#I feel like the new summary does a really good job at setting the mood & what to expect for this first part of the story

[plantcrazy]

Progress Update 20.05.23 - Lost Children of the CCC

I've got quite a few changes & updated stuff to talk about (as well as chapters to renumber... again >> )

FIRSTLY! I figured out why my word count has been stupidly high for the amount of chapters I actually have written vs to write. The average YA book word count is 90,000 ish, and I'm on 102,000 at 40% done.

Because of this, I've broken the story up into 4 part for what was going to be the escaping the wall section. I think the story will have a total of 6 or 7 parts when finished.

Progress

Part 1 as you can see is about done. The biggest hold up is the two comic chapters (Ch.20 & 21) and Ch.1 & 11. The only thing I haven't started on is the final chapter. But everything else is in some stage of editing, either an old version getting updated or final tweaks.

Part 2 is a very patchy with lots of edits to be made to what chapters are done or started. However, I know what I'm wanting to write so I'm quite confident once part 1 is done, it won't take me long to make some good headway.

Ch.20 - ArE wE hAvInG fUn YeT~ [Part 1] I've got two pages to colour & everything is finished & ready to upload.

I've got a lot of school work & Ch.21 to get done in the meantime, so I'll be sticking with the Monday & Friday uploads till all the pages are out, at which point the full chapter will go up on A03.

Ch.21 - ArE wE hAvInG fUn YeT~ [Part 2] The first script is done, and I've sketched out pages 1-8. I've found some edits I might need to make to the backend of this chapter and will be reviewing if those changes are needed over the next couple of days.

Art wise

Chapters 1, 2, 11, 19, 23 - 26 need covers making still.

All chapters need cover numbers updating (again) as the intro chapter I was debating making, will be the new Ch.1

I'm on the fence about adding bio's or not at the end of the respective chapter. I looked at it, but never got around to it in the past.

Looking on other art ideas to go with the chapters.

A03 Updates

I've updated tags, so they're more accurate to the updated version of the story. And yes, I gave in. I added the shipping tags. I've never done romance, but I've been inspired by everyone's amazing works over here so... shippers, you may celebrate. I'm joining your cult, lol.

Story description updated to be more accurate for Part 1

Chapter no. changed from 17/?? to 17/26

Update chapter 19/11/22 removed.

Current Ch.17 is actually Ch.22 OLD VERSION. I haven't taken it down, as A) I don't want to upload all those pages again. B) I'm pretty near to 'releasing' that chapter with my current speed. I've put a disclaimer on it so readers are aware it's an old version.

[at0michips]

interviews and intimacy — mike faist

summary: the press tour of challengers was coming to an end, and even though Mike liked promoting his new movie all around the world, he was tired and even annoyed of the same old questions, so it did surprise him when a younger woman changed the pattern.

author note: just wanted to say that this is based off my deepest thoughts and hallucinations that this is going to happen to me someday and I just really needed to elaborate it further than in my brain. I have a lot more like this to work on so maybe it becomes a sort of series, who knows!! feel free to request

It was a full day, Mike has been patient and tried to be as social as possible with the press but he couldn't help the bad mood that came with those clueless questions that could totally put him and his coworkers in an uncomfortable situation, especially with both of them openly having a significant other. So when he heard that this would be the last interview of the press he felt relieved, he could go straight back into his house in New York, spend some days in there and go back to Ohio so he could see his family for a bit and then see what was his next step.

Everything seemed like it was going to work out nicely, and then it didn't looked like it anymore. After the new interview crew arrived he could hear some whispering between them.

"W-why does it have to be me?" one of the girls said a little loud only to be shushed by an older woman who was attaching a mic in her clothing

"Because you have a degree, because you have been helping Rose write the last interviews questions, because you're good!" she answered "Calm down, they're just people, ok? I spoke to her on the phone and she promised to pay you dinner next friday, keep that in mind." and then it hit him, that a girl who looked barely out of college was about to lead this interview.

The studio buzzed with the controlled chaos of a film set winding down for the day. Mike Faist sat across from you, a young journalist who had been unexpectedly thrust into the role of interviewer. Initially skeptical of her ability to handle the job, Mike found himself pleasantly surprised as the interview progressed.

"You know, for someone who's filling in last minute, you're doing pretty damn well," Mike remarked, a hint of admiration in his voice.

You felt your shoulders relax a fraction, the tension from earlier slowly dissipating. "Thank you. I'm glad I could hold my own."

Mike nodded thoughtfully, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "More than holding your own, actually. You're asking some really insightful questions."

You couldn't help but smile back, a mixture of relief and pride washing over her. "I've been a writer for a while, just not usually about movies."

"Well, maybe you've found a new calling," he teased lightly, his gaze lingering on her face. "You've definitely got a knack for it."

You felt a warmth spread through your chest at his compliment. "I think I'll stick to writing," you replied, matching his playful tone. "But who knows? Maybe I'll make an exception."

Mike leaned in a bit closer, the studio lights casting a soft glow around the both of you. "I hope you do," he said sincerely. "Because I'd really like to see you again. Maybe over a drink, not in a studio."

You could feel your heart skip a beat at the invitation. "I'd like that too."

As they exchanged smiles, the noise of the studio faded into the background, leaving only the promise of a new connection blossoming between them.

The bar was buzzing with soft chatter and the clinking of glasses, casting a warm glow over you and Mike as you sat across from each other. After the earlier meeting for the interview, something had shifted, probably the intimate ambiance of the place helped it too.

"So, what's it really like being on stage every night?" you asked, with the voice laced with genuine curiosity.

Mike leaned forward, his eyes sparkling as he recounted stories from his time on Broadway. His passion for his craft was evident, and you found yourself captivated not just by his words but by the sincerity in his gaze.

As the evening wore on, the conversation flowed effortlessly, weaving between laughter and moments of shared insight. Mike found himself drawn to your intelligence and wit, and he couldn't shake the feeling that there was something special about you.

The drinks arrived, and Mike hesitated for a moment before reaching out to lightly touch your hand. You looked up, meeting his gaze with a hint of surprise that quickly melted into a warm smile.

"I'm really glad we could do this," Mike admitted, his voice soft but earnest.

You could feel your heart skip a beat. "Me too," you replied, the voice tinged with a mix of excitement and nervousness.

In that moment, the air between you both seemed to crackle with unspoken tension. Without another word, Mike leaned in, closing the gap remaining between the two of you. Your lips met in a gentle, tentative kiss that spoke volumes of the attraction simmering beneath the surface.

It was a kiss filled with promise, a silent agreement of mutual interest and the beginning of something new.

The world around you seemed to fade away as they kissed, your hand finding its way to Mike's cheek as if to anchor yourself in the moment. Mike's heart raced, his mind momentarily forgetting the crowded bar and focusing solely on the warmth of your lips against his.

When you finally pulled back, your breaths mingling in the space between them, Mike searched for your eyes, his own filled with a mixture of wonder and longing.

"Wow," you whispered, your voice barely audible above the soft background music.

"Yeah," Mike murmured, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "That was... unexpected."

You chuckled nervously, feeling a warmth spread around your face. "Unexpected, but definitely not unwelcome."

You sat in comfortable silence for a moment, basking in the afterglow of their kiss. The tension that had built up between you and Mike earlier seemed to dissipate, replaced now by a quiet understanding.

"I should probably walk you home," Mike suggested softly, his thumb gently tracing circles on the back of your hand.

You nodded, a small smile playing on your lips. "I'd like that."

As you guys left the bar and stepped out into the cool night air, Mike offered you his arm, and you gladly linked hers through his. You walked side by side, with the shoulders brushing occasionally, each lost in their own thoughts yet connected by the spark that had ignited that evening.

[consistencynevermether]

Winter Nights (Vere x gn!Reader) (Touchstarved)

content: verex reader, gender neutral reader, I tried to write this so any origin will work with this fic, SFW but Vere makes his usual jokes, cannon typical swearing, reader bullies Vere just the smallest bit but he does the same.

summary: Vere has a horrible day, not enjoying the ice-cold weather at all. you decide to help out your favorite sassy fox boy.

word count: 5.5k

A/N: In honor of us getting VERE LORE i made this little fic of him. ngl i just saw how much he hated snow and ran with it. im so obsessed w this bitch yall i love him sm.

part 2 here

Vere had had a shit day. In your first few weeks of arriving in Eridia you probably wouldn’t have noticed it. That demon Fox was notoriously good at hiding his feelings when he really wanted to. He'd misdirect your attention, complaining about how shitty the drinks are in the Wick when he was really upset about something else entirely. Something deeper he didn't want you to know about. Honestly, in the first few weeks here you probably didn't care much to know what he was upset about anyways, you were too busy trying to survive. But life in Eridia had settled down a bit after the first month or so. You had stable lodgings, you had picked up some odd jobs, using your specific set of skills to give yourself some income. You even had allies of sorts. 

Leander had shown you the ropes of the cities and how to fit in with his Bloodhounds, Kuras had welcomed your assistance at the clinic (even if your help just amounted to laundry or organization), Ais enjoyed your occasional company in the red spring, and even Mhin had gifted you a well made dagger, their face blushing red as they insisted it was simply so you wouldn't be as useless as you had been that night they had met you. You'd even consider some of them almost friends now.

Yet out of all the characters you'd met since entering this city, Vere had been the one you had chosen to align yourself with in the quest to cure your curse. There was something dangerous beneath the surface of all of your new acquaintances, yet with Vere it was different. He knew more than he was letting on. He was more than he was letting on. Vain people like him usually loved to flaunt just how wealthy, powerful or clever they were, but he had always slyly dodged the topic. He was putting on an act, a performance where he was simply a beautiful face, and you knew it was bullshit. You’d be lying if you said curiosity was not a catalyst for choosing Vere as your closest companion, but you also had the sense that staying close to him was infinitely safer than opposing him. Something about keeping friends close and enemies closer. 

But that was the other problem. Over these months, you saw Vere as less of an enemy and more like-

-Well, Saying friend was probably inaccurate. You kept your secrets close to your chest and Vere was far too fake with you for you to assume he trusted you. Yet, you found yourself genuinely enjoying his company. He'd try to get a rise out of you by being an asshole and you'd reply with something snarky, clever, or just downright outrageous and Vere would let out a surprised bark of laughter. Real laughter, a high pitched guttural cackle, not like the fake laughter he uses around most, that breathless smooth chuckle you'd quickly figured out was fake as fuck. 

Getting closer to Vere also meant learning things like that, when he was being fake or when he genuinely meant something. And although you'd never admit it, you loved that. Getting to know Vere better and getting rewarded with a real moment with him was like having a stray cat you'd been trying to get to trust you finally approach and sniff your hand before hissing and running off again. You knew that cat would be an asshole the next day, but you also know you'd be back the next day to see if you could get that cat to trust you a little more. 

Though said cat (or more accurately fox) had been in a worsening mood recently. The months were getting colder, and when the first snowflake fell Vere’s scowl became more frequent, plus leander had been trying to get closer to you lately, and that man's mere presence could put Vere in a pissy mood for hours. You didn't quite understand his hatred for Leander, but you also had the feeling leander was just a little insane, so it might be genuinely good judgment on Veres part instead of him just being an ass to people for fun, like what he did with Mhin and Kuras. The real icing on the cake to complete Veres' bad mood was his hunting session that happened today. The Senobium had dragged him out at the crack of dawn to kill monsters and only loosened his leash late into the night, after the light snowfall had become more of a brutal sleet, the ice cold rain coming down in sheets. The temperature in Eridia always drops much lower in the nighttime, so by tomorrow you'd put money on the outside either being a slushy mess with ice coating every road, or be covered in a dusting of snow. Though you weren't too sure how likely either of those realistically were to occur, it was your first winter in Eridia. You hadn't even realized that you'd been here for so long the seasons had begun changing around you, but it was clear Vere had hated the colder months. 

Your persistence in getting to know Vere, for reasons even you couldn't really explain, along with all these reasons, was why you knew he was going to be in the worst mood yet when he got back. You were by the bar, nursing some hot mulled wine when the door to the Wet Wick slammed open, Vere stomping in (probably to knock some of the slush off his boots and also because he was angry) and taking a seat at the bar next to you. 

He didn't say a word to you, silently seething as he gave the bartender a silent look that meant “make this drink strong or i'll make your life miserable”. 

Thankfully, the bartender was as reliable and quick on her feet as ever, ignoring Vere’s death glare but pouring him some non-watered down liquor. You were ever grateful for her ability to deal with the people of this city. 

Veres' long scarlet hair was slightly plastered to his cheek, wet and freezing, with snow and sleet mixed in, tangling the long strands. You wagered a quick look at his tail, and it was just as bad, if not worse. A bit of mud had caked on the bottom of it, along with the blood of whatever monster they had had him hunting that evening. And the fine fur was drenched to the bone. He looked absolutely horrible, and hadn't said a word to you the entire time, just bitterly drinking his liquor and motioning for another pour.

That's how you knew this bad day was different from the rest. Usually when Vere was upset he'd let you know somehow. Whether it was turning up his nose at you to let you know your presence isn't wanted nor needed, or sometimes he'd rant for hours on how much he hated the Senobium or whatever else was bothering him. And no matter how mad he was, he'd never let you see him in such a disheveled state. It was hard for you to remember even a handful of times where Vere looked less than perfect. 

But now? Looked like an absolute mess, and even stranger, he was just-

-just quiet really. If you didn't know better you'd almost think he was a little defeated. Like a person at their breaking point. 

You couldn't help but feel sympathetic. Not too long ago you had felt that way, the face he wore now was like the one you wore on the caravan on the way to Eridia reminiscing about how you were betrayed, how your former life and everything you had up until that point was basically nothing but ashes now. It was not a good feeling. 

You wanted to do something to help. For some reason you really wanted to do something to help. Luckily you had an idea. Well, hopefully luckily. You knew people who looked like that usually wanted to be left alone to seeth for a while. Or cry, depending on the person. But you wanted to help. If he didnt like it, then he could always leave, it's not like you'd force him to accept your help. 

While he sipped what must have been his 3rd or 4th strong drink, you quietly slipped upstairs to your room, and began filling up the tub. A while back you had splurged and purchased a small mesh bag of a few bathing items, all of them lavender scented. You dumped them out to see what exactly you had to work with

A small bar of lavender soap

A single vial of Lavender bath salts

Some lavender hair oils 

Lavender shampoo

And a small white comb, most likely made of some mid tier material, enough to do its job, but nothing stunning. This seemed like a passible amount of stuff for Vere right? You knew he was fancy and he probably had much higher quality items in greater amounts back wherever he lived, and what if- 

Wait a damn minute. You were doing this out of the kindness of your frickin heart. If it wasn't nice enough for his stuffy ass then you'd just use the items yourself. Hell you already were a bit disappointed you didn't get to use this stuff yourself, more for you if he decided he didn't like it. 

With that settled in your mind, you turned towards the now full tub and a smaller basin next to it, both filled with clear water, and began to use a simple spell to heat the water. Almost all humans had some potential to learn magic, and being able to heat water to steaming hot was an extremely basic magic, almost anyone could perform it if they knew what to do. You finished it off by pouring the bath salts into the tub and grabbing two towels out from your closet, one large one and one suited for drying hair, and laid them to the side along with the assortment of small lavender products you had gotten out. You then lit a few candles set on the sink, considering it was dark outside, and candles were now the only source of light in the bathroom. With that prepared and the bath still steaming hot, you headed back down to the tavern.

Vere was still there, still drinking some strong amber liquid. At least he was no longer shooting them back, but instead nursing the drink with slow sips. He was definitely at least a little buzzed, judging by the way he slightly tilted off the barstool. 

You walked up to him and put a hand on his shoulder. “Vere. Hey Vere, are you still with me? Or are you more drunk than you look?”

The fox glared up at you for a second before he fixed his scowl, a look of boredom and slight amusement painted on his pretty face in an instant.

Fake bitch. 

“Well, well, well. Here to keep me company now? I'll be honest, my standards are lowering with every glass I down, so keep trying and maybe you'll get lucky.” a lecherous smirk spread across his face as he spoke. 

Sigh. he was so going to take this the wrong way.

“Lets go to my room”

“W-” Vere momentarily stumbled over his response. Probably only because he was drunk. Any other time and he would have absolutely dominated this situation easily, poking and preening about how you were not immune to his charms. And yet up till now he didn’t think you were the type to fall for his flirty act so easily.

And he was right, you were smarter than that. If you hadn't been he probably would have killed you by now. 

“Hey.” you practically scolded. “Get your mind out of the gutter. Not for those reasons. Come on, up we go.” you said while grabbing his elbow gently to steady him as he got off the stool, just in case. 

Mercifully, he let you lead him upstairs without complaint, probably out of curiosity on what the hell you were thinking. 

When you opened the door to the bathroom, Vere was momentarily stunned looking at the steaming bath, but quickly put two and two together. It seemed this unexpected scenario had sobered him up a little bit. He instantly became more alert and aware of his surroundings.

Fair. it's not like you two were very soft and caring to each other. If anything you got along best when you were trying to out-snark each other. This was definitely out of character. But regardless his mask of calm indifference didn't falter a bit. 

“Oh I see” he drawled. “Set to join me in the nude aren't you? My goodness you could have just asked if you were this desperate to see me undress, I might have only made you beg a little.” 

His smugness was palpable at this point. Why were you doing all this for him again? Bitch-ass sad soggy fox. 

You pushed your annoyance to the side. If you reacted to his bullshit he'd get what he wanted.

“Actually yes I was planning on joining you. But not in the bath.” you responded.

“Oh? And what exactly are you planning on doing?” his questioning was genuine, as if he actually had no idea what you were thinking. 

You held up the comb that came with the rest of the bath items you planned on using. 

“I'm going to rip those knots out of your hair if it kills you.” you deadpanned.

The look of genuine fear on Veres' face for a split second when you said that was worth all the effort. 

After assuring him that you wouldn't actually rip out any of his hair (on purpose at least) and then additional promises that you would be gentle, Vere finally relented and began to strip down. As soon as he did you turned around, waiting until you heard him submerge himself in the tub before turning back around. You knew he thought about making a comment about you turning around to let him undress, but thankfully he seemed too worn out to poke you any further. 

He let out a slight gasp, and then sigh of contentment as he sank into the waters. When you had left to go fetch Vere from the bar the water was basically boiling, but it had cooled in the time it had taken you to get him up here, so it was just a little too hot to be perfect, but that meant a longer time in the warm water. Something Vere definitely needed, it was going to take a while to detangle and clean this mess. 

You handed him the soap, then took the smaller basin and poured a gentle stream over his head before grabbing the shampoo and lathering it up into a froth in his hair. If there was one thing you had learned, it was how to make a little supply last a while, so you only used about half the small bottle on his hair, making sure to massage all the way down to his roots and ensuring every inch of dirt would be rinsed out. You also made a conscientious effort not to disturb the chains around his neck. Tonight was not the night to try to sneak a peek at them. Not that it would do much good with how low the lighting was in here. 

True to your words, you tried to be gentle for the process, and you could feel Vere eventually relax under your touch, taking a break from scrubbing himself with the soap to lean back and close his eyes while you continued to work the shampoo into his hair. You were glad he was relaxed, but the last thing you needed was him falling asleep in the tub, especially after all the booze he'd had. You grabbed the basin and poured another stream of water on his head to wash out the shampoo, the water in the smaller container now closer to mildly warm than hot. 

After the shampoo was out it was time for the oils. And the comb. As you Began to massage the oils in, you felt Vere tense up once again. It was like he was fighting between exhaustion and being on high alert. Was your presence really this stressful to him?

You leaned down right next to his velvety ears and tried to keep your voice as quiet and non-stress inducing as possible as you spoke.

“Hey. I promised I would be gentle. Relax” you whispered, the fur of his ears slightly brushing up against your lower lip as you spoke. 

For some reason when you said that Vere went completely still for a second. 

Seriously? Was your entire presence just so annoying to him that he absolutely could not relax around you? Honestly that felt a bit hurtful. You could be so nice when you wanted to! Just look at what you were doing for him now!

You shrugged off the sting of rejection at Veres discomfort at you and began to massage the oils into his hair. 

First you gently felt out the knots with your bandaged fingers, taking care to rub the oils into each one and loosening the knot. Then you started to comb them out. Taking extra care to go slow and try not to tug too much, Vere eventually relaxed again and finished up using the bar of soap on his skin, saving his face for last so he could dunk his head under to rinse out the soap and hair oils in one go. 

It took a hot second, but Veres' hair was smooth as silk once again. A selfish part of you wished you could run your fingers through it without the bandages, but that wasn't likely to happen anytime soon, if ever. 

Satisfied with your work, you fully stood up and handed Vere the remainder of the shampoo, oils and comb. 

“For your tail” you said as you passed along the objects. “Do not fall asleep” 

Just before leaving you tested the waters' warmth. Lukewarm. You quietly summoned the magic needed to add a little more heat to the water. Just enough so he’d have enough time to properly wash out his tail. With that you gathered up his pile of clothes and headed out of the bathroom.

Usually you just washed your clothes in the basin in the bathroom with a cleaning solution and then left them to dry on the very, very small balcony your room hosted, but Veres clothes were of infinitely higher quality than yours, so doing that might ruin them. Not to mention your modest balcony was currently being blasted by the cold weather. 

There wasn't anything you could really do, so you just folded up the clothes and opened your closet to see what other options there were. You could let him borrow something of yours, but something told you he wouldn't appreciate that, not even considering the fact that it definitely wouldn't fit him perfectly like all his outfits did. His clothes were definitely custom made. 

Then, something caught your eye. Last time you were helping at the clinic, someone had kindly gifted some linens and basic white clothes to the patients who might need some (like you had), and in the mix there had been a few fluffy bathrobes. Kuras had kindly gifted you one considering there wasn't too much use for that in the clinic, and it had been sitting in your closet ever since. It wasn't fancy by any means, but it was good quality. And as long as you didn't tell Vere you got it from Kuras he probably wouldn't protest too much.

You walked back over to the bathroom door and rapped your knuckles on the door twice. 

“Hey I’m going to hand you a bathrobe. Are you out of the tub?” You called through the door.

You heard the faint sound of bare feet on tile and the door open as vere stood before you, the smaller towel currently in his hands being used to dry his hair while the larger towel was draped over his now clean tail.

Needless to say, you kept very strong eye contact as he took the robe from your hands and slid it on. 

You watched him feel the plush of the robe, a very tired but somewhat satisfied look on his face. The quality of the fabric had met his standards apparently (probably just barely). Then he turned towards your bed, walked over, and flopped down on said bed. 

Well, you weren’t exactly expecting him to go back out in this weather, but still. You really wanted to sleep in your bed tonight. 

Veres' muffled voice snapped you out of your thoughts, his words muddled by the pillow he was currently face planting into.

“What???” You responded. 

“I said brush my tail” he huffed before nodding to the comb from earlier he left on the other side of the bed, which he had left untouched, seemingly content with just half the bed.

Well, this kinda meant he was willing to share right? No floor for you tonight, and all you had to do was preen this peacock of a Fox. 

You situated yourself on the bed and began to gently brush out the mountain of damp fur in front of you. Luckily he had done a solid job of washing his tail, it was a lot easier to brush out than his hair had been. 

He flicked it occasionally, the fur brushing up against your nose more than once. His normal spiced scent was now overpowered by lavender. You involuntarily inhaled the scent, remembering it was known to relax people into sleep. (Kuras had told you that once).

“Please, try to contain yourself.” He cooed at you before flicking his tail at your face once again. “I always smell incredible, no need to act all enamored” 

You let out an annoyed huff.

 “Sure you do.” You mumbled under your breath.

“Excuse you” Vere turned on his pillow to look at you through half lidded eyes. “What exactly is that supposed to mean?” 

“Nothing.” You quipped, focusing on his tail to look busy.

You were avoiding the question instead of bantering with him, that’s how Vere knew you were being honest. You actually thought he smelled bad.

“What?” His eyes narrowed as he spoke.

“Hm?”

“What do I smell like to you?” 

You avoided eye contact and continued to really focus on brushing his tail.

“Hey!” He sat up now, and looked ready to wrestle the information out of you. “What do you think I smell like?”

“Well-“ you conceded, “you kinda smell like a Fox.” 

Vere looked at you unmoving, mouth slightly open. 

“It’s not like it’s super noticeable! Or like an inherently awful smell!” You assured him. “It’s just- once you notice it under all the fancy perfumes you usually wear it’s  kinda hard to not pick up on it.” 

Vere grabbed the pillow from beneath his head and smacked you with it. Hard.

“Hey!”

“How dare you!” He seethed. “I smell incredible all the time! Take back what you said.”

He finished his sentence by wacking you with the pillow again. 

After receiving the second pillow smack, you gave Vere a quick glare, but your annoyance quickly gave way to amusement, and you were now struggling to hold in your giggles. A slight blush had graced veres normally stoic face, along with a look of affronted shock. He was embarrassed. Oh this was actually too funny. 

Normally Vere would never let himself look embarrassed in front of anyone. But he had a shit day. He was exhausted, and his mask of arrogance  had washed away with the lavender soap. 

You began laughing. Quietly at first, but after those first few giggles an enraged, red-faced Vere had gotten up from his longing position and was now attacking you with your own pillow. The slight giggles on your part has turned into full on laughter, occasionally muffled by a repeated pillow to your face.

“Take!”

*Smack*

“It!”

*Smack*

“Back!”

*Smack smack*

You knew you would get noise complaints from the other tenants tomorrow, because you were absolutely overcome with laughter. Genuinely, you could feel your stomach start to cramp from how hard you were cackling at Vere. 

You looked up at him, towering over you with a pillow at the ready. You could see the tips of his fangs. He was smiling too. He was so pretty when he smiled. 

“Ok, ok” you conceded. “I take it-“

*Smack*

“Vere wait!” You squealed. “Wait, I said I take it back!”

“Not good enough anymore.” He responded. “You owe me a compliment, for telling me I smell like a wild animal.”

*Smack*

“So get with the complimenting asshole.” he smirked, readying his pillow for if your answer was not satisfactory. 

“I’m not going to-“

*Smack*

“Alright, fine! Your hair looks great!”

*Smack* 

“Your eyes are stunning!” 

*Smack*

“Hey those were good! Stop attacking me!” Your smile was so wide you thought your face might split for a second. 

“Try harder~” he cooed. “You’ll need to get creative in order to earn my forgiveness” 

Right as he was about to bring the pillow down to your face once more, you grabbed his wrist and pulled him towards you. 

He let out a yelp as you did so, but you knew he let it happen. The truth was if Vere didn’t want you to touch him, you’d never get close enough to even think about it. He knew the second you began reaching for his wrist, and he let it happen. He let himself fall against your chest, still heaving with laughter.

Chest to chest you looked at eachother, faces close enough that your noses nearly touched, both of you still smiling like idiots. 

“Vere, You have the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen in my life.” 

Vere smile shifted at your words. He wasn’t  cackling to himself anymore, instead he was looking directly at you. Studying you almost. 

You didn’t mind. You knew he wasn’t one to trust. Neither were you. But at this moment you didn’t particularly care. 

“I feel like it’s rare to see a real smile from you,” you continued. “It feels rewarding, knowing I can make you smile. I want to see it more, but-“ 

You couldn’t finish the sentence, but you knew what you wanted to say. 

But I selfishly want you to look at just me like that. Not anyone else. 

“Well. I like seeing it regardless.” You finished.

You saw the look on Veres' face. Most would call it indescribable, but you knew exactly what he was thinking. You had said something real just now. Real in a way he didn’t want to respond too or process right now, and he wasn’t sure how to proceed. 

“Was that a good enough compliment?” You asked, an easy smile falling over your face. One that said you were willing to brush off what you had just said as nothing more than a game if he was. 

The tension seemed to melt from his face as he playfully rolled his eyes and flopped down next to you.

It amazed you how expressive he could be when he was exhausted.

“Fine, I suppose I’ll forgive you. Just this once.” He mumbled.

Speaking of exhaustion, sleep was overtaking him quickly now that the fun had died down. He turned around and  pulled the covers up to his shoulders, fur and hair now dry. Despite this, you could tell he was still cold. It seemed this weather didn’t agree with him.

You pushed yourself out of the bed and went back over to your closet. In the bottom was a thick scratchy fleece blanket. Not comfortable, but great for keeping the heat in. The perfect blanket to lay over someone already covered in other blankets. 

You walked back over to the bed and draped it over Vere before waking back to your side and getting under the covers yourself. 

A few moments of silence went by, and you were sure he had fallen asleep, until you heard him whisper, so quiet you might have missed it-

“I hate the snow.” 

“Mhm.” You replied. “One of my earliest memories was about snow.”

Vere turned to face you once again, barely still awake. 

It was true. It definitely wasn’t your oldest memory, but you remembered being a child and seeing snow for the first time. The person who had betrayed you was there too. They had told you, “every snowflake is unique, no two are alike.” You had spent the rest of the day catching snowflakes and trying to look at the patterns before they melted in your palms. 

“Is it a good memory?” Vere asked. 

“I’m…not sure.” You responded. 

Something told you Vere already knew that would be the answer, he just wanted you to know the same. Sly Fox. 

“Goodnight Vere”

“…” 

No response. 

That night your dreams were filled with snow. And when you woke you saw it was already late morning. You had been out cold.

You looked over to the other side of the bed to see it empty. Not shocking. What was shocking was the items on the bedside table next to you.

You unfolded the note. It was undoubtedly Veres' handwriting. 

“Mhin told me that bathrobe I used was given to you by that fucking doctor. I’m burning it. Here’s a replacement.

-Vere”

Sure enough there was a blood red bathrobe neatly folded underneath the note. It was definitely higher quality than the one Kuras had given you, but less fluffy. 

Besides that, there was also a black wicker basket placed on top of the robe as well. Replacements for the lavender set you had given him last night. But these products were far nicer than what you had used on him, and far more greater in quantity. 

You sifted through the many hair oils, heavily scented bars of soap, lotions, and vials of perfume. The whole set was probably worth more money than you had ever had at one point in your entire life.

You opened a bottle and inhaled, and immediately recognized the scent. This is what Vere normally smelled like. He’d given you some of his products. It was shockingly sweet of him to do so, you didn’t think he cared that you were basically dirt poor. 

Speaking of, it was time to get up. You had odd jobs to complete and were supposed to help Kuras later today. 

Over the next few weeks, what had become what you would assume a one time thing had now become commonplace. Veres work would often end in the lowtown in the winter months it seemed, the Senobium only leaving hightown after all soulless had been cleared out, then heading to lowtown to kill maybe just one for their reputations sake before letting Vere off his leash.

Sometimes he’d just flop down in bed and immediately go to sleep, other times he’d demand you pamper him a little. Sometimes with a whole routine like you had done before, other times he just handed you a hairbrush and his tail and expected you to get to work.

“Didn’t you say to me you’d never be caught dead slumming it in the wet wick like the first day I was here?” You teased him.

“It’s literally a blizzard outside shut the FUCK UP.” He replied, stealing all of your blankets as punishment. (After that you kept an extra one under your side of the bed just in case) 

Over time you had to make space in your closet for a few of his outfits as well. He’d made a joke about how if you didn’t want his clothes here he’d gladly walk around in the nude, and you had agreed to let him keep some things here just a little too quickly for his liking. 

You didn’t think it meant anything. Yes, if it had been anyone else but Vere you could see how people might perceive this as romantic or something but not with him. Vere would never see you as more than a means to an end, and you would never open up to him. That’s just how the two of you were

Or that’s what you told yourself, wearing the robe he had given you while wearing the same perfume as he did, as you brushed his tail in comfortable silence while the snow fell outside.

Vere hated the snow. He always would. But as spring began to arrive and he no longer had any excuse to spend the night in your room, he began to miss those winter nights. Vere still hated the cold, but somehow that time with you had been anything but.

[hailey-murdock]

hailey baby I have a fluffy matt request

you spend the evening with him after he returns from a long day at the courthouse. eating takeout food, and hanging out. just really fluffy and wholesome, the rest is all yours <3

- with love, your dumbass counterpart💋

Ahhh okay so this is my very first fic, and I hope I did good for you my sweet dumdum ❤

(a/n: reblogs are appreciated)

The more I give to thee, the more I have

Paring: Matt Murdock x Reader

Warning: None. Just pure fluff.

Summary: based off this request from my most favorite person in the world (@little-miss-dilf-lover) Alicia ❤💋

"you spend the evening with him after he returns from a long day at the courthouse. eating takeout food, and hanging out. just really fluffy and wholesome, the rest is all yours <3"

WC: 800ish

Dating Matt has its advantages and disadvantages. You hated the nights when your boyfriend would come through the apartment window late at night all beaten up and hurt. But you loved him for who he is, a man devoted to making Hell's Kitchen a safe place for many people along with his closest friends and especially for you, hoping that one day maybe a mini you or mini Matt as well. 

A man who worshiped the ground you walked on. A man who loves you passionately and deeply. Matt isn't like any other man you've dated before. Either it was his nightly activities or his normal job as the great lawyer he is, he always came back to home, you are his home. No matter how tired he was, he always made time for you.

And especially in a moment like this, after such a long day at the courthouse working his ass off, he finally came back to the apartment. You were in the living room, laying on the couch reading one of your favorite novels, "Romeo and Juliet". Once you have heard the door open, you immediately close your book and sit up and walk to the door. 

The sight of your beautiful boyfriend made you smile, just like the first time you met back in college. Matt was exhausted after dealing with some annoying clients and lawyers. He missed the sound of your voice, your scent, your laugh. He missed every single thing about you and couldn't just wait to get home with you. 

Matt never thought he could ever have such a domestic lifestyle, but that changed until you guys started dating. The more time he spent with you, the more he fell in love with you. After everything that had happened with Elektra he swore he would never fall in love with anyone else. You, you had some kind of power over him, he thought. Nobody had made him feel more alive, loved, safe and cared for before, but you did. You gave him everything he could ever want.

When you had moved in with Matt, you both agreed to take turns in cooking. One day you would cook and the other he would. But as he made his way back after a long day, he decided to get takeout for the both of you. Not in the mood to cook dinner tonight.

"Hey sweetheart", Matt kissed you gently on the lips when you went to greet him at the door. You helped him close the door and with the bags of food and set them on the table as he followed right behind you.

"Hi Matty, how was your day?", you say as you wrapped your arms around Matt's waist and he laid his chin on top of your head and his arms around you.

He stayed silent for a bit trying to savor this moment with you. "It was tiring, so much work today hun". He pulled away to caress your cheek with one hand and kiss your forehead. 

You nodded since you didn't want to push him any more knowing that Matt was really tired and he would talk when he was ready. "Come on, let's eat, okay?"

The both of you pulled away from each other's embrace and took the takeout and sat on the couch with a few beers and ate. Matt had asked about your day at work, and you told him about how you got a new position that you've been working hard to get and a raise. He was happy for you and he praised you for working so hard to get what you wanted. "My hard-working girlfriend. Always knows what's best, does what she wants. I think you're way more badass than Daredevil." Matt said while chuckling with you. 

After a while, Matt finally told you how his day in court went. You always felt immense joy when Matt would talk about anything. It was hard for him to open up and him being able to do that with ease with you made your heart swell.

While Matt changed into something more comfortable, you cleaned up a bit. You sat down on the couch waiting for Matt to come back and you were reading once again your book. He laid down on the couch with his head on your lap. "Read to me sweetheart."

Your hand ran through his hair as you nodded. "My bounty is as boundless as the sea, my love as deep. The more I give to thee, the more I have, for both are infinite." 

Matt smiled widely as he realized when you said that it was more directly towards him then just reading it. He thought it was impossible to fall even more deeply in love with you then from what he already was.

Right now is one of the moments in which you could see the advantages of being in love with Matt Murdock. And you would never waste these moments together.

[suga-kookiemonster]

this christmas | myg

part of the happy ho-lidays collab with @floralseokjin​ @sugaurora​ @underthejoon​ @winetae​ @btssavedmylifeblr​ and @kpopfanfictrash​!

summary⇢ it's been a while since you've been home for the holidays, but this year, you finally plan on rectifying that. things are going well for you—great job, great friends, and a new boyfriend who you have a pretty great feeling about—and it seems everything in your life is finally slotting into place. but, of course, the past is a relentless specter and the universe always has a way of humbling you. in a ridiculous twist of fate, you soon find yourself stuck in a car with the very reason you have avoided coming back in the first place. pairing⇢ yoongi/reader word count⇢ 30.1k 🥴😭   rating⇢ 18+ genre⇢ smut | exes!au | road trip!au warnings⇢ angst, sexual content, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, fingering, men being assholes, an instance of underage drinking, lots of passive aggressiveness, jimin meaning well, yoongi having absurd amounts of patience and thus being very on brand, phewww does oc really go through it 😭 a/n⇢ *casually strolls in months late, sipping on eggnog* HELLO, FRIENDS 🥴 yeah, so. in true ashley fashion, this fic exploded and sprinted wayyyy past what i thought the word count would be, so now here we are 😭 😭 decking the halls in black history month LMAO! this was truly a labor of love because y’all know i don’t have the patience to write things like this in one go. but here we are!! we made it!!! 😮‍💨 🎶AND THIS CHRISTMASSSSS...WILL BEEEEEE 🎶 🎄❄️✨ of course, the title of this fic is from this holiday classic, but i would say the mood is more this. thank you for being so patient and i hope you enjoy! 😊

The restaurant Jimin chose for lunch somehow manages to straddle the line between upscale and super trendy, every seat surprisingly occupied despite the menu prices being a bit much for the way your bank account is set up.

