#and it so would be nicky to make fun of him for it

[wilhelminyard]

compilation of nice/sweet things the foxes said to neil because even though they're a bunch of assholes who'll insult anyone in their vicinity they all just love him so damn much (part 1) :

WYMACK :

"if your parents are a problem for you, we'll move you to south carolina early."

"foxes are foxes for a reason and they know we wouldn't sign you if you didn't qualify. that doesn't mean they know specifics. it's not my place to ask and I'm sure as hell not going to tell them."

"it's about second chances, neil. second, third, fourth, whatever, as long as you get at least one more than what anyone else wanted to give you."

"I have never, ever hit someone without provocation and I'm sure as hell not going to start with you. you hear me?"

"I'll take care of this. you take care of you."

"do you have any idea what could have happened to you between here and there? what were you thinking? you should have called me"

"any of us would have come and gotten you"

"it's not your job to take care of yourself anymore. it's your job to play, and mine and abby's job to look after you."

ANDREW :

"oh you might actually turn out to be interesting"

"you be something. kevin says you'll be a champion. four years and you'll go pro. five years and you'll be court."

"curious that a man with so much potential, who has so much fun, who could 'be something' wouldn't want any of it"

"a liar who practices occasional honesty. clever."

"are you going to tell kevin?" "don't ask me stupid questions"

"oh neil, as unpredictable as he is unreal"

"what would it take to make you stay?"

"I'll stand between you and the moriyamas"

"you gave your game to kevin. give your back to me."

KEVIN :

"neil is exactly what the foxes need right now. his inexperience is inconsequential. we went through a hundred files looking for a striker for this year, but neil is the only one we approached. we knew as soon as we saw him we needed to sign him. we're just lucky we got there before anyone else did"

"our primary concern was keeping neil safe"

"*to riko* leave him alone."

MATT :

"are you bleeding anywhere?"

"coach says [neil's] got potential. andrew says you're fast. [...] andrew bets you can outrun everyone on this team."

"seriously are you okay?"

"I'll owe you one" "you won't owe me anything"

"you be careful, okay?"

"I'm fine" "you say that a lot. I'm starting to think you don't know what it means."

"coach says stupid but I say you have balls of steel"

NICKY :

"neil, you clean up good"

"andrew is keeping you, same as he kept kevin. it means you're part of the family now. [...] family means something different with us because it has to. it's not about blood. it's not even about who we like. it's about who andrew's willing to protect."

"that makes you invaluable to andrew"

"you're one of us, which means we'll never push you further than you're willing to go"

DAN :

"are you okay?"

"coach said you hitchhiked your way back here. I'd yell at you for being stupid but coach said he handled that already"

"we didn't let him [in]. he didn't make it further than the front door."

"neil? you don't have to do this, you know"

ALLISON :

"looking fancy"

SETH :

"maybe you're not as stupid as I thought"

AARON :

(I know it surprised me too but it's probably the only compliment he gives neil throughout the entire series and they literally just met at that point)

"at least you're not going to completely drag us down. it'll take most the season to get you where we need you to be but I can see why kevin picked you"

[cassiebones]

nobody can convince me that agatha and rio wouldn't have had more children had nicky not died, had Death been allowed to have living, semi-mortal children. They only lasted like 50 years before their eldest was born. They would have continued to make more babies for the next three hundred and beyond. Every time one of their children is old enough to basically fend for theirself, Agatha feels that longing for a baby and Rio can't deny her.

It takes three or four kids before Agatha has a kid that looks as much like her as Nicky looks like Rio. When this child, Mari (short for Mariposa), reaches adulthood, she develops that same little gap between her teeth (in modern times, she would have gotten braces, but she was born in the late 1700's okay, give her a break) so she does look somewhat like Rio, but she has bright blue eyes and her hair curls like Agatha's. She also has a similar power set to Agatha, which Agatha fosters as much as she could because nobody ever did that for her.

By modern day, they probably have about twenty kids, the youngest of which is still small enough to carry as they move into Westview, acting like a modern lesbian couple. They are single-handedly repopulating the witch community that Agatha killed off.

But they're happy and in love. All their children are pretty well-adjusted. Nicky still has a big heart. He's probably a doctor somewhere, moving around when people start to question why he doesn't age - at least until Eternals are accepted and superheroes just become more commonplace. Nobody questions why he looks like he's thirty-five when he should be closer to his seventies (nobody knows what his true age is) and he still visits his mothers. Due to the nature of his job, he doesn't always appreciate when Rio visits him at work.

Three of their children train as Reapers with Rio. The rest are scattered around the world, living their lives, but they always call their mothers, or they visit with their own partners and children.

The youngest three are juveniles, so they live with their mothers in the suburbs. They're as mischievous as Rio, causing havoc wherever they go, but they're studious, too, like Agatha, so they get good grades and do well in their magic studies.

When Wanda tries to start her bullshit, Agatha stops her, putting a pin in her grief. Instead of draining her power, she becomes a kind of mentor to Wanda. This Agatha never lost her son, but she does have a shit ton of trauma from her youth resulting from her own coven just refusing to teach her, and she recognizes Wanda as another untrained witch. So she trains her. She teaches her how to use the powers that she's familiar with. She gathers other witches (Lilia, Alice, Jen) to help her where they can. They converse with Stephen Strange on how to best help Wanda in her grief and magic.

I really wish Agatha's What If...? episode had been "What if Agatha had never lost her son?" rather than the Hollywood episode. Don't get me wrong: it was a fun fucking episode. But I just wish we'd seen more of Agatha being happy with her family.

[ninyard]

They take Kevin skiing and Nicky tweets something like "Notorious homophobe Kevin Day tries a sport other than Exy, immediately eats shit and breaks his face" and then makes people guess what sport it was

You’re a genius I love it

[non-un-topo]

Kind of loving where this is going in regards to nature/subspace and the body being one and the same

[aledethanlast]

Can they flirt, aftg edition

Andrew: can but hates it. Makes him feel desperate. Also the man of his dreams registered none of it and literally only responded to Andrew being a weirdo so clearly it's all a scam.

Dan: yes, but can't see it as more than an act for when you want to get into someone's pants. Makes life hell for Matt before they start dating. Makes life *very fun* once they do.

Allison: absolutely. Does not respect any man who falls for it.

Matt: learned from watching guys try to flirt with his mom and her boxing friends, so his tactics are somewhat...demographically skewed. Eats shit when trying to romance Dan.

Aaron: Contrary to what second-hand accounts may tell us, this man is oozing charisma. Med student jock who goes to therapy, it's the whole package. If he were nine inches taller he would be the main character.

Nicky: bagged a man with high school-level grasp of his language. Raised two teens on a bartender salary. The results speak for themselves.

Kevin: nope. This man is fake as hell, star factor is doing alllllll the heavy lifting here. Unless you're as obsessed with exy as he is, in which case you're liable to confuse his attention *on* you with attention *to* you. Many have fallen victim to this effect. There is no support group.

Seth: chernobyl-level "you could fix me" aura

Renee: you're not sure if she's flirting or just being nice. Your friends are no help. Her friends seem to have a monetary incentive in the answer and can't be trusted. Your best shot might literally be praying for mercy.

Neil: ITS A TRAP HE'S STEALING YOUR WALLET

[covenofagatha]

Nicky's mom has got it going on (Part 4)

Word count: 3700

Warnings: pool sex, fingering, vibrating underwear, almost getting caught, think that's it

A/N: guys i finally wrote it omg the day has arrived

It’s been a week since the Halloween party, a week since your best friend’s mom fucked your brains out. 

You wish you could say that you regretted it, but that would be a lie. 

Yet every time you hang out with Nicky, you feel your heart squeeze. It would kill him if he found out, and you knew that you would never be able to tell him. 

But your thoughts still found their way back to the older woman, the way her fingers felt curling inside you, the way she tasted when she was riding your face. 

You weren’t sure when the next time you were going to see her was. School is picking up as you were going into Thanksgiving break soon, and you know Nicky is feeling the stress too. 

But the next Saturday, the weather is lovely and Nicky invites you over for a pool day at his house. It’s the first time the New Jersey winter has climbed into the 70s, and you’re both determined to make the most of it. 

And you’ll get to see Agatha again. 

The thought makes your stomach twist and turn, both with nerves and excitement. 

She had dragged you back upstairs after you made that quip about your lover being just ‘alright’ to Nicky and she had put you in your place. 

Three orgasms later, she had finally let you leave the room to go back downstairs to the party, but after all the guests left and her son had gone to bed, she came into the guest room so you could return the favor. 

The next morning, she was gone from the bed by the time you’d woken up and you couldn’t help but feel disappointed, even though you obviously knew she couldn’t stay. It was risky regardless, having sex with your best friend’s mom with him right down the hall, so there was no need to push it. 

And when you had gone downstairs, Nicky was already there, laughing at your disheveled state. Agatha had given you a heated glance, but that had been it. 

That was the last time you’d spoken to her. 

And now you’re going swimming at their house, where Agatha may or may not be there. 

You hope she will, but you do know that she might be working. 

Just in case, you put on one of your most flattering bikinis, a purple number that leaves little to the imagination. 

It’s a dangerous game to play, especially since Nicky will be there, but you miss the older woman. And you don’t really know where things stand with her, so you figure this will be a great way to find out. 

You throw a towel into a bag with some sunscreen and drive over to their house, your heart rate picking up as you get closer. 

Nicky opens the door. 

“Hey!” He exclaims. “Ready for the first pool day since summer?” 

You step into the house, eyes peeled for his mom. “You know it. It’s been too long. I’ve missed the sun.”

No sign of her. You try your best not to feel too down; you knew her working would be a possibility. But the fresh warm air on their back patio makes you temporarily forget about the older woman and you take a deep breath. 

Nicky disturbs your moment of peace by cannonballing into the pool, splashing you with water. You glare at him, pretending to be mad, before quickly stripping off your clothes and jumping in as well. 

The two of you play around for what seems like forever, and you’ve missed having this much fun with your best friend. With school and work, it seems like the two of you haven’t just hung out in a while, and this was a desperately needed break from all that stress. 

“Finally warm enough for a swim, hm?” You hear a voice ring out from the deck. You whirl around to see Agatha Harkness standing there, regal as ever. She makes your mouth run dry when her eyes shift to you, a brow raising ever slightly at the sight of you in the swim suit. 

“Wanna join?” Nicky asks and playfully flicks water at his mom. She gasps with mock outrage and then laughs. 

“Give me a second to go put on my suit. As long as y/n doesn’t mind if I hop in?” She turns her full attention to you, expectantly waiting for an answer, but your brain has short-circuited at the thought of her in a swimsuit. 

“Oh, yeah, no, that would be fine,” you stammer out and she smirks knowingly. When she goes back inside, Nicky douses your face with water. 

“Dude, what is going on between you and my mom?” He asks, and you choke, spiraling into a coughing fit. 

You’re still struggling to breathe, but you force out: “What do you mean?” Panic grips your heart and you’re so afraid of what he’s going to say next. 

“Like, you know, you’re always turning red around her and stuff. Oh my god, do you think she’s hot?” He whispers, eyes widening. 

“What?” You snap, protests locked and loaded on your tongue, but he just laughs. 

“You’re not the first person to think she’s a MILF. I don’t think she’s into girls though,” he says, fake sadness in his voice, and you almost choke again.

If only he knew. 

She sure seemed into girls when her fingers and tongue were buried in your cunt a week ago. 

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” you say hastily and duck underwater to hide your burning cheeks. 

When you resurface for air, Agatha is standing there on the deck wearing a one-piece black suit with a low cut revealing quite an eyeful of her magnificent cleavage. You have to clench your teeth together tightly when she gives you a wink before walking down the steps into the water. She lets out an exaggerated moan, surely just to mess with you, at the feel and you have to bite back a whimper at the sound. 

She gets all the way to the ground before she pauses. “Shoot, I was going to bring out some lemonade for everyone. Nicky, would you be a dear and go get it? Maybe some snacks too?” 

Nicky, ever the mama’s boy, obeys without hesitation. He jumps out of the pool, grabs his towel, and hurries into the house. 

Agatha immediately paces on you and you back up until your back hits the wall facing the door, feeling a spark in your stomach at the glint in her eye. 

“Hey,” she whispers when she’s a hair away from you and you can’t stop from looking down at her lips. 

Her hands come to grasp onto your bare waist and you gasp. “Hi,” you croak, your body already leaning into her touch that you’ve sorely missed this week. She pulls you by your hips into a kiss that you quickly pull away from (after giving in for a second or two, of course). “Nicky could come back at any minute,” you hiss and she just chuckles. 

“You didn’t seem too concerned with my son catching us the other night with how loud you were moaning my name,” she teases, dropping her head down to press her lips against the chlorinated skin on your neck. You shudder at the feeling and your head drops back slightly. 

The feeling in your belly stirs when she fits a thigh between your legs. “Agatha,” you whimper and slowly roll your hips against the firm muscle. Your hands come up to trace her biceps and she smirks. She presses harder and your lips part, but then she steps back and removes her leg. 

“Nicky could come back at any minute,” she throws your words back in your face and you groan. 

You chew on your lip and think about it. Pouring lemonade and getting snacks won’t take very long, so it would be better to be careful. 

But like she said, that hasn’t stopped either of you before. So you seductively turn around, rest your arms on the deck, and tilt your head over your shoulder while you sway your ass back and forth. 

She chuckles darkly and in an instant, her front is against your back and her hand dips down around your body to play with the edge of your bottoms. 

“Are you sure you want to play this game, sweetheart?” She asks, voice low in your ear, and you nod eagerly. Her fingers crawl inside your suit and she finds your clit immediately, rubbing small circles around it. 

Your head falls back against hers as you let out a small noise. You’ve missed her hands on you so much. 

She continues her administrations, dipping a finger down every so often to collect wetness from your pussy. Even in the water, she can feel how turned on you’ve become and her teeth graze your earlobe. She keeps drawing out small gasps from your mouth with her movements and she finally has enough of her teasing and slides her middle finger into you. 

“God, Agatha,” you groan, grinding your hips to get her deeper. 

She tuts. “What was that?” 

The words come tumbling out of your mouth. “Fuck, Mommy, please, I need more.” She gives a sound of approval and slides another finger in, curling them perfectly. 

She’s panting open-mouthed against your neck, fucking her two fingers into you so well, when all of a sudden, the sliding glass door opens. Agatha and you both freeze, and your heart pounds. 

“Hey, mom,” Nicky calls, walking out while reading the label on a box of crackers. Agatha gives you a quick thrust with her fingers and you bite your lip before you give yourselves away. “Do you think these are okay? The expiration date was–” He finally looks up to find his mom pressing his best friend against the pool wall. “–what are you guys doing?” 

You feel like you’re going to throw up. 

“Her swimsuit top was getting loose so I was just helping her tie it tighter,” Agatha says behind you, stroking your clit with her thumb, and you tense. You’re not sure you’ve breathed since Nicky walked out. Thankfully, from the way you’re angled and with how far away Nicky is standing, he can’t see Agatha’s hand down the front of your suit. 

He seems to buy it though. “So crackers or no crackers?” 

And you’re finally able to exhale. You can feel the tension literally seep out of your body. 

But Agatha shifts forward so think about it, which forces her fingers in deeper, and you clamp your teeth down so hard on your tongue that you taste blood. 

“You know, I’m getting hungrier, why don’t we make something–” But she cuts off in a gasp, because in the middle of her sentence, you clench your walls around her as payback. “For lunch?” She finishes weakly, but Nicky nods in agreement, none the wiser. “So we’ll get out and get dressed, yeah?” She asks you, and you catch her eye and give your hips a tiny roll. She gives you a warning look and the corners of your mouth tug into a smirk. 

It feels good to gain a bit of leverage over her sometimes.

“Okay, sounds good, I’ll be inside whenever you weirdos decide to come in,” Nicky says, having had enough of whatever you and his mom are doing. 

When the door finally closes, Agatha sinks her teeth into your shoulder and you moan loudly. “That’s for teasing,” she says and pulls her hand out of your cunt. You whine at the emptiness and turn around to face her, aching for release. 

“But–” you start and she splashes you gently to shut you up. 

“Maybe later. But we need to go in now before Nicky actually gets suspicious.” 

You grumble, but you know she has a point, so you begrudgingly get out of the pool, Agatha behind you, and you grab your towel to dry off. As you’re looking through your tote bag that you brought, you realize something. 

“Fuck, I forgot underwear,” you curse, mostly to yourself, but the older woman happens to be right next to you and hears it. 

You know she’s smirking before you even look at her. “You can borrow some of mine,” she says, all sickly sweet, and you just know she’s up to something. 

Once the two of you are sufficiently dry, you follow her back into the house and up the stairs to her bedroom. She had told Nicky that she was letting you borrow something and you figured it was going to just be a quick trip. 

Which is unfortunate for you, because you are still dripping. You can feel the mess between your thighs with each step and it’s becoming uncomfortable. 

But you’re good, and you just stand there awkwardly while Agatha roots around in her drawer, shoving aside a multitude of other pairs that you’re sure would work perfectly, until she pulls out a lacy black pair and holds them out to you. 

“Put these on,” she says, grinning wolfishly, and you hesitantly reach out and take them. Just to tease, or at least maybe level the playing field for whatever she has planned, you keep eye contact while you reach behind you and untie your top. 

Her jaw slackens when you finally peel the fabric from your breasts and you can see her hands twitch, like it’s painful for her to not just reach out and touch you. 

And then her lips part when you start to slide your bottoms down and you can feel her eyes burning into you. When they’re around your feet, you kick them at her and she catches them in one hand, staring at them like her brain just shut off. 

“Mom!” Nicky’s voice rings through the heated silence in the room and Agatha shakes out of her daze. 

She fluffs her hair with her hand and throws your suit back to you. “Get dressed and come back downstairs quickly,�� she orders, stripping naked and throwing on a crewneck and sweatpants, slipping something you can’t discern from the underwear drawer quickly into her pocket, before you even have a chance to ogle. 

Agatha runs out of the room and you hear her footsteps on the stairs and you turn back to the underwear she gave you. It’s thick and you can tell it is some special pair, but you have no idea what it is. 

So you put on your jean shorts and your t-shirt, comb through your wet hair, and go back downstairs. 

Agatha is helping Nicky make grilled cheeses but they both turn around when they hear you enter the kitchen. 

“There you are,” Nicky comments, while his mom gives you a wink. 

You walk over to them and rest your hands on the counter, observing what they’re doing. “What can I do to help?” 

And that’s when you feel it: vibrations against your clit that have you gasping and doubling over in shock and at the intensity. 

Nicky rushes to your side and cries your name out, but when the rumbling suddenly stops and you’re able to lift your head, you see Agatha wearing a wicked smirk.

The underwear. 

That’s why she wanted you to put them on, so she could tease you right in front of her son without actually risking being caught touching you. The thing she put in h

Fuck. 

“Are you okay?” Nicky asks again, shaking your shoulders. You stand up, instinctively bracing yourself against the countertop just in case she tries to do it again. 

You shoot Agatha a look before answering. “Yeah, sorry, just cramps,” you lie. To his credit, he doesn’t seem to be grossed out, he just helps you over to sit down on the couch. 

“Why don’t you just rest then and let us take care of the food?” He offers sweetly and you give him a smile. 

If only his mother was as nice as him. 

The second Nicky walks away, the vibrations start again and you have to bite down on your finger to keep from moaning. You can feel Agatha’s eyes on you as you start to sweat from how good it feels and your face is burning. 

In typical Agatha fashion, she teases you while she and Nicky finish making lunch by turning it up and then down or making it pulse against your clit. You can feel just how absolutely soaked you are and you squirm back and forth on the couch, silently begging for more. 

“Do you want anything besides the sandwich?” Nicky asks you and you open your mouth to respond but have to instantly snap it shut when Agatha turns it up even more. 

You take a deep breath and try to ignore the buzzing against the most sensitive part of your body. “I’m okay, thanks.” Your voice trembles from the effort of staying composed and you can see Agatha’s shoulders shaking with contained laughter. 

Nicky brings over two plates and sets one down in front of you. He sits in the chair adjacent to the couch while Agatha plops down next to you. 

“You doing okay, hon?” She asks, reaching over to pat your leg and her touch makes you clench around nothing. You dig your fingernails into your palms to stop yourself from grabbing her hand and shoving it down your shorts. 

The teasing is maddening. 

“Yeah, good,” you rasp, glaring at her while simultaneously pleading with your eyes to be let out of your misery. 

It’s like she knows exactly when you’re about to cum because she either stops the vibrations entirely or slows them down to where you can barely feel anything at all. 

You try to focus on eating the grilled cheese, but you can’t stop your hips from undulating, no matter how hard you try. It gets so bad that Agatha throws a blanket over you, muttering something about how cold you look so Nicky doesn’t question it. 

With the extra privacy, you’re free to shift your weight more to angle the vibrations better against your clit. You can feel the rumbles throughout your entire pussy and you can feel your mind slowly losing the ability to think. 

You set down your plate, maybe three bites taken out of the food, and toss the other half of the blanket over Agatha’s legs. Thankfully, Nicky is flipping through the TV channels so he doesn’t notice. 

Agatha watches your face carefully when your hand digs into her thigh through her pants as she turns up the intensity, watching every little twitch of your eyebrows as you try to keep it together. 

And then, she suddenly reaches over under the blanket to cup your pussy and press the crotch of the panties against you hard, and a moan tears its way out of your throat. You have to fake a cough to cover it up, but luckily Nicky doesn’t look over. 

Her hand is gone as soon as it appeared and you’re left rhythmlessly stuttering your hips, frantically chasing the high you so desperately need. 

But it doesn’t come. 

Agatha keeps you on edge for almost twenty minutes, turning it up and down and off completely and then back on, and you’re practically panting into the blanket because you can’t breathe too loudly. 

It’s the sweetest torture one could bear. 

And then finally, finally, Nicky stands up and announces that he has to go to the bathroom. 

The moment he leaves the room, you literally throw yourself into Agatha’s lap, straddling her waist and grinding against her, each movement against her stomach pressing the toy in the underwear harder to your clit. 

“Agatha, Mommy, please,” you gasp against her lips and her fingers make their way down into your shorts. Instead of dipping into the underwear though, they go in-between them and your jeans so she can directly position the piece right where she wants it.

