#in like two parts from now👍

[quesocheeso]

I’m collecting asks for when we enter the arcs that I’ll be able to answer them for,,, sooo if anyone has more specific asks for characters or you’ve sent some asks don’t worry I’ll answer them all in due time✌️ so ask away I really like reading over them especially while working on chapters💃💃💃

[transmasc-rose]

RULES: make a poll with 5 of your all-time favorite characters and then tag 5 people to do the same. See which character is everyone's favorite! (tagged by @seaweedstarshine)

Tagging (don't worry if you don't want to/have done it already!): @transgenderdoctorwhomst @27-27-gruff-triplets @quietwingsinthesky @lost-tardis-room @a-shard-of-quartz-lol

[arolesbianism]

Working more on the local group of Synchronized Light and hoo boy. There's smth wrong with these guys.

[helielune]

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaauauuuuuuuuuuuuuuuhhgggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

[nonuggetshere]

I NEED to update my Radiance's gijinka design I stg I have such cool art ideas for her and PK but I am. So lazy.

Two sides of the same coin, equally as awful morally grey people that would maul each other to death if put in the same room, I love them 💜

I need to also focus more on her role in my AU because while I've rewritten pretty much the entire thing she was left behind and now idk what to do with her in the long run oopsie. All ik is that she ends up being mortal or near mortal after her fight with Ghost and Flower and she is Not happy about it, but it's also the only way PK would have left her alive and Flower is big on second chances so now she's just here, bitter and angry and a shadow of her former self (and actually I just didn't have it in me to kill her before I could do something cool with her + I like the potential dynamic she could have with other characters)

[wereh0gz]

Ok so like. A thought I've had bouncing around in my head for a day or two now is Ruby being very, VERY envious of Sonic, at least when they first meet. Like to the point where she can't look at him directly

Because here they are, looking at a person who also had Dark Gaia Energy forced into his body, who is a beast, who is sick, just like them... but he can hide it

He can feign normalcy. He can hide his monstrosity. She can't. She can't turn back into a normal mobian during the day like he can. She's stuck in her monstrous form and suffers every day because of it. She doesn't get any real normalcy

It's not like Sonic actually has it any better. He's still sick, just like they are. And there are times where his condition becomes obvious, when the sun sets and he forcefully transforms. But it never stopped him from being a hero, from having friends, from being loved by the world, from living the life they wished they could have

And maybe she resented him for it. Just a little

[the-acid-pear]

Yesterday I had 3 thoughts but I was like I'll remember tomorrow I won't wake up to type them now and I forgot two BUT I remembered one of them so that's huge

[moe-broey]

AH I also had a thought to make a pinned (feels sacrilegious to me and the way that I am LMFAO) but not so much an introduction (that's what the bio is for that's all you get 😤😤😤) (which maybe I could update too actually 🤔) BUT

I'm a very disorganized person in general try as I might to have SOME semblance of organization. But I think it could be useful to list some tags that have specific things in them. Like I do wanna get more serious about comics/storytelling especially, plus I want to start collecting/compiling more Askr refs -- making a masterpost of where to find everything could be useful! Plus might help me figure out consistent tags for it too.

Much to think about......

[7nuh]

WAS IT 'CASUAL' WHEN...? — TWST 1ST YEARS

Headcanons on the 'casual' things you do with him that made him wish that there was something more between you.

CW 𓂃 sfw, gn!reader, reader is implied to fit in Deuce's clothes in his part, pining

CHARAS 𓂃 Ace Trappola, Deuce Spade, Jack Howl, Epel Felmier, and Sebek Zigvolt

AN 𓂃 mostly* edited now 😎👍

ACE TRAPPOLA — you slept in the same bed?

Ramshackle isn't exactly known for having the best facilities or furniture, and that is a fact Ace has to make peace with whenever he gets kicked out by Riddle. It's always a little too chilly at night and the floors still creak beneath his feet. Even with a makeover, half of the beds are broken and that stiff couch downstairs is your next best bet at getting some semblance of sleep.

You insisted you really didn't mind sharing a bed at all and Ace took you up on your offer. In his words, "if you say so then!" Just create an invisible partition down the middle and the two of you should be fine. Sure, yeah, that'll be infinitely more comfortable than the couch, and Ace absolutely agrees. He repeats the thought to himself over and over again— this is supposedly the better alternative, isn't it?

Yeah, totally. He tries to convince himself that it's really not a big deal for him to be inches away from you at night and feel your warmth spreading through the sheets. God, you'd think he's a weirdo if you woke up and caught him staring right now, but he could always twist it into a dumb joke about your sleeping face looking like an ogre. Consequently, he would have to watch your face twist in annoyance and pretend he wasn't watching every rise and fall of your chest. He would rather lose his magic entirely than admit the ugly truth and make himself vulnerable to you.

Ace does realize he's being embarrassingly sappy and romantic, and he's disgusted at himself for these thoughts, but he can't help it. He can't change the fact your lips look so soft and your eyelashes are so pretty. This is freaking him out so much more than it should. Does this really mean nothing to you? Do really only see him as a friend? Fine, then the two of you are just friends sharing a bed then!

It's really nothing! Ace was the one who joked about it months ago, after all. But things (and his feelings) have changed and he cannot ignore that. Back then it wouldn't have been such a big deal, but now it is and he cannot calm his heart down no matter how hard he tries.

You're right there. It's not the first time he had to share a bed with someone but it's different now because it's you. He did the math and the two of you are only 10 inches apart. Ace almost reaches for you in his weakest moment until he remembers that the two of you are supposedly just two friends sharing a bed. You're doing him a favor by sheltering him for the night, that's all.

Ace retracts his hand right away at the very last second. He might have as well taken the goddamn couch (lest either of you wake up in each other's arms).

DEUCE SPADE — he lent his clothes?

You came here with next to nothing. You had exactly one change of clothes and pocket lint for change, so Deuce, being the righteous and honorable student that he is, decided to lend you some of his clothes for the meantime. It's what a good friend would do! It's a temporary arrangement that would last only until Crowley spares enough change for you to buy another set of uniforms.

But this arrangement drags on for so long even when you have a functional closet and multiple sets of better-fitting clothes. Deuce never really noticed until recently that a third of your (albeit very limited) wardrobe actually belongs to him. But whenever you tug on his sleeves for his latest sweater, he doesn't have the heart to tell you no.

When he went home during break, his mom even noticed that certain sweaters and shirts had gone missing. "I left them at the college," he tells her as to not worry her. It's technically the truth— it's back with you in the college (and you're probably wearing them right now; the mental image is enough to fluster him all of the sudden when it never did before). He has to get them back eventually since those clothes are his. He's sure you wouldn't mind? Right?

Simply asking for them back is the difficult part for Deuce. You're there in front of him wearing one of his older shirts that fit snugly around your figure and he's at a loss for words. It's worn down and outright hideous as hell but the very first thought that comes to mind is that you look good in it.

Ah, yeah. You walk around campus on non-school days wearing his clothes 1/3rd of the time and nobody else knows that those jackets and shirts and sweaters and button-ups are all his. You make even the ugliest ones look good, or maybe it's because you're the wearer and you always looked good to him? Do his eyes need to be checked...? Deuce is tortured by these thoughts while merrily go about your day. You're laughing at something stupid that Grim said and he can't hear anything else. There's a fight in the courtyard but he can't see anything else. There's a midterm tomorrow but he can't think of anything else. You're too distracting.

When you finally do remember to return a shirt or two, Deuce tells you there's really no need to return them. He insists that they're better off with you, but you laugh and remind him that you're no longer the same pathetic charity case you were at the start of the year.

The truth is, your scent still lingers on recently returned shirts. It's the closest he'll get to being skin-to-skin with you, and Deuce is supposed to ignore that but he cannot. Or maybe he's the only one making this weird for the two of you because it doesn't seem to bother you in the slightest (and he's bothered by that).

But when Deuce looks at the recently returned shirts in his hands, he hopes he has a chance. He hopes you think of him as much as he thinks of you. He hopes the odds of him not actually liking you after all make your guts churn and set butterflies in your chest at the same time. He hopes he isn't the only one yearning for used shirts, lingering scents, and ghost touches. But at the same time, you've only ever asked these kinds of favors from him... Deuce doesn't want to assume anything, but a blush creeps upon his cheeks all the same and he continues to hope for more.

JACK HOWL — you played with his ears and tail?

Beastmen weren't a thing back in your world, so seeing them regularly made you morbidly curious about their animalistic features. Jack was easily the best candidate to satisfy your intrusive thoughts because just who else could you ask about this? Leona wasn't exactly an option and Ruggie might rope you into some scheme of his. And Jack owed you a favor, after all, so this is what you decided to ask of him.

Jack's ears twitched— did he hear you correctly? His face scrunches up in confusion because you barely knew each other for you to be asking something like this. How could you ask something so personal from him? It's in your innocently eager expression that he realizes what's going on... you just didn't know. Fine, it should mean nothing to you and thus he agrees to let you pet his tail and ears for five seconds. Maximum.

It's supposed to be a one time thing but he finds him involuntarily offering up his tail whenever you look him like that. He's not even sure how it got to this point. After all, there are romantic connotations of having your tail petted by someone else and... nevermind. Ruggie and Leona have started simultaneously teasing him over it the very moment they caught wind of this peculiar arrangement. It doesn't help that Jack's tail is particularly sensitive and reactive, but he keeps a straight face no matter how much it embarrasses him.

Jack doesn't understand why you're so fascinated by his tail and ears because there are so many others just like him. However, he supposes it's not an entirely terrible feeling, though, to have your fingers absentmindedly rake across his tail and hair as the two of you study. It's relaxing, even, but he won't tell you that. Jack will never tell you that it gives him goosebumps all over and makes him shiver whenever you play with his tail. Or that he's begun wondering what it would be like to have your hands elsewhere, or for him to touch you in similar ways in return.

He doesn't understand why he craves your company but doesn't question it either. All he knows is that your hands are so soft and gentle and that he likes the way the corner of your eyes crinkle when you smile in satisfaction. And when you hum a soft tune as the gap between the two of you closes, he wonders if he's the only one feeling this tension.

"Again?" Jack huffs. The pretext of this being a silly favor has been long forgotten. He should probably tell you soon that you shouldn't be doing this, but you just look so pleased with yourself when the two of settle down in a lesser-known corner of the library. The routine persists, the cycle continues. Hours later, the both of you have gone through multiple bags of chips, two movies on his laptop, and his tail is now comfortably curled around your abdomen as you read a book and he tends to his beloved cactus.

Again? Jack silently asks himself whenever he sees your face in a crowd. Could the two of you spend hours in a comfortable silence while the unsaid implications haunt him? He's started to ask himself— were you just playing dumb at this point or just plain stupid? Or what if you had known all along and the two of you were just dancing around it?

EPEL FELMIER — you kissed him?

Epel eventually learns to use the way others perceive him to his advantage; there's strength in appearing to be weak and striking when the iron is hot. Still, he couldn't help but wish to be seen for his talents and strength instead of his beauty at the first glance. The first assumption everyone makes of him, for god's sake, is that he's a fragile little thing from a rich family, and, quite frankly, he's sick of it.

So he's secretly delighted when none of his charms worked on you and you yank him by the ear for even attempting. A few curse words and rough shoves later, both of you are on the floor, grappling and wrestling against each other. The two of you are laughing so hard and swearing so loudly that you'll probably wake up the rest of Pomefiore at this rate, but neither of you care. It's just the two of you right now grasping at each other like your life depended on it.

It's a nice change of pace to be openly exchanging insults instead of restraining himself. He enjoys the comfortable rhythm the two of you share— from all the brawls and the bantering and the hugs and to the kisses on the cheek. Yes, kisses. They started as simple thank you's after a few favors here and there, and just one of them is enough to make a mess out of Epel for weeks. Better yet, you only seem to be showering him with more and more of your attention and he relishes in it.

Ah, things are finally working out for him! He found someone he could confide in and he's sure that there's a spark between the two of you. By the end of the year, he might have someone to bring home and brag about to his relatives—

All the momentum halts when he sees you across the hall granting the rest of your friends the same levels of affection. From all the brawls to the bantering to the hugs and the kisses, none of those were ever solely his to take delight upon. It doesn't matter that he opened up to you about all his fears and insecurities because he was never special. You were just the kind of person who got along and felt comfortable with everyone around you, but Epel hates that he has no one to blame but himself. He willingly walked your warmth but it was never his to take.

It finally dawns upon him that you have never seen him in a romantic light and that was why you were so comfortable around him. In retrospect, the bond you two shared was more sibling-like than anything— and believe him when he says he's incredibly grateful that the two of you were that close —but it doesn't make it hurt any less to know that your affections never carried any romantic intentions after he had pinned for you for so long.

Even when he takes a step back, you're cruel in a roundabout way by continuing to be so kind and loving towards him. How was Epel supposed to make sense of your relationship after realizing he misunderstood you...?

And he also hates to admit this, but his self-confidence takes a huge blow from this. Epel genuinely thought he could be loved for who he was based on the time you spent together. It gnaws at him and eats him alive to finally know the truth, and sometimes he wishes he never found out at all.

SEBEK ZIGVOLT — you wrote him love letters?

So, Sebek asked (demanded) to be penpals...

It's all because Lilia told him it would be a good exercise of diplomacy, he insisted. As the young master's bodyguard, he will have to be as courteous as possible even in unpleasant company. He also rationalized, admittedly partly because of you, that forging bonds with magicless humans may be a worthwhile endeavor after all! It's all rather suspicious (and you suspect his real intentions have something to do with your friendship with Malleus), but Sebek has never been one to lie about his intentions. If anything, the popular opinion was that he's a little too honest and should learn a thing or two about holding back.

There's something very unconventional in sending handwritten letters in this day and age of modern technology, but also something very romantic and fantastical— much like the many fictional knights he had read about. It helps a lot that he's not directly confronted by the fact you are very much a magicless human who shouldn't be in NRC whenever he spills out his heart's contents unto multiple pages. It was a way for him to release his frustrations, celebrate his achievements, and talk about the dull, little things thats happened in his day-to-day life to someone who listened.

And listen you did. Turns out, when you're not subjected to his 1000 decibel shouting, Sebek is a rather earnest guy who worked hard and acknowledged others who also worked equally as hard no matter their disposition. To say the least, you understand why Lilia found it so entertaining to tease him.

It completely flies over his head that you had been flirting with him for months through these letters. Your everyday interactions with each other had been completely normal, so how was he supposed to notice?! It takes multiple rereads and many late-night discussions with the other Diasomnia dormers to decode and understand all the double entendres and hidden 'i love you's' in each and every letter. It was so needlessly difficult, but Lilia laughs in his face and pats him at the back for a job well-done.

"There's no way," he thinks to himself late at night and finds himself doubting Lilia's claims for once. But when Sebek steals a glance in your direction and you smile back in return, he's never felt weaker in his knees. You're absolutely and undeniably magic-less... but somehow you had casted a spell that made his chest tighten and shut him up. He hadn't even realized how much time he was spending with you and thinking about you when he wasn't.

Except nothing has changed in-person. You're acting like you hadn't meticulously hidden your affections for him in those letters, and he was starting to seriously doubt all of it. Yeah, were you event smart enough to pull off all that? As some magic-less human?

Actually... Sebek realizes that you are capable of outsmarting him after getting to know you much better through those letters. He's never been one to deny where credit it was due. Now, Sebek's just deeply ashamed that he failed to accurately assess your character before making judgements based on superficial traits. He knows better than anyone that you're witty, charming, brave, kind, beautiful, ambitious—

Oh no.

Oh no.

Sebek simply explodes on the spot once he realizes that he had been oblivious to his own feelings for you too. He had thoroughly examined every aspect of this conundrum except from within. Quite embarrassing from an esteemed knight of the prince of nocturnal fae to be this slow, really.

[hon3y-y]

Roomie!sukuna doesn't even get horny for anyone other than you anymore. You have the wettest, nastiest pussy he's ever seen- and he deserves the best so nobody but you will do. You're fucking so many other fine men now that you dont even give him a second glance when he walks out the shower in just a towel to tease you. And oh, his temper when one of your hookups pick you up and you don't come home for the weekend. Or even worse, they stay for the weekend. Sukuna has never let a girl sleep over at the apartment but now there are two colognes in the bathroom, two pairs or men's shoes at the door, and he can almost never see you in the living room without some other man hanging off your side

read the other parts here! : part 1 part 2 part 4

he’s literally so embarrassingggg it’s not even funny. he’ll walk around and flex his muscles, smirk on his puffy lips as the water drips down his ripped torso. he stands outside your open door, you’re looking down at your phone deciding on whether to spend the night at choso’s or nanami’s (pick choso, nanami gets up at like 5 am 🙄), “showers empty..” sukuna basically purr’s, resting his arm on the doorway.

and you literally could not give less of a fuck💀

you just nod, mumbling a ‘thanks’ as you focus on putting both their names in a generator and letting that choose your fate for the night. let’s just say sukuna was extremely angry when a motorcycle pulls up and you just giggle and hop onto it, kissing the stupid leather clad boy while throwing on the custom bikers helmet choso had made for you. and to top it off, sukuna had to physically restrain himself from blowing up your phone on where the fuck you are??

messages;

ryo<3: didn’t see you this morning

you: i’m staying with choso for the weekend! sorry, should’ve told you last night:/

you: i also won’t be home after wednesday satoru is taking me to this festival! i’ll send pics😋

ryo<3: have fun 👍

omfg he’s losing it. he literally will spend the whole time in the gym, refusing to be in the empty apartment for longer than eight hours for sleep. he feels like there’s a cement brick in his chest when you’re whisked away by these men. but nothing is worse than when he stays over.

he being satoru.

it was becoming a huge issue. his longest “sleepover” was a week. a week where you weren’t even home for half of it. but sukuna was. he was there for all of it.

there was now a third toothbrush taking up countertop space in the bathroom, he would find satoru’s clothes in the wash (which would always somehow be in there whenever ryo specifically had to use it??), and gojo absolutely loved to make out with you everywhere but inside of your room and sukuna started to hated it. publicly claiming you in front of the guy who literally made it possible🙄 unbelievable.

let’s just say you take a break from bringing satoru over, doing your best to settle the tension at home. but sukuna couldn’t let it go, not when he stares at the stupid fucking blue electric toothbrush and knows that it’s only temporary.

at this point he didn’t even give a fuck about the other guys, you can keep them as long as he’s added onto your roster.

it’s been a while since the two of you had a movie night. something that used to, at the very least, happen once a month has been delayed due to your extra activities. the two of you relaxed into the couch, the movie was a random one you found choosing whatever looked the best by cover and for the first time in a while, sukuna felt like he had you.

“did you buy the candy?”

“shit, yeah. i think i left it in my room?”

“go get it while i make the popcorn!” you smiled up at him, your eyes sparkling excitedly. you looked so cute and soft, and ryo got a glimpse of your cute pink panties when you bent over to grab something so he was feeling just as good. he could already picture the little damp spot he’d create after teasing you and then force you to beg and make it up to him.

he thought about it the whole walk to his room, picking up the bag and then back to the living room, fantasizing about what he plans to do. and just as he’s about to turn the corner, a head of white fluffy hair is laying on your lap, legs spread to take up the full length of the couch. and the only seat available? the one farthest from you.