You frown a bit in thought, curious how they get so much foot traffic during the lunch rush when most people just want something fast and cheap. The restaurant is in a prime downtown location, but you suspect the true reason is the same one that had Jimin so excited to bring you here—the food is reportedly amazing.

Leah’s eyes are kind of round too as she browses the menu. “All I can say is that I’m glad you’re treating,” she tells Jimin lightly. “I’ve been meaning to come here for forever, but I could never get a table.”

“I know a guy,” Jimin dismisses easily with a shake of his head, “and when I heard you guys have never tried their sweet potato fries, I had to take matters into my own hands. That is unacceptable.”

Twelve bucks for a single order of fries seems excessive to you, but not to your friend, apparently. You can tell from the look on his face that he’s completely serious, and you can’t help but smile at his dramatics. It’s one of the things you love about Jimin—he’s friendly and silly and fun, but when it comes to things he’s passionate about, there is no room for games. When you first met him years ago, you noticed right away how sweet and welcoming he was, and while him chatting you up had certainly been a bit off-putting at a 9am meeting before your coffee had even had a chance to hit your bloodstream, you got used to it pretty quickly. Jimin is a definite mood setter, and you have always appreciated that quality in people, especially when in rooms full of pessimists and grumps. It didn’t take very long for him to declare himself your work husband, and the two of you became fast friends.

“Sweet potato fries,” you hum, scanning the menu. “What else is good here?”

Leah clicks her tongue thoughtfully. “I’ve heard the pork belly sandwich is literally orgasmic, so that is what I will be ordering. I need something to spice up my Wednesday.” She doesn’t even attempt to lower her voice, but that’s the reason why the two of you became friends—aside from being smart as a whip, Leah says what she means and means what she says. You really respect that about her, although at this current moment, you wonder if you should worry about her actually getting off in front of everybody in this nice restaurant. “_____, you should get one too.”

“I have no issues in that department, thank you,” you scoff.

“You don’t want a little variety?” Leah teases with a taunting brow. “Give a delicious sandwich a go instead of your hand?”

“Now Lee, that’s not fair,” Jimin smirks, not even bothering to look up from his menu. “You know she has a new plaything.”

“For the last time, his name is Alex,” you huff. “And he’s not a plaything.”

That gets Jimin’s attention—he perks up, excitedly leaning over the table towards you. Hell, even Leah’s looking at you now. Fortunately for you, your waitress chooses this exact moment to come over and take your orders, so you have a few more seconds to prepare yourself for the third degree you know is coming.

The conversation has distracted you from properly scoping out your choices, so, not wanting to waste the waitress’s time, you simply order the pork belly sandwich with sweet potato fries. Your friends quickly order the same.

“Not a plaything?” Jimin demands, focus whipping back to you the moment your waitress’s back is turned. “What does that mean? Is this one getting serious?”

You’re not offended by your friends’ surprise. A little sheepish that it has come to this, but not offended. You don’t blame them, really—in the years you’ve known them, you’ve never really kept the same guy around for very long. Leah in particular has always encouraged your rather nomadic dating style, seeing nothing wrong with you having fun and playing the field.

But shuffling through men like playing cards has never been your intention. From the outside in, it certainly may look like you’ve been happily flitting about, carefree. But the truth?

Nothing in these past few years has ever felt quite right.

So you just kept trying. Hell, you’re not proud to admit it, but you had even scoped out Jimin when you first met him, strategically just happening to be printing something or getting more coffee at the same times he was. (The universe shut that down for you real quick. One casual mention of his long-term boyfriend and you realized you were barking up the wrong tree. And honestly? It was all for the best.)

But are things getting serious with Alex? “…Maybe,” you carefully answer Jimin. Because you don’t want to jinx it, but if nothing else, things with Alex have seemed different than your other fleeting dalliances. You’ve actually been consistently seeing each other for three whole months now, and that’s the longest you’ve been with someone since—

Since.

“Wait,” Leah gasps. “You guys have talked about being exclusive?”

“Not exactly,” you admit. “But if we’re not at work, we’re with each other, so I don’t think he’s seeing anyone else. And I took a chance and invited him to come home with me for Christmas, and he seems excited to go.”

You don’t miss the look your friends shoot each other, and you steel yourself for your bubble to be burst. But to your surprise, they’re both uncharacteristically silent for a moment before Jimin simply lets out a low whistle. “Damn, meeting the parents.”

“He would have met my family already if we lived in the same city,” you reason, trying not to sound defensive. Trying not to be defensive.

“The holidays are a big step though.” There is a slight furrow to his brow. Is he judging? You can’t tell if he’s judging.

Even though your hackles are threatening to rise, you truly do appreciate your friends’ skepticism. It’s not like you don’t have the same concerns. You’re not proud of some of the choices you’ve made in the past few years, and you’re rightfully wary about the fact that things with Alex have been going so well.

But at the end of the day, life is a journey that sometimes has you lost in the weeds. Still, this time, you really think you may finally be navigating back to the right path. And so you’d rather not overthink it.

More quickly than you expect, your food arrives. “Three pork belly sandwiches,” your waitress chirps, easily distributing plates from her expertly balanced tray. “Let me know if I can get you guys anything else!”

The three of you dig in immediately, hungry and cognizant of the time restraints of your lunch break. Unsurprisingly, you find everything lives up to the hype.

“Oh my god,” Leah moans, mouth full of meat. You really hope she was joking about the orgasm thing, because that might make for a pretty awkward meal.

Jimin smiles from ear to ear, looking between the two of you so he doesn’t miss any of your reactions. “Right? Isn’t that the best pork belly you’ve ever had?”

It’s not. It’s amazing, for sure, but you can’t help but remember you’ve had better.

Leah moans again in agreement. You hum noncommittally, refusing to acknowledge the memory dangerously whispering from the corner of your mind.  

“So.” Jimin smirks, leaning conspiratorially towards you again. “Tell us more about Not-a-plaything-Alex.”

Your eyes narrow, unamused. “I’m not really sure what you want me to say—I’ve literally been telling you about him for months.”

He waves a hand dismissively. “Yes, yes, but I wasn’t really listening. But now that I know he’s important, that changes everything.”

“…Really, Jimin?” you deadpan, turning to Leah in your indignation, but only find her sheepishly avoiding eye contact and stuffing a fry in her mouth. “Are you guys being serious right now?”

Leah holds up her hands placatingly. “Okay, but in my defense, I didn’t know if this one would stick!” A twinge of hurt goes through you at her laugh, but you push it down. “We haven’t even met him yet. But if you think this one’s a keeper, I’d love to. Gotta see if the lucky bastard who’s won my girl’s heart is good enough.”

Your lips quirk. “Maybe after the holidays. Remember, I’m going to be working from home through most of January.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot about that. That’s a long time,” Jimin mused.

“I haven’t been back home in a while,” you admit. Your friends share another knowing look, but you pretend not to see. “I’ve had short visits, but it’s been a few years since I’ve actually been back for the holidays. Christmas is such a big deal in my town that I figured I’d just stay a little longer.” Plus, you were extremely guilty when you saw just how excited your mother got when you told her you were thinking of coming home this year. You didn’t have it in you to make excuses again when you know how much it means to her. It’s time.

“Aw, that’s really nice,” Leah smiles. “I’m glad you and your family will be able to spend some time together.”

“Yeah, hopefully we don’t end up driving each other crazy.” You take a sip of your water. “I love my family, but when we all get together for long periods of time, sometimes we get on each other’s nerves.”

“That’s why me and Joon are just gonna drop by both of our families this year,” Jimin says with a knowing nod. “It’s harder for them to trap you if you have multiple houses to get to. We did the same thing on Thanksgiving and it worked like a charm.”

“Well, I’m driving in, so if it gets too bad, I can just leave,” you laugh. Because that’s definitely a joke. The drama that would result from you dipping out early wouldn’t be worth the couple hours of short-lived peace. “Besides, since Alex is coming, I’m sure my family will keep their dramatics to a minimum.”

“That’s exciting,” Jimin says, and you can tell he means it. You can tell both of your friends are being sincere, despite their caution.

“Yeah. We’re happy for you, _____,” Leah says softly. “Because you seem happy.”

And she’s right. You are, and you haven’t truly been in a while.  

“Thanks, babe.” You give her knee a squeeze, clearing your throat. “Anyway, I would just like to point out for the record that, while delicious, there has been zero stirring in my nether regions, and I was promised a much different experience.”

“She’s just been spoiled by the not-a-plaything plaything,” Jimin says dismissively.

“Yup.” Leah pops the p, takes another bite. “Because I’m having a great time.”

You pull a face. “Please don’t.”

After lunch, the three of you head back to the office. Leah technically works for a different company, so she leaves the elevator a few floors before you and Jimin do, waving a lax hand at you as she departs. (It’s not really a goodbye, though. The holidays being so near means that everyone is pretty much coasting until their supervisor overlords deem it time to free them, so you know she’s probably going to use her precious procrastination time to send something weird and or scandalous to your groupchat later this afternoon.) You and Jimin exit on your floor and separate to return to your respective desks in your respective departments.

You’re full, almost uncomfortably so, so you can barely focus on your emails, too busy digesting to really act on anything pressing. You decide instead to use the professional breathing room the holidays provide to work on an ongoing project that always gets pushed to the bottom of your to-do list.

It’s when you’re a couple hours into this task that you finally get interrupted.  

“Hey.”

You hum in acknowledgement at the familiar voice, but you don’t look up right away, in the final leg of balancing a spreadsheet and not wanting to get distracted in the middle of typing a formula. It’s only when you confirm that everything looks as it should that you turn around. Jimin is leaning comfortably against the wall of your cubicle, seemingly in no hurry to get back to his own area.

“What’s up?” you ask, curious why he didn’t just email or chat you.

“You’re from Northdale, right?” he asks thoughtfully.

You pause a bit in confusion, wondering where he’s going with this. “Yeah.”

His face lights up. “That’s what I thought! Wow, crazy small world. Listen, I have another friend from Northdale who decided last minute to go home for the holidays, but because he waited so long, the flight prices are ridiculous now. Would you and Alex be willing to let him ride with you?”

“Alex is actually going to meet me down there,” you say, biting your lip in thought. “He still has to work for a couple more days later than I wanted to wait.”

“Oh.” Jimin blinks a bit at this news. “Well, even better, because you shouldn’t have to make that drive alone. He said he’d be more than happy to pay you.”

“Have I met him before?” you ask curiously. You’ve been out clubbing with some of Jimin’s friends before, and they’re all delightful. If anything, it would be a nice switch up to the hours of mindless driving you have planned.

Jimin looks to the ceiling in thought. “No, I don’t think so.”

Hmm. You’re a little more wary about being stuck in the car with a stranger for six hours, let alone a strange man. But Jimin is a good guy, and you know he would never associate with any psychopath murderers, much less put them in a car with you. Unless he’s still mad about you eating his donut last week, that is.

Jimin holds up his hands reassuringly, as if reading your mind. “He’s cool, I promise! He’s a generally quiet guy who I am 99% sure will just sleep the whole way.”

Well, that detail certainly sweetens the pot. Get paid to go where you’re going anyway, and not even have to entertain anyone in exchange? Sounds like a no-brainer to you. Still, you want to be sure to confirm the logistics before you promise anything. “He’d probably have to find a way back here,” you point out. “You know I’m gonna be there well after New Year’s.”

“He only mentioned needing a ride there, so he must already have a way back,” Jimin continues. “But hey, seriously. Don’t worry about it if this is something you’re not interested in. Just thought I’d ask because it seemed like a win-win situation for both of you!”

“Yeah,” you agree slowly, still considering the situation from all angles.

“Besides,” Jimin continues, “you know I would never suggest it if I thought he was dangerous or obnoxious or liable to snore or anything like that.” His head tilts in thought. “I think the two of you would get along really well, actually. Same humor.”

Oh, what the hell. Might as well make some easy money—you did go a little overboard with buying presents this year. “Well in that case,” you shrug, “send me his address—tell him I can pick him up tomorrow at 9am. I’m trying to beat traffic out of the city.”

“Perfect! I’ll have Joon send you his number,” Jimin winks.

“Thanks.” You eye him warily, suddenly suspicious that this might be a setup. Jimin has always enjoyed dropping eligible bachelors in your lap, but it’s been a while since he’s done so. Plus, now that you’ve told him your situation with Alex is moving in a more serious direction, it’s probably more likely that he’s winking simply because he’s Jimin and an incorrigible flirt. (It’s been years, but Jimin still loves to tease you about your previous, doomed crush on him. Even though you’ve long since mentally cemented him in the friend category, you still have eyes. Jimin is handsome and he knows it and he loves to use all of this knowledge to periodically fluster you because he loves the attention.)

But if your friend clocks your suspicion, he doesn’t say anything. He simply waggles his fingers at you and meanders back to his desk.

Even though it was ultimately your decision to leave so early, it doesn’t make it any easier when your alarm drags you, kicking and screaming, back into consciousness. Your hatred for packing means that, as per usual, you put it off until you had absolutely no choice but to do so. (Which, of course, translates to the night before, after you had eaten dinner and watched some tv and taken a shower and were good and ready to go to bed.) As a result, you were up until well after 1am, cranky about your procrastinating ways and how you were now forced to sort through your belongings and choose a month’s worth of necessities at ass o’ clock at night.

Never a morning person in general and your current sleep-deprived state now making you even less so, you know the only way you’re going to survive your upcoming journey is good old fashioned caffeine. (Preferably injected straight into your veins, but since you doubt you can find someone willing and able to do so on such short notice, you guess coffee will have to do.) You scroll your phone as you start your morning routine, searching for the number Namjoon provided you with the day before.

You reached out last night, simply asking for his address so you can swing by to get him, but now you have other plans, awkwardly typing out a text with one hand as you brush your teeth.  

[8:04] Hey, it’s _____, your ride for today! I feel like literal death rn, so I’m going to need some coffee. Do you mind meeting me at that cafe on 2nd?

[8:05] We can leave from there!

To your surprise, you see the little text bubble pop up right away, the hovering gray dots clueing you in that he’s typing. Looks like he is much more of an early bird than you. God, you hope Jimin’s prediction that he’ll be quiet the whole drive comes true, cause you are nowhere near being in the mood to be fake friendly right now.

[8:05] 🚘 Sounds like a plan. I was up late working last night, so I’m probably worse off than you

[8:05] 🚘 Was actually just about to run out and get us some, so that works out. I’ll meet you there!

Us? Wow, that’s super thoughtful of him. Maybe you’re being a little too judgmental of this stranger you know absolutely nothing about. Well, nothing except the fact that you have the same humor as him, apparently. You’ve always been a rather wary person, but sleep deprivation is definitely loosening the reins on your inner bitch.

“Let me hurry up and get this coffee so I can turn into more of a decent person,” you mutter to yourself, rinsing your mouth of foam.

[8:06] Great. See you soon!

Saying you wanted to meet at the café on 2nd made perfect sense when you suggested it, but that is easier in theory than practice. Turns out, your sluggish brain completely forgot that, unlike other times you have dropped by to satisfy your caffeine fix, you would now have a car that you needed to deal with. And finding parking near one of the busiest intersections in the city is no easy feat.

It takes you an extra fifteen minutes of circling the area before a spot around the corner opens up, and you basically have to block the flow of traffic to ease your car into it. You’re usually pretty decent at parallel parking, but your skill gets put to the test when there is a line of impatient cars watching you try to quickly maneuver out of their way. It’s stressful, but you make it into the spot on your second try, agitated, but markedly more awake.

The coffee will still be nice for when your nerves finally calm, though, so you don’t hesitate to make your way to the café, curious if your new road buddy is already here. You purposely padded in some time when you left your house this morning, so as long as he meets you in the next ten minutes or so, the two of you can still leave on time.

The café is bustling when you enter, the holiday season undoubtedly luring more people than the typical morning rush out of their homes. You hover a bit by the entrance, mulling over whether you should go for a festive holiday drink or simply just get what you always do. But just when you’ve decided and are about to join the line, someone further up catches your eye.

Your breath halts, whole body locking up as you stare in disbelief at the man waiting to order.

No way.

There’s no fucking way.

From this angle, you can only see a bit of his profile, his face partially obscured by the way he has tucked his chin to better focus on scrolling his phone. But the set of his shoulders under his beige coat is hauntingly familiar, as is the lax stride he has when the line moves forward a bit. It’s when he happens to shift just enough, head reflexively turning when someone accidentally bumps into his suitcase, that your suspicions are proven correct.

You rush back outside, hands shaking as you scramble through your coat pockets for your phone.

“Hello?” He answers on the second ring, his quiet greeting still colored with sleep. He’s usually not out of bed this early and you have likely woken him up, but you don’t give a single shit about that right now.

“Jimin,” you hiss into the phone, heart thundering in your ears. You’re leaning on the side of the building, mostly to be sure you can’t be seen through the windows, but you’d be lying if you said the cold brick wasn’t also helping to support you. Wasn’t helping to ground you.  

You don’t wait for your friend’s reply. The words leave you, rushed and desperate. “Please tell me that the friend you have arranged for me to be stuck in the car with is not Min Yoongi. Please.”

There’s a long pause, one long enough for the panic coursing though you to rapidly be joined by dread.

“Jimin?” you press, bulldozing over his obvious confusion. “Is Yoongi your friend?”

“Um, well he’s mostly Namjoon’s,” he answers cautiously, your urgency clearly freaking him out a little. And as soon as he says the words, you feel like you’ve been socked in the gut. “Why, what’s going on? Do you know him?”

“Do I know him,” you repeat. Hands still trembling a bit from the adrenaline. “Do I know my ex-boyfriend? Yes. Yes, I think so.”

“Shit,” Jimin breathes, immediately recognizing the source of your distress. “That ex?”

“Yes, that one.” Your mouth is too dry, and it’s making it hard to swallow down the sudden lump in your throat. “Jimin, is this some kind of joke? Because I’m not laughing.”  

“What? Of course not!” He sounds properly alarmed, and that smooths your frayed edges just a little. “I thought you’d be cute together, but—”

“Yeah, well so did I,” you snap. “And look where that got me.”

You can’t believe this is happening to you. This is a nightmare. “Are you seriously trying to set me up with someone a single day after I told you I’m in a relationship?” You know Jimin loves playing matchmaker, but you really thought he’d stop his meddling once you told him things were getting serious with someone.

“I just wanted you to keep your options open,” he says, voice small. “But _____, I promise I didn’t know, I swear to god! He works with Namjoon. We’ve had him over for dinner a handful of times, but I’ve never realized—you’ve never even told me his name—”

Jimin continues to nervously babble his defense, sounding appropriately guilty, but you only partially listen. Because you know this isn’t entirely his fault. No, because that’s not how your life works. This is obviously another case of the universe amusing itself at your expense, throwing you a sudden curveball just when you thought you were starting to get the hang of the game.

Merry Christmas to you.

“And Yoongi has never mentioned anything that would make me realize—I swear, I had no idea—”

“Okay,” you interrupt with a long exhale, closing your eyes. Trying to center yourself, to think things through.

There’s another extended silence, one empty of speech but screaming with your jumbled thoughts. Because your mind is nothing short of racing trying to work through this sudden problem.

Jimin’s thinking too—you can practically hear the rapidly spinning wheels over the phone—and it’s him who finally interrupts the quiet. “What are you going to do?” he murmurs worriedly.

One beat, two. Then you open your eyes, resolute. “I’m going to do exactly as I planned.”

“You’re going to drive down with him?” he asks, surprised and incredulous.

“It would be shitty of me to strand him here for the holidays. So I’ll just suck it up.” You exhale slowly. “Besides, once I reveal who exactly his ride is supposed to be, he might not come anyway.” He was the one who broke up with you, after all. That very fact implies that he no longer wants anything to do with you, including—but not limited to—being stuck in small spaces with you for hours on end.

“Yeah,” Jimin says, though he doesn’t exactly sound convinced.

“It’ll be okay,” you promise, trying to reassure you both. Trying to speak it into existence.

“I wasn’t lying when I said he’ll probably sleep the whole way! It’ll be really awkward at first, but maybe after that it’ll be fine.”

“I’m sure it will be.” You swallow, a little bit more calm now that you’ve had time to talk through the situation and let it marinate. “Okay, I gotta go, or I’ll be late.”

“Let me know when you make it home,” he stresses. “And call me if you need anything.”

You agree, hanging up before he can start to fall into another string of apologies. While appreciated, at the end of the day, his groveling isn’t going to change anything.

You might as well get on with it.

Mentally steeling yourself, you pull open the café door, warm air from inside rushing out to meet you. The length of your phone call means that Yoongi is now almost at the front of the line, and you determinedly put one foot in front of the other, making your way to him before you can change your mind.

The direction he’s facing means he doesn’t see you right away, and if you hadn’t seen his face earlier, you might not have noticed him either. Yoongi has always loved to experiment with hair dye—growing up, you remember him having a different hair color every time you happened to see him around town, so much so that he has been every color of the rainbow and you often worried whether it was straight up going to start falling out. It was light brown when he walked out of your life, but now, the strands he idly ruffles as he waits to order are black. The rare occurrence of him wearing his natural shade somehow just adds another layer to the surreal experience of seeing him, in the flesh, after all this time.

Yoongi reflexively looks in your direction as you approach him, his eyes widening after a few seconds when he realizes who he’s looking at. His lips part then quickly close, seeming to think the better of it. But ultimately, at this point, it would be too awkward for both of you if he pretended he didn’t see you when it’s clear he has. “Hi,” he offers reservedly.    

It’s been a long time since you’ve heard his voice, and the familiar timbre of it strikes something deep inside you. You clear your throat, refusing to acknowledge how you’re being needled from the inside out. “You’re waiting for your ride, right?”

You see the exact moment when Yoongi’s surprise at running into you morphs into realization of what exactly is going on here. His eyes close for a second too long, letting out a slow exhale before opening them again. “And that’s you,” he acknowledges, expression carefully smoothed out. Nonthreatening.

But that does nothing to pacify your rising hostility, despite your best efforts. Rage starts to creep through you, ice cold at first, then quickly morphing to searing. “That’s me,” you parrot, tone clipped. “So. You live here now?”

You must be making some sort of face, because Yoongi says with a huff, “I’m not stalking you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Wow, how can a person be this obtuse? Of fucking course he’s not stalking you. But out of all the justified reasons you have to be pissed at him, why would that be his first thought?

Don’t let him get to you, you remind yourself, biting your tongue hard enough to taste metal. You force yourself to push your rising feelings down. It doesn’t matter. Clearly it hadn’t mattered to him then, so it shouldn’t matter to you now.

The two of you just look at each other, the silence between you charged and smothering. There is only one other person in front of him in line now, moving up to speak to the cashier. Finally, Yoongi lets out a long breath, shaking his head. “You know what? Don’t worry about it. I’ll find another way home.”

You thought time would have softened the blow of his rejection, but his easy dismissal only makes embarrassingly familiar emotions flare through you. Don’t let him get to you. “Yoongi, how else do you expect to get home? Christmas is in a few days.”

“I don’t know,” he says shortly, “but that’s not your problem. I’ll figure it out.”

Does the idea of being near you repulse him that much? This is ridiculous. It’s been three years. Three fucking years, so it shouldn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. You’re over it.

You rub your temples, trying to will down the indignant embers threatening to spark into a raging wildfire. “We’re both adults,” you say evenly. “That was years ago, and whether or not you come with me, I will still be headed to the place you need to be. So unless you have a backup plan for last-minute transportation so close to Christmas, you might as well come with me.”

He stares at you, face unreadable. The person in front of him moves to wait for their drink at the other end of the counter, and you take that as your cue.

You’ve been as civil and reasonable as you can, considering the circumstances, but you’re not going to beg this man to come with you—you didn’t do it then, and you sure as hell aren’t going to do it now. Resolute, you turn on your heel and start walking out of the café, gracing him one last look over your shoulder. “Up to you, though. I’m parked around the corner and will be driving away in ten minutes.”

With that, you leave him there, satisfied that you’ve done your part in being a decent human being. The ball is completely in his court, and either way, there will be no skin off your back.

It’s not until you’re back in your car, blasting the heat in attempt to dispel the chill that it had taken on while you were gone, that you realize your mistake. In your flustered state, you’ve somehow managed to forget the single thing you had come here for in the first place—your coffee. Goddamnit.

Now even more irritated by the situation, you distractedly drum your fingers against the steering wheel, watching the clock. When you said ten minutes, you meant it. You refuse to give this man any more of your time or energy than explicitly necessary.  

The simultaneous feelings of hurt and relief that come over you as his time limit dwindles is bizarre. But just as you’re about to pull off, there he is, suitcase and coffee in tow. He clearly recognizes your car, heading directly towards it, and with a shuddered breath, you unlock the doors.

Yoongi opens the passenger side, leaning over to hand you the cardboard coffee carrier he’s holding. You silently take it, side-eying the two large cups balanced inside. He’s always been a rather avid coffee drinker, but this amount of caffeine feels a bit excessive to you.

Oh well. None of your business, unless he’s going to make you stop for a bathroom every five minutes.

“Can you pop the trunk?” he asks quietly, looking in your direction, but not quite at you. You push the button in answer, eyes unwittingly trailing him in your side and rearview mirrors as he moves to the back of your car. You know from experience that he’s expertly rearranging everything you heedlessly threw in there so that his will fit as well.

After a bit, he slams the trunk closed, and your heart startles against your ribcage at the noise and its implications. Then he’s back, sliding into the seat next to yours and buckling his seatbelt.

“Here,” you say, handing him back his coffee.

He takes the carrier, but then removes one of the cups and holds it out to you. “This one is actually yours.”

“What?” you croak. A flurry of emotions rush through you, too many to name and too quickly to grasp.

Yoongi just shrugs and waggles the cup until you take it from him. He looks away, something more interesting apparently outside his window. “You forgot to get yours, so. I wasn’t sure if you wanted one of the holiday drinks, but figured this was a safe bet.”

“Thanks,” you murmur after a beat, blinking at the cup in your hands. It’s appropriately festive, with bursts of red and green and snow. You shake your head in an effort to dispel the thoughts swirling there, deciding to busy yourself with setting your phone in its designated holder so you’ll be better able to see the directions as you drive. A few taps as you enter your mom’s address and you’re finally ready to go, signaling and pulling from the curb.

It’s quiet for a while as you navigate your way out of the city, headed to the highway. Quiet, just as Jimin predicted. But this isn’t the same type of quiet you’re used to experiencing with Yoongi. It used to be comfortable, but now it feels anything but—you simply don’t know how to act around him anymore. Don’t know how to make this any less awkward. Even though just this morning you hoped for a silent driving companion, the current reality of that is starting to look a lot more like slow torture.

Distractedly, you take a sip of your coffee, and your gut immediately clenches when you recognize it to be your favorite.

He remembered.

Flustered at this realization, you chance a look at him from the corner of your eye. He’s idly tapping his fingertips against his knee, still staring unseeingly out his window.

You can’t help but think about how different this is from the last time the two of you were in this car. Similar, too, looking back.

You can’t help but wonder how you got here.

The car was quiet. Quiet, save the annoying, autotuned warbling of a Top 40 pop song that you knew he hated, yet for some reason was allowing to accompany your drive. Usually, Yoongi would immediately switch from the radio to one of his carefully curated playlists. (“You can literally pay to get radio play,” he had told you once. “Do you know what that means? It means that industry politics are constantly forcing you to listen to nothing but a steaming pile of vapid, overproduced garbage.”)

After the two of you got back in the car from the last rest stop, though, Yoongi never bothered to switch over to bluetooth. And so, vapid, overproduced garbage was what the two of you were listening to on your last leg of the trip, and you couldn’t help the growing sense of unease that settled in your stomach the longer you did.

“Babe,” you finally hedged. “What’s the matter?”

Yoongi blinked at the sound of your voice, awareness returning to his eyes as he was pulled from deep in his thoughts. He ruffled his light brown locks absently, gaze sliding from the road to you, in the passenger seat. “Hmm?”

“You just seem distracted.” Even now, even as he idly laced his fingers through yours, your joined hands resting on your thigh, it felt like he was simply going through the motions.

He squeezed your hand, looked away. “Just thinking of logistics.”

This was a fair response—this was an enormous leap for you, packing up all your things and moving to a new city hours away. You had mailed some of your stuff, and any boxes that you didn’t manage to squeeze into your car were due to arrive over the next few days. Yoongi was coming with you to make sure you got settled in okay, and that everything was set up the way it should be.

But alongside unease, hope cautiously bloomed. Because maybe, just maybe, your new apartment, your new city, would help Yoongi see. It had been hypotheticals ever since you told him about your job offer. But maybe seeing how real this was about to be would finally help him see just how easy it would be for him to be your constant amongst your growing list of new.

Maybe he would finally take the leap you were too scared to ask him to take.

You were a coward. Yes, you may have easily made the decision to move six hours away from your family and friends and everything else you’d ever known. But whenever you thought about putting all your cards on the table and pleading with the one who you quickly realized mattered most to come with—

You shook your head of the negative thoughts, ignoring the anxiety crawling up your throat. You hadn’t asked, but still, he was here. With you. And that had to mean something.

It didn’t, you came to realize days later. Days later, when, after he made sure you were all settled, Yoongi kissed you on the lips, wished you luck, and hopped on a plane back home. (You hadn’t even known he had bought a ticket.) And it definitely didn’t when a week after that, after your new job kept you busy and your conversations with him became sparse and dry, he finally sent you the text that shifted your world completely on its axis.

I think we should see other people.

The silence back then had been off-putting, but the silence that envelops the two of you now is just this side of excruciating. You don’t think can take this level of awkwardness for five hours.

There’s no reason to linger on the past. He hurt you, but it’s been three years and you’re over it. You’ve moved on, and as you know from your totally random, totally casual happenings across his social media, so has he! So there’s no need for this to be awkward.

Nodding to yourself, you decide to prove just how over it you are. “So how’s it going?” you hedge, the words settling lamely on your tongue, despite your best efforts.

Yoongi lifts an incredulous eyebrow at your poor attempt at conversation. He doesn’t answer, and for a few moments, you think he’s going to ignore you completely. But then, turning his attention back out his window, he says, rather mildly, “I should have known this was a set up.”

Your hackles raise, gaze snapping to his form. “I didn’t know it was you,” you say shortly.

“Obviously,” he snorts. “Or you would have never said yes.” There’s no bitterness in his tone, no malice. He just sounds a little amused and matter-of-fact, though you don’t find any of this funny. “And I didn’t know it was you either. Namjoon has mentioned you once or twice, but there are plenty of people with your name in a city that big.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, pushing down that petty part of you that wanted to ask him why, knowing he had left you in that exact city, his first instinct wasn’t to just assume it was you. As much as your ego hates to hear it, he’s right. It was much more likely for it not to be you than the alternative.

“How do you know him, by the way?” he asks. “I never would have pictured you running in the same circles.”

That’s a fair question. The common link that brought you back together, despite your best efforts. “I’m actually really good friends with his boyfriend,” you answer honestly. “We work together.”

“Huh. Small world.” He shakes his head, the corner of his lips dipping a bit in thought. “Actually, that’s probably why we’re here. My fault for letting it slip to Jimin the other day that I’m single. Cause now that I’m thinking about it, he seemed way too excited about helping me find a way home.”

You’re not really sure how to process this new information—not really sure what you’re supposed to do with it. Nothing, you remind yourself. Absolutely nothing. His relationship status has nothing to do with you. “…He means well,” you say instead, taking a sip of your coffee. “And if it makes you feel any better, this was definitely much more about trying to set me up than you. You just got caught in the crossfire.”

He’s quiet for a bit, that last tidbit left to marinate. But then he suddenly asks, “Did you change your number?”

“What?” is your immediate response, not prepared for the seemingly random subject change.

“I didn’t realize that you were the one I was texting, because I didn’t recognize your number. Did you change it?”

You restlessly drum your fingers against the steering wheel, willing the stoplight to turn green. It does, so you’re free to keep looking straight ahead as you reply, “I did. I changed carriers and they fucked up the transfer and I had to get a new number.”

“Oh. I thought you had just blocked me.”

That comment catches your curiosity enough that you do look at him now, eyes sliding over to his form. You can’t help but quirk your lips wryly at the way that now it’s him who’s now clearly avoiding eye contact. You look back at the road. “I did that too.”

What little rapport you were starting to gain fizzles out at that. The mood between you is quickly awkward again, heavy.

“So.” You clear your throat, not quite ready to return to silence, especially since he seems to be willing to answer your questions. “If you’re not stalking me, how did you end up back in the city?”

From the defensive lock of his body, Yoongi doesn’t seem to be amused by you throwing his words back into his face. Interesting, because he used to be one who could take a ribbing—teasing had been one of the cornerstones of your relationship, after all. Guess he doesn’t find this funny. “Work,” he replies tersely. “I got offered a position as an in-house producer about a year ago.”

And there it is.

For months afterwards you obsessed over it, night after sleepless night spent staring unseeingly at your tv with nothing but a bottle of wine keeping you company. For years you tried to justify it—to justify why, when things seemed to be going so ridiculously well, he would dump you out of the blue. Why, when his field of work could be done from literally anywhere, he wouldn’t want to come with you. Maybe he didn’t like the city, you desperately reasoned. And maybe he didn’t want a long-distance relationship.

But clearly you had been foolish in more ways than one. Hearing him so easily admit to moving for a job, it clearly wasn’t the city itself that was the issue.

It was you he didn’t want.

“Oh,” you croak, breath stuck in your throat. You see Yoongi glance at you in your peripheral, but you refuse to look in his direction, too busy trying to control the dejection creeping through your veins, threatening to settle deep in your marrow.

“Freelancing gave me more freedom, but benefits are hard to beat.” He pauses, clearly sensing your change in mood, but still continues, “I wasn’t looking for something here, you know. It just worked out that way.”

“Mmmm.” You take another sip of coffee, cup tight in your grip. And that’s all you can give him right now, because if you look at him, if you open your mouth, all of your repressed feelings will burst out. And you refuse to give him that satisfaction.

Yoongi takes the hint from your non-answer and doesn’t say anything else. You finally turn onto the highway ramp, immediately regretting it because now that you don’t have aggressive city drivers to look out for, there will be nothing else for you to focus on. You have to take another exit to get on the correct highway, but once you do, it’ll be nothing but you and Yoongi and an endless road for hours.

After a few more minutes, the uneasy silence is broken by your phone ringing through the car’s speakers. You glance down at the screen, and sigh when you realize just who’s calling. Your mother.

In her defense, you told her you would let her know when you were headed out, but Yoongi’s appearance threw you for such a loop that you completely forgot. You really don’t think talking to her now, with Yoongi in the car, is a good idea, but you also don’t have much choice—she’s only going to keep calling.

Resigning yourself to the awkwardness you know is about to occur, you click the answer button on your steering wheel. “Hello?”

“Hi sweetie.” Her voice is a bit loud through the speakers, but you can hear her blasting her Christmas playlist in the background, so that’s likely the culprit. Anyone who thinks she’s ever going to turn the volume down on The Temptations is in for a rude awakening. “I just wanted to check on you! Have you guys headed out yet?”

“Just turned onto 55,” you confirm. “So we should be there in five hours or so.”

“Perfect. Your sister wants to have pizza, so I’ll try to have it delivered around then.” She pauses, then asks slyly, “Is Alex driving?”

Yoongi had been busy quietly scrolling his phone, but now he shifts a little in his seat, suddenly more interested than he was moments ago.

“No,” you say, irritated. “I am.”

“Well then, why did you pick up the phone?” your mother asks sassily. “If you’re driving, then you need to focus.”

“I picked up because you called me,” you sass back. “And if I hadn’t, you would have panicked and assumed I was dead on the side of the road or something. So I just saved us both the trouble.”

“Well.” She huffs, and you laugh at that, because you both know you’re right. “Well, tell Alex I said hi and I can’t wait to meet him.”

“I'll be sure to tell him later,” you say, a bit uncomfortable at having this discussion in front of Yoongi.

“What, is he sleeping or something?”

“He’s not with me.”

Your mother pauses. “_____, what do you mean he’s not with you?”

“I mean, he’s not with me. He’s gonna come in separately in a few days.”

“So you’re making the drive alone?” There’s worry in her tone, clear as day. “You didn’t tell me that before.”

You let out a long exhale, wishing you were anywhere but here, having this conversation. “Because it’s not a big deal,” you say levelly. “And I can make the drive perfectly fine alone.” You hear her revving up to protest, to lecture you, but you are truly not in the mood to hear it. So before she can even start, you say, “But don’t worry. I’m not alone.”