Her other finger fumbles with something in her pocket, the remote, you’re guessing, and you sink your teeth into her neck before the high-pitched whine can escape at the heightened intensity. 

“Better hurry up,” she taunts and you buck your hips at her tone. “You don’t want my son coming back in to find you cumming all over his mommy, do you?” 

You shake your head at the rhetorical question and focus on how the vibrations feel against you. You can feel them throughout your whole body and you’re getting so close. 

“Please, please, I need more,” you beg, having been kept on the edge for so long that you don’t think you can cum from just this. 

But Agatha always knows what you need, even after only spending one night with you. 

She pushes the underwear to the side to slide three fingers into you easily, curves them just right, and that coupled with the vibration still against your clit makes you explode. 

You bite her again to muffle your cries while you grind, dragging your orgasm out as much as you can. 

And then the toilet flushes and you hear the sink running. By the time it turns off, you’ve wiped your sweaty forehead and are sitting back in your normal spot, readjusting the blanket. 

Nicky walks back in just as Agatha pops her fingers into her mouth, sucking the taste of you off. Your body clenches weakly at the sight of that and of course she sees it and smirks. 

“Everything okay in here? Thought I heard something,” Nicky asks. You keep your eyes peeled on the TV even though you can see Agatha’s smile out of the corner of your eye. 

“Just the show,” she says casually and Nicky accepts it, settling back down in the chair. 

Agatha leans closer and chuckles quietly into your ear. “Next time, you need to make less noise.” 

And it’s impossible to miss the way your body shivers at the promise of a next time. 

[hmmm-shesucks]

Once the foxes become more comfortable with each other, they begin to nag. Mostly little things, usually humorous things. They nag on Nicky for being too forward sometimes. They nag on Neil for his horrible life habits. They nag on Dan for her mother henning. They nag on Kevin for everything. It's fun, it's what families do. They all just pick on each other for fun.

It takes a little longer for them to feel comfortable nagging Andrew though, which, is understandable, but one of the first things they start picking on him for is his lack of communication in general. He NEVER talks. They just want him to participate sometimes.

Renee and Neil find this funny because Andrew talks A LOT just not around the foxes. He's not comfortable.

See, Andrew is fucking weird. Everyone knows this, but the foxes think he's weird in a “mysterious, murder you in your sleep, was totally the kid everyone thought was going to shoot up the school” kind of weird.

Andrew is not that kind of weird. He's a different breed entirely. He plans out how he'd survive the apocalypse, any of them. He is constantly fighting back the most wild intrusive thoughts. He is 24/7 existential crisis. His head is a wild fucking place.

But he is trying. Making progress. Trying to be more open and approachable, as Bee says. So he talks. Out Loud.

And the foxes hate him.

In the most monotonous voice ever

“Do you ever feel like your bones are dirty? Like, I could totally strip my meat suit and just give my ribs a good bleaching.”

“If that light fell out of the ceiling it would kill at least three of you and seriously injure the rest of us.”

“Nothing is stopping me from buying five ice cream flavors at once, but I'm learning self-control and Bee would be disappointed.”

“Currently having a manic episode. Should I A.) call Bee, tell her I'm not doing too great, and talk about my symptoms and how to best cope? B.) find the nearest mall and spend every dime I have in less than thirty minutes. Or C.) go apeshit and try to fight anyone and everyone who looks at me in a less-than-kind way. Children included.

*stage whisper* there's a secret fourth option but I'm saving it for later ;) (pronounced Semicolon left facing open parentheses. Yes he says this out loud)”

disappears for less than five minutes and comes back with three furrbies and a corndog, one that is obviously not from the mall's food court.

He's so fucking weird. Like, weirder than Neil, and it's awful (so good dude, the foxes eat it up)

And it's not the manic Andrew on meds. It's just Andrew. He's still Andrew. He's still quiet most of the time and he is still grumpy and apathetic, but he's also comfortable enoughto just blurt random shit out and have fun watching everyone figure out how to respond. He's found safety in his new family and he can openly be who he is without fear of judgment or rejection. He's happy in a way he's never felt nor ever thought he'd get to experience. He's just Andrew.

[my-smial]

Hello hello. I have come with random The Sunshine Court language headcanons for Jean Moreau, because I cannot stop thinking about him.

Neil picks up on Jean's discomfort with speaking French at higher than a whisper and eventually decides to use Nicky's desensitization tactics about it. He ropes in Kevin, and the two of them will not stop yelling at him in French until Jean stops flinching whenever he hears it.

Neil lived in Montreal for 8 months; when he wants to get under Jean's skin, he switches to a strong Québécois accent and Jean acts like his ears are getting burned off.

Jeremy and a little Cat and Laila start learning French, mostly "picked up a tourist phrasebook at the library" level. It's 2008, they don't even have Duolingo. It's years and years before Jean deigns to actually speak French to him, but Jeremy eventually figures out that if he pronounces a phrase badly enough, Jean will correct him out of shear pain. Jean probably picks up that Jeremy knows more than he's letting on when he makes a comment in one of Jean and Kevin's conversations.

The most unlikely, but I find it fun: Jean's family is old money enough that they actually still speak the local Provençal language of southeast France. Jean mostly speaks standard French, but his parents ensured that he can carry a conversation in Provençal out of some twisted disdain for Paris as a power center. Evidence: this is also the kind of person who would name their child Jean-Yves, lmao, a name that was most popular in the 1960s.

Matching with 4, growing up speaking French, Provençal, and English in a massive port city means that Jean can get through a few phrases in most western Mediterranean languages. In addition, being raised as the theoretical heir to a smuggling empire meant he had to learn enough languages to "not get ripped off," as his father would say. He says he speaks 3 languages, because he's fluent in 3 (and it's common to consider Provençal just a backwards dialect, not a full language). But he can also understand random bits of Italian, Spanish, and Algerian Arabic. Some he learned formally, some he picked up from other kids while playing little league exy.

When he gets comfortable on the Trojan's court, he starts yelling back sometimes when little multilingual groups form and chatter, and every time he demonstrates a new language the Trojans lose their shit. Jean has his typical disdain for their excitement; his childhood exy court sounded exactly like this and he doesn't get why they're so impressed.

They keep pulling the "sorry, he doesn't speak English" trick to get annoying fans and reporters off their back for a long time after it should have stopped working. He's given full interviews, come on. Use your brain.

[dilfl0v3rss]

alr hear me out, hear me out

what about another addition of punishment but this time, ony punishing y/n because she came home late and didn’t tell him where she was at?💁🏾‍♀️💁🏾‍♀️💁🏾‍♀️💁🏾‍♀️

i think ab this a lottttt

it’s been awhile since you’ve gotten to be outside like this. shaking ass on top of sasha connie’s car at the gas station while high out of your mind. and the best part about it was that you didn’t have to be looking over your shoulder all night because you actually were allowed to be here.

“if you be safe and be home by one, we straight mama” ony said as he led you out of the house with a slap on the ass. smirking as he watched you practically sprint to sasha’s car.

it was only nine when you left the house which meant y’all had plenty of time to take a couple shots, go see a movie, and hotbox the fuck out of that car.

“we still got enough left for another spliff yall!” you yelled as sasha, mikasa, and emoni began to cheer in the driver and backseats. “roll that muthafucka uppp!” sasha yelled. y’all were having too much fun, but nothing lasts forever. when you looked into the glove compartment for papers you were only shown an unloaded glock. “sash you got more papers on you?” everyone’s heads whipped towards you. mikasa reached towards the front and turned the music all the way down so she could hear you better. “what you mean?”

“i meaannn there’s no more in here” each of you whined in unison as sasha began to start the car up again. “connie must’ve been using em, but the gas station only down the block yall. i got us!!!” in an instant the spirits were brought back up again. loud screams and the bass to your music was all that could be heard from y’all as sasha continued the party from the parking lot to the gas station.

big dick🫶🏽

‘hope you being safe mama’

‘daddy miss you’

read at 11:30 pm

you began typing to answer your man, but your attention was snatched by the sound of a good song. good form by nicki minaj began to play all throughout the car, making you drop your phone on your seat as you opened your door and started dancing your life away. ass going in circles as emoni turned the song up from the backseat and came out to dance too.

the four of y’all were at that gas station for thirty minutes, but in sober time it was two hours. out of the entire group, you were probably the littest. giggling every five minutes and screaming to the top of your lungs when a good song, which was damn near every song that played, came on. before you knew it, y’all were in a nice secluded area passing another blunt around. telling each other what y’all been up to.

“then the bitch gon say ‘yea put her on a leash’ likeee. i would really wash you hoe don’t even play wit me like that” the group giggled as you continued to tell them a story from your past weeks. “did you fuck her up? please tell me you fucked her uppp” mikasa said as she leaned over the side of your seat. you rolled your eyes as you thought back to that night. “nah. ony told her to watch her mouth and took me to the bathroom t’go pee”

“speaking of ony. i’m surprised he even let you out the houseeee” emoni squealed as she lightly tapped your shoulder to pass you the blunt. you happily took it before putting it to your mouth, taking a big hit from it before releasing the whole smoke into the atmosphere of the car. “he said as long as m’safe and home by one he’d let me rock” confusion clouded your mind as you watched the three of your friends gasp. giving each other nervous looks as they contemplated whether or not to tell you the bad news.

“what?” you asked with a smirk, not thinking anything of their actions. chalking it up to them having some tea to spill. sasha was the first to speak. “honey where’s your phone?” you looked around for the device, eventually finding it in between the center console and your seat. “right here” you said, lifting the screan towards them so they can see. even louder gasps could he heard as they looked at the many notifications you had. “bitch that nigga gon kill you” emoni blurted out, earning her pissed off looks from both mikasa and sasha as you turned the phone towards your face.

29 missed calls from: big dick🫶🏽

50 messages from: big dick🫶🏽

you looked at the screen in confusion “why would he…” your heart dropped to your ass at the realization. this whole time y’all was having fun and smoking each other out this man has been trying to contact you because it been 1 am and you still weren’t home. it was now damn near four in the morning.

“oh fuck”

“yea your ass is grass. lemme get you home” sasha mumbled as she put the car in drive.

the ride home was dead silent. not a damn thing said as sasha slowly drove you back to your house. when she pulled up in your driveway she softly touched your arm. “m’so sorry suge. ian know you needed to be ho-”

“nah it’s my fault. i should’ve said sum” you closed the door with a sigh before turning around and shamefully walking towards the front. you figured there was no reason to try to sneak through the back since ony was most definitely waiting for you inside. as you walked inside you were instantly met with the sound of 90s r&b quietly playing throughout the house.

‘weird’ you thought as you walked deeper and deeper inside. eventually seeing ony’s shirtless figure facing away from you at the kitchen island. the closer you got to him the more you could see what he was doing. his big hands wrapped around a small knife as he cut up some watermelon pieces. you expected him to speak to you, but he didn’t. he just walked away and washed the knife, putting it away before turning around and leaning on the counter.

he stared at you. brown eyes looking into yours as he leaned back with his arms crossed over his chest. “drink the water and eat that.” was all he said as he looked at you expectedly, waiting for you to listen to his command. you opened the water first, taking a couple sips before putting it down and taking a bite of watermelon. you would be lying if you said it wasn’t good. and since you were still high it was one of the best things in the world. loud slurping sounds could be heard as you quickly devoured the fruit.

ony still watched you, arms still crossed as he waited for you to finish. as your feasting came to an end he put your bowl in the sink, waiting for you to finish your water so he could put it in the recycling bin as well. when it was all said and done he brought you to your bedroom where your pajamas were already waiting for you on the bed. “gon head and take that off. you smell like mad weed”

as you changed into the clothes you failed to notice the vibrator and fuzzy cuffs near his pillow, but ony made sure to get you well acquainted with the items very soon. you slowly put on the t-shirt he gave you, removing your under where and bra before putting it on since you thought you’d be sleeping real comfortably tonight. “thank you d-” ony wasted no time. as soon as he seen you finish changed he snatched your ear towards his mouth by the back of your neck.

“you ain’t think it was gon be that easy, did you?” arousal began to make its way to your core almost instantly. his deep voice and cologne clouding your senses as you felt his hard chest on your back. “why you always gotta make shit difficult f’me, huh? why can’t you just listen mama?” you were too out of it to even reply, eyes wandering around the room as you tried your hardest not to cry. “you know what i gotta do t’you right?” you slowly nodded your head before ony let you go, watching you instantly crawl onto the bed and get into position.

as you laid with your ass in the air, ony made quick work of getting the cuffs around your wrists. laying the vibrator next to you for later. “i told you t’be home by 1, but you wasn’t gone by one, wasn’t you baby? nahhh…..you came in that door at 4:30.” as he spoke, you felt his heavy hands caress and squeeze your ass. constantly letting his fingers thirst around your pussy to keep you on edge. “m’sorry da-” a hard slap to your ass shut you up immediately. making quiet whimpers be released into the air as your tears filled down your cheeks.

“then i told you t’be safe, and you decided to go to a gas station in the middle of the night and shake your ass out the car” another two slaps were brought to your ass, making ony smile as he caught sight of your arousal beginning to give you pussy a pretty shine. “m’sorry daddy. i w-wont do it again” you whined, but of course he ignored you. turning the vibrator on and rubbing it all over your thighs and ass to keep you on edge.

“tell daddy your rules and colors ma” he brushed the vibrator lightly on your clit, making you twitch before moving it to your thigh. you whined, poking your ass out more as a silent beg for the contact, earning you another hard slap on your ass. “y’hear me talking t’you?”

“fuckkk no running, no to-touching, nd no cummin without daddy’s permission. m’colors are green, yellow, n’red”

ony nodded his head at your obedience, sliding the vibrator to your clit before dipping into you with two fingers from his other hand.

“keep your safeword in mind too ma. s’gon be a long night”

ima finish this in a part 2💋

[occamstfs]

Talismen III: Sorry For The Backwash

A gym crush on Simon gone wrong leads Tim to get in way over his head in the pursuit of gains and satisfaction; Soon enough the whole gym finds themselves wanting.

Okay I went a little crazy with this one, steamy muscle growth, hair growth, and corruption galore- Tim really spreads the love haha! It’s about the length of Talismen Beginnings. Hope you enjoy this plot advancing chapter, was quite fun to write! Like previously, the penultimate poll will drop on Sunday the 15th! -Occam! 

And so Simon finally arrives at the gym. Elsewhere in town Nicky sends an asshole careening towards the discovery of a better self, and perhaps launches his friend into shoes a few sizes larger and a wolverine eared beanie before heading off to grab some coffee. Back at the gym his boyfriend is never too far from the front of Simon’s slow plodding mind, after sending one last selfie to entice his beau, he puts down his affection to finally pick up some weights. 

Sandwiched in between a Jamba Juice and a bookstore, Simon ignores the static that fills his mind as almost saccharine familiarity bats away the eerie discomfort that he’s never actually been here before. He finds serenity as set to getting his blood pumping, delighting in the feeling of burning strain as with each thrust his new body finds itself more adept at exercise. In no time at all he moves about the gym with the expert precision and graceful ease that sculpting such an impressive form would require. His almost vacant eyes don’t notice the hungry stare of a nearby twink who has been shadowing him from the second he walked in. 

It’s not that Timothy is leering at the beyond sexy man, I mean how could anyone avoid staring, er, appreciating such an impressive form- The fact that Tim continues to happenstance choose machines directly next to the titan is pure coincidence and any charge that he’s trying to catch the man’s eye are pure slander. The blush that burns across his face the first time Simon’s eyes land on him is perhaps more evidential. 

The jock scratches the back of his head as he addresses the twink, exposing a sweaty pit that certainly does not help with Tim’s now quivering knees, “Hey uhhh lil guy, I think I forgot my water at home huhuh!” Tim laughs alongside the man though he certainly doesn’t notice as he continues on with his ask, “would you mind if I borrowed yours?” Tim’s eyes widen with fear as his neck locks trying to decide if he should nod in the affirmative or shake to suggest he’d not mind anything that the hunk would ask of him. Nor does it help that he’s unable to get a full word out. Simon stares, mouth agog as the twink stumbles through a few giggly syllables, “Ah ha! Weluhm, I heek!” 

Giving up on communicating like a human being, he averts his eyes shyly and raises his hydroflask. Simon takes it rougher than he intended and Tim promptly forces his hands to his crotch to adjust shorts and hide his excitement before meekly returning to stare at labored gulps and the few trailing droplets of water that escape and spill down into Simon’s sweaty beard. Timothy almost vibrates from the need to be topped by the man standing above him, totally unaware that the titan in question has eyes for his boyfriend alone. 

Delivering the jug of water back, Simon quickly thanks the twink and tries to joke, “Thanks little bro! My uhh, Nicky swears I’d forget my hat if it weren’t screwed on huhuh!” He pauses and scratches at his stubble, “Or no that’s not the joke? Uh-” He crosses his arms and half-heartedly flexes as he loses himself in labored thought, trying to remember how it goes.

In the meantime Tim takes the unintended hint that Simon’s taken and sighs to himself. He did figure that the man was too good to be true, c’est la vie- In the meantime, while his flask is open he may as well hydrate himself. Raising it to his lips he watches Simon quiet a burp and wipe his lip, “Oh uhh, sorry for the backwash dude-” This almost makes him race to drink it even quicker. No time to introspect however for as soon as it spills onto his tongue, Tim’s eyes dilate. The twink almost chokes from the speed at which he struggles to down more water than one should mid-workout. 

Never before now has the small man attempted to chug something at this rate, or at all really, though driven by lusty thoughts and burning delight as it soars down his throat he is suddenly swallowing like the best of them. His chest tightens and his stomach burns as he finally gasps for air, coughing up water and doing his best to not vom. Immediately concerned, Simon puts his meaty hands on the small man’s shoulders, sending a shiver down his spine as the twink grits his teeth and covers his mouth to quiet a moan. 

His heart races and his breathing accelerates as something alien begins to build within him. Tim can’t hear Simon’s worried questions as pressure begins to pound and he tries to stand. He feels a compulsion to move, to grow. Exactly like Nicky’s boyfriend mindlessly doing pushups on the cold ground, Tim feels compelled beyond reason to work out the energy that is beginning to build in his veins. 

Never one to seriously weight train he doesn’t know why or how he ends up on a bench press, but when his bleary eyes turn to see Simon loading weights on he’s filled with a drive greater than he could understand. “Are you sure you can handle this much lil guy?” Lil Guy. Tim grimaces as he feels his veins bulge in response. It matters not if it's from irritation or lust. He can do this. He can do way more than this. His soft hands grasp the iron bar and raise it. Despite his confidence however, just as soon it leaves the rack it comes crashing down, wont to heed the ever-persuasive call of gravity. 

Just before Simon has the chance to spot him, Tim calls the grunt off, groaning under the weight “I can- do IT” Simon gasps as he sees the bar immediately begin to rise. The man’s stick thin arms shake with effort as they raise it high enough to return the weight. When Simon goes to pull it back and remove weight he sees rage in Tim’s eyes and hesitates. Timothy then forces another rep, veins bulge up his neck as Simon unmistakably sees new muscle begin to bulge larger under the twink’s shirt. He forces it into the air once more and with a grunt the bar bounces higher.

There’s the sound of fabric beginning to tear as a shirt that was chosen to show off his lithe form cannot contain the required pecs that this bench press demands. Each impossible repetition packs more meat onto his body. Simon gives tips to the newbie and smiles as he sees the bar rapidly grow more stable, bony arms suddenly no longer left out as small biceps peak and struggle to follow the technique laid out by the clearly experienced jock.

After arbitrarily doing enough at the bench press, without a word Tim sets the bar back on the rack and wanders over to free weights. Simon quickly dismantles the weight left on and wipes down the bench, proud of how much of a sweat his apparent lil trainee has already worked up. By the time he makes it to observe Timothy’s corner of the gym he again sees the man trying to bite way over his level, though once more before he can intervene he sees the impossible. 

Tim takes a swig of his water and his arms grow meatier, sending tears up the already tight sleeves. Jaw clenched, he curls probably the heaviest weight he’s ever lifted as if it were nothing, with a grunt he does it again, and again. Simon grins as he sees the man's technique improve without a word, the strained sleeves on his mini-tee shred to nothing as they simply cannot contain the power Tim now holds within himself.

“Dude! That’s killer!” addressed by Simon directly, awareness returns to Tim’s eyes and the weight clatters to the floor, thankfully missing his feet as he yelps. Simon quickly rushes over clicking his tongue, “Ah you can’t be doing that bro haha! Clearly got a lot to learn about gym etiquette eh? Huhuh!” He puts the weights back up and pats Tim on the back. Staring up at the man Tim feels the need to be more rising once more, his attention goes to his flask and his mouth feels dry. Thirst controlling him he goes to drink only to find it already empty.

Simon nods and apologizes for drinking so much earlier, “Ah man, guess that’s as good a sign as any to call it huh?” Tim’s heart skips a beat as an almost existential fear fills him at the idea that Simon was about to leave him. As if he were on the precipice of losing it all. “Wait! Would you um, mind if you showed me a few more tips tomorrow?” Simon tilts his head and Tim hungrily waits for his answer, a red tinge hiding in his eyes that Simon’s far too distracted to notice. Grinning he starts to nod, “Y’know I always thought I’d be a good teacher huhuh! I’ll be in pretty early tomorrow so you just come say hi and we’ll get goin!” 

With that he pats the twink-no-more on the back and congratulates him on the hustle, “Great work today Tom! I swear you look fuckin’ massive with this pump! You should take a few to check yourself out dude!” Blankly smiling, unaware as Tim slightly glowers at being called the wrong name, he ruffles the shorter man’s hair and then grabs his gym bag to head home, “See you tomorrow lil dude!” Tim smiles and starts to say farewell though Simon’s already halfway gone by the time he reopens his eyes. Taking a second to pout all anxieties and fears fall away as he turns to see his new reflection.

His expression drops as he realizes his shirt has totally been discarded at some point during his pump-fueled fugue state. Taking in the new power that writhes and flexes underneath his skin, his fingers trace abs and follow veins as before cupping his powerful pecs, almost burning hot enough to steam his sweat. He tries to swallow but comes short as his dry mouth and impossible thirst remains. He twitches and his eyes shift red as the only recourse is more than clear. He needs more.

