically do?) and these two get involved with each other within that context. 🤔 Could also get behind a 4-way poly scenario with Darryl as well, but that's not a necessity by any means!

:0 I like the idea of Carol getting to experiment and maybe learning more about her sexuality and the like the way Darryl sort of got to in S1, and Mercedes would be a lovely person to see that happen with! Yeah, they'd be cute together I think!

Autumn/Linda (Ron's mom!): I'm so fascinated by this ship??? Also love that we've just established Linda's name haha good for her good for her.

You'll have to tell me more about how you see this ship before I come to any concrete feelings about it tbh! Still, I like the premise I mean, I guess they'd actually have a bunch going for them? On its own I love the idea of the omega daddies being divorced af and their exes getting together haha it's what they deserve. But yeah they could genuinely be quite good for each other! I imagine Linda must be pretty good at dealing with people with anger issues, she'd probably have the patience to be there for Autumn in a way that matters and help her work through some things. And Autumn is an underrated catch tbh haha- :o also a very powerful druid who could possibly help Linda with her chronic illness??? The fact that she had a bit of a thing for Ron also makes her getting with his mom pretty funny to me.

Yeah idk, like I said I'm fascinated, feel free to ramble about them!!!

OKAY hehe, thanks for the ask!!!! 💜

[formula-fun]

Ah! (lightbulb) we definitely have very different understandings of angst, or I was more thinking about relationship-wise because the current fic feels like the story of them coming together despite everything on themselves and between each other. And internal and external perception of gender roles, external expectations and judgment hahahaha is simply part of the “everything”. I definitely is not expecting fairytale happily ever after (not that my expectations should matter).

It’s not pretentious at all hahaha, maybe it’s just even though world-building is very important for me even in fanfic (I get stuck thinking about logistics a lot of the time) , I still looked past the heaviness of gender roles, expectations and judgement because it feels like something jumping on the back of their minds and the story constantly, but when I am way too focused on “how they are feeling” instead of “how they are going to make this work” it’s kind of shoved out the way.

Though now typing this out is really making it like I’m just ignoring the elephant in the room ha. I do really like the “huge fucking mess” though, besides the glorious horse metaphors, your way of writing and very smooth incorporation into personality and interactions make the underlying discussion so much more interesting. Like it’s a very important part of the story but not center-staged with neon flashing lights, instead has the constant lurking in the shadows air to it. It is technically heavy but both of them thrive on challenges don’t they!

Oh! Or maybe I have always associated the heaviness in the background for Max in the story with his father which is being counterproductive to him embracing himself, and Charles with embracing himself, this actually is the more specific version of “gender roles, expectations and judgement”.

Forgive me for thinking that even if the plot is trying to gender stereotypes into mush they could still get ostentatious diamond engagement rings hahahhahah, maybe it’s just me thinking this would be funny, especially during the time they would literally be facing media judgement about how the “omega wife” should be home with the child not out fucking f1 with his greatness. It could (or not) be in line with Charles change in dress style!

Sorry I pretty much just wrote down my very nonlinear thought process.

Happy Wednesday! (At least we are pull through half the week now right?)

Xxxxxxxxxooooooooooxxxxoo

Hi hi again!! mwah

Yeah I think that probably explains it!! i mean it'll probably all result in some tension in their relationship but you know...it'll be fine. idk. we'll have to wait and see!! once again i am answering your ask too early in the morning and dont have the braincells i am so sorry

i do completely get you about worldbuilding too, I tend to think about writing in a really mathematical/analytical way in terms of how people and relationships fit together so i know it's easy to get caught up in logistics!! theres a lot of worldbuilding cmoing up now for me as well though because the last chapter has to do with like how mating works vs how weddings work and things like that. like mating ceremonies were already mentioned and they're different than beta weddings, but im still working out what exactly they look like. Also how gender works for kids since gender and biological sex don't really have anything to do with each other in this universe? I think i've figured out what its going to be like but i dont know for sure yet. fun fun fun

but yeah anyway i like the way you put it because they themselves exist kind of in an internal relationship and that's where the story is being told, but everything else is an external pressure that's guiding them in certain ways or making them feel certain things. Without all of that they'd probably be fine, but there's a lot going on outside of just them and we're not so much seeing those things as we are seeing how it changes them as people. So 'how they're feeling' is really what the story is about, but it's all a direct result of those things that are lurking in the shadows.