That clearly throws her, because she’s quiet again as her brain processes that. “What?”

“I’m driving in with Yoongi,” you reluctantly admit.

“Yoongi?” Her shock is palpable, and honestly? You don’t blame her.

Me too, Mom. Me too.

But you know your mother. The second her shock wears off, she’s liable—and likely—to say something crazy and embarrassing. So before she regains her bearings, you quickly tack on, “So watch what you say! You’re on speaker.”

Your mom is a chatterbox, and she has also always loved Yoongi. That is a recipe for disaster, and you really hope you’ve nipped it in the bud.

“On speaker?” she repeats. Her surprise lasts a grand total of one second before she’s saying, “Yoongi, sweetie! How have you been doing?”

Your mother is truly a force, but for all his mellow personality, Yoongi has always enjoyed her. His lips quirk. “I’ve been doing really well, Mom. How about you?”

The word zaps through your body you like you stuck a fork in an electric socket, your heart clenching in your chest. When you were still dating, your mother insisted he call her that. It appears old habits die hard.

Neither of them notice your mounting distress, continuing to chat as if you aren’t there. “Oh, you know,” your mom laughs. “Can’t complain! You know, I was just talking to your mother the other day and she said you’ve been working a lot. You need to be sure you take care of yourself and get enough rest.”

“I will, Mom.”

You roll your eyes, irritated. How did she call you, and then immediately forget about you in favor of Yoongi? “Mom,” you interrupt. “We should go. I need to focus, remember?”

It is very obvious to everyone that you’re trying to rush her off the phone, but, though she’s privy to your shenanigans, your mother agrees to let you go. “Yeah, you’re right. Call me when you’re close, okay? And Yoongi, you take care of her, okay?”

The two of you lock eyes. You let out a long-suffering sigh.

“I always do,” he finally replies, and a tempest starts brewing within you at how sincere he sounds.

Living in a town that was relatively on the small side, it was pretty impossible for you to grow up without being aware of Min Yoongi’s existence. He lived a couple blocks away from you, after all, even though the arbitrary school district mapping meant that you ended up at different high schools. Still, being aware of him and knowing him were two different things. Your memory of him was erratic and infrequent—he was the quiet kid who moved to town in third grade and once let you borrow a pencil in class, and he was the mysterious guy you’d spot around town with hair that would be different shades every time—red, orange, green, blue.

You had never really given him much thought—never really had a reason to—and hadn’t realized that you had forgotten about him completely until one day, at a house party your junior year of college, you walked into the kitchen to refill your cup and oh. There he was. That guy.

You might not have noticed him at all if it wasn’t for his hair. He was standing alone, distractedly lifting his snapback and carding his fingers through his locks. The soft pink of the strands piqued your interest and unlocked memories that your brain had long ago deemed unimportant. Clearly intending to refill his cup as well, he just so happened to be standing right in front of the counter that had handles and mixers and everything else you needed to get properly tanked, and as he watched you approach, you could see a spark of recognition in his eyes.

Casually, he stepped out of your way, but his eyes still scanned your form in an effort to place you. After a moment, he nodded to himself, the slant of his mouth morphing his expression from uninterested to suddenly much more so.  “_____,” he said, head tilting to the side a bit in thought. “Right?”

“Yeah.” You were surprised he even remembered you—never thought he had paid you much attention. But, you supposed, if you remembered him in passing, it wasn’t a stretch to think the same may have been true about him. That you weren’t as invisible as you always thought.

Yoongi nodded again, slowly. “Small world.” You hadn’t seen or thought about him in years, but it was strangely as if no time had passed at all. Just like back then, he was dressed head to toe in black—hat, shirt, skinny jeans, his favorite leather jacket—and this only made the cotton candy of his hair stand out even more in the poor lighting. Still, it was his lips that had your attention, your gaze drawn to the cocky curl of them as he leaned toward you. “What are you drinking?”

Those lips were what pressed into yours twenty minutes later on the couch, eager, yet unhurried. And in your bed an hour after that, they were all you could think about when he fervently licked a stripe up your slit, tongue hot and wet, long fingers digging into the meat of your thighs to keep you spread for him.

You thought that would be it. Yoongi was gone by the time you woke up, and that was perfectly fine with you, because you weren’t deluded into thinking what had happened was anything more than a romp of convenience. Some liquored up fun. But when you stumbled out of bed and found his phone number, scrawled on an old receipt, stuck to the front of your fridge with a magnet your roommate had gotten at a thrift store—

You realized it could be more than that.

Weeks went by, your attention easily stolen by your classes. Your long list of assignments kept you busy—much too busy for you to consider venturing out to any more weekend parties. But it also kept you stressed, anxiety bubbling beneath your skin at the looming deadlines, and you knew that wouldn’t do. That wasn’t productive.

One Friday night, after struggling for hours to focus on some assigned reading, you finally just gave up and decided to go to bed. Ideally, a good night’s rest would be the reset you needed, would calm your neurotic brain down enough for you to try again tomorrow. But awake you stayed, unable to stop the flurry of thoughts even for a moment.  

You groaned in frustration. There was one option you could try, but to your chagrin, it hadn’t been very helpful lately. Usually, some quality time with your hand would mellow you out enough to fall right asleep, but you discovered over the past few days that your stress was at the point that not even pulling out your vibrator would do much more than leave you frustrated, unsatisfied, and still awake.

Fuck being responsible! Look where that had gotten you. You should have just gone with your friend to the party she had been trying to convince you to ditch your reading for. You hadn’t been to a proper party since—

You paused at the thought, considering. That was the last time you had gotten such a great night’s sleep, too. You had been fucked so properly, your body hadn’t had much of a choice.

It was an interesting idea, at least in concept. He had left you the number because he wanted you to use it, right? So why not contact him? Worst that happened was that he didn’t answer, and you were no worse for wear.

Curious now that you had the thought in your head, you texted Yoongi, even though a glance at the time told you he was probably well into his Friday plans.

[10:47] Hey, it’s _____. We met a few weeks ago

[10:47] what are you up to tonight?

It surprised you when his answer came a mere ten minutes later.

[10:58] Unknown we met a long time before that, babe

You blinked at his response, lips quirking at his easy flirtation. Huh.

[10:59] Unknown not doing much. But what do you have in mind? 😉

In fifteen minutes, Yoongi was toeing his shoes off by your front door. He calmly greeted you, body language completely lax, and it was as if he was merely coming over to help you study.

But the look in his eyes when he finally caught your gaze…your skin prickled in excitement at the promise in them.

And he more than held up to his end of the bargain. Yoongi fucked you just as thoroughly as the last time, though he was a bit more rough. Almost impatient. His hands, large and calloused, roamed every inch of you—fingers digging into the meat of your ass, sinking into your hips, resting on the column of your throat—all so he could properly maneuver you over his unrelenting cock. He licked a path up your jaw and into your mouth, swallowing your moans like a starving man. And it was only after your pussy had clamped down on him twice that his biology finally responded to yours, whole body shuddering as he came into the condom.

For a few minutes, the two of you laid there in silence, sweaty and satisfied. And that’s when the endorphins did exactly what you needed them to do—you started to feel the blissful fatigue that often preceded a good night’s rest. Before you drifted off to dreamland, though, you rolled out of bed and made your way to the bathroom for your post-sex pee.

To your surprise, Yoongi was still there when you returned to your room. Honestly, it looked like he hadn’t even moved a muscle, though the used condom in your trash can told you otherwise. He just looked so comfortable in your bed, the pink of his hair a stark contrast against your gray sheets.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, voice a content rumble.

And so the two of you ordered a pizza from that one place in Collegetown that wasn’t really that great, but was fast and open late. You ate it together in your bed, naked, and chatted about back home. And when you finally fell asleep that night, it was to the sound of his heartbeat, lulling you under with its soothing rhythm.

It was never explicitly stated that the two of you were exclusive. The dick appointments kept occurring more regularly, sometimes initiated by you, sometimes him. But whatever was happening between you quickly grew to be something more than just sex, and it hit you one day when you realized Yoongi had allocated a whole drawer of his dresser to your things for those nights you stayed over. If that wasn’t enough, it became obvious in the way your texts, originally only sent around the weekends, morphed into weekdays, and then every day, multiple times a day. Morphed into calls, too, because even though you weren’t one who enjoyed talking on the phone, Yoongi apparently was, calling you when he knew you were home from classes just to ask how your day was. And then that changed to him not calling you as much, because he was with you, your time after classes spent in each other’s company, either in his apartment or yours.  

It finally occurred to you just how serious it all had become when you showed up to Yoongi’s apartment one night and found him fussing over pork belly that he had been slow roasting for you for hours. When it was you who called him, at the store trying to choose the perfect gift for his niece’s birthday party.

It felt like you blinked, and what had started off as a few nights of no strings attached fun became almost two years full of nothing but strings, your lives so intricately entwined at that point that it was hard to spot where you stopped and he began.

And it was wonderful. So fucking wonderful to wake up in his arms everyday, to be regularly blessed by the brush of his lips and the slant of his crooked smile. You had never felt a connection like that before, and haven’t felt it since. Something that powerful and all-consuming. Something that absolute.

You were so happy that you had been terrified to rock the boat, afraid to ask questions that might rip it all away from you. Yes, the two of you were content and comfortable, but that was to be expected in your cushy little college cocoon, where nothing too serious could test your relationship. There was the looming threat of graduation that both of you tiptoed around, but you convinced yourself that the idea of After wasn’t really a big deal. Because at the end of the day, you knew you would be together, just like you had been.

The lesson you learned was hard and swift—all it took was for you to get a pre-graduation job offer that would require you moving to a city hours away. Yoongi seemed so proud of you, so happy for you. He made sure to tell you so, made sure to take you out to dinner to celebrate.

But he was unusually quiet that night. Unusually subdued. That night, instead of slipping his hand below your waistband like he usually did, he just held you. Just rested his lips against your collarbone and breathed you in.  

Thinking back on it, you were definitely naive. Even as you planned your big move over that last month, Yoongi never inserted himself. Even though you wanted him to. Even though he could. He could have worked from anywhere in his field of work, but it would have been particularly easy for him to find a job in your new city. Still, he stayed passive. Still, he didn’t show any interest.

Still, you hoped.

Nothing is ever a sure thing. Clearly, the two of you had been feeling wildly different things. Clearly, you had been on two different wavelengths. Because even though he could have easily just come with you—

In the end, Yoongi left your life just as casually as both times he had entered it.

“Hey,” Yoongi says, his sudden baritone startling you from your thoughts. “Do you mind if I connect my phone?”

Your brain scrambles to put meaning to his words, but luckily, Yoongi clarifies, “I would just rather we not sit in silence for five more hours.”

Oh. You haven’t even noticed, but in your initial shock at reuniting with him, you completely forgot to turn any music on. He’s right. “Yeah, sure. Go ahead.”

He pushes some buttons on your dashboard from memory, and you’re kind of annoyed to find your traitorous car still has his phone programmed to work with the bluetooth. Soon, mellow lo-fi hiphop filters through the speakers. You raise an eyebrow in surprise, knowing Yoongi’s penchant for battle rap and expecting something a lot more uptempo and aggressive. You’re both too tired for that, you suppose.

The next few hours somehow pass by both quickly and slowly. Despite Yoongi previously telling you just how little sleep he got the night before, he doesn’t nod off, instead choosing to lean back his seat a little and idly watch the landscape rush by as he drains his coffee. The silence between you isn’t uncomfortable, necessarily. Now that Yoongi has added the buffer of background music to fill the empty space between you, it actually feels pretty neutral. Inwardly, you wish the rest of the trip can go exactly like this—the two of you quietly tolerating each other’s presence until you can make it home. But, of course, the spell gets broken before your dream can be fulfilled.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” Yoongi says suddenly. “Can we stop?”

“Sure,” you reply agreeably. You will have to go soon too, and you should probably stretch your legs after three hours of driving. “Are you hungry?”

“Not particularly.” Yoongi has never been much of an eater, so distracted by everything he needed to do that day that it was often you who had to remind him to sit down and eat. Old habits die hard, and at the disapproving look you shoot his way, he sighs and amends his previous statement. “We can get some snacks, though.”

You can also go for some snacks. You get off at the next exit and pull into the gas station, not seeing any harm in topping off your gas tank even though it’s still a little over half full. Kill two birds with one stone. Yoongi shuffles into the building as you pump gas, amazed as always that the price is so much cheaper than it is in the city. Fucking capitalism with its fucking taxes.

“I got you these,” you hear just as you’re putting the nozzle back and printing your receipt. A look over your shoulder procures Yoongi, on the passenger side of the car and holding up a plastic bag for you to see. You raise an eyebrow in question, and he clarifies, “Doritos and gummy worms.”

Exactly what you like eating on long trips. You bite your lip, ignoring the emotion that flashes through you before you can will it down, down. “Thanks.”

He gives you a nod, but you quickly look away and mumble something about the bathroom before hustling into the building.

You take longer than you need to in the bathroom, trying to give yourself time to regain your bearings as you thoroughly wash your hands. When you finally think the tightness in your chest is subsiding, you go back out, stopping to buy a couple water bottles before returning to the car at last.

Your phone, unthinkingly tossed into your coat pocket, vibrates repeatedly on your way back to the car, and you absently fish it out, not surprised when you see the name lighting up its screen.

The texts had started pretty much as soon as you two left the city and continued until about five minutes ago. And, of course, you hadn’t noticed because…you were driving. Like Jimin knew you were.

Chimothy 🥰 [9:11] How’s everything going?

Chimothy 🥰 [9:30] Yoongi’s not being mean to you, is he?

Chimothy 🥰 [9:30] I wouldn’t think he would, but I would also never peg him to be a bastard ex-boyfriend so

Chimothy 🥰 [9:31] wtf do I know

Chimothy 🥰[11:43] Why are you so quiet?

Chimothy 🥰 [12:12] Oh god, he murdered you, didn’t he 😭

Dear god, is this man dramatic.

[12:17] Not murdered 🙄

[12:17] Just driving

The response is immediate, as if he’s been glued to his phone all day and was waiting for your reply with bated breath. The three little dots dance as he types.

Chimothy 🥰 [12:17] Thank god

Chimothy 🥰 [12:17] I was trying to plan out my outfit for your funeral, but was having a hard time because your favorite color is yellow

Chimothy 🥰 [12:18] and you know that washes me out

[12:18] Jimin, people usually wear *black* at funerals

[12:18] but it doesn’t matter anyway because I’M NOT DEAD

Chimothy 🥰 [12:18] Well, now that I know you’re not dead, you can dish

Chimothy 🥰 [12:19] What are you guys talking about? on a scale of 1-10, how awkward is it? Do you need me to call you with a sudden emergency?? 🥺😤

[12:19] nothing, currently about a 6, and no!!! I’m totally fine, Jimin. I appreciate the concern

Chimothy 🥰 [12:19]  Yeah ok, send me the old lady emoji at any point if you need me to call you and tell you your granny broke her hip

[12:20] hey!!! Don’t speak that mess on Grandma like that

[12:20] besides, I’m literally en route to her, so I don’t see how that would at all help

Chimothy 🥰 [12:20] send me 🔥 and I’ll tell you your apartment is on fire

Chimothy 🥰 [12:20] Hell, send me 🥯 and I’ll tell you the deli down the street from the office is out of your favorite bagel

Chimothy🥰 [12:20] That’s an emergency if I ever heard one!

[12:21] omg, I’m FINE, jiminie. I promise! We’re already halfway there

[12:21]  but I’m also losing time talking to you. Gotta get back on the road

Chimothy 🥰 [12:21] Okay 😩 Let me know when you make it home!

Chimothy 🥰 [12:21] And call me if you need anything 🥺💕

[12:22] Will do 🙌

Yoongi, lounging in the passenger seat and waiting for you to come back, immediately notices your distraction when you reenter the car’s cabin. He probably also noticed how slowly you walked to the car from the building, and the way you hovered by the gas pump as you went back and forth with your best friend. “Is everything okay?” he asks, brows furrowed.

“Yeah,” you say, rolling your eyes in amusement as you put your phone back in its designated holder. You hand Yoongi one of the water bottles and pretend you don’t notice his surprise. “It’s just Jimin.”

“Oh.”

Yoongi is quiet as you finally put the car in drive. You think that’s the end of it, but once you’re back on the highway, he speaks up again. “How exactly did you meet Jimin again?”

“We work together,” you say matter-of-factly.

“Oh wow,” he says, his interest clear in his tone. He’s not looking at you, too busy ripping open the Doritos bag and propping it against the center console. You know that’s for you. “You both work for Sigma Limited?”

Against your will, your body locks up at the name. The name of the company that uprooted you, that changed your life forever. “…No,” you say quietly. “I only stayed there a year. I met him at the company I’m at now.”

Yoongi’s not dumb—far from it—and you know he can probably glean from what you’ve said and everything that you haven’t that Sigma Limited was nowhere near what you thought it would be. You see him frown in your peripheral, but you merely reach into the Doritos bag and stuff some chips in our mouth, hoping to dissuade him from any further probing.

That had been a really hard year, filled with not much more than self-doubt and self-loathing. With Yoongi leaving you and your insufferable boss always pushing you past your limits and demanding the impossible, your mental health took a sharp nosedive. Alone in an new city with no support system, you were beyond lucky that you received another job offer when you did. Beyond blessed that Jimin and his soft smiles and softer heart became your anchor, chased away the elephant that had made itself at home right on your chest and had you struggling to breathe.

Yoongi nods slowly, and after a beat, simply says, “He’s a nice guy.”

That’s an understatement. Jimin may be dramatic and constantly meddling in other people’s lives, but he’s your dramatic meddler. He’s seen you at your lowest and loved you anyway. Simply coaxed you back to the surface.

“Yeah.” You clear your throat. “And you say you work with Namjoon?”

“Yeah—he’s one of the songwriters there. We’re often either working on the same tracks or staying late in the studio at the same time, so I got to know him. He’s a really cool dude.”

“He is,” you agree. “A little bit of a hot mess, but honestly, that’s probably why he and Jimin work so well. Jimin has always enjoyed a little chaos.”

“Hot mess?” You hear the amusement in his voice, and when you glance over, he’s definitely smirking at you.

You hold up a hand defensively. “Hey, don’t be taking things out of context—that was said fondly! Who isn’t a hot mess nowadays? Present company included.”

Yoongi breezes right past you trying to soften the blow. “And what makes him a hot mess?”

“Don’t get me wrong! He’s extremely intelligent and hilarious and fun to be around.”

“But?”

“But he’s also super clumsy and liable to destroy anything in his path,” you sigh. “They’ve had you over for dinner, right?”

Yoongi nods, not at all perturbed that you seem to know this tidbit.

“Guarantee you neither of them cooked jack shit. Jimin can’t do much more than eggs and Namjoon has been banned from picking up anything sharper than a fork. Listen, I’ve seen that man attempt to chop an onion. It was extremely stressful.”

“For him?”

“For me,” you correct.

He laughs, and something inside you flutters. You ignore it, focusing instead on merging into the passing lane to speed past an ambling truck.

“We always ate takeout,” Yoongi admits with a tilt of his head. “I guess that makes sense now. Not that I give a shit. That’s mostly what I eat anyway.”

“Takeout?” you repeat disbelievingly. “You?”

Yoongi is a great cook. While you definitely used to order in, it was mostly him who prepared dinner for the two of you (because he claimed it was unhealthy for your to eat so much cup ramen, but also because he really enjoyed it). It blows your mind that he now eats out so much.

Your surprise must be evident, because Yoongi rubs the back of his neck. “It’s a little weird cooking for one,” he says sheepishly. “And plus I’ve been so busy lately that I’m hardly at home anyway, so. It’s just easier to have something delivered to the studio.”

You want to point out that it’s his own fault that he’d have to cook for one, but you bite your tongue, reaching for more chips instead. You’ve been having such a pleasant drive that you’d rather not sour it when you still have a ways to go before you make it home.

The two of you chat for a while, carefully keeping to safe topics. You gossip a little more about Namjoon and Jimin, both of you trying to one up the other with a ridiculous story about them. Belatedly, you realize you probably shouldn’t be talking about your best friend with a man who essentially is the enemy, but that’s the problem, you suppose.

Even after everything, Yoongi has never felt like the enemy.  

Jimin wouldn’t care that you’re talking about him—would probably preen at being the topic of conversation, honestly. And the fact that it’s his fault that you have to talk to Yoongi in the first place adds to the likelihood that he would let this slide. That’s not really what the issue is.

It’s just so easy talking to him—has always been so easy—that the words keep slipping past your lips before you can give them much thought. You hadn’t meant to revert to this, revert to those days when it was just you and him, talking about anything and everything, comfortable and safe in the knowledge that whatever you said to each other would never be repeated.

Yoongi’s a quiet guy, but that also means he’s pretty observant. He also tended to be rather chatty once he got going, and since the two of you often liked to wind down by telling each other about your days, having long talks with him—both about nonsense things and much deeper ones—became second-nature to you.

Clearly, even after all this time, it still is.

It’s unnerving, how easily you fell into old patterns. It must be the proximity, you reason with yourself. It’s been years since you’ve been this close to him, but your brain has been conditioned. It still remembers.

You are well aware that things are nowhere near the same though, and that it’d be for the best for you to stop acting like they are. So, with that in mind, you casually shift the conversation to something else that you’ve been mulling over. Clear proof of things being different.

“Your hair’s black,” you observe neutrally.

If Yoongi’s thrown by the sudden shift in conversation, he doesn’t show it. But he doesn’t answer you right away either, instead choosing to sit in silence until you casually glance his way. He’s looking at his hands in his lap, but from the way his lips twist slightly into a frown, you’re not sure if he actually sees them.

“That’s new,” you prompt again. “What happened? Got tired of all the upkeep?”

“Something like that,” he finally says. “I just didn’t feel like doing it anymore.”

It’s a simple answer to a simple question, but you still feel like there’s more. Ultimately, you just nod in response. It’s none of your business, you suppose. You were just trying to make small talk.  

Without warning, the song playing through the speakers immediately steals your attention. You visibly perk up, eyes scanning your console’s screen in an effort to figure out what the song is. Yoongi notices your distraction and stops talking so you can better listen, a smile touching his lips.

You didn’t recognize the melody, but you damn sure recognize the velvety voice that croons through the car. Your eyes widen, turning to Yoongi in surprise. “Taehyung?”

“Yup.” He must have remembered how you stumbled upon the artist’s Soundcloud when you were dating, how you used to have him on repeat. You were a bit obsessed, if you’re being honest, but that was to be expected for something you liked, your personality dictating that you fixate on new things you love to the point of exhaustion. You even remember repeatedly teasing Yoongi that you would dump him immediately should Taehyung ever give you the light of day. (“Shit, me too,” he would answer, straight-faced and wholly unconcerned. He would still tease you about “your boyfriend” whenever he popped up on your playlists, though.)

You frown a bit in thought. “Hmm…I don’t remember this song.” And you’ve listened to all of them.

(Listen, when you said fixate, you meant it.)

“That’s because it’s not out yet,” Yoongi replies matter-of-factly. At the confused scrunch of your brow, he continues, “I’m actually producing this for him right now.”

“You’re working with Taehyung?!” you practically screech.

“Don’t sound so surprised,” he laughs. “I’m actually pretty good, remember?”

“I know you’re good it’s just—” It’s just that Taehyung has actually blown up over the past few years, what used to be only song covers buried on Soundcloud now two professionally made EPs, with singles constantly on rotation on national radio stations. He’s become the superstar you knew he would be, and Yoongi has apparently risen in the ranks as well if he’s making music for him. This is batshit insane.

Your mouth flaps open and closed uselessly as you attempt to process the fact that Yoongi apparently works for Big Hit, the same company Taehyung signed to last year, and is actively making music with him. What the fuck?! What. The. Fuck.

“Wanna meet him?” Yoongi smirks.

Your eyes bug out of your head and you have to actively pay attention to the road so you don’t accidentally crash into something in your shock. Because there’s no way he’s being serious. Did you want to meet!!!! him?

“I can probably arrange for it after the holidays,” Yoongi continues casually, completely oblivious to the catatonic meltdown you’re currently having in response. Either that or ignoring it for his own amusement. Probably the latter. “He’s been trying to finish his first album, so we have a good amount of studio sessions scheduled over the next couple months.”

“I…” You have no idea what to say, so flabbergasted at this turn of events that you can do nothing but gape at him like a fish.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he laughs, chuckling harder at the stupefied look on your face. “I’ll keep in touch. Just make sure you don’t block me this time.”

You don’t even have a good response to that, still partially convinced that you’re actually asleep and your subconscious is going HAM and this whole day has been nothing more than a very bizarre, very detailed dream. “…Restart it,” you say instead. “I wasn’t paying enough attention the first time.”

Yoongi grins, and he does. Immediately, you get lost in the jazzy notes and the sweet voice, not saying anything else until the music swells and fades back away.

“Can you tell him I think it’s amazing?” you ask dreamily.

“You can tell him yourself,” he reminds you.

This is weird. You haven’t seen him in literal years, but he’s talking about meeting up with you so casually that it’s like he does it all the time. Doing you favors like that’s something that’s normal now. “What’s the catch?” you ask suspiciously. 

Yoongi scoffs. “Why does there have to be a catch?”

“Because nothing is ever truly free.”

A long pause. “You really think that?” He looks at you, expression neutral, and you hold his gaze for a few moments before looking back at the road. Then, he lets out a laugh that sounds suspiciously like a sigh. “I guess you’re right.”

“So?” you prod. “What’s your price?”

“Hmm.” He ruffles his hair with a hand as he thinks. “Who’s Alex?”

The sound of the name on his lips startles you a bit, immediately putting you on guard. “Why?”

“Your mom was expecting him to be in the car with you,” he shrugs. “Just curious.”

None of your business, you want to snap. Because he lost the right to ask you that a long time ago. But you were the one who pressed him to name his price, and he did.

You reach around the center console for the bag of gummy worms, and Yoongi easily grabs it and holds it open for you so you can grab a few. “…He’s this guy I’m seeing,” you finally admit.

“You’re seeing someone?” he repeats incredulously.

Annoyance starts to bubble under your skin. “Why do you sound so surprised? Yes, I am seeing someone.”

What did he expect? For you to be lonely and miserable the rest of your life simply because he didn’t want you?

Yoongi clocks your rising animosity and holds his hands out placatingly. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Really? Well then, how did you mean it?”

“I’m just surprised you’re seeing someone and he let you take a six hour drive all by yourself.”

Your anger flares. “He doesn’t let me do anything,” you retort. “I do what I please. And clearly I’m not alone. Against my better judgment.”

His eyes narrow at the dig, but he doesn’t rise at the bait. “If I wasn’t here,” he points out instead, “you would be. And this isn’t a matter of you physically being able to do it. Anything can happen in six hours, and it’s dangerous for anyone to drive it alone.”

He didn’t say it, but you heard the especially because you’re a woman loud and clear, and though you logically know he’s right, that only ruffles your feathers even more. “What do you care?” you seethe.

He hadn’t really been looking at you, but at that, Yoongi’s head snaps in your direction. His body angles that way, too. “Are you serious right now?”

You bristle at the underlying offense in his tone. Because you’re the one who’s allowed to be offended right now, not him. “So that’s why? That’s the reason you got in the car? Some misplaced sense of chivalry?”

Yoongi doesn’t say anything, but the way his gaze shifts away from you is damning enough. Your gut clenches, and you’re pissed that it does.

Because of course that’s why he came with you. What other reason would there be? He didn’t want to be around you then, so he damn sure wouldn’t want to be around you now. And you don’t want him to! So whatever. You don’t need his pity.

You don’t say anything else, preferring instead to silently stew in your indignation. And Yoongi backs off, but you can tell from the twist of his mouth that he is not happy.

Well woopdeedoo. He can just join the fucking club.

It’s quiet again after that. Whatever lighthearted mood that was cautiously starting to build is completely gone now, immediately soured by your mutual irritation. You don’t know what Yoongi has to be mad about, though. He’s the one who insinuated that you’re incompetent. He’s the one who thinks he can come and go from your life as he pleases with no consequences.

Your aggravation simmers the longer you two sit in silence, the more time you have to hype yourself up in your head. You only make it another half hour before you’re pulling off at the next exit. You need a breather.

Yoongi still doesn’t say anything when you pull into the rest stop, though he does look at you. You ignore him, putting the car in park and grabbing your phone before shrugging back into your coat and opening your door.

The temperature has dropped a lot since the last time you stopped, and you can actually see your breath as you continue your mission into the building. You hear the beep of a car door locking, and a reflexive glance over your shoulder reveals that Yoongi has taken the key out of the ignition and is following you inside.

You scowl, throwing open the door and immediately being blessed by the heat rushing out.

Whatever. He can do what he wants. Just like he always has.

You don’t know where he goes, but you’re purposely not keeping tabs on him anyway. You just need some time to breathe and regroup. To remind yourself of the progress you’ve made, of all the good in your life, so you won’t allow yourself to be dragged back under with all the bad. With that in mind, you walk past the restrooms and food court and over to a little seating area where you can have a little privacy.

Sighing, you sit down on one of the benches and pull out your phone. The screen is full of notifications—some more texts from Jimin, asking how things are going, asking if he needs to beat Yoongi up (or better yet, enlist Namjoon to do it, because he’s been in the gym lately), apologizing again for putting you in this mess. You can’t help but smile, endeared by his persistence to make his goof right. And also his offering up Namjoon for the job, knowing damn well his boyfriend was the most uncoordinated motherfucker on planet earth and everyone knew Yoongi would stomp his ass the fuck out. The gesture is sweet, regardless.

There are also a flurry of texts from Leah, and you know before you open them that she’s already talked to Jimin.

Leah 👯‍♀️✨ [1:15] Omg, i TOLD jimin that trying to set you up was a bad idea

Leah 👯‍♀️✨ [1:15] And his dumb ass ended up setting you up with your EX??!?

Leah 👯‍♀️✨ [1:15] Girl, are you okay??

You don’t really have the energy to talk to her about it right now, so you simply heart her last message and type out a quick note that you’ll reach back out to her when you get home.

It doesn’t surprise you that your friends are looking to get the tea—hell, you know you would too. This is a ridiculous situation. Absolutely crazy, so much so that it’s the kind of thing you only see in bad romcoms. Yet here you are, stuck in the crazy in real fucking life. If this were happening to either one of your friends instead of you, you absolutely would be on the edge of your seat trying to get updates, cause what the fuck.

What does surprise you, though, is that though your phone is full of your friends’ tittering, there are zero notifications from Alex. You would have thought he’d check on you by now, especially since you sent him a text this morning letting him know you were headed out. One look at your message history shows he never even responded to you, though he read it.

You frown, trying to shake off your irritation. Because yes, his silence is annoying, but you know the reason you’re actually so riled up is Yoongi, and there’s no reason to take it out on Alex.

The phone rings and rings, and you actually think you’re going to be sent to voicemail, but right as you’re mentally preparing the message you’re going to leave, he picks up.

“Hello?”

“Hey,” you breathe, smiling for the first time in what feels like forever. “Just wanted to check in—haven’t heard from you all day.”

A slight pause. “Yeah, I’m sorry. I’m a little swamped over here.”

He does sound a bit distracted. “Don’t worry, I get it,” you reassure him. You’re just happy to hear his voice, to have something ground you in the here and now when the current chain of events has forced you to revisit the past, and your brain is threatening to keep you there. Happy to have a reminder of how far you’ve come, and a promise of how much farther you can go.

It’s loud in the background, indistinct voices causing buzzing noise behind him. You wonder where he is, with that many people, especially since he told you he’d have to work today.

“I’m almost home,” you continue. “Finally. It’s been a really long and taxing trip, and it would have been so much better if you could have come with me.”

“_____,” Alex sighs, tone edging on disapproval.

“I know, I know, I totally understand why you couldn’t! Not trying to make you feel guilty, just letting you know that I miss you,” you reassure him. “And you honestly have no idea how much I can’t wait to see you.”

If you were paying attention, you would have started to pick up on just how quiet Alex is being while you tell him about your family plans for the night, as well as what he should expect on Christmas Eve, when your entire town traditionally gets together for its holiday festival and Christmas tree lighting. But as it is, you just keep talking, letting the compounding stress you’ve been harboring all day start to ebb away at the reminder that someone is still in your corner. “When does your flight come in again? I can pick you up from the airport.”

He doesn’t say anything for so long that you would have thought the call dropped if you didn’t hear the muffled sound of a woman loudly laughing coming through the receiver. Unease starts to tickle your consciousness, starts to creep across your skin.

“I’ve been thinking,” Alex finally says. “And I’m not sure me coming with you for the holidays is such a good idea.”

“What?” you ask hollowly. Sure you heard him wrong. “What do you mean?”

“I’m just not sure it would be appropriate.”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” You laugh, the sound taking on a bit of a manic edge, even to your own ears. “My family knows you’re coming and they’re excited to meet you and have promised me they’ll be on their best behavior. So you don’t worry about it.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about.”

“So then what is it?” you press, trying to curb your exasperation. You really do not need this today. You just need one thing to go the way it was supposed to. One thing to not fight you. “It’s Christmas. It’s kind of expected for people to spend time with their partner’s family during Christmas. How is that not appropriate?”

Alex lets out a sigh, and you don’t appreciate the condescension you sense in the action. “See? I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Spit it out.” Your tone has hardened, none of the previous warm fondness leftover from mere moments ago. “What are you talking about?”

But while your survival instincts are rapidly walling up your defenses, are resharpening your smoothed edges, Alex is attempting to do the opposite. “Babe,” he says gently, and you want to strangle him. You don’t want his gentleness. You want him to explain what the fuck is going on.

“What?” Subconsciously, you already know where this is going. But you want him to say it. Your exhausted brain must be playing tricks on you, so you want him to say it.

“We’ve been having fun.” He sounds distinctly uncomfortable. Good. “But I think you think this is more than it really is.”

And there it is. Your blood slowly turns to ice, your stupid heart continuing to pump the jagged crystals though your veins anyway. Scraping you raw from the inside out.

“Really. I wonder what gave me that impression,” you retort, humiliation seeping into every atom of you and threatening to swallow you whole. He doesn’t say anything, just audibly sighs again like you’re the one being difficult. “Alex, I asked you if you wanted to come, and you said yes! Why the fuck would you do that if you didn’t want to?”

“Because I wanted to try. For you!” This is rich. This is so fucking rich, and you refuse to let him pin all of this on you. Because if you were picking up on signs when there weren’t any, he damn sure has been letting you do it.

“You didn’t think that you should tell me you felt this way before, I don’t know, I told my entire fucking family that you were coming?”

“I was gonna come, even though I didn’t think it was a good idea,” he says defensively. What the fuck did he want, a medal? “But I’m sorry, the longer I sat with it, the more it just didn’t feel right. And I just don’t feel good about meeting your family if I don’t see this going anywhere.”

“Oh wow, thanks for your consideration, then,” you scoff snidely.

“_____,” he says, and the pity you hear in the way he says your name makes your blood boil. You refuse to be patronized.

“I get it.” The volume of your voice is brought back down to something that feigns indifference, the words clipped. “I hear you. Fine, whatever. Merry Christmas.”

You hang up before he can try to talk his way out of the dick move he just pulled. Because you don’t want to hear it. He doesn’t want you, so that’s that. No need to waste any more of your energy on it.

He’s not a plaything, you insisted to Jimin, but now, you can only laugh at your own stupidity. Clearly Alex never got that memo.

Clearly, the two of you have never been on the same page.

How could you have read the situation so wrong? How do you always read the situation so wrong?

Why do you always ignore clear signs of disinterest? Why do you always offer yourself to men who just want to fuck you and be on their merry way?

Well, you think as you stand, woodenly heading back to the car. At least I’m consistent.

Distantly, you recognize the familiar crooning of Mariah Carey, audible through the speakers despite the din of travelers hustling their kids into the restrooms or chatting in the food court. All I want for Christmas is you, she sings, and you can’t help but scoff at her timing. You both may be alone at Christmas, but unlike you, she at least has those song residuals to keep her warm at night.  

The temperature has noticeably dropped even more in the short amount of time you were inside, and you reflexively huddle deeper beneath your coat, dipping your head against the wind and stuffing your hands into your pockets. Of course, it isn’t until you make it back to the car that you remember that you left your keys with Yoongi. Your responding exhale is visible in the air, and you close your eyes, desperately trying to control the firestorm of emotion that has been swelling within you all day and is now threatening to erupt. Your hands clench into fists, tears of frustration starting to build behind your eyelids as you stand out in the cold, unable to open your own goddamn car. “God fucking dammit!”

You just…you just want to make it home so this day can be over. You’re so, so tired.

“Are you ready to go?” a voice asks from behind you.

Of course. Of course he’s here when you’re about to fucking lose it. You’re not sure whether it’s relief you feel or rage, so, with another long measured breath, you simply hold your hand out, not bothering to turn and face him.