The next morning Tim drives to the gym before it opens to sit and wait for Simon to arrive. Every so often he turns on his windshield wipers to remove condensation accrued from his passive body heat alone. Eventually when he sees the brute jogging up with his gym bag in tow Tim quickly springs to action to force a fake meet-cute. He knows the jock’s taken but can’t blame a guy for trying. 

Counting on Simon’s general lack of awareness he races to hide just out of sight and bump into his new trainer as he rounds the corner. Without a hitch he successfully bumps into the shirtless man and is rewarded by getting the behemoth’s sweat all over his even skimpier gym clothes. Simon, thinking nothing ill of this must be accident, remains happily unaware of any untoward motivation from his new trainee. Already grinning at the prospect of working out, he just reaches out and ruffles the man’s hair again, “Gotta watch where you’re goin’ little guy huhuh!” 

Tim in turn babbles off a good-morning as he is struck woozy from such close proximity to the man, his b.o. easily more than clouding his mind. Barely able to stay his tongue from licking the sweat off of Simon, Tim’s unrelenting thirst compels him to offer the beast another drink from his hydroflask. Like a dog showing his owner a present, Simon quickly goes to grab his own water bottle, almost tearing off his pants as the bottle is attached by a carabiner. With a laugh he explains, “Thank ya dude! But after I told him about yesterday Nicky made sure I’d not forget huhuh! He was so worried that I’d be dehydrated and all. Little worryworm, or- Uh? Worrywart?” Simon laughs and shakes off the brief confusion and just rubs the water bottle gently, thinking about his lover.

Timothy rolls his eyes, jealousy breaking him from his musk-based trance, “Okay! Whatever- Shall we get started then?” Simon returns his attention to the man in front of him and begins to escort him inside. Throwing an arm across the smaller man’s shoulders he explains his plans for their workout today. Tim hears none of it however as he instead zeroes in on the sweat dripping down his back. The newly made twunk grunts and stretches his neck as he feels his traps cramp under the weight and wet of Simon’s arm.

Feeling sweat drip from Simon’s exposed pit down his right arm, Tim grimaces as suddenly his body pulls that direction. With a glance he sees it hang bulkier, thicker. Tim can’t hide the glee painted across his face as he realizes even proximity is enough for him to parasitize growth from the dreamboat he apparently isn’t to have. Simon looks down perplexed as he feels Tim grab at his calloused hand and rub his arm down his back, smirking and twitching as he does so. “Uhh Tim?” A moment later he grunts and stretches, his back widens, straining his shirt. 

Simon’s used to being confused so he doesn’t try to make sense as his new trainee suddenly shoots up half a foot in height, his midriff exposed as his arms stretch longer, muscle fibers straining before pulsing to remain as thick as they were before they sprouted. The jock pauses and closes his eyes as despite his best efforts, he sees what happens and something in the back of his mind knows he has seen it before. Tim, in between basking in his new power and languishing in the sensual growth still happening across his body grabs a clearly sweat stained towel from Simon’s bag and ties it around his waist, hoping to spread growth to his hitherto neglected glutes and thighs.

When Simon indeed returns to awareness, shaking off his stupor he see’s just that. Now supported on tree-trunk thighs he barely needs to angle down to make eye contact with his trainee. When he sees the man’s cock pulse through his gym shorts he purses his lips as he for the first time realizes that his trainee might be into him. Not that that’s a rarity of course, he’s quite the prize.

The quickest glance towards Tim’s eyes makes it more than clear that he may have something a little darker than your average crush. There is something deep, a hunger for something greater. Simon’s usual confidence wavers, briefly concerned about his client’s conflict of interest. He did promise to help with this session though. Chewing on his cheek, Simon fights against better judgment to stick to his word, opting to help as promised. Getting started he sets to lead the man who increasingly looks like he doesn’t need help over to the free weights.

In no time at all Simon watches as Tim works up a pump greater than any he’s ever seen, baring his own of course. He struggles to offer feedback as the should-be twink increasingly feels the need to butt heads, to peacock rather than try to train. When Simon sees red flashes in the man’s eyes, alarms once more begin to go off in the back of his head, but then his trainee surges just that much larger, his pumped arms bulge that much bigger, and he is instead distracted by how quickly his student seems to be advancing. “Guess I can’t call ya little dude any more huh?”

Tim smirks and flexes at his trainer, biting his tongue as everything within him feels the need to lob pick up lines at him. His arms tense as he barely stops himself from simply pouncing on the man, to do everything within his increased power to seize his fountain of growth forevermore. He clears his throat and ignores how off he sounds, his sing-songy performative pitch replaced by a harsh wolfish baritone, “Yo bro, not to pry- cause I know you got your little bitch, er- boyfriend. But-" When Tim calls Nicky a bitch Simon suddenly shifts deathly serious "Can you just get to the point Tim.” 

The new jock averts his eyes, annoyed at being interrupted though knowing that he is not the one with the power here, “Look I’m just sayin-” he goes to grab Simon’s hand, “I’m sure he’d understand if you wanted to have a little fun.” Feeling Simon’s sweaty hand grasped, he shivers as new calluses develop on his own. His kindly trainer almost grimaces at his advances and pulls away before growth can continue to pile on. Simon purses his lips and looks away, “Look, uhh- I’m not so sure we’re a great match. But, uhh-” Tim watches gears slowly turn as Simon struggles for an eloquent way to effectively dump him, “But what.”

Tim’s eyes narrow as if he’s readying to strike, his thoughts race as everything in him suddenly goes on alert. Chords entirely cut to the twink he once was, he feels Simon is the only tether towards further growth, towards becoming more of who he must be. When he sees the generally jovial man sigh and go for a sip of water to give him time to gather thoughts, Tim’s defcon-one strategy becomes clear. Seeing Simon start to pull away he makes up his mind. If he’s going to lose access then he must get as much as he can right now. 

His hand goes to curl into a fist and he swings, not at Simon of course, but the container of nectar he holds to his lips. Hurt beyond measure Simon watches as his new bottle spills all over the avaricious body-builder. His mouth is open but he clearly makes no further effort to drink it as it rains down mostly onto his chest. Tim falls to the floor and his hands shake as he rubs the water into his rapidly bulging, pounding pecs. Simon stares rapt with judgement as the man’s muscular chest bursts free from a shirt that was already painted on.

Individual muscle fibres pulse and expand as he convulses on the floor. His shoulder awkwardly forces itself upward as growth enacts itself across his body in swathes disparate and seemingly painful. Despite the nigh assault, Simon immediately abandons everything to kneel down and help the man as his body contorts and writhes, arms stretching and building unevenly as deeper grunts issue forth from a widening throat. Red light shines through eyes clamped shut and drool drips from clenched teeth.

After a few minutes of heaving breaths and impossible expansion, Tim eventually relaxes on the cold gym floor and looks up at Simon with a smirk. Content that the man is fine and, at least for the moment, ignoring the impossible transformation that he has witnessed as a means of survival. In defiance of some shred of self that recognizes the transformation he ignores the flash of red in his eyes that stares at and into the man on the floor and scoffs, “Good luck finding a new trainer.” He pauses, wanting desperately to say something clever but is waylaid by his duller wit, his gentle spirit, and the terrifying feeling at the back of his mind that something has similarly irrevocably changed who he is. He slowly shakes his head and wanders off to the shower.

Tim crawls after him pleading him to stay around though even as he struggles to crawl after the man he cannot help but realize that he seems to have bitten off more than he can chew. That is until he sees Simon go into the locker room rather than straight out of the gym. His mouth reflexively contorts to a smile and his heart skips a beat. There remains more for his greedy hands to take. His drive for more compels him to fight through pain, through soreness. He can’t help himself. He cannot stop himself.

Simon stands. He tries to sneak though every step elicits a quivering gasp of pain. He bites his forearm to quiet his pained pants as he presses forward towards Simon’s discarded gym bag. Seeing the used jockstrap lying on top his free hand goes to grasp it before neurons even fire in recognition of what it is. Adrenaline and static sear through him great enough to feel pain no longer as he doesn’t stumble but sprint out of the locker room, out of the gym, and into his truck. He doesn’t know how but he’s wearing it before the keys turn in the ignition.

He has drunk after Simon, he has rubbed the man's sweat over his skin, he has washed his chest with his spit. These are nothing compared to his wearing the man’s discarded, post-workout jock. Were he struck by lightning he would have less energy coursing through him, his whole being vibrates and his vision tints red as by the time he’s home he can scarcely exist for what is flowing through him, what is overflowing out of him. He cannot think for the pleasure and power coursing through his veins, mainlining into his nervous system through the purloined jockstrap.

So overwhelmed is he it’s almost as if he’s unable to maintain what has been thus far been bestowed unto him. As if he were becoming less defined, less real. While his muscles compress and his mind sits on the precipice of total erasure, it is clear what aspect of self is benefitting from his impossible situation. When he finally realizes how dire- how tenuous a hold he has on what is happening to him, what is becoming of him as his blood begins to burn he discards the jock and his eyes land upon a cock that may be the closest man has ever come to perfection. 

Pubes like a burning bush around an obelisk of a dick. His hands twitch as they go to grab it and they burn with pleasure as Timothy is filled with feeling so intense that he sees only red, he feels only static, he hears nothing but the rushing of blood through his ears. Through gnashing teeth he is no longer aware of having he unknowingly does the only thing that could save him. Just as he begins to lose the capacity for thought at all, he stumbles upon a wish. i wish i could share this- and with that whatever staticky magic, whatever inhuman energy flowing through him from Simon, from Nicky, is discharged. 

He awakens on the edge of orgasm sitting on his couch, as soon as he’s conscious enough to move he loses control. Painting his torso as well as the wall behind him with cum his breathing stutters as he stares at his dripping cock. His hands shake as he reaches for it, twitching it stands higher and crisscrossed by fleshy veins and surrounded by a garden of pubes distinctly thicker than how he keeps them. Grunting as he convulses to prevent himself from cumming again he hears his voice echo through the room deeper, stretching he finds his limbs are longer. His mind dances with the idea that what just happened to him may not have just been some all-too-real dream after all, but some true working of magic.

His hands go to cup his thicker balls, and as they are graced by a callused hand that seems to have done perhaps one full day of work before, his hips rut and he loses control once more. Splashes of cum decorate his hairless stomach and chest that currently maintain only the most superficial of muscle and vascularity. Taking in the mess he has made of himself, Tim’s eyes widen as he observes something new beginning. Like tears of god the cum decorating his chest has begun to seed bountiful thick curls everywhere it lands. Rapidly do jungles of hair sprout up across his cumstained body enough to perhaps rival that of Simon’s. Though as he sees his newfound ability to change himself, Simon loses such prominent status from his mind.

His hands, having been incredibly near to the epicenter of his powerful release are certainly not spared from his loosed loads. Thick hair begins to trail up his forearms, accompanied by veins even thicker than he held during his peak performance with Simon. Shaking off whatever anxieties remained from his near cosmic experience, as well as any desire to understand what is happening to him, he gleefully begins to rub his cum into pecs as they begin to amass weight and strength once more. This time they are artfully decorated with curls he has longingly lusted after since he first stumbled upon his proclivities towards masculinity.

While his fingers dance and sculpt his body into what he has always wanted to fuck and only recently hungered for himself, he becoems aware that his plans have returned to the headspace wherein he truly lost himself. In between dragging through a treasure trail that now acts as a highway from his neck to his cock, playing with nipples that hang pertly from a chest no man would be ashamed to have, playing with lengthy pit hair that holds a permanent undeniable aura (Read: musk), he overcomes his prideful shortfalls, shaking off his need to personally be more- shaking off his obsession with seeking fulfillment in power, in forcing some jock he doesn’t even know to acknowledge and fulfill him he is struck with the desire that let him persist. I Wish I Could Share This. 

Taking time to spread his seed across his jawline and ensure his face has stubble, Tim stands to feet and smirks as pre continues to drip down from his cock. Curls spread up from his wider feet to meet with the forest of hair that coats his calves, which rush to surge and match the density of hair that ushers forth from his thighs and crotch. He stretches and groans with a clear mission laid ahead of him. Propelled with the desire supernatural, bestowed upon him by himself, he throws on as little clothing as he can get away with and wanders out from his home. No need to choose a destination as some will greater than himself already pulls him closer.

Before he’s made it down the street he grimaces and removes his shoes, sizes too small already; they're simply too tight for any continued charade of decency to be worth it. When hairy toes just as soon burst forth from his socks he grins and presses onward, delighted at the prospect, the ideal of never being contained. Each step forward stains the earth beneath him with a sweaty footprint. Each mark a proof of currently barely perceptible change that he has wrought, should someone investigate too intently they are sure to find themselves pulled in and changed as well. Though such contagion is paltry compared to what is to happen when he finally reaches his destination.

His entrance to the gym is unheralded and yet as soon as he steps in the doors every man drops what they are doing to stare. The hunger red hot behind his eyes returns as he meets their gaze and smiles. The receptionist starts to try and speak, some drilled in procedure acting subconsciously. When Timothy turns to observe the quiet voice he freezes up once more before he’s filled with confidence and a burning need to be closer. The receptionist barrels over the counter and races to be the first to reach the titan, to be the first to receive his gifts.

Mouths drop as all watch Tim effortlessly tear the shirt from the man before pulling him in for a sloppy kiss. Wherever Tim haphazardly makes contact with the young man muscle bloats and hair blooms. The manicured fur on his chest rapidly spreads and races to meet with bountiful gardens that push out from underneath his arms. Stubble on his face explodes into a full beard as new prickly strands push out from pores appearing in between pores, never to be combated by a razor again. His chest pushes larger as he struggles to push in closer to Tim than physically possible, as if he were trying to make their forms one. Shoulders just wider and arms hang closer to the earth as biceps form and hands expand.

The receptionist’s eyes roll back as Tim’s graceful and rough fingers slowly twirl downward from playing with chest hair. Following the directions of a new thick treasure trail he finds a bush of pubes spreading further and growing more tangled by the second. Even the lightest touch is enough for the changing man to lose control. Overwhelmed as Tim was from the jockstrap, the young man stumbles backwards, away from the eidolon and into the crowd. Immediately he bumps into another would be congregant to the beyond-alluring gym-rat.

Still not satiated, if such a thing is even possible, the receptionist immediately turns and begins frotting against the wanting man he wantonly bumped into. He does not see his eyes cloud over nor the red mist that falls from his mouth as he makes out with a longtime regular to the gym. When he begins to feel his new beard scratch and tangle with stubble that his suitor had not seconds ago it only makes him all the more excited. Soon enough others see the receptionist begin to spread changes himself, and when they see some clumsy jock bump into the man still tongue deep in receptionist and shiver as he too begins to grow, all Hell breaks loose.

In short order every man in the gym finds themselves changing beyond their wildest dreams. Musky bodies grind against musky bodies. Pecs push into pecs as men who haven’t even realized they liked body hair suddenly find themselves rapt in the heady delight. Newly hairy stomachs and chests scratch against the sweaty curls of other men who can scarcely recall their names. Mouths find mouths, pits unleash b.o. great enough to fill the gym with a cloud of musk. In no time at all dicks are unleashed as they grow too large to be contained by briefs, jocks, or boxers as cum begins to join the litany of other bodily fluids that fly through the air. 

Tim simply watches in reverie as men continue to frot, fuck, bloat, and grow hairier around him. When he sees sensibility or awareness return he simply offers a helping hand and watches bemused as their dumb smiles return. He wanders through tangled bodies exalting himself to find each and every one greater than they were before his guiding hand. Minds consumed with nothing further than the sensual pleasure he offers, not even present enough to question why they had ever prioritized anything else to begin with. 

For a moment Tim himself has some second guesses as to what he has done. Seeing a friend he almost recognizes shake as he grows a foot in height as his man bun retracts into nothing as a beard shades his face. Watching the prim bottom manhandle a jock who is changing far slower than himself gives him pause. Watching men bloat up and become new vectors of transformation. Is this better? Just as soon as the words come they vacate as he takes a deep breath of the scarlet shaded musky air. Of course it’s better, what could one want more than everlasting pleasure.

Soon enough he doesn’t even remember that he was the one to begin the orgy that this gym descends into, it is simply something that happened, that is happening. New gym goers file in as the day goes by and immediately find their place in the bacchanalia. Outside the juice bar and bookstore the gym was wedged in between corrupt into a protein shake shack and sex shop, perfect for the gym rats and himbos to stumble into whenever they need to take a breather before returning to the fracas. The gym becomes a canary in the coal mine of a world that is soon to come, though it is not the inly of epicenter of change in this city.

Nicky’s wish for Simon to have confidence in himself has had repercussions beyond the pale, though that is what happens when one makes wishes and casts spells haphazardly. Due to his desire to forget his strange encounter, he remains totally unaware of what he has unintentionally wrought. In a chinese food restaurant a delivery man scratches at his stomach after making a stop at a friendly apartment next door, he himself could sure use a bite to eat. All across town people Nicky has wished well find themselves becoming more. People Nicky has wished would learn a lesson do so in ways he never could expect, in ways he would never wish. For now he simply continues on as normal, though when Simon finally comes home to tell his boyfriend of a strange encounter with some guy at the gym and the disquieting flashes of red in the back of his mind, perhaps Nicky will finally discover how his will is being enacted, how it is being twisted into the world.

Poll Results:

Delivery - 30.5%

Follows Alex from Talisman II as Rich has unwittingly sent him on his own path to Transformation as he goes on deliveries to find some of his regulars acting strange (General masculinzation for Alex alongside some other shorter fun TF’s, i.e. twinkification/Stoner tf/preppification)

Hazmat 21.6%

Forces race to contain the spread of transformation, but who polices the police as it were (Continuing onward with jockfications)

Location Location Location 24.1%

To test his powers Nicky deliberately changes a whole establishment and the people within, though unfamiliarity or disbelief creates a new locus of transformation (Library to Fraternity? Craft store to sports store?)

Barista 23.6%

Accidentally uses talisman on barista and through effort Simon gets Nicky to observe and become aware of the situation (cafe goer into various TFs surfer/cultural change/might toss in a F2M, is there interest there??)

[dvrcos]

more mic’d up andrew minyard when?? mic’d up AARON minyard when?? other mic’d up fox when??

Aaron Minyard Mic’d up

Hes reluctant to do it for a long fucking time

He thinks its kinda dumb

But he mostly doesn’t wanna get scolded for what his mic would pick up

Because my boy is a shit talker

He’s saying everything and anything he can to rile up the other team

He’s even trying to rile up the other foxes tbh

So when he finally agrees he makes coach promise he won’t get in trouble

He body slams the opposing striker (because if there’s one thing Aaron’s gonna do it’s put his all into a body check)

And the opposing striker is mad like visibly fuming

He’s all up in Aaron’s space, a moment away from starting a fight

And Aaron thinks it’s the funniest thing ever

He’s laughing his ass off while loudly crashing their raquets against each other

‘What you’re upset I hit you? I’m five foot nothing dude sounds like a you problem’

And he’s lucky the striker gets pulled away by his teammates cause he’s over 6 foot

And Aaron is all bark, no bite

*whispering into the mic as he walks away* ‘I’ll be honest guys, he would’ve kicked my ass but that was to good of an opportunity to pass up’

His best moments come from when he trips up a striker

*sends the striker sprawling onto their ass* ‘womp womp’

*body slams one into the wall* ‘maybe next time man’

*slams the ball out of their racquet* ‘that’s not yours cmon now’

He flirts with the opposing team but in German

Because he’s discovered that when they can’t understand what he’s saying it really gets to them

And he’ll slip in a word in English so they figure out he’s flirting

And they’re even more pissed and distracted that they mess up what would’ve been a solid play

‘What the fuck did you just say to me!?’

‘Hey, hey sorry just trying to have a nice conversation’ *winks and walks away to start up play again*

*Opposing striker, absolutely baffled and fuming*

His striker accidentally trips him up and gets past to Andrew

And Aaron doesn’t even have to look at Andrew to see the heavy bored expression he’s giving him

Aaron knows he’s probably plotting where to hide his body if he does it again

*Andrew, shaking his head in disappointment as he smacks the ball away*

*Aaron rolling onto his knees and pleading for mercy while laughing* ‘my bad, let’s just talk this out I promise it won’t happen again it was Nicky’s fault’

This happens a lot whenever they’re both on the court

Because making a joke out of Exy is one of the only ways they both actually enjoy it sometimes

And it’s something they can actually bond over

But oh god forbid if someone on the other team says something about Andrew

That’s when Aaron just looses it

Doesn’t matter if the player is ten times his size, he becomes all bite

‘Put your psycho pet brother on a leash already’

And Aaron’s helmets already off and he’s going for his gloves next

*Matt grabbing him and holding him back* ‘cmon Matt it’ll be good, he asked for it, it’ll be good’

‘No Aaron, no red cards’

‘But it’ll be fun’ *tries to throw his helmet at the other player*

He gets a yellow card for it but he proudly displays it by tucking it into the front of his jersey

‘I’m gonna frame this one coach’ he tells Wymack as he sits on the bench for his penalty

Kevin’s always the most annoyed by Aaron’s shit talking because it threatens the game and Aaron’s wellbeing

And he also gets the most riled up whenever Aaron’s turns it onto him

*Kevin storming over to Aaron after he almost gets ejected* ‘Stop saying shit that’ll get you kicked out of the game you idiot’

‘Oh cmon Day I know you like em a little feisty, I’m just trying to make you happy my Queen,’

And Kevin just smacks the top of his helmet and turns to walk away

‘I can get on my knees to apologize if you want, I know you like me on my knees’

And Kevin just has to tune him out cause Aaron won’t stop if he feeds into it

He gets really into the game sometimes though (because he’s competitive and he can’t help it)

Like he’s screaming and cheering so loud at certain points the mic is crackling

*Kevin and Neil scoring the goal that pulls them into the lead* ‘LETS FUCKING GO’

When he’s on the bench he’s the one banging on the plexi glass

He’s screaming at them to get their heads out of their asses or cheering them on even though they can’t hear him

And then he gets out of his competitive streak and he’s lowkey embarrassed

‘If that gets posted online I will never recover’ he mutters after he’s just jumped into Matt’s arms in celebration

When the foxes listen to his recording later they’re shocked by how creative Aaron gets with all of it

And they find it hilarious

And endearing

And they like that they’re getting to see a new part of Aaron as he gets more comfortable with the team

He is by far one of the most aggressive of the foxes when he’s on the court, both physically and verbally

And the fans absolutely eat it the fuck up

But Wymack doesn’t mic him up often because he is lowkey a liability because of what he says

[medusas-daughter]

I know it's kind of become the consensus and it's a fun theory but it makes no sense to me and I need to talk about it. Agatha was not killing witches to avoid death, she was doing it for power in the hopes that enough power coupled with the darkhold would cloak her from death because she didn't want to see Rio's face or have to forgive her she wanted to stay angry. Lilia has lived over 450 years without killing anyone. Jen has live 100 years without any magic and who know how many years before that. When Billy googled Agatha there were pages on the screen that say that witch don't die of natural causes and choose the age they want to appear as. Agatha could have stayed alive with the darkhold for a long long time. She chose to lure and kill those witches for power for her own gain.