“i hope you don’t mind, satoru said he missed us!”

us… sukuna looked down at gojo, looking at the content quirk in his lip while he snuggled into you more, moving one of your hands into his hair to play with it. ryo’s eye twitched before he put the bag down and went back into his room, the door slamming behind him. the noise makes you force satoru up, a pit forming in your stomach. you didn’t want sukuna to feel uncomfortable in his own house—

“damn, what’s he so mad abo- he got macha kitkats!? mmm~”

*bonus*

sukuna is literally in his room about to dry heave because??? what alternative version of himself gave him such bad karma?!? in his room like this;

but quietly, because he DEFINITELY doesn’t want you to see him like this. such a fein🤦‍♀️

a/n: i didn’t put smut because i didn’t want to get repetitive BUT should we finally let sukuna get a taste?? part 4 where he finally gets her?? lmk🫶

*not edited*

[not-neverland06]

forgotten promises

pt two of broken promises (I know I'm so creative with names)

bodyguard!logan howlett x fem!runaway reader

a/n: SMUT 18+ MDNI they, like, never use protection (don't be silly, sheathe your willy) but I’d like to make it 100% clear now that she has a magic uterus and there will be absolutely NO baby-making. Just rocking unprotected sex 😎👍 If you’re tagged in this, it does not mean that I am permanently adding you to my taglist. It just means I saw you in my comments/reblogs/inbox asking for a part two and this was the easiest way to let you know I made one. If you would like to be added to the taglist, feel free to ask.  Summary: Life on the road isn't exactly glamorous. Cramped spaces and too many cheap motels have you and Logan at each other's throats. You feel eyes tracking you everywhere you go but you're afraid to tell him, afraid it will be the end of the road for the both of you. One cheap bar and an explosion later and your whole life is flipped upside down.

“What are you doing?”

You glance over Logan’s shoulder at the register. The man behind it isn’t looking at either of you, just disinterestedly scrolling through his phone. 

“Isn’t this what you do?” You ask, motioning to the pack of beef jerky you’re stuffing down your jacket. 

Logan scoffs and shakes his head. “No, kid.” He takes the bag from you and rolls his eyes. 

“Well, then how do you pay for this stuff?”

“Normally, with the money I get from my jobs. But your dad wasn’t too forthcoming with my last paycheck.”

You feel that familiar burning churn of guilt roiling around in your gut. You’ve definitely added another complication to his life and it makes you feel like nothing more than a burden sometimes. “Oh, Logan, I’m sorry.”

Logan glances down at you. He gives you that familiar appeasing look, squeezing you closer, and drags you towards the register. He tosses the snacks and drinks onto the counter. The guy just barely glances up at you both. 

“Will that be all?” He asks in a tone that says he could care less. 

“Yeah,” you answer, eyes drifting towards the magazine rack. Your face is plastered on the cover of a cheap tabloid. 

LOCAL POLITICIANS DAUGHTER STILL MISSING

Exclusive interview with family on PG. 6

Your eyes go wide and you turn your face further into Logan’s chest. He gives you a confused look before his eyes are snagged by the same thing that caught your attention. 

“Why don’t you go wait in the truck?” You nod and slip out of his hold, being mindful to keep your face away from the security camera near the front. 

That keeps happening. You hadn’t thought you would have made news, but your father was making this a part of his campaign. Claiming you’d been taken by a mutant bodyguard and that he’s been praying for your safe return. “Experts” have been claiming that with no ransom demanded you’re being turned into a message for anyone who goes against mutants. 

Now, mutants despise you and everyone else thinks you’re a martyr. In a few years, you’re sure you’ll be turned into some true crime documentary where people you’ve never met before are crying over your disappearance. 

You slide into the truck and let out a deep sigh. You’d thought running away would be freeing. But even a hundred miles from him, you can still feel the cold grip of your father’s hand around your throat. 

“Twenty on pump seven,” Logan tosses the cash on the counter, eyes drifting to you in the truck. It was instinct at this point, always keeping an eye on you. Especially since one of your father’s more fanatic supporters had spotted you in a shitty diner a week ago. They’d called the cops and tried to bar you and Logan from leaving. 

It hadn’t gone over well for him. 

He’d been trying to keep you a little more hidden since then, but it left a sour taste in his mouth. He’d gotten you out of that house to show you what real life was like, to give you a taste of freedom. 

He felt like he was no better than your father, keeping you cooped up and covered constantly. 

When the kid in front of him doesn’t say anything, Logan clears his throat. He gives him a quizzical look but the boy’s eyes are stuck on the door. 

“I swear I know her,” he mutters. Logan’s eyes drift towards the TV behind the counter and he sees an old news story of you. They’re using the footage of the acid attack, claiming you’ve always been the mutant movement’s target. 

“Can I get twenty on pump seven,” Logan repeats, voice firm. The kid finally looks at him and whatever expression Logan is wearing is enough for him to finally start moving. 

The second the receipt is in his hand he’s rushing out the door. He doesn’t know how long it’s going to take that dumbass to piece two and two together but he can’t risk dawdling. 

He fills the tank up, eyes scanning the gas station the entire time. He’s had a cloying sense of paranoia ever since the incident in the diner. He knows that at some point this little run of yours is going to come to an end. 

He doesn’t know if it’ll end with cops finding the two of you. Or if you’re going to realize the real world isn’t all that fun and leave him behind. He knows that a girl like you, one who's used to the finer things, is never going to be satisfied by the life he can offer. 

But he’s hoping that you come to your senses later rather than sooner. He’s enjoying traveling with you a lot more than he wants to admit. 

He gets in the truck, starts it up, and glances over at you. You smile, the smile that makes him feel things he doesn’t like admitting to himself or you. 

“All good?” You ask. 

He nods, driving off without a word because he doesn’t want to tell you the truth. Doesn’t want to admit what you both know to be a fact. The time you have together has an expiration date and he’s worried it’s creeping closer. 

Logan’s inside some shitty roadside motel. Whatever he’s talking about with the owner is clearly getting heated. You can see the way the anger’s growing on his face. His body is tensed up and he looks like he’s five seconds away from leaping over the counter and taking the greasy man leering at him down. 

There’s a final word exchanged between them and then Logan is storming back towards the truck. He slams the door closed so hard you’re surprised the windows don’t shatter. Normally, you sleep in the trailer. It’s not always the warmest or coziest, but you make it work. 

It’s too cold out tonight to do that and Logan doesn’t have a spare tank for the heating. He’d thought he’d had enough for a cheap room for tonight, but clearly, he doesn’t. There’s a tense silence in the truck as you mentally debate saying anything to him. 

His fists are wrapped so tightly around the steering wheel you can hear it creaking. You shift, sitting up straighter in your seat and uncurling your legs. There’s a stiffness to your joints that has you groaning. It’s involuntary, ripped out of you simply because you’ve been sitting for too long. 

It catches Logan’s attention and he glances over at you. There’s a resigned sort of guilt on his face and it makes you feel sick to your stomach. He’s used to this type of lifestyle, and sometimes you think he’s embarrassed to share it with you. 

You’d never judge him for roadside motels or living off cheap gas station meals. You know you were privileged living up with the wealth you did. But there is something infinitely more satisfying about being poor and happy than there ever was being rich and miserable.

“Look, kid,” he lets out a heavy sigh and you mentally prepare yourself for what you’ve been expecting. You were a fun time, a nice ride, but you’re becoming a burden and he can’t deal with it anymore. 

You let your nails dig into the thin skin of your palms so you can attempt to ground yourself. “I need to make some money tonight, so I just need you to bear with me for a while.”

Like there is every time he doesn’t boot you to the curb, a relieved rush of air expels from your chest almost violently.  “Okay,” you say tentatively, the word dragging out while you try and understand his meaning. 

“I just,” he stops and it looks like he’s struggling to find the words to say to you. You wait patiently for him to finish, or try to at least. “There’s a bar nearby. I’ll find some work there,” his words are ominous. They give you nothing and convey so much. 

Clearly, he’s hiding something from you. You can tell that much from the way he’s avoiding eye contact with you. He pulls out of the motel’s parking lot and turns the radio on. You’ve learned that's his way of telling you he doesn’t want to talk without being a dick about it. 

You want to respect his space because you still feel like an imposter. But it’s hard. He’s being oddly cagey about this. 

The drive is short but it feels like you’ve been transported to an entirely different town than the one you were in before. He takes only backroads and middle-class homes turn into shady shops with barbed fences. Caged dogs bark at the truck as it drives by and you get a sinking feeling in your gut. 

Perhaps it’s a little classist of you to automatically assume a few low-end homes equate to a bad neighborhood. But instinctually you know something is off about this place. 

He parks in front of a run-down bar. Even from here, you can hear loud shouts and jeering coming from inside. You don’t know what’s being said but they’re certainly passionate. Logan turns towards you, the expression on his face so serious you feel like you’re about to be scolded. 

“I need you to stay here. I won’t be gone long, just an hour at most. But you need to stay in the truck.”

Your jaw gapes and you scoff at him. “Logan, an hour that’s rid-”

He cuts you off with a stern call of your name. Your mouth snaps shut and you narrow your eyes at him, teeth gritting together to keep your tongue at bay. “Stay here, I mean it. Got it?”

You nod and he repeats your name, sounding aggrieved. “Fine,” you huff. “I got it.” He lingers for a moment. You don’t know if he doesn’t trust you or is just reluctant to leave you alone. You’re reluctant to be left alone, especially in a shady dark parking lot like this. But clearly whatever is going on inside is worse than whatever could happen to you out here. 

“I’ll be back soon,” he makes this whole thing sound so grave. It makes your brows furrow and doubt churn in your gut. What could he be doing in there that’s so awful?

He gets out and you watch his form under the flickering street lamps until you can’t see him anymore. You sit quietly in the truck for at least three minutes before you already feel the boredom set in. 

You’d thought you’d be able to last longer. You used to go for hours dissociating at your father’s galas. This is different, though. You’re a little afraid to let your guard down here. 

You try to listen to music but you feel bad wasting his gas so you just turn the truck off and huddle under a blanket in the trailer. You try and let yourself fall asleep but you don’t last long. 

It’s too cold outside to really get a good rest and you can hear people moving around outside the trailer. After about an hour of rolling around and frozen limbs, you figure enough is enough. 

As much as you don’t want to provoke Logan or give him any reason to get rid of you, you can’t stay in here all night. Besides, Logan said he wouldn’t be long, you can always just lie and say you were worried about him. 

Satisfied with your excuse you leave the comfort of your blanket behind and slip into Logan’s jacket. You tuck the truck keys in your pocket and walk out into the snowy night. It’s less cold outside than it was in the trailer, you can see why he wanted a motel room for the night. 

A few people linger by the cars, smoking and muttering to themselves. You slip past them, ignoring the feeling of their eyes burning into your skin. You’re sure it's because you look like you don’t belong here. 

The noise in the bar gets louder the closer you get and it reminds you of the night Logan had snuck you out of the house. But you’d had him to lean on, right now, until you find him, you’re on your own. For all the noise coming from the building, the bar is surprisingly empty. 

Only a few old men are sitting around, drinking beers in silence. The bartender cleans glasses behind the counter, sparing you an odd look before getting back to work. There’s not very far for you to look before you figure out that Logan isn’t anywhere nearby. 

“Excuse me?” The bartender spares you a fleeting glance before barely grunting in greeting. 

The floor underneath you tremors and you glance down at it in surprise. You can hear something going on underneath. You figure that has to be where all the noises are coming from. “I’m looking for someone. Tall, mean as hell, he’s got this hair,” you swoop your hands up by the sides of your head, trying to mimic the odd fluff of Logan’s hair. 

“Downstairs.” You nod and move around the bar, trying to get to the door behind him. He reaches out, grabbing your bicep and stopping you before you can get far. “It's a forty-dollar entrance fee, sweetheart.”

Your brow furrows in confusion and you frown as you dig around in your jacket pockets. You’ve come too far to be deterred now. Ignoring the moral implications, you slip Logan’s wallet out of his jacket and give the man forty dollars. 

He nods towards the door and you give him a weak thank you as you slip past him. Opening the door is like breaking a seal. The noises bombard you almost immediately, so much clearer than they were before. 

You still can’t understand what they’re screaming but there’s a violent atmosphere slipping around you as you head down the stairs. The heady smell of cigars and cigarettes threatens to suffocate you. Your eyes water at the smoke in the air. 

You’d think you’d have gotten used to secondhand smoking after being around Logan, but he’s less inclined to hotbox the car if you’re beside him. The second your feet hit the floor you’re being jostled to the side violently by the people around you. 

It’s nearly impossible to elbow your way through the crowd, but you’re determined to figure out what’s in the middle of the cage that’s got them all excited. You can hear the people around you screaming out bets and numbers you don’t understand. 

For one nauseating moment, you think this might be a dog fighting ring, that Logan gambles on it to earn his money. It makes you want to turn around, to shield yourself from the truth. But this is something he tried to keep hidden from you and you need to know the truth about whoever you’re traveling with. 

You can hear the announcer, but you can’t get close enough to see anything yet. “Are you gonna let this man walk away with your money?” There’s a resounding NO! from the crowd that makes you jump. 

A booming voice shouts over the throng of voices, “I’ll take him!” 

“Our savior ladies and gentlemen!” You shove through two men, ignoring the way they complain about how their beer sloshes on their sleeves. 

“Hey-” You glance over your shoulder as one of them reaches for you.  You flick your wrist, sending him and his friend tumbling back into the crowd. You roll your eyes and turn back towards the cage. 

Your eyes widen and so do Logan’s as you finally see what exactly is going on. He’s cage fighting, this is what he’d been so secretive about. Honestly, it’s a relief compared to the brutality you were bracing yourself for. 

You can see his lips starting to form the shape of your name but the man from before is barrelling into his side as the bell goes off. You wince, jumping away from the cage as you hear the meaty impact of his fist against Logan’s face. 

The people near you scream, shouting for Logan’s blood. It’s easy to figure out that he’s been beating everyone he’s gone up against based on some bloody faces in the crowd. It’s smart, easy money. He can always heal, and can never really be beaten, not when he’s literally got fists of steel. 

You’re surprised that no one’s ever caught onto this scam of his. You also wonder why he had been so adamant about you not seeing this. Sure, it’s brutal watching blood spray against the mat. But you don’t care. Besides, he’s ridiculously attractive in just his jeans as he pummels into some guy. 

Maybe that’s not a normal line of thinking. 

You shake your head, shelving that for later as the fight dies down. The man is limp on the mat of the cage and Logan is leaning against the wall, smoking a cigar and pointedly not looking at you. 

You feel that familiar twisting feeling in your stomach and wonder if this was a horrible idea. You should have just stayed in the car like he asked. You’re sure it would have only been another hour of tirelessly rolling around before he came back. But you couldn’t help yourself. 

He tells you so little about himself. If you get a chance to learn more, you’re going to pounce on the opportunity. Maybe it was a violation of his trust. You sincerely doubt that he would ever willingly have revealed this sort of lifestyle to you, though. 

He seems to be under the same misguided intention that you need to be sheltered. It reminds you a little of your father. That might be a cruel comparison but it’s the same suffocating feeling of being kept in the dark to suit their needs. 

The guilt you’d been holding unfurls and blossoms into anger. You find yourself retreating away from the cage and rushing back up the stairs of the bar. You don’t want to watch him fight any longer. You don’t want to look at him. 

You just want him to treat you like an equal. Not like some little girl who’s going to run at the first sign of things getting hard. 

You burst through the door of the bar, ignoring the cold laughter of the bartender behind you. He clearly seemed to think you couldn’t handle a little blood. He wasn’t the only one. 

You’re only a couple of feet from the truck when you hear footsteps loudly stomping through the snow behind you. “What the hell were you doing?” You scoff, unbelieving that he would have the gall to shout at you. 

You whirl around on him and it catches him off guard. His right foot slides against the slush as he tries to stop himself from ramming into you. “I’m not a little girl, Logan! You don’t need to hide stuff like that from me.”

He crosses his arms and glares down at you. “I wasn’t hiding anything,” he insists. But the tone of his voice gives him away. He doesn’t like that he was caught. “I don’t need to tell you jackshit about what I do for money.”

You can’t believe how he sounds right now. Why is he getting so defensive about this? “I don’t care what you do for money, alright. I just don’t get why you felt like I couldn’t know about this.” You hate the way the hurt is audible in your voice. You wear your heart on your sleeve, even when you try and cover it. 

In the same way, he’s masking his feelings with anger, so are you. Just with less success. Something draws across his face, some emotion you can’t discern. His voice goes cold and quiet as he shoves an envelope full of cash into your hands. 

“Go back to the motel. Get a room.”

He storms past you and walks towards the trailer. You follow after him, slightly dumbfounded by how he’s behaving. He rips his motorcycle out from the back and rolls it into a parking spot. You watch him do all this with your tongue glued to the roof of your mouth. 

It’s only when he starts to head back towards the bar that you realize he’s not coming with you. “Logan!” You call out, trailing after him slightly. He barely turns back to face you. “Are you,” the words die on your tongue and you can’t find it in yourself to finish. 

Are you angry?

Are you leaving?

Are you going to ditch me at the next bus stop?

Instead of asking any of your ridiculously pining questions, you turn on your heel and storm towards the truck. You rip the door open with more force than necessary and drive off without looking back at him. But you know he watches, know he keeps an eye on you until he can’t see you anymore. 

Your rides with him are normally silent, but this one feels painfully so. 

You nearly get a room with two beds. But you feel like if you do it will be a horrendous mistake. Reluctantly, you give the man behind the counter enough for a room with one bed large enough for the both of you. 

You’re not exactly excited about sharing a bed with him, not after how he behaved tonight. You grumble to yourself as you drag your bag inside and toss it on the ground. You picture putting up a wall of pillows between the two of you, just to be petty. 

It’s as you’re showering that you realize you might not even have to. He might not come to join you tonight. He won’t know what room you’re in. And he’d made it pretty clear how pissed he was at you for sneaking into the bar. 

Maybe you’ve finally pushed him too far. You’ve been toying with the boundaries of his patience for a while. Little tests to determine whether he truly wants you around simply to have a warm body ready beside him. Or if he wants you because he genuinely cares for you. 

You suppose tonight, whether you want it or not, you’ll finally have the truth. 

The thought keeps you awake. You toss and you turn for hours, fighting with yourself. You should be happy, finally figuring out what’s been haunting you. But you’re not. You’re petrified. You’d rather keep living a lie than finally accept that he truly doesn’t want you. 

You throw the covers off, the scratchy material only further adding to your irritation. You stomp into the bathroom, slamming the door closed behind you. You turn on the sink splashing some cool water over your face to try and rid yourself of the warmth lingering under your skin. You don’t know if this feeling of being uncomfortable in your own body is from pent-up anger or anxiety. 

You don’t care. You just want to sleep this night away and pretend it never happened. But, of course, the universe has other plans. The motel door creaks open as you’re hovering over the sink, debating whether or not you’re nauseous enough to throw up. 

You tilt your head slightly towards the sound. Growing up in your house, filtering through rooms like an unheard ghost, allowed you to get good at recognizing footsteps. Logan has finally decided to grace you with his presence. 

You listen to him as he creeps silently across the room, landing on the squeaky bed. You press your ear against the door and can hear the way the sheets rustle and he cusses under his breath. There’s worry staining his voice and you figure you shouldn’t drag this on much longer. 

You open the bathroom door and flip the switch, turning the lamps on like a disappointed mother waiting up for her teenager. You cross your arms mutely and lean against the doorframe as he winces under the sudden light. 