If Yoongi notices the stiffness in your posture he certainly doesn’t comment on it, obediently dropping the keys in your hand and moving to the passenger side.

Silently, you unlock the doors, dropping into your seat and shoving the key in the ignition. The heat turns back on once the engine comes back to life, but you dial it up even more in an effort to chase off the chill that crept in your car since you left. You turn out of the parking spot before Yoongi can even put his seatbelt on properly.

Yoongi is concerned. He doesn’t say anything, but over the years, you’ve become an expert at deciphering his body language, and his concern is clear as day in the glances he keeps shooting your way, in the way he’s sitting up straight, his perpetual piss poor posture suddenly cured. In the restless fingers he drums without pattern against his knee. In the parted lips that hesitate for a wary tongue.

What you want to tell him, since he so obviously wants to know, is that you’re pissed. Pissed that he has the audacity to stroll back into your life just as casually as he left it. Pissed that he’s stirring up all these feelings that you thought you had finally moved past.

You were doing better, and here he comes, deadset on ensuring you stay fucked up in the head.

You grit your teeth as you turn back onto the interstate, in complete disbelief of your situation. There was a time in your life where you actually thought about what it would be like to marry this man, and yet here you are, the constant butt of all cosmic jokes.

This was a mistake. You should have never agreed to let him back in your car. Back in your life. Should have never reopened old wounds that had never properly closed.

How hilariously absurd to think you could be the bigger person when you knew damn well that he left you so small.

Yoongi’s eyebrows pinch as he continues to study the look you must have on your face. “Is everything okay?” he finally hedges.

“Yeah.” You breeze right past the question, the word sounding like a blatant lie even to you. There are so many things you want to say, but you can’t deal with this right now. You need to get home. You just need to get home. “Just peachy.”

“If you say so,” Yoongi murmurs. “Here. You should eat.”

A glance at the bag he’s holding out you shows that he apparently spent his time at the rest stop in the food court. The insignia on side declares it to be from Wendy’s, and you already know that your favorite burger awaits you inside.

What the fuck is he trying to do? Trying to confuse you? Because if that’s the case, he’s certainly succeeding. But you truly aren’t in the mood for his games right now.

You look away from his offering, refusing to touch it. “Why do you keep buying me things?” you snarl.

Yoongi blinks, hesitating at your sudden hostility. “Because you’re driving. It’s the least I can do.”

“Well, don’t! I’m not hungry.” And you’re telling the truth—though you haven’t eaten anything other than junk food all day, your stomach is currently twisting in on itself too much for you to even think about food.

“_____,” he says evenly, nonplussed at your increasing fury. “You’re cranky right now because you’re hungry. You have to eat.”

You don’t answer him, your rage only further brewing at thought that he thinks that’s the problem. Your life is falling apart again, but that’s the problem? You haven’t seen him in three years because he decided he wanted nothing to do with you, but that’s the problem?!

It’s while you’re pointedly ignoring him, internally stewing, that you notice the first snowflake. It appears out of nowhere, drifting from the sky and melting easily against your windshield. Your breath catches in your throat, eyes widening slightly in alarm when you realize that single snowflake is quickly being joined by others, visibility rapidly decreasing as you apparently drive straight into the storm.

“Shit,” you breathe. “Was it supposed to snow today? I don’t remember anyone saying it was supposed to snow today.” You also can’t recall checking the weather reports over the past few days, though, too preoccupied throughout the week with making sure you got enough of your work done that you wouldn’t be overwhelmed after the holidays. And then, today, too busy trying to convince yourself not to have a meltdown by the sudden reappearance of your ex-boyfriend.

Your ex-boyfriend who apparently still knows you well enough to recognize your building distress. “Pull over,” Yoongi says simply.

Anxiety thrums through you as the snow continues to fall, showing no sign of letting up. Your hands tighten on the wheel. “I can do it,” you snap.

“I know you can,” he says easily. Gently. “But you don’t have to.”

“I don’t need you!”

A pause. One long enough that you dare to take your eyes off the road to look at him. There is a strange expression on his face, one that immediately shutters away once he realizes you’re looking. “I know you don’t,” he agrees quietly.

Your eyesight blurs. Your bottom lip trembles.

“_____, can you please pull over?”

You pull over.

One night, when you were a teenager, you were driving home from your part-time job when you slid right through an intersection. The conditions had aligned perfectly for this to happen: it had just started snowing an hour before, the powdery stuff that looked benign and pretty as it fell, but also made the roads slick. It was dark, winter dictating that the sun had set well before you were allowed to go home, despite it still being early. You were well overdue for new tires, but also completely unaware of this fact.

You were driving well under the speed limit, creeping home, but that didn’t matter much when you were faced with a red light and brakes that suddenly started to pump in their valiant attempt to slow the car. Terrifyingly, you just kept sliding into oncoming traffic.

Luckily for you, the people going the other way had seen you coming and noticed your inability to stop, so no one was hurt. You didn’t even hit anything, pulling over only so you could attempt to calm the heart that had migrated into your throat and clear the whooshing in your ears.

But ever since, you’ve always been more of a nervous driver. Totally fine under normal conditions—in the day to day. But the moment it gets too dark or it rains too hard or there’s too much snow, driving to you becomes less of a common task and more of an exercise in curbing your anxiety.

Yoongi has never had this issue. He’s a good driver, one who enjoys doing it and has no qualms about doing so, no matter the conditions. When he learned this about you early in your relationship, he easily took the reins, happily relieved you of that burden. Years later, despite no longer wanting you, this has apparently not changed.

It’s Yoongi who slowly navigates through the worsening storm for the final stretch of your trip. You say nothing from the passenger seat, just tighten your hands in your lap. When he glances over at you one too many times, you lean your head against the window and close your eyes.

That night had been foreshadowing, you suppose. A warning from the cosmos of what the rest of your life was going to be like. A reminder that ultimately, just because you’re behind the wheel, it doesn’t mean you’re in control.

You close your eyes, but you don’t sleep.

“We’re here.”

His voice startles you, loud and a little raspy from an hour and a half of disuse. You hadn’t expected him to say anything at all, because it’s obvious you’re home—you watched Yoongi get off at the familiar exit, turn down a familiar street. Park in a familiar driveway. Up until relatively recently, you’ve lived here your whole life. You know exactly where you are.

But he knows that. Yoongi’s words are less of a statement and more of a placeholder—something to fill the space your extended silence has left. Something to tide over until he can muster up the resolve to say what it is he actually wants to say. Unfortunately for him, you don’t want to hear it.

“Thanks,” you mutter, not meeting his eyes and unbuckling your seatbelt. “Can you pop the trunk?”

He hesitates, clearly not wanting to let you go so easily, but ultimately, he sighs and does what you ask. The trunk is popped, and you open your door, easily slipping away from him.

You take a few moments to gather some of the trash that has accumulated over the day and stuff it into a plastic bag before climbing out of the car. Yoongi follows your lead, taking the keys out of the ignition and moving to the rear.

You watch him silently, biting the inside of your cheek thoughtfully as he carefully takes the bags—yours and his—out of the trunk. It’s almost over, you remind yourself. Still, you can’t help but think about how while you’re finally home, he’s not.

“Do you…” You swallow, unsure, even if the weather makes you feel obligated to ask. “Do you want me to take you home?”

“Nah, don’t worry about it,” he replies, not looking up from his task. “It’s just a few blocks.”

You know that. He knows you know that. “Okay,” you say anyway.

Yoongi unloads the last bag, slamming the trunk closed. He turns to you then, cheeks dusted pink by the bite in the air. Eyes dark and unexpectedly intense when he holds your gaze, waiting for something you’re not sure how to give. Finally, he looks away, and you’re set free from his spell. Your car keys are held out, then a wad of cash, and you reflexively take them both. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” you repeat hollowly.

With one final nod, Yoongi grabs the handle of his suitcase and walks away. You watch him until he turns the corner of the block, then dazedly look at the money in your hand, almost surprised that it’s there.

Oh yeah. The reason you agreed to this nightmare in the first place.

Woodenly stuffing the bills into your coat pocket, you trudge your way to the front door and open it with your old house key. Warmth immediately washes over you, but you still feel so cold.

Your sister Sierra, having heard the door open, curiously pops her head out of the living room, a smile overtaking her face at the sight of you. “Mom!” she yells. “_____ made it!”

And then you’re wrapped in your family’s embrace, the familiar motions of your sister squeezing you tight and your mother kissing your forehead making a smile inch across your face. You can’t help but be amused by their excited chattering, the thing inside you that has been wound tight all day slowly relaxing at the comfort of being where you’re safe and loved.

“Where’s Yoongi?”

And just like that, your mother’s curious inquiry locks you back up. It’s not her fault, you know. You’re sure you would ask the if your daughter was suddenly driving home with her ex-boyfriend who she refused to speak about for years.

“He went home.” You let out a grounding sigh, using the action of taking off your coat as an excuse to not have to meet her eye. “We’re not back together, if that’s what you’re thinking. It’s a long story, but he needed a ride.”

“Hmm,” is all she says, but you know from her tone that the subject won’t be forgotten, just dropped for the moment. The way Sierra smirks when you glance at her confirms that at the very least, she’s gonna want you to tell her the tea.

But you’re exhausted and they know that. So they allow you to slip your boots off and hustle you further inside, where the previously promised pizza is waiting for you.

You end up going to bed not too long after eating dinner, good and truly wiped. And when you finally awaken the next morning, you’re surprised to find you slept a full twelve hours. Getting dumped while being stuck in the company of someone else who also dumped you really takes a lot out of a person, you suppose.

And speaking of…you’re really, really not looking forward to admitting to everyone that Alex isn’t coming. The wound is still fresh, your own mind still spinning in disbelief that it happened at all, so how can you possibly explain it to someone else?

You don’t really have a choice, though. Luckily, you know your friends are good and distracted with their own holiday activities, so a quick text letting them both know you made it will give you a few more days before they start asking questions. But your family? There’s no fucking way for you to simply avoid the subject when your entire family is expecting to meet him.

There’s no way around it, so you might as well rip off the bandaid and get it over with.

As you make your way downstairs, you can hear that your family is already up, chatting over coffee in the living room. With an internal sigh, you dip into the kitchen to pour yourself a cup as well before joining them, curling up in the corner of the couch next to Sierra. She distractedly greets you when you do, still in her pajamas and in the middle of a rant about how the children who live in the apartment above hers are so unbelievably loud that there’s no way they’re anything but demons.  

You sip your coffee and listen, lips quirking in amusement at how animated your sister is getting the more riled up she gets. An idle glance out the window surprisingly reveals that the driveway and sidewalk in front of your house have already been cleared, which you’re relieved to see, because you’ve been dreading having to shovel ever since you arrived last night. Your mother must have hired someone to do it, and you’re glad—she’s getting older, and now that you and your sister aren’t always around to help, you really don’t want her to do all that shoveling by herself.

“_____?”

The tone in which your mother says your name in indicates that this is not the first time she’s tried to get your attention. You turn away from the window, blinking out of your thoughts. “Hmm?”

Your mother smiles, clearly aware that your attention lays elsewhere. “I was just asking when we should expect your little friend to be here. I’ve already changed the sheets in the guest room, but if he’s coming this evening, I want to make sure dinner is ready. And you know the festival is tomorrow—is he gonna make it?”

Your next gulp of coffee has nothing to do with you needing more caffeine and everything to do with you attempting to prolong the inevitable. But, like it always does, time ultimately runs out. “He’s not coming,” you admit hesitantly.

There’s a beat of silence where your family attempts to make sense of your words. But then, your mother tilts her head in confusion. “What do you mean he’s not coming?”

“I mean,” you say slowly, struggling to get the words out. They’re reluctant to leave you, thick and sticky on your tongue like molasses. “I mean he’s not coming. Told me he would and then broke up with me on my drive here.”

No one says anything again, the shock throwing them both off, and the face Sierra pulls moments later would have had you cracking up if you weren’t already discomfited by the situation.

“You’ve been together for months and he dumps you via phone?” she asks incredulously.

“Don’t even worry about it, Si. It’s not like this is the first time this has happened to me,” you joke weakly, but it falls flat, only stirring up the growing tension.

“Yeah, but…” She’s thrown off. The reminder of how depressing your love life is has thrown her off. God, are you pathetic. “During the holidays, though? What an asshole!”

“Watch your mouth,” your mother reminds her, but it’s clear her heart isn’t in it. She’s too busy turning her concerned gaze in your direction to continue scolding her adult daughter.

“Sorry Mom, but he is! Who breaks up with their partner during the holidays?”

“People who don’t want to buy presents,” you muse unhelpfully. “People who want to dip out before Valentine’s Day.”

“So. Assholes,” Sierra insists.

“Men,” you correct, and your sister nods in agreement.

Your mother, however, has been frowning throughout your entire sisterly exchange, and doesn’t seem as gung-ho about the conclusion as the two of you. “Sweetheart, I promise you,” she murmurs, eyes sad. “Not all men are like that.”

Her clear pity triggers your defenses to shoot way up. “Really? Because that hasn’t been my experience,” you scoff. “And that hasn’t been your experience either.”

Your sister sucks her lips in her mouth, eyes wide in surprise at your utterance. “_____,” she belatedly chastises, though it’s obvious her heart isn’t in it.

“What? Dad’s an asshole. You want me to pretend that he isn’t?”

But unlike you, your mother doesn’t get defensive when she’s faced with her failures. Instead, she just looks at you, eyes sad, and moves from where she’d been lounging on an armchair to sit between you and Sierra on the couch. “I chose wrong,” she admits quietly. “But I would do it again in a heartbeat, because I got you two out of it.”

You allow yourself to be pulled into her embrace—you tucked under one arm, Sierra under the other. You reflexively melt into your mother’s familiar warmth, tucking your face in the hollow of her neck, just like you used to do when you were little.

“I chose wrong, but that doesn’t mean that you always will. So don’t give up, okay? The right one will come exactly when he’s supposed to.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you mutter dismissively, ashamed that you’re ashamed.

“I’m serious, baby. You need to not be so quick to shut down. You’re missing out on opportunities.”

“Yeah! Like Yoongi.” You can hear the mischievous grin in your sister’s voice, though you refuse to lift your head and entertain her. “Him suddenly popping back into your life? That can’t be a coincidence.”

“Considering the fact that we’re both home for the holidays and he lives around the corner, I beg to differ,” you scoff. “Besides, there’s no opportunity there. Just disappointment.”

“Yeesh, when did you become so bitter?” Sierra moans, pulling out of the hug so she can lean over your mother and look you in the eye.

You pull out of the hug too. “When men decided to ruin literally everything and make me bitter.”

“_____,” your mother sighs, already weary of so much of your negativity so early in the morning.

“Don’t even worry about it, Mom. I’ll just attempt to be a lesbian or get a bunch of cats or something.”

Sierra laughs, but your mother isn’t amused by your joke that you’re still not sure is actually a joke. Still, she ultimately decides to let it go when you hurriedly ask, “But anyway. What’s for breakfast?”

Her eyebrow lifts in challenge. “Who said I’d be making breakfast?”

“I haven’t been home in forever,” you pout, “and I just got dumped. Don’t you want to make me pancakes?”

“You’re grown—you can make your own pancakes,” she snorts. But even though she’s rolling her eyes, she’s also still vacating the couch and headed straight to the kitchen, a smile touching her lips.

A warm hand on your arm has you turning back to Sierra, who still has a concerned slant to her brow. “You sure you’re okay?”

“No,” you answer honestly, and go to get more coffee before she forces you to elaborate.

That day you go see more family, and as much as you try to downplay it, it’s a bit of a big deal. Over the years, you’ve sporadically been back home for short visits, but you’ve never come back for Christmas, even though it’s such a big holiday in your family. Everyone congregates at your grandma’s house, and she cooks a big meal full of your favorites and smiles contentedly while watching you eat it. Some of your younger cousins, still in high school and thinking about college applications, pepper you with questions about the city you live in now, and whether you regret going to school so close to home.

(“No,” you answer honestly. “I had a lot of fun, and being closer to home means you can come back whenever you want. Besides, locations aren’t what make great memories.” Memories that are threatening to creep up at this very moment, but you refuse to acknowledge. You swallow. “It’s the people.”)

Here, in your grandmother’s home, surrounded by so much love and laughter and support, something in you slots back into place. Something you hadn’t realized was knocked loose to begin with.

Here, the persistent chill in your bones warms, just a little.

You actually almost get through the day completely scot-free, but, of course your nosy but well-meaning uncle can’t help but ask about the date you said you were bringing. Your mother saves you from answering by cutting in with a curt and final “There is no date”, but experience, along with all the pointed looks being exchanged across the room, tells you that there is most definitely going to be a flurry of phone calls over the next few days. Oh well. Your mother gossiping with her siblings about your nonexistent love life is something to be expected. At least you don’t have to be the one to say anything. Small mercies.

You have such a nice time with your family that you find yourself not protesting very much when, the next day, your mother insists you come with her to the annual Holiday Festival. Wheedling you with a put-upon pout and a “You’re never back home”, and you don’t have it in you to deny her.

(You said the same words at breakfast yesterday, but it sits differently on her tongue. Sits differently on your chest. You suppose you owe her at least one of those.)

Just as the holidays are a big deal in your family, the same is true of your town. Every year—well before November has the chance to make its exit—streets begin being lined with lampposts decorated with wreaths, begin being filled with houses touting lights and festive signs and inflatable snowmen and santa statues. Your childhood is filled with memories of all of the fun activities held in Town Square the week leading to Christmas—the ice skating and ice sculptures; the pleasant bite in the air and the hot chocolate to combat it.

And, of course, in the center of it all, the forty-foot artificial Christmas tree whose lights are only turned on during the final day of the festival, right on Christmas Eve.

Today is Christmas Eve, and now that you’re in town and your family is on vacation from work, they intend to honor your yearly tradition and bring you with. It’s better this way, you know. Better that you’re not left with too much time to think about what has happened over the past few days, the past few years. Better to distract yourself so that the dark cloud you thought you had long chased away doesn’t creep back.

So you willingly join your mother and sister at the festival, meeting up with your aunt and some cousins as well. As it’s the last day, Town Square is teeming with people—people visiting all of the little booths and perusing the merchandise being sold by town businesses, buying hot drinks and fair snacks, renting out ice skates, watching little kids happily sled down stretches of grass that are sloped just enough to be considered hills.

You, Sierra, and your cousin Jasmine break away from the rest of the group and meander through the vendor stalls, sipping on hot toddies. (Jasmine is technically only nineteen, but she also enrolled at a university in the fall, and from what you’ve seen on her social media, she has already been thoroughly tainted by things much stronger than a simple hot toddy. So, as a good older cousins, you and Sierra simply shrug and order an extra when she asks for one.) The drink is surprisingly delightful, though you’ve never had it before—the combination of the liquor, cinnamon, and temperature warms you from the inside out, which really comes in handy as it gets later into the night and the temperature continues to drop.

It’s so delightful, in fact, that you decide you want to get another one while the three of you are browsing through a collection of handmade ornaments. Your cup is almost empty—and definitely will be by the time you make your way back to the other side of the ice skating rink, where all the food stalls are located. So you preemptively start heading in that direction, a small, contented smile touching your lips as you maneuver your way through excited children racing to the sledding hill and onto the ice.

One such child crashes into your legs, and when you reflexively look down, a hand reaching out to steady them, you can’t help but be surprised by the familiar eyes that meet yours.

“Sua!” someone calls, and you freeze at the voice, realizing immediately why this seemingly random child looks familiar.

It’s too late. There’s nothing you can do but hope this encounter passes quickly.

“Sua,” the voice calls again. “Slow down! You need to be careful!”

Just as you expected, it’s Min Junki who emerges from the crowd, a bit winded from chasing down a speedy toddler. Surprise colors his features when he realizes it’s you who has halted the enthusiastic whirlwind that is his daughter. “Oh wow, _____. I heard that you were back in town! How have you been?”

Your smile is a bit more forced now. A bit more on edge. “Just for the holidays,” you reply, trying not to make this awkward. But how can you not be awkward when you’ve just run into Yoongi’s older brother, who you haven’t spoken to since the breakup?

Shit. If Junki’s here, Yoongi probably is too. You don’t know why you’re surprised—the whole goddamn town is here, just like they are every year.

“But I’ve been doing okay. How about you?” you offer politely, though really, you’re praying to whoever is listening that he gives you the Sparknotes version so you can dip before you cross paths with anyone else.

Sua, abashed that she ran into you, utilizes the distraction of the grownup conversation to scuttle back to her father, hiding behind his legs instead. Wow, you can’t help but think, mind struggling to match the baby of your memories to the walking, talking, mini person in front of you. What is she, four now?

Junki chuckles at her antics, but unfortunately isn’t diverted from his task of chatting with you. “Pretty good. Minji and I were hoping the festival would wear Sua out a little.” He gestures over to the food area, and there is his sweet, soft-spoken wife Minji, chatting with Yoongi’s parents with what looks to be a sizable baby bump shielded by her winter coat.

Wow. Wow, wow.

You take a drink from your cup, not sure how to react. Would it be rude of you not to go over and speak? Would it be weirder if you did?

But the older man keeps talking, momentarily saving you from overthinking. “We need to be sure she gets some sleep, but she’s really excited about Santa coming. Aren’t you, Sua?”

The toddler nods timidly. Her hesitance is definitely a change from when you last saw her—of course, she was just a baby then, but you still used to be one of her favorite people. Time has a habit of creating distance, you suppose.

Her father must be on the same wavelength as you. Must notice how out of place you’re now feeling in a space that used to be carved out, just for you. “Sua,” he says, gently nudging her. “Do you remember Auntie _____?”

“No,” she says, body twisting timidly. She’s curious though, that much is sure. She looks like she’s itching to get closer to you, but her shyness is overriding her own instinct.

“Well, I remember you. You got so big!” you gasp dramatically, kneeling down until you’re eye-level with her. “Last time I saw you, you were thiiiiiiis small.”

The space between the tips of your thumb and forefinger shrinks, no bigger than a pea. Your ridiculous declaration works to break the ice—she giggles, daring to inch out from behind her father. “Nuh-uh!”

You pretend to think. “Really? Hmm, I guess you’re right. Maybe it was this small?” A little bigger.

“Auntie,” she says smartly, “I was never that small.”

“Sure you were,” you say matter-of-factly. “We all were. But you’re right. I think you were actually about this small.” This time, you actually hold your hands out to a rough estimation of how tall she was when you she was a year old. Sua takes that as an invitation to dash into your arms, taking you by surprise and throwing you off-balance. With a startled oof, your ass hits the snow, your arms reflexively circling the child to ensure you took the brunt of the minor tumble.

Sua just giggles at the whole ordeal, her grip around your neck locking you in the chokehold-type hug of little kids who don’t realize their own strength. But then suddenly, she’s shouting “Uncle!” and you immediately freeze, dread seeping through your veins.

Please let Yoongi have another brother that you never knew about. Please let this just be a Christmas miracle where the long lost Min is finally reunited with his family. But no, a turn of your head produces exactly who you expect it to be—Yoongi, holding two cups. There’s a strange expression on his face as he looks at you, but it quickly disappears into careful neutrality.

“Uncle Yoongi, do you remember Auntie _____?” Sua practically yells in her excitement. You flinch, her mouth too close to your ear, but to be honest, the words would have been loud regardless. They’re too pointed, aimed straight for your heart.

You hear Yoongi huff out an amused breath as he gets closer. “Yes, I remember her.”

Suddenly awkward, you detach yourself from the little girl’s death grip while your ex-boyfriend approaches. Yoongi just gives you a polite nod of acknowledgment before turning his attention to his obvious target—Sua.

“Your order is ready, Miss,” he says with the formality of a waiter, eyes softening. He’s always been soft for Sua. “One cup of hot chocolate, extra marshmallows.”

She giggles, reaching for the cup excitedly.

“Be careful,” Yoongi warns as he gently hands it to her. “It’s hot.”

“Sua, what do you say?” Junki prompts.

“Thank you,” she dutifully responds, looking up at Yoongi like he gave her the world.

Oh, to be young again, and see everything through such pure eyes. To go back to when everything was so simple.

Yoongi fondly pats the top of his niece’s head, giving the pompom on her hat a playful tug, and you look away, suddenly realizing just how out of place you are right now. It’s time to make your exit.

But before you can make any excuse, Junki is reaching for his daughter. “Come on, Sua,” he urges, holding a hand out. The little girl obediently takes it. “Let’s go before they run out of sleds to rent.”

He’s not slick. The way his eyes pointedly shift between you and Yoongi makes his intentions obvious, but all you really want to do is desperately cling onto his kid so you won’t be left alone.

That would be a new low, you think. Using oblivious toddlers that aren’t even yours as a shield against uncomfortable social situations.

You don’t even have the opportunity to feel guilty about it, though. Sua happily lets herself be led away, waving ferociously at you and yelling “Bye!” at the two of you in her wake.

“That was subtle,” Yoongi snorts sarcastically. You don’t reply, and that results in a few moments of awkward quiet between you before he ultimately clears his throat. “So…”

“I’m gonna go look for Sierra,” you interrupt, turning on your heel. “I let her hold all of my drink tickets, but I haven’t seen her in a while, so she probably spent them all.”

He grabs your arm before you can get too far, and you immediately freeze, immobilized by his touch. Slowly, you look back at him, at the hand that tethers him to you.

Yoongi follows your line of sight, eyes widening when he realizes what you’re looking at. As if he didn’t realize he put it there. He retracts his appendage, but still says, “Wait.”

You sigh, already exhausted, the breath visible in the frosty air. “What do you want, Yoongi?”

“I just wanted to check on you. The last time I saw you, you seemed pretty upset.”

“Just having a bad day.”

You can tell by the slight tilt of his head that he doesn’t fully believe you, but you don’t really care what he believes right now. You just want him to leave you alone.

No such luck, though. Yoongi scans your face for a little longer and then says, “Where’s Alex? I don’t think I’ve seen him all night.”

You stiffen, shaking your head in disbelief. He’s never met Alex—has no idea what he looks like. So what does that mean? That he’s been watching you all night, trying to catch a glimpse of him? And, now that he’s fully aware that he’s not here, he has to make a point to bring it up to you?

Of course he does. Rub salt into your open wound. Be smug at your humiliation.

But you’re truly not in the mood to play his games right now. Your tone is clipped when, after a moment, you reply, “Not here, obviously.”

Yoongi just blinks at the news, but you can see the cogs turning in his head as he mentally puts together the pieces of the puzzle.

“Starting to to realize I’m the problem,” you continue with a self-depreciating laugh. Might as well guide him to the obvious conclusion, try to end this interaction as quickly as possible. “They always leave.”

Yoongi’s brows furrow, clearly dismayed. “What?”

You shake your cup, the absence of any movement inside confirming that you’re officially out of alcohol. And that certainly won’t do, if you’re going to make it through the rest of the night. “I’m gonna need another one of these,” you mutter to yourself, already turning again to continue to the beverage stands.

“The problem definitely isn’t you.”

The conviction in his voice is what stops you in your tracks. Is what makes you slowly turn your head, what makes you lock eyes with him over your shoulder.

“…It’s not me,” you repeat incredulously.

He’s frowning a little, having the gall to actually look irritated. “No. Of course not.”

You stare at him, a rage so visceral toiling in your belly that you can practically taste the fumes of it. All of this time you’ve been searching, desperate to find a connection that is a fraction as satisfying as what you had with Yoongi. And he really has the audacity to act like he hadn’t snatched that from you, hadn’t built you up solely to have the pleasure of blasting you to smithereens?

Your next words are quiet, so quiet you can barely hear them over the roaring in your own ears. “Fuck you, Yoongi.”

He seems visibly thrown by your response, and that only pisses you off more. Now he wants to play dumb?

The world around you erupts in applause and cheering, and distantly, you realize that while the two of you were having this exchange, you’ve apparently missed the Christmas tree lighting ceremony. But you don’t give a shit. Any and all holiday cheer you previously harbored has been ripped from you, and honestly? This is probably your cue to go home.

“Get out of my face,” you hiss. “Just…just leave me alone.”

And when you turn to leave this time, Yoongi doesn’t stop you.

You do decide to go home after that. You consider merely thugging it out, drinking hot toddy after hot toddy until your family decides they’re ready to call it a night, but your mood is now so soured that all of the warmth that has been slowly building within you since you’ve been home has been effectively snuffed out. There’s no reason to ruin anyone else’s night.

Your house is a couple miles from Town Square and the temperature continues to drop the later it gets, so you send Sierra a quick text and then call an Uber. She finds you already in bed when she and your mom get home, and though the clear reason she pokes her head into your old childhood bedroom is to try to figure out what’s wrong with you, you simply pretend to be asleep so you don’t have to deal with it.

Because ultimately, it’s not a big deal. It’s nothing new. You’ve long since gotten used to the sting of Yoongi’s rejection, are well-practiced in ignoring the way it constantly simmers beneath your skin. You know that if you leave it alone, if you don’t give it any attention, eventually, you will no longer feel singed from the inside out. What you’re feeling now? With time, it eventually will pass.

But in your reasoning, you forget one important detail.

Time is a luxury that is very rarely granted to you.

The next morning, you awaken to the sound of a revving motor, and a curious glance out your window reveals to you that it’s snowed again, and your neighbor across the street is dutifully clearing his driveway. While snow and everything that comes with it—cold temperatures, shoveling, a harder time traveling—usually irritate you, this is admittedly the one day a year you’ll allow it. Everyone loves a white Christmas, and you’re no different. Trudging to brush your teeth, you idly wonder if the snowblower you know is sitting in your mother’s garage has enough gas, or if you’re just going to do it by hand. Maybe your mother’s snow service will take care of it before you even step outside—you should ask her if they’re coming today, even though it’s the holiday.    

Sierra pops her head into the bathroom when she notices that you’re in there, smiling big. “Mom!” she yells, much too loudly for your still awakening brain. You flinch, but she ignores you, her childhood excitement for Christmas morning having followed her well into adulthood. “_____ is up!”

And so the morning starts off just as Christmas morning has for years and years—as soon as you’re all awake, you, Sierra, and your mother gather around the tree and eagerly exchange gifts. There aren’t many surprises, as the three of you provided each other a list of options and you all faithfully stuck to it. What does surprise you, however, is when Sierra disappears from the room for a few moments, only to return with a bottle of tequila and three shot glasses.

You snort, amused. “Are you serious, Si?”

“It’s tradition,” she says pointedly. And she’s not wrong—one year, she jokingly suggested taking a birthday shot for Jesus, and, amused, you easily agreed. But the silly ritual somehow returned year after year, and at some point stopped being a joke and started simply being what your family did after opening gifts and before eating breakfast. “A tradition that we’ve had to skip the past few years because somebody refused to come home.”

You wince a little. “I did come home,” you attempt to counter, but the words sound guilty even to your ears.

Rightfully so, Sierra doesn’t buy it. She narrows her eyes at you. “Yeah, but not for Christmas, which is when this is carried out! So we have to do it now.”

You look at your mother, and though she shakes her head good-naturedly at you, she clearly doesn’t oppose the proposition either. “It is tradition,” she points out.

“It is,” you agree.

So tequila shots it is.

The liquor burns the whole way down, your eyes threatening to water as you try not to gag. Sierra grimaces, a guttural noise coming from the back of her throat as she mutters to herself about getting old and not being able to hang anymore.

“This was your idea,” you helpfully point out, still pulling your own face.

But while the two of you gripe over the alcohol, your mother barely reacts. She merely swallows it down like it’s water and starts gathering stray wrapping paper off the floor and stuffing it into a garbage bag. A little tequila has nothing on her old sorority days, you suppose.

You and Sierra share an amused look, watching your mother pause in her tidying up when something outside the window catches her eye. She waves, her lips lifting into a soft smile.

“Who are you smiling at?” you tease, snickering. “Mr. Wilson about to be our new daddy?” But your mother doesn’t react to your good-natured jesting the way you assume she will, her delayed response immediately piquing your interest. You walk over, curiously peering out the window yourself and predictably spotting Mr. Wilson pushing his snowblower back into his garage.

But to your surprise, there is also someone else, bundled under a winter coat and scraping a shovel against the end of your driveway. Your eyebrows furrow. “Who’s—”

Your unspoken question immediately gets answered when the person finishes their row and turns to start the  next. Yoongi. Your breath sticks in your throat, rage reigniting at the pure audacity.

“_____,” your mother says cautiously, but you ignore her, already stepping around her to grab your boots. You’re so mad, you can practically feel steam coming out of your ears.

Is this a joke? Does he think this is some kind of game?

Just a few days ago, Alex pressed down on an old wound you had assumed was long healed, but it’s only in this moment, as you stare at the person who had stabbed you in the first place, that you realize how naive you’ve been. All this time, you have been actively ignoring the knife Yoongi had indifferently slid between your ribs, hoping that if you pretended it wasn’t there, everything would eventually be okay.

But things were never okay. They’re not okay. You’re hemorrhaging, and Yoongi apparently thinks it’s funny to waltz back into your life just so he can slowly twist the handle.

This time, you’re tired of pretending. This time, you refuse to let him toy with you while you quietly bleed out.

“_____,” your mother pleads as you bound for the closet and rip your coat off its hanger. “He’s just trying to be nice. Please. Just let it go.”

You whirl on her, breathing fire. “I’m your daughter,” you snarl furiously. “Me. Your allegiance is with me.”

She at least has the good sense to look contrite, but you don’t care to hear anything else from her right now, yanking your front door open and stomping down the porch stairs. You’ve turned entirely reactionary, a tempest just barely restrained by your prison of a body.

Yoongi reflexively looks over his shoulder at the sound of the your screen door slamming open against the side of the house, watching you blankly as you march your way to him, still in your pajamas. A runaway train whose path he doesn’t realize he needs to get out of.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” you hiss.

He doesn’t answer right away, blinking owlishly at your hostility. But then you see the guard shutter in his eyes, and he pointedly turns back to his work. “Shoveling.”

“Stop being such a smartass. You know what I mean.”

“I don’t, actually.”

“Let me rephrase then. Why are you oh-so-conveniently shoveling here, at my house, right after I very clearly told you to fuck off?” You swallow, struggling to keep the tremor out of your voice. “Why won’t you just leave me alone?”

He stares at you for a few moments, almost as if he can’t believe what you’re saying. Then he scoffs, shaking his head disbelievingly as he mutters under his breath, “Typical.”

“Excuse me?”

“Typical,” he mockingly repeats louder, eyes narrowing. “Only thinking about yourself.”

“EXCUSE me?!”

“Not everything is about you, _____,” he bites out. His cheeks are rosy with color, and you don’t know if it’s from the cold or his clear irritation. “I didn’t shovel your driveway to make you mad, or to get your attention, or any other ridiculous fucking reason you insist on making up in your head. I did it because I always have, even after you left. Because I know your mom has a bad back, and despite what you may believe, I’m not a dick.”

He’s mad. Yoongi doesn’t often get truly mad—it takes a lot to even make him raise his voice—but you clearly have gotten him there.

Well, fine. You’re mad too. He can join the fucking party.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” you snarl. Across the street, Mr. Wilson has paused in closing his garage door to nosily watch the scene you’re making, but you don’t even see him right now. Don’t see anything but Yoongi and his stupid haughty face. Don’t see anything but red.

Instead of responding, Yoongi takes the time to push the last bit of snow out of the way and into the grass. Then, to your absolute fury, he breezes past you like you’re not there and starts walking home.

Seething, you don’t think twice before following him down the sidewalk, steps quick to catch up with his slightly longer stride. “And now you’re just gonna run? That’s fucking typical!”

His jaw clenches. “I’m not doing this with you.”

“Not doing what?” you taunt. “Not communicating? Oh, wow, just like old times!”

If looks could kill, you probably would have been struck dead a few houses ago, on Mrs. Henderson’s front lawn. But as it is, you’re too stubborn to let this go. Have been letting this go for so fucking long that it’s been eating you up for years. And you refuse to let it consume the scraps of you that are left.

Yoongi shakes his head, scoffs. Refuses engage with you the last couple blocks, even though you do your very best to provoke him, to force him to feel even a fraction of what you are. He’s clearly over it, but when he opens his garage door and you follow him in, he doesn’t try very hard to stop you.

But in his defense, you are a force to be reckoned with. Nothing but pure rage and sorrow and humiliation, a cyclone of self-loathing that will not be impeded by any half-hearted efforts.

Yoongi puts his shovel in its designated corner and then opens the door to the house and stomps inside. There’s a mudroom, you know, that separates the attached garage from the rest of the house, and Yoongi takes minimal time to rip off his hat, slip off his shoes, unwind his scarf, throw his coat aside. Still not looking at you, but not shutting the door in your face, either.

When he moves further into the house and leaves you standing there—not looking back, and not even bothering to press the button to close the garage door—you reflexively take your shoes and coat off too. But it’s like you have blinders on, hyper-focused on the sight of him turning his back on you and walking away. Always walking away. Heart drumming a staccatoed beat in your ears like it’s revving you up for war.