And for Nicky, the whole "distracting Rio with bodies" is just silly. People die every day, every second, she's constantly reaping someone. She's Lady Death if she needs to take someone there's no distracting her. Either Nicky needed to feed off death because of Rio's parentage or Agatha was hoping to accumulate enough power to cloak him from Rio permanently or both. The day he refused killing and said "his mother is expecting him", either he was done feeding off the dead and wanted to join Rio's realm forever, or he was physically sick and in pain and tired so that was his way of telling both Agatha and Rio that he was ready to die and that's how Rio knew to take him, she waited until he was ready (something she never does with anyone).

The one time Rio offered Agatha a deal of one life for another is with Billy, and that's because Billy's magic is powerful enough to let him escape Rio and reincarnate indefinitely. So he has to go willingly. Rio could have had a talk with Billy about the order of things but she chose to involve Agatha. She wants Agatha to be the one to deliver Billy to her because she noticed she loves Billy. And if Agatha can deliver a boy she loves to Death, that means she will have finally understood that Death is not a punishment just the cycle of life and she will have forgiven Rio. She banked on Agatha wanting to stay alive but she was not expecting Agatha asking to never see her face. That's when Rio lashed out. Because after all those centuries she still won't forgive her for doing her job. And that's when she started tormenting her and giving her the ultimatum, either her or Billy.

I'm sure Agatha thought she was manipulating Death all this time, because she can be delulu about her power sometimes. And Rio probably thought it was funny in the beginning that this baby witch thinks she's manipulating a being as old as time. But Rio was never going to kill her, just like she never kills anyone. And if offerings of bodies were enough to stay alive, all serial killers would be immortal. Rio was just collecting her bodies and having a blast with her wife until the party ended and suddenly her job no longer seemed fun to Agatha because it went against her wishes. And suddenly this being she loved became evil in her eyes. And then Agatha acquired the Darkhold and Rio couldn't even see her anymore she could only trace her by the bodies she left.

[vigilante24ish]

🌙 Moon Phases 🌙

Agatha Harkness X Fem!Reader

Chapter 1. - Chapter 2. - Chapter 3

Chapter 4. - Chapter 5. - Chapter 6

Chapter 7. - Chapter 8. - Chapter 9

Chapter 10. - Chapter 11. - Chapter 12

Chapter 13. - Chapter 14. - Chapter 15

Chapter 16. - Chapter 17. - Chapter 18

Word Count: 1786

Chapter 18:

After you healed the boy, you all helped put him down on some leaves and let him rest; waiting until he would wake up to check up on him once again.

There was no hurry to move to the next trial, and after the tiring trial, you all finished, rest, and a break sounded good.

While the witches settled down and started to gather ingredients for a fire, you chose to go find Agatha; who had not let the boy's side, showing everyone a far more sensitive side they did not have her for.

Except for you. You knew she had it in her, simply hiding beneath sarcasm and the fake persona of an evil person; a defence mechanism to protect her already wounded self from further harm.

Your steps made faint noise against the wet ground and dead leaves, drawing her attention from the sleeping teenager.

"Hey," you greeted softly, as if approaching a baby deer.

"Hey, sugar" she greeted, doing her best to hide her worry but you easily saw right through it.

"He will be fine, you know" you said as you sat next to her, shoulders touching against one another. "My magic is not that weak"

Agatha offered a weak smile. "I know it's not. It never was, " she commented and glanced at the sleeping boy. "Thank you again. I know you don't like taking such risks"

You gently nudged your shoulder with hers, earning her attention. "Well, someone once told me; there is no fun in life if I don't take any risks"

She could not help but crack an amused smile, remembering the many times she had told you those exact words.

She took a good look at you at the same time, remembering the young girl she had taken under her wings all those years ago.

Back then, you were more innocent and shy; often hesitating to show your magic or use it, afraid you would be judged or make a mistake.

It took a lot of effort from Agatha and patience to make you trust her enough and listen to her. Then, you truly had your fun with your shenanigans, your crazy plans, and ideas.

Of course, you also got into plenty of trouble, but Agatha never let you feel guilty about what happened.

You did not speak anything else for a few minutes, enjoying the silence and the fact that you were next to each other. Agatha, even, leaned andrm rested her head against your shoulder; your presence always having this supernatural energy that calmed her down.

Sometimes it was what she needed, when her own mind was torturing her with thoughts and scenarios. Sometimes, it was what she craved when she needed to stop for a moment and breathe; think carefully of what she wished to do next.

And sometimes... it was what she feared. Being so quick to let go of her defences and open up to you, being so willing to lay in your arms and sleep; without worrying, you might harm her while she rests.

She feared feeling vulnerable and attaching to you, for you might as well turn and betray her one day or perish and leave her with another crack on her already wounded heart.

As if feeling the turmoil of emotions within her, you dared to spread your hand and hold hers; fingers interlocking into a secure grip. Your thumb gently caressed her skin, and you noticed the soft smile that formed on her face.

However, despite that sweet moment between the two of you; you had to speak up, and you had to take the step.

"Ags" you started gently, earning a faint humming response from her. "This boy... who is he? The sigil is not your design"

Agatha took a moment to answer, clearly debating everything in her head. "I... I don't know, honestly. I just feel like I know him"

You frowned faintly. "You think he might be Little Nicky?"

The nickname left a bitter after taste in your mouth, being so long since you had called her son that way.

It was a nickname you had come up with when you first met, and you had used it a few times for the time Agatha and him spent time with you. Then, out of the blue, Agatha had to leave and took the boy with her.

You had declined the offer to join, thinking it was not a good idea. Now, you regretted it.

You had no idea what happened to the boy, but you felt that had you been present, had you joined back then... that boy might still be alive.

Agatha pulled her head from you, an instinctive reaction to block any affection when she felt a wound reopening. However, she kept her hand locked into yours; offering the faintest of hope.

"I... I don't know, " She confessed, leaving a heavy sigh. "I mean... he could be, right?"

Considering she never told you what happened to him, you were not exactly the best person to answer that question. But you could see that Agatha needed closure; she needed reassurance.

So, you dared to play along. "Maybe" you lied.

It was then a faint groan let Teen's lips, earning your attention. Immediately, Agatha was on alert; letting go of your hand.

You stood up, choosing to let her have her time with the boy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You did not walk astray, always remembering what would happen if you did. However, the Road gave you the feeling you had walked quite far; time being a mere illusion to you now.

You came to a halt, suddenly feeling on alert, but your gaze never stopped looking forward. Your hair at the back of your neck stood on end as a familiar presence and voice seemed to come directly from your own shadow; choosing to approach you from your most blind spot.

"Why the sour face, baby?" Rio asked, her hand slowly dragging itself across your back, making you shiver.

"I don't have a sour face," you argued, taking a few steps forward to remove her hand and put some distance between you and her.

Sometimes, it confused and infuriated you how both your magic and your body were reacting to Rio's presence.

You finally turned to face her, back in her normal earthy colours. "You did before. I guess the situation between Agatha and the Boy is not sitting well with you, " she said, her word sounding slightly more comforting and sincere, rather than the mockery you would expect.

Tired from everything, you could not help but sigh. "Come on, you can't tell me it doesn't sit odd with you," you said, and suddenly, something popped up in your mind.

You slowly walked towards her, steps condifent as there was this gleam in your eyes; one that akwsys intrigued and challenged Rio.

"I mean." You started, never breaking eye contact with her. "You made it so clear that you saw me as an obstacle between you and Agatha. Who says the boy isn't one as well?"

Perhaps it was wrong, to try and throw Teen under the bus that way. Perhaps you would regret it later on, considering what Rio was capable of. But you could not help it.

You had nothing against the boy, but perhaps you were tired of letting Agatha and everything slip through your fingers, always too afraid to tighten your grip and hold them there... hold them with you.

With the way the Road was going, you realized this might be the last chance for you to actually be brave and take the step... and that's what you were intending to do.

Rio watched you as you halted in front of her, neck craned up faintly as you stared deep into her dark eyes, no sign of fear; never fearing her, even when you first met.

"Because the boy is not hers," she replied.

Her gaze was not mocking, and neither was prideful at that moment, opposite of what you expected of her. Instead, you swore you saw regret in them; something you had rarely seen in Rio.

"How do you know?" You asked quickly, trying to save your futile attempt, but the moment the words left your mouth; you felt like an idiot. "Of course you do know," you sighed.

You felt her hand gently caressing your cheek, going as far as to gently push some of your hair away from your face and neck. The move was gentle, careful, and yet her cold skin made goosebumps appear on yours.

"You should be wary, baby girl," she started, taking half a step closer. "The way you are heading, you will get hurt again"

You focused on her, trying not to react or focus too much on her touch; which you swore was slowly growing bolder. "Only if I choose to stay behind but I don't have such plans. I am done being a coward," you confess, your voice threatening to crack by the last sentence.

"You are not a coward for doing what was expected of you," she cooed, words so sincere and caring you would not believe would come from the same witch that came through a freaking grave. "You are not meant to be here, Y/N."

You frowned at the certainty of her words. "What? Why?"

Rio didn't answer your question, holding back the answer you suddenly needed. "Join me, instead. Let me show you what you truly are meant to do."

Those words made you have a sense of dejavu, unlocking a memory locked at the very back of your mind.

The very first time you had heard her say those words, you stood between corpses of men; tired and blooded.

They were dead, and she had come to collect, having also enjoyed your magic outburst that ended your tormentors. Your magic was glowing and flowing wild, bright white eyes staring at her form.

She had told you those exact same words back then, trying to lure you intl trusting her; into giving in. You fought her at first and even later you never truly accepted.

Though you will admit, her lessons and influence had rubbed on you; helping you with your magic but also making you more careful of her 'true' nature.

"You and I are nothing alike" you managed to comment, feeling your self restrain getting more and more lost thanks to Rio's touch; that had moved towards your tie and threatened to take off some buttons from your white shirt.

"Aren't we?" Rio smirked, eyes landing on your parted lips as her hand stopped moving; fingers holding the side of your upper arm to ensure you would not move away.

Before something could take place, someone cleared their throat.

Chapter 19

[kithtaehyung]

busted (3tan) (m) | myg

title: busted  pairing: 3tan!yoongi x reader(f) , jungkook 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 rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , fluff , smut ; brother’s best friend au, implied age gap au summary: when things go a bit south at your house party, decisions between you and yoongi have to be made. note: well. here we are, y’all. it’s been quite a long time, but we are back to regularly scheduled programming :’)) thank you to everyone that has supported and encouraged me throughout this whole process – and series, for that matter. i couldn’t have done this without y’all and the next part is already in the works. also i cried a lot writing this lol have fun! note 2: happy birthday, hedgehog! and to colourless and nicki and whoever else had birthdays recently, consider this my gift to y’all! warnings: language, the amount of content itself fck i’m so sorry, parties, alcohol consumption, tense situations, shoving, abandonment mentions (parental), obligatory yoongi on the phone, ch*king, head/hair pulling, reader has a pain kink and it shows oops, angst, overthinking :((, penetrative s*x, chains but come on now, protective s*x, cowgirl, or*l (m/f rec), edg*ng a ha ha, thro*tf*cking, kissing :’))), kissing D:, did i say angst?, bro😵‍💫, but also bro😭, jungkook gets a warning too, yoongi’s jeans are as ripped as he is heyo, hitting from the b b back, yoongi king of consent sheesh, multiple org*sms, spitting lmfao, sl*t/wh*re mentions, yoongi jfc lol, the aftercare y’all i–😭, the ending🧍  drop date: june 9th, 2023, 7:17pm est  word count: 18.8k gdi

-

-

Here goes nothing and everything.

It was fifteen years ago when you first met Jungkook. When the sidewalks in your neighborhood were fewer and the occupancy in your house was higher. 

A tiny boy, he was immediately ready to stay by your side, despite the limited amount of time he got to hang around before his parents corralled his energy back inside their car. 

Later on, he would tell you that had something to do with them not wanting him influenced by your brother and his group. But you didn’t know that at the time. 

Ever since the two of you met, you became the best of friends. And as you grew older, it was only natural that feelings bloomed with everything else. 

In the midst of an ever changing garden, you found something that never wavered, vibrant in color and immovable at its root. 

Which was strange. You’d never compared people to flora before him. 

But, because of Jungkook, you couldn’t help but see everyone as such—lilies, buttercups, the ones that trap to survive. 

And he was the prettiest, strongest flower of them all.

There was rain. There were storms. But with them came hope, and a pair of cheap rings that the two of you bought nestled nicely in boxes, waiting to be unearthed when you were ready.

However. 

What also came was a lesson. One that you would learn again when two of every seat remained unused in your household. 

A lesson that people are more like seasons than flowers.

They change with or without you. 

And they pass by.

“We can go somewhere quieter if you want,” Jungkook offers. And you know he’s going to suggest your room before he even utters the words.

But of course he adds a small, “If I’m allowed in there anymore.”

When he laughs, your smile is as slow as your head shake, a few memories of old tasting bittersweet on your tongue. “We can.”

“Okay.”

When you make your way to your room, you hear the thumps of music and rhythms of conversation—both casual and loud—echoing throughout the house. Some people are sharing laughs, others are scooting just a bit closer, and a lucky one is cackling before demanding that everyone hand over their money. 

All of them oblivious to the fact that you’re about to rip off a piece of your heart.

Well. That may not be the case. But based on the conversation that you had with Jungkook before your interview, this wasn’t going to be an easy one in the slightest—not for him, nor for you.

But if he’s gonna keep pushing forward, this is a stop you need to put up regardless.

During a party isn’t what you had in mind, though. Much less one in your own house.

You don’t know if anyone sees you open your door for Jungkook to pass through, or if they notice the slump of your mood, but you figure no one will care anyways. 

Until you see someone out of the corner of your peripheral.

And the skip of your heart tells you who it is.

Occupying one of the hallways a ways away, you can tell he’s very aware of you despite being in the middle of a chatty group.

But what’s on his mind? Is he worried? Is he gonna ask what this is about?

Damn it. You’re just gonna have to tell him later. You can’t exactly do anything now. 

A voice peeps from behind your tense shoulders,

“You okay?”

Fuck. 

Turning, you nod to the boy in your room before shutting your door, giving one more look to the man whose last text you couldn’t read.

And the way he stares makes you wanna bolt from everyone entirely.

When your door clicks shut, you slowly swivel, only the bass of your brother’s music pushing the walls in closer. 

Jungkook’s doing exactly what you knew he’d do, wandering around your room and either leaning in to observe, or lightly touching things that he remembers. 

The soft puff of a laugh snaps you into focus. “I can’t believe you still have all his medals up.”

Ah. He even remembers the way you have all your brother’s trophies and achievements displayed—all because you liked seeing them shine, and he didn’t want them in his room.

Sweeping your gaze along two of your walls, you let out a tiny sound of amusement while agreeing, “I can. Too lazy to take them down.” 

“I can do it,” he immediately responds. “If you need me to.”

If it had been five years ago, you would’ve been enamored that he even offered.

But five years ago is when he shattered any hopes you had for the two of you, so you turn him down yet again. “It’s okay.” 

“You sure?”

“We’re here to talk, not decorate, Jungkook.”

He stares before nodding in dejection, eyes finding something other than you. “It’s still weird to hear you say my name.”

It’s weird to say it. 

But you can’t let him know you agree, so the sound you make is half-cautious and weakly lighthearted. “You think so?”

“Ah, yeah.” He flashes a smile that still squeezes air from your lungs. “I’d gotten too used to all the names you had for me.”

“Oh, god.”

“But I guess someone else gets to hear them now.”

Goddamn it. He’s not gonna give up, just like he said right before your interview. 

“Who are you seeing?” 

“Kook…” 

“I wanna know.” 

“Why?”

He walks over to your nightstand, picking up a picture of you and your friends from years back. 

And your heart pangs at how big his back has become. 

Without turning, Jungkook lifts his head to stare at your ceiling. And if he’s wondering whether the glow stars he stuck all over it are still there or not, you don’t know if you’d admit that you never took them down. 

“So that I’d know if I still have a chance.” 

“You already had yours,” you whisper. “Remember?”

And when you look up, he’s already staring at you with regret. 

Memories start to come back, but you shove them away with force, trying to empty your sinking boat with a teaspoon. 

Every time he had walked back from school with you, every time he would make you laugh when you felt alone, every time he stayed at your place when your brother had to be out—all of them competed with each other to punch you in the gut and push you to your knees. 

“I do,” is all he says before softly placing the frame on your bed. “I fucked that up, didn’t I.” 

The times he said he’d be there when you needed him, the times he said it was gonna be okay when you struggled with your seemingly deepest darkest secrets. 

All the times you knew you’d have a long future with him. 

“You did.”

Everything leading up to the time he said you should break up before you left for university.

Right before you were going to tell him you loved him.

Your heart hasn’t beat in awhile, but you don’t notice until Jungkook starts walking towards your planted feet. Was he really so far away? How did he cover the distance between so fast?

With a sigh occupying your chest, you muse that he looks so different, but also not different at all. 

And just like the time you saw him downtown, your brain doesn’t know how to separate the Jungkook you knew from the one you see in front of you. 

Because they are still the same.

You don’t budge as he stands resolute, inches away but encasing you in his familiar presence. When his hand comes up to your face, he almost touches—but the slight hesitation has you holding your breath before he surrenders his hand at his side. 

“I was an idiot,” he admits, throat seemingly small and making yours the same size. “I never should’ve… I can’t believe I…” 

You watch as he flips his head up, and you hate how you know exactly what he’s trying to hide. 

But your soul still remembers the wound it was dealt. So while you don’t want him feeling this way, you’re perfectly okay to fight back. 

He doesn’t get to cry when he’s the reason for all those tears. 

“And yet you did,” you remind him, proud of how stable your voice leaves lips that used to seek his. “And you left me so fucking confused.” 

“I know.”

“Do you really?” 

He flickers regretful eyes your way, giving you all the room to talk. 

And you’re going to.

“Do you actually know, Kook? How fucked up that made me feel right before going where I knew nobody. No one.” 

His nostrils flare while eyebrows flinch. 

You expel a tough breath, everything that happened before bubbling up to the surface. The nights you spent wondering what happened, the days you spent feeling unwanted, the times you felt so fucking alone.

“Is it true that you even loved me?”

“Yes,” he finally shatters, face contorting and eyes welling at their rims. “Of course I did.” 

Did.

“I still do.”

Liar.

“I thought I was the only one.” You search his eyes, hating how you would comfort him in an instant if this were any other circumstance. Hating, hating, loathing that this is how you find out your love wasn’t unrequited. “Why did you push me away?” 

“I didn’t—I didn’t mean to…” He turns, unable to handle the loud silence streaming from your bones. Voice shaken, he flounders, “I don’t know. I’ve—” 

When he pauses, it’s to keep his lips from shaking. You just know it. 

“I’ve regretted it every day since.” 

“Bullshit.” 

“I have!”

“Really. So all those texts you never sent were full of regret, too, huh?” 

“No, I—”

“All those calls you never made.” 

“I wanted to call!”

“You wanted nothing to do with me!”

“No! That’s not true—”

“Liar!”

He digs palms into the soaking divots of his face, tense at all angles and making you so, so angry that this is what the both of you have come to. 

“I’m not lying!”

“You are!”

You thought it would feel better seeing him cry. 

But it’s not, it’s not, it’s not. You hate this. 

Because Jungkook made sure your tears were short-lived. Made sure to chase them away every single time—

There’s a rapid twist of your locked doorknob before you hear a shout,

“What the hell’s going on in there!”

Shit, your brother. Were you both yelling? 

…Were you both that loud?

“We’re fine!” you shout back, embarrassed that your fight somehow managed to outperform the aux. “It’s okay.”

“Open the door.”

“No.”

“You better be serious—”

“Promise!” You look toward the shouts. “We’re okay.” 

“…Okay.”

And then it’s completely silent.

But you know he hasn’t left. 

Fuck, he can’t hear the rest of this. He shouldn’t have heard any of it in the first place, and you can feel the heat of his questions coming later tonight. 

Which, you are fine answering when it’s just the two of you. But you cannot have anyone hovering right now so you go to open the door and tell him off, 

“Dude, I said I’m—”

Oh, fuck.

Yoongi’s right there with him.

And your heart fucking lurches.

Fuck fuck fuck they both see your tears and you’re getting moved aside before you know it now there’s—

“The fuck are you doing making them cry?”

“Wait, it’s not like th—”

“You come into our house after years—”

“Stop!”

“And pull some shit like this?”

Alarmed, you squeeze yourself between him and a very wide-eyed Jungkook, having to wrestle an angry wrist off a captured bicep. “Seriously, relax!”

You and your brother have a thousand differences. 

But one thing you two have in common? 

He’s just as stubborn as you are. 

A strong swipe moves you back so fast that your feet can’t keep up, and you find yourself stumbling until firm hands and familiar cologne keep you upright, voices springing up all at once.

“I’m not—”

“Hey—!”

“The fuck—”

“What’s wrong with you?” you question, commanding attention and snagging both your brother’s and Jungkook’s stares.

Barely even caring if they see where you are and who’s holding you. 

Because this is all stupid. It’s not fucking high school and you aren’t some kid that needs their useless, shitty, good-for-nothing parents to stand up for them. 

Resisting Yoongi’s grip until he lets go, you stalk up to rip your brother’s hand off your ex’s arm, voice darkened and sharp, “Get out.”