He jumps, just slightly, and glares over at you. “Thought you weren’t here,” he accuses. He tries sounding angry, but you have a sudden rush of clarity in that moment. Where you would normally focus only on him being upset with you, you can see the truth of his concern.

Same as you, he doesn’t know where he stands in this whole situation. You doubt he had a clear plan when he rescued you from your tower like some ridiculous storybook knight. He most likely thought that you left, the same way you thought he would. 

You remain silent, though, still a little too flustered to speak coherently. Instead, you examine him. There are cuts and blood all over his shirt. Splatters of it on his face. Though, you know if you looked there would be no physical evidence of him ever being hurt. 

His brows furrow the longer you stare, a wall building between the two of you. “Kid?” He questions, equal parts worried and defensive. Does he really think you actually give a fuck about him fighting?

You shake your head and walk back into the bathroom. You rustle around in the cabinet underneath the sink until you find a washcloth. Wetting it, you bring it back out to him. You station yourself between his spread legs, holding the cloth between you like a peace offering. 

He looks doubtful as he glances between you and it. Finally, he lets out a rough sigh and simply nods his head. But when he reaches for it you snatch it back, much to his chagrin. You offer him a small smile and tilt his chin up towards you, gently wiping some of the dried blood off his cheeks. 

He doesn’t flinch or hiss away from the less-than-gentle fabric. He stares at you unblinkingly, like if he closes his eyes for a moment he’ll wake up and this will all have been a dream. “You don’t have to do this, kid.”

You roll your eyes and crane your neck to get a better look at him. “Would you shut up?” You whisper teasingly. 

His lips quirk slightly and you can see his shoulder slump in relief at the sound of your voice. “So, she can talk.” You can’t help the little laugh that comes out of you. He grins fully at that and his hands come up to rest on your hips. 

His thumbs rub soothing circles along the sides of your waist as his hands dip a little lower. “What are you doing?” Your hand drifts down to his neck to wipe some blood off there as well. 

He shakes his head and shrugs, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You lift your gaze to his and your lips fall flat, “Logan-”

He cuts you off before you can finish. In one smooth motion, his hands drop to wrap around your thighs. He lifts you slightly and drops you onto his lap. He grins at the slight huff of surprise that rushes out of you. 

His arms go back to your waist, pulling you closer to him and grinding you a little against him. You bite your lip to stop any noises from escaping. As much as you wouldn’t mind what he’s thinking, you need to talk. 

“Logan,” you scold. 

He smirks and tilts his head patronizingly, “Something wrong, sweetheart?”

“It’s not happening,” you tell him firmly, hand still working on cleaning him. 

He sighs and one of his arms drops away from you. He cups your hand in his, stilling your movements and forcing you to meet his gaze. Gently, he takes the cloth from you and tosses it somewhere you can’t see. “I’m fine,” he whispers, eyes searching yours. 

It’s hard meeting his gaze. The worry and anxiety from the night still weigh heavily on your shoulders. He repeats himself, fingers tilting your chin up to face him. “Alright?”

“I don’t care,” the words come rushing out of you before you can stop them. His brows raise in shock and he gives a slight chuckle of amusement. A lump grows in your throat and your eyes grow wide. “Wait, I don’t mean-”

You cut yourself off and rub your hands over your face, trying to get your head on right. Logan’s patient, rubbing your back and clearly trying not to laugh at you. You finally take in a deep breath and face him again. 

“I don’t care about the fighting,” you can see his shoulders tense slightly like he doesn’t believe you. “I don’t care, Logan. You do what you have to survive and I’m not gonna judge you for that.”

“What if I enjoy it?” He cuts you off, tone harsh as he glares down at you. There's experience in how quickly he doubts you, how quickly he tries to get you to change your mind about him.

You wonder how many times he’s been rejected just for being a mutant. You’ve only ever been rejected by one person because only he ever knew. Your father. And that hurt enough for one lifetime. 

You can’t imagine going for as long as he has and constantly being called a monster for something he can’t control. Your brows furrow and you lean into him until your lips are brushing. He remains stiff beneath you but you don’t let it deter you. 

“I don’t care,” you tell him, pressing your lips to his before slowly pulling back. You wait for him to respond, physically or verbally, but he’s still looking at you with that cold unfamiliar gaze. 

You wonder if maybe it was a mistake, to bring it up at all. But just as the thought comes he’s surging forward. His lips catch yours, his hands digging so desperately into your shirt you know it rips. 

Your arms go to his neck, holding onto him so you don’t slip off his lap. You haven't been this close for a few days. You think it might have made you both feel on edge. There’s a relief that comes from not just having sex with him, but also just being intimate and close to one another. 

It’s a reminder that you’re not alone, that there’s someone here beside you to be a partner and a pillar of stability. You’ve never had that before. Someone that you can rely on and trust fully. You don’t think he has either. 

He craves you the same way you do him. Each kiss, every shared breath, is treated like it will be your last. You don’t know when your father will finally catch up to the two of you. You don’t know when the police might finally recognize Logan. 

There’s no definitive future for either of you. It’s a real possibility that this could be your last night together. And neither of you wants to be upset with each other. Because you were never truly mad. You were always just worried. 

Your hands drop to his shirt, dipping to find the holes in it from his fight and ripping at the flimsy fabric until you can just yank it off. He smiles against your lips at the eager way you move atop him. But he can’t tease you, he’s already annoyed with the buttons on your shirt. 

He pulls back, glaring down at the fabric like it's insulting him. Without another word, he slices through it, leaving it in tatters on your shoulder. You grin, shrugging the rest of it off. “That was yours.”

He grips your hips tightly and leaves marks where his fingers are as a reminder that he was here. He flips you over, leaves you breathless as he hovers over you. “I really don’t give a fuck, sweetheart.”

You’re addicted to his voice. How breathy and desperate it is when he’s with you. It’s a level of vulnerability you rarely get to see from him. He can’t hide himself when he’s with you like this. He wants you just as badly as you do him. 

It gives you a confidence rush like no other, makes your ego grow ten times its size. If you can make a man like this fall to his knees from nothing more than a kiss, then you’re capable of a lot more than you give yourself credit for. 

But you don’t want that tonight. You reach for him before he can go much further, grabbing him by his hair and tugging until you know it stings. He nearly fucking moans at your rough touch, eyes fluttering open to meet yours. The green of them has been wholly consumed by his desire for you and it makes you ache for him. 

“Not tonight,” you tell him. There’s no room for argument in your tone. As much as he might want to taste you, devour you, all you want is to be as close to him as possible. You want to be covered and filled by him in every way you can be. 

His head falls against your thigh, a rough groan tumbling from his throat at your words. You drag him towards you, pulling him up your body until you’re face to face. You smile softly up at him, lifting your head so you can meet his lips again. 

You’ll never get enough of kissing him, of tasting him. Sometimes you have to stop yourself from reaching across the seats and kissing him while he drives. You’ve nearly made him wreck a few times and forced him to pull over so you could both have some fun in the back. 

Addiction isn’t the right word for what you feel for him. It brings along its own negative connotations. The taint of dependency and toxicity. With addiction, it’s a parasitic relationship, hurts you but makes you feel good. 

This is just goodness. This is a kind touch for the first time in your life and finally feeling safe in someone elses arms. This is opening yourself up to him fully and not once feeling like you need to mold yourself into something else to make him happy. It’s accepting him as he is, a broken dog who likes to fight to punish himself. You don’t want to change him or make him “better.” You just want him to be happy. 

You use your powers to help yourself, flipping him over and straddling his hips. You drag his jeans down his legs and flick your wrist, sending them flying somewhere across the room. He watches you with eyes filled with awe, hands drifting over your curves like something to be worshipped. 

You know he’s waiting for it, for you to sink yourself down on him and finally be filled. But you wait, hover over him even as the muscles of your thighs tremor. “You don’t hide things from me anymore,” you warn him. You’re not asking, for once, you’re demanding what you want. 

He doesn’t look angry like you’d been expecting. Instead, it only seems to turn him on more. “Ya know,” his hands drift to your hips, dragging you down and over his cock until it’s wet with your want. Your nails dig into his chest until there’s blood beading under them and you’re trying not to let your noises slip out. 

“I kinda like it when you’re all bossy like this.” 

“Logan,” you grit his name out. It takes everything in you not to look as affected by him as you feel. “No more hiding shit.”

He leans up on his elbows. His hand drifts to the nape of your neck and drags you down until your lips are nearly touching his. “Yeah, I got it, sweetheart.”

Like a taut rope being cut, you sink into him, your hips finally drop and he guides you down every inch of him until you feel like you’re so full you can’t breathe. He lets you linger for a moment, and get used to this feeling while he steals the very air from your lungs. 

He’s greedy with the way he touches you. His hands always moving like he’ll never fully be satisfied with how much of you he can feel. He’s always reaching for you like he needs to make sure you’re actually real and not just something he’s dreamt up. 

Even with how impatient he is, you’re always the one that moves first. You roll your hips over him, moaning at how he feels inside you. It’s like he’s perfectly molded you around him. He always manages to brush against the spots that make your eyes roll into the back of your head. 

The second your hips begin to roll, he’s wrapping his heavy arms around you, grinding you down into him. He keeps you trapped in place, using you like a toy as he bounces you on his lap. Your mind is fuzzy, every bad thought and feeling shoved out while he makes you go dumb on his dick.

You love how boneless you go. You don’t have to think now, don’t have to worry. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, shifting yourself further on top of him until you're practically burying yourself under his skin. 

Not thinking always comes with its own consequences, though. Your powers slip a little out of your grasp. The walls trembling and the drawers and cabinets opening and closing. The both of you have gotten used to the noise, know how to drown it out, and just focus on each other. 

One of these days, you’ll need to figure out a way to have sex with him without bringing the room down around you. That’s a problem for later though. His whispered praises and grunts of your name filter through your mind until there’s nothing left inside you but him. 

“Fuck,” he hisses in your ear, “you’re so fucking tight around me. You close?” He grunts, hand drifting down to rub tight circles on your clit. You dig your nails into his shoulders, nodding your head frantically against his neck. “Words, sweetheart.”

“Shit,” you can barely think of your own damn name. Let alone what you want from him. “Fuck off,” you hiss. He chuckles at the attitude and you almost expect him to stop, just to be a dick because you were a brat. 

But he’s just as close as you are and he’s too selfish to tease. Wave after wave of pleasure crashes down on you as your body shakes against his. He follows quickly after you, warmth shooting up inside you and almost leaking down your thighs. You feel stuffed, like your body’s been pushed to the limit and further. 

You both sit together in silence for a while. You ignore the way your skin sticks to his uncomfortably, instead reveling in the warmth he provides you. Anyone else, and you’d be rushing to get away from them. 

You’re always extra sensitive after sex, every little thing setting you off. But there’s a comfort to the way his hairy ass chest brushes against your breasts and his arms squeeze around you. It’s a nice grounding feeling. 

The tips of your fingers drift over his arms, following the path of his veins and brushing against his fingers lazily. He flips his palm over, encasing your hand in his own wordlessly. Little things like that ease your worries. Makes you feel like something more than just a quick fuck. 

He breaks the silence first, which is rare for him. “I’m sorry about tonight.”

You frown and peer up at him. “I told you, I don’t care about the fighting.”

He sighs and shakes his head, “Not that. I shouldn’t have gotten so fucking mad at you. You didn’t do anything wrong.” You want to interrupt him, assure him that you both acted pretty childishly. 

But you understand it’s difficult for him to express himself verbally. He usually prefers silent acts of apologies and expression, you don’t want to mess him up before he can get out what he wants to say. 

“I don’t want to be like your father.” Your face screws up a little and you shift uncomfortably on his lap. He loosens his grip, giving you room to leave if you want to, but you stay put. “I’m trying not to coddle you, sweetheart, or hide you away from the world. But I don’t like you seeing that shit.”

“You’re not my dad, Logan. He wouldn’t give me a choice,” you try and joke but it just seems to make him more irritated. Sighing you straighten up, bracing yourself on his chest and staring down at him. 

Your head tilts to the side in contemplation and he almost looks uncomfortable under the attention. “I’m not so fragile or sheltered that I’m going to shatter at the first taste of the real world, Logan. I mean, for god’s sake, I’ve had acid thrown at me and bodyguards since I could walk. I know how dangerous it is. Whatever you want to hide from me, I’ve seen worse.”

You let your words sink in for a moment and he looks at you like he’s seeing you for the first time. You know that it’s odd for him, to comprehend a girl who was afraid to go into a bar swallowing down an illegal fighting ring like it’s nothing. But you’re not lying. Everyday little things are what you’re unused to. But you’ve lived alongside violence your whole life. 

“Look, fighting, sleeping in shitty motels, and your truck, that doesn't bother me. But I don’t like when you hide things and I don’t,” you take in a deep breath, mentally preparing yourself for the worst. This is what you’ve been trying to tell him for weeks. 

A few little words have your tongue tied and make you desperate to cover yourself up again. He can see the shift in your expression, and feel how tense you get. He sits up a little more, thumb rubbing soothing circles over the back of your hand. 

“I don’t want to just be someone to fuck you, Logan. I didn’t come with you so you’d have easy access pussy,” he looks thoroughly amused at your crude words, but there’s something else lingering in his expression. Something like hurt. 

“Is that what you think?” He asks, tone distant. You can’t find the words so you simply nod. He sighs and shakes his head. He eases you off his lap and you worry you’ve truly fucked this up somehow. 

He goes into the bathroom, returns with a wet washcloth. He still doesn’t speak and you’re on edge the entire time he cleans the both of you up. You can see he’s thinking, biting his tongue, and trying to figure out what it is that he wants to say to you. 

You’re impatient, five seconds away from just demanding a response from him. He tosses the cloth and drops into bed beside you. You draw the sheets up to your chest, glaring down at him while he rubs his hands over his face with a tired sigh. 

When he opens his eyes again he laughs at how close you are. “Jesus,” he wraps an arm around your waist, dragging you down into his chest even though you fight him. It must be easier for him to speak when you’re not staring at him. 

“I didn’t go back for you so I could fuck you, kid. I… care about you,” there’s a long pause before he says the word care. You think it’s funny, that he can’t bring himself to admit what he actually feels. But you’ll take it, you’ll give him the time he needs to come to terms with the truth. 

For now, you let yourself fall asleep, feeling just a little bit better about the road ahead. 

Things get easier between the two of you. And somehow harder at the same time. You don’t walk on eggshells around each other, no longer afraid of scaring the other off now. Which also means that you find it easier to bicker with him about little things. Like, not just tossing his trash everywhere in the truck. You’re practically living out of the trailer, the least he could do is help you keep it tidy. 

You know it’s weird for him. Suddenly having someone nag at him not to be a slob or to take breaks in between driving so he doesn’t wear himself out. It’s an adjustment you see him struggle with sometimes. 

You try not to be too pushy, but there’s only so many times you can flick crumbs from his burgers off your seat before you lose it. “Logan!” You snap, glaring at him as you stand up only to find chip crumbs squished into the fabric of your leggings. 

He glances over at you and shrugs, “What?” 

You glance between the crumbs and him with a glare but he doesn’t seem to be connecting the dots. “Fucks sake,” you grumble, passive-aggressively wiping the truck seat off before you slam the door and storm towards the diner. 

You’re sick of being cramped in the truck. You’re sick of the greasy food. You’ve begun to crave salads lately. Which is beyond weird. But the novelty of shitty food and milkshakes wore off a hundred miles ago. 

Logan catches up to you, huffing with irritation as he swings the door open for you. You take a seat in the booth near the corner, snatching up the menu and pointedly staring at it and not him. “Really?” He demands. When you don’t answer he tips the menu down, forcing you to meet his gaze. “What is your problem?” He hisses, trying not to draw attention to you both. 

You lean in, voice a harsh whisper. “How hard is it to just not make a mess? We live out of that damn truck, the least you could do is keep your crumbs on your side.”

He rolls his eyes and leans back in the booth. You’re both sick of having the same fight. But there’s really nothing else to do anymore. When you’re stuck together for so long, it’s the small things that get to you. 

You’re going to say more but the waitress pops in front of you out of nowhere. “Hi!” She beams and gives you her name, the bows in her hair trembling at how hyper she is. “What can I get you both today?”

You and Logan place your orders, and he shoots you an odd look when you only order the salad. “We’ve got a couple more hours ahead of us, you’re gonna get hungry.”

You cross your arms and shrug, “No, I won’t.”

He licks his lips, sucking on his teeth and leaning against the table. “Yes, you will,” he argues with a stern voice. 

You narrow your eyes at him and give him a bitter smile. “Kiss. My. Ass.”

Your stomach grumbles for the third time and you know that Logan can hear it. You’re pointedly not making eye contact with him. It feels like it's louder than the music at this point and you really don’t want to prove him right. 

Without a word, he begins to dig around in the center console. You glance towards him, confused, “What’re you doing?”

He doesn’t say anything, just tosses whatever he’s grabbed onto your lap. You glance down at it and frown. It’s somehow cold as you unwrap it. You pull the parchment paper away and let out a relieved sigh. 

He ordered you a wrap from the diner without you realizing. You take a bite, your hunger steadily easing away. “I’m sorry,” you mutter, pointedly looking out the window. 

He glances over at you and scoffs. “What was that? Couldn’t hear ya, kid.” 

You roll your eyes and turn to glare at him. He’s already looking at you, a teasing tilt to his lips. “I said I’m sorry,” you snap. “I shouldn’t have been a bitch.”

He shakes his head and waves you off. “I haven’t exactly been pleasant myself. I’ll,” he huffs lowly and forces the words out, “clean up more.”  

“I think we’ve just been stuck on the road too long. We’re gonna end up driving each other insane.”

His eyes glance along the signs on the highway. There’s a notice for food and shopping at the next exit and he nods towards it. “We’ll stop at a motel for a few nights. Take a break.” You want to ask him if he’s sure that’s smart. 

It seems risky, to slow down for so long. But you need to walk around, breathe fresh air, and stretch your legs. You’re too selfish to tell him not to stop and keep going. Instead, you nod and smile at him. “That sounds really nice.”

He gives you a slight smile that’s gone as quickly as it came, reaching over and resting his hand on your thigh. You move closer to him and he turns the radio up. You wonder why he doesn’t want to talk anymore but you don’t push it. You’re too excited to finally get out of the truck again. 

The town is nice enough. It’s small, with only a few shops where you buy some new shirts to replace one’s that Logan has torn up. The motel you’re staying at doesn’t have a washing machine so you have to use the laundromat to wash your clothes. 

Logan says he’s going to see if he can find a quick job nearby. You wonder if that means a real job or a more bloody one. You decide not to ask questions, instead taking the little change you have and figuring you’ll try to get the smell of grease out of all your clothes. 

As you load the machine up and put your quarters in you can’t escape the feeling of someone watching you. You’ve been on high alert ever since Logan stole you away from the house. But this is different. 

You’ve gotten used to your own paranoia, you know when it’s real or not. You walk away from the machine, glancing out at the glass walls near the front and trying to see if there’s someone out there. This, oddly enough, doesn’t feel like a police stakeout where they’re going to track you back to the motel and bust Logan. 

This is something different. There is a deep-seated primal fear in you that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. Your heart races as your eyes search the dark street outside. What little glow comes from the streetlights isn’t enough for you to clearly make anything out. 

But you feel them, tracking your every move. They’re somewhere nearby, you can’t see them but they see you. You feel sick to your stomach. You glance at the door before racing towards it. You turn the lock, slowly backing away and keeping your eyes trained on the street. 