And you are, you suppose. You’re tired of avoiding him—fucking exhausted of spending years ignoring the extremely obvious elephant in the room.

It’s time to call a spade a spade.

The house is quiet when you pad in, the carpet in the living room completely swallowing the sound of your footsteps. Yoongi knows you’re behind him anyway, if the visible stiffness of his spine beneath his sweater is any indication. He ignores you for a bit more, focusing instead on making his way into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water, but that facade is forced to drop when you’re suddenly close enough to touch him and blocking his path to the room’s only exit.

“Go home, _____,” he growls, eyes narrowing.

“No,” you snap. “Not until you tell me why you refuse to leave me alone.”

He pauses, a storm visibly rolling over his expression. “You don’t have to worry,” he says, voice quiet. Eyes steely. “It won’t happen again.”

“Not good enough! That doesn’t answer my question and I’m not leaving until you finally learn to use your words like a grownup.”

“I’m sorry, but can you please just spit out whatever you keep alluding to that’s upsetting you?” Yoongi scoffs. Your vexation flares at his obvious contempt. “Because I really don’t have the patience to play one your little guessing games right now. And we both know that if anyone should be pissed, it’s me.”

The audacity. The audacity. “What could you possibly be pissed over?” you fume. “Oh no, I wanted you to get off my property, poor you!”

His jaw ticks. “You really want to go there?”

“Go where, somewhere where you’re finally honest with me?! Yeah. Yeah, I want to go there!”

You’re owed that, at least. After all these years, you know you’re owed at least that.

Without breaking eye contact, Yoongi drains the rest of his glass and sets it in the sink. Carefully, he angles his body towards you, and instantly, the oh-so slight-change in his stance results in a massive change in intention. Defense to offense. “I just don’t understand why you’ve been so hostile,” he says slowly, “when you were the one who left me.”

Of all the things you could have expected him to say, this never, ever was anywhere near your radar. Your jaw drops, brain scrambling to make sense of it. Because clearly you heard him wrong. “I left you,” you repeat flatly, eyebrows furrowing. “I left you?”

You wait for Yoongi to correct you, to repeat what he actually said, and not the absurd thing you heard. But he does nothing of the sort—simply continues to stare at you as you struggle to digest his ludicrous accusation.

“…Are you smoking something?” you ask incredulously. “Did I miss it when we entered an alternate dimension? Yoongi, YOU left ME!”

“Excuse me?” He’s clearly baffled, but from the way his jaw ticks again, you can tell he’s pissed too. “I left? Or you wanted me to leave?”

“What the fuck are you even talking about?” This is ridiculous. So unbelievably absurd that you would laugh if you weren’t already fighting off tears of frustration. “What did I ever do to give you the impression that I wanted you to leave?”

Your gut twists when Yoongi actually does laugh, though the sound rings hollow. He shakes his head at you in disbelief. “Are you serious? _____, you literally built a whole new life and didn’t bother to leave a space for me in it. Didn’t even give me the courtesy of going through the motions of pretending to consider how I would fit in it. Because obviously, I was never meant to.”

The shock that runs through you at his words is ice-cold, quickly dousing the fires of your fury into embers. “What?” you whisper.

“What, did you expect me to stay where I’m clearly not wanted?” Yoongi scoffs, glaring at you. “You know, I almost did. Because I’m weak. You make me weak.”

Not wanted. He actually thought–thinks–that you didn’t want him. Your mind races at this new development, so many thoughts rushing past that you struggle to properly grasp any of them.

Your disoriented silence does nothing to dissuade Yoongi, who has apparently opened the floodgates and now can’t stop his onslaught of resentment. “Not one time did you ask me to come with you,” he continues, tone perfectly level. Perfectly level, but the words slash you anyway, the implications sharp and barbed. “Didn’t say a single thing that alluded to wanting me there. To wanting me. So I took the hint.”

You don’t know what to say. The truth of why he left has been something you’ve lingered on for years, sometimes in passing before you could whisk the thought away, but always coming haunt you in your darkest of moments. You’ve just assumed it was one of those things—that the universe worked in mysterious ways and you won’t always get all the answers.

But now that you know, you wonder if ignorance had been better. Because now, you feel like you’ve been punched in the gut. Now, your mind is shuffling through all the moments between when he left you and two seconds ago and coming to the dawning horror that everything could have been different.

But no. He can’t put this all on you. You’ve now been called out for your part in it, but he was there too. He made choices too. “Yoongi,” you finally say, forcing the words out, “you never, ever told me you wanted to come with me. I can’t read minds. How do you expect me to know that’s how you felt if you didn’t tell me?”

Yoongi looks completely mystified, as if it’s unfathomable to him that such a thing would ever need to be said. “Because I love you.” His stare burns. “And you know that.”

Your eyes widen, hardly believing your ears.

Present tense.

Your heart pounds as you wait for him to correct himself, but Yoongi does not waver, simply keeps looking at you as if what he just said was obvious.

“Don’t do that,” you whisper. “You don’t get to do that.”

“Do what?” he retorts, pushing forward. Flustered, you scramble backwards in turn, trying to restore the space that he seems set on negating. Trying to restore your sanity. “Communicate? Tell you exactly how I’m feeling? I thought that was what you wanted.”

You shake your head, disbelieving. No. No, no no. “You don’t get to do that,” you repeat, a tremor in your voice.

Yoongi ignores you, advances even closer so that your back hits the pantry door and you have nowhere to go. So that you’re forced to look him straight in the eye when he says, voice cracking, “I may have been the one not to come back, but you were the one who left.”

Back then, you had been terrified to push too hard, fully aware that the house of cards you spent years pretending was made of brick could easily crash down with one misstep. But apparently, you had not been alone in that. Apparently, the same had been true for him.

Tense seconds stretch between you as you stare each other down. Weeks, years. You’re trembling, body buzzing with too much of everything at once. And within the span of a breath, your lips are molded to his.

You’re not sure who technically closed the scant inches between you, but from the way your hand now curls around the back of his neck, winds into his hair and pulls his mouth down to your level, you can safely deduce it was you. Yoongi doesn’t seem to protest though, melting into you immediately. Easily slotting into place like a puzzle piece cut from the beginning to fit you.

But it’s not enough.

You’ve been slowly suffocating, and it’s only now that you’re finally breathing him in that you realize it. You’re not close enough–can never be close enough–and it turns you desperate, quickly devolving things into a collision of lips and teeth and tongue, your body arching into the comforting weight of his.

And it’s as if no time has passed between you at all, Yoongi easily matching your urgency with his own. His pull effortlessly meeting your push in an encore performance of your well-practiced dance. His hands wisp over the flare of your hips, meander over the curve of your ass and squeeze, pulling your pelvis solidly into his. And oh. This is familiar. Years later, but oh-so-familiar, and you groan appreciatively into his mouth, one of your legs eagerly wrapping around his hip.

Everything is heated now, primal. Things happening too fast and not fast enough, the two of you reduced to nothing but your baser instincts, the pantry door rattling behind you as he roughly grinds himself into your core. You pant, sparks of pleasure racing across your skin, the hold you have on his hair reflexively tightening. A noise rumbles from his throat at the action, low and guttural, and that only deepens your lust. Only makes you want more. More, more, more.

And Yoongi knows. He must know, can probably tell from your haggard breaths, from the little desperate whines that escape you before you can stop them. He knows, and he’s eager to give you exactly what you’re asking him for.

Yoongi swallows your whine of protest when his hips slightly cant away from yours. But it doesn’t take you long to realize he’s simply giving himself room to slip his hand past the elastic waistband of your pajama bottoms, simply giving himself room to touch you right where you need him most. And when you gasp, skilled fingers stroking you exactly how you like, Yoongi swallows that too.

He’s deliberate in how he circles around your clit, pace meandering, but pressure sure. It sends electricity running down your legs and need pooling at your core. The careful press of the first finger inside you makes you dizzy; the second makes your knees tremble. You almost lose your balance entirely, but he simply leans his body against yours again, the pressure between him and the wooden door successfully holding you up enough for you to regain your bearings.

And regaining your bearings is not an easy feat. Not with his fingers inside you, long and lithe and knuckle deep. Not with his palm being forced against your clit by the insistent press of his cock. You whimper again, rocking against him and forcing him impossibly deeper.

Yoongi just watches you fuck yourself on him. Watches the tease of movement beneath  fabric, the twist of frustration on your face. Watches leisurely, like he has all the time in the world.

But you don’t. Hurriedly, you push against his chest. Yoongi goes easily, stepping back at the insistent pressure and removing his hand from your pants. He eyes you, pupils blown with lust despite his confusion. Head tilted slightly in question.

And you answer him by reaching for his waistband, hands trembling a bit in your haste to unbutton his pants. He starts to help you, but you’re in a haze. On a mission. And so you scramble to move his pants out of the way just enough to pull him out, spurred by the feel of him in your hand, just like you remember. Hot, thick. Heavy with promise.

His dick twitches excitedly in your hold when you give him a few cursory strokes, muscle memory gliding your hand over the velvety skin, your grip just as firm as he used to like. And apparently still likes, his breath stuttering in his throat as you quickly work him to full mast.

Yoongi’s eyes flutter, and then he regains enough sense to return his attention to you, hands swiftly returning and yanking your pajama pants over your hips and down your legs. You eagerly step out of them, easily spread your thighs when a wandering hand slips between them.

Suddenly, one of your legs is lifted and tucked into the crook of his elbow. The move surprises you, his cock momentarily forgotten as you scramble for his shoulders and lean a bit more heavily against the pantry in an attempt to regain stability. And that’s the only warning you get before, after he gives himself a few more pumps, he settles at your entrance and breaches you.

It burns. You’re wet, but not enough—was too impatient to allow him enough time to work you up properly. So now, as a result, his entry burns, breath catching in your throat, nails digging into his shoulders. Yoongi notices your discomfort immediately and tries to retreat, but you won’t let him, one of your hands scrabbling down his back so you can grab his ass and push.

Want. You want and you need, groaning at the satisfying pressure of his thick length separating your walls, inch by inch. You’ve been hollow, but now you’re not, Yoongi your long-missing piece. Slotting right where he’s always belonged. Where he’s always meant to be.  

Yoongi leans down and kisses you, trying to help you adjust. Trying to distract you from any discomfort with his wicked tongue. And you let him, easily meeting and matching his languid movements.

But there’s only so long you can try to restrain your hunger. And when he’s finally fully-seated, it becomes blatantly clear that you’re ravenous.

“More,” you whisper. Body trembling and dusted with goosebumps. You’re whole again, but you need.

And, never one to deny you, Yoongi gives you what you beg him for.

Slowly, he pulls out enough to thrust back in, the upward angle making his cockhead easily tap your g-spot.

“Ahhhhh,” you moan, sparks dancing across your vision. Arms circling his neck in an attempt to bring him impossibly closer. “M-More—”

Yoongi groans too, spurred by your reaction. Immediately pulls back out and slamming back in, harder this time.

You keen, everything about you encouraging his increasingly frantic pace. It still kind of burns at first, sparks igniting your lower-half every time he thrusts and scrapes against your insides, but you revel in that burn. Revel in the way the breath is knocked out of your lungs, revel in the way the pain rapidly gets swallowed by pleasure as he sucks color down the column of your throat, coaxing you soft and open. The angle assures your clit drags across his pelvic bone with every stroke, and you just whine and bask in it all. Bask in his reverent touch, in his feverish worship.

Ultimately, you can only cling to him as he pistons within you, your pussy the willing victim of his long pent up frustration. His hands greedily slide up your shirt, and you whimper at the additional stimulation, toes curling.

Yoongi shushes you. “Tell me what you need from me, baby,” he murmurs against your jaw. “Anything you want. You just have to tell me.”

“You,” you groan.

“You have me.”

No, he doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand. “You,” you repeat, the word cracking a little.

Yoongi stops kissing you, pulls back so you can see the sincerity in his eyes. Stops the roll of his hips so you can hear the sincerity in his words. Takes a moment to rest his forehead against yours. “You have me,” he throatily says again. Sharing your breath. “You always have.”

You close your eyes, relishing in the heat of him. The weight of him. Instinctively, your hips cant down, body chasing its high, and he obediently reaches for them. His fingers digging into the meat of your ass only gives him more leverage to properly yank you down. To frantically and repeatedly spear you onto his cock. A particularly deep thrust has you letting out another desperate whine, but Yoongi merely shushes you again.

“I know, baby. I know.” He’s breathing hard with his efforts, pressing soothing pecks across your damp skin.

And then finally, you come undone, eyes rolling back, cunt locking around him. You convulse, only held up by Yoongi’s bodyweight and the door behind you. He curses, loudly, the hot grip of you triggering him into his own frenzy and as he continues to pound into you, deep deep. With a final, shuddering groan, he cums too, hips circling as he rides it out, pantry door rattling with each movement.

And you’re blissfully taking it, your pussy eagerly sucking him in like a vacuum. Milking him for everything he’s willing to give you.

A lot. What he’s willing to give you is a lot, because you feel him, shooting hot and sticky inside you, but even after he’s done he doesn’t stop fucking you. Just breathes hot against your neck and continues to fuck his cum deeper inside you, swiveling his hips like he’s in a trance. Like if he tries hard enough, he can make it stay.

Eventually, he calms, softened cock slowing its fevered roll, and he starts to regain sense of himself. Insecurity settles as soon as he pulls out and pulls away, both of you unsure of where you stand with these recent developments. You awkwardly grab paper towels to wipe at his mess while he tucks himself pack into his pants.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and you pause, thrown off guard at hearing him say the words. But then he continues, “I should have asked before I did that.”

Of course. Of course that’s what he’s sorry for. 

Whatever warmth you’d been starting to feel only moments before is doused right out. Sex means nothing, your mind whispers. When will you finally fucking grasp that? 

“It’s fine.” Your reply is frosty, even to you. “I’m on birth control.”

Yoongi’s lips thin, no doubt recognizing that he is no longer the one you are on birth control for. That annoys you, and it annoys you that it annoys you.

You’ve finally said your peace, and thought that you would feel better about it. Hell, you’ve even fucked the guy. So why is your chest still tight? Why does this feel so wrong?

You can finish cleaning up when you get home—you need to get out of here. Need some time and space to regroup. “I meant everything I said,” you murmur, pulling your pants back up.

His expression is guarded. “So did I.”

So that’s it, then. For how long are you going to allow yourself to be made a fool of? For how long are you going to offer pieces of yourself, chipping way until there’s nothing left? You can’t do this again. You don’t think you can survive doing this again.

With a slow nod, you move to turn away. “This was a mistake. I’m sorry.”

Yoongi immediately steps in your path. “What do you mean, a mistake?” he demands.

“I mean just that.”

“Oh, no no no. We’re not doing that. You had no problem saying what was on your mind two seconds ago. Why can’t you do the same now?”

“There’s nothing to say,” you reply defensively.

“What do you mean, there’s nothing to say?”

“Nothing has changed, Yoongi.”

He shakes his head, bewildered. “What are you talking about? Everything has changed. It was clearly all just a miscommunication.”

“So what,” you scoff. “You think we can just say oopsie and move on like it never happened?”

“I didn’t say that.” He’s frustrated. So are you. “I just—”

Something starts insistently vibrating, stealing both of your attention. It’s closest to you, and you quickly recognize the culprit to be the phone Yoongi tossed onto a counter, what feels like eons ago. Silently, you hand it to him.

He reflexively takes it, but gives you a look that tells you he’s not done with you before shifting his gaze to the screen. “Shit,” he mutters, immediately answering. “Hey, sorry. Yeah, I’m coming, I just lost track of time. Yeah, I know. But I’m on my way now.” He listens silently for a bit more, the way he shifts from foot to foot betraying his impatience. “Okay. Okay. I’m on my way right now. Okay. See you in a little bit.”

You raise a brow at the long breath he lets out when he hangs up, an agitated hand ruffling his inky strands.

He answers your unspoken question. “I’m supposed to be at my brother’s right now. My parents went ahead because they wanted to watch Sua open all her presents, but I told them I’d catch up with them after I finished shoveling.”

It is Christmas, isn’t it? And you were so mad when you entered the house that you forgot to even take into account that his parents might be inside, and also failed to notice when they weren’t. Hell, your own family is likely waiting for you too, and you didn’t even bother to bring your phone when you stormed out of the house.

“Oh,” you say, suddenly very embarrassed. You duck your head, turning to leave. “Of course. Don’t let me hold you up—”

Yoongi grabs your wrist before you can get too far, his touch halting your quick escape. “I just think we need to talk this out some more,” he says hesitantly. “Or, at least, I’d like to.”

Your deeply-honed defenses have your lips reflexively parting to tell him to fuck off. But there’s something new whispering in the back of your mind that makes your tongue hesitate. Something new and hopeful and very likely naive.

He’s right. While both of you just aired out some your grievances, you’re not deluded enough to think that wasn’t the tip of the iceberg. Besides, you were both so mad, you doubt either of you did much listening. At the very least, you can admit, his request sounds genuine.

“...I’d like that too,” you reply honestly after a few beats, strangely shy. Like you haven’t known him for years and just got done letting him fuck your brains out.

He shifts, an agitated hand running through his hair. “And I’d really love to do that now but—”

“Yoongi.” You hold up pacifying hands to his visible frustration. “It can wait. It’s waited this long.”

An amused puff of air escapes his lips. “I guess you’re right,” he agrees after a moment, something fluttering in your ribcage at the soft way he looks at you. “Then we can talk later?”

“Talk later,” you confirm. And this time when you try to leave, he lets you.

Your walk from Yoongi’s feels much different from your walk there. There was a tension in your body before that had you wound tight, tight. That’s gone now, your relaxed limbs now making you feel almost boneless. You’re dazed, and with the newly-fallen snow making everything glow, it’s like you’re in a dream. Like none of this is real.

But you know as soon as you enter your house and are met with your mother’s worried face that that’s not the case. That what just happened with Yoongi did, in fact, happen. She and Sierra have been waiting for you to come back, as the three of you are supposed to meet at your aunt’s house to open the rest of your gifts.

“I’m okay,” you assure her quietly, staring your boots. “And I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you and I shouldn’t have yelled at all.”

She doesn’t agree with you, though she should. She doesn’t tell you that it’s okay, because it’s not. Instead, your mother just gathers you in her arms and holds you there. “You’re human,” she murmurs. And that’s enough.

That night—after you’ve showered and gotten dressed and spent the whole day with your family and lugged all your presents back home—your phone rings. You pick it up, curious, only to freeze at the 🚘 on the screen.

Yoongi.

You never bothered to correct his contact info from when Namjoon had given it to you, what felt like forever ago. Now, the seemingly innocuous emoji sends your blood pressure skyrocketing, your body teeming with nerves.

Swallowing, you watch the phone ring and ring, and right before he gets sent to voicemail, you take the leap and answer the call. “Hello?”

“Hi,” he breathes. “It’s Yoongi.”

You find yourself smiling despite your sudden jitters. “I know.”

“Oh. I just—” He’s flustered. It’s reassuring to know you’re not the only one. “Sorry. I forgot you had my number.”

“Haven’t had enough time to block it yet,” you tease, but then immediately want to smack yourself. It’s much too soon in whatever…this is to start say something like that. Yoongi pauses, and you rush to rectify your mistake. “Um, that was a joke.”

This time, it’s him who’s amused, a puff of laughter escaping him. “I know.”

“Oh. Um, good.”

“Mmmm.”

“Did you need…” You hesitate, not wanting to accidentally dissuade him from reaching out to you when your newfound truce is so fresh. “Is something wrong?”

“Wrong? Oh, no. No. Well, kinda, yeah.” He lets out a long breath. “I know we agreed that we have a lot of things to talk about, and I still want to do that. But my job just called me and I need to fly back tomorrow.”

“They called you on Christmas?” you ask, annoyed for him. “Why are they contacting you at all during the holidays? Weren’t you supposed to be on vacation until New Year’s?”

“Yeah. But Taehyung’s release date is moving. Apparently, some popular popstar has decided to release her album at the same time, and now A&R is worried his buzz will be buried by hers, so our schedule now has to jump ahead a few weeks. I would just mix things from here, but he still has some songs to record, so it’s just better if I go back.”

“Jeez, that sucks. I’m sorry.”

“Eh, it’s fine. They paid for the ticket back, and I’ve already told them we’re going to renegotiate my royalty amount. So it is what it is.”

“It still sucks. Do you…” you hesitate, inwardly debating on your next words. “Do you need a ride to the airport?”

“I—yeah,” he says, your offer clearly surprising him. “Yeah, that would be great. My flight is early though. Are you sure?”

“Yeah, it’s no problem.”

“Cool. Okay.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll send you my flight info.”

“Sounds good.”

There is a long, long pause after that, one that neither of you is sure how to fill. This is uncharted territory, and you don’t know how to navigate it.

Yoongi finally clears his throat, mercifully setting you free from limbo. “Okay then. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” you breathe. “See you tomorrow.”

Another pause. Then, softly, he says, “Merry Christmas, _____,” and hangs up.

The sun is just starting to breach the horizon, soft rays filtering teasingly through your blinds and dusting your room with speckles of light. It’s pretty, you muse as you watch the gentle glow spread, chasing away the darkness. Crazy to think that something so beautiful is an absolute. That one merely has to have the patience to wait for it.  

You’re never up this early on your days off—and certainly not during the holidays—but it’s not like you got much sleep last night anyway. So you get ready quickly, merely throwing on some jeans and the first sweater you touch. You don’t plan on getting out of the car, in any case.    

Sierra, trudging down the hallway on her way to the bathroom, pauses in your doorway when she sees you’re fully dressed already. She rubs her eyes, raises an eyebrow. “What are you doing up so early?”

You bite the inside of your cheek, hoping you give off an air of nonchalance when you reply, “I have to take Yoongi to the airport.”

That wakes her right up, both eyebrows now seemingly attempting to shoot past her hairline. “Your ex-boyfriend who you just cussed out in front of everybody and then fucked in his kitchen, Yoongi? That Yoongi?!”

You facepalm, groaning in embarrassment. “Say that a little louder, why don’t you.” God, you’re really starting to regret telling her the whole story when she cornered you in one of your aunt’s bathrooms yesterday.

Your sister waves a hand, unconcerned. “Mom’s still knocked out and she fell asleep with the tv blasting. She can’t hear shit.”

“That doesn’t make what you said any less embarrassing.”

“Wasn’t embarrassing when you did it,” she quips, and you’re mad because you can’t even be mad. Because she’s right.

“…Yes,” you finally admit, trying not to pout. “That Yoongi.”  

Sierra grins, looking entirely too happy this early in the morning. “You know, I always knew you two would get back together.”

You scoff at her assumption, face warm. “First of all, rude, considering he literally dumped me via text. And nobody said anything about getting back together—I’m just driving him to the airport.”

“But you’re thinking about it?” she pushes, watching you expectantly. And you don’t know what to say. Are you? It’s way too early to even think about that, literally and figuratively.

…But would it be the worst thing?

Sierra just smiles like you gave her the answer she was fishing for and promptly turns away, continuing her trek to bathroom. “You’re going to be late,” she throws smugly over her shoulder.

The ride to the airport is quiet.

Normally, this wouldn’t be surprising—Yoongi is even less of a morning person than you are, and if he’s ever seen up and about this early, it’s probably because he never went to bed. But the quiet that settles between you now is different from expected lethargy. Is more jittery, antsy. Just on the edge of breaking itself.

You’ve already made small talk about Christmas, of course. Got that out of the way early, chatting about how generous Santa was to Sua this year, how your aunt got tipsy on moscato and sang loudly and off key. Safe topics. But now that those are all out of the way, the only thing left, aside from what you’re both dancing around, is silence. So silence is what you sit in for the rest of the ride, you ultimately turning on the radio halfway through just to have something to cut through the unspoken tension.

It isn’t until you’ve navigated to departures and pulled up to curb drop off that you finally break it.

“Well,” you say awkwardly. “Looks like this is you.”

God, this is weird. It’s weird, and you hate that it’s weird. Hate that this is what the two of you have come to, when things used to be so easy and effortless.

“Thanks,” Yoongi says, but he doesn’t make any move to leave. Instead, he stares at the dashboard for a bit and then finally turns to you, startling you with his sudden intensity. “I want you to know that I’m sorry I didn’t communicate better back then.”

You stare back at him, wide-eyed at this turn of events. Dazed at finally hearing the words you’ve been waiting an eternity to hear.

But Yoongi doesn’t wait for your response, just continues to tell his truth. “Our lives were at a turning point when we graduated, and it terrified me that everything was changing. It really hurt that you didn’t seem to care if I was with you or not. It really hurt that I needed you more than you needed me.”

His confession shocks you into action, protest immediately tumbling out of your mouth before you can even process it. “Yoongi, of course I needed you, are you crazy? You have no idea how much you leaving fucked me up.” You let out a disbelieving laugh, gesturing at nothing. “But for you to feel that way, I clearly am not very good at communicating either. So I’m sorry too.”

His expression softens, lips parting to respond, but you’re not done. You need him to know.

“I’m sorry if I ever made you feel unloved or unwanted,” you profess sincerely. “Because that honestly couldn’t be further than the truth.”

Yoongi holds your stare, something akin to hope swimming in his irises.

You let out a long exhale, nervous to say what needs to be said. “But it’s not the same. We’re not the same. And we can’t just pretend that we are.”

Your words hover between you, their truth heavy in the resulting silence. A Top 40 song uses the opportunity to warble vapidly in the background. But then, after a few harrowing moments, Yoongi gives you a slow nod.

“You’re right. We’re not,” he agrees, expression adamant. “But I’d still love the opportunity to get to know you again, if you’ll let me.”

Something warm flutters in your chest, and you duck your head, once again shy. Why are you shy? It’s just Yoongi. Just your Yoongi. “I’d like that,” you admit.

He smiles then, first small and hesitant, but quickly widening into too much gum when you smile back. Unwavering, he unbuckles his seatbelt and opens his door, one leg already out before he pauses and backtracks. Before you realize what he’s doing, he’s leaning over the console, his face getting closer and closer and making you crosseyed.

Your eyes reflexively flutter shut when his hand reaches up to cradle your cheek, when the distance between you rapidly disappears. You feel his thumb rub a few gentle circles into your jawline, and then, after a beat, his lips press rather tenderly against your forehead.

Stunned, you can only watch him, wide-eyed, when he pulls back, unabashedly meeting your astonished stare. Then, with one final, resolute nod, Yoongi climbs out of the vehicle and shuts the door. You watch him as he grabs his suitcase from the trunk, rolling it the short way to the automatic doors. You watch him as he disappears inside without looking back.

And that’s how, for the second time in your life, Min Yoongi walks away and leaves you behind.

But it’s going to be okay, you know. As you pull away from the curb, merging into oncoming traffic, you can tell that it’s different this time. That this time, his departure settles your heart much less like a goodbye and much more like a see you later.

That this time, it feels like a promise.

⇢ collab masterlist | my masterlist

[frostedfaves]

Two Avengers Walk Into A Bar...

Masterlist

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Wanda Maximoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha and Wanda are finally given a chance with their favorite bartender, which happened to be her only option anyway. (a continuation of this)

Warnings: 18+ ONLY as always, dark!fic, implied stalking, mental manipulation

A/N: so I still haven’t finished the dark!wandanat fic set in westview but it might not be too long! I’ve been in the writing mood lately, which led me to this. btw I recommend reading the first part I tagged above before you start this one (even if you have already, since it’s from over a year ago lol)

-

“Is it bad that I didn’t recognize you as Avengers until I saw your names written next to your numbers?” you ask suddenly, laughing a bit at Wanda’s expression.

“Are you serious?!”

“Extremely.”

The three of you were seated at a circular table in a far corner of a restaurant you’d only seen through the large glass windows. Your chairs were positioned so that all of you were an equal distance away from each other, and you were slightly intimidated with the way their eyes were glued to you the whole time. If you were being completely honest, you partially wondered if all of this was just an elaborate buildup to a one-night-only threesome inquiry.

“I just assumed you were trying to avoid making us uncomfortable,” Natasha suggests with a shrug, careful not to spill wine from the glass she’s holding in one hand above the table. “Or that you only knew our ‘heroic’ titles.”

“I don’t know what gave you the impression that I’m chill around famous people.” Your dates laugh and you can’t help the grin that forms. “But you’re right that I only know your hero names. I’ve seen you on the news once or twice but I try not to rely on reporters to tell me what you’re really up to.”

“According to the media, I am a mass murderer,” Wanda mumbles while poking at her entree with her fork.

“I’m sure they’re wrong. Your job is to help people, not hurt them.”

“What if they aren’t entirely wrong?” she presses further, making eye contact with you again. “What if I help some and hurt others?”

“Oh.” You take a bite from your own plate, pretending to mull it over as you chew and swallow. “Well, I’m sure you had your reasons.”

The two women break out into louder laughter than before, but still maintaining their volume to avoid attention from others. You happily join them, grateful you read the situation right and contributed to their joke in a way that pleased them. After all, two high-profile Avengers murdering people by choice seemed very unlikely.

You were taken home that night, walked to your apartment door and left behind with a kiss lingering on each cheek. Texting was sporadic as can be expected with two people that regularly save the world, but you didn’t expect the two of them to be hovering over you and shaking you awake a week later.

“Sorry to come in unannounced but our calls weren’t going through and you weren’t answering the buzzer,” Wanda explains as they give you room to sit up. “We had to make sure you were alive before we shared the good news.”

“Good news?” you question in a groggy tone.

“Tony Stark has a job offer for you -- on-call bartender.”

“Wait, Tony Stark...like the one you work with?”

“Yes, our coworker,” Natasha responds with a chuckle. “The job of getting rid of bad guys doesn’t really come with a set schedule, so we never know when we’re all going to be home at the same time. When we are, we like to throw little celebrations to help the team relax and enjoy themselves as some of our missions can be physically and mentally exhausting. We need someone who can be available for those nights.”

“Does that mean I’d be living at the Avengers compound with you?”

“Yep. Free housing and Tony pays well, so you’d make your usual monthly amount each night.”

“Under any other circumstances I’d accept immediately, but I have some concerns.”

“What’s on your mind?” Wanda pulls one of your hands into hers and you feel tension melting away as her thumb runs along your knuckles.

“I mean we just started dating and I’m already going to be living with you. What if we end up not working out? Won’t it be awkward to be that close all the time, especially if it ends on bad terms?”

“I understand your concern,” Natasha sighs. “Despite how much we’ve already grown to care for you, we’re still capable of being respectful and professional, should anything happen between us in that way.”

“No matter what happens, we wouldn’t want to come between you and your job,” Wanda assures you and Natasha agrees with a nod.

“We’d also prefer you work there, as you’d be much safer with us than in a dimly lit building with disgusting grandpas that can’t respect personal space or hold their liquor.”

“Yeah, I don’t exactly enjoy walking home in the middle of the night either...”

“Let us do this for you then...and we promise to protect your heart no matter what happens.”

Wanda positions her free hand at your eye level with only her pinky up, and you can’t help but laugh as you curl your own around hers. Her thumb comes up next to connect with yours and a big grin returns to your face as she leans in to kiss your knuckles. Natasha insists on doing the same and the two of them sandwich you into a hug in between them, just sitting in the calm silence with you for a minute or two before pulling away. 

“Okay, call your boss,” Wanda instructs as she grabs your phone from your nightstand. “And then we can help you start packing when you’re done!”

You happily agree and take your phone before you leave the room, Natasha nudging Wanda as you exit, who faces her with red fading from her eyes.

“How are we going to convince the team that we aren’t moving too fast?”

“Same way I convinced her.” Wanda gestures to you in the hallway with a grin.

-

Another week had passed since your (now officially labeled) girlfriends presented you with the job offer, and you’d managed to get everything packed in your tiny apartment and ready to go for their arrival with the promised moving truck. You’d planned on asking your nearest neighbors to help (it was your turn for a favor anyway), but Wanda insisted she could get everything downstairs herself in one trip. 

You’re waiting for them to arrive now, sitting on the slightly dangerous balcony connected to your living room, when you spot the pair down below. They’re standing in front of the building next to yours, speaking with the man you assume is the landlord when Natasha shakes his hand, and you catch him slipping keys and cash into his pockets.

Wanda notices you before you can look away and you attempt a smile as she tilts her head slightly, narrowed eyes focused on you even as she wraps an arm around Natasha’s waist and uses her powers to fly over to you. You stand immediately and leave the balcony door open for them as you step inside.

“You’re earlier than I expected,” you mention with a slightly nervous laugh directed toward a box you finish taping, your back to them as you hear them enter. “I thought I had a little more time with the place before I had to say goodbye.”

“Look at me.”

You follow the instruction delivered in a firm tone instantly, feeling a shiver run down your spine at the sight of Wanda’s glowing eyes. Her hand does a twisting motion and you’re pulled across the room, suddenly inches away from her menacing stare and scrambling to form a coherent thought.

“You didn’t see anything.”

“Are you ever going to join us, love?”

You blink rapidly as you take in what used to be your apartment, unrecognizable with all of your furniture, boxes and clothes removed from the space. Your search across the room ends at the doorway Natasha’s standing in, brow raised.

“Are you feeling alright?”

“Yeah, I just...” You clear your throat quickly and laugh. “Yeah, I’m sorry. I guess I just got distracted while doing a final walkthrough.”

“Well, we only have the truck for another hour so let’s get out of here.” She crosses the room and grabs your hand, kissing the back of it before she starts to drag you out of the apartment. “You worry me sometimes.”

With the way you’d been losing track of time lately and no explanation for it yet, you were becoming just as worried.

[outerbankies]

new light part 8: walk away — rafe cameron

new light series masterlist

summary: rafe’s having a harder time in california than he thought he would, but he’s still determined to prove to you that he’s good enough. until he’s not so sure that he is.

pairing: rafe x reader

warnings: drinking and swearing (as usual)

a/n: thanks for holding on for this one! be warned: this monster of a part is liiiiiike 9,000 words. i almost broke it up but i just couldn’t, you’ll see why. come talk to me about what you thiiiiiiink!!!

my writing

we talk and then you walk away, every day

“Are you okay?”

Rafe bristles at your question, sitting up straighter in the passenger seat of your Jeep. He’d been quiet the entire ride home, slumped into himself with his elbow resting on the side of the door, looking out at the views passing by. “Yeah, m’fine. Just tired.”

“Yeah?” you press, because you can’t help it. He’s lying, but you can’t tell if he’s in the mood to be coaxed out of it or not. He’d been icing you out since you left Agnes and Beau’s, and even a little before that if you really think about it. The only genuine emotion you’d seen from him after his talk with Beau was when he’d been messing around with the boys. Agnes was mortified when Barron splashed some pool water onto his pants, but Rafe just beamed, assuring her it was alright before telling Barron he wanted to see another dive.

“Yeah,” he nods. “Just… a lot of people, y’know? Busy few days.”

You reach over to tug on the hair at the back of his neck. It touched his shirt collar. You knew he hated that feeling.

“Okay. Thank you,” you say.

“For what?”

“For hanging in there. I know it’s a lot. My friends and then—”

“I said I was fine, Y/n/n. Your friends are fine. Agnes and Beau were fine,” he cuts in, your hand falling from his hair at his harsher tone. “You don’t need to keep thanking me for just meeting people.”

“Okay.”

It’s quiet for a bit after that, Rafe’s snippiness not at all surprising after the way he’d been acting. But you’re determined to wait him out.

Rafe wasn’t a sulker like you. He didn’t do the silent treatment, wasn’t one for passive aggression. He could try all he wanted, but his emotions came to the surface exactly when they were due.

“I’m sorry,” he eventually sighs, hand sliding over your knee, giving it a squeeze over the material of your dress. “I’m being a dick. I just—I didn’t think you were set on staying out here, Y/n/n. Like, I thought you were still considering home—the Outer Banks. But this entire weekend… I don’t know.”

You bite your lip, keeping your eyes trained on the road even though you’re at a stop light. “Well, you know I haven’t decided.”

“Yeah, but,“ Rafe cuts himself off, letting out a sound of frustration. “Does anyone else know that? Because I feel like I’m not in on something.”

“Look at me,” you say, feeling Rafe’s gaze flick over to you instantly. You wait until the next stop light, meeting his gaze. “You’ll be the first to know. Okay?”

“When will you know?”

“You sound like my dad. Again.”

“No, Y/n/n,” he says. “I’m your boyfriend, and I want to be involved, alright? Wherever you go. I don’t care. I mean I do—I obviously want you with me. And you know where I’ll be. But that doesn’t—it isn’t the point. The point is, I just don’t want to feel out of the loop anymore.”

“Why? Because we’d break up if I didn’t come home?”

“Of course not, but we’d have to talk about it.”

“We will.”

“Okay,” he concedes. It wasn’t what he wanted to hear, and he’s done talking about it. And you’re starting to wonder if the only thing he wants to hear is that you’ll be back home next year.