Breath hard, the reply you get is directed more at Jungkook than your own pinched brows, 

“Why should I.”

“Cus it’s fine,” you shoot out, sparing a glance at Yoongi and regretting it immediately. 

Because he’s not looking at you. He probably wasn’t ever looking at you.

No. Based on that look alone, he’s been eyeing Jungkook with an energy that sends chills straight through your veins.

It’s so unmoving, so infernal that your throat dries, forcing you to swallow before laying more reassurance on three pairs of tense shoulders. “It’s alright, okay? We’re just talking.”

“…So it’s like that?”

Jungkook immediately replies to your sibling with a monotone, “Of course it is.”

To which he moves forward again before you stop him with a hand and a shout, 

“The fuck it isn’t—” 

“It is! Fucking hell, dude...” 

You force an exhale, hating how your room is overflowing while you’re still drowning in the conversation prior. 

Because now one talk is gonna sprout into three, and you already dread what each one is going to look like when it develops. 

You hope Jungkook understands that you’re done. 

You hope your brother understands that you’re tired. 

And, above all the others, you hope to any high power out there that Yoongi understands that you are anything but finished. 

When the tension doesn’t budge, you sigh and shift your weight.

“Look. We’re just talking. But I need to speak to him alone.” You breathe with finality, eyeing your sibling and his ride or die—hating and loving how ready they are to do whatever they need to, together.

But they don’t have to do anything. 

Except let you do this yourself. 

“Please.” 

After a moment, they both look over your shoulder before your brother watches your face again. 

But Yoongi seems to have finally caught Jungkook’s attention, because his eyes haven’t broken their lock until you say something,

“Trust me.”

Two weighty seconds pass before both men nod. And they leave without a word, emotions toppling on each other as soon as your door shuts. 

When you walk up to lock it shut, you stare at the knob in silence. 

While that was massively uncalled for, it could’ve gone much worse. You can already think of over a hundred outcomes, because that’s a look you’ve seen on your brother many times. 

However. That’s not what has you lost in thought.

What keeps you frozen is the fact that you have never seen Yoongi like that.

It almost scared you, but somehow comforts you all the same. You can still feel the way he subtly squeezed you in assurance, pressing you into him when you really didn’t fall that far. There’s a jittering in your chest that hasn’t simmered, and it makes you feel like you’re halfway floating back to where Jungkook stands.

But you’re promptly grounded when you rejoin him, voice soft when you ask if he’s okay. 

“He hasn’t changed,” is all he whispers. 

And you look at the door with a sigh of disappointment. “He has a little. Still uptight as ever, but. At least I can leave the house.” 

“Yoongi was a surprise.”

Oxygen abandons your lungs before you quickly catch yourself. “They’re best friends.”

Jungkook glares at the floor in thought before exhaling, and his silence seems charged. Almost off.

“Right.”

…Well, what the hell is that supposed to mean?

Is it because he saw when Yoongi caught you? Or the fact that he showed up at all? 

“Hey,” you whisper, hoping to rope him away from whatever scary things he could be pondering. When he flicks his attention to you, it takes a lot to not flinch at his watery eyes. “Ignore them. We aren’t finished here.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” he murmurs, and your conversation jumps right back to where it was. “For everything.” 

“I know.” You close your eyes before sadness lowers your gaze. “But it’s gonna hurt for awhile.” 

Even if you get this closure, it can’t cover all the years he made you doubt yourself. Made you feel like everything you went through was a lie and that love was something you just didn’t deserve. Confidence vaporized as a result, leaving nothing but issues and manufactured intimacy for years. 

Maybe that’s why everyone said you were a bad lay before. Because you actually were. 

Through your thick haze, you hear a faint, broken, 

“You loved me?”

“I…” Don’t say it. Don’t tell him. “I still do.”

“What?”

Fuck. 

It’s true. While he broke your heart first, he still cared for it more than anyone else after him had—until recently. The only grief he gave you was the breakup, which was why it threw you for an absolute loop. 

As you grew up, though, you started to rationalize that the split was a good decision. He was moving, and you were leaving for college. How would you both have fared with the long distance? It probably would have ended one way or the other anyways. 

So while the resentment burned your heart, it didn’t quite rid you of affection. What you feel as a result is similar to before, but so very, very different. Subdued. Faded. Like jeans you wore constantly but haven’t touched in years. 

In all honesty, what broke you the hardest was losing a dear friend. 

“I do,” you finally admit, not looking at him because of your next words, “But not the way you want me to.” 

Jungkook doesn’t respond, letting the outside world bleed into the room like a bitter interlude.

When he still makes no sound, you lift weary eyes to check on him.

And your chest constricts at the way he looks utterly and totally lost. 

When you call his name, his gaze doesn’t leave the floor. When you whisper it again, the tear that falls makes you weak. “Kook, what’s wrong?”

He finally looks up, and you feel your eyes quickly reflect his. “I was so stupid,” he sniffles, wiping his nose. “I really didn’t know. Honestly, I knew that was impossible.” 

For some reason, this makes you chuckle, and a new mood starts to paint the walls. “Why?”

“Because you were so cool.” His smile hasn’t changed. And that’s what cuts the deepest. “And I was just there because I always was.” 

“What?” You start to join him in bittersweet recollection, albeit from a different perspective. When you reach forward to point at his necklace—because you will not touch the ring—you softly laugh. “Then what were these for, silly?” 

When he sighs, you can feel the cracks in his curve. “I’ve been told that I’m clueless.” 

“You are,” you say with a sagging grin. “Extremely.” 

He laughs again. So do you. 

And the both of you break all at once. 

He’s crushing you in a hug and you’re crying into his clothes, hands gripping at his jacket and shoulder feeling the weight of his world. 

While he repeats that he’s sorry, you choke out that you are, too. When he says it was never your fault, you cry even harder. 

You fucking hate this. Now that you know the truth, it hurts that much worse. You hate, hate, hate that this is what everything came to. Everything that you both went through, destroyed by one mistake at the bitter end. 

But you need to move on. You need to sacrifice the past for the future. 

“I still love you,” he whispers, and you tense when he tightens his arms. “And I’m still sorry.”

“You idiot,” you cry into his chest, and you hear him hold back a sob before burying his head again.

And the two of you stay like that. One last embrace that you both needed.

Reminiscing over everything that doesn’t matter anymore.

When you both calm, you feel like it’s been hours. 

But you move to step away first, confused at the way he doesn’t let you leave. 

What’s he doing? Why is his mouth hovering over yours? You need to move. You need to move away. 

But all you can do is plead, “I can’t.”

Still, Jungkook moves in. 

Leaning to kiss just next to your lips instead.

What once would have lit your soul on fire now feels like a tempered flame, the smallest light of a candle before it burns out. And you’re grateful that he respects you enough to not push in a time of weakness. 

You move away again, and he lets you go this time. But not without last words, “Promise me this person is alright.”

“I promise.” 

“Only alright? I have a chance then.”

“Kook.” When you give him an empty glare, dying stars still linger in his eyes. “Friends?”

His lips give away his breaking heart before he nods. “I’m not leaving you again.”

Swallowing, you spread a thankful smile. “You better not,” you sniffle. “I need to decorate.” 

He huffs, giving you one more teary stare. “If they ever hurt you, let me know.” 

“I’ll be okay.” 

After a noncommittal nod, he stands until you politely tell him you need a minute. When he leaves, you wait until the door shuts before wiping nothing from your cheek.

Wondering why this closure doesn’t make you feel better in the slightest.

You don’t know how long it’s been. Time doesn’t exactly flow when you’re caught between the past and the present. 

But when you open your door, Dom is watching you with pure, unadulterated focus.

And your face scrunches in pain before she ushers you back inside.

She doesn’t say anything as you sit on your bed, offering her shoulder even though she doesn’t prefer physical contact.

While you’re grateful—so, so thankful for her presence—intermittent sniffles are the only sound you’re capable of. 

Until you stabilize and come up for air, fishing words from your river of grief, “Remember what I told you. When he broke up with me.”

Anger simmers in her reply as her shoulder moves under your chin. You assume by the movements that she’s typing something on her phone—or prepping for revenge, either one of the two. “I do.”

“He said he still loves me.”

Your first thought is proven correct as a device plops onto your comforter. “Bullshit.”

“Dom…”

“What? Like he loved you then, too?” She scoffs. “You were the one that loved him and he cut you out. He needs to get over that.”

“He said it was a mistake.” 

“It sure as fuck was.” 

“I dunno. Something just doesn’t sit right.” You swipe at your nose. “He looked so.. I just…” 

“Uh uh. It’s too fresh.” She gently lifts your heavy cloud off her person, firm fingers squeezing out rain. “You gotta get out of your own damn head right now.” 

“I know.”

“Now.”

You break into another sob, hiccuping before nodding. “It just sucks, Dom. I d—”

“Look, I get that. But everything you’re thinking about already happened. It’s done.” A glance is thrown behind her back before she swivels around. “Focus on what you have now.” 

In your moments of weakness, you ask the dumbest things, 

“What do I have now.”

As always, Dominique is quick and to the point. “A man that’s waiting outside your door.”

Huh?

Your eyes flash up to hers as she stands. “Wait, what?”

What did she say? What does she mean? How does she know that what’s going on— 

“One minute,” she warns, far away and not to you. “Then you’re on your own.”

“K.”

Wait, what.

You don’t even realize you’re vacating your bed as you see him walk in, nodding back at Dom closing the door before regarding your wreck of a face. 

His name is molasses on your tongue.

What is he doing? Isn’t the party still on? Why is he walking closer? 

He’s not supposed to be in here he can’t be here and you’re telling him that but he pulls you in so tight that the rest of your tears rain down in sheets. 

“Fuck,” is all you can manage now, and he crushes you in even harder, as if he wants you pressed against all of him forever like a keepsake leaf on a journal page.

Your voice writes words into his clothes, silence his only reply but the only one you need. 

Even if you only get a minute, this is enough. It’s enough, not enough, enough.

When he holds you at arm’s length, his question comes out a bit fast-paced, “What happened?” 

Damn it. As much as you should probably tell him, you use precious seconds to pause, not really knowing if you want to or not. 

“Don’t sweat it,” he quickly understands, kissing your forehead just as chaste. When he moves again, you catch the tension in his shoulders, notice the ruffles in his hair. “You gonna be okay?”

“Yes. No.” Fuck, he kinda looks as rattled as you feel. What is happening right now? “I just, umm. I need a minute.”

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

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

Finally, Yoongi stops, and his whole upper body relaxes at once. A beautiful sound to your ears, amusement huffs out his nose before he mutters, “You can’t keep saying shit like that.” 

“But it’s true.” 

His chuckle is light, and mischievous eyes find the ground before they lift to yours,

“Makes me wanna take you home.” 

Well. You swiftly realize why he doesn’t want you to keep saying certain things. The zing of emotion through your body was definitely uncalled for. 

Any other day, you would want this type of conversation to keep going. And maybe you’d be a little coy about it. 

But right now, all you are is tired, and your barriers are crumbled enough for a truth to escape. 

Resigned, you step closer to wrap his waist in your arms, not caring if he can feel the rapid beats of your heart. “I want you to do that,” you admit, breath warming your face on his already warmer shirt. “All the time.” 

“Take you home?” 

“Mmhmm.” 

Yoongi runs fingers along your arm. “You know I’d do it if I could, doll.” 

If you were someone else. If you didn’t have to hide. 

If you didn’t have to wait. 

At least you don’t have to wait for much longer. Definitely can’t say anything to your brother tonight, but you and Yoongi agreed on after this party. So things will be better from here on out. 

But why does he seem so—

You’re spooked by a warning knock on your door, and you flicker eyes to see his filled with something you don’t like. 

And the air suddenly shifts to something alarming.

“Listen.”

“Hmm?”

“I know we said we’d say something.”

Oh. You shake your head, already on the same page and liking how in sync you are. “There’s no way. At least, not tonight. Jungkook—”

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

Huh.

What does he mean by—

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

You freeze. 

So does time. 

A minute is no longer enough.

“Yoongi, please—”

“Can you do that?”

Your heart slams against your ribcage, banging and banging and screaming that what he’s asking is not possible.

Because he isn’t asking what you want to do. He isn’t even asking how long you can wait. 

There’s a reason why he’s risking all sorts of shit to say this in person. Why he seems so restless. 

And you’re already missing him so hard it hurts.

Truthfully? You can’t do this. Not now. Not when your heart is bleeding out on your own bedroom floor. There isn’t even enough time to process Jungkook’s talk and now you need to deal with this?

“Babe?”

But despite what you feel, even if your throat is seizing and your chest is caving in, your answer will be what he needs. 

Because seeing Yoongi look like this—torn and frayed at the edges—renders you powerless and protective all at once. For fuck’s sake, he looks slightly panicked and this is the second new side of him you’ve seen tonight.

And yet he found a way to be with you one last time. 

Sacrificing seconds just to say goodbye. 

So you give up something, too. Your wants and needs because you don’t think you can do this, but it seems way too important to him to not try. 

You get it. That whole confrontation probably snapped all sense back into him. He doesn’t want to hurt his best friend. Or disrupt his work environment. Or both. Whatever whatever whatever. You should’ve seen this coming.

If distance is what he wants, you’ll give it. Instant karma because you just told someone else to give you some, too.

Of course you lose someone as soon as you gain back another.

“Doll, let me know because—”

“Anything,” you rush out, and yearning taints your voice on the descent. “I’ll do it.”

He pans from one eye to the other, and you weakly reveal a crack in your resolve,

“Anything for you.”

That answer was a lot more than what you meant to say. And the next look he gives rips you into shreds. Shreds of the bigger truth you just told him with moments left of his time.

“For us,” he corrects, swooping in to give you one more soul-shattering kiss.

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

You don’t know when you’ll get to be alone with him again. It could be a day. Or months. Or even longer.

But watching him go, you know you can get through this. You know you can do it. 

Because this is nothing new. Just another person leaving. You’ve gone through it before and you’ll go through it again and this time will be different, right? Right? He’ll come back. Of course he will. 

And yet there’s still a part of you that questions.

If people are like seasons… 

Which one will Yoongi be?

Fuck.

Your body is moving before the rest of you does, and you propel forward to tug him in, flooding his lips with saltwater and longing and a deluge of reluctant trust. 

And he responds in an instant, swallowing you in an embrace you’ll cherish forever and willingly giving in to your desperate tugs on his jacket.

“Yoongi, I—”

You hear another insistent knock before he slings you into the nearest wall, and he grips the back of your head so hard you sob into his mouth. 

“I know.”

His name rattles around your mouth.

“It’ll be okay.”

You wanna believe him.

“Okay?”

But you only nod, eyes filled with oceans but gaze unwavering. Because you need to see him. Because you need to see him. 

“Fuck.” 

He smashes his lips on yours once more, capturing every soft plea for him to stay and holding you so tightly that your heart splinters. And while you know this is his way of telling you everything will be okay, you have a sinking suspicion that he is fighting to believe it himself.

It’s not fair.

None of this is fucking fair. 

If he was anyone else, if you were anyone else, if your brother wasn’t the way he was, if Jungkook wasn’t in the position he’s in now. 

It was just nights ago that you cradled all his moonlight in your palms.

And now you’ll be farther apart than stars. 

Yoongi finally pulls away right as Dom opens the door, and a myriad of emotions slosh into your brain when his eyes never leave you. 

“I got us,” he vows, finger on your chin the sole thing keeping you afloat, and you suspend in disbelief that someone you know is witnessing his lips press your forehead in real time and no explosions or helicopters are crashing onto the scene.

Just a panicked “Hurry up, for god’s sake!” to indicate your friend is not amused or phased.

Yoongi finally steps away, slowly backing up before slipping out, and the door closes with only you inside—hand clawing deep into your chest. 

Because you know him well enough.

He was committing your every feature to memory. 

And the desperation in his reddened eyes hunches you forward in pain.

The rest of the party goes on. Music booms, people laugh, conversations sparkle.

And you hear them all through your door.

Unmoved from the spot everyone left you in.

Idiot🙄 [1:34am]: Hey

Idiot🙄 [1:34am]: You up or nah?

You [1:40am]: yeah

Idiot🙄 [1:40am]: Help me clean up

You scoff at your phone, letting it fall from your hand before resting tired eyes between your knees. 

When it buzzes again, you reluctantly read it with vision unreflecting.

Idiot🙄 [1:42am]: Left food for you, too

That you will leave your room for. You may have just cried out your weight in tears alone.

You🙄 [1:46am]: ok

Idiot🙄 [1:46am]: 👍

Cleaning is a quiet event, with you both doing the chores you’ve defaulted to over the years. While he clears the floors and deals with the trash, you steadily get through the dishes, scrubbing them as well as you can before placing them in the washer to dry.

A plate. A bowl after that. 

Two whisky glasses even though there were plenty of solo cups to use.

You needed this. Needed a way of going through the motions and letting your brain fly on autopilot. If you sniffle, the water drowns it out, and only the dishes get to see any lingering tears.

And unluckily for you, there are plenty of both.

“Hey.”

You hum.

“Do I need to beat his ass?”

Well, that didn’t take long. 

Frustration tears its way up your throat on all fours, “I should kick yours for what you did back there.”

“And I’d deserve it.” 

You pause.

“But I still wanna know.” 

Sighing, you shake your head, knowing that neither of you are angry enough to fight anyways. “No, okay? I was serious. We talked.” 

“I know you talked but he still hurt you.”

Your lip stings under your teeth.

“And I can’t just let that go.”

When he stops, you place another dish on its rack. “Let’s just finish and I’ll tell you everything in a sec.” 

He sets down the last of his trash before retiring in the living room, the thump of weary weight squeezing a sigh out of the couch.

And you eventually join him, water cutting off with a squeak before you shuck off your gloves. 

As you walk through the cleaned-enough rooms, you keep hearing afterimages of conversations, wondering how many revolved around your shouting match with Jungkook, or how many speculated who Yoongi is or isn’t seeing. 

All these pretend scenarios mock you from all sides. 

But the conversation you’re about to have with your brother is gonna be real. And a long time coming, quite frankly. 

You take a breath before crossing into a space that’s seen and heard many things. While you take residence in your regular spot on the sofa, your brother doesn’t deter his gaze from a television that’s not on.

But as soon as you blurt out your confession, he slowly closes his eyes. 

“He broke up with me. Before I left for school.” 

“...Why didn’t you tell me.”

Brows scrunched, you waste no time in pinning him with your response, “Did you see yourself back there? Imagine if you found out back then.”

Silence. 

“Besides,” you continue, deflating back into the cushions, “He was moving, remember? And you had enough going on. I didn’t want you to worry.”

“I always worry.” 

“It’s whatever at this point. I didn’t even know he was back until Yoo—you told me.”

Shit, that was close. 

“I shouldn’t have made it a surprise.” 

“Not your fault. What’s done is done.” When you observe the blank screen, you can see your brother aim a look your way. “Just made the whole uni thing miserable at first.” 

And the years after, too, but he doesn’t need the same details that Yoongi got. 

He sighs, hand scratching the side of his head before free-falling. When it’s quiet, you think he’s preparing for war. Prepping a vow to go after Jungkook and dealing with a problem that’s not yours anymore. 

But he doesn’t do that. What he says catches you completely off guard.

An apology.

“I’m sorry I’m always gone. Or not really here when I’m back.” 

Where did that come from? Are you already done with a talk you dreaded for years? 

This can’t be it. 

Blinking, your mouth slowly opens before you respond as level as possible. “It’s okay. I can pretty much fend for myself at this point.” 

“I know. But I’ll try to be better.” 

He’s gonna what? “Why?”

“Cus I feel… Uhh.” He moves his lips around in thought, as if the next sentence takes strategy to arrange. “I feel like we don’t really talk anymore.” 

“…Oh.”

You’re thoroughly thrown. Because who the hell is this person you’re talking to right now? What’s up with him? He doesn’t need to try anything better except calm the fuck down sometimes. And let you be an adult.

And frankly, you feel like you talk a normal amount anyway. At least, you didn’t think anything was off about it. 

What the hell happened after he left your room?

Suddenly, you see him laugh at the ground before asking it a question. “Remember when we’d go get our own food?” 

Alright, he’s definitely drunk or a clone. 

But you’ll take it. This switch in what you expected this conversation to be is a welcome one, and you softly entertain memories that aren’t supposed to be this funny. “Yeah. We’d get told to come back with our parents.” 

“Until they realized we kept going alone.” 

A memory makes you smirk. “You even tried dressing like a grown up.” 

He chuckles again, elbows resting on his knees as he watches your coffee table. “I really thought I did it, too.” 

“You did.” Thinking about all the shit you both went through, it’s truly a wonder how you’re both still here. Living and existing and doing big things. 

A rueful chuckle leaves your lips, floating to the floor. “We’re fucked up, huh.” 

“Very,” he agrees. “But who isn’t.” 

True. “It could be worse, I think.” 

“How?” 

You play with some of the frays on your sofa, wondering when this piece of furniture started to resemble thin lines of too-soft polyester at its edges. 

Did it start to give up around the same time your parents did? Or had their patience worn thin way before the threads on this cushion began to fade? 

Whichever truth remains, at least it’s still here—witnessing all the struggles and triumphs, the highs and lows, and all the times the two of you had sat in puffy-eyed silence. 

Together. 

“They could’ve left us somewhere else.” 

“Ah,” he nods, slowly shaking his head and twisting the watch on his wrist. “Nah.” 

Silent, your eyes find his side profile in due time. “No?”

And his glare burns the path ahead. Just like it always has. “I wouldn’t have let them.” 

“Oh, really.”

“I got them to leave us all this, didn’t I?”

Wait, he did what now?

…You didn’t know that. 

“Hold on,” you breathe slow. “That’s what happened?”

“We had a deal.” He sighs before leaning all the way back, hands joined at the knuckles on his stomach. “If I graduated with full marks and, uhh. Got a starting salary high enough, they’d pay for your tuition.”

The pause he makes weighs a ton. 

“And leave this to us when you came back.” 

So… He… 

Holy shit. 

You were just fucking relieved you didn’t have to pay any loans. For once, you thought your parents really had your best interests in mind and did something out of kindness before peacing the fuck out. 

But it’s all because your brother negotiated and pulled off the near impossible? 