You look into the shadows and find shapes and movements where there are none. Your eyes spin as your brain crafts a horrible image of some monster waiting outside for you. When the timer for the washer goes off you let out a sharp scream, spinning around and clutching your chest as you glare at it. 

“Fuck’s sake,” you mutter, angrily running your hand over your face and trying to catch your breath. You put the clothes in the dryer and by the time you're done, the feeling is gone. You don’t know if they were never there to begin with, or if they got bored and left. 

You’d told Logan that you didn’t need a ride, you’d just walk the short distance back to the motel. Now, you use the phone on the front counter and call him, telling him you’ve changed your mind after all. 

By the time he picks you up, he looks incredibly concerned. You know you sounded panicked when you called him. You still feel upset about the whole thing. But when he asks what’s wrong you just tell him you got a little scared walking back in the dark. 

You don’t tell him someone was watching you because you know he’ll make you pack up and leave again. You want some stability. Even if it's just for a week. So, as stupid as it is, you lie to him and say everything’s fine. 

When you try to go to sleep that night you feel like you’re being watched again. Even with the curtains closed their eyes burn into you. You toss and turn under the heavy weight of the sheets, struggling to get comfortable. 

There’s a low grumble behind you before Logan throws his arm over your waist and tugs you back into his chest. “Stop movin’ around,” he demands, his voice barely audible. You smile a little at how tired he sounds before forcing yourself to settle down. 

He doesn’t give you much choice, using his body as a weight to keep you pinned. You still feel their gaze, even more now, but his proximity brings you enough comfort to get a little bit of restless sleep. 

Logan’s up before you, he always is. He comes in with cheap coffee and free breakfast from the lounge. You push the sheets off your legs, your shirt sticking to your back from the cold sweat of your nervous sleeping. You feel a little more at ease this morning. 

You wonder if you’re developing some late-in-life fear of the dark. You don’t know why you were so upset last night, you feel perfectly fine now. It’s almost like it was all one bad dream. Logan walks over, handing you the coffee wordlessly and rustling around in your bag for something. 

He pulls out the envelope of cash you keep stashed away and frowns at the contents. “Found a job,” he mutters, stuffing the envelope away and turning back towards you. He leans against the desk, face pensive. 

You rub your eyes, trying to wake yourself up a bit more so you sound coherent. “What is it?” You take a sip of the coffee and your face screws up at the aftertaste. 

“Fighting,” his tone is clipped and you wonder what’s got him up in arms. He walks past you, heading into the bathroom, and closing the door behind him. You tilt your head, gaze following him curiously. He doesn’t normally close the door, he usually likes to invite you to join him. 

Something happened and you wonder if he’s hiding the same thing you are. You close your eyes, taking in a deep breath and closing your mind off to the fear from last night. 

By the time Logan is done in the bathroom, you’re feeling more awake. You can’t just dismiss what happened last night. You’ve never gotten scared like that before. You refuse to ignore your instincts, but you’re also not going to let whoever that was terrify you into going back on the road. 

You don’t want things between you and Logan to grow more tense than they already are. The time away from each other yesterday helped a lot. You no longer want to strangle him when you hear him breathe. You’ll just stick closer to him today and see if you feel the eyes on you again tonight. 

“So,” you start, testing the waters to see if he’s still in a bad mood. He glances over at you, eyebrows quirked in curiosity but you’re tongue-tied as you stare at him. However many weeks you’ve been with him and you’re never gonna get used to seeing him straight out of the shower. 

The towel is draped low on his hips, giving you a taunting look at what lies underneath the white cloth. Droplets drip down his abs and you’ve never wanted to be water more than you do right now. It’s unfair, just how attractive he is. 

You always forget what you’re going to say. You can’t think when he has a shirt off, it’s infuriating. Scoffing, you turn away from him and shake your head. You hear him chuckle, you know he knows what you’re thinking about. 

“What’s wrong?” He creeps up behind you, arms wrapping around your waist and tugging you back into his chest. 

“Logan, dammit,” water soaks into the back of your shirt uncomfortably and you tilt your head to glare at him. 

He smirks down at you, “Cat got your tongue, kid?”

You roll your eyes and push away from him. “I can’t even remember what I was going to say.” You snatch a shirt from the dresser and shove it into his hands. “Put this on.”

He scoffs and gives you a disbelieving look. “Are you serious?” You wait for him, gaze expectant. You’re not gonna be able to think when he looks like this. Sighing, he acquieses and tugs the shirt on. His lips fall into a sarcastic line, “Happy?”

Like a switch being flipped you finally remember what you were going to ask him. “The job you told me about. Where is it?”

You can see on his face how little he wants to divulge that information to you. But you know he’s going to tell you. You two made a deal not to hide things, although, you might be breaking your side of that right now. 

“Some shitty bar a few miles from here. Listen-”

You’re not gonna like it. 

I don’t want you tagging along. 

You should just stay here and read or some shit.

You wonder which one he’ll pick today. “You wouldn’t like it, it’s just a shitty little place where I can make some quick cash.” Look at that, it’s rarely ever your first pick excuse. You must be getting better at reading him. 

“I’ll come with you,” you tell him because you’re not asking. You’re not staying by yourself tonight and you both need the money. You grin at him even as his face falls in disappointment. “Maybe I’ll fight.”

He doesn’t even say anything and you immediately regret what you said. The look he’s giving you would put you six feet under if it could. “It was just a joke,” you mutter.

“Wasn’t funny, kid,” he tells you, tone clipped as he moves around you to grab his jeans. “I don’t even want you in those places, let alone fuckin’ fighting.”

You purse your lips and take a seat on the bed, handing him his jacket when he begins looking for it. “I have abilities too, you know. Maybe I could win a fight.”

“Don’t,” he snaps. “I win because I can take the hits people deal me. You can’t,” you don’t bother arguing with him that you heal too. You understand what he means. You might be able to recover physically, but there’s a mental aspect to being knocked on the ground. There’s humiliation and fear in cage fights, you probably wouldn’t be able to handle that side of it. 

He waits for you to say anything else but when he realizes you’ve dropped the subject he lets out a relieved sigh. “You’ll stay in the truck,” he tries. 

You give him a deadpan look, slipping the keys out of your purse and handing them to him. “No way in hell, but I’ll stay by the bar if it makes you feel better.” He stays silent and nods but you know he’ll try and convince you otherwise when you actually get to the place. Tough luck, though, you don’t think it’s safe for either of you to be apart tonight. Even if it’s just staying in the truck. 

The setup of these places is always the same. Though, this bar seems to be particularly disgusting in comparison to other ones you’ve been to. You position yourself near the corner, your back to the wall so you’re less likely to be noticed in the crowd. 

The fights never last more than a few minutes. And that’s if Logan is feeling generous. Most of the time you only need to be here an hour before people get pissed off and go home. Someone bumps into you and you hear a small, “I’m sorry,” before they rush to claim a stool. 

The crowd’s already begun to die out. Most leave while they still have a little money left in their pockets. You duck your head down, catching the eye of the girl who’d bumped into you. She looks young and incredibly skittish. Her eyes keep darting to the tip jar near the bartender. 

She quietly asks for water but the bartender just shakes his head, tugging the jar closer to him. You don’t know why you’re drawn to her, maybe it’s because she looks like one of those sad pound puppies, but you take a seat beside her. 

“Water,” you order, slipping him some change. When he gives it to you, you pass it off to her, spotting the greedy way she eyes it. You know a runaway when you see one, she clearly needs a little help. But Logan’s got enough on his shoulders, you’re not gonna bug him with adding another person to the mix. 

“Thank you,” she gulps it down like she hasn’t drunk anything in days. You feel your stomach twist with empathy. What little cash you have in your wallet, you slip into her bag as you pass by her. Logan will have made enough for it to be spared and it's the least you can do. 

Not everyone is as lucky as you to have someone help them navigate a new life. 

Logan grabs his jacket, wiping blood off from under his nose and heading towards you. You know he’ll want a drink before you go, he always does. Before he can say anything someone’s shouting the name he uses in the cage. “Hey, Wolverine! I want my fucking money back.”

The big man he’d knocked down earlier takes a step towards him. His friend tries to hold him back, but there’s no stopping him. He’s already had his ass kicked once, what makes him think this is going to be any different?

“Not your money anymore, bub.” Logan scoffs and turns back towards you. You just want to leave now. You don’t want to stay for a drink or go get something to eat. You feel the eyes on you again, but when you turn to find them there’s no one there but the girl. 

And she’s not looking at you. Her eyes are wide and staring at something else. “Behind you!” She screeches, and both you and Logan whirl around to find the man barreling towards him with a knife outstretched. 

Logan moves so quickly that you stumble back slightly. He grabs the guy's arm, twisting his wrist until the knife drops to the ground. He shoves him back against the wall, claws out and pinning him there.

“Shit,” you whisper, glancing around as the few patrons of the bar stare in horror at Logan. The people counting his money stop and tuck it back into the cash box. You clench your eyes shut in irritation, he’s not gonna be getting paid tonight, that’s for sure. 

There’s a strange noise behind you, like someone cocking a gun. You turn around slowly, gasping when you see the bartender pointing the barrel of his shotgun at your chest. He’s not aiming it at Logan, he’s aiming it at you. Like he somehow knows that’s the only way to get him to back off. 

It’s not like he was going to kill the guy, besides, he came at him with a knife first. What’s the difference if Logan’s a mutant? He’s defending himself. Why does no one understand that?

“Get out of my bar,” the old man warns lowly, taking a step closer to you. Logan turns around and finally spots what’s going on. 

“Pay me and I’ll be on my way.” You know you’d be able to heal from the shotgun blast, but you don’t exactly want to go through it. 

The old man laughs and shakes his head. “You’re not getting paid, buddy. Get the fuck out of my bar before I put a hole in your little girlfriend.”

Your eyes narrow in disbelief. You debate with yourself for a moment, if this is smart or not. But the guy’s being a prick and you’re sick of people treating mutants like they’re less than nothing. You flick your wrist and the shotgun goes flying out of his hand. 

You glance over at the cashbox and it comes floating towards you, landing easily in your outstretched palm. “Be thankful I’m not blowing a hole in you,” you warn, glaring at the cowering man. You walk forward and he stumbles back and you try not to focus on the sick feeling of satisfaction it brings you. You grab the tip jar and shove it towards the girl at the end of the bar. “Good luck, kid.”

Logan releases the man from the before, taking a step towards you. You feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up and rush towards the exit of the bar. You need to just get the fuck out of this town as quickly as possible, you’re not safe here anymore. 

Logan seems to agree with you. He gets into the truck and doesn’t turn back to the motel. Instead, he turns onto the highway while you keep your eyes peeled on the trees outside your window. There’s someone out there, still following you. 

“Something’s wrong with the suspension,” you glance up from where you’d been working on breaking open the cashbox and frown. Logan’s glaring down at the steering wheel, it seems like he’s struggling to get it to turn properly. 

“What?”

He scoffs and glares at you, “How should I know?” He pulls over to the side of the road, opens his door, and lets in a rush of cool air and snow. You toss the cashbox to the back of the trailer and follow after him. 

He goes to where he’s pulling his motorcycle and you feel like you notice an extra bump under the tarp. “What’s that?” You take a step towards it just as Logan pulls it back. You have to bite back a laugh when you see the girl from last night curled up next to his motorcycle. 

She gives you both guilty looks and slowly sits up. “I’m sorry,” Logan offers her a hand and she gets out of the trailer. He grabs her bag and drops it at her feet. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“Find a different ride,” he growls, already heading back to the truck. You open your mouth, prepared to argue, but you can’t force her on him. As much as you might want to help her. She’s better off away from the two of you.

“You’re just gonna leave me here?” She snaps at him, a little attitude finally showing through. 

“Yep!” He gets in the truck and you know he wants to drive off immediately but he has to wait for you. You shoot her an apologetic look as you follow after him, slipping into the seat beside him. He starts the engine, driving off slowly, eyes drifting towards the rearview mirror. 

You bite your tongue, trying not to point out how cruel he is leaving her on a snowy highway in the middle of nowhere. He glances over at you, “What?” He snaps. 

You shake your head and shrug. “Nothing.” You’ve barely finished speaking before he’s slamming on his brakes. 

“God dammit,” he mutters, running a hand over the stubble on his jaw. You can’t help the grin on your face, reaching over to open your door. It doesn’t take long for the girl to catch on, scooping up her bag and chasing after you. 

“You’re such a softie,” you tease him. 

“Shut the hell up.”

Rogue is nice, if not a little odd. She claims to be a mutant too but doesn’t want to give specifics on her abilities. You don’t want to push her but you are curious about the gloves she wears. “What kind of name is Wolverine?” She asks, spotting Logan’s tags. 

He glances over at her and smiles slightly, “What kind of a name is Rogue?”

She goes to say something but you throw your arm out, holding her back as you shout, “Logan, watch out!” He tries to hit his brakes in time but the tree’s already coming down. The truck slams into it and it’s like time slows down, only for a moment. 

You can feel the impact of your body against the windshield, the glass dragging along your scalp and skin. It’s like a million razors each slicing into you. And then, you’re flying through the air, head snapping so hard against the ground you can’t see anything. 

You hear something happening around you, a roar that doesn’t sound human echoing through the air. There’s the sound of metal crunching and someone is screaming in the distance but you can’t see. It’s not like a total void of darkness, there’s just nothing. 

You feel the blood slowly leaking down the back of your skull and something lands harshly against your head. You don’t think much time has passed. When your eyes finally open, however, you’re not lying on the pavement. 

The world around you is foreign. It smells like a hospital but it’s not like any you’ve ever seen. X-rays are hanging on the wall and paperwork is scattered on a desk near the bed you’re lying on. 

Your mind is blank for a moment. Slowly turning back on while you process the sudden change of scenery. You don’t even remember closing your eyes, you don’t know when your vision came back to you or how long you’ve been here. 

The terror sets in quickly. You throw the blankets off your legs, staring down at the pajamas you wear in disgust. Someone had changed you. They’d run tests and done X-rays on you and you don’t remember a second of it. 

You rip the needle out of your arm, tossing it to the floor and running towards the door. Your feet slip on the metal floors as you run but you’re afraid to stop. Everything around you looks more and more like a lab. 

Did someone from the bar call some government agency? You’ve heard horror stories from your father about the tests the military has run on mutants. You’re starting to worry that’s what's happening to you. 

But you doubt the military would make it so easy for you to escape. This has to be something else. You’d heard other voices when you’d been lying on the ground. People who had been trying to help. Could that be who took you?

“You caught on quicker than your friend.” You nearly fall flat on your face, flipping around to see who spoke. But no one’s there. You’re completely alone. “I’m just grateful you didn’t choke out one of my associates.” it’s coming from beside you now. 

It’s all around you, the voice floating through the walls until you think he might be in your mind. “Much faster than your friend,” he sounds gleeful and it makes you even more anxious. “I’m a telepath, darling, nothing to fear. If you’d just take that elevator and come up to meet me.”

You’d have to be an idiot to actually listen to the voices in your head. But you don’t see another way out of here. So, reluctantly, you follow the floating voice’s instructions and slip inside the elevator. 

When the door opens up again you don’t have a chance to step inside before someone’s pushing you back. Logan stands in front of you, hands clamped tightly around your shoulders while he looks you over. 

You sink into his arms, hugging him tightly to you. You’d been terrified you were all alone here. It’s more than a relief to see him again. “You’re okay?” He asks, pulling back to look at you one last time. 

You nod, throat too dry to try and form a coherent sentence. You glance over his shoulders brows furrowed at the people awkwardly watching you reunite. There’s a man in a wheelchair smiling at you, “Ah, glad you could make it.” The floating voice, of course. “Logan here was quite worried about you.”

Logan turns to glare at the man and you offer a slight smile. There is something comforting about him. You’re not exactly threatened by an old guy in a wheelchair. The redhead behind him, however, is bugging you. Something about the way she’s looking at Logan doesn’t sit right with you. 

“Welcome to my school for the exceptionally gifted,” something about the way he says that makes you tilt your head in confusion. You don’t know what he means until there’s a puff of smoke behind him and some kid is walking by with their hair on fire like it’s nothing. 

Mutants. It’s an entire school for mutants. You think you could pass out again. 

“It’s the best place we could have ended up, Logan. This is amazing.” You’ve been going back and forth for an hour. He won’t see reason. He keeps saying you need to leave. That you don’t know these people and it could all be one big trap. 

You don’t understand him, why he’s so desperate to get away from people like the both of you.  You’re rejected in every other corner of society. You could have something real here. 

It hits you at once. That’s the problem. He’s not ready for something real. He’s not used to it because he’s never had it before. At least you could pretend at a sense of normalcy living at home. It’s an entirely new concept to him, sticking to one place for so long. 

“We don’t know these people,” he hisses, leaning over the bed to argue with you. You narrow your eyes but your conversation is cut off by a knock on the door. You sigh, walking away from him and swinging the door open. 

Jean is on the other side, a surprised look on her face when she sees you. “Oh, I’m sorry. I was trying to drop these off to Logan.” You glance down at the towels in your hand and give her a strained smile. That’s a flimsy excuse if you’ve ever seen one. “I must have the wrong room.”

You step to the side, opening the door wider so she can see him. He doesn’t even look at her, too busy angrily unmaking the bed. “No, you have the right one.” You hold your hands out expectantly, “I can just take those for you.”

The look on her face is priceless and finally causes a real smile to grow on your lips. She wordlessly hands you the towels, looking disappointed. You don’t know if it's because of what she was trying to do, or because she couldn’t do it. 

Before she leaves you call out a quick, “Tell Scott I said thank you again. Wouldn’t be here without him, after all.” Her shoulders tense and she rushes back down the hall. Whatever little crush or interest she has with Logan is going to need to be dealt with on her own. 

You’ve got enough shit going on without having to worry about her too. You shake your head and slam the door shut, tossing the towels on the desk. Logan sits on the bed, watching you with an odd look. 

“What was that about?”

“She’s into you,” you tell him bluntly, waiting for his reaction. He doesn’t even blink, just glances between the towels and you before shrugging. 

“Not interested.” You don’t want to admit that you feel any relief. There was never any real doubt. But it’s still nice to be reassured. 

You slip into bed beside him, taking his hand and forcing him to meet your gaze. “I know that this isn’t what either of us was expecting, but this is good, Logan. We don’t have to worry about pretending we’re something we’re not. We don’t have to worry about my dad or anyone finding us.”

He doesn’t look entirely convinced. But he lets out a heavy sigh and drags you closer to him. He tucks your head under his chin, placing a brief kiss against your forehead. “If you want to stay, we’ll stay. But I’m not putting on that fucking costume.”

You laugh a little, peering up at him with a grin, “Deal.” 