Thinking about your future had always terrified you. From the outside, you didn’t seem to differ from most Figure 8 daughters. Go to a four year university, find a boyfriend to settle down with back home—one with a job which meant you didn’t ever have to worry about one. Check. Or, come from a family where you’ll never need to find your own job. Check. Or, develop your own career prospects, go wherever you want. Check. And the trust fund will follow you wherever. You could do whatever you wanted.

But what did you want?

You were thrown for a loop even before Rafe walked back into your life. But having a new reason to come home—a reason like him—had made it even harder for you. Not a day went by where you didn’t zone out in class or wake in the middle of the night over it. You didn’t know if you wanted to be a nanny anymore, if you wanted to look like you were following your boyfriend home. You didn’t know anything.

—

Rafe thought he just wanted you to leave him alone after dinner, but dealing with the subdued state you’d been in ever since he brought up your future was absolutely not worth the breathing room. Your features were still downturned, etched with anxiety as you slid into bed next to him, awkwardly crawling over him to sleep closest to the wall. You’d put up a fake fight the first night, telling him it was stupid he felt like he needed to sleep on the outside of your bed, when you slept in it alone every night. But he insisted, the butterflies that had made a home in his stomach over the past few months (or years, if he’s really counting) fluttering again as you just cuddled into him, letting him wrap his limbs around you. Now you just lay together with a decent sized space in the middle, where Wilbur might be if you were back home.

He’d give anything to be there right now, where everything was easier.

“Your haircut’s tomorrow. Do you still wanna go?”

He looks over at you, you’re staring straight up at the ceiling, your face illuminated by the lamp on your bedside table.

“Yeah, I think so. Don’t you have class?”

You nod, not saying anything.

“Hey, that actually reminds me,” Rafe starts, trying not to slide into panic mode. He could play it cool until you needed him to, pretend like nothing was wrong. “I had that essay I wanted you to look at. Tomorrow?”

You nod again. “Yeah, I’ll skim it for you.”

“No, Y/l/n,” Rafe says, venturing out into a more playful atmosphere. Not because he feels like he can, or should—but because that seems to be the only thing his mind settles on this situation calling for. He’s stressed out, he hates that he made you upset. He just needs to see you smile again. “I want a full edit. Rip it apart.”

But it doesn’t work, and you just nod again, biting your bottom lip. You roll over onto your side, toward the wall. Not facing him. “Yeah, I can do that, Rafe. Can you get the light?”

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Good night.”

“Night.”

At least you don’t push him off when he tries to hold you.

—

“Baby?”

Rafe stirs, eyes blinking rapidly to wake himself up when he peels one eye open and sees you standing over the bed. He immediately sits up to rest on his elbows, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

“Whassit, sweet girl?” he practically slurs.

“You can stay in bed. Leaving my keys in case you don’t wanna Uber to the hair place. Just give them your name. I texted you the address,” you say, hand running through his hair, for the last time before it was all gone again. “Davis can help you with the coffee machine if you need it.”

“Okay, thanks,” he nods sleepily, leaning into your touch. He drops from his elbows, reaching behind his head to bunch one of your pillows up tighter under his head.

You nod back, lips in a tight smile. “Yeah. I’ll see you after my class?”

“Yeah. Have a good day.”

You stand up straight, retreating.

“Hey.” He tugs on your hand, pulling you back until you’re close enough to where you can rest it on his face again. His cheeks are warm with sleep, lines pressed into his face from the crinkles in the sheets. He’d hardly moved since you got out of bed to get ready, except to grab a pillow when you extracted yourself from his hold. It looks like he’d shoved his face right into it for the past hour. “I love you.”

He says it with weight, clear intent. A slew of statements wrapped up into those three words. You nod, thumb gently pressing into the skin under his eye, swiping toward his cheekbone in what you hope is a reassuring gesture. “I love you too, Rafe.”

A smile stretches on his lips, and it’d reach his eyes if he wasn’t half asleep. Some hair falls into his face, and you can’t resist. His eyes flutter back open just as you take out your phone for a picture, but he just rolls his eyes, letting you snap a few. “It’ll last longer.”

“Like you’d ever get tired of me staring at you.”

“As long as I get to stare at you after.”

—

Rafe thought the haircut would make him feel better, and it did—marginally. First of all, you sent him to the fanciest salon he could have ever imagined. Even for you. His eyes had widened when he had to turn down a fresh glass of Dom—at ten in the morning, on a Monday.

But he’s still feeling restless and shaky afterwards, wired up from last night, the entire weekend, the double espresso Davis had made him when he came downstairs. You don’t finish your classes for the day for another two hours, he notices when he glances at the clock.

Things were still weird when you left this morning, he could sense he’d pushed you a bit too far last night. But sleeping on it had done you well—you’d texted him a little in class, telling him you saw a dog on campus that looked just like Wilbur, demanding a picture of his new haircut. He had chuckled a little at that, adamantly refusing the latter—he wanted to see your face when you saw it in person, of course.

But that had to be a good sign, right?

He taps his hands against the wheel of your car, one hand coming up to rub the nape of his neck. It throws him off when there’s less hair there now. He knew you loved the long hair—he had to do something to make it up to you.

He’s pulling out of the parking lot soon enough, readjusting your mirrors for the umpteenth time—seriously, he had no idea how you drove like this—and heading to the hardware store he’d passed on the way in.

—

“Good work on that one, Y/n/n,” Delilah praises, the two of you stopping to talk before you make your way to Rafe, who’s standing outside of your Jeep in the university parking lot, new haircut on display. He’d parked in a staff spot, what a bad boy. You just wave at him, signaling for one second before turning back to Delilah. “Seriously, where’ve you been hiding this hometown cutie for the past three years?”

“In my hometown,” you sigh.

“How’s he been doing out here?”

“He’s—I don’t know. I’m sure you know, with Wren?” you say. “It can be a lot. And I think the dad I nanny for scared the shit out of him.”

“Ah,” Delilah nods in understanding. “Well, Wren won’t shut up about finally having someone normal around, if it’s anything to you. He had a learning curve, too. But he’s fine now. Which—speaking of, he’s picking me up by the student center.”

You wave her off on your way to your own boyfriend, hand shielding the sun out of your eyes as soon as you’re close enough to see his hair up close.

“The end of an era,” you begin dramatically.

“Oh, c’mon, it can’t be that bad, baby girl,” he complains. He automatically bends down, letting you run your hands all through it, mussing it up a little until he swats your hands away. You survey him closely, the hint of stubble on his stache line, the messy hair, the aviators he had on. The California sun had done him well, and he was gaining a little bit of sun back on his skin tone.

“You look great,” you compliment. “Thanks for sticking it out for McCall’s party. Does it feel good?”

His shoulders drop, and he pulls you in by the straps on your backpack for a long kiss. “So much better. I swear, you would’ve been able to braid it soon.”

“That’s the dream. Take me home? I need a nap after my capstone,” you whine, letting him slip your backpack off of your shoulders and put it in your backseat for you.

—

The first thing you notice when you and Rafe get home is your room is dark. The AC had kicked on, Davis is gone and McCall is in her room so the house is quiet, your boyfriend is trailing behind you, the blinds are blocking the sun—perfect nap time conditions.

Wait.

“Rafe,” you gasp. “Did you fix my blinds?”

“No, they were un-fixable,” he laughs, going to demonstrate how they open. “Like, I tried, sweetheart, I did. But what the fuck did you do to them?”

“There was a bug.”

He just laughs again, rolling his eyes. His cheeks are bright red. “Well, anyways. These are completely new, the old set is in the garage. I put them in after my haircut.” He draws them up and down, strong arms and nimble hands showing you how they work. Your hands wrap around his waist from where you stand behind him, squeezing him extra tight.

“Where’d you learn how to do all of this stuff?”

He pulls the blinds back down, the white slats dropping as they’re supposed to. “My dad used to bring me on jobs when I was a kid, leave me with the contractors and the construction workers. It was definitely an OSHA violation, but. I really liked that part—the hands-on stuff. Way more fun than finances and servicing accounts.”

His tone drops into that tone it always does when he talks about his family, and you redirect the conversation immediately. The cloud you’d both been trapped under since last night was finally clearing, and you weren’t letting anything ruin it.

“Did you at least wear a little hard hat?”

“Yeah, I’ll dig up a picture one day. Hey, I got you this at the store, too,” he says abruptly, shifting out of your reach to walk toward your desk. Your brow furrows as his back blocks your view of whatever he’s holding, before he turns around, holding a plant in his hands. The six-inch pot looks minuscule in his hands. He looks around at the plants in your room, before holding it out toward you. “I noticed you didn’t have one like this in here—at least I think. And I bought you a real pot, too. I was gonna plant it myself but—well, I’m a lot of things, but I’m not a gardener.”

“Rafe, you bought me a plant?” you wonder, closing the distance in between you as you look at what he’s holding in his hands. It’s a snake plant. Sturdy, easy to take care of, formidable against most things.

“I looked it up, and they’re supposed to be really reliable. And they don’t die easy, not like the flowers I get you,” he explains. You look over at the vase on your dresser, the flowers Rafe had scheduled to be delivered to you his first night here are beautiful, but they were already wilting. “I just want… I thought you could look at it, take care of it, and think of me. Alright? When I’m not here—”

You take it out of his hands, setting it back on your desk. “I can’t believe you bought me a plant. You grew your hair out for me, and came to visit me, and fixed my blinds, and bought me a plant.”

And you’re on him after that, lips pressing into his incessantly. Rafe takes it in a pleased stride, letting you relish in a small semblance of the upper-hand before he’s gently guiding you backward towards the bed. But before you get there, he pulls off to kiss your forehead, leveling you with a serious look while he pushes a strand of hair behind your ear. “Of course I did, Y/n/n. I’d do anything for you. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I know it,” you murmur, pulling him backwards until he’s backing you up to the foot of your bed.

“You said you wanted to nap?” He says, reaching to tug the claw clip out of your hair, other hand coming to hold the strands against your head gently so he doesn’t rip any hair out in the process.

“Did you have something else in mind?” You giggle, squealing when he tosses the clip aside and immediately attacks your neck, bending to grasp behind your kneecaps. You’re on the bed in seconds, Rafe hovering over you. He reaches over to close the blinds, the room darkening once again.

“Maybe.”

“I could edit your essay right now,” you suggest, but you’re joking. He narrows his eyes. “Pay you back.”

“Later, after dinner tonight. And you should know it’s really hot how smart you are.”

“Mm, it’s hot that you just like, know how to build shit and do things.”

“Thanks, baby girl,” he murmurs against your neck, humming when you mewl at a nip to your collarbone. “I’d build you anything.”

You push him off, hand smoothing over the short hair at the back of his head as you level him with a look. “Build me a house one day?”

Rafe freezes where his hand is skirting at the hem of your shirt, a look flashing across his face. “Jesus christ, Y/n/n.”

—

“Cameron. I’ve literally always wanted to come here.”

Rafe just beams, a huge toothy grin on his face as the valets open both of your doors for you.

When Rafe told you he’d booked dinner reservations for the two of you, you hadn’t known what to expect. He didn’t know the city at all, and you half expected to show up at a tourist trap downtown. But of course he’d done perfectly, and you’d been holding your breath the entire ride as soon as he pulled off the freeway to drive out to the coast. There was only one restaurant in this direction off of that particular exit, and you knew exactly which one it was.

“I know,” Rafe says, holding your clutch dutifully as you rearrange your dress after the car ride. “I did my research.”

“Davis? McCall? My mom? Li? Dylan?” you rattled off, whining more and more as Rafe just shook his head.

“I’d never expose my sources. C’mon,” he urges, tugging you toward the string-lit entrance. You feel like you’re floating as the maitre’d greets Rafe by name, immediately escorting you to a table on their back patio. You barely let him pull out your chair for you and pour your waters, the menus placed in front of you only for a few seconds before you’re reaching across the corner of the table, elbows planted on the surface as you pull Rafe down into a kiss.

“I’m so in love with you.”

“I’m quite literally never gonna get used to hearing that.”

“I hope not. I love seeing how red your ears get,” you tease, finger coming up to trace one of them. He leans out of your touch at that, suddenly looking very interested in the wine list. “Hey. You know I would’ve told you that even if you took me to the taco stand down the street from my apartment, right?”

A look flashes in his eyes as he stares at the wine list, but then he’s nodding. “I know.”

“You do?” you press, hand coming to hold his where it’s gripping the side of the menu firmly.

He finally looks over at you, ghost of a smile pulling at his lips. He pulls you in for one more chaste kiss. He believed you this time. “I know, Y/l/n. Promise. But you know you deserve way better than a taco stand, right?”

“Tell me that after you try them.”

He just shakes his head, hand reaching over to tuck a strand of fallen hair behind your ear. His eyes flicker over your bare shoulders, the way your dress pulls around your waist. “You look beautiful, by the way.”

The waiter comes to take down your drink orders, Rafe rolling his eyes at your antics when you just turn to stare at him when prompted for yours. He tells the waiter exactly what you want, getting it perfect as always. He could roll his eyes as all he wanted, but you know he loved the feeling of taking care of you, ears burning red again at the way you preen when he tells the waiter your favorite champagne before ordering for himself.

—

The waiter clears your plates when you’re both done eating, hurrying away with a promise to bring by a dessert menu and another round of drinks. You decline the latter, but Rafe doesn’t.

For the past ten minutes, he’s been unable to stop checking his phone, slipping it in an out of the breast pocket of his brown suit jacket repeatedly. In between that he’s half paying attention to your conversation, taking generous sips of his drinks, and bouncing his leg nervously. He finally catches your inquisitive look, sliding his phone into the pocket of his white pants instead. He gives you a reassuring smile, but then his eyes start flicking to his watch instead, and he sighs.

“What is it?” you ask.

“Nothing.”

“Rafe, c’mon.”

He sighs again. “My dad. He keeps calling me.”

“Oh,” you breathe. You check your own watch, calculating the three hour time difference. “You should answer. It’s late over there, it might be important.”

“No,” Rafe says definitively. “I’m sure it’s just work stuff.”

“He knows you’re with me. Just tell him we’re at dinner,” you suggest. You choose your next words carefully. You can already see his discomfort growing the more you two talk about Ward, and you place a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure he’ll… well. Um, maybe he’ll let you call him after? Or you can take it now, baby. I really don’t mind.”

Your boyfriend’s quiet, not leaning into your touch. He doesn’t jerk away from it, but he doesn’t look at you, eyes trained on where his pointer finger traces the rim of his drink. He doesn’t say anything, and it’s so quiet between the two of you that you can hear Rafe’s watch vibrating against his wrist.

“Rafe,” you encourage, growing concerned by his behavior. “Just take it. It’s either work or your family. Important either way.”

He finally tugs the watch off in annoyance, dropping it into his jacket pocket. “He doesn’t know, actually.”

Your hand slides up to to his cheek, still not getting it. But you know you don’t like it. You wait for him to turn to you. “He doesn’t know what?”

“That I’m here right now. With you.”

Your touch drops from him immediately, and he leans forward, chasing the connection. “You didn’t tell him?”

“I didn’t tell him,” he confirms quietly. You recede further into yourself, the cosmic feeling you’d had all night leaving your body immediately, in it’s wake only a chill running down your spine. Rafe had lied to his father about you. “Y/n/n, listen to me. I didn’t—“

Rafe’s apprehensive tone is interrupted by your waiter. He sets another drink in front of Rafe, sliding the dessert menu in your direction. But you feel sick.

“Actually, I think we’ll just take the check,” you say. Rafe opens his mouth, but the waiter speaks before he can.

“Are you sure? It’s no rush. Finish your drink, sir. We can bring it in a little while,” he says, directing it at Rafe rather than you. You just stare down at the table, Rafe taking your cue as he always does.

“We are in a bit of a rush, actually. The check would be great,” he says firmly, the waiter nodding and walking away immediately. The fact that the waiter had listened to him and not you, urging Rafe to enjoy his last drink when you clearly wanted to leave. It annoys you even more.

“So,” you breathe, as soon as the waiter is out of ear shot. “You’re hiding me now.”

“I’m not hiding you, Y/n/n. That’s ridiculous,” Rafe rushes, eyes following your waiter all the way to the check stand.

“But you didn’t tell him.”

“I did tell him, actually. Months ago, when I booked the tickets,” he says. “But a work thing came up this weekend that I wasn’t expecting, and he didn’t remember.”

“So why didn’t you remind him?”

“Because he would’ve made me stay in Georgia—or come home, or, fuck,” Rafe swears. The waiter comes back, thanking you both profusely, directing it more to Rafe, who’s already pulled his wallet out. You sit with your arms crossed over your chest as he rushes to slip a card into the slot, fumbling and accidentally pulling out three, the plastic clacking onto the white table cloth. “Shit, sorry.”

“No worries at all, Mr. Cameron,” the waiter says, turning to you as Rafe sorts his stuff out. “Did you enjoy your meal, Mrs. Cameron?”

Rafe freezes. It takes you a few long seconds to realize the waiter is talking to you.

“Oh, we—yes, I did. Thank you,” you fumble, the fakest smile you can muster plastered to your face. Rafe shakes his head, finally giving the check back.

“I’m glad. I’ll be right back with this,” he promises.

“Did you tell them we’re married?”

“No, oh my god, Y/n/n. They must have just assumed when I made the reservation under my name,” Rafe says, checking his phone again. You clock a slew of missed calls and texts from Dad.

“Little does he know,” you remark.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“That it’s hilarious someone could think we’re married when you can’t even be honest with your father about visiting me.”

Rafe blindly grabs for the check when the waiter returns, silently walking away as he finally picks up on the energy between you two. Rafe barely looks down as he scrawls out the tip. “Y/n—”

You don’t wait for him to finish, feeling like you’re outside of your body as you’re scooting out your chair and making for the exit as soon as you deem appropriate.

“Sweetheart, let me drive,” Rafe says, hot on your heels to the valet stand. You fish the ticket out of your clutch, forcing a fake smile for the attendee. “You had a drink.”

“I wasn’t the one sucking down G&Ts all night,” you say. It comes out meaner than you intended, but it’s true. Rafe had a higher tolerance than you, and he didn’t seem drunk at all, he didn’t even drink his third round. But tonight, you’d die on this hill.

“I’m not drunk, Y/n/n.”

“Good, neither am I,” you say, your car coming into view. “Now get in the car.”

“Y/n, I know you’re mad, but—”

“It was one glass of champagne, Rafe,” you seethe, already circling around the the driver’s side. “Can we talk about this at home?”

Your boyfriend is angrily folding himself into the passenger seat, rolling his eyes at the way the valet smiles when you tip him, tripping up over his words as he thanks you. You couldn’t care less for the attention, starting the car and pulling back onto the main road in silence.

“I’d rather talk about it now.”

You look over at him when you pull up to the a stoplight, peeling your hands off the steering wheel, making a gesture for him to start. “Okay, why don’t you go first, then?”

“What?”

“You want to talk about it now. So talk,” you challenge, accelerating as soon as the light turns green.

Rafe heaves a frustrated sigh, hand dragging over his face in your peripheral vision. “I know you’re mad I didn’t tell him. But you don’t understand what kind of pressure I’m under.”

“And how is lying about being with me going to make that better? For me or for you, Rafe?”

“What he doesn’t know—”

“Bullshit, Rafe. He’s gonna find out. Especially if you’re shirking responsibilities to come see me. Which I’m going to guess…” you trail off, looking at him. He won’t make eye contact, and you scoff. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“I should’ve told him. And I should’ve told you,” Rafe concedes. “But I really didn’t think you’d be this upset.”

“Why wouldn’t I be this upset, Rafe? You lied about coming to see me to your dad, like we’re seventeen years old or something. You’re an adult,” you say.

“I told you, I don’t care what my dad thinks about you. Or us.”

“You should.”

“You don’t get it, Y/n/n,” he sighs.

“Then help me get it, Rafe,” you beg, eyes flickering from the road.

“He doesn’t know me. He doesn’t know anything about what I want or what I need,” Rafe says. “It doesn’t matter what he thinks.”

The next words fly out of your mouth before you can even help it. “Maybe he does Rafe. Because he said you’d do this. He said you can’t think with your head when your heart is—” you cut yourself off when your gas light flickers on. Rafe’s silent next to you, and you take a deep breath before your next statement. “Sometimes I feel like you can’t even see far enough past this idealized version of our relationship, this dream girl fantasy you’ve had—”

“That’s not fucking fair, Y/n/n.”

“—to realize that I’m a person. And this thing with your dad is hurting me, Rafe. And I know it’s hurting you too. Did you think this through? Blowing off your job to come see me when your dad already hates me?”

“He doesn’t hate you.”

“Rafe—”

“He hates me!” Rafe practically yells. “And he doesn’t want me to be happy.”

That shuts you up, quickly, any residual anger leaving your body in an instant.

“And he knows that being with you makes me happy.”

You just keep driving, silently pulling off at the next exit. Rafe looks over at you in confusion. You shrug, voice coming out quieter. “I need gas.”

Rafe nods, going back to looking out the window. You shut off your car when you pull into the station, unlocking your door and going to pull off your seatbelt.

“Stay in the car. I meant to get you some this morning. Ran out of time picking out your plant,” your boyfriend says gently, reaching across to stop your hand going for the door. You just nod silently, letting him get out while you pop the gas cap for him. Hearing him swear at the gas prices in California through your open window would normally be enough to make you giggle, reach over and ruffle his hair. But not tonight.

Once you feel him settle the pump in your car, you find yourself hopping out, ignoring his protests as you wrap him up in your arms.

“I’m sure he doesn’t hate you.”

“Feels like it sometimes,” he says quietly, giving you a squeeze before pushing you out of his hold. “But hey. I need—you can’t… look, I had a feeling you didn’t tell me everything he said to you at Midsummers.”

“Rafe,” you start, but he waves a hand.

“It’s fine, I get it. But please,” he says, turning to take the pump out of the car. He settles it back into the machine, shoving his hands into his pockets. He turns to look at you, catching the car door where you’re about to shut it again. “Don’t ever use what my dad says about me against me. Not ever again.”

You swallow, nodding like a scolded child. “I’m sorry.”

Rafe just shuts you into the car again, saying one last thing before circling back around to his side of the car. “Me too, sweetheart.”

He curses under his breath as his phone goes off again.

—

You’re thankful neither of your roommates are home to see the state the two of you arrive in, dead silent except for the clack of your heels in the driveway. You don’t wait for Rafe to follow you inside, letting him sit in the car for however long he wanted.

You’ve felt it building in your chest for the past half hour, but you somehow make it all the way into your bathroom before a gasped sob shakes through your body, hurriedly kicking your pumps off and grasping the sink counter with shaky hands.

You hear the front door shut, rushing to turn the shower on to cover up any sounds of your cries. You’d spent so long on your makeup and hair, over the moon with excitement for Rafe’s secret plans for the night.

You never thought it’d end like this, with you working desperately at hiding your emotions from him while he most likely stands on the other side of the door.

You take your time, washing your hair, exfoliating, doing the extended version of your skincare routine—anything to prolong the time before you have to face Rafe with your puffy eyes and fragile heart. You let your finger trace the diagonal tiles on the shower wall, spacing out when your eyes come across his razor. Everything else he used was yours; he pretended to gag and complain at your coconut shampoo and hydrangea body wash, but you knew he loved it.

When you finally muster the strength to towel off and open the door, Rafe is sitting with his hands clasped at the edge of your bed. He looks up as you enter, a ragged breath rolling through his torso.

“Y/n/n, I really don’t wanna fight my last night here.”

“Then you should’ve told your dad where you were, Rafe.”

“I did. Just got off the phone, actually.”

That explains the flush to his face, the angry red hue creeping up from under his shirt collar. His hair’s wild, too, like he’d been running his hands through it. You nod, biting your lip. “How did it go?”

“‘Bout as I expected,” he sighs, standing to slip his suit jacket off. He drapes it over the chair he’d set his bag up on, digging his hands into his pockets. “Ripped me to shreds. I have to go home next weekend.”

“Rafe.”

“Don’t, it’s my fault. Not yours.”

“I know, but baby—”

“I’m not talking about it tonight,” he interjects, working at the buttons on his dress shirt. You don’t say anything, tilting your head in confusion when you see his Macbook open on your bed. “Can you look over my paper?”

He’s pushing you away, deflecting from the subject again. And you don’t know if that’s alright with you or not at this point. “You want me to do that right now?”

“Figure it’s better than what we’ve been doing,” he shrugs. “I’m gonna shower.”

“Sure,” you nod, cinching your robe around yourself tighter. Rafe moves to you, pushing your damp hair behind your shoulders and getting a good luck at your face where he holds it in his hands. He kisses the top of your head, and you wish it didn’t make fresh tears spring to your eyes.

Rafe’s smart as a whip, but writing is your craft, and you find enough mistakes to warrant a thorough edit. It’s a few grammatical things, way more stylistic suggestions. You usually write jokes and silly comments (this is a good sentence RC! ur so smart. and hot or did u seriously confuse effect and affect. i told u to use “impact” when u can’t remember!) in the side margins when he sends you his papers, but you can’t bring yourself to this time.

You force yourself out of your bed when you make it to the bulk of his argument, Rafe’s voice so strong and clear in your head that’s it’s impossible to separate it anymore.

You take a second to pull on a pajama set and slip fully under the covers, trying in vain to pretend this is just a paper for an underclassmen you’ve taken under your wing—a friend who’d shared a Google Doc link and Zelle’d you for a coffee in exchange.

But no matter how hard you try, you can’t detach the document from the boy in your bathroom currently, your heart heavier and heavier with each line. It’s not even like it’s an emotional paper, his argument about the International Monetary Fund hardly enough to pull on any heart strings.

Still, by the time he’s freshly showered and settling down beside you again, arm around your shoulders immediately, your hands are shaking as you sift through his conclusion.

He doesn’t speak for a while.

“How is it?”

“Good.”

“Good?”

“Yeah.”

“You aren’t lying?”

“N-no,” you say, skimming back to the top after your last edit. You push his MacBook off of your lap. “Few things. You, uh, y-you still need to watch your parallel structure and restrictive clauses, but, e-easy fixes, shit—”

“Sweetheart.”

You completely break, tears flowing over as you bring your knees up to your chest, hide your face in them so he can’t see you cry.

“Shit,” Rafe says, arm on your shoulders tugging you into him. “Baby, hey.”

“I-I didn’t expect it to be this hard, Rafe,” you cry, the sound muffled by your hands. “And it sucks.”

Rafe’s not offering up reassurances immediately, like he usually does when you cry. He usually always knows what to say, but not this time; he just nods instead. “I know.”

“I don’t understand why you couldn’t just tell him,” you say. “We were fine—”

“Probably the same reason you couldn’t tell me Agnes was having another baby,” he says.

Your head flies up instantly. He just shrugs sadly, tugging his bottom lip in between his teeth. “Rafe, was it Beau? Nevermind, I’m—I should’ve told you.”

He just shrugs. “You didn’t.”

“Rafe,” you say, shifting your body to face his. “I’m not—I haven’t made any decisions yet. You know that.”

“Do I? Because you shut down whenever I try to get you to talk about it. And Beau and McCall, and all of your friends are just saying all of this shit, and I just feel—are you not serious about us?“

“You’re not actually asking me that.”

“I shouldn’t have to, Y/n/n,” he says, standing up, grabbing both of your towels and putting them in your bathroom to dry. “But I have no fucking idea where your head is at half the time. Everything is just guesswork, or coming from other people. Your friends, my dad—“

Your eyebrows furrow immediately, and you stand up, too. “And what could your dad know about me? You didn’t even tell him you were here.”

Rafe runs a hand through his hair, the damp strands slicking back slightly. His gaze is hard when he levels you with it again. “Sorry. Am I supposed to vouch for you—get him to offer you a job at his company? So you’re all set up and have a reason to come home?”

“Rafe, I—what? What are you even talking about?”

“Leaving the Outer Banks has never been on the table for me, ever. You’ve always known that, since before we started dating.”

“I—I know that Rafe,” you stumble, never more confused in your life. “I’d never expect you to come out here, or anywhere with me, unless you wanted to—”

“Well Beau practically recruited me into his company last night, Y/n/n. Just so you can take care of their new baby for them,” he spits. “He talked to me like I’m just some accessory to your nanny gig, some little relocation expense that needs to be handled. Like I should be so honored to jump at the chance.”

“I didn’t ask him to do that, Rafe,” you say. “He’s in your industry, and he knows you’re part of my plan. I’m sorry he made you feel like that but I literally can’t control what my employer does to try and get me to stay at my stupid ‘nanny gig.’”

“I didn’t call it stupid.”

You scoff. “You know what you meant.”

You cross your arms over your chest, closing yourself off to him. His hand reaches out, before he retracts it and lets it hang at his side awkwardly.

“I’ve just felt like I’ve been suffocating this entire trip, Y/n/n,” he starts softly. “Everyone out here is so much better than me. I’ve never felt like that before, ever.”

“I don’t think it’s good you feel that way when I’m just trying to show you my life and the people in it.”

“You’re right. It’s not.”

“Everyone—all of my friends love you. I love having you here. I—I don’t want you to feel that way, Rafe,” you say, tears building at your waterline again.

“Then be honest with me, Y/n/n,” he says, exasperated with his hands on his hips. “We can get through these things if we talk about them. You hide these things until they blow up in our face, Midsummers, the new baby—”

“When are you going to let Midsummers go?”

“When you stop letting what my dad might think of you rule our entire relationship.”

“And so we’re just going to gloss over the fact that you blew off work to be here and didn’t tell your dad? And that’s the career you’re set on going home to?”

Rafe balks at that. “Y/n, I swear to god—”

“You’re scared.”

“Oh, I’m fucking terrified, Y/n/n,” he admits easily. “I’ve made you cry, what, three times? In the past twenty-four hours?”

Your head is spinning by now, the same awkward and uncomfortable discussions you’ve been avoiding—barely having, coming to a head all at the same time. You sit back down on your bed, hands in your lap. When you look back up at your boyfriend, he’s staring at the wall behind your bed, a forlorn look in his eyes. When you pat the spot next to you he shakes himself out of it, settling next to you.

“This is why I didn’t wanna argue tonight, Y/n. I knew we wouldn’t get anywhere. It’s just the same thing, over and over.”

You can’t help it, leaning into his shoulder on instinct. He smells like your shampoo. He doesn’t jerk away, but he doesn’t lean into you either, staying completely still. “I don’t even know what we’re arguing about anymore.”

That earns a dejected laugh from him. “Too many things we’ve been avoiding. For a while.”

You nod against his shoulder. You have no tears left at this point, replaced instead by a splitting headache and a broken heart. You stand again, closing his laptop where you’d left it open on your bed. When you slip it into his backpack for him, you noticed he’d packed while you were showering, an unwelcome reminder that this was how you were spending your last night with your boyfriend in town. Crying and arguing, nothing getting better and everything getting way worse.

Rafe’s standing when you turn back around, hands in his short pockets while he stares at the floor, waiting for you to slip under the white covers first. You tuck yourself as close as possible to the wall, swallowing around a lump in your throat when you feel him rolling onto his side, facing away from you.

—

The sun’s just barely rising when you wake up to take Rafe to the airport the next morning. Not that time had any concept to you—you’d tossed and turned all night. Rafe had too, a shaky hand coming to clutch onto one of yours at what had to be around three o’clock.

“Get some sleep, Y/n/n,” he’d whispered. With the new blinds blocking the moonlight, you couldn’t see his face as he said it. But you could almost picture it perfectly, the frown that was no doubt tugging at his lips and the worry in his eyebrows.

“Can’t,” you’d said. “Rafe?”

“Hm?”

You squeezed his hand before tucking yours back under your pillow. “I’m scared, too.”

You hated how loud the silence was as the two of you shuffled downstairs, hated how cold you felt sitting in the driver’s seat when it couldn’t be less than sixty-five degrees out, hated how clammy your hands were as you flipped the ignition over. Your vision’s blurring with tears by the time you make it to departures. If Rafe notices, he doesn’t say anything as he moves his bags from your trunk to the sidewalk. You let yourself blot under your eyes just once before you get out of the car, the pit in your stomach weighing you down with every step.

“Why are you crying?” He questions.

“Because,” your voice breaks immediately as you step up to the curb, eyes focused on getting a read of his face. There’s no real confusion in what he asks, like he’s just clarifying what you both already know. Like he wants you to say it first. “We’re about to break up, aren’t we?”

You half expect Rafe to be shocked by what you say. Maybe it was all in your head: the way he’d effectively shut you out since last night, how he hadn’t touched you the entire car ride over. He didn’t even wake you up when he was finishing packing, turning off your alarm until you only had time to wake up and get ready before you left.

But Rafe’s expression does nothing. The way his head drops, hand unfurling from around his duffel bag that falls to the sidewalk outside the terminal. It’s all you need.

He pulls his sunglasses off, hanging them on his shirt collar and putting his hands on his hips. You hate the way he leans back from you, too, making no moves to comfort you while you cry.

“I don’t know what else to do, Y/n/n,” he admits. “I just—I think this is hurting you a lot more than I thought it was. I thought I was protecting you by keeping my dad away from it all, that pushing you on your future would be good for us. But I was making it worse.”

“But Rafe,” you counter lamely, not one ounce of confidence in your tone. “We could—”

“We could what, Y/n/n? Keep on like we are?”

“It was fine for a while,” you plead.

“Yeah, until we left home. And I came here,” he points out. “Alright? We graduate in months. This is getting real. And maybe we just don’t—maybe this doesn’t work outside of our hometown.”

“Don’t say that,” you beg, not giving up.

“Does this feel like it’s working to you? You’ve been crying all weekend. And I feel like I can’t even breathe out here, Y/n/n. I’m not cut out for this life, baby girl.”

That knocks the air out of your lungs, and you have to scramble to pick up the thread. “How many times do I have to tell you you’re enough for me? You’re…” you trail off, knowing what you want to say, but not if you should: you’re it for me, Rafe. When you don’t speak again, he just shakes his head, continuing.

“I thought I was ready to give you everything you deserve, but I’m not that guy right now,” he says, shaking his head. “And I can’t be the guy that’s hurting you instead.”

“I don’t need you be any guy Rafe, I need you to be you. I’m in love with you,” you say, stepping closer to him before you can help it.

“This? The pressure, a-and my dad, and the fighting, and the pain?” he asks rhetorically. “That’s me, Y/n. And I hate it. But that’s how it is, and you don’t need to be dragged into it.”

“I told you I could handle it.”

“I don’t think either of us is handling this well right now, Y/n.”

He’s speaking with finality, like his mind has been made up for a while now. This isn’t a conversation anymore, a decision made by two parties. He’s telling you what’s happening, whether you like it or not. And that thing is happening again, that thing where it’s your instinct to hide any unsavory emotions from Rafe, give him no reasons to worry about you. But he’s always been able to see right through you, for better or for worse, notice the shift in your facial features or the quaver in your voice. And this is one time where you really wished he didn’t know you so well, so you could preserve one minor sense of dignity while you tried to pretend you agreed with him.

You’d do a lot of things for Rafe, but begging him to stay when he clearly felt like he needed to let you go wasn’t going to be one of them. It’d just cause more pain for both of you.

“I think…” you say, voice wobbling even as you nod. “I think you’re right. Rafe, he’s your dad. And I don’t know what I’m doing with my life—you do. This would be a lot of work. And that’s your future.”

At the first sign of your confirmation, faulty as it is, Rafe is dead silent, hand coming up to run the back of his neck until he can find his next words. “You know, I uh. I thought you were my future, too,” he admits, his voice cracking slightly at the end of his statement. “I thought we could just fall in love and then wait on the rest to follow.”

You cross your arms over your chest, wiping a hand under both of your eyes before you do. “But it’s not, is it?”

“And I can’t keep hurting you while we figure that out,” he says, nodding, like he’s convincing himself of the words as he says it. Like he knows neither of you believe them, but it’s what you need to hear anyways. “I can’t do it anymore.”

You just nod, biting your chapped bottom lip tight enough you start to feel pain from it. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

He’s wordlessly tugging you into his arms, and you try your hardest to suppress your tears so that he won’t have to walk into the airport in a tear-stained shirt. “I can’t believe I finally got you and I’m already letting you go.”

But you don’t have to. Long game, Cameron. Remember?

You don’t say anything, and then he’s sliding out of your hold, a hand instinctively coming to your jaw to pull you in for a kiss. He catches himself halfway, awkwardly pecking your forehead instead at the last second. You could cry even more just thinking about how quickly you’d fallen out of the easiness of each other’s touch. “I have to go, Y/n/n.”

He slings his backpack over his shoulders, grabbing the handles of his duffle with a sense of finality.

“Safe flight,” you say instinctively.

“Thanks. Um, can you text me so I know you got home safe?”

“I can do that.”

“Okay. I should…” he turns to face the sliding doors, his feet staying rooted to the spot. “I should head inside.”

You let yourself get one last look at him, committing everything to memory as much as you can, filing away the way his shirt falls over his shoulders, the way he’d mussed his new haircut with a little bit of gel that morning, the stupid shoes he’d been worried about your roommates hating—that felt like a lifetime ago. “I’ll see you—um. Well, maybe next time we’re home, I guess?”