…Is he paying loans? 

“I didn’t know any of that,” you whisper, finding yourself on the verge of tears again.

He simply shrugs, looking down at his cherished piece that he rarely takes off. “You didn’t need to. You were just a kid.”

“So were you.”

Your brother purses his lips, and you wonder what words he could be holding back. What thoughts he has that he won’t say out loud. If any of them are things he wants to say but can’t. 

“It’s whatever.”

He had to grow up fast so that you didn’t have to. 

And you don’t have the heart to tell him that university fast tracked that anyways. 

So, while grateful as hell and knowing you’ll be thinking about this conversation for years, you switch the subject. You’re already overwhelmed as is. 

And you suddenly understand what Yoongi might be struggling with, too. 

Because if he did all this for you, what lengths has he gone for his best friend? 

Shoving that thought into a far corner of your brain, you rest your head to mirror your sibling, letting your tears slide back to where they came from. “I, umm. Was wondering why they left us the house. But I figured they just didn’t wanna pay for it.” 

“It was already paid off,” he explains, seemingly just as happy to talk about something else. “Don’t ask me how I know this, but it’s how I was able to negotiate in the first place. They had four other properties, and a condo on some island.” 

“What.”

“That’s why they were rarely here. Work trips, my ass.” He scoffs before bouncing a leg. “And they had us in this place.” 

“I like it here, though.”

“I do, too, but…” You hear a shuffle of his feet before he stops. “I just. I dunno, it’s just us here. It feels...” 

“Empty?” 

“Maybe. More like something’s missing? I dunno, that’s probably lame.” 

You inhale before assuring him. “It’s not.” 

And with that, you’re both left to stare at the same ceiling, conversation stewing and simmering around the whole room.

Usually, this is when you leave. Because you don’t wanna talk about shit like this, or you simply feel like doing anything else. 

But tonight, you want to stay. You didn’t know these things about your brother and what he did, and it’s making you realize a lot of things. 

And regret others. 

A question rolls off your tongue before you can overthink it, “Do you ever wonder what we did wrong?” 

“All the time.” 

“When I think about it, I always end up thinking the same thing.” 

“Hmm.” 

You tilt your head his way. “We weren’t the adults. But neither were they.” 

And you both huff in tandem after he grins. “Damn.” 

You don’t know how the two of you got here. But it was much better than talking about anything else, and you silently thank him for not making you more miserable than you already were. 

Truthfully, you feel a little better instead.

He just needs to know for sure that you really are past the whole situation. Mostly. A healthy amount, at least. 

So you tell him. “I mean it, thou—”

“I’m sorry.”

“Huh?” You look over to see regret fill his side of the couch.

“For what I did. I was outta line.”

“Oh.” You swallow, surprisingly emotional that he’s even owning up to it. You know it only happened because he was being protective, but hearing this from him is huge. That had to be hard. “Thank you.”

“I just.. I love you, okay?” He turns to look at the ceiling again, and you quickly have to do the same because you know how that was even tougher to say. “You and my brothers.. You’re all I’ve got.” 

Liquid emotion runs down your cheek, never having been told that more than once in a single day.

It’s a shame how foreign it sounds when you say it back. 

But that doesn’t make it any less true.

“Love you, too.”

An hour later, you find yourself in bed, clutching your phone while a single question loops through your brain.  

…Calling should be okay, right?

Even if you can’t see him, or really be in the same room, this should be okay. At least, in the dead of night when even birds are asleep. When no one is awake to judge you both for lying to the people you... 

Your chest squeezes when you press down on your decision, the talk with your brother repeating in your ears.

Yoongi: Outgoing Call

It’s ringing.

Still ringing.

…And you feel your chest cave when you hear it go to voicemail.

Fuck. 

Maybe he’s sleeping already. Unforeseen circumstances like emotional turmoil tend to slow down your getting ready for bed process, so it took a lot longer than usual. Maybe he isn’t actively avoiding your calls and is just face down in a pillow you miss using.

And maybe you need to get used to this god-awful feeling as quickly as you can. 

This hollow, aching, painful feeli—

Yoongi: Incoming Call

Your chest booms when you see his name, and you try your absolute hardest to answer normally even though instant tears blur the screen.

“H—”

“Sorry, I was showering, fuck.”

His breath sounds so rushed, and you immediately wonder what he looks like if he didn’t take that long to answer. Imagining him in only a towel or less, you let out a pained chuckle before whispering, “You okay?”

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking that?”

Of course that’s his answer. “I’m not. Just wondering if you were.”

“Why would I be if you aren’t? Ow.”

Body alert, you only focus on that last syllable. “Wait, are you hurt?”

You hear a low grunt before he responds. 

“Just hit my fucking knee getting out.” 

Ouch. How the hell did he do that? “I’m sorry. You got ice, though, right?” 

“It’s not that bad. Just stings.” 

“Okay.”  

There’s some crunching sounds before you hear footsteps and hisses, and a thump before other noise crackles through. 

“Spoke to Kook.” 

Shit.

“And the guys.”

Oh. About work. “What’s up?”

“We’re gonna be busy as shit for the next month or two, so.. Guess that came at a good time.” 

Ah. No finish line in sight.

But he didn’t hide that information from you, so you appreciate the honesty. Better than him leaving you in complete darkness.

“Yeah, do your thing,” you support. “I need to prep for this interview anyway. And figure shit out if I end up getting the job.” 

“When you get it.”

You exhale, shy. “When I get it, yeah.”

“Where is it again? That blue building, yeah?”

“Mmhmm. But where I’ll be is like, third floor.”

“See? Claiming shit already.”

You realize right as he says it, but you meant something completely different. Your laugh is soft. “I meant for the interview.” 

“Mm. Well lemme know where you post up after they hire you.”

“Yoongi.”

“Fine.”

“Did you, umm. Did you and Kook talk about anything else?”

“Just work stuff.”

“Okay.” Your eyes lower. If he’s telling you everything, you gotta reciprocate. 

Even the stuff you don’t wanna mention. “He tried to kiss me.”

“What.”

Swallowing at his tone, you whisper, “I told him I couldn’t.” 

“…I see.”

Fuck. He does not sound okay with that in the slightest. Disappointed with yourself, you apologize, “I’m sorry.”

“Huh? Don’t be.”

“You sound mad.”

There’s another moment of silence, and you don’t think you breathe until he responds,

“Not at you, doll.”

Well, shit. You don’t wanna cause any friction between them, especially after the energy Jungkook gave off earlier. It’s still bugging you to hell. “Nothing happened, baby. But he felt really off after y’all left, so.. I dunno. Be careful.”

“I will. But that means I can’t talk when he’s around.”

You bury your head, watching the hours that you get with Yoongi dwindle away. Knowing Jungkook, he’s gonna immerse himself in whatever keeps him distracted. So he will most likely be at the studio just as much. “At least you were there today,” you whisper. 

“Mm.”

“Honestly, I didn’t expect that.” 

There’s a breath on the line, and you can tell he’s hesitant just by the way he moves his phone. So when he finally speaks, your jaw goes slack.

“I was there first, doll.” 

He what?

“Wait… You were?” 

He was at your door first? He has to know how that looked, right? Your brother clearly saw him if he was the one to shout, and yet there was no mention of it when the two of you spoke. 

Maybe that’s part of why Yoongi decided what he did. A decision to help you came with consequences he knew were coming. But he did it anyway. 

Your breath is suddenly short. And your head is starting to spin with information overload.

“The plan was to only check for a sec, but he had the same idea. Showed up right behind me.” 

“So… You both heard—”

“Nothing until the yelling.” 

They were there the whole time. Both of them. Yoongi first? Your brother joining him? 

Nope. This is too much. All of this is way too much for one night and your head is bursting at the seams. 

Just another reason why this separation could be a good thing. Other than the fact that Jungkook seems weird and you can’t see Yoongi at all and him and your brother really are more than friends and you wedged yourself right in between everybody—

Information. Realizations. Guilt. You’re spiraling. 

Run.

“I’m, umm. I’m gonna get off now.” 

“You okay?”

Say yes. Say anything but “No. I’m… I don’t know, I really don’t know—This is a lot and—”

“Wait—” 

“I get it and I’ll stay away for as long as you want—”

“Babe, talk to—”

“Bye, Yoongi.”

And you immediately hang up before your dam floods.

He doesn’t need to hear your grief over the past, your regrets of the present, your fear of the future. He doesn’t need to know how pained you really feel dealing with everything at once. How harsh his departure is because this is when you need him most. 

Yoongi: Missed Call

All he needs to know is that you’ll do this for him. Because he would do the same for you. 

And he’s done enough for everyone other than himself. 

But goddamn if this doesn’t hurt like nothing else you’ve experienced before. 

And you’ve been through hell.

Yoongi: Missed Call (2)

Why is he calling? Won’t this just make it harder?

Why does he keep trying if you need to stay away?

Yoongi: Incoming Call

With a heart so busted you don’t know where all the pieces are, you finally reach up to acknowledge his effort. 

And his greeting sends a pang through your chest.

“Knew you’d answer on the first try.” 

Sniffling, you say his name so, so softly.  

“You didn’t let me say bye.”

When you don’t respond, he trudges on.

“So now, you get to hear the longest good night ever.”

Huh? 

“And no hanging up this time.”

What the heck does he… mean… 

As soon as you hear the light strums of a guitar, your heart shows signs of life. And you let everything out while he gathers the scattered shards with every chord. Every note. 

Every second he doesn’t say goodbye.

A river flows into your pillow until it runs dry, and the Moon outside your blinds casts a silver blanket over your defeated shoulders.

And it’s only when you and your phone are dead to the world that the Sun steps in to peel it off with calm palms.

For the first time in a long time, you plan a sleepover at Taehyung’s. 

And after getting a rundown of what happened, he completely agrees that you both need it.

It’s been a minute since you slept over there, and rolling onto his driveway makes you remember the first time it happened. 

Your brother was outright flabbergasted you even asked. 

But after some arguments from you and very clear energy from Tae, your brother waved you off and just demanded no funny shit better happen. 

And you’ve spent so many nights over there since then that Taehyung’s one of the people he calls if he’s looking for you. 

Being reminded of something else interesting, you think back to the first time you went to Yoongi’s, spending enough time there that he ended up on the list of people to call about your whereabouts. 

As hot as he was picking up with a cheeky arm around you, it was surprising he was on that list in the first place. 

Well, maybe not. They’re best friends. But why would he—

“You just gonna waste gas in my driveway or what?” 

Snapping your head up, you see Taehyung looking bored, hands on his hips and wearing the most comfortable clothes you’ve ever seen. 

Your glare in return is empty when you finally get out, circling around to grab your stuff and take-out from the passenger seat. 

“You’re lucky I like you,” you joke as he goes to grab the food. Locking your car, you follow his grumbles into the house with a laugh, feeling a little okay already.

“How’s Jimin?”

“Still complicated, but that’s not what we’re here to discuss.”

You sigh before you poke your noodles, knowing you have quite the catch-up to get through. If only your attempt at procrastination worked.

“Eat,” Taehyung orders before taking a hearty slurp of his meal. “I don’t care if you’re sad, this wasn’t cheap.” 

“Excuse you.” He’s lucky you resist the urge to fling saucy food all over his shorts. “Also, I paid for it, the hell?” 

When your friend blows air through his nose, you scoff before silently doing as he says, pouting at the beginning credits onscreen.

“How long has it been?”

Ah. That’s a good start. 

As you peer down at your food, emotion and appetite abandon your palate,

“A month.”

“...Damn.” 

Taehyung already knows all about what happened. But even if he didn’t, you think he would’ve caught on to your increasingly depressing song choices. And the way you barely watched Yoongi during the last intramural game. 

“How’s the new job, though? Good distraction?” 

That you can talk about for hours. “Thank fuck it is.” 

“That’s good, at least.”

As your meal progresses, you continue to catch him up on everything, including the way night calls are the only thing keeping your hopes afloat. 

Because Yoongi was right. Ever since the party, weekdays have been radio silent, and you soon got accustomed to looking forward to his late texts saying he’s home.

And you’ve been okay with that. Landing the job and getting swamped with training has kept you busy, and your friends have been a wonderful salve for persisting wounds.

It just stings when you know the studio is close by. Because even though Yoongi extended invitations before, you avoid that area like the plague.

“But enough about me,” you huff. “Still complicated with him, huh.” 

If Taehyung knows you’re too sad to keep talking, he doesn’t show it. His response simply comes after a few chews. “Yeah. But”—he swallows—“Not in a way I’m mad about.” 

“What do you mean?” 

Taehyung settles back into the sofa right as a ball of fluff hops on, and you watch the movie roll by while he gently orders him to get down. “He’s not as flaky. We just haven’t really labeled anything yet.” 

That’s surprising to hear. Tae doesn’t strike you as the labeling type at all, so your question is genuine, “Do you need one?” 

A huff is what you get in return, and you can hear the smile in his tone. “He seems to want one more than me. Which is why I don’t get the hesitation.” 

“Mm.” 

That makes more sense. Knowing what you know about Jimin, you aren’t shocked he would be conflicted about something he really wants. 

Why he’s skirting around the point is the question. It’s clear to you that they would be so cute together. And sickly annoying in public. 

“Maybe that’s a good sign,” you blurt, roping your friend’s gaze and attention. Spotlight on you instead of the characters bustling about his television, you smile. “It’s like he’s scared because he cares about your feelings.” 

Not unlike what’s happening between another pair of friends you know.

Taehyung blinks, and you’ve always liked the way curiosity widens his eyes. 

But he’s so quiet that you shift. “What?” 

He keeps staring before biting an incoming smile. Before you can question him again, something brightens his expression. “You’ve changed, you know that?” 

Huh. “Me? How?” 

Your friend just grins before resting his head on the top of his cushion. “I’ve always known you were amazing. But now you look like you know that, too.” 

All thoughts fizzle out before your jaw dips. When you try to present arguments, none materialize, and Taehyung laughs at the way you physically buffer. 

“Not even denying it. I like this.” 

“Shut up,” you finally pout, embarrassed and shy when he laughs again. 

The rest of the film continues with nothing else but your commentary, and Taehyung clicks out of the queue screen before another one can start. 

“Break? Or what do you feel like?” 

You feel Yeontan’s fluff at your feet. “We can keep going.” 

“Mmk.” 

Both of you contemplate which one to pick when you feel your phone vibrate a ton. And when you see the notification, your heart leaps before crashing back down to the ground.

Yoongi [5:02pm]: Just got booked for another week

Yoongi [5:03pm]: Can’t talk now but

Yoongi [5:03pm]: Letting you know

Right.

You slowly let your hand drop with a sigh, and you can feel Taehyung’s pitied stare without moving.

“I know,” you whisper. “I shouldn’t be upset.” 

“You can definitely be upset.” 

You lift weary eyes to see that your assumption was very wrong. There’s no pity evident at all. 

Only warmth. And understanding. 

“Cus knowing him? He’s probably more frustrated than you are.” 

There’s a pinch in your chest, a sharp one that cuts your breath for a small second in time. 

Him? Being more upset than you?

You only thought about that possibility once, but you quickly dismissed it. There’s no way. 

But hearing Tae say it from a guy’s perspective—and someone that knows how Yoongi can be—gives you pause. 

It just didn’t make sense before because he sounds fine when you call, and he doesn’t really talk much about his own shit unless you ask. Which is strange considering he was fine doing so after your huge breakthrough at his place. Granted, it was mostly about good things.

Does he only hold back when it’s about stuff that stresses him out? That’s not ideal. You’ve told him before to tell you what’s bothering him, so if he’s still hesitant to let you in…

Taehyung’s honeyed voice brings you into the present, 

“What are you gonna say?” 

Blinking, you push your lips together in thought before looking at your phone again. 

If Yoongi really is more upset than you are, then you should tell him something that you would wanna hear from him. Even if you aren’t feeling so hot. 

You [5:07pm]: how’s ur back feel from carrying everyone so hard🥴 

You [5:07pm]: jk its ok<3 you’re getting recognized and it’s about time 

When you send those, something strange happens to your shoulders. 

They’re lighter. 

How is that possible? You’re still sad. 

But your mind seems to clear some junk out, instead feeling a little okay about the whole thing. 

Hopefully Yoongi receives them well. If he doesn’t, you’ll figure something else out. 

Yoongi [5:09pm]: Lmaoo I’m saying. They better run me my check and cover my hospital bills.

You laugh with teary eyes, soul feeling like it’ll live despite plans being pushed back again. 

The lingering sadness remains, but it’s dwindled for now. An afterthought to the slight happiness you feel from lifting him up instead of dragging him down.

Another message slides into the thread before you click your phone shut, so when Tae gets more food, you catch what it says. 

Yoongi [5:11pm]: Fuck I miss you

And your heart beats extra loud, mouth slightly curved and wobbly because you agree but it’s okay, okay, okay. You can both do this. 

You [5:12pm]: i miss you too.. but focus now and tell me all about it later

Of course you want to cry. Of course you want to curl up into a ball and sob. 

Yoongi [5:15pm]: Thanks doll

But just like there’s strength in being strong, there’s just as much strength in being gentle. 

Because as upset as you feel, it’s better if you don’t show it. While you aren’t completely resolute, you push forward in silence. Even if you can’t see the finish line.

The lingering feeling of anxiousness remains; the what-if’s batter your mind from the inside. But you choose to stay optimistic for him, and even you have to admit that’s admirable.

But the yearning still packs a fucking punch.

Your shoulders must be slumping to hell because you feel a warm presence settle against you, slinging an arm around and holding you close. 

The only sound you make is a quick sniffle, but you don’t move as Taehyung reads the thread on your phone. 

“You see what I see, right,” is all he whispers. 

And when you slightly shrug, he leans his head against yours. 

“You will.” 

Nodding, you feel more tears follow the paths of their predecessors, and you don’t move to wipe them away. “You’re a good person, Tae.” 

His chuckle sounds like a hearth, and you welcome Yeontan’s sniffs on your legs.

“Jimin’s lucky you’re even giving him a chance.” 

“Ah.” After squeezing your bicep, your friend reaches down to pick up his baby. “He’s lucky I gave him more than one.” 

“Oh? The luckiest then.” 

“You can do this,” he murmurs. “He’ll be ready before you know it.” 

With heavy eyes, you glance down at your still unfinished food. 

“Maybe you’re right.” 

One week turns into three. 

Then two more pass.

And Taehyung might be less correct than you thought. 

“Fuck,” you groan, clutching under your stomach. “Sorry, I’m a mess.”

“It’s okay.”

“At least you don’t have to see me this gross.”

“So?”

“You better stop.” Another eruption of pain shoots through your lower body, and you exhale into your pillow. “This is only making it worse.”

“You got a heating pad?”

A what? How does he know about— 

Oh. Right. 

…You probably shouldn’t tread waters you don’t know the depths of. 

“Yeah. But it’s too far and I’m lazy.”

He laughs in pity but doesn’t show any in his words,

“Go get it, doll.”

Because being reminded of his last relationship also makes you wonder why it ended. And wonder if that also has anything to do with his decision. 

Now hurt in multiple ways, you childishly retort, “You get it.”

“I would if I was there. But I’m not, so you’re gonna.”

“Fine.” You huff into your pillowcase, knowing you’re gonna get up because his perfect mix of support and command is annoyingly attractive. “How much longer?”

Yoongi’s too quiet for your tastes. 

“I’ll figure it out tomorrow.” 

Eyes closed, you’re silent for eons. 

“Okay.”

To your confusion, you get a food delivery at your office the next day. 

Inspecting the contents of the bag, you’re cautious until you notice a takeout box of mandu under some sweets and a few all too familiar fruits.

And at the note inside, you promptly proceed to the least used bathroom to compose yourself.

Soon.

Soon and Almost are somewhat similar.

Both can give people a bit of hope. 

But they can also be the most dangerous words to play with.

Because soon is hilariously arbitrary, and you almost believed it meant something good. 

“Going to Yoongi’s.”

“K.”

“You wanna go? He’s having a few people over.”

You bite down so hard your jaw hurts. “Nah, I already have plans tonight.”

“K. Have fun!”

When the door closes, you keep your eyes on the television.

Arms falling at your side because you know you aren’t going anywhere. 

On a random Tuesday, you finally get a package you’ve been waiting on for what seems like months, and you rush to your room to check if it’s exactly what you wanted.

When it looks so beautiful, and feels smooth to the touch, you clutch the material in sorrow.

It’s perfect.

And completely useless for the time being.

Calls have been the one thing getting you by.

But over time, even those have virtually stopped.

It can’t be helped. He’s working far too late into the night for you to stay awake, and is passed out by the time you need to wake up. 

Spending time with friends helps distract from the drift, especially when one of them keeps snapping you into the present, but they’re getting busy, too. 

However. Despite all the obstacles, you keep waiting. A season has passed, yet you stay grounded. 

Hoping, wishing, choosing to believe that Yoongi’s not gonna do the same.

You accidentally spill your drink.

And you sob. 

One chilly night, you take more of Taehyung’s advice, going to Jimin’s determined to have a good time. 

But despite the manufactured confidence you had while getting dressed up and the way you were totally fine walking in and conversing with people and the admittedly perfect vibes of the party…

There’s a hole in your chest that won’t decrease in size. 

No matter what you feed it—food, drinks, the compliments of others—it refuses to budge, and this emptiness holds weight. Heavy. Melancholic.

Painful.

As you suddenly find yourself on Jimin’s windy balcony, one with a slightly different view than the one you’ll remain on forever, dull eyes lower to your solo. 

If you forget this one on the railing, too…

Will he finally show up to hand it back? 

A sharp ache spreads as the hole expands, new tears too powerful to ignore. You know your vision swims, but you don’t move to stay afloat at all. 

Three months. 

Ninety days.

Eight million seconds. 

It only took sixty for you to miss him. And it only took sixty-one for you to feel something else. 

How many more will you end up counting? How long until you get to count down instead of up? 

You keep asking yourself that. When you know for damn sure that you don’t want to know the answer. 

A breeze wraps around your limbs as you sip, the chill cutting through your dress and making you teeter in your heels. 

Because it seems like Yoongi doesn’t know, either. 

To the point where it’s starting to scare you. 

Has he been perfect otherwise? Sickeningly. 

But something in you keeps wondering why the wait keeps extending, anxious that he could be flat out stalling. 