There’s a place for you here, even if there isn’t in the rest of the world. You can be safe here, you don’t have to worry anymore. You don’t have to fear the eyes on the back of your head because they can’t get you here. 

end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies Wolverine/X-Men, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

General Taglist: @evasmlp ♡ 

Logan Taglist:  @nonamevenus @smexy-bucky-waifu @wh1sp @peony-always @corvusmorte  

@mrs-ephemeral @wolviesgirl @allilium @insomniachox  ♡ 

Asked for part two: @enchantedbutterflies @strawberrylore @ittoscumdump @enananawoah @wotcherboo

@cali0101 @fluffy-b33z @pcrushinnerd @izbelross @saltwaterburns

@likeficsinthewnd ♡ 

[azulpitlane]

vicious I ln4

pairing: lando norris x reader, a little of charles leclerc x reader🫣 summary: lando's fans always attack you yet he does nothing to defend you, inspired by vicious by sabrina carpenter notes: if youre the anon that requested this sorry it took so long lol! but you were so sweet ty masterlist, part two

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user wait is she dating lando??

user there's been rumors of them dating for months but neither of them have confirmed user hopefully not lol

user i had no idea she went on this trip

user yeah cause lando never posts her or even likes her posts lmfaoaofda

user am i the only one that finds her annoying...

user nooo everyone else does lol shes always leeching off lando

yourbff ur perfect babe liked by yourusername

user pls dont let this be a hard launch🧎‍♀️lando get UP

user of course she has to post lando🤣she needs him for the likes

maxfewtrell spent more time on the ground than actually skiing

yourusername SHHHH it was my first time

user why are all these comments about lando?? im only looking at her😍

f1gossip

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f1gossip Y/n Y/l/n spotted in Bali celebrating New Years at Martin Garrix's show, possibly with Lando Norris. The two have sparked dating rumors for a few months now but no confirmation has been made from either of them.

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user we might have to start accepting that theyre dating☹️

user I REFUSE

user wait im new to the fandom, whys everyone hating on y/n i love her music...

user shes always posting lando for attention and he clearly has no interest in her, he doesnt even like her posts user plus his ex >>>>>>> y/n

user she doesnt deserve him, he needs someone lowkey and y/n is such an attention whore

user not surprised shes there, always leeching on him

user right like girl give him space, he aint yours

user im a y/n defender idgaf. everyone in these comments are just jealous liked by yourbff

user yikes... user defending someone who needs a man to stay relevant lol ok

user i miss luisinha😭

user im convinced theyre still dating and shes using lando for pr

y/n hey lan, i safely made it back to the hotel

lando 👍

y/n i still dont understand why you wanted me to leave early though, its not even midnight :(

lando y/n, we talked about this. there was lots of paparazzi there and if they saw us together on midnight they would think we're dating

y/n we ARE dating... why are you acting like we arent?

lando yk what i meant im just trying to protect you from the craziness that comes from dating me baby

y/n im already getting hate, hows hiding me any different?

lando lets just not do this tn. yk how much worse its gonna get it if we confirm anything listen i love you, isnt that enough?

y/n yeah, ily too

lando ill see you later tn❤️

lando baby where are you? come on it was a drunk mistake, yk i only love you it was just martins friend, you know her

y/n oh the girl you told me not to worry about?

lando it didnt mean anything why are you acting like this?

y/n because you fucking cheated. im leaving and im moving out of the apartment

lando please dont, im sorry baby i love you

y/n you say you love me but you can never prove it you hid me away for a whole year, was it so you could hook up with other girls?

lando of course not wth but since there's clearly no trust in this relationship maybe we should end it i wish you the best y/n read

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, pietrapilao and 3,295,203 others

yourusername new year same me, wasnt ever the problem

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yourbff YES WIFEY liked by yourusername

user she unfollowed lando omg.

user WAR IS OVERRRR

pietrapilao out of sight out of mind🧘‍♀️ liked by yourusername

user is this about lando omg...

luisinhaoliveira99 😍😍 liked by yourusername

user ARIANA WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE??? user WHEN DID THEY MEET??? user I NEED THE TEA RNNNNNN

charles_leclerc 🖤

user OH?

user what is going on in these comments omg??

user shes finally realized lando will never date a girl like her

user hahaha fr she finally deleted all her posts with him user probably gonna go for piastri now🤣

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, landonorris and 3,294,234 others

yourusername took some time off music but dont worry, im back and ready to prove i dont need anybody to stay successful

vicious is out now💌

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user OH NOWWW LANDO LIKES HER POST

yourbff sooo back baby

user this has to be about lando...

user the lyrics are heartbreaking omg

user you all owe her a big apology for the way you treated her

charles_leclerc you look good in red this comment has been deleted

charles_leclerc love it! this comment has been deleted

charles_leclerc congrats on the new song!!

taylorswift 💌❤️

user yall better not start switching up!! if you were hating on her, stay away

user are we just going to ignore charles' deleted comments??

user bro was NERVOUS

user we dont know if this is about lando!! they were just friends

user you toxic lando fans need to stay away🙄 she was never seen with anyone else this past year so its clearly about him. hes not some saint you paint him out to be user exactly!! you guys are acting like you know him

user her shirt saying loyal🫣thats gotta be a diss

landonorris

liked by carlossainz55, martingarrix and 630,402 others

landonorris pretty vicious life im living rn

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user the caption??? the hard launch??? oh thats not-

maxfewtrell bro. no.

user his own best friend doesnt approve of his behavior😬

user this winter break drama is something else

user lando i cant keep defending you. why would you caption it this.

user IS THAT NEW YEARS KISS GIRL ON THE THIRD SLIDE???

user yess i found her @ shes martin garrix's friend and she was at that party

user anyone else notice luisa unfollowed him??

user she chose her side HAAHAH user pretty ironic cause so many fans were comparing y/n to her and now theyre friends🤣

user whys everyone mad?? its his private life why do you guys care

user oh so now you guys are giving him privacy?? but when he was rumored to be with y/n you were hating...the hypocrisy

yourbff alexa play obsessed by mariah carey🥱

user OOP user the girls are fightingggg

user not even a y/n fan but this was a bit unnecessary...

user "you dont feel remorse, you dont feel the effects" 🫠

f1gossip

240,520 likes

f1gossip Despite hard launching their relationship just one week ago, Lando's new girlfriend has been spotted getting cozy with a different guy! The leaked pictures have already caused for her to go private on all social medias😬

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user karma is A GOD

user i know y/n is having a good day today

user omfg poor lando :(

user womp womp

user i bet he is regretting his decisions rn😭

user y/n nation won today, ln4 nation taking L after L

user we cant catch a break😩

user WHAT IS GOING ON WITH LANDO RN

user craziest winter break yet jeez

Instagram Messages

charles_leclerc hey y/n! i know we havent spoken much but ive seen how lando treated you the few times you were at races and i apologize for never speaking on it i just wanted to tell you you're a great person and your music is so amazing if you ever need anything please just shoot me a text!

landonorris y/n you blocked my number? im sorry about everything baby can we please just talk?

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, maxfewtrell and 4,204,214 others

yourusername im soooo sorry for your loss😊

my new single feather is out now!! special thanks to @charles_leclerc for helping me out in the music video, had so much making it <3

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user this mv was so hot omg

user I WAS NOT EXPECTING THIS BUT I LOVE

user i know a certain someone is FUMING

luisinhaoliveira99 on repeat already!!

yourusername 💋💋 user im convinced luisa reached out after she saw all the comparisons with her and y/n and they became besties user wait that makes so much sense

user f1 twitter is going insane rn

user Y/N NATION KEEPS WINNING

pietra.pilao AHH youre so talented bby liked by yourusername

charles_leclerc had the best time on set with you❤️

yourusername ❤️ user i ship it........

user i want them both

user ofc now shes going for another driver🙄

user oh you guys are OBSESSED with her, get a job user y/n still has them mad LOL

user l**** would never agree to anything like this

user im literally never getting over this, ive watched it 5 times in a row already

landonorris

liked by carlossainz55, maxfewtrell and 940,240 others

landonorris a toast to my real friends

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user if this is a charles sneak diss i will cry

user we got carlando content....but at what price

user oh he definitely got blocked by y/n😭

user dw we're on your side lando

user who is we?

user just take the L and move on bro

user the way 2 songs got everyone to switch up on lando HAHA

user not just that but his shady posts too

charles_leclerc posted a story

Replies

user the girls are OFFICIALLY fighting oh gosh

user next season is going to be interesting...

user my roman empire

user IS THIS A HARD LAUNCH???

user what is happening.

user PARENTS

[grandprixprincess]

hermana part 2 || ln4

lando norris x fem!reader smau + written

part 1!

warnings: some language, slightly steamy scene (no smut but mdni!!), carlos being a protective big brother and lando being down bad

a/n: thanks for all the love on part 1! I decided to do a mix of written + smau for this part. requests are open for smau and text fics <3

landonorris posted

liked by maxfewtrell, yourusername, maxverstappen1, and others

landonorris perfect day in the sun with the best company. getting lots of rest and relaxation before the triple header 🤙

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user1 "best company" aka just y/n

user2 wait she was with him again today??? user1 yes! f1gossip just posted the photos. they were alone all day 👀

user3 omg this means y/n took these pics! y/n.jpg when?

maxfewtrell looks like my invite got lost

user4 💀💀💀

yourusername ☀️🤗

user5 queen y/n thank u for taking these great pics

f1gossip posted

liked by user1, user2, and others

f1gossip Lando Norris and Y/N Y/L/N were spotted getting cozy this afternoon. The two embarked on a private yacht for an afternoon filled with swimming and laughter. Eyewitnesses say the two were alone all afternoon. It seems like things are rapidly heating up with these two. The next time Y/L/N is seen in the paddock, will she be rocking red ❤️ or papaya 🧡?

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user2 LANY/N NATION WAKE UP

user3 i can't believe lany/n is real omg

user1 right?? people used to ship them during the carlando mclaren days and now it's REAL

user4 the hand placement omgggg

user5 i wonder what carlos thinks

user2 who cares? it's their lives not his

user6 y/n in papaya at the austin gp pleaseee

user5 ain't no way. she'll always support carlos first, he is basically her brother

yourusername posted a close friends story

story replies:

yourbestfriend not the private yacht on the FIRST DATE

yourusername technically our first date is tomorrow night yourbestfriend literally stfu you know what i meant

carlossainz55 don't stay out too late

yourusername 🙄

landonorris posted a close friends story

story replies:

maxfewtrell did you tell her that you've been secretly in love with her for like 5 years yet or

landonorris OBVIOUSLY NOT i'm trying to play it cool

oscarpiastri I think I missed a chapter

carlossainz55 get my sister back home early cabrón

landonorris leave us alone carlos carlossainz55 excuse me? landonorris NO SORRY THAT WAS Y/N SHE TOOK MY PHONE landonorris I'll make sure she gets home safe mate! 👍

You giggled as you watched Lando frantically type a message back to Carlos. "Sorry, I couldn't help myself!"

You played with the stem of your wine glass. It had been a dream of a day. You were now sharing a bottle of wine together to end the night.

"Your brother is going to have my head!" He finished typing his message out, feeling satisfied, before setting his phone back down.

Fighting the urge to roll your eyes, you said, "You know he isn't really my brother, right?"

Lando chuckled. "You try telling him that."

"Yeah, yeah, I know." You swirled your glass a bit, taking another sip. "He's always been protective like that."

Lando let out another chuckle. "Oh trust me, I know."

His response and tone piqued your interest. You turned your head towards him, seeing a sly smile on his handsome face. "What do you mean?"

Lando opened and closed his mouth for a few moments, contemplating his words. Finally, he spoke. "I may have tried to ask you out in the past, but Carlos sort of, put a stop to it."

Your jaw dropped in shock. "What?!" You tried to fully understand what he was saying. "When was this exactly?"

Without hesitation, Lando responded, "During Carlos' last year in McLaren."

The shock was evident on your face. Silence rang in the air as you tried to find your words. Lando took the opportunity to speak again.

"And again during his first year in Ferrari."

"What?!" You couldn't believe what you were hearing. When Carlos was at McLaren, you were taking a few years off from school to travel. Traveling the world ended up being easy to do when Carlos agreed to let you tag along to all the races as his "assistant". Carlos was on a new team in F1 with a rookie teammate that was your age. You and Lando became friends quickly, and it wasn't long until you began to harbor a crush on him.

It was a secret only you and Y/BSF/N knew about. You definitely didn't tell Carlos, because you knew how that would go.

Once Carlos left McLaren, you went back to school and your appearances at the races dwindled down to one or two a year. You and Lando went from spending every weekend together running around the paddock, to seeing each other in passing as you made your way to Ferrari and he made his way to McLaren.

"That little shit. I'm going to kill him."

You weren't sure if it was the wine or just how carefree and fun everything with Lando was, but you couldn't stop the fit of giggles that escaped you. After a few moments, Lando joined you in your laughter. Tears began to escape both your eyes.

As the laughter died down, the moment suddenly felt very intimate. Lando's face was extremely close, the rest of the world melting away. "I'm pretty sure I started having a crush on you after that first race weekend." You suddenly felt shy, but you couldn't stop the confession from slipping out.

Now it was Lando's turn to express his surprise, his eyes widening for a moment. He searched your face for a moment, almost like he was waiting for you to tell him you were kidding. Finally, he spoke.

"I really want to kiss you."

You were grateful that the sun had fully gone down now, so there was minimal lighting to help hide the blush creeping on your cheeks. Your heart felt like it was going to beat out of your chest as you whispered out, "Why don't you?"

Lando's adoring gaze had you captivated. "I've wanted to do it for so long now," he confessed, "I want to do it right."

You couldn't help the sly smirk on your face as you teased, "I think we've been pining after each other long enough, don't you think?"

Lando reached his hand forward, cradling your cheek in his hand. His thumb brushed against your cheek, causing goosebumps down your arms.

You wanted to live in this moment forever; Lando being this close, his lips inches from yours. Finally, you both instinctively moved forward, your lips colliding after what felt like an eternity.

You both stilled for a moment, trying to rack your brains over the realization that this was actually and finally happening. After a few seconds, you melted into the kiss, sliding your hands up to rest around his neck.

The two of you moved in sync. It felt like your lips were made for each other. Lando's hand around your head tightened, while his second hand found its home on your waist. One of your hands slide up Lando's neck and into his hair, playing with his curls lightly.

Lando slightly pinched your waist, causing you to gasp, which allowed for his tongue to sneak in. You responded with a slight tug on his curls, causing a groan to escape out of him and into your mouth.

You giggled slightly, breaking the kiss for a moment. "You like that, huh?"

Even though it was dark, you could see how Lando's eyes darkened. With no shame, he responded, "Yes," suddenly his hands slipped down, grabbing your thighs and easily moving you to straddle his lap, "You have no idea the effect anything you do has on me."

Now you were sure it was the wine giving you confidence when you ground your body down to feel his already hard erection. "Oh, I think I have somewhat of an idea." Your hands slipped back into his curls at the nape of his neck, tugging softly.

You relished in the way that Lando's eyes fluttered shut, his hands moving to your hips, guiding them as you continued to grind your body with his.

Lando was putty in your hands. You began to feel the heat in your core. You tugged on Lando's curls again, pulling his head back and eliciting a small moan from his lips.

Bringing your head down, your lips connected with his jaw, peppering him with open mouth kisses on both sides of his face before moving down to his neck.

Lando continued guiding the movement of your hips, his hands tightening around your waist and moving them faster as he felt your lips on his neck. You couldn't hold back the moan that escaped your lips, letting it ring out right in Lando's ear.

Lando was sure he was in heaven. Your moans were music to his ears.

He let one hand leave your hip and travel to your face, bringing you back towards his lips. Your lips collided again, this time with more urgency and desperation.

You both couldn't believe that you had let all these years go by wasted, when you could've been doing this the whole time. You were kissing each other like your lives depended on it.

Lando's hand moved up and down your sides, squeezing slightly, causing another moan to escape from you, and allowing his tongue entrance again.

You moved your hands down his chest, and began to play with the hem of his shirt.

Lando suddenly broke the kiss, breaking the blissful bubble you two had been caught up in.

"We should stop."

You felt fear creep up on you. Had you done something wrong? Did he not want this anymore? As if he could read your worries on your face, he softly brought his lips to yours again for a moment.

"Trust me, I don't want to stop," he began, chuckling lightly, "but I told you. I want to do this right."

You softened at his words. "You're right." You lazily played with his curls again. "Feels like we have to make up for so much lost time, but I'm not going anywhere."

Lando chuckled. "Me either. Now that I know you want me like I want you, you're never getting rid of me." Lando gave you a goofy grin. He moved his hand up, playing with a strand of your hair for a moment before tucking it behind you ear, "I could spend all night making up for lost time, and even then I guarantee I would be leaving wanting more."

You blushed, grateful again for the minimal lighting. Words lost you. Instead, you just gazed lovingly into Lando's eyes.

"Plus, Carlos told me to make sure you're home early, so..."

Lando relished in the way you rolled your eyes and chuckled softly.

The two of you always felt deep down that you had missed out on something great with each other. Now the universe was giving you a second chance to act on it.

yourusername posted

liked by yourbestfriend, iamrebeccad, landonorris, charles_leclerc, and others

yourusername 🌊🤙🖕

tagged: carlossainz55, iamrebeccad

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user1 not tagging lando is crazy 💀 girl we know

user2 shhhh let them cook up a soft launch user3 why would she tag him in this tho user1 that's literally lando's jolly lol

charles_leclerc hahaha the last photo

yourusername yeah that's actually me to carlos rn charles_leclerc never a dull moment with you two 😂😂

user2 her and lando used the same emoji. she posts his car but doesn't tag. he's in the likes. the soft launch of the century is about to begin. in this essay, I will-

user4 carlos in that pic is him reading these comments fr

user5 lando behind the camera of that first pic like 😍🤳

user1 we need y/n on lando.jpg stat

As you waited impatiently for Carlos to return home, your phone chimed, signaling another text had come through. You rolled your eyes, thinking it would be another message from Carlos, but you felt your heart skip a beat seeing Lando's name across your screen.

"Maybe Carlito thought you didn't like him, and was trying to help you out."

You stared at your sister's face on the screen in disbelief. "You're supposed to be on my side here."

Your sister laughed. "I am! I just also know Carlos wouldn't do something like this without a valid reason."

You heard a jingle at the door. "Speak of the devil, he's back."

"Call me later, don't give him a hard time, mana." She gave you a wave. "Oh, and have fun tomorrow night."

"I will, talk to you later." You gave your sister a wave back before ending the call.

You got up from your spot on the couch, walking towards the front door. You stood with your arms crossed as the door opened slowly. Suddenly Rebecca's head popped into view. You gave her a small smile.

"Your brother is behind me waving a white flag."

You couldn't help but laugh. "There shall be peace."

Carlos slowly came into view, his hands raised in defeat. He walked hesitantly towards you, waiting for you to react. Rebecca walked past you, giving your shoulder a light squeeze before disappearing into the bedroom.

"I don't want to argue, mano. I just don't understand."

Carlos stared at you for a moment before leading you back to the couch, sitting down and signaling you to do the same. "Listen, back then, you were so young and I was supposed to be looking after you on the road," he started, "and I know how it is once you get to F1. The fame, media, parties..." he paused for a moment, "The girls." He waited a beat before saying, "That's why I'm telling you to be careful with him now."

You had to fight the urge to roll your eyes. "Lando and I used to have movie nights every race weekend while you and other drivers would go out to clubs and party." You looked down, nervously playing with your hands. "And yeah, I know he does go out now and that he's been seen with different girls, but I know deep down he's still that same guy."

"You guys were kids back then, but now? Lando is usually the first to arrive and the last to leave the club now, always a different girl on his arm."

You finally looked Carlos in the eye, whispering out, "So you think I'm just another girl for him to flaunt around until he gets bored?" You felt your face get hot due to a mix of anger and shame. "I'm not good enough to be something real for him?"

The regret was evident on Carlos' face the second after you spoke. "No, no, hermana, you know that's not what I mean."

"Then what is it? Is it because he's your friend?"