Not in two weeks to surprise him on his birthday in Georgia, like you’d planned originally.

“Sure,” he nods, looking perplexed, like he hadn’t even thought about it. A beat passes, neither of you making any moves toward your respective exit paths. “You know you were never a fantasy, right? I… I fell in love with you, Y/n/n.”

Then why are you making me drive home from the airport, heart broken and crying? And why am I letting you? “I know, Rafe. I love you, too. And I’m sorry for what I said about your dad. Don’t ever listen to anything he says about you. It’s okay to have a heart, Rafe. You’re still so smart, and capable, and I—I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Thanks, Y/n/n.”

You circle around to the driver’s side before you can think about touching him again, settling into your car as he stays planted to the spot on the curb. The finality of the situation hardly settles in before he’s tapping on your passenger window, signaling for you to roll it down. “I’m gonna watch you leave.”

“Go inside, Rafe,” you instruct. He stays stubbornly rooted to the spot, dropping his bag again, folding his arms over his chest.

“Just need to make sure you get out of here in one piece, sweetheart.”

You don’t even have the emotional capacity to be annoyed, just barely finding enough strength to turn away from him for the last time, shifting your car into drive. You watch him in the rear view for as long as you can, the way his body turns in the direction you’re driving off in. You almost hope he’ll run after you, or just kick his bag in frustration—anything to prove to you he wasn’t sure about this. As unsure as you are.

But he just stands there calmly, watching you as long as he can, before you can’t see him anymore.

—

Your roommates are sitting on the couch having coffee together when you get home, and the entire drive over you’d weighed the options of how to proceed when you came home. Half of you wants to run upstairs, rip down the new blinds, throw away the shirt of his that you kept, toss the little plant out of the window. But you can’t even bring yourself to take one step up the stairs, beelining for the living room instead, wringing your hands at your sides nervously.

“Aw, baby. Do you miss him already?” Davis asks, immediately assessing your tear stained cheeks and your wobbly bottom lip. You don’t answer, just looking at McCall, hoping you can silently communicate what happened. Her jaw goes slack, and she’s standing off of the couch to pull you into her arms immediately.

“No,” she says, hands cradling the back of your head. “You didn’t.”

You just begin to cry again as she comforts you, bleary eyes catching Davis’s shocked look from over her shoulder. “We broke up.”

—

After slogging through check-in and TSA like a zombie (seriously? he thought to himself, when he emptied out his pockets at security only to discover one of your hair ties in his jeans), Rafe practically collapses into the first chair he can find at his gate, bent forward with his head in his hands.

You hadn’t texted him yet, and he’s fidgeting trying not to check again for the thirtieth time, too nauseous to hit up the Starbucks in his terminal.

He'd agonized over making the right choice, the hard choice, all night. But everything felt wrong as soon as he said it.

In an attempt to distract himself, he swipes through the other apps on his phone, opens Instagram for the first time all weekend. A mistake.

His heart is sinking lower and lower with every new follower request he has from your friends. Wren, Delilah, Agnes, even that fucking Kennedy kid—he only immediately denies Frederick, ignoring the rest to deal with later. Davis and McCall had been tagging him in stories all weekend, ones he couldn’t even see anymore because they’d timed out. He supposes he should be thankful for that one, though, because he can guess they’re all pictures of him with you.

He finally scrolls down to the first notification he’d gotten that weekend, a static photo tag. From you.

y/n tagged you in a photo

i love you to the obx and back, rc 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨

He’s clicking on it before he can stop himself, thumb hovering over the picture of you two in your costumes on Friday night, both smiling, slightly blurry (your feed aesthetic for the moment, he’d noticed) where you lean into each other. Clinking those stupid beers you bought just for the picture. He’d be smiling despite himself remembering how he convinced you to try it, laughing out loud at your face, if the memory didn’t make him feel sick now. If the way you preened, pretty lips pulling up into a smile before you kissed his cheek, when he made you a fancy drink right after as an apology wasn’t a literal punch to his gut right now.

How were the two of you so, so happy, only a few short days ago? How had he fucked things up that badly in less than a week?

When Rafe goes to open the comments, because he can’t help it, he already saw what Kelce and Davis commented, and he wants to know what everyone else said, is clinging to this last piece of what you two had—then the page refreshes.

And it’s gone. Photo unavailable.

—

tags: @moniamaybank @downbytheouterbanks @littlementalpolaroids @fangirlvoice @chicagoblackhawkslover96 @amourtentiaa @loveylangdon @oopsiedoopsie23 @sodasback @arvinrussellseggplant @cooper8224 @rafeyybabyy @lemur46 @cameronsrafe @imjustanothernerd @judayyyw @irlpadfoot @synonymforlame

[ashdreams2023]

hi can you write for lady loki with a reader who’s still a little new to sex stuff, like they’ve had sex before together but still needs to learn some stuff like how to make loki feel good and how to eat her out and loki happily does so? only if that’s ok ofc

Sure it is!

Summary: lady Loki teaches you a few things about pleasing her

"Loki can we talk?"

"Huh, sure my love, what’s wrong?"

"Nothing…I just wanted some help"

You sat down with you girlfriend, a little nervous to say the least, even though you’re already dating and had sex Loki had that affect on you.

She’s the most beautiful girl you’ve ever seen and she treats you so well, your heart flutters every time she smiles your way and you just want to give something to give.

Recently you’ve felt a little underwhelmed with the fact that during intimate time you’re just a pillow princess and she does the pleasing for both of you.

"I want to make you feel good" you could feel your cheeks warming up as you spoke "it’s not fair if I can’t do anything to please you too….so would you please teach me what you like" Loki blinked at you, taking in all what you just said and smiled.

"If you really want to but please remember my pleasure comes from your pleasure as well" you nodded your head determined to do a good job.

She giggled kissing your forehead "I sure have a cute girlfriend" the butterflies in your stomach flew around with her sweet words.

Later that day when both of you were completely free Loki lead you to the bedroom and started setting the mood.

Kissing you and touching your body and undressing both of you, leaving in just your panties both, leading your hands to squeeze her breasts and kiss her neck.

"Just keep doing that, I have sensitive nipples remember love" you hummed nippling on her neck, your fingers pinching her nipples and making her moan.

That first moan was like a tiny victory.

You wanted to be a bit bold and pushed her on the soft bed, much like how she used to do to you.

She smirked up at you, a proud look in her eyes as she pulled down her panties for you.

Your heart raced leaning down on top of your girlfriend’s fully naked body.

Beautiful, beautiful as the first day you saw her.

You kissed her one more time for comfort and reassurance before pushing her legs gently apart.

You swallowed looking down at her cunt, her voice soft and calm talked to you.

"Just do it like how you would like it to be" you nodded to yourself and went down.

She was already wet and ready, it made it clear enough that your girlfriend actually wanted this, as much as you are.

You ran your fingers between her soft lips and watched as her chest rose up and down at the action, then your started curling her clit.

"Just like that" she breathed.

You leaned down, you kissed her lips once before you dragged your tongue between her folds and held legs apart.

She let out a tiny gasp that went straight to your core. You continued going up and down her lips and sucking on them, and not forgetting your thumb pinching and pressing her clit.

Her moans drowned you in lustful thought and with each passing second you could feel her legs weaken against your grip.

Your tongue tasted every part of her and she died whenever it went inside.

Her hands gripped your hair and pressed you against her pussy, dripping wet from your tongue.

"More, more" she moaned.

You kept the same base until you couldn’t breath and pushing your head away leaving her scream for you to continue.

Your wet lips glimmered in the light of the room and your breath felt a little heavy.

You licked two fingers of yours and pushed them inside of her, her back arched and you could only describe the sight as heavily.

With your other hand you started fingering your own self, you needed something to calm you down there and you were soaked.

"I’m so close" she said.

You whined pulling your hand out of yourself and leaning down to kiss her lower stomach, your fingers not changing the perfect base and like that she came on your fingers.

"Fuck!" You watched her body climax and all you could you think is how proud of yourself you are.

You laid beside her and held her hand until she could catch her breath and when she did, she chuckled.

"You were so good, so natural" you smiled back at her. "I’m glad" you said.

"Now it’s you" before you could protest her hand slipped down and fingers started working on your wet mess.

"It’s only fair" she kissed your neck while you moan out for her desperately.

[crimefightingspiderguy]

holding out for a hero

Summary: Shaun (Shang-Chi) offers you go out for drinks and who are you to refuse?

Warnings: Drinking. Talk of sex (none actually happens). No spoilers for Shang-Chi and the Legend of the the Ten Rings (but I do give away what his job is in the movie if you didn't know that pre-movie).

Pairings: Shang-Chi x reader

Word count: 2,492

A/N: I did make the female reader bisexual in this piece, but if that's not how you identify, it's only briefly mentioned in a sentence or two and you can just swap out the pronouns, or skip over it really quick, without affecting the plot :) Also, please do not think I'm using the name Shaun because I didn't want to use Shang-Chi or am being disrespectful to his true name. I'm basing this timeline wise, before he reveals his past to anyone close to him.

“Hey guys!” You waved to Shaun and Katy as you walked into the hotel to clock in. You were taking over Katy’s shift. She needed to go home early to go to the doctors, but Shaun was still there for another 3 hours with you. You were very willing to take over her shift when she asked. You loved working with both of them and any chance you got to, you gladly took it. I mean, who wouldn’t want to get paid to hang out with your best friends?

“You’re welcome.” You heard Katy say to Shaun as she was walking inside to clock out, passing you by with a cheeky wink, as you took your spot next to him.

“Well, she’s in an awful good mood for having to go to the doctors. I thought she had a fear of the doctors.” You gasped, “Is she drunk?”

He chuckled, “No. She’s not actually going to the doctors. She just wanted an excuse to leave work early to go to some concert in LA.”

“Oh, that wench! I gave up going on a date to come in for her. I thought she was dying or something.” You pouted, not actually mad at her, but you were still sad you told your date no.

“You had a date? Who’s the lucky one.” Shaun asked.

“Well, she is a lucky gal who I paid to go to dinner without me.” You huffed.

“You paid her to go out to dinner? By herself?”

“Well, we already had reservations, but I told her something came up with work and I had to go in. But she could take the reservation if she wanted, my treat. I’m sure she probably took someone else since it was a reservation for two.”

“So let me get this straight.” Shaun started to laugh, “You paid some random girl to go on your date with someone else?” He was doubled over in laughter by the end of his sentence.

You kicked his shin, “Hey, I was trying to do something nice for someone I stood up… but yeah it does seem like I probably just sent her on a date with someone else.” You started to laugh with him.

“You’re too nice for your own good sometimes.” He patted you on the shoulder. “How about this, after our shift, I’ll take you out for drinks and karaoke, my treat.”

“Well, that would make me feel better.” You grinned at him, leaving his side to help the new guest pulling up.

After the shift, the two of you took a bus to his apartment so he could change out of his uniform. You were going to stop at your house, which was between his apartment and the bar but when you got into his room, a deep blue sweater hanging in his closet pulled your attention to it. You walked into his closet and shut the mirror door over it. Pulling the sweater off the hanger, it was softer than you could ever imagine. You stripped of your uniform top and threw on the sweater. It was so comfortable and after a deep inhale, smelt exactly like Shaun. It was heavenly.

“(Y/N)?” Shaun called out to you, coming out of the bathroom after getting dressed himself. You stepped out of the closet, “Why are you wearing my sweater?” He laughed at your guilty expression as you slowly walked up to him.

“Well, it was just sitting there looking so comfy, I just wanted to try it on, but now that it’s on I’m afraid I’m never going to take it off. It’s too comfy.” You wrapped your arms around yourself, snuggling into the sweater even more.

“It looks good on you.” He smiled.

“It can be our sweater, how’s that sound?” You batted your eyelashes up at him as he threw his head back in laughter.

“Let’s go short stuff before I end up staying here and cuddling. Our sweater isvery cozy, so it’s very tempting.” Him saying he would rather stay home and cuddle with you, and him holding your hand as he pulled you out of his apartment caused you to blush. He let go of your hand to lock his door, turning to you, “Are you blushing?” He chuckled, grazing his fingers over your burning cheeks.

“No, it’s just getting a little warm in this sweater.” You rolled the sleeves up, letting your arms breathe, “There, that’s better.” You lied and turned away to the exit with determination. He just shook his head and chuckled.

You were a few shots deep into your bar night when you couldn’t help but stare at Shaun. ‘Has he always been this pretty?’ you thought to yourself.

“What are you staring at?” He laughed as he set your next drink down. You said nothing but answered him by putting your hand in his hair, “Your hair is so soft. Oh my gosh it’s softer than this sweater.”

“How many drinks have you had?” He burst out laughing, pulling your hand out of his hair and holding it on the table in his own.

“I haven’t had anything to drink.” You slurred as you take a sip of the fruity drink, he put in front of you.

“Mhmmm, and how many fingers am I holding up?” He held up 3 fingers on the hand not holding yours.

“3, now how many am I holding up.” You stuck up your middle finger and stuck your tongue out as he pretended to be hurt and gasped. “I have to pee.” You got up and stumbled your way to the bathroom. It was a pretty simple trip there and back, but when you got out you couldn’t remember where your table with Shaun was. So instead of going to the table you headed up to the stage and picked the first song that stood out to you, “Holding out for a Hero” by Bonnie Tyler. As the intro music was building up you spoke into the microphone, “This one goes out to that beautiful boy right there.” You pointed vaguely in Shaun’s direction and then burst out into song.

He laughed as he made his way up to the edge of the stage. He was mostly concerned that you’d fall off the stage and land right on your face, but he was really enjoying the performance that you’d likely forget tomorrow. When you finished your song, you held your hand out to meet Shaun’s stretched out one to help you off the stage.

“Oh my gosh, thanks for helping me down. That was like a 20-foot drop. You’re the hero I was holding out for!” You exclaimed as you threw your arms around his neck.

“It’s a stage maybe 3 inches off the ground, but I’ll take the credit I guess.” He pulled back from the hug and grabbed your hand, pulling you back to your seats.

“Oh no, I’m empty.” You pouted when you found nothing in your cup at the table.

“I’ll get us refills. Stay here.” He made his way up to the bar.

You pulled out your phone and opened your texts with Katy,

“OMG KATY THIS REALLY HOT GUY IS GETTING ME A DRINK AT THE BAR. I THINK I MIGHT GET LAID 2NIGHT! 🤪”

“I thought you were at the bar with Shaun?”

“Who’s Shaun?”

Shaun came back to your table and set down your glass.

“Well, hello handsome.” You wiggled your eyebrows at him, “Do you come here often?” You leaned your head on your hand, elbow on the table. You were as Katy would describe it to you, “heart-eyeing” him.

“Okay, I’m glad I grabbed you a water.” Shaun chuckled as he took his seat across from you.

His phone lit up with Katy’s contact picture. He answered it, plugging the opposite ear.

“Hello?”

“Hey, are you still with (Y/N)?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Who else are you guys with?”

“No one, why?” his question was met with silence, then a loud laugh from Katy.

“HA! No way, she totally texted me that a hot guy was getting her a drink and she was definitely getting laid tonight. When I asked her if she was still with you she said ‘Who’s Shaun’ and proceeded to stop texting me. She thinks your hot and that you guys are hooking up, this is going better than I thought it would when I called in.”

“Shut up, you’re messing with me.”

“Well, what is she doing right now?”

“She’s staring at me and sighing contently… OH MY GOD SHE DOESN’T KNOW WHO I AM!?” Shaun whisper-yelled into the phone.

“Well of course I know who you are silly! You’re the handsome man who’s sitting across from me and I’m the lucky gal who gets to look at you.” You giggled as you continued to stare at him with a sweet, but glazed over, look.

“Oh my god she’s so far gone.” Katy laughed on the other end.

“What do I do? Have you ever seen her this drunk?” Shaun was beginning to worry that you’d had way past your limit and you were about to get really sick.

“Oh yeah, definitely. All you have to do is bring her home and put her to bed. She’ll be fine, I’ve seen her drunker than this and not get sick.”

“Okay, should I make her coffee or something?”

“She’s allergic to coffee genius.” Katy rolled her eyes.

“Right, right. I knew that. Thanks Katy.” He hung up the phone and got up to grab your stuff.

“Hey where are you going?” You pouted as he walked up to the bar to pay the bill

“I’ll be right back, just wait here for me.” You nodded your head and waited patiently for him to come back.

“We’re going to go home now, alright?” Shaun pulled you out of your seat carefully helping you land on your feet. You nodded your head and yawned, stretching your arms over your head.

“Shaun, I’m too tired to walk.”

“Oh, now you remember who I am?” He chuckled, and you gave him a questioning look,

“Of course, I remember you, why wouldn’t I?”

“Well about 5 minutes ago you didn’t, I brought you a water and I guess it cleared your head enough. Come here.” He bent over enough for you to hop onto his back so he could give you a piggyback ride.

“My hero.” You mumbled into his back, closing your eyes as he started walking out of the building.

“Hey, (Y/N).” Shaun shook his shoulders to wake you up.

“Mhmm?” You moaned.

“Where are your keys?”

You sighed and climbed off his back, reaching into your purse, you handed the keys to him. He grabbed your hand and led you up to your porch, unlocking the front door and bringing you inside. He locked the door behind him and picked you up bridal style. Your head lolled into his chest as he carried you to your bedroom. He put you down on the bed, pulling the covers up and over you.

“Shaun…” You let your hand reach up to pull his arm back to you.

“What’s up?” He looked at you with concern.

“Can you help me take my pants off?” You laughed, and he blushed.

“Uh… yeah, sure.” Once he pulled back the covers, he realized why you asked. He hadn’t realized you were still in your dress pants from work. He went to unhook the buttons and slowly pulled them down your legs, tossing them into your hamper across the room. He pulled the covers back up to your chin and laughed as you happily took them and snuggled farther into the bed. He went to leave again but you stopped him yet again, “Shaun…”

“Yes?”

“Will you stay with me?”

“I was going to crash on the couch. I’ll be right outside, holler if you need something okay?”

“No… will you stay in here with me?” You opened your eyes for the first time since you got into your house. You gave him a puppy dog pout that made him melt.

“I can set up some couch cushions on the floor I guess…” he began looking around the floor to find a big enough space for him.

“No… Shaun… just come here.” You pulled him onto the bed and scooted over, pulling the covers over him. He hesitated for a second, body freezing, but when you snuggled your body into his side, he quickly melted under your touch. Not strong enough to fight off sleep any longer.

Shaun sighed as he woke up, he forgot to set his alarm last night. He probably was going to be late for work. He opened his eyes to see an unfamiliar bedding surrounding him. It then hit him that he was not alone. He was holding onto someone. Looking down, he saw your peaceful face resting into his chest. Your breath fanning over him, tickling him. ‘When did I take my shirt off?’ He thought as he quickly realized why it tickled. He looked under the covers slowly, trying not to wake you, ‘When did I take my pants off?!’ He questioned himself in alarm as he realized he was snuggled up to you in just underwear. He slowly leaned up on his elbow to look around them. Your pants and bra were thrown haphazardly towards your hamper and his shirt, pants, and socks laid at the end of the bed. He laid back on his side and looked down at his current position with you. He had his hand resting on your back underneath his sweater. Your legs tangled with his, and your hands cupping under your face that was cuddled up into his chest still. He couldn’t help the giant grin that plastered his face. He’s wanted to be with you like this for years. He’s wanted to be able to hold you close when he wakes up, to be able to kiss your forehead as you wake up, smiling up at him. He’s wanted to feel how soft your skin is, how gentle your lips rest against his skin. He’s got goose bumps all over his body as he realizes just how warm you are. He started rubbing circles on your back, trying to wake you up.

“Mhmm. That feels nice.” You smiled into his skin. You slowly opened your eyes and looked up at him, “See, isn’t this so much better than sleeping on the couch?”

“This is way better.” He kissed your hairline.

“I hope you know when I said this is our sweater, I meant I’m never giving it back.”

“You look better in it anyway.” He shrugged, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear, getting a good look at you, ‘Oh yeah, way better in it.’ He thought to himself as he blushed thinking about beautiful you were and how lucky he is right now in this moment.

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[holden-caulfield]

What If I Don't Want You To?

main masterlist

REQUESTED: "Hii! I saw that you wanted people to leave kaz requests in your asks so here I am! Could you do a ff in wich the reader is a part of the crows and she's really sarcastic and flirty (similar to jesper) and she constantly flirts with kaz, (he acts like it doesn't affect him but he secretly loves it) and one day she does something especially bold that makes him blush madly and they finally admit their feelings for each other (also a lot of teasing of the crows to kaz pls) thank you so much!"

SUMMARY: reader loves to tease kaz but is scared once she realizes she might have gone too far.

WARNINGS: a mention of blood but nothing graphic

WORD COUNT: 1422

Kaz was the most closed-off person you knew. He never revealed anything, wether it was his feelings or the details of a new plan, and it enraged you. That's why you took it upon yourself to see just how far you could push him.

Flirting with Kaz Brekker wasn't an easy task, nor was it rewarding but it sure was fun. The crows loved to see which new technique you would have used and what effect it would have had on Kaz. It was usually a simple glare; a snarky comment when you were lucky. Bets were made on his reactions and you soon became a part of it.

"What are we thinking today, Y/n?" started Jesper while walking you down to the club, "I'm betting on a smirk."

"A smirk?!" you asked surprised, "I'm not even sure Kaz can smile..."

"He can, i've seen him once. I thought i was dreaming but when i pointed it out, he glared at me. I knew it was real when he whacked me with his cane." stated Jesper, shivering at the memory. You couldn't help but laugh at his theatrics. "Why do you do it, by the way?"

You took a moment to answer, suddenly serious again.

Truth was that all the innocent flirty comments you made −comments that started out as nothing more than a pastime− soon changed something in you. They were becoming truthful, and seeing Kaz answer with nothing but a dismissive comment was not easy. Trying to evoke feelings in him, inadvertently awoke feelings in you. Feelings for your boss that you shouldn't have had.

"Do i need a reason? It's fun, why do you talk to yourself in the mirror when you think no one's watching?" you retorted, raising eyebrows in genuine question.

"First of all, you shouldn't have seen that. Second of all, you should try it, you'd feel much better afterwards." he said simply and you tried restraining the smile that inevitably made its way on your face.

You entered the club which was, as always, in full swing. Several people were already ordering at the bar all kinds of alcohol while many others were betting all their possessions at the tables. Only the dregs knew that the real bets were being placed under the tables.

"Ten that he doesn't say anything." you heard someone whispering.

You were the newest of the dregs and of the crows, but you had already earned yourself a reputation.

"Twenty that he finally kicks her out." another voice from somewhere in the club.

That one made you shiver. Would he really reach a point where he would fire you? You were a useful member, you wouldn't have made it into the crows if you weren't, but were you too much? Would he eventually get tired of you?

You walked over to your usual table with Jesper to meet Inej. Kaz wasn't there yet and you were really thinking of ending it there, no more flirting, no more jokes. This was your job, nothing else.

"What do you have for us, boss?" asked Jesper as he saw Kaz approaching.

He looked as he always does: black refined clothes clinging to him in an assortment of sharp edges, making him look even more direful to new merchants. He looked dashing the way a raging sea at night is; frightening, yet enticing. And that was wrong, you reminded yourself.

"It was a dead end." he said, sitting down.

He was in a gloomy mood, certainly for the news, and even though you knew you would have let down the whole club, you couldn't help but think of the comment you had heard moments ago.

"Twenty that he finally kicks her out."

You loved working and simply being with the crows and the possibility of being kicked out was positively frightening.

But you couldn't simply stop. Everyone would have noticed something was off, he would have noticed. And then what? He would have known you liked him.

You had to do something big, something he couldn't simply ignore. You might have been out of the dregs for good, or maybe not.

Jesper kicked your shin under the table, making you focus back on the real word and motioning at all the dregs in the club, looking expectantly at you.

Kaz and Inej were now talking about something you weren't quite getting, their voices seemed distant as you tried to forget about everyone's eyes on you. You had made it a thousand times already, you could do it once more.

"So, what are we going to do now?" asked Jesper and Kaz leaned back in his chair.

"I have some other leads we can try, but we'll have to split up." he started, the prospect of new kruge in his pockets making him incredibly more cheerful, "Jesper, Inej heard something about a particularly pricey painting in east stave, she'll bring you there and you'll learn more about it. And Y/n," he began and you perked up.

It was your moment to say something and get it over with.

"We'll go to west stave, i need your help with a lead there."

"Oh, you need me?" you said, your tone excessively teasing.

"That's what i said, but i can ask Inej." he replied drily.

You hesitated but you were not one to back down, especially not in front of one of Kaz's passive aggressive comments.

"But then you wouldn't get to stare at me longingly while i work, would you?" you said, pouting slightly.

You could have expected a retort, a glare, a not-so-nice hand gesture, but not him storming out of the club.

The entirety of the dregs was dumbfounded, Jesper and Inej, who never participated in the bets but still knew about them, were agape. You were mortified.

"Maybe," began Inej, "You should go talk to him."

"And meet my demise?" you asked.

"There must be a reason why he stormed out-"

"Yes, that he would have liked to kill me but blood stains are tough to remove." Jesper laughed but you were quite serious.

You got up either way, you had to explain yourself to him, you owed him at least that, and got out.

You found him not so far from the club's entrance, leaning on the railing over the river. You approached him unsurely.

"Kaz." he didn't turn around, so you got closer to the railing and noticed that his face, even in the night with the palest light of the street lamps, was scarlet. "I'm- i'm sorry, i will stop."

He remained silent.

"That is if you still want me in the crows, if not i'll leave tonight obviously." he turned to you, usually-perfect hair now slightly tousled, face still red and unreadable.

"Why wouldn't i?" he asked.

"I'm always teasing you and i figured you hated that. I will stop."

"What if i don't want you to?" your head perked up and he turned back towards the horizon, but a smirk crept up on his face. He didn't bother hiding it.

"So you can smile?" he rolled his eyes.

"I don't like it when people point out things i obviously do, you should have noticed back there."

Heat rushed to your face and the smile he had plastered onto his face turned into a complacent one.

"It was real? You stare at me longingly?" you asked bewildered.

He looked at you once before turning to the horizon once more, "Obviously not."

But you could sense he was lying.

"Told you he could smile, Y/n!" shouted Jesper from behind you.

You both turned around to find Jesper and Inej surrounded by the dregs and a couple of other clients too, all jostling to get a better look of the scene.

"It'll be hard for him not to, i'm afraid." joined in Inej and you bit your lip to refrain the laughter. Kaz's annoyed expression didn't help you maintaining a straight face.

"I'm not paying you to stand here doing nothing, get back inside." he ordered.

Everyone turned back inside but Jesper and Inej.

"Boss, if Y/n now gets double, just know i'm great at flirting too." stated Jesper as Kaz made his way back to the club, you in tow.

He ignored him and whacked him with his cane. Again. Jesper had now yet another lovely cane story to add to his collection.

"You'll never let him forget it, won't you?" you whispered. Jesper looked at you like a child who had just entered candy land.

"Never."

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[rocorambles]

Mission: Seduce Kuroo Tetsurou

Pair: Kuroo x Reader

Genre: NSFW, Slight Angst, Fluff, Porn With Plot

Warnings: Degradation, Master/Pet Dynamics, Sex Toys, Overstimulation, Cum Play, Nipple Play

Prompt: "Guess I'll just have to cum inside you."

Summary: You really should have just spoken to Kuroo about your insecurities instead of letting everything spiral out of control. But that’s okay, your husband is more than happy to thoroughly remind you that you’re the only woman he’ll ever want.  

Author’s Note: This is my contribution for my HQ Discord Server’s NSFW collaboration. There are so many talented writers on the server and I highly encourage you to check out the collaboration masterlist here to see how everyone decided to run with this spicy prompt. (Masterlist goes live Monday 31st August 11:30pm U.K. time!) 

You stretch your arms over your head as a big yawn rumbles throughout your entire body. It’s too early for any sane person to be up, even the sun is barely creeping in through the windows of your apartment, but your husband has hardly been sane recently with the crazy amount of hours he’s been pouring into work. You’re lucky that you even woke up before he left and you smile as you hear your overgrown house cat rustle around your bathroom and bedroom, getting ready for the day. 

“Tetsurou, hurry up so you have time to eat at least a little breakfast before you head out! You’ve been skipping it too much recently. You wouldn’t want me to leave you for one of those pro-athletes you work so closely with when you become just stick and bones, would you?” 

You bite back a laugh when your husband’s messy bed hair peeks out from around the corner and hazel eyes narrow at you, but you’re not laughing when he finally saunters over to you in his suit and traps you against the kitchen counter between his long arms, leaning in so close your noses are brushing and just when you relax and close your eyes, waiting for him to kiss you, you rapidly blink your eyes open as he gives you a quick light peck before ambling off to pour himself a cup of the green tea you’d brewed. With a pout, you warm up the rice balls you’d bought last night and place them on the dining table, wrinkling your nose in displeasure at the smirk on Kuroo’s face, but it’s all forgotten as the two of you lightly chat over breakfast, Kuroo’s long legs spreading into your space across the table, your calves gently rubbing against each other as you laugh and eat. But all too soon it’s time for him to go and he gives you another loving peck before racing out the door and with a sigh, you wash the dishes before getting ready to leave for work yourself.

You love Kuroo with all your heart. Your feelings for him have only gotten stronger over the years and even after tying the knot with him, you can’t help the way your heart flutters and warmth fills your chest whenever the two of you lock eyes. But when your mind replays the teasing scene from this morning, your thighs clench and you bite your lips. Kuroo’s always been a tease and you love it as much as you hate it. No one knows how to rile you up like he does and he uses that to his advantage, rendering you a desperate, needy mess before finally making good on all his dirty promises. But lately, he hasn’t been following through. You can’t even remember the last time you’d done anything more than heatedly make out. 

At first, you had tried to be patient. You know far too well exactly why he hasn’t been in the mood recently. It’s so obvious to you. It’s obvious in the ever growing and darkening circles underneath his eyes. It’s obvious in the way he can barely stay awake when you do manage to spend some time together when he comes back home from work. It’s obvious in the way he immediately passes out as soon as his head hits the pillow. Hell, even his messy bed hair that usually defies gravity seems to slump more and more with every passing day. He’s exhausted. You’ve always loved how dedicated and hardworking Kuroo is. It’s one of the many reasons you’d fallen for him and you know how important his job is to him, but you wonder if it’s time to intervene as you watch your husband walk around your shared apartment like a zombie. Also, more selfishly, you have needs and it’s been months since you’ve been stuffed full by him and really, this is all Kuroo’s fault for training your body to constantly yearn for him after all the years he spent pleasuring you over and over again. With a determined glint in your eyes, you begin to scheme. Let Mission Seduce Kuroo Tetsurou begin.

You scan yourself in the mirror pleased with how you look in a strappy lingerie set you know drives Kuroo crazy. It’s a delicate and intricate creation of lace and ribbons that barely covers you, only accentuating the curves of your figure, but you know it’s the one strip of ribbon that travels in a single bold line between your breasts and leads up to a delicate lacy red collar wrapped around your neck that will specifically catch Kuroo’s eyes. Checking the time, you excitedly perch yourself on the bed, positioning yourself seductively, candles flickering and enhancing the mood as you wait for him, but a hour passes and you unwillingly succumb to sleep, ignorant of the way your phone buzzes with an apologetic text from Kuroo, letting you know he’d be home even later than usual. Blearily you open your eyes and wince as daylight sears your vision. Wait...daylight? You scramble to sit up and check your surroundings and your shoulders sag in frustration when you find yourself still in your lingerie set, but carefully tucked into bed, blankets wrapped around your body, Kuroo’s side of the bed empty and cold. You reach over to look at your phone, getting up to get dressed for work, when you see a new text from your husband. 

Sorry, kitten. You must have been waiting a long time for me last night. You looked absolutely beautiful. Look! I even took some pictures so I could remember. But maybe next time try not to fall asleep while the candles are still lit ^.^  

Your face heats up at the lewd pictures he’d taken of you while you were fast asleep and your heart warms at his compliment, but you stubbornly shake your head. There’s no time to be distracted. You’re still a woman on a mission. 

Attempt two takes place that weekend and you watch your husband from the shadows, lurking behind him before finally pouncing on him as he sits at his desk, answering a work phone call. You saucily wink at him as you saunter into his view and you smirk at the way he clears his throat and gulps at the sight of you dressed in nothing but his old Nekoma jersey and black thigh highs. And when you sink to your knees and arch your back just so, you almost snicker at the way he hisses when his jersey rides up and your bare ass is displayed. But he collects himself enough to firmly, but gently shove you away from him as you try to pull his boxers down and despite a few more attempts on your end, you instantly stop when he puts his phone on mute and sternly says your full name. 

But Kuroo’s always been weak against your puppy dog eyes and with a slight roll of his eyes, he beckons you to sit on his bare thigh and as he calmly and professionally continues his call, you heavily pant with your tongue lolling out, drool dripping from your mouth as you grind against his strong muscles like a bitch in heat, smearing your arousal everywhere until you’re almost sliding back and forth against the taut surface. And as he clenches his muscles and digs his leg further up into you, your body convulses and he barely has time to end the call before you loudly moan as you ride out your orgasm. He whispers filthy praises into your ear about what a good slut you are, what a desperate pet you are, what a mess you’ve made all over master’s leg, but when you finally exhaustedly slump onto his chest, he peppers butterfly kisses all over your face and holds you for a few minutes before carrying you to the bathroom and washing both of you off despite your protests that you still want to play more. 

He at least has the decency to apologetically kiss you for ending things so abruptly as he throws on slacks and a button-up before rushing off to work to take care of the emergency he had just been on a call about despite the fact that it’s a weekend, but you can’t help the growing insecurity that begins to eat at you as you spend the rest of that Saturday alone. Were you not as attractive as you used to be? Was Kuroo getting tired of you? Why does it feel like you’re trying so hard to get his attention? Does touching you feel like just a husbandly duty for him now? Thought after crippling thought sears through you and you have to hold back the tears that threaten to spill when Kuroo returns late that night and, thinking you’re already asleep, turns on his side with his back facing towards you and instantly falls asleep.        

You muster what little resolve you have left with the last few scraps of your self-confidence for a final attempt. Raking through your mind for memories of what would hopefully bring some passion back between the two of you, you perk up as your eyes scan a black box crammed underneath the bed. Kuroo hates it when you masturbate, when you touch yourself, when you make yourself cum without him being physically present or at least on a call with you to hear all the pretty sounds you make. Surely this would be enough to finally have him fuck you senseless like he always used to. But when you purposefully time everything so that Kuroo enters your bedroom and finds you stuffed full with your favorite dildo, a wand vibrator pressed against your clit, and your back arched as broken cries fill the room, he just gives you a tired smile and sits on the edge of the bed before helping you by thrusting the dildo in and out of your gushing cunt. And it feels so good, but when you see how dull and lifeless Kuroo’s sleep deprived eyes look despite the fact that you’re laid out in an erotic display of lust, you can’t stop the sobs you let out as you climax. 

Thinking you’re just crying from the overwhelming pleasure and too tired to dig further into it, Kuroo absentmindedly tosses the toys to the side and cradles you in his arms as he falls asleep, finding comfort in your familiar scent and figure, ignorant of the way your body continues to tremble as you cry yourself to sleep. And as you try to keep your sobs and sniffles as quiet as possible, you decide to abort this mission, deeming it a complete and utter failure and you struggle to fall asleep that night as self-deprecating thoughts claw at your insides. Of course Kuroo didn’t find you sexy anymore. Your body has changed a lot since your younger days. You should be grateful that you still have a loving husband, a husband who works tirelessly to help provide for the two of you, a husband who always takes care of you, a loyal and devoted husband. And despite the longing pang for something more, something primal, for your base desires to be filled, you tentatively turn in Kuroo’s arms until you're face to face and you nuzzle into his toned chest and finally find peace in the rhythmic rise and fall of his sleeping figure. 

Life goes on normally after that. At least for Kuroo. He's too distracted and exhausted to notice the way your smiles are a little more forced, the way you're more hesitant about touching him, the way you wear more clothes to cover your body as self-consciousness plagues your mind. So it's just business as usual for him to excitedly tell you about the Japan Volleyball Association's annual summer beach party, but he blinks in confusion when you don't return his enthusiasm, mumbling a feeble excuse about not having a swimsuit for the occasion. Brows furrowed, he digs through the drawers of your wardrobe and triumphantly holds up a black bikini set you still have, waving aside your worries that it won't fit and that it won't look good on you anymore and that's how you find yourself a few weeks later, exiting Kuroo's car and walking side by side with him in said bikini, feeling like an ugly troll next to your stunning husband whose lean and toned muscles are on full display with him just sporting a red pair of swim trunks. 