Prematurely saddened by the possibility that he’s reconsidering entirely.

It makes sense. At least, more sense than him actually wanting something with you. Maybe this time apart has given him the clarity to realize how rose-tinted this whole situation has been. How unrealistic and laughable.

But that night in his kitchen… 

It’s getting harder and harder to stay positive.

On the verge of defeat, you hold out your phone, clicking around until your finger hovers over a certain Call button.

You can’t.

He’s working. Someone could see your name, if he has it saved as normal as you have his.

Your finger moves a bit closer.

What the fuck are you doing? Stop. Don’t screw up everything you’ve had to endure with one impulsive decision.

But your mind is fucking bad tonight and you have no clue why.

When the screen lights up with the call screen anyway, ice water rushes through because you totally didn’t mean to call and you need to end it now. 

Hold on, it’s an incoming call?

Oh fuck, it’s an incoming call.

Your throat sears as your eyes shut tight. 

How the fuck did he know? How the fuck does he always know? 

Tears burning, you try your hardest to calm the hell down before you answer, wondering why he dubs you his good luck charm when he puts guardian angels to shame.

You can’t even say hello.

“Hey.”

Fuck. Get it together. Gentle, silent, strong. 

“Hello?”

But you can’t. Not this time. Just hearing his voice for the first time in weeks has you crumbling, and that damn hole in your chest is unquenchable. 

As soon as your greeting is nothing but a weak sniffle, his change in tone seizes your soul and squeezes.

Because it plummets.

“Where are you.”

There’s quick shuffling and a door opening.

“What’s wrong.” 

Damn it there’s keys jangling and you can’t help but sob even harder knowing exactly what he’s doing. 

Goddamn it, Min Yoongi. He doesn’t have to go home just because you’re what, sad? Pathetic.

You feel way too many things for this man and it fucking sucks that eight million seconds have gone by after you finally acknowledged them.

However many you get with him now, whenever that may be, you’re not taking a single one for granted. 

“Babe, tell me. Now.” 

“Jimin’s. Outside,” you choke out, sniffling and wiping both cheeks. “But nothing happened, Yoongi, I just—It just—” 

“Gimme twenty. Can you do that?” 

Lowering your head and expectations, you huff in sad amusement. 

Of course you can. Twenty minutes is nothing to you now. You can wait until he’s free. “Guess so.” 

“K. Go back inside and grab a bag.” 

Huh? Knitted brows get aimed at your cup as you question him.

“Chips, doll. Jimin has some in the pantry.” 

That doesn’t answer anything, so you remain thoroughly confused. “I’ll be okay,” you respond after a moment, simply assuming he wants you to replenish sodium. “I’m not hungry.”  

“I am.”

You freeze.

So does time.

And the next three seconds are enough.

“But you better bring the good shit or I’m not letting you in the car.”

After camping in the only unoccupied bathroom, you finally get a text that he’s somewhere around the corner. 

And your chest has never felt lighter.

Texting Tae, you let him know that you’re leaving and that you don’t apologize to Jimin for raiding his kitchen. When he responds, that’s when you slip out, your departure a mess of crinkling and racing heartbeats. 

If anyone sees you walking out with chips, you pay them no mind. Because you only care what one person thinks.

And seven minutes later, when you see him doubling over at the bazillion noisy bags in your arms, you laugh along at the absurdity of it all.

It’s almost enough to distract you from what he’s wearing. 

But to your credit, you don’t exactly see the damn rips in his jeans until he opens a back door for you to throw your haul in.

As if the black top wasn’t already disrespectful enough. His hair has even gotten longer, and you really, really like the new length.

“Fucking hustler.”

No second is wasted as you grab his shirt, positively melting at the way he doesn’t resist or shy away at all. 

In fact, he does the exact opposite, crushing you against his warm car so fast he has to brace himself. You welcome the way air leaves your lungs, because you’re giving it all to him with each pass of his lips over yours. 

Both of you know you’re outside, in public, somewhere you can be seen. But, mirroring the last time you kissed under a starry sky, neither of you act like you give a shit.

Just like that, everything that has haunted you fades. The worries, the fears, the doubts. It doesn’t matter how many days have passed, because it feels like he never left. 

And you suddenly know Yoongi is summer.

Endless. 

“Get in,” he rasps through a smirk. “Thief.” 

With a grin spread so wide your cheeks hurt, you respond right as your foreheads meet,

“Anything for you.”

With nothing but the road ahead and him beside you, everything is right with the world.

“You still have to gimme chips.” 

Maybe not quite everything.

Smile ruining your attempted pout, you reach behind your seat to pick a random bag, settling on the easiest one to grab. “You really made me get these just for you, huh? Are you eating?”

“Yes, my love. And I never said that.”

Well. That first sentence will never, ever, ever be unpacked.

As you shakily open the bag, you hope his music hides your shiver, “Such a smartass.”

“You’re the smartass.”

“Don’t act like you aren’t smart, too,” you laugh, tugging down your dress because he has his car pretty cold tonight. “I know you are.” 

When Yoongi reaches to grab some crisps, his blatant stare on your thighs makes you squirm. “Why?” 

“I just… You read.” 

To your chagrin, he laughs in surprise, forcing you to look out the window. 

Which makes you miss the way he turns down the fans. “I’m smart cus I read? How do you even know?”

“You have books under your coffee table,” you answer without doubt as he digs for more chips. “And you don’t have decor just to have it, so…”

He cocks a brow before focusing on the road, licking his fingers and giving you grief. “I moved those, by the way.”

“Em”—you cough—“Embarrassed?”

“Proactive.”

“Huh? For what?”

He can barely contain his spreading curve. “The next time you decide to fuck up my place.” 

Your heartbeat skips as you gawk, and the current song is overshadowed by your playful shouts and tickle attempts. “Oh, bullshit!”

“You soaked—aish—my whole apartment!”

“That was you!”

“No?”

“Yes? I was nice and only got your head wet!”

Yoongi glances at you then, head tilted up in cockiness and wide smirk slicing through your every thought.

And you glitch when you realize why.

Settling back into your seat with arms guarding your shyness, you sniff upward. “Ugh. Whatever… I’m right.” 

He chuckles a bit before making a turn, and the scenery starts getting familiar.

Way too familiar.

Wait, he’s taking you back to your house?

No no no. Why is he taking you there? 

You got into his car fully prepared to go back to his place, consequences and shit be damned. Everything else be damned. One night is all you want right now, and there’s no way you aren’t going without a fight.

All sense of the current mood dissipates when you grip his forearm. “Not there.” 

He flicks his gaze, rolling to a stop at an intersection that’s frighteningly close. And his expression falls when he shifts into park with a sigh. “Babe… We can’t.” 

“I don’t care.”

“I was only gonna bring you back.”

“Baby, please.”

“He’s home—”

“Do you still miss me?” 

He freezes. 

Which gives you a chance. 

Eyes glossy, you use all the seconds you have to say everything you’ve kept to yourself.

Almost everything.

“Because I get it if you don’t. I do. But I really… I really fucking miss you. And not just because of, whatever. But I consider you a friend and fun as hell to be around, and I haven’t”—you inhale, hating how it shakes—“I haven’t been this happy in weeks. And we aren’t even doing anything.” 

Yoongi is completely silent. But that’s okay because you aren’t done. 

“I know you said I wouldn’t see you. But after getting to know you? The real you? …That sucks.” You can’t look at him when his hand slips from the wheel. “I’m not gonna make you change anything, just. Telling you what’s on my mind. Like you said. I’m gonna do that a lot more now.”

He doesn’t say a word as a tear cuts one of your cheeks, and you’re brave enough to look his way again. “But it’s been three months, Yoongi,” you whisper. “Is that still not enough for you?”

Time ticks as you hold your breath, oxygen depleting and lungs nearing collapse as you watch his eyes close. 

You laid everything out on the table. Your words, your thoughts, your pain.

Whatever he decides, though? You’ll respect it. You said what you wanted to say and you won’t take any of it back. If he wants to prolong this, you won’t stop him. If he doesn’t want this anymore… the home in your heart will need repairs, but you’ll live. Somewhat. You don’t know how but somehow. People are like seasons. You’re used to it.

Yoongi’s still way too quiet. 

So, giving up and getting the point, you reach up to open your door.

“Stop.” 

You do. 

And the way he flexes his jaw shoots magma through your veins before he wrenches the car into drive. 

The universe spins as you burst into Yoongi’s apartment, running, bumping, slamming into furniture until you get thrown against his bedroom door. 

Welcoming the pain, you devour his scorching lips, fingers digging into his hair with a desperation that frightens you. All you feel is him him him, barely recalling the manic drive over and the way he all but busted into his own place. 

If there were any lingering doubts to your question, they’re left out in the chill, not allowed to witness the way he hitches your leg up before pinning you firm with his pelvis.

“Shouldn’t be fucking doing this—” 

You moan at the way his jeans feel on your skin, shivers running rampant when you more than feel his hardness poke through. “Please,” you pant, sticking to your word and ready to tell him what you want. 

“Please what.” 

Everything you want. 

Tugging his head back, your admissions rub right against his mouth, “Choke me. Use me. I don’t care, do it all.”

“Huh?”

A breath whooshes out when he yanks you forward with a growl, and you cannot seem to stop, “Don’t be nice. Spit in my mouth. Make me beg like a fucking slut, I need it.”

All the other times, you’ve seen Yoongi break in different ways. 

But this is the first time you’ve felt him legitimately snap. 

“The fuck.”

Lightning strikes the dark as he slams you backward, teeth clinking against yours when he smothers you with saliva and lust. When he shoves his door open, you stumble back, more unholy plans in mind than he imagines. 

You don’t know what’s coming over you. 

Even as you force him sideways to shove into his rolling chair, the piercing look he gives is no match for your inner storm.

“Babe—”

Impatient, you drop to your knees, the pain nothing to you as your fingers twitch over his zipper. As you tug his pants down with force, Yoongi’s outright shock is another first for you.

“Are you su—”

“Let me do this,” you plead upward, and you feel highly motivated when he doesn’t do a thing except let out a low, gritty hum. 

Grabbing at his cock, you already moan at the way it feels in your palm…

Softly, oh so softly, a large hand closes over yours, and you hear your name in a whisper, haze temporarily receding. 

What’s wrong? Does he want you to stop?

When you ask without a word, Yoongi leans forward to capture your lips, and this gives you a warm sort of deja vu. “You drank tonight, yeah?” 

“Yeah…?” Oh. He totally tasted alcohol. And your frantic behavior. He thinks—Oh. 

Understanding what he’s getting at, you reach up and caress his cheek. “I’m not drunk, baby,” you chuckle. “I just missed you.” 

Again, he looks at your eyes, one after the other. When you say it once more for good measure, he kisses you in acceptance. 

“So are you gonna fuck my throat or nah?”

He falls back with a groan, raking his hair and legs spread wide. “What are you doing to me.”

“This.”

Without prompt, you dive head first, leaning forward to take his tip and swirl your tongue all around. Commanding his every drop of attention, you don’t let up as you tug your dress downward, breasts spilling out before you stand just enough to claim his lips. 

He takes full advantage with a devilish curve, smacking your tits before ordering, “Get the fuck back down there.”

And you obey with a proud smirk of your own, hoping he’s liking this new side of you, too. 

Back between his knees, you worship his length in earnest, swallowing him again and again and lathering him in saliva so your hands slide easily on him, too. When you feel his veins rub both your palms, you hear a symphony of lustful baritones.

“Holy fuck.” 

You quickly discover you can’t get enough. Lapping, sucking, sheathing your head on his cock so far your brain smushes upward. He feels so familiar at this point that you realize you missed him even here, knocking the back of your throat and burdening your tongue with heavenly, sinful weight. 

And you feel more familiar palms grip your head, eyes opening to see him staring down with reverence and something you can’t quite decipher. 

“So fucking filthy...” 

You chuckle, the rumble making him hiss and throw his head back against his chair. 

“Don’t do that.” 

You gladly disobey, laughing even harder around him before releasing with an expert pop to suck on his balls. 

“Fuck!”

There’s a slight squeak before he grips you again, and you can tell he’s slipping by the way his moans devolve into breathy, short hisses. 

Breaking, he pushes your head into his sack before slapping your cheek with his cock, and you hum as it slips back inside your grin. 

Yes yes yes. You want him to enjoy this just as much as you do, steal this time together and run with it, need him to hang on the brink of mania where you currently reside. Because even though he’s saying things, you can’t hear them over the wholly impure sounds slopping out of your esophagus. 

“Fucking hell, baby,” he praises, thrusting up slow as you keep him slathered. “Missed that fuckin’ mouth.”

You finally come up for air, gulping in air and letting him see you in all your panting glory. When you lock eyes, his lidded gaze is loaded, aimed only at your taunting stare.

Drool coats you in globs. Your chest, the floor, hanging from your lips as you stroke him with wet fingers before swallowing another time. 

And you think you can do this until your jaw falls off.

But suddenly you’re hoisted upward before being thrown onto soft sheets, legs roughly shifted to one side as you paint the dark with your hoarse giggles. Before you know it, his lips attack your chest, and he’s setting butterflies wild as you arch in record time. 

“Take this off,” he growls, tugging at your dress with sweaty fingers that you want lodged in multiple places. “No more hiding.” 

You mewl, undressing as fast as you’re able, tearing the garment off and flinging it away. But your heels are still on, and whether he’s just as deft at removing those, too, you’ll need to hit pause. “What about my—”

“Don’t,” he grits with brows pinched, and his next vow is absolute, pure sin,

“I’m fucking you with them on.” 

“Oh, fuck.” Your whine is high as you throw your head back, the next groan guttural as you feel a hand smack the side of your ass with force. Your jaw comes loose, soreness shooting through its curve as your legs are erotically parted to give Yoongi a view of everything. 

You know your panties are soaked. 

You know he’s gonna wreck your shit. 

But seeing him eye the whole mess on display before lifting his hungry gaze your way? You’re damn sure you aren’t gonna survive the night. 

Perfect. 

“Please fuck me, baby,” you let out with a tone so soft that you think he doesn’t hear you. 

He does. “I’m gonna do a lot more than that, doll.” 

You tilt your head, confused and wondering what he means. 

But he ignores your wordless question, sliding fingers along your ankle before holding your leg to kiss that same spot. 

The action alone is enough to rewire your brain, but it’s the way he looks so confident, so unbothered, so determined that has your insides churning with want. 

He plants lips there again before shifting his hand down to your calf, yanking your leg back wide and pulling a tiny help out of your throat. When he shifts to grip your other leg, he growls under his breath, 

“So fucking perfect.” 

“No, you,” you counter with a pout, and flinch what the fuck his slap to your cunt felt good. “Hey!”

“None of that,” Yoongi orders with finality. “Not after all that shit you said at the door.” 

“I dunno what happened there,” you admit, inevitably shy under his commanding presence. Your cheeks sizzle before your teeth grip your lip, temporarily brought back to normalcy at his confession,

“Almost made me come.” 

“Be for real.” 

“Damn serious.” 

The cheshire cat would be jealous of your grin. “Then I should keep going?”

“Uh huh.” He cups your whole cunt, and the possessive nature it exudes pushes a whine against your teeth. “Tell me.” 

“Fuck me like you missed me.” 

A groan rips through his room before he swoops down, lips bruising yours on the landing before he shoves his mouth against your neck. 

Tingles erupt over your skin as he laps at your throat, so hard that your entire upper body slides across his rumpled sheets. When you feel his cock rub across your thong and his jeans grazing your skin, his name flies out of your chest. Moans, sighs, everything in between. 

“Careful,” he warns low before another toe-curling lick. “You won’t leave if I did that.”

“I don’t want to,” you grit in return, reaching to sink claws in his hair and tug. “Wanna stay.”

Strong arms wrap around you before you feel him spread liquid fire up your shoulder, and he reaches to nip at your ear before deft fingers flick a nipple. 

His voice rasps against your cheek, but the words sound reluctant to even leave. “You shouldn’t even be here, babe.”

Fuck. You know that’s true but your heart is rattling like a monster starved. 

“Just tonight,” you plead your case. Because you don’t want to be shooed away before it’s over, but if this is all you get, he needs to do something now. “But if you really don’t want this then please kick me out before—”

“Fuck that.” After greedily tweaking your other nipple, he rolls his body against yours, making you fiend for the weighty cock wedged against you with only thin material between. “Fuck all of that.” 

He rushes upward before nudging your leg over with a strong hand, and you fixate on the way his chains hit his chest. Just like always. “Don’t move.”

You don’t even get to breathe twice as he drops from sight, and you yelp to his roof as soon as you feel teeth nick your inner thigh. At your flinch, you feel him grip your leg with force, ordering you even harsher,

“I said. Don’t move.” 

“But—Yoongi!” 

You don’t notice him yank your underwear sideways before flattening a hot tongue against your folds, sucking so good you have to back away from the stimulation. Immediately, both your legs are seized before he tugs you back to him. 

“Uh uh.”

And he keeps your legs apart before diving deep, and you’ve never devolved into a quivering mess so fast in your goddamn life. The way he licks, sucks, kisses just where you need—everything sends thunder through your chest, lightning across your cunt, rain into your eyes. 

You can do nothing but squirm, squeals and whines and high moans leaving arrowheads in his ceiling. 

Holy fuck, did you sound this loud when you worshipped him? Even now, spread wide and willing to give Yoongi the world, you find a moment to be embarrassed in the best way.

If the neighbors hear, you don’t care. They’re gonna know how well he’s feasting on you, how gorgeously corrupt you feel. How you’re his and his alone and ready to scream it to the rooftops. 

When you feel a finger alongside his tongue, the sound you make borders on inhuman. You think it’s his name, but even you aren’t quite sure. 

All you know is that you’re close. Your thighs are burning and your fingers swipe at his locks but he refuses to let you go. “Yoongi—I’m—”

Suddenly.

He stops. 

And every nice thing you have to say to him falls to the wayside. “No no no! Please, fuck—”

The light tap to your cunt makes you quiver, and your chest heaves when he chuckles without pity,

“What’d you say?” 

“Plea—Baby!” 

“Huh?” 

Every fucking time you speak, he taps again. And every time he gets you close, he edges with aggravating control. Again. And again. 

And again.

You exist between reality and fiction, somehow seeing yourself unwinding, winding, spiraling out of control. Words start to form abstract blobs of syllables, your mouth hanging open as he peppers lazy, unbothered kisses on your thighs.  

In your foggy vision, you think you see him stand. And you’re pretty sure he grabs his cock before he’s rubbing his thick head between your folds oh fuck—

“This is what you wanted, huh.” 

Your breath hitches with a whine as you nod.

“You gonna be a good little slut?” 

Oh, you’re gonna be whatever he fucking wants. So you nod again, not without a smile lopsided. 

“Then fucking beg.” 

He smacks his cockhead against your cunt, springing your back in an arch and tugging strings of incoherent speech from your depths. You make hard lines of his sheets as you grip them in both palms, and you don’t wanna know what you’re saying because the way Yoongi’s staring with a smirk has you blacking the fuck out. 

To the point where you’re nothing but a quivering, shaking, restless mess on his bed.

You somehow closed your eyes at some point, because they fly open when you feel his lips on yours, and you tug at his stupidly attractive shirt that he didn’t bother to pull off. “Please,” you whisper, brain floating oceans away. “I need you.”

“Need you, too.” 

He breaks away to grab a condom, and this is when you realize how intertwined you feel because even this distance is too much to bear. You’re spilling nonsense and breathing harsh and you attribute that to the sole fact that you crave release. It’s aching. Consuming. 

Yoongi’s already naked and prepped by the time he positions himself between your sore legs, and you give in without resistance again when he descends on your lips. 

When you whisper his name, he kisses it away, and you briefly wonder why his hands shake running up your sides. 

Finally, finally, finally, he gives exactly what you want, the initial connection stretching you sore because it’s been way too long. And you feel emotional when you don’t even doubt it’s been too long for him, too. 

Because his eyes speak volumes. 

They hold onto your every move, watch your every reaction, hesitate when you blow out air accommodating his size. 

But you lock yours with him when you relax, weakly grasping his jewelry before sliding fingers up his shoulders. When you nod, he pushes in further, both of you sighing in tandem. 

And as soon as you whisper you’re ready, all niceties fly out the window. 

You’re thrusted up his bed with a determined stroke before he sets a pace, and your head kicks back as soon as a hand captures your neck. 

“Look at me,” he commands, and he gives you a light pat on the cheek before squeezing your jaw. “Open up.”

When you do, spit flings from his mouth into yours, and you already sprint to the edge feeling the weight of your heels and the strength of his body. “Fuck!”

You get pat again—rougher this time—before Yoongi goes to choke you a second time. “What do you say?”

“Me?” you pant, tearing the first thought from your throat when he grits it again. “Thank—” 

Fuck, his dick is hitting every spot you need it to. It takes you a second to repeat your garbled guess in full, knowing it’s something you would’ve said anyway. “Thank you.”

“Now swallow.” 

As soon as he shoves inside, your obedience is your undoing. The skies open to welcome you as your body locks, thighs squeezing his taut sides as he moans through your release. Waves tug you unbelievably far, and you almost lose yourself in the swell before you crash onto shore again.

“Such a whore for me,” Yoongi praises, kicking you back to the very first night and making you melt. When you peel eyelids open, you notice his smile matches yours, and the shared, cherished memory smoothens your gravelly laugh.

“Love when you do that,” you admit, shaking your head at your own strange preferences. “Don’t know why.” 

“Me neither.” He spears you again with a cheeky lip bite. “But it’s so fucking hot.” 

Your grin can’t be contained, and this is where you wanna be. Right here. Nowhere else in the fucking universe. 

“I’m ready,” you pant, and he gives you a brief look of affection—which you shatter with force. “Fuck the shit out of me.” 

Yoongi twitches madly inside your core as he expels a pained, breathy laugh. “Goddamn, this isn’t good for me.” 

“What?” 

“Nothing.” He doesn’t waste a second gathering your calves while you ponder what he says. “Hold these pretty legs up for me. There you go.”

When you find the easiest way to do so, you marvel at how shaky and slippery your thighs are, wondering if the rest of you is faring any better. 

It’s not. 

But you can’t dwell on that now because Yoongi is holding on like he’ll lose you, resuming a delicious pace and smacking your hips into his with the most indecent sounds. 