Carlos chuckled. "No, no," he sighed, "I knew you liked him back then. I saw how you looked at him. That dreamy, goofy gleam in your eyes," he said, "and when Lando came to me and said he wanted to ask you out, I panicked."

You were listening intently now. "Why?" you whispered out.

"I think it was the first time I realized you were growing up. The idea of my hermanita dating anyone, nevertheless a driver, freaked me out." He laughed. "I just wanted to protect you from the craziness that comes with being with an F1 driver; I still do."

"Lando said he respects you, and that's why he stayed away back then. But now we're adults, and we're making our own decisions without interference from others." You couldn't stop the smile from creeping back onto your face. "I've always liked him, mano. I want to see where this goes."

Carlos couldn't help but match your smile. He liked seeing you this happy, and if that was because of Lando, then he was willing to be open-minded. "Okay, okay, I'm on board," he chuckled, "but I told you already. If he breaks your heart, he goes into the wall."

You rolled your eyes playfully. "You'd have to catch up to his rocketship in your tractor first."

Carlos' jaw dropped, disbelief written on his face. "I can't believe I've already lost you to the papaya army."

You let out a laugh, nudging his shoulder. "Hey, family always comes first. I'm a Ferrari girl first, papaya girlie second."

"Good, because that would be where I'd draw the line."

"I'm ready for next year, though. Blue is much more my color."

The two of you shared a laugh, before Carlos leaned over to end the moment with a hug. "I love you, hermanita."

"Love you too, Carlitos."

As you and Carlos embraced, you heard a door open slightly. Rebecca appeared, smile evident on her face, happy to see Carlos back in your good graces.

"Anyone down for a late night ice cream run?"

yourusername posted stories

story 2 caption: making them pay for my ice cream like: 🥺 👉👈 i'm just a baby

story replies to story 1:

user1 LANY/N ANTHEM???

user2 "we were supposed to be just friends" omg omg omg

yourbestfriend dude has my girl posting love songs on main already 😭😭😭

yourusername 😂

landonorris is this what they call a soft launch

yourusername 😂🫣 maybe landonorris hmm brb yourusername huh?

story replies to story 2:

yoursister hahaha he really said here have some ice cream pls forgive me

yourusername no but fr 💀

user3 girl you can't just post that song and move on this quickly!!

landonorris posted a story

story replies:

danielricciardo is little lando norris in love???

yourusername 🥹😭

landonorris ❤️

user1 oh ya'll are in LOVEEEE

user2 you guys ain't slick posting these back to back 😭

carlossainz55 thanks a lot, she won't stop playing this song now

oscarpiastri okay I DEFINITELY missed a chapter

a/n: yep there will be a part 3 because I can't stop myself lol if you'd like to be tagged, let me know!

Part 3

tag list: @npcmia @tinyhrry @that-one-little-soybean

[ckret2]

The second dimension has burned (along with half the neighbors) and now there's a bunch of survivors stranded in Dimension Zero; which means the gods have to talk Bill into letting them leave.

Which should be easy, right? They're a bunch of gods and he's just one puny little mortal. Look how small he is.

Puny little mortal. 👍

Here have a fic.

This is part 6 of an ???8-ish??? part plot about the Axolotl meeting this friendly harmless innocent little triangle in the wake of the Euclidean Massacre and then getting repeatedly slapped in the face with all the atrocities Bill's committed. If you want to read and/or look at the pretty art on the other parts, here's one, two, three, four, and five.

####

It hadn't taken long for VENDOR to make preparations to receive another ten million-odd sentient refugees; but then, the Axolotl supposed it wouldn't, considering that THEY could pop out a planet capable of supporting quadrillions at the snap of a finger. (Somebody else's finger, presumably, since vending machines didn't have any.) The most time-consuming part had been determining which gods would be responsible for the refugee shapes currently stranded in Dimension Zero once they were rescued—for speaking for them, for finding out what they ate and supplying it, for finding new suitable 2D and 1D homes for them in dimensions with compatible laws of physics and chemistry. The Axolotl doubted the shapes themselves had been consulted on who they'd like to speak for them.

And then, THEY'd approached the unstable border barely holding the miasmic rubble of half a dozen burned universes inside Dimension Zero, and said, "I hope you're ready to come out of there."

And just like that, the barely visible, twinkling yellow light in the center of the dimension appeared at its border, as if he'd always been there.

Behind the triangle, deep in their "dream realm," the shapes that the triangle had kidnapped/rescued from the cosmic flames, living and dying and undying and unliving, were still trapped in their eternal dance party. How many of them were paying attention to the proceedings through their forced dance? Did any of them understand the negotiations the triangle was making on their behalf? 

The Axolotl was sure their "Magister Mentium" wouldn't allow anyone but himself to speak for the shapes, but VENDOR could find that out the hard way. The Axolotl didn't see any benefit to trying to warn THEM first.

And as expected, the triangle retorted—just as haughtily as VENDOR—"I'm ready to talk. Are you?" The triangle was swirling a drink in a red disposable cup as though he were aerating a fine wine, looking for all the world like he'd been waiting there for hours and VENDOR was the one late to an important meeting.

VENDOR grumbled something that the Axolotl didn't catch besides the word "attitude," and then said, with a diplomatic air that just edged into patronizing, "Well, as long as we're making progress. Come here, let's get started."

"Hmm... nah," the triangle said. "Howsabout you come over here."

VENDOR stared, THEIR camera whirring as its focus narrowed in on the triangle.  "Excuse me? You expect me to get closer to that thing?" (The Axolotl assumed THEY meant the entirety of Dimension Zero.) "Absolutely not. You're already right on the border; just go through it."

The triangle was, indeed, right on the surface of Dimension Zero, like a fleck of glitter stuck on a bubble. He swung back and forth along the dimension's cellophane skin a few times, as though weighing up the thought of peeling himself off of it; and then shrugged, lounged back against the barrier, and sipped his drink. "Naaah, don't feel like it. You come to me! Get cozy! It'll be intimate!" The triangle purred unseductively, "C'mere, big boy, lemme whisper in your... whaddaya got, microphones? An intercom? What are you, some kind of office building?"

"Of all the—! I'm a vending machine!"

"Wooow, really? You're yanking my chain!" He drew a ghostly blue chain out from the esophagus under his eye like a clown pulling a trail of handkerchiefs out of his sleeve.

"It says 'Vendor' on my face!"

"Really? I figured 'Vendor' was the name of the company renting you!"

VENDOR gasped. "You think a god can be rented—?!"

While THEY tried to find adequate words to express THEIR outrage, the triangle's chain disappeared and he squinted at the silver continent-sized logo listing VENDOR's name. "I don't know how you expect anyone to read that anyway; it's all one color," he said. "Well, they make 'em large where you're from! But okay, vending machine, get over here and lemme whisper in your coin slot."

"No!"

"Hey, big as you are, narrow as I am, I bet I could slide right in without even touching the sides!"

VENDOR shuddered hard enough to set off earthquakes on several of THEIR planets. "Is this how you speak to all your gods, mortal?" The two cops at THEIR back bristled menacingly—the crablike cop with two mushrooms for eyes clacking his claws, and the cop made of two interlocked flaming wheels spinning faster and burning higher. 

"Whoa, since when are you one of 'my' gods!" Smugly, the triangle said, "I thought I heard I'm in Lady Morgenstern's district."

Before they could come to blows without ever starting the discussion, the Axolotl called over to VENDOR, "He can't come closer. He's the only one able to keep his dimension from collapsing back into a singularity on the refugees—he has to stay in there in case emergency maintenance is needed."

"Ugh," VENDOR said. "Nevermind, stay where you are then."

With a singsong lilt to his voice, the triangle said, "If you insii-iist!" He settled back against his bubble and took a long, slow sip from his drink.

The Axolotl hated to admit it, but in spite of it all—the horror, the massacres, the cult recruitment, the dancing corpse puppets—he was starting to really like that triangle.

Along with VENDOR and THEIR unofficial police escorts—both of whom seemed content to do nothing but lurk behind THEM and look imposing—several of the gods involved with helping the refugees had assembled to observe the negotiation with the triangle. The storm cloud currently in charge of the Apocalyptic Threat Task Force's operations—who had less to do now that most of the cosmic fires were under control—was drizzling over several other apoc agents, and the tornado in which it carried its personal effects twisted back and forth in a figure 8 beneath the cloud, as though it were pacing in place. At some point, the barricade keeping the reporters from getting too close to the scene had been breached, and now dozens of them—messenger gods, gods of wisdom, gods of truth, twin-headed deities of secrets and revelations—circled the scene with enormous eyes and sharp ears and pens and recorders and cameras.

Until it burned down, the Axolotl had always called Dimension 2 Delta a "wall," because that was always how he was oriented to it during his daily commute—flying home with the dimension to his side—and the now-bloated Dimension Zero where the wall used to be was oriented the same way; but up and down and left and right were arbitrary directions in space when you could just rotate and change them. VENDOR and THEIR accompanying gods had reoriented themselves in relation to Dimension Zero so that it was like a floor rather than a wall—so that they were looking down on the triangle, and forcing him to look up at them.

Even the Axolotl had unconsciously reoriented himself so that he matched the other gods. He couldn't pretend he had any business in this discussion as anything but an uninvited witness; he'd been flying in nervous circles around the group, only just barely within the perimeter established by the reporters, gazing down into Dimension Zero as he did. Even though the triangle was staring straight at VENDOR, his slitted eye felt like one of those trick paintings that gave off the impression that, no matter where the Axolotl was, it was looking directly at him.

He ended up circling near the Time Giant, who was also avoiding the conversation as she worked on her official report on what she'd found in Dimension Zero. As he passed, she absentmindedly patted his head between his frills. Her glove was coated in grease, heavy metals shavings, and stardust.

The triangle said, "So pitch me your big evacuation plan."

"You don't need to worry about the details; it's our responsibility to handle the situation, not a mortal's."

"Humor me," the triangle commanded.

VENDOR valiantly bit back the urge to say something else snide. "Fine. It's a simple process, at least for you. First: you'll all be temporarily relocated to a safe world, where you'll be taken care of. Somewhere... suited to your species's anatomy, as best as we can manage on such short notice." As THEY spoke, THEY began idly flipping through THEIR worlds, juggling them between THEIR coils, apparently mentally measuring up the triangle before THEM against THEIR available selection. The Axolotl had seen THEM do that earlier. A nervous habit, he supposed. The god from the urban planning committee deciding where a few more residents could be moved.

A few of the partiers far below the triangle had apparently noticed the conversation, and had broken off from the party to fly a little closer to the barrier, eavesdropping on the discussion. There was a quiet flurry of excitement at the suggestion they might be getting a planet. (They had so little in there, didn't they?)

"Second: we clean out the rubble that fell beneath the multiverse and ensure everything is stabilized again. Third: we set off Big Bangs to put up new 1D pillars and 2D walls where the old ones used to be, and repair all the standing walls and pillars that were damaged in the fires. We'll likely recycle much of the rubble into the new dimensions. There, that's nice, isn't it? Your new dimension could be made out of what's left of your old one." THEY talked like an adult who didn't like kids trying to persuade a child that this new toy was just as good as one that had been accidentally thrown away.

As VENDOR spoke, the triangle slid off his tall black hat and held it in his hands, looking down at it. No, the Axolotl realized, not at it—into it. He was looking at his speck. The little pearl that contained the scant remains of his universe.

"Fourth: all the refugees are returned to their native dimensions or their replacements."

The grip on the brim of his hat tightened. The triangle looked up sharply.

A few of the shapes who'd broken off from the dance party to eavesdrop looked dubious of this news—the Axolotl noted the line that the triangle had been dancing with earlier among them—but the vast majority looked ecstatic. One of them—a nearly square blue rhombus—rushed back to spread the news to the rest of the party.

But he stopped without reaching them when the triangle demanded, "You think you're going to split us up?"

"Of course! You can't possibly be placed together long term—you're all from so many different dimensions that your molecules probably don't even operate on the same laws of physics." VENDOR pointedly added, "Besides, I know some gods are very eager to have their people returned to them." The Vitruvian Mandala must have talked to THEM about how the triangle got his new followers. (How many of the listening shapes were eager to return to their gods?)

The triangle stared at VENDOR, eye wide and expression unreadable; but for a split second, an inferno of absolute fury raged behind that blank white sclera. "What about me, genius? You don't have a god to foist me off on."

"No, I suppose not," VENDOR sighed. "Naturally, as the last surviving soul from your dimension, you'll be afforded a few more special protections than the others." (The triangle didn't protest the accusation that he was the last.) "Eventually, you'll have the option to move into an afterlife in whatever replaces Dimension 2 Delta, but until then, you'll have to be housed elsewhere, just like the other refugees. Did you have diplomatic relations with any of the neighboring dimensions?"

He said tersely, "No."

(Then that settled the question for good, the Axolotl thought: none of the other shapes came from his home dimension; and he really hadn't known the shapes he'd kidnapped from other universes and called "his" people.)

"Of course not. That will complicate finding another dimension to move you to, but I'm sure he'll help you with that part."

VENDOR tilted in the Axolotl's general direction. Terrific, THEY'd progressed from accusing him of being a stranger's lawyer to volunteering his services.

"Of course, you should expect to be judged and sentenced by the standards of whatever afterlife you join—"

The Axolotl cut in loudly, "I think he'd rather remain a wandering ghost." It was clear the triangle still saw himself as alive. (Maybe, to his species's culture, he was still alive. If the Axolotl had learned anything during his service as a psychopomp, it was that death was as much cultural as it was physical. Most species saw a soul shedding its body as the end, but others saw it the same way as a butterfly shedding a cocoon.)

VENDOR shuddered in distaste. "I can't believe this district still hasn't outlawed letting unruly expired mortals meander around."

Of course THEY were anti-wandering ghosts. The Axolotl didn't know what else he expected. He made a mental note to throw a campaign donation at Municipalitron before the next election. "Yes, it is still legal, and technically isn't illegal on a district-wide level anywhere in the multiverse—wandering ghost legislation is decided at the dimensional level—"

"You can explain his options after he's come out here into civilized space," VENDOR said sourly. "The bottom line is, everyone gets sent home. And that's the plan! All right?" THEY glowered down at the triangle.

With a flick of his wrist, the triangle's hat poofed out of his hand and reappeared above his top angle. "If you want my opinion—"

"There is nothing I have ever wanted less."

"—you're wasting a lot of time creating a worse solution to a problem you invented! Splitting us up, gentrifying our dream realm, forcing us back under gods and locking us up in afterlives? Yikes! We're not refugees, we're liberated—for the first time in our lives! We don't need to be 'sent home'! We're already living in our home!" The triangle put unnecessary emphasis on the word living.

The excitement slowly drained from the eyes of the listening shapes. They looked so tired. How many were already dead? How many wanted to rest in an afterlife?

The triangle said, "Look, I can save you a lot of time on red tape and bureaucracy." He gestured back into Dimension Zero. "Just give us an empty spot outside reality's butthole, we'll pack up our dream realm and fly it there ourselves, and then everything's hunky-dory!"

"Pack your— Fly it—?!" VENDOR scoffed in disbelief. "You must be mad. It would most certainly not be 'hunky-dory'! Your little organic mortal mind can't even grasp how much more difficult, dangerous, and inefficient it would be to relocate and rebuild this wreck instead of simply recycling what's left of it and setting off a new Big Bang. Is it even possible?" THEY'd directed this last question to the Time Giant.

"Hm?" It took her a moment to drag herself from her paperwork and process the question. "Hell, I hope not. It's the worst idea I've ever heard."

"See? I don't even know which district's jurisdiction such a ridiculous project would fall under!"

"So what's the problem?" the triangle asked. "It probably won't be yours! You can foist the paperwork off on some other sucker!" (The Axolotl choked back a laugh.)

"It would circle back around to the urban planning committee eventually," VENDOR said wearily. "We simply don't have room for a—" They turned to the Time Giant again. "How big is this dimension, anyway?"

"'Bout twenty percent bigger than D-2Δ was."

"Oh, what a disaster. Two dimensional?"

"Technically, zero, but it behaves like it has five or six."

"Absolutely barbaric." VENDOR rounded on the triangle. "We don't even have zoning for an oversized zero dimensional property shaped like a six dimensional property! Every last Planck length in the multiverse is already in use; this is a planned community— Are you paying attention?! Don't you roll your eye at me!"

He was indeed rolling his eye as he took a long, slow sip from his red plastic cup. He held up a finger to signal VENDOR to wait until he'd finished. This wasn't doing the triangle any favors, but the Axolotl had the sneaking suspicion he'd decided to ignore VENDOR because VENDOR had started to ignore him.

"Of all the—you're the one who wanted to waste my time finding out how your evacuation will work! You could at least listen!"

VENDOR still thought THEY were giving instructions to a mortal who didn't quite yet fully understand that it was his responsibility to simply obey, and the triangle still thought this was a parley between equals in which he had the option to say no. And, the Axolotl realized, they were both wrong.

A single reality could simultaneously operate on so many vastly different scales. The Axolotl could still hear the triangle saying that he felt every dying thing that fell into Dimension Zero; he could still see the triangle's gaze unfocused from pain and the distraction of holding up a dimension on his back. While a minor local elected official was arguing about zoning law, a mortal was suffering a trillion trillion deaths.

And on a smaller scale even than that, a trillion trillion lives were suffering death—once.

The Axolotl wondered—what justice was there in the fact that the most trivial concerns of gods were infinitely vaster than the worst horror a mortal could ever endure?

(But what justice was there in the fact that one mortal could force so many more to endure the horror with him?)

The triangle finished his drink and sighed, "Yeah, yeah, I'm listening." Like a bored child fidgeting in his seat, the triangle peeled off Dimension Zero's skin and swung backward into his dream realm, so that he was dangling over his eternal party with the soles of his feet still stuck to the bubble. "And all I'm getting out of your yammering is that you want to destroy my dimension because you don't want to deal with a little red tape!" (He stared at the eavesdropping shapes. They flinched and retreated to the party.)

"No," VENDOR said venomously, "I'm saying we can't move the rubble pile you're calling a dimension, because it would require knocking down half of existence to restructure it around your whims."

"Great! Which half do you want me to knock down?"

The Axolotl could faintly hear the click of VENDOR's camera shutter closing and reopening in horror.

The storm cloud had been brooding quietly back with the other apoc agents while VENDOR and the triangle attempted to negotiate, but now it let out a thunderous rumble as it swept like a cold front into the discussion. "Out of the question. The whole point of clearing out the rubble is to prevent any more damage to the surrounding dimensions. We're not going with a plan that causes more apocalypses."

"Oh, for— No one's talking to you, Fog Brain!" The triangle tried to wave the cloud off. "Who do you think you are, the Killjoy God of Stopping Apocalypses?"

The cloud's tornado swerved down to hold its Apocalyptic Threat Task Force badge where the triangle could see. "Yeah, actually."

He gave it a dirty look. "Okay, Officer Fun Police. Here's the deal: me, my people, and my miasma in here are a package deal. I'm not going a-ny-where without them, and they're not going anywhere without me. So if you don't want us knocking the stilts out from under your palafito, then you'd better make an offer better than Coin Slot's little refugee plan!"

"Your people? What gives you the right to speak for them!" The storm's tornado jumped in intensity from F0 to F2, and only grew faster the more it spoke. Through its clouds, the eye of the storm glared down at the triangle. "You mean the people I've watched die all day thanks to your attempts to kidnap them from their own dimensions?!"