But your insecurities are pushed aside as a loud "hey, hey, hey" echoes even over the sound of the waves crashing on the beach and you can't help but grin as Bokuto runs over slapping Kuroo hard enough on the back to leave a red mark before picking you up and spinning you around as he hugs you. "Alright, that's enough, stop manhandling my wife, you big dumb owl!" Kuroo pretends to grumble at the two of you, but you can tell by the amused glint in his eyes as Bokuto finally lets you go and the reassuring hand he places on your lower back as the three of you mingle with everyone else that he doesn't really mind. But as soon as you reach the thickest part of the crowd, Kuroo quickly kisses your forehead before running off to network with some players and coworkers, leaving you alone with Bokuto. 

The two of you have fun. Bokuto has always been the life of the party and you laugh the hardest you've laughed in a long time. But many drinks later and unable to keep up with his crazy stamina, you excuse yourself and find a quiet corner, drinking a glass of cold water to cool down and sober up a bit. It's been hours and you still haven't seen Kuroo since he separated from you and you're so focused scanning the venue for him that you don't notice the person drawing near you until you feel movement right next to you. Surprised you turn around and are met with a vaguely familiar face. Blond dyed hair. An ever present smirk. You don't realize how long you've been staring, trying to remember where you recognize him from, until he snorts and waves a hand in your face. "I know I'm good looking, but don't you think it's a little rude to just stare at me silently?" 

You try to stutter out an apology as you finally come back to your senses, but he laughs it off and introduces himself. Atsumu. Yes, now you recognize him. Bokuto's teammate. You've seen tons of pictures of him on Bokuto's social media accounts. He's a little rough around the edges and you can feel your face heat up as he blatantly looks you up and down, eyes lingering a bit too long on the swell of your breasts, but you can feel your confidence growing, feeling truly desired for the first time in months. What's the harm in a little flirting? 

The two of you banter back and forth and maybe it's the heat of the sun mixed with the alcohol still running through your veins, but you don't notice the way Atsumu inches closer to you until your thighs are pressed tightly against each other or the way he rests one arm behind you, slyly pressing it against your upper back. And you definitely don't notice how he suddenly swoops in to crash his lips against yours and you move to shove him away from you only to be interrupted by a flurry of motions and you stare in shock at Atsumu sprawled out on the ground and your husband furiously glaring down at him, fists clenched so hard his knuckles are turning white. 

You react just in time to lunge at Kuroo and you tightly wrap your arms around his tense figure as he takes a step towards the blonde setter, holding him still as realization finally dawns on Atsumu when he spots your matching wedding bands and he scampers off with a rushed apology. But even when he’s long gone and nowhere in sight, you still clutch your husband, not letting go until you feel his muscles relax. You let him shake you off as he turns around to tower over you and you whimper at the fire burning in his eyes, hazel eyes almost glowing as they pin you down. You’re thankful for the loud music and lively atmosphere, ensuring no one’s paying any attention to the two of you as he tightly grips your chin and forces you to maintain eye contact. 

“Someone’s been a naughty kitten. I leave you alone for a few hours and you let some other man just place their dirty paws all over you? Let them taste your pretty little mouth? If I hadn’t stopped him, would you have let him fuck your tight cunt too? Mark you up inside and out?” 

You hate the way you grow wet at his words, trembling when Kuroo notices your growing arousal and narrows his eyes in disdain. But it’s the brief flicker of hurt in his eyes that finally has you digging your hands into his waist as denial and reassurances come pouring out of your mouth. 

“Tetsurou, I had no idea he was going to kiss me. It happened so fast. I’m so sorry. Of course I would have stopped him if you hadn’t stepped in! I love you. I only want you.” 

You stare intently into his eyes, trying to portray all your love for him through your gaze and you sigh in relief when his eyes soften at your words, but your breath catches in your throat when his eyes sharpen into a familiar gleam and a dark smirk curves onto his lips. He finally releases your chin and leans down until his hair brushes against the side of your face as he purrs into your ear. 

“Prove it to me.” 

Kuroo has a reputation to uphold and, not wanting to risk anyone seeing what’s about to happen, he grabs your hand and guides you through the dancing crowd, laughing and greeting a few tipsy faces he recognizes in passing, but not once does he stop leading you towards the exit and you’re quivering in anticipation by the time the two of you reach the parking lot and he roughly shoves you into the back of his car. The door has barely closed before he pulls your bottoms down, not even bothering to fully remove them as he also hastily shoves his boxers down just enough for his cock to swing out. And you almost moan at just the sight of what you’ve been lusting for all these months, a small part of you taking pride in the fact that he’s not as unaffected as he makes himself seem behind his angry facade as you unconsciously lick your lips at the sight of his already fully hard length. 

You attempt to sit up and move towards him, desperate for a taste of the pre-cum leaking out of his tip, but you yelp when you’re shoved back down by a hand on your chest and you whine, only for that to quickly turn into a wail as Kuroo slams two of his fingers inside of your throbbing cunt. He growls as he rapidly pistons his digits in and out of you and you should be embarrassed by the way your cries of ecstasy and the sound of your squelching wet pussy fill the car, but you can’t bring yourself to feel any shame as you lose yourself to the delirious pleasure of your husband’s long fingers filling you, stretching you, always sure to rub against that spongy spot inside of you that makes you see stars. But when your hand instinctively reaches down to rub your clit, you’re startled back to reality when it’s slapped away and his fingers are yanked out of you. 

He sneers down at you, a wicked smile twisting his face as he shoves his drenched fingers into your mouth and you obediently suck, making sure to clean every remaining drop of yourself that coats his skin. Satisfied, he finally removes his hand from your mouth and he quirks an eyebrow in amusement as you beg and plead for him to fuck you.

“Tetsurou, please. I need your cock inside of me. Please, I want it so badly. Please fuck me. Please please please. I miss it so much.” 

He mockingly coos down at you as desperate tears well in the corner of your eyes. “Aww is my little kitten crying for my cock? You’re such a fucking whore. You want my big fat cock inside of you so badly that you’d cry and beg for it like a desperate slut? You sure it’s my cock that you miss? I think you’d be happy with any cock fucking you. You’d let anyone stuff you full and moan like a whore, wouldn’t you?” 

And the tears finally fall as you sob and shake your head rapidly. “Only you, Tetsurou. Always only you. Please please please.” You’re still crying and incoherently babbling as he slams his entire shaft inside of you in one swift motion and Kuroo darkly smiles at the way your crying instantly turns to wanton moans at the sudden intrusion. But it’s been far too long since either of you have done this and both of you are so worked up that he knows he doesn’t have much time before you both reach your ends. And sure enough after just a few strokes he can feel your body begin to tighten and he grits his teeth at the sight of your eyes rolling into the back of your head, your head shaking back and forth, and your mouth wide open. But even as dazed as you are, when you feel the way your husband’s thrusts become uneven, you try to voice as much reason as you possibly can, fully aware of your husband’s tendency to paint your body with his fluids. 

“Tetsu-Tetsurou AH- Feels so good. Hngh D-don’t cum on me. Don’t have anything to- AHHH clean it up with and- OH we need to go back to the party.”

Kuroo grunts in displeasure at your words, but he knows you’re right and as much as he loves to see you covered in thick spurts of white, the thought of anyone else seeing that incites rage in him. You get ready for him to pull out and cum down your throat like you always do when you mess around in similarly inconvenient places, ready to swallow down any evidence of your sinful deeds, but you scream when his thrusts get even harder and faster. 

"Guess I'll just have to cum inside you."

And those words are the final shove you need to fall over the peak and Kuroo follows shortly after you as your pussy walls clench and milk his cock. He stays buried inside of you for a few more moments, wanting your tight walls to soak up as much of him as possible, but when he slides out of you, he quickly pulls your bottoms up, not letting a single drop escape, and you whimper as he purposefully tugs them up just a tad too tightly, teasingly wedging the fabric between your folds before finally having some mercy and letting you rearrange them. He opens the car door and steps out first, offering a hand down towards you and you grab it, gingerly standing up only to be pulled swiftly towards him and you stumble into his chest. But before you can fully find your balance, a large hand tugs your hair until you’re forced to stare up into cat-like eyes. 

“I want you to keep my cum inside of you for the rest of the party. I’m not anywhere near done with your punishment. I’ll be checking at home tonight to see if your pretty little pussy is still painted white.”       

The rest of the party is torturous. Kuroo doesn't let you step even a foot away from him as he continues mingling with the crowd and in any other scenario you'd love the attention he showers you with as he affectionately introduces you to countless faces, but not today. Not with your pussy desperately clenching in order not to spill a single drop of the white liquid coating your insides. Not with your touch starved body only yearning for more after getting a taste of what you've wanted all these months. And Kuroo only makes things worse with his subtle teasing. 

You know better than to think any of his touches are accidental or innocent and your body is so in tune with his that it reacts to every single bit of contact he dishes out. His arm grazes over your nipples as he reaches over to grab a drink. He leads you with a hand that just happens to slip from your lower back and land squarely on your ass. He wipes your mouth for you, claiming you have a piece of food on the corner of your mouth, but that doesn't really explain why his fingers briefly slip past your lips. But all hell breaks loose when he reapplies your sunscreen for you and his hands blatantly slip under your bikini set, teasingly close to where you want him most, but always just missing your clit and nipples and when he reaches your neck, a moan escapes you at the feeling of his hand subtly wrapping and tightening around your throat. 

"Tetsurou, stop teasing me! Can we go home? Please take me home. I need you inside of me again. I want you to ruin me." 

Kuroo's the one who's turned you into a needy slutty mess, but it's his turn to feel flushed at the sight of you lewdly begging him to do whatever he wants to you in broad daylight, in front of hundreds of people and finally losing his self-control, he brusquely grabs your hand and once again the two of you are leaving, but this time for good. The car ride is silent, the atmosphere thick and tense between the two of you as you clench your thighs together and Kuroo tries to ignore the growing bulge in his shorts. It's silent as both of you enter your apartment and Kuroo seats himself on your couch. But you break once you close and lock the front door and Kuroo impassively stares at you as you drop to your knees in front of him and beg him to fuck you again. You know you're barely making any sense, fueled only by your cock hungry thoughts, but you pause when Kuroo raises a hand to silence you. 

"Let's see if you were able to follow the one rule I gave you today, kitten." 

Eagerly you nod your head and you raise yourself on your knees, spreading your thighs apart before pulling your bikini bottom to the side and you think you could cum right there and then just from the way Kuroo unabashedly stares at the white trail dripping down your inner thigh as he pushes down his shorts enough to languidly stroke his cock. 

"Good girl. Did you like being my little cum bucket today? Did you like being filled by me? Bet if it were possible, you'd always want your little cunny to be drenched in my cum, right? Come sit on master's lap." 

Kuroo chuckles at the way you clumsily stumble in your haste to reach him as you blather affirmation after affirmation in response to his questions and he lowers his head to affectionately kiss you, lightly nipping your lower lip before he pulls back. He moves one hand to his cock to angle it as his other hand grabs your waist and urges you to move, but you hardly need any encouragement and you both groan as you sink down on his length until you're completely bottomed out and sitting in his lap once again. Immediately you try to bounce, but you whine when strong hands hold you still and you can feel tears of frustration forming as you pout at your husband's smirk. But any annoyance is forgotten when his hands fondle and pinch your nipples through the fabric of your top. 

"Look at you. I've barely done anything and you're already so worked up. Stop moving! Just sit there and take what I give you." You yelp when he roughly pinches your nipples and you cease your attempts to ride him, but you can't help the way your hips roll and grind as he continues. 

"Your nipples are already so hard, kitten. Look how obvious they are even beneath your swimsuit. Were they like this all day? Is that why Atsumu couldn't take his eyes off you? You think every player there saw how slutty your nipples are? Realized what a horny desperate whore you are? I bet they all wanted to get a taste." 

You wail when Kuroo shoves the fabric aside and latches a mouth onto one of your sensitive nubs, while experly flicking and rolling the other between his fingers. He alternates between the two sides and your frazzled mind can barely keep up with his actions as he switches up the motions of his fingers and mouth. He pulls off briefly and sharply tugs at your nipples. "Think you can cum just from your nipples?" You try to deny it, pleading for him to at least rub your clit, but your protests are ignored and you gasp when he dives back down and harshly sucks at one of your puffy nubs. Kuroo knows your body even better than you do and he continues to stimulate your nipples even when you topple over into an orgasm that takes you by surprise and you tightly clench around his cock as your back arches and only when you weakly paw at him to stop does he release your nipple with a lewd pop. 

You playfully smack him when he teases you about what a slut you must be to be able to get off from just your nipples and you hide your face in his neck as he shamelessly thinks out loud about all the nipple clamps, suctions, and vibrators he can use on you to train you even more. But you raise your head in alarm when you feel yourself being repositioned, Kuroo's erect cock still inside of you as he lays you on your back and hovers over you. 

"Tetsurou, st-stop NGH TOO SOON!"

"What did you say, kitten? Sorry, it's hard to understand you when you're moaning like a whore. Weren't you begging for this all day? Shouldn't you be thanking me?"

Kuroo thrusts sharply into you with every word and you can't think of anything other than how well he fills you, how perfectly he fits inside the cunt he's molded and shaped for himself after years of using it, how amazing the drag of his cock against your insides is. You babble thank you, thank you, thank you mindlessly over and over again, incapable of doing anything else as your breasts bounce and your body writhes underneath him. And when his hips finally stutter and he furiously rubs your clit as he adds to the mess inside of you, you break apart once again, your mind going blank as you feel the warmth of his cum sloshing inside of you.

But exhaustion slams into you as you come down from your climax, exhaustion from your third orgasm, exhaustion from being teased all day and all the barriers you’d put up finally come crashing down and Kuroo stares in horror as you sob, nothing like the pleasure filled sobs he usually wrings out of you. No, these are heartbreaking anguished cries for help and he immediately answers the call by tightly clutching you to his chest, your lower bodies still connected as he murmurs words of praise and love into your ear. 

“Hey, what’s wrong, sweetheart? I love you. You know that, right? I love you more than anything or anyone else in this entire world. I’m so lucky to be your husband. You’re so good to me, so loving, so supportive, so loyal, so beautiful.” 

The last word catches your attention and with a sniffle you hesitantly remove your head from his torso and look at him through watery lashes. 

“You think I’m beautiful?” 

Kuroo flounders for a second, disbelief choking the words in his throat, unable to understand how you could think otherwise. But when he sees the insecurity and doubt flooding your eyes he gently cradles your face in his calloused hands. 

“Of course I do. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met, inside and out.” 

Your heart flutters at the sincerity you see in his eyes and that’s all it takes for you to break down in his arms, wrapping your arms around his neck as you tuck your head under his chin, and he silently listens as you reveal all the internal suffering you’d put yourself through over the past months as you let your anxiety and worry mix with your doubts and insecurities, letting them fester and ferment into a self-destructive time bomb. A slow-moving process he’d been too daft to notice, that you’d been too scared to talk to him about for his sake, not wanting to be a bother or another item he needed to check off his to-do list. And while you continue shyly speaking, tears stream down Kuroo’s face and his heart clenches at the thought of how long you’d quietly suffered, putting on a happy facade for him, taking care of his every want and need during the few hours of the week he was home and awake. 

Surprised to feel liquid drops plop down on your face, you quirk your head upwards and panic when you see your husband’s teary eyes and the two of you become a blubbering mess as you both try to wipe each other’s tears and soothe each other. It’s so silly to see two adults trying to out comfort each other that you accidentally snort at the strange image the two of you must make and there’s a slight pause, but then your laughter is joined by Kuroo’s trademark cackle and before you know it, the two of you are wrapped in each other’s arms, feeling the rumble of each other’s laughter through your connected bodies. 

Yes, there’ll be serious conversations later about being more open and transparent with each other when something’s troubling either one of you and discussions on how you can both work on your communication. You’ll jokingly complain that Kuroo is hovering over you too much for weeks after this breakdown as he practically scrutinizes you with those perceptive eyes of his, always making sure you’re really fine. And he’ll never give you any more opportunities to doubt how much he loves every part of you when you’re screaming his name on every surface of your home. But for now, feeling infinitely lighter with all your burdens finally shoved off your shoulders with the help of your husband, you’re content to close your eyes and relish in the warmth of the lean body pressed against you.     

[graceful-starker]

I Used You--Chapter 2

Summary: Tony used Peter to get back at his ex girlfriend; but it turns out, he isn’t heartless enough to not feel guilty after.

Warnings: mentions of past cheating, angst

Notes: This is a part of my New Years Resolution thing. It was voted to continue, because people really liked it and thought I did a good job. So here we go! 

I am also using this fic for @starkerfestivals Whumptober Day 17: Rejection

~~~

Peter isn’t stupid. He knows Tony only said those things because he felt guilty and wanted to make it better. Wanted to make Peter stop saying those things. He is, however, far too optimistic. Childishly hopeful. He still believes in the best in people, still believes people don’t do things out of malice. 

Peter is not stupid, but he is wrong a lot. 

He knew, deep down, that Tony wouldn’t be there when he woke up. But still, it hurts more than he thought it would.

Peter curls up on his side, feeling the tears build behind his eyes. He lets out a shaky breath, hugging the pillow Tony had used to his chest.

“I was so stupid,” he whispers to himself.

He only allows himself to wallow for another half hour, before he gets up and takes a shower. Yesterday had felt like a dream--Tony spent the whole day with the boy, they hung out and played games and cuddled and everything. Just trying to make it up to Peter for using him. 

But it was only for a day, like Peter knew it was going to be.

He gets out of the shower once the water goes cold, moping around as he gets ready to go out. He has to pick Pepper up from the airport today. 

Once he’s dressed and ready, he goes to the kitchen to grab breakfast and coffee, pouring some in a travel mug and packing some in a lunch sack for Pepper. He sets off after that, tuning out his sorrows with far too loud music. 

He honks when he sees Pepper walk out of the building, and she smiles and runs to his car. She gets in after throwing her stuff in the trunk, and buckles up. “For me?” she gasps when she finds the food and coffee. 

Peter forces a smile. “Of course, I can’t let my big sister go hungry!”

Pep laughs fondly, not noticing Peter’s mood. She digs in as Peter starts to drive, talking away about the trip and how it went and who was there...

She doesn’t even notice something is wrong until they walk in the front door. She almost doesn’t even notice, as she struggles bringing in her stuff through the front door. 

But then she freezes mid sentence, and Peter bumps into her back. “Oh! Are you okay Pep?” Peter asks. 

“Pepper,” Tony’s voice calls, and he sounds as surprised as Peter now feels. 

“Tony? What are you doing here?” Pepper moves in and puts her stuff down, letting Peter in as well. The boy closes the door, looking at Tony with wide eyes. 

Tony stutters for a moment, before he laughs uncomfortably. “I um...I was hoping to talk to Peter. I didn’t know you got back from your trip already.”

Pepper crosses her arms over her chest, sniffing. “Why Peter? You’ve been hanging out with my brother behind my back?” She turns to Peter. “You’ve been seeing my ex-boyfriend behind my back?”

Peter feels his cheeks flame red with shame. “i...he was my best friend, Pep, I-”

“I can’t believe you!” she screeches. “You knew how upset I was over all of this, over him leaving me, and you just decided that wasn’t important?” she has tears in her eyes. “Did you not think about how this would effect me?”

Peter gets mad at the rods; he deserves to be treated like this, but she doesn’t know that yet. She just thinks Peter and Tony are still friends. “Well you didn’t think how it would effect me when you cheated on my best friend!”

“Okay-” Tony tries to butt in.

“No, don’t turn this on me!” Pepper yells. “You betrayed me!”

“You betrayed him!” Peter yells at her, his own tears in his eyes. “I would never treat him like that, I would never cheat on him!”

“What the hell does that have to do with anything?” Pepper scoffs. ‘He wouldn’t even want to be with you for you to cheat on him in the first place!”

Don’t do it, he thinks. You’re going to regret doing this. You can’t take it back if you do this. “Oh, he wouldn’t want me? That’s why he fucked me the other day?” 

Silence. Dead, uncomfortable, cold silence. 

Tony clears his throat, looking paler than a ghost. “I think-”

“You fucked my kid brother?” Pepper asks, voice low with simmering anger. She turns to Tony slowly, and Peter feels himself finally breathe now that the weight of her stare isn’t on him anymore. 

Tony stutters, taking a step back on instinct. “Don’t call him a kid in that sentence, I beg you.”

“He’s still a kid!” Pepper whispers, which sounds far louder than if she had yelled. “He’s 17, he’s a senior in high school, he’s-”

“Legal,” Tony interjects. “I did a bad thing, don’t make it worse.”

Pepper laughs in disbelief, shaking her head. “Okay, fine, forget his age. You took my little brother’s virginity.”

Peter winces, looking away when Tony’s head snaps to him, before going back to Pepper. “I didn't know he was a...I didn't know a lot of things, I was just angry and I just wanted to get back at you-”

“So, what? You’re just gonna date my little brother now? Go from one sibling to the next? That sounds like a good idea-”

“No!” Tony shakes his head. “No, I don’t want to date Peter, I regret the whole thing!”

Peter gasps accidentally, but the pain of hearing it said out loud was just too much. It feels like Tony stabbed him in his chest. He feels tears well in his eyes, and his lower lip starts to tremble. He can’t really help it--he’s never been so forwardly rejected.

Pepper seethes, looking like she might kill Tony. “So you decided that getting revenge on me wasn’t enough, huh? You also had to hurt my little brother too? Your best friend?”

“I didn’t mean to hurt him, I only wanted to hurt you!” Tony argues, not looking at Peter. He only has eyes for Pepper; he’s only ever had eyes for Pepper. 

Even, as it turns out, when he was fucking Peter.

“Just go. Stay away from him, stay away from us! Just get out and never come back; god, you’re so stupid! How did you manage to come out the bad guy in a relationship where you got cheated on?” Pepper scoffs in disgust, opening the door again and motioning for Tony to get out. 

Tony works his jaw, taking a deep breath. “Not until I talk to Peter.”

Peter sniffles sadly, a tear falling down his face. “I think I get it, Tony, you don’t have to say you don’t want me again.”

“Pete...” Tony still isn’t looking directly at Peter.

Pepper huffs impatiently. “Get out.”

Tony gets closer to Peter, reaching out as if to take his hand. “Please Peter, can we please talk? Just for a second? Then you never have to see me again.”

Peter’s lower lip trembles even harder, and he shakes his head. “No. No, because I don’t want to never see you again. Please, just go away...I don’t want to talk about it anymore, I don’t want to be rejected again, I just want to be alone.”

Tony makes a frustrated noise. “Please?”

“He said no, Tony. Get out!” Pepper waves her arms in anger. “Get out or I’ll call the cops.”

Tony sighs in anger, crossing his arms and walking forward. “Fine. I’ll go. Have a great life, Pep,” he says bitterly, slamming the door behind him.

Peter wraps his arms around himself, letting out a broken sob.

“I can’t believe you slept with my ex,” Pepper says, throwing away her protective big sister persona. 

“I thought he loved me,” Peter whispers brokenly. “I loved him, and I thought I had a chance.”

Pepper rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “You were in love with my boyfriend, so you just decided to go for him. Yeah, that makes yourself sound so much better, Peter.”

Peter sobs, back sliding against the wall as he lets himself fall to the floor, and wrap his arms around his knees. “I’m sorry, Pep. If it makes you feel any better, I’m humiliated.”

Pepper hums, grabbing her backs and starting to her room. “Yeah, that does make me feel a bit better.”

Peter cries into his knees for what feels like forever, ignoring Pepper’s music she’s playing to drown him out. 

He doesn’t think this will ever get better.

[sweetyyhippyy]

Late Arrival. Spencer Reid x Reader.

(Not my gif)

Summary: Spencer is coming back home after an out of state case runs long. You fall asleep waiting for him, and when he finally does come home, he sees your outfit and there is no way he can’t wake you up for a proper homecoming.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

TW: Brief mentions of masturbation (male and female), sleepy sex?? (I don’t know how to refer to it), calling Spencer daddy (duh), fingering, reader trying to be dom and Spencer teasing, unprotected sex, creampie, a lot of praise kink.

Word Count: 3.2k

A.N: I saw @fics4arainyday​ put that she wanted someone to write this concept, so i did! I hope you like it! Also, I’m bad at ending fics so 😬... sorry! 

link for lingerie I refer to: x 

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It had been 3 agonizingly slow weeks since your fiancé had been home.

Being engaged to an FBI profiler wasn’t always easy. The days, even weeks being apart, Spencer coming home at all hours of the night too exhausted to stay awake and spend time with you, missing birthdays, holidays, anniversaries being states away on those occasions.

But in all honesty, you still wouldn’t have it any other way.

Nobody else could make you laugh the way Spencer did. Nobody else could make you think the way Spencer did. Nobody could lovingly annoy the crap out of you the way Spencer did. And most importantly, nobody could fuck you the way Spencer did.

He has been gone for 3 weeks, but the week before he left, there wasn’t a lot of sexy time going on since you were busy with your own job. It was the occasional quickie before having to rush getting ready for work in the morning, a quick mutual masturbation session on a lazy weekend, but no real “wake the neighbors” fuck that you were so desperately craving. Keeping a healthy sex life was important to both of you.

So when you got the call from Spencer that the case was finally over and he would be coming home that same night, you knew it was go time.

You didn’t have much self control when it came to online shopping when Spencer was gone, what else were you supposed to do? The goldfish you two had as a pet wasn’t much company.

So you had treated yourself to a few new pairs of lingerie. Spencer was going to love all of them, but there was one in particular that you knew he was going to lose his mind over. It was baby blue see through with a floral pattern throughout the slip. It left very little to the imagination but that was your favorite part about it. Technically you were supposed to wear some sort of underwear but the slip looked better without it.

You took a hot deep shower and pampered yourself a few hours before you knew he was going to be home, that way you were nice and relaxed and ready for his arrival. You kept your hair simple since Spencer would be pulling at it all night. But you did put some makeup on just to enhance Spencer’s favorite part of your face, your eyes.

The mood of the room was set; the bed was perfectly made, the candle you had given Spencer for a “just because present” called “Bookstore” smelling like mahogany, leather, and coffee; lit on the bedside table. It was meant for him but you enjoyed it much more than him. All that was missing was Spencer.

You looked at the time on your phone, only 10 more minutes before Spencer was due home. You lay on your side of the bed, flipping through tv channels to find something to watch to occupy your time.

***

Spencer turns the key to turn the car off, he drops his hands from the steering wheel into his lap, letting out a deep sigh. He could have been home over 3 hours ago but the jet back home was having engine issues, so the team had to fly through a regular airport… which meant waiting for a flight.

The case wasn’t particularly a rough one emotionally, it was just long. Spencer missed you like crazy within the first few days of being away. Late night phone calls weren’t the same as physically being with you.

Spencer grabbed his satchel, leaving the rest of his baggage to lug up to the house until tomorrow when he had enough rest. As he’s walking up the driveway he can see the light on from the kitchen, signaling you were awake and waiting on him. He knew how much you hated waiting, so by now he knew you were seething with rage. There was about to be a lot of apologizing he was going to have to do. Spencer unlocks the front door, dropping his bag next to the front door and kicking his shoes off right next to it.

“Babe?” Spencer calls out, removing his jacket and hanging it up on the back of the couch. He listens for an answer, but all he hears is the slight murmur of the tv from your bedroom.

Spencer begins to unbutton his shirt as he walks down the hallway to the blue hue of the tv shadowing onto the floor. He steps into the room, spotting you curled up on top of the comforter fast asleep. Before he could appreciate how adorable you looked, softly snoring, he noticed the little outfit you were wearing. You laid there on your belly, one leg straight while the other bent up on the pillow next to you.

He scans your body through the see through fabric, spotting the lack of underwear on your lower half while your butt was fully exposed to him. You were practically a step away from being naked. He quietly walks over to the bed and touches the hem of the slip and carefully hikes it up your butt, not earning a reaction from you.

Spencer quickly sheds his shirt off and throwing it off to the corner of the room along with his dark slacks, kicking them off quickly. Spencer carefully climbs into the bed behind you, laying on his side and palming himself through his boxers to get himself hard, which really didn’t take much as his eyes rake over your body and his imagination runs wild about all the things he was about to do to you. He hisses as he strokes himself harshly, his cock growing harder every second.

Your body shifts next to him, a low grumble coming from your mouth as you shift in bed onto your side, your ass now completely facing him.

Spencer’s eyes widen seeing you move, he didn’t want to get caught stroking himself less than a few inches from where he wanted to be. He finally scoots closer to your body, resting his hands on your bare hip, your skin a little cold from the lack of bed sheet or clothing on you. He lines himself up with your entrance, slowly slipping in between your folds, not yet sliding in. He rubs the tip of his cock up and down you, finding you were already a bit wet.

Your whole body jumps a loud gasp filling the room which makes Spencer pull himself back. Your head turns quickly behind you to look at Spencer, a little glimmer of fear in your eyes. “What the fuck?” You whisper yell at him.

“I’m home. And I see you left a present for me.” He says, whispering in your ear. “Is this okay?” He asks, his hand moving down your thigh and lifting it slightly for easier access.

“I don’t know. I’m pretty annoyed you were so late. I’m kind of not in the mood anymore.” Your voice was laced with sarcasm as you cocked your eyebrow at Spencer.

He licks his lips, a smirk on his face appearing as he picks up on the little game you’re playing with him. “No? Well I think I have some apologizing to do.” Spencer says, moving the strap of your outfit out of his way, kissing up your shoulder and over to your neck.

Your eyes flutter closed at the feeling of his soft lips pecking at your skin, a low hum coming from deep within your chest.

“You know I missed my girl so much while I was gone.” He says, his hand traveling up the underside of your outfit all the way up your stomach and up to your breasts, kneading one in his large hands as he spoke in your ear. “I missed waking up to you.” Kiss. “Seeing your beautiful face.” Kiss. “Hearing those sexy moans about how good daddy makes you feel when I’m touching you.” Kiss. “And how wet you get without me even trying.” Kiss.

You were putty in his hands, the game of trying to be tough was no longer working, and Spencer was fully aware of it.

His hand leaves your breast and goes back down to between your legs, his fingers running over your inner thighs, intentionally skipping over your core.

You whine as his fingers tickle you, scooting your body back against him. “Spence.” You pathetically whine, taking his hand and leading it to your throbbing middle. You keep your hand on top of his as you feel him play with your slit, feeling all the wetness that was seeping out of you.

“You want me to touch you?” He asks, kissing the spot below your ear.

“Please, baby?” You beg, turning your torso enough to look at him, pouting your bottom lip out ever so slightly.

His fingers part your lips, finding your bud immediately and slowly drawing lazy circles around it. Your body reacts immediately, relaxing against his body as he massages you. Your hand moves back to tangle in his hair, pushing his head closer to yours, your lips meeting for the first time in 3 weeks. His fingers continue to work their magic, as you two heavily make out with one another; his tongue slipping into your mouth and yours into his.

Your body quivers as Spencer drops his fingers down to the pool of wetness between your legs, two of his fingers slipping inside.

You pull back from the kiss, gasping loudly. “Fuck.” Your eyes flicker to his face, your mouth agape.

“It amazes me how tight you are. I’ve been with you for almost 6 years and it’s always so amazing.”

You moan in response, not being able to form words at the moment.

The room is filled with the sounds of the wetness Spencer is drawing out of you and your breathy moans. Your high was coming quicker than anticipated, Spencer could feel it in your body and could see it in your face.

You cling onto his forearm, keeping him in place. Spencer liked to play games like denying you of your orgasms, but you weren’t going to let him this time. Your eyes rolled back in your head as you fought to keep them open but you were far too overstimulated at this point. The knot came undone as you clenched around his fingers, a string of curse words and desperate moans fall from your mouth as you ride your high out.

“That’s it. Good girl.” Spencer coos, still slowly drawing what you have left out as you try to regain your breath. He kisses your cheek and moves his fingers out of you carefully. “Do you want to taste?” He questions.

You roll over onto your back, nodding your head and grabbing his hand, bringing it up to your lips, and letting him slip his middle and ring finger in your mouth. You swirl your tongue around his fingers, sucking on them harshly.

Spencer looks at you in admiration as you look up at him with innocence in your eyes. “I love that I’m the only person that knows how much of a dirty girl you are.”

You open your mouth to let his fingers free, smiling at him. “And I like that I can be your dirty girl.” You say, wrapping your fingers in his curls and bringing his head down to kiss him. “Come here, I want to give you your welcome home celebration.” You say, moving him off of you.

“Normally I’m all for that, but I need to be in you. I’m not going to last long if you use your mouth.”

You sit up on the bed and get up onto your knees, pulling Spencer up to sit up too. You straddle his lap, cupping his face in your hands, rubbing both of your thumbs on his cheek, feeling a bit of stubble in his face. “You look tired, my love.”

Spencer smiles, wrapping his arms around your back, pulling you into his chest. “Not too tired to finish.”

You laugh, kissing him softly. “No? You can go all night? Multiple times?” You teasingly question.

“We can test that theory tomorrow. But right now, we have 3 weeks worth of tension we need to work out.”

“Can I ride you?” You ask.

“Be my guest. I like the view.” He smirks, laying back down against the mattress, his hands gripping both of your thighs.

You get into position, holding his cock steady while you lower yourself down slowly.

Spencer rolls his head back on the pillow, grunting loudly as he feels your tightness around himself. His hands move up your thighs and under your outfit to your hips, gripping them tightly.

You rest your hands on his chest to keep balance, slowly starting to rock your hips against him. Your eyes stay glued to him, watching how his lips were parted and light moans were falling from him. “Do you like that?”

Spencer nods his head, his eyes focusing on your chest bouncing up and down in rhythm of your movements on him. He was trying to focus on anything else in the world to prevent himself from cumming too early.

“Tsk, tsk… words baby.” You tease, scratching his chest with your nails. “You never don’t know what to say.”

“It’s cute when you try to be the one in control.”

“I know I’m cute. You tell me quite often.” You retort with a wide grin.

Your comment earns a laugh from him, playfully rolling his eyes at you. Spencer begins to buck his hips up quickly, taking you by surprise. His fingers move the straps down your shoulders, helping you move your arms out of the straps as you continue to move on top of him. He moves the top half of your outfit down under your chest, his hands like magnets and begins massaging your breasts.

“Fuck, daddy,” You whimper, holding his forearms as he fucks into you. “That’s so good, you’re so good.”

Spencer sits up, letting you take control again. His thumb finds your clit, starting to rub it slowly, his soft brown eyes watching you melt into his touch.

Your eyes roll into the back of your skull, small whimpers leaving your mouth. You lean your body forward and nuzzle your head into Spencer’s neck. You start to kiss his pale skin, raking your teeth against it.

“Mmm, fuck.” Spencer moans out, applying more pressure to your clit as he feels a small pinch on his neck. “You going to cum for me again, pretty girl?”

“Not yet.” You whine in his ear.

“I’m going to move you. I want to fuck you.” Spencer says, moving your body off of his, earning a whine from you as his cock leaves you. “Bend over for daddy.” He says, helping you lay flat on the mattress while your butt is in the air, facing him. “Mmm, you’re so pretty, my girl.” He says in a low voice, both of his hands kneading your ass.

You whine pathetically, pressing yourself against him. “Daddy, please.”

Spencer smiles, grabbing his cock and slowly sliding back inside you. “It’s cute when you try to take control, but even cuter when you’re a whiny mess.” His hand grips the back of your outfit to hold onto as he fucks you from behind. This was his absolute favorite way to have you because of how hard he could slam into you, but the reaction you gave was even better.

Your hand finds his wrist and holds onto it as he  thrusts into your dripping pussy. He could feel how you were coating his cock every time he drew himself back out of you. “I love your cock.” You mutter out.

“This is your cock, baby. You take it so fucking well.” He grunts out, now struggling to keep from exploding. Anytime you fully submitted to him, he was done for.

You had such a strong personality outside of the bedroom that most people wouldn’t believe you were submissive 9 times out of 10.

“Am I your good girl for taking you so well?” You question, looking behind you to look at Spencer with innocent eyes.

His heart and cock fluttered at both your question and your eyes, you always played the innocent card so well. He grabs all of your hair in his hand and gently pulls it back toward him, making you whimper again. “You’re always a good girl for me, my love.” He responds. “Such. A. Good. Girl.” He thrusts into you harshly with each word.

You start to rub your own clit, bringing your second orgasm to the surface for the second time tonight. “You’re going to make me-fuck-me cum. Don’t stop, please don’t stop, daddy.” You were gasping as you spoke, desperate for your release.

“Cum for me, let go my girl.” Spencer says, taking over for your fingers to help bring you to your height. He rubs you quickly, trying not to lose it before you.

Finally you feel your walls clench around his cock, both of you moaning loudly. You moan Spencer’s name along with multiple curse words as he continues to rutt into your sensitive hole.

Spencer pulls out quickly, rubbing himself as he feels his own climax coming to a head.

“No, come back. Put it back in me, please.” You whine, reaching behind you to find Spencer’s cock and lead it back into you.

“You want me to cum in you? You want it inside you?” Spencer groans, seconds away from losing it.

“Please. Cum in me, Spence.” You beg, meeting his thrusts.

Spencer thrusts one last time before he spills himself inside