Your whines soon join in, and his hums of satisfaction fuel your ever going flame. Heaven and earth could move and you would remain here, suspended in time as he fills you perfectly with every fast stroke. 

“Feel so good—”

When he leaves your cunt, you mewl before he grunts, “Fucking—Get up.” 

What is he— 

You’re hoisted upward so quickly that you see starlight, not even registering the clanks and shifts of items before he’s spinning to pin you down on a solid surface. Your heels find purchase on the floor but your knees prove unbelievably weak.

What’s—

Oh fuck, are you on his desk?

Your hands retreat until they find an edge to grab, and you moan outright when you feel his fingers slide up your cunt, shoving your thong farther over one side of your ass. 

“Yoongi—”

You feel full in an instant, jaw going slack as he shoves you backwards on his cock, praises washing down your back as he pushes down any arches you instinctively make. 

“Uh uh. Stay like that.” 

“I wanna—” Your words are cut off with a whine as you feel a sting on your ass. “Fuck!”

“There you go.” 

The rock of the desk is so strong that every bang against the wall booms loud, equipment sliding back and forth and making you briefly worry if anything will fall.

But this is the most turned on you’ve ever, ever felt, and you have no fucking clue why.

You wonder if he feels the same right before his dark laugh consumes you.

“Goddamn.” 

Your hands are grabbed before he shoves you forward, letting more of your body lie on the surface so that he can pin sweaty arms at your back. 

Oh, fuck!

Your moans glide across wood as he doesn’t let up, and you don’t even want to know how much drool will exist on his desk when you’re done. Maybe you’ll never be done. Maybe he really will keep you here forever, and you’ll soak his whole—

“Come here.” 

He gathers your wrists in one large palm before reaching to grip your chest, hauling you up and securing you against his body by the throat. 

And you think your soul just left your earthly vessel. 

Pressing you further into him, he grits in your ear, 

“Never fucking kicking you out.” His tight stroke launches you across space. “Don’t even think about saying that again.” 

When did you— You said— Why don’t you remember—

You go limp when he shoves into you again, but your heels wobble and you focus damn hard on staying upright. 

But Yoongi doesn’t give a shit. “You hear me?” When you let out a breathy confirmation, he still isn’t satisfied. A hand pats your cheek before he asks again, “Say it louder.” 

“Yes!”

“Good.”

He drops all talk, pistoning in from behind while you take it and take it and love it. Mercifully, he lets your sore arms go to pin you down again, gritted words and curses dancing with your high-pitched sighs. 

Fuck, his strokes are so deep that you see into the next universe, and you don’t think your mouth has been shut ever since you made contact with his desk. 

Maybe he was more frustrated than you were. He’s using you as stress relief like you intended, and his roughness is a fantastic surprise. 

It’s just what you need. Which kicks you into a whole other level of want and the beast inside you transforms yet again. 

When Yoongi yanks himself out, you’re quick to spin and shove him backward. As he flops onto the bed, he laughs like sin incarnate when you pounce, his hot hands grabbing at your hips and encouraging your behavior in the nastiest way.

“Let’s go then, pretty bitch.”

“You already fucking know.”

“Show me what I’ve been missing.”

“Don’t fall in love.” 

When you sink onto him, Yoongi’s already groaning. But when you start to swivel at a pace that will render you sore, he begins to lose it. 

“Fuck.”

His head kicks back, eyes shut and brows pinched to hell. After holding your waist, he has to slap his sheets to squeeze even tighter, chest marred with red under pretty silver. 

You make sure every rotation is full, slowly rocking with each circle you make and gritting teeth at how fucking big he is.

Soon, his hisses devolve into groans, and he snaps his head back up to slap your breasts—one after the other before gripping your hips so hard you welcome the pain. 

“Fuck, I missed this pussy,” he confesses with husk, and you whine in response as you lower yourself to kiss him deep. 

“It missed you, too.”

Coming back up, you dig one of your hands in his mattress while bracing on him with the other, and you close your eyes in bliss as you arch your tits toward his hungry lips. 

Just like you want, he chuckles in satisfaction as he suckles, lolling his tongue all around before giving your nipple  a hard suck. His noises remind you of lollipops, and you briefly think of a few fun things you could do with those for next time.

But a hand juts up to seize the back of your neck, forcing you to arch in place as he starts thrusting hard. 

“Yoongi!”

“Uh huh.”  

Before you can talk again, his other hand joins in to choke you just enough, and you find yourself teetering on a precipice. Holy fuck, holy fuck, you’re close again.

“You gonna come?”

A frantic nod.

“Then come.” 

As soon as you hear the words, you do exactly that, windpipe released just as you pulse around him incredibly hard. The waves prove tsunamis, and you dangle from their crests before plummeting and tumbling below. Your moan extends as he thrusts erratically through your quivers, encouraging you and digging rough fingers into your hips. 

“Again.” 

Somehow, that’s enough to make your body obey, and you cry out as you flutter around his trembling cock, hearing him talk you through it but not quite understanding what he’s saying. 

Maybe you also choose not to listen because of what you think you hear, and you don’t want to be haunted if you realize later on what you thought you heard wasn’t true. 

The world rotates up as Yoongi sits up, and you sling arms around him as he leans back on his hands. Your breath hitches at the new angle he’s filling you at, and your eyes swirl when he coolly, confidently commands, 

“Again.” 

You can’t you can’t you can’t but you can. Holy fuck apparently you can, and this time, it consumes you so hard your eyes roll back enough to see the past. Past you, insecure and meek and scared to say what they want. 

Oh, if they could witness you now. 

You shudder impossibly hard around him, coated with his deep chuckles and dashing, ego-ridden grin. It’s all you see before you slump against his chest, heartbeat pounding against yours when you can’t feel any bone in your body.

One breath.

Two breaths.

Two hearts.

One night is enough.

“So fucking perfect.”

“For you,” you wisp out, lost in galaxies. “Only you.” 

He can only kiss the side of your head in response, gently lowering you both onto spent cotton and helping you straighten out your muscle-locked legs. When he asks if you’re okay, you can only nod, and he plants another kiss on your temple before sliding off his protection. 

Both of you take time to calm down, breaths heavy from what felt like a marathon. But a much better marathon than the one you’ve had to endure over the last three months. 

When you lie against his chest, you silently thank him for giving you tonight. It’s the riskiest thing you’ve ever done with him, but you won’t worry about it. Not right now. Not when you feel more at home here than your own house. 

Your brother is right. Something is definitely missing over there. 

It’s when your pants have relaxed into soft breaths that you nudge your head against Yoongi’s chest, eyes shut in peace as he lazily draws circles on your back. 

And the first words he says in minutes inject sparkles into your eyes,

“I need to re-up this damn cat’s food.” 

Oh, shit!

Your outright squeal is surely coming out too loud but you don’t care. Don’t care don’t care don’t care not when Yoongi just gave away so many different things. 

This man leaned right into the whole thing.

“I knew it!” You proclaim in triumph, smacking his thigh while hearing a very elongated ‘shut up’ at your side. “Tried to hide it from me all these months? Somebody’s getting soft.”

“First off.”

“Uh huh.”

God. If only you both could go on one of those late night shopping trips he talked about before. Maybe you could’ve gotten plenty of things. Like some little cat toys, or extra storage cabinets for your clothes. 

Yeah. Stuff like that. 

“I’m her favorite.” 

Your scoff is immediate as you hoist yourself up, leaning on your hand and regretting the burn in your arm. “Only because you gatekeeped her.”

A soft disagreement precedes a more prominent, “Won’t even matter.”

Yoongi looks so at peace when you stare, and your voice calms to match as it floats down, “You took care of her.”

When he only smiles, you decide that this is how you want him to be all the time. Content and outright glowing, fireflies dancing in his eyes. 

Does he feel at home, too? 

“She was gonna be your surprise,” he finally murmurs. “For getting the gig.”

Heart and tear ducts full, you lower yourself to tenderly press lips to his. And, since it seems to work for you, his forehead is what you decide to kiss next. 

Then you pull away.

Wondering why he’s not smiling anymore. 

“Come here.”

You blink, lying back down to snuggle against his side. When his arm wraps around your shoulder, it's only then that you’re aware you still have shoes on. A clean person, you hope Yoongi doesn’t mind them touching his sheets. 

But maybe it’s a tad too late for that concern. 

“How are you gonna get home?”

Oh, right. You use his chest to scratch an itch in your nose before responding, “I’ll call a ride in the morning. He’ll be out cold until noon at the earliest.” 

“K.” 

“Did I keep you from anything?”

A puff flies out his nostrils. “Kinda late for that, huh.” 

“True,” you sigh, berating yourself for thinking a lot of things too late. “Sorry.”  

“But no, we were finishing up when I called.” 

“Okay… Did I scare you?” You lift your eyes then, because you need to know for sure. 

When he levels a look, you curse at his quiet confirmation. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” 

“S’ok.” 

“I just… It hurt tonight.” Emotion washes over your face before you bury it. “Really hurt.” 

After a light squeeze, Yoongi gently rolls you over, resting his head exactly where your hand clutches your chest. When you move your fingers, he kisses that same spot, and your heart stops. “How about now.” 

Feeling the deepest pain you’ve ever felt in your life, you cradle his head with a whisper, 

“Maybe try that one more time.”

And he does, not looking at your tears as he sits up to peer down the bed. 

When he scoots down to the edge, your breath catches as he holds a heel in sure hands, his back beautiful even with the scars. While he works through leather straps, he starts to speak, 

“I always do, babe.” 

Blinking, you ask what he means as he slips your shoe off with ease.

“Miss you.”

As he tenderly holds the other, you gulp in oxygen to quell the sear around your eyes. “I just… Wasn’t sure,” you admit, voice wavering. 

His hair falls forward when he sighs, and his palms feel way too relaxing to just be taking your heels off. Even now, it feels like he’s revering you. And you truly don’t know how you deserve any of this. 

“That’s my fault.” 

Throat small, you’re swift to reassure him. “No, no. I need to just suck it up. I’m sorry.” 

After freeing your other foot, he rubs it without prompt, and you don’t know how to deal with someone giving you this level of care. 

“Just a little bit longer, doll,” he says, and you admire his profile when he turns. “I’m sorry.” 

“You gave me tonight.” 

When he swallows, you reassure him with all the support you can give, 

“A little longer is nothing.” 

A moment passes by before he finally moves, and you catch a hint of a smile right before he faces his disheveled to hell desk again. 

Deciding that conversation has concluded, you crack the atmosphere with a joke, “You liked whatever happened over there, huh.”

Immediately, Yoongi’s shoulders bob with a laugh before he admits, “Fucking you on my desk? I’ve wanted to do that for months.” 

“Really?”

“Yeah.” He leans forward. “There’s a lot of shit I’ve wanted us to do for months.” 

Us.

Thoroughly giddy and full of life again, you egg him on. “Oh? Like what?”

Finally, he looks over his shoulder with a grin, and you scoff in frustration at his answer,

“What’s the fun in telling you?”

“Ass!”

While you’re getting ready to shower, he leans against the doorframe of his bathroom.

“We have a game next week.” 

As you fetch a towel from his cabinet, you clarify, “The championship, right?”

“Mmhmm.” 

“I’ll be there,” you confirm, walking away to slip the thick cloth over its rack. “I can’t believe it’s still going.” 

“Same. But there’ve been a lot of delays, remember?”

“Oh, yeah.” Your hand feels out the water, satisfied with its temperature. “I meant your win streak but whatever.” 

And you squeal when he rushes forward, shutting the glass with a wobbly thud before he can get to you. When you stick out a childish tongue, you laugh under the spray, curve slowly, curiously, softly fading when he simply keeps staring.

What’s he doing?

You don’t move as he slowly slides the entrance open again, and you don’t dare breathe as he leans inside to kiss your wet lips.

When you tenderly take one of his wrists and pull, he obliges without hesitation, and you take another shower with the man that sets fireworks off in your soul. 

An hour later, filled with food and laughter—and slight disappointment when you couldn’t find your surprise near his door—you occupy his bed with full bellies and fresh minds. 

As he lies on your chest, you think this is better, because it gives you time to think about things. And tell him about others. 

You finally tell him what all happened with Jungkook, to which he listens without a single word. When you can’t seem to shut up about your job, he doesn’t stop you, and you adore the way he cuddles you under faint moonlight cutting through his window. 

“Oh, wait,” you stop, feeling like you’ve talked his head off by now. “What did you call about?”

“Huh? Tonight?” 

“Yeah.” 

“We finally have a confirmed date. For that album,” Yoongi rumbles against the shirt he let you borrow. “I was gonna invite you to the release party.”

Whoa, what the fuck? “Me?”

He chuckles soft, and you wonder if he can guess how shocked you look. “Yes, you. All of y’all.” 

At least it’s everyone. But at the same time, you still hesitate. “That won’t be weird?” 

“Nah. You can bring anyone you want, so. I was assuming you’d bring your friends.” 

“Ah, I see.”

You didn’t mean to sound disappointed. You truly aren’t. But Yoongi pushes up to comfort you anyway, planting kisses along your skin, your neck, and finally your lips. 

“It won’t be the only one,” he promises. “We got time.”

“Duh,” you giggle. “And I’ll be at all of them. Whether you like it or not.” 

Yoongi regards you before laying his weight back on your chest. And you find it strange how familiar his body already feels. How you’re already attuned to every way his legs fit against your own, or how you would know it’s him solely based on how his chest molds with yours. 

You start mindlessly caressing his hair, fingers weaving through a dark sea of strands before smoothing over its surface. 

And you start to hum.

It’s not really any song, just notes you start stringing together at random. You build up before you dip back down, staying in a comfortable middle range and dancing between similar tones. 

You stop from time to time, trying to figure out what would sound best next and changing up the cadence. Always coming back to a central theme because it’s what you deem best.

And you’re so comfortable that you completely forgot he’s lying right under your chin.

“Shit, was I too loud?”

He just shakes his head, arm pressing a bit more into your side. 

“Not at all.” 

So you keep going, humming more familiar tunes and phrases, softly giggling when Yoongi huffs at the way you drum on his head. 

And that’s how the night goes on, with you at peace and him in your embrace.

Never noticing how the shirt you're wearing collects rain.

When dawn breaks, you part with one final, heavenly kiss. 

Yoongi watches until you get in the ride he politely called for you, and you spend the whole drive with eyes filled with light. 

You can do this. Just a little longer, he said.

For him, you can do anything. 

But when you get home, your brother occupies the foyer as soon as you open the front door.

And you feel the world shatter and crash at your feet.

“I think,” he states, “There’s something you wanna tell me.”  

—

—

—

tbc. :) 

—

a ha ha... what do we think/like! | wanna support with a 🍊?

A/N: i’m so swirly-eyed that i don’t even know what to say here other than i’m sorry for throwing that ending at y’all! busted pt. 2 is gonna be its own huge part at this point so i had no choice but to end it here (originally it was gonna end before they went back to yoongi’s but i love y’all too much dlkfjdsklf)  A/N 2: gonna say this again: enormous thank you to everyone supporting this whole journey, whether that’s liking/commenting/reblogging/messaging, recommending this series to people, telling me how it makes you feel or what it means to you, or even wanting a physical copy of the series like😭 that’s surreal to me and makes me wanna keep working harder.  A/N 3: as far as feedback, i would absolutely love any type y’all wanna give. this chapter took all of my brainpower and the next one is gonna take just as much haahahahdksfks so any encouragement would be wonderful!  ++ 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: ⇥ three tangerines masterlist ⇥ masterlist 

[rootspiral]

Agatha All Along deep dive: episode 3 part 1

(Wandavision entries: [1][2][3])

(AAA entries: ep1 [1][2][3][4] ep2 [1][2][3][4] ep3 [1][2][3] ep4 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][+1] ep5 [1][2][3][4][5] ep6 [1][2][3] ep7 [1][2][3][4][5][6] ep8 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7])

hey hey, it's episode 3 Through Many Miles of Tricks and Trials and we're on the Road, witches!

Agatha knew All Along (that Billy created the Road), evidence number 1 out of 646132.

And see how they added black bars in this episode? They're getting ready to switch aspect ratio like they did in Wandavision

but like, she's not wrong. you see that sharon's not wrong, don't you? she has been kidnapped by witches. again.

agatha's grimace when they say it's all her fault. which a) it totally is and b) she never expects other witches to be supportive of her anyway

oh sharon, you beautiful fish out of water. we all laugh at her, meanwhile she's PANICKING. HARD.

this particular group needs to figure out how to do that first, Billy. but hey, they'll get there. sort of.

Jen, looking directly at agatha: why is this MAGICLESS HELPLESS lady coming with us on a deadly mission, whose sick idea was this? she has no business being here!

Sharon, her voice drowned by everyone else: see that's what I've been trying to tell you~

Agatha deflecting hard, like the coward she is: HEY THIS IS MY GOOD FRIEND MRS HART YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT

a very scared coven looks at agatha for answers, because she's the only one who's ever been on the Road.

agatha, who's never fucking been on the Road and made up the whole thing: I've bullshitted my way into this mess, I'll bullshit my way out of it. live laugh love bitches!

I'm looking at this scene clearly for the first time now that I've brightened it, and wow, the others are worried, but sharon looks so scared, always so scared

billy is having the time of his life, and you'd think agatha would step in at some point and warn him about what he's done. but nah. let's wait and see. as long as she's covering her own ass.

lilia looking at billy's sigil like, damn that's some neat handiwork, wonder who did that. she sounds like a cool witch.

agatha totally insults stuff when she's impressed with it like some cheap anime tsundere

lies.

but see how she puts her whole body between billy and the others? super protective mama

HOW COULD YOU GUYS LOSE HER SO QUICKLY. it's funny and all, but this is exactly how she'll die: they'll forget about her until it's too late.

it's so clever what they're doing with sharon, and it's so clever that they chose debra jo rupp for it, because she's so delightfully funny. I've talked already about how the comedy in the first few episodes is deceptive. sharon is living in a horror movie and you're not supposed to see it quite yet.

you think she's a funny old lady upset about losing her purse. you think maybe she's gonna find out she's magical and join the coven, who knows! so much fun, so many possibilities! you don't think that this is a woman in her 70s who was brutally tortured by a witch only a few years back, you forgot the lesson from wandavision. this evening she was tending her garden and now she's god knows where with a bunch of those very witches she's sure to be terrified of, kidnapped by a neighbor she thought she could trust. think about that, she's not going home, ever. I'll elaborate more at the end of the episode, but this is a show about the inevitability of death. sharon is like nicky, doomed by the narrative, and it'll take you two or three or four rewatches to fully see it and to make your peace with it.

alice tenderheart, alice braveheart jumps to the rescue with no esitation. she is a protection witch. she protects.

agatha stands in the back and (pretends she) doesn't care, like some asshole.

hey agatha, hey agatha? fuck you. fuck you agatha.

she's pulling all this out of her ass. she might as well be doing fart noses right now

my headcanon is that this is where Billy dreams to retire with Boyf in their golden years. you know he thinks about that sort of stuff

thank you to @friedwizardwhispers for pointing out that agatha is also in awe of the Road and the magic it took to create it. she is! look at her here, she's scared but also excited, she's fundamentally a nerd who's always hungry to learn and discover more about magic and spellcraft. she hates the witch community but she's also obsessed with it

now look at this sequence: agatha demonstrates once again that she knows Billy is behind all of this. only she goes about it with hints and metaphors because - you know - she's a damn fucking coward

sharon has gone through all the stages of grief in twenty minutes: denial (this is a kidnapping!), anger (this came from talbots, you can't have it!) bargain (okay, okay, okay, catching my breath, okay), depression (I don't know how do you expect me to walk and walk and walk when there is nowhere to walk to!) aaand now she's accepted her fate. time to get drunk. and die.

"That would be such a bummer." WOULD IT NOW BILLY. WOULD IT BE SUCH A BUMMER IF SHARON DIED SO SENSELESSLY? WOULD IT SEND AUDIENCES THROUGH ALL FIVE STAGES OF GRIEF TOO IF SHE WAS KILLED LIKE THAT??? IT'S ALMOST AS IF THEY'RE DOING IT ON PURPOSE OR SMTH BILLY

what I'm saying is, the writers are truly basking in some cruel irony right now. especially considering that billy is going to feel so responsible about sharon's death

the others look back at the house, agatha is the only one looking at billy, she's the only one who understands the implications of the exchange between billy and sharon. I imagine her process being something like "this is really going to hurt the kid later -> should I say something? -> should I step in? -> should i...? -> ... ->nah"

so the moon in the sky and the color of the leaves on the Road depend on the trial? is that why they were blue just now? I need to pay more attention to stuff like that

sharon takes a deep breath, sighs, goes into the house last.

sudden aspect ratio change! not my favorite outfits, but I love those pants on kathryn

see you tomorrow peeps ❤️

go to episode 3 part 2

[joanofexys]

I think Neil subconsciously switches accents. Like, he’ll be in the Deep South for a tournament or something and subtly take on a southern lilt, and the foxes’ll be like: “Neil wtf why are you talking like you eat homophobic fried chicken” and Neil would genuinely just say: “I have no idea what you’re talking about” because it’s so not on purpose for him.

okay YES

and I might be biased cause the audhd accent mimicry is real and I do this so much but I’m still accepting it as fact

In addition: he mimics the accents of specific people he’s talking to sometimes and people assume that he’s making fun of them but he doesn’t even realize it’s happening

I imagine he also snatches peoples ways of speaking and text styles super easily too. Inflection, common phrases and slang they use, and how grammar is used in texting. That sort of stuff

When he gets really passionate about something and his voice raises suddenly a lot of his cadence matches Kevin and the way he sounds when he’s yelling at them about Exy. He’s tired, he’s stopped giving a shit, and bam there’s Andrew. Worst part is when someone points out that he and Aaron speak similarly about academics (Neil abt math and Aaron abt medicine) and they both HATE it. I also imagine he gets a lot of sayings from Nicky and Matt. He’s got Dan’s cadence and tone down and it comes in handy when he becomes captain and can easily lean into the way he remembers her talking

It’s part of being on the run for some long and having to learn these things about other people to fit in and not get caught. But the fact that it sticks and it’s the foxes specifically also shows that he’s found a home with them