The triangle glared right back up into the eye without flinching. "Yeah, and my attempts to rescue them from our world would have a lot better success rate if you incompetent losers didn't keep getting in my way!"

In a startling display of unity, the storm cloud and VENDOR both started shouting at the triangle, one after the other: "Rescued?! The ATTF was already rescuing them! We're professionals! You're the one mucking up all our operations—"

"And you're the only reason these mortals need rescuing! You caused this crisis in the first place; you spread all the fires—"

"—and mangled or cremated half the people you're trying to save—!"

"You're forcing millions of people to float aimlessly in an unstable, barren void! Those mortals belong out here, under divine supervision, on a real world!" VENDOR punctuated this with a rev of THEIR motors and THEIR coils half twisting forward, like THEY were tempted to launch THEIR whole stock of worlds at the triangle in anger. "I am a vending machine full of planets. Any one of these would be better than your colorful cesspit! What are you offering?!"

The triangle was glowing red-hot, trembling with rage. "Everything they were ever told they can't have," he said. "Freedom. Immortality. Utopia!" With a noise like a whip crack, the triangle snapped his arm down (up?) to point at his eternal dance party; and suddenly his eternal party was right there, and he was in the middle of it. "This is what I'm offering! Isn't that right, gang?! We're keeping this party going forever!" A loud roar of voices cheered in response. (It was, the Axolotl thought, nowhere near ten million voices. The shapes that had been eavesdropping earlier had blended back into the crowd. The only one the Axolotl could still see was the blue rhombus, glaring resentfully at the triangle.)

With an impressive synthesized approximation of the sound of speaking through gritted teeth, VENDOR said, "Why would you want to squat in the rubble of half a dozen destroyed dimensions when we could recycle it into a new dimension?!"

In truth, the Axolotl was wondering the same thing. He could understand if the triangle were just trying to maintain his independence from an overbearing god—the triangle clearly liked being in charge—but then why not offer the rubble from Dimension 2 Delta in exchange for the right to rule the new dimension that would be made with it? VENDOR would never agree to that deal—not that THEY even had the authority to agree—but that hadn't stopped the triangle from making even less likely demands. Or why not trade the rubble to the gods in exchange for an equivalently-sized stable universe to throw his unending party in? Hell, why not say he'd take a newly-vended planet as long as he could rule it without any unwanted divine intervention? His people didn't want to live like this. Why did he?

With great dignity, the triangle straightened out his hat, casually swirled his drink, and floated up off the surface of the bubble—and the Axolotl realized that the triangle hadn't been standing "upside down." All along, he'd been doing the same thing VENDOR had done to him: repositioning himself so that the surface of the barrier between the zeroth dimension and the third dimension was his floor, so that the gods he spoke to were beneath his very feet.

He didn't answer VENDOR's question. Instead, he asked his own: "Why would I want to be a dead freak in somebody else's universe, when I can be an eternal god in mine?"

So many things—his insistence that he was alive, his contempt for the gods that tried to assert their superiority, his determination to repair his own reality, his absolute control over his people—suddenly made sense.

VENDOR leaned away from the triangle. "You? Think you? Get to be? A god?" THEIR two police escorts, who so far had managed to stay silent, burst out in mocking laughter.

The triangle stared imperiously down upon VENDOR, THEIR hundreds of worlds, and the countless gods watching. "It seems to me like I already am one!"  Arms outstretched, he gestured around himself at Dimension Zero, at his eternal party. A cacophony of every song at once poured out into the higher dimensions and all lights shone on him like a strobing halo. "I created a universe by myself! A dream realm where ideas and reality overlap, where a thought's just as powerful as an act! A dimension of color and life that's free from all laws and restrictions—even gravity! If that's not godly, I don't know what is!"

Honestly, the Axolotl thought it was kind of impressive that the triangle had spun his failure to get the gravity working into a perk.

The crablike cop hooted with laughter and said to his partner, "How stupid does he think we are?"

"You're no creator god," VENDOR said. "Everything you have fell in from Dimension 2 Delta and its neighboring dimensions—we know that much."

The triangle was silent for a long moment; and the Axolotl got the sense, by the look in his eye, that he was choosing his next words very carefully. Like a creator god preparing to speak a reality into existence.

Voice low and hard, he said, "You don't think it got in here all by itself, do you?"

VENDOR gasped sharply. THEY weren't the only one. A crackle of thunder and a low rumble filled the still space—followed by hundreds of tiny, twinkling lights from the outer ring of gods, the flashes of the reporters' cameras. Recording the mortal who claimed he'd killed an entire universe.

The triangle, glaring defiantly down at them all, seemed to glow a little brighter with each flash.

No. Not that curious, cocky, bright-eyed little triangle. The Axolotl couldn't believe he had wanted to destroy his own dimension.

But... he did believe the triangle had done it. On some level, he'd known.

The storm cloud cut in, "Hold on, hold on, hold on." It seemed to be the only one who could find something to say. The Axolotl was sure it had known, too; it had only been waiting for confirmation. Making a valiant effort to rein in its rage, it retrieved its interview and asked, "How did you destroy your dimension?"

The triangle's hands curled into fists, crushing his cup. "I didn't say I destroyed it. I renovated." He said it so haughtily. He said it like he needed to believe it himself. "It was close-minded and claustrophobic! It needed a lotta work! The whole thing ended up being a teardown! A place like that, the only thing you can do is—burn it down and start over."

The Axolotl could hear the triangle's voice catch and fall quieter as he regretted his choice of words before he'd even finished saying them. His heart broke. No. He knew the triangle didn't mean that. He was torturing himself to keep as many of his people alive as possible, he couldn't have meant to destroy all those lives—

The triangle raised his voice again—not quite shouting, but straining to project his words, to ensure everyone, everyone, would hear him. (Over the next trillion years, the Axolotl would come to think of this as the default way he spoke.) "We're building a better world here. One where we're all finally free. Isn't that right?!" His undead, undying revelers cheered and applauded. This speech wasn't for the storm cloud; it was for his followers and the reporters. He was putting on a performance. What a show it must be through the cameras: the lights, the music, the proud glittering shape in the center of it all.

The storm demanded, "How did you do it?"

The triangle hesitated again, searching again for the right words, the right story. His eye darted to the side, toward his listening people. Like a bad radio signal, the dance music was infected by a rising static hiss.

But before he could come up with an answer, VENDOR snarled, "It doesn't matter; that's all we need to know! We don't need to wait for him to enter the third dimension anymore—" THEY turned to the cops, "—arrest him now!"

The triangle flinched. "Wait, what?" He glared accusatorially between the Axolotl and the Time Giant. "You! You set me up!"

"Did not," the Time Giant muttered resentfully. "I gave the ATTF my verbal report. What they do with the report ain't my problem."

The Axolotl didn't even respond to the accusation. Operating on pure reflex, he'd already dove in front of the triangle, gills flared and curled forward, putting himself in between the accused criminal and the gods of punishment.

"You can't be serious!" His gaze darted in disbelief between the gods he'd spoken to the most throughout this whole wretched incident. The Time Giant's jaw was set hard and she kept her face turned from the scene as she continued to work on her official report; the storm's cloud had darkened and its rain fell heavy and cold; and VENDOR—well, VENDOR still looked like a vending machine, but the Axolotl had no doubt THEY were determined to carry this through. "He's a refugee seeking asylum! You should be worried about getting him and his people to safety!"

The Axolotl felt the triangle's eye on him like a laser. "They can't do that." (He had only heard that nervous waver in the triangle's voice once before. Yesterday—before Dimension 2 Delta burned—the very first time the triangle had ever met a higher dimensional being.)

"We can." VENDOR's camera focused on the Axolotl. "Unless you have any legal objections."

He nearly demanded THEY explain what legal grounds THEY possibly had to arrest him—and then realized what an idiot he was for not seeing this coming. He'd been so blinded by the fact that he was sure the triangle hadn't meant it that he hadn't registered what the triangle had done.

The triangle had burned down multiple dimensions by ignorantly messing with the fabric of reality. He'd selectively targeted entire populated worlds—and accident or not, he'd incinerated them. On the immense scale of crimes this triangle was operating on, personally kidnapping millions and slaughtering billions who got caught in the crossfire was the least of his sins. VENDOR didn't want the triangle shuffled into some afterlife to get him out of the way; THEY wanted him damned.

But the gods had divine laws, and how they judged the mortals and sentenced the dead were among the most complex branches. What you could punish the living for, and what you had to wait until their death to punish; whether a ghost could be allowed to wander; where a psychopomp could escort the dead; when and how gods could reincarnate a soul... Rules, rules, rules.

And one rule was that a god couldn't legally arrest a mortal outside their own jurisdiction, under any circumstances, without permission from a god who did have jurisdiction.

Any gods who once held jurisdiction over the souls born in 2Δ were dead. The only gods who could arrest the triangle now were whatever gods had authority over the territory he was in.

No one and nothing had ever had authority over Dimension Zero.

The triangle had stumbled his way into the only pure neutral territory in all of reality. He could not be legally arrested.

That was why VENDOR had been so eager to get the triangle out of Dimension Zero; that was why THEY were so impatient with his protests and questions. This was all just a ploy to lure out the triangle so they could make an arrest that neither the witnessing reporters nor the neighborhood's most stubborn afterlife lawyer could legally challenge.

However... those were the rules for arresting a mortal. Arresting a god was different.

Any gods that operated on a higher than galactic level agreed that nothing mattered more than preventing divine threats to the multiverse, by any means necessary. Whoever could make the arrest should make the arrest, and they'd figure out who was in charge of the troublemaker later. Jurisdiction was irrelevant when it came to stopping a god who committed crimes against reality.

Which was exactly what the little triangle had claimed to be.

"Well?" VENDOR pressed. "Any problems, attorney?"

The triangle had the kind of eye that gave off the impression that he was always looking at you, no matter where you were; but now it felt different. Now, the Axolotl truly felt the triangle was looking directly at him.

It wasn't one of those creepy being-stared-at feelings that made his back prickle and his gills curl. It was more like the sensation he got in court whenever one of his clients was looking to him for support and protection, when the Axolotl was the only thing standing between them and death, damnation, or worse.

The Axolotl wracked his brain for any reason to object to an arrest. He was sure, he was sure, that the triangle didn't want to hurt anyone... but the Axolotl's opinions weren't relevant. The triangle was a self-professed god who had confessed to deliberately destroying his home dimension. He was more than an active threat to existence itself—the fires were still burning.

But... "You'll have to prove he's a god." Which was more difficult than one might think. A legally airtight definition of what was and wasn't a god was notoriously elusive. "If you cross dimensional lines to arrest him and then can't prove he's divine, any decent defense attorney could get the whole case thrown out." Which was maybe a slight exaggeration—any decent prosecutor wouldn't let a mortal who'd destroyed a dimension go unpunished, even if they had to hunt him down with their own scythes and fangs—but the Axolotl didn't see any judges here to call him out.

"Pinky's right," the crablike cop said—and only then did the Axolotl realize he and the flaming wheels hadn't budged an inch at VENDOR's order. "Shoulda waited for him to come out."

VENDOR spluttered indignantly. "But you don't have to prove he's a god to arrest him, do you? Just—just that you had reason to think he's one? Isn't that how it works?"

The crab's mushroom eyestalks and the wheels' hundred eyes exchanged a look. The wheels said flatly, "If we claim we had probable cause to believe the mortal's a god because the mortal himself said so, we'll be laughed out of the courtroom."

"Hey! Are you calling me a liar?!" The triangle flared red hot. Some of his shapes had stopped dancing again to stare at the argument. "I made a dimension! If that's not godly, what is?!" Frustrated, he gestured again at the party behind him and the dream realm beyond. (One of the shapes who'd stopped dancing waved.) "Were you listening to that part of the conversation? Or didja get too many retinas to leave room for a cochlea or two, Eyeballs?! How about you, Pinchers; is that gunk growing out of your shell clogging your ears?"

The rings' flames blazed a bit hotter as he seethed, but the crab's two mushrooms reeled back in offense and he clacked his claws furiously. "Those are my brains, you idiot!"

"No kidding?"

The Axolotl swore he could see the malice in the triangle's eye as he thought of ways to abuse this new information. Before the triangle had a chance, the Axolotl dove in the way of his line of sight to the cop and hissed, "Shh! Whose side are you on?" Handing his future prosecutor ammo was bad enough; he had to insult the cops too?

"I could ask you the same thing! All I hear you doing is telling them a better way to arrest me!"

"You don't want to be charged as a god—!" 

"Maybe I do!" Growing more heated, he shouted, "Nobody could do this by accident! It's impossible! Obviously I meant to do it, how could it have happened if I didn't mean to do it?!"

Oh, the Axolotl thought. Oh. Oh, no. This poor child.

The crab laughed loudly. "This pipsqueak's funny!"

"You're a mere mortal with some magic tricks," the flaming wheels said coldly. "You probably have a superpower or two. That doesn't makes you a god."

The triangle's gaze locked onto the cops like a prison searchlight on two escaping convicts. His eye darted between them, sizing them up like a predator choosing the easier prey; and then focused on the crab. "You want me to prove it?" He shoved his crumpled red cup over to one of his nearby followers. (In his rage, he didn't seem to notice that he'd shoved the cup into his follower, in the middle of his 2D organs.) The triangle pointed at the crab. "Come over here! I'll show you!"

"He thinks we're stupid," the rings said.

The crab jabbed a claw toward Dimension Zero. "If you were a god, I wouldn't have to come over there for you to pull whatever dumb trick you're trying! You'd be omnipotent enough to just do it!"

"If you're so sure I'm lying, you've got nothing to lose! So what are you waiting for?! Sounds to me like you're scared! Afraid a little mortal pipsqueak might hurt you if you step into his domain? You scared of pipsqueaks, Pinchers?"

The crab clacked his claws angrily. The two wheels' fires flared up, their furious eyes as bright as stars, glaring at the triangle with the force of a hundred steel-melting sunbeams. The crab growled, "Of course I'm not scared of a stupid little—"

"Then what're you waiting for, fungus brain?!" The triangle didn't even squint under the burning ring lights. If anything, he seemed to soak up the light, growing brighter by the second. He slung an arm around a nearby trapezoid (who started as the Magister Mentium somehow gripped her through a dimension she couldn't see) and said, "Everyone here knows that you're a big, scared coward who's too afraid to face down one puny little mortal. You big chicken!" He turned to shout to his imprisoned people, "Hey everyone, look at the big chicken who's scared of a mortal! What a loser!" 

"Fine! I'll show you what a god is—" Claws crashing together like thunderclaps, the crab stormed up to the border of Dimension Zero.

The second the crab stuck his face through, the triangle twirled upside down.

The entire dimension turned upside down with him. It ground against the nearest walls as it laboriously rotated; all of reality shuddered.

The shapes trapped inside shrieked.

The crab wobbled back.

His face was upside-down, the stalks of his mushrooms were tied in a bow, his claws were attached backwards, and his shell was unevenly coated in purple glitter glue. "Well," he said woozily, "I think that triangle's a god."

"Now will you arrest him?" VENDOR demanded.

The flaming wheels shook themselves out of their shock. "Fall back, kid," they said sharply. "I'll handle this."

"Sure, sarge." Trying to get his mushrooms untied, the crab cop stumbled sideways back toward Dimension Zero. One of the other cop's wheels hooked around one of his legs and tugged. The crab stumbled sideways the other direction. 

And then the wheels turned their full attention on the triangle. "It's too bad hubris isn't illegal here." The rings grew, and grew, and grew hotter, and hotter; until, at last, they were vast enough that one ring could have held a supermassive black hole in its circumference. "YOU COULD HAVE LEARNED THE EASY WAY WHY IT'S A BAD IDEA."

The wheels whirled like some eldritch cross between saw blades and pulsars as they approached the border of Dimension Zero. Their countless eyes opened and shut in hypnotic patterns, red and blue, red and blue. The reporters' camera flashes petered out; the ones taking notes into recorders fell silent. The power that poured off the whirling flaming wheels, both physical and psychological, was suffocating. Even as ancient and powerful as the Axolotl was, and even though the display wasn't aimed at him, he could feel it like a pressure on his lungs—feel it like swimming through water without oxygen. This was the sort of god that could incinerate a million worlds with one rotation. 

But the triangle only momentarily flinched back at the red and blue flashing; and then the display made the triangle stronger. Soaking in the heat, the light—glowing brighter, hotter, redder, angrier. "You wanna get me?!" 

The empty space around him burst into flames—pale, blue flames, reeking of burning hydrogen. Several of the more lucid nearby dancers shrieked in terror.

The helpless shapes burned up. But the triangle simply burned.

He grew in size, larger than the Axolotl, than VENDOR, than even the flaming wheels—larger than all the assembled gods combined—filled the entire visible cosmos with light. "Then come get me!"

Lightning and his knuckles both cracked menacingly; and the sound echoed across a dozen fracturing realities. Gouts of fire erupted from Dimension Zero, shooting from the second dimensions into the thirds. The gods froze as the fabric of reality vibrated with trillions of trillions of voices screaming in agony as they were incinerated.

The triangle's eye was wider than the twin rings' circumference. Dimension Zero pulled taut around him. Dimension Zero was triangular. And though it hadn't moved, it was clear that the gods were no longer looking down at Dimension Zero; they were staring up into it.

The twirling rings skidded to a stop as they realized that, in all their million-world-incinerating wrath, they were a matchstick next to this volcano. "Whoa—whoa! Stay back—"

"Whatsamatter, handcuffs? Can't handle the HEAT?!" The nauseating, kaleidoscopic miasma behind where the wall used to be lurched toward them. Every god flinched back as the formless color feigned grabbing at them. "Shoulda thought of that before you stepped into my kitchen! I'll boil you alive!" The triangle let out a terrible, hysterical, shrieking laugh that echoed between the stars. 

Columns of roiling colors, like amoeba-like feelers the size of a galaxy, bulged out of Dimension Zero, curled around the edges of the crumbling husks of the neighboring dimensions—2 Gamma, 2 Epsilon, 2 Zeta—and reached out, looking for somewhere else to get purchase. Whatever had filled Dimension Zero appeared to be trying to crawl upside-down out of its prison and into the third dimension. In all his existence, in his worst nightmares, the Axolotl had never seen anything like it before. Oozing reality dripped lava-lamplike from Dimension Zero, lurching closer to the shaking twin-ringed cop, preparing to crush them like two pieces of cereal in a formless palm—

And then existence itself let out a howl of pain.

Everyone froze.

The triangle shrank back to his usual size with the speed of a balloon popping. His wide eye darted around nervously. "What."

The multiverse was still. The triangle shook it off, pushed against the border of Dimension Zero, and tried again to squeeze his dream realm out of the bloated singularity into the multiverse—and reality screamed again, like the sound of solid metal being twisted and ripped in half. Its echoes continued long after the triangle froze again—followed up by an alarming series of creaks and punctuated by a CRACK that made everyone assembled flinch.

The Time Giant swore and muttered, "That sounded like something important."

The triangle jerked back again, and only then seemed to notice that he was still burning. He looked at his hands, coated in pale blue flames.

The Axolotl couldn't see the trapezoid the triangle had had his arm around a moment ago.

The apoc agents were already a flurry of activity. The storm cloud—so terrified that it had started hailing—shakily pulled a walkie-talkie from its tornado and demanded info on the status of the second dimensions, trying to figure out what had cracked and what they could possibly do to mitigate the devastation. Replies tumbled in, overlapping each other, frantically reporting fires in dimensions the Axolotl had never heard of before. He could already see how the line of blue fire on the cosmic horizon had grown so much brighter, stretching out into space. Please, don't let the fires have spread to the third dimensions.