and hashshahd i'll get back to you about diamond rings!! i guess it all depends on what exists in their bubble vs what exists in the external bubble!! at this point they're starting to prioritize only what makes them feel good and completely put aside things that please external forces (max finally told his dad he needed space, charles wants to court max, charles is exploring his own self-expression in ways that make him happy--all of these things directly contradict what other people expect or want from charles and max, but they're both doing them to make themselves feel happier or more secure, which in turn makes their relationship more secure), so going forward that will probably be what they continue to do. if they want to get beta married and throw a big celebration then they'll do it, but they probably won't do it just for the sake of appearances/to show off! it's more about doing what makes them happy

but also my brain was like melted the other day from this stupid academic paper about public vs private life and i think that is now unforutnately influencing this fic. the public/private life academic paper is an external pressure on my internal relationship with my own fic. this is why we cant have nice things

anyway sorry for this long ass answer, thank god its wednesday tho and i hope youre having a great week!!!! sorry if none of this makes any sense but please know i enjoy your questions so so so much <333

[hyuckmov]

hiii moon anon here i have a lot to say but first off: i've been analyzing the title song settle down and i've been listening to it over and over again and is the story gonna parallel the lyrics itself?? "and i don't seem to be having any effect now" like thats… oooh the angst is gonna be delicious. i hope you take this as a compliment when i say this but the whole fic takes me BACK to 2013-2015 YOU KNOW THAT ERA HAHAHA the tropes, the ambiance, the CHARACTERS!! side question: is mark or jisung gonna play bigger roles? or did they just act as plot devices for reader and haechans development. would not mind either way but given the concept of the story i can totally imagine reader coming back and just wreaking havoc on the band. sorry i love mess lol. maybe i'm delusional or maybe its the fact that it's haechan but it makes me more understanding of the character?? i trust you when you say that there's more to rockstar hc than meets the eye, and especially from his perspective it's pretty realistic that he has his guard up when it comes to really connecting with people, and we see his walls slowly crumbling down by the end too. and even in the earlier parts of the story i didn't expect him to have his sweet moments?? i honestly expected him to be worse but god him calling her PRINCESS has me on my knees i will defend reader's choices with my life because i'd do the same, i'd probably still go to the concert by the end she's so much stronger than me helppp (tho DISCLAIMER i would not be doing this for just any man its bc its haechan why i am easily swayed by the little things,,, just like reader), but i liked how she decided to take a step back this time, especially when at that point haechan is basically offering her what she has always wanted, but knowing his past actions it won't be truly easy to hang onto every word said. this is the culmination of every mixed signals and rejection that haechan gave her, and the build up to it is veryyy well done. also im still reeling from reading the fic i felt sooo many emotions and dk how to fully articulate it yet,, maybe i'll come back when i do. i even made a playlist of my own w songs that reminded me of the fic to help me move on (at least until pt 2 gets posted, cant wait tho!!)

MOON ANON.... when i say my jaw dropped.... my heart rate actually spiked i can't believe you wrote such a detailed review and theorized this makes me so happy especially since you basically inspired me with this idea !!!! giving you a huge hug rn 🫂🤍 

omg ngl this fic encouraging people to listen to settle down makes me so happy because it's one of my favorite songs 😭 it makes me feel so honoured to know that you are analysing the lyrics and anticipating the plot like that really means so much to me !!! i definitely picked it because it had themes i wanted to explore throughout the song...but the lines kind of contain both hyucks and readers pov hehe so i'm excited to explore that in part 2

i take that as a DEFINITE COMPLIMENT i was so invested in that era it was so formative for me... hence a lot of the song choice in my playlist too... i don't know if i genuinely nailed the idea of rockstar in rockstar haechan (because truly...what is a rockstar...) but i did want to give it that 2013 band on tumblr vibe lmfao so i'm so glad you brought that up !!!!

AAAA the band still definitely continues to play a role... they have stuff to work out but i've thought about their characters a lot and i definitely want to show more of their opinions on haechan and reader (it wouldn't be a rockstar au without that). someone else i want to add in is jaemin because ngl reader needs someone purely on her side

i hope i'm not promising too much with haechan HAHA i'm not someone who likes to give too much backstory to characters so i'm just putting it out there: i'm not going to explain that he's this way becaue he was cheated on before or he had family problems etc. i just want it to be genuine layers of his character and personality that's put to the test (love making it hard for myself LOL)

i'm so relieved to know you still managed to feel for his character and appreciate the softer sides of him and a bit of his struggle... i was worried i promised a super terrible character with the preview and people would be disappointed he ended up being so gentle with reader 😅

and her standing him up at the end!!! i'm glad you thought it was justified but at the same time recognise she probably was going to...it really could go both ways and idk if i'm still going through with my original plot arc !!! we will see :)

this was already so articulate omg once i appreciate it sooo so so so much that you shared such a detailed review with me, it literally blows my mind and i will reread your ask again and again !!!! omg and if u want please share your playlist with me too!!! i want to see what songs there are that give him vibes ~~

thank you sm again...you are too nice to me ily!!!!