The triangle was shaking like a leaf in a hurricane. Trying to sound more confident than he looked, he squeaked, "I think I've made my point! I'll let you losers off with a warning this time!"

The cops had somehow managed to put the entire line of reporters in between them and Dimension Zero. The crab ducked his mushrooms down when the triangle addressed them. The rotating rings shrank a little smaller, but muttered, "Well—we're—we're watching you."

The triangle surveyed the ring's hundred eyes. "Yeah," he drawled, "you look like you're good at that."

Voice shaking, the Time Giant barked at the triangle, "Are you nuts?" She gestured furiously toward the growing line of fire on the horizon; spurts of blue flame were still erupting into the third dimension. "I told you that moving around would damage—!"

"Don't. Don't provoke him," the Axolotl said. "He still has hostages in there."

"Hey!" the triangle shouted, and the Axolotl flinched. The triangle strained against the thin membrane of Dimension Zero to lunge at the Axolotl. "Watch who you're calling hostages! Hey, are any of you hostages?" He whipped around to stare at his people.

None answered. The ones who were lucid and living simply stared in silent terror.

"That's what I thought!" the triangle said. "Now, why aren't you dancing! Is this a party or not!" He whipped around again to face the Axolotl. "If you wanna go too, let's go. Just try to enter my kingdom, see what happens."

"No." The Axolotl could take it. The Axolotl was an axolotl; anything he lost, he could regrow. But the shapes that would be caught in the crossfire couldn't.

"Didn't think so," the triangle snarled. "If you want to kidnap my worshipers, you'll have to come in here and get them." His voice dropped to a deep, booming growl that echoed through the stars. "Because we're staying. Right. Here."

The Axolotl could hear VENDOR's motors whining in stress as THEY tensed up at that ultimatum, but THEY knew better than to argue. The triangle's eye twisted into a satisfied smirk.

The triangle couldn't leave his "dream realm," the Axolotl realized. That was why he threatened to fight anyone who crossed his borders: he couldn't attack them before then. He could crawl out of Dimension Zero, but not without dragging along the entire world he'd built inside of it. No wonder he hadn't even considered VENDOR's plan to move him somewhere else so Dimension 2 Delta's rubble could be recycled. He and his miasma were a package deal.

But—why couldn't he leave his dream realm?

"You know you can't stay in there," the Time Giant said, gently pushing aside the Axolotl when he tried to shush her. "It's too unstable—"

"I'll repair it."

"And I told you the entire multiverse will collapse if you keep making 'repairs'—"

"Your multiverse isn't my problem," the triangle said icily. "I can stabilize my dimension just fine. Maybe you need to get off my hypotenuse and worry about stabilizing your own dimensions." He was speaking past her now, talking instead toward the reporters—talking to the whole multiverse.

"It'll be your problem when the omnipocalypse crunches you, too! What'll you do when all those higher dimensions crash down on yours?!"

The triangle spread his arms and said, simply, "Welcome them to the party."

####

(Thanks for reading!! If the art lured you in and this is the first chapter you read, this is part 6 of a 7-or-8-or-9 part fic that keeps getting more parts, about the Axolotl in the immediate aftermath of the Euclidean Massacre. I'll be posting one chapter a week, Fridays 5pm CST, so stick around if you wanna watch the Axolotl deal with the fact that the sweet little triangle is, in fact, the bad guy. :,(

It's ALSO chapter 66 of an ongoing post-canon post-TBOB very-reluctantly-human Bill fic. So if you wanna read more of me writing Bill, check it out. If you're not sold on the idea of a human Bill fic, I've also got a one-shot about normal triangle Bill escaping the Theraprism if you wanna read that.

If this is NOT your first time here and you already knew all of the above: tbh this is probably all of you at this point, but I'm maintaining hope that contextless art of Bill & the Axolotl doing stuff will continue to lure in curious new readers until this arc is done lmfao.

At long last, the characters learn what the audience has known the whole time. This chapter had several big moments, looking forward to hearing y'all's thoughts!!)

[kithtaehyung]

broken, pt. 1 (3tan) | myg

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

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Words abandon you.

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

All of those moments shattering into dust around your heels. 

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

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

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

“Course I do.”

Huh? Wait. Why does he sound so—

“I was there.”

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

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

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

“I was.” 

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

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

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

It’s just not the right time. 

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

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

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

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

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

All the words around you just as speechless. 

Just like that, you’re gone again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And a little bit of summer rain. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

After three months of questioning his existence. 

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

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

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

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

The fuck.

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

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

And he doesn’t see your name.

Dumbass: 1 New Message

But your brother’s.

What the hell does he—

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

…Shit.

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

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

Shit. 

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

Why can’t he fucking move? 

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

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

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

“Hey, you coming?”

“Huh?”

“We have that session in thirty.”

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

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

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

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

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

Dumbass [7:40]: Heading over

Fuck!

“You okay?” 

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

“Nah, come now.” 

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

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

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

Yoongi [7:42]: Going to the studio

“On time? You better!”

Goddamn, he’s juggling too much right now. 

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

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

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

“Shit, I know.” 

“We can’t keep doing this.” 

“Dude, relax, I get it.” 

“Do you? Cus this is… Fuck.” 

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

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

“The… The overhead mic for the drums.” 

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

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

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

Dumbass: Incoming Call 

Of fucking course. 

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

“Wait, where are the—”

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

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

“Don’t leave yet, I’m coming.” 

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

“Don’t lie. Y’all are done, right?” 

Don’t lie. Yoongi feels like hurling. 

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

“Shit.”

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

“Okay, fine.” 

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

Delusion is a great place to stay.

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

“I just… Tch. I can’t even say it.”

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

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

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

“Everything, Yoong.” 

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

So, so far away. 

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

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

“Just lemme know when you get back.”

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

“No running.”

“K.”

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

“How did that sound?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey.” He turns. “You’re good.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kidding. Only a little.”

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

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

Choosing not to say what he wants to. 

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

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

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

“Do the chorus again.” 

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

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

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

Done. He said it. 

And the response that follows puts complete silence to shame. 

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

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

Huh. They’re gonna take that? 

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

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

“Mmhmm.”

“Yeah, we can try that.”

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

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

“Sammy would’ve thought of it.”

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

“Let’s see how it sounds.” 

“K.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, we’ll take ten after this.”

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

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

“Nothing.”

“You sure.”

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

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

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

Hustler: Incoming C—

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hustler: Outgoing Call 

Straight to voicemail? Shit.

Hustler: Outgoing Call

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hustler: Outgoing Call 

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

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

Shit. How much of that did he witness?

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

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

“Don’t wanna commit anymore?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s the food next door, huh.”

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

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

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

And Yoongi can only stare somewhere else. 

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

Stare, and stare, and stare some more.

“Hit it until it breaks.”

Because he’s already aware. More than anyone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And the whole arctic starts to seep into his bloodstream.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I went to Jimin’s last night.”

…What. 

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

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

“Care to share what’s been going on?”

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

“Why her, Yoong? Hmm?”

Fuck! 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can’t fucking believe you.”

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

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

Oh, fuck that. 

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

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

“Say it—”

“Stop fucking your ex, dude!”

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

…Motherfucker, what?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So everything I heard was a lie?”

“Huh?”

“He told me!”

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

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

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

“You gonna say anything or what?” 

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

Even if it kills him.

“No, I, umm…” 

“No?” 

Just hurry up and fucking do it. 

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

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

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

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

“You sure?”

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

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

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

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

His ex? 

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

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

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

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

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

“Domestic?”

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

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

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

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

A sudden crack splits him through.

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

The clunk of his phone hits the table very hard. 

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

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

And hatred paints his heart another shade darker.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I think she feels all alone.” 

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

“And it sucks not knowing what to do.”

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

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

“I’m heading out again.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

On the run.

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

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

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

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

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

Yoongi almost fucking confesses.

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

“You think so?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” 

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

Unprecedented.  

“You’re the best out of all of us.” 

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

And they both share a drink in respectful silence. 

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

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

“You still are.”

“Says you!”

“I still am, too!”

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

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

“Break up with her, Yoong.” 

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

“Yeah?” 

“It’s over now.” 

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

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

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

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

“You sure it’s over?”

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

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

“Then get rid of that fucking guitar.” 

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

Get rid of it? He’s been trying. 

For three. Fucking. Months. 

“I might.” 

“…K.” 

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

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

Keeping his shadow exactly where it stands. 

Yoongi knows he needs to talk to you.

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

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

What time is it? 

All that greets him is darkness. 

Nothing new, but darkness all the same. 

Why was she mentioned? What does that mean? 

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

Her? You. His sheets still smell like you. 

Inhale. Breathe. Inhale. 

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

And the darkness pulls him back under. 

Without even telling him the time. 

Buzzing. 

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

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

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

Hustler: Missed Calls (6)

Dumbass: 1 Message

Hustler: 3 Messages 

Chim: 7 Messages   

Chim: Missed Calls (3) 

Holy fuck. 

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

“Oh, fuck. There you are.” 

“Mm.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m an idiot. I’m sorry.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He told you?” 

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

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

“Ah.” 

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

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

“That it’s done.” 

A hum. 

“That’s very true.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where’s the fun in that?” 

“Knowing the answer.” 

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

“You’ll know it when you see it.” 

“Annoying.”

“Love you, too!” 

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

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

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

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

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

“K. Same time tomorrow?” 

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

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

“Relax! You will like it.” 

“Chim, I swear—”

“You’ll thank me later bye!”

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

Exactly where he always ends up. 

Exactly where he doesn’t want to be. 

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

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

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

Yoongi clutches his phone a little tighter. 

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

That sounds like fucking bliss. 

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

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

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

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

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

Fucking hell.

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

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

All he wants to do is see you, too. 

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

After all this time. All these days and nights. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something that isn’t broken. 

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

What. No way. 

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

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

Hustler: Incoming Call 

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

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

“Are we… is this over?” 

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

“Oh. Shit, I really thought—”

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

Your sniffle sinks the ship with his heart inside. 

“Are you? With me?” 

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

“No way in hell, doll.” 

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

“Okay… I’m just. It’s been a day.” 

That’s okay. 

Because he’s had a day, too. 

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

Please keep going. 

Please don’t leave him alone. 

“Talk to me.” 

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

You’re so good at that. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck, really?” 

“Yeah.” 

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

“What did he say?” 

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

“Oh, thank fuck.” 

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

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

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

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

“Me, too, baby.” 

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

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

“I’ll figure it out.”

“You will?”

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

“Just a little longer.”

He has to.

“Okay.”

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

“Thank you.”

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

“For putting up with me.”

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

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

“Really?”

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

“Boo.”

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

“A ha… Yeah.” 

“What are you still talking to me for?” 

“I miss you.” 

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

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

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

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

“Why?” 

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

“Fuck.” 

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

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

“I hate you.” 

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

“Ha ha.” 

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

“Nu uh! You hate me, too.” 

Wait. Did you…

Did you just pout? 

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

“Wait, huh? Why!” 

“Nothing.” 

“I swear to god—” 

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

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

The smallest smile graces his face. “Guess.” 

“Kitchen.” 

The hell? “How’d you know?” 

“You’re always in there.” 

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

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

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

“The world said let them cook.” 

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

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

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

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

“You better sleep, too.”

“I will.” 

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

Because of you. It’s always you. 

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

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

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

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

“Okay. Good night, baby.”

One more heartbeat to get him through the night. 

“Night, doll.”

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

Right towards the corner that stares back. 

It’s been five days.

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

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

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

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

…So what in the fuck was that?

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

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

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

This is so hard. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tonight.  

This man.

I got the next one.

This wonderful, charming man. 

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

Goddamn it, Min Yoongi. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tonight. He’s gonna cook for you?

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

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

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

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

Yoongi: Outgoing Call 

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

“Hey.” 

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

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

“Hello?” 

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

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

He simply huffs a quiet laugh.

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

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

“You sure?” 

“Yeah! I got big girl money now.” 

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

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

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

The groan that seeps through your car should be illegal. 

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

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

“Do better.” 

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

“What? Who said anything about dessert?” 

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

“I’m starting to regret this.”

“Regret what?”

“Everything.”

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

“I am.”

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

“That’s a given, though.”

“Excuse you.”

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

“Mm, babe. One more thing.” 

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

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

“I think we’re out of condoms.” 

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

“Wait. Or are we?”

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

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

“Yeah. That’s why we’re out of—”

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

“Nah, you don’t have to.”

“Oh. Found some?”

“No.”

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

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

And you want that to be the case forever. 

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

“Yeah, you’d be annoying as hell.” 

“Damn!” 

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

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

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

“It’s gonna happen, doll.” 

You clutch the wheel.

“Cus I want that, too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You could’ve asked somebody.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh huh.”

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

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

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

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

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

Your turn to blink.

“And I needed food.”

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

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

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

“Eat.”

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

“Mm.”

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

“Just a bite then.” 

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

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

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

“I don’t mind.”

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

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

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

“Nah.”

“Why not?”

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

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

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

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

“Everything.” 

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

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

“It’s okay,” you whisper. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…Yeah.” 

Fuck. “About what?” 

“That you’d hate me.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You do?” 

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

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

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

“Hmm?” 

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

“Always, doll.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Where we’re going.”

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

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

“Then why—”

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

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

“You comin’?”

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

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

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

“Yoongi!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So I shouldn’t bust in?”

Huh. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

What is it with him and keys? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So fucking long.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re so cute.”

“How,” you ask just as softly.

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

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

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

“Eat.”

“Huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks.” 

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

“You’re perfect, you know that?” 

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

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

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

“Good. You bored?”  

“Huh?”

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

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

You could do this for eternity, too.

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

This man. 

“Forever might be a stretch.” 

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

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

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

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

“It was kinda hot.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And why is that?”

“Cus of what I’m wearing.” 

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

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

“Okay.”

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

“What.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh huh.”

“I’d make you cry what the fuck!” 

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

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

“It’s mine, I just ran out—”

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

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

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

“Uh huh.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Careful, doll.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck it, we’re leaving.” 

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

“Fuck this. I’m taking you home.” 

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

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

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

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

Fucking hell, Yoongi was right.

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

But team jerseys? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Me?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Why me?” 

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

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

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

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

Ah, you were right. “I like it.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. 

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

All you can do is stare back. 

And without even realizing. 

You’re already rubbing your arm.

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tbc. :((

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

[morose-melodies]

unavoidable fate | yandere! pre fatui! kabukimono/scaramouche x reader

summary: who is this strange man who roams around your village? and why is he so attached to you?

content warning: separation anxiety.

this is from scaramouche's story, "tiny doll." - he had done such things with great patiences in times past, after all, leaning things such as holding cutlery, wearing clothes, combing his hair... yes, he had learned to be a "human" from the little things up. 👍👍

"kabukimono,"

that was his name. the name of the man who appeared in your village a week ago. he roamed around and occasionally disappeared just to appear again later that day.

he seemed dejected. his eyes were always so distant, so sad. so one day, you stopped him and gave him a warm drink and a blanket, telling him to go home and be safe.

but he had no home. you tried to understand what he meant... "you have no home? then where did you come from?" your confusion was apparent as he took a small, hesitant sip from the cup you gave him.

"I don't know. I don't know anything," he replied before parting ways with you for the night. after that night, he seemed to hang around your house, like a stray cat that continued to come back to the person that helped it.

"don't look at me like that, it's weird," you look at kabukimono as he stood at the doorway ... he was watching you again.

one day, after your first interaction with kabukimono, he appeared at your front door one night, "please allow me to stay with you."

it was dark in your home. all the lights were out, you had blindly navigated through the house to get to the front door upon hearing your doorknob jiggle so late at night.

it was so late and you were so tired. you nodded, stepping aside to allow him in. kabukimono stepped in and stood there as you closed and locked your door.

you led him a few steps forward and guided him to sit on the couch. he was pliant, moving where you wanted him to and doing as you pleased. "'kay, sit there. I'll get you a blanket," you assured him before leaving him alone.

you reached out and grabbed his hand, ready to guide him to the couch where he would sleep for the night. the puppet flinched, his fingers tensing as if he were ready to pull away from you but didn't. "come on," you said, your voice hushed, and kabukimono wondered why you were talking so quietly.

alone in the dark, kabukimono sat there quietly, his hands on his lap. he liked you, or, at least felt an odd sense of loyalty to you. you helped him, so, of course, when he was cold and needed somewhere to go this night, he thought of you.

when you came back, you laid him down and put a blanket on top of him, tucking him in, and said, "come to me if you need something, okay?" and he went to sleep and so did you.

so, that next morning, before the sun had even fully came up, kabukimono was in your bedroom, standing at the doorway, watching you.

"uhm... good morning?" you sat up and looked at him, to which he replied, "... good morning."

that morning, as you bathed, did your hair, and got dressed, he was near, following after you and watching you.

it wasn't that you didn't mind him watching you but he just seemed so harmless -- the way he watched you was sort of curious.

"put this coat on, we'll go out to get some water," you offered, holding out one of your old coats to him and he took it from you.

as you put your coat on, you noticed that he hadn't put his own coat on but instead seemed confused, holding the coat. "uh, here," you took the coat from him and slid it onto him, "there. now, c'mon."

and together, the two of you went out to the well near the middle of the village and got two buckets of fresh water. hoping to make some use out of him, you gave him one of the buckets to carry and he did.

afterwards, the two of you went back to your house. settling down, you made him breakfast to keep him occupied while you went out to gather supplies and materials that you needed.

... but.

he was confused when you set a pair of chopsticks onto his plate, "I'm not... understanding," he confessed.

"um, it's a chopstick, y'know?" you moved to stand behind him, taking the chopsticks and sat it in his hand, helping him hold it properly.

instead of going out for supplies, you stood behind him, helping him get accustomed to the use of chopsticks. instead of a nice ten minutes breakfast, you spent thirty minutes teaching kabukimono how to hold and eat with chopsticks.

you didn't have any problems with kabukimono.

he was quiet and complaint, he hadn't given you any grief, well, not until you tried to leave for the day...

"where are you going?" he perked up almost immediately at the sight of you approaching the front door, "are you leaving? why? uh, where are you going?" standing from where he sat, he approached you, standing at your side.

he looked prepared to plead, to cling onto you and beg you to stay with him.

"I need supply, y'know... stuff to make food with," you explained to him but kabukimono seemed to worry more.

he didn't want you to leave. what if you didn't come back? he should go with you, shouldn't he? "can I come? please let me come with you, I can be helpful," he offered, standing so close to you that his arm was pressed against yours.

"no, no. you can stay, it's fine. I'll be back in an hour, you don't need to worry so much," you tried to ease his worries, patting his shoulder before turning to open the front door.

but all kabukimono heard was an hour. you'd be gone for an hour?? that was far too long! "wait, wait! I can help you, let me- please let me go with you!" He pleaded, running out the front door, after you, clinging to your arm.

"go back in! you're not wearing your coat, go. you'll get sick," you tried to shake him off but upon realizing that he wasn't going to let go, upon realizing that he was in a genuine state of panic over this, you stepped back into your house.

"calm down... look, i... I um, I won't go. I'll stay," you promised him, sitting him onto the couch before sitting beside him, "I won't go, I promise."

he had been breathing so fast, so hard. he'd never felt that way before, he'd never felt so terrified of losing something before.

that was sorta when it clicked for him that he didn't want to lose you and couldn't stand to be away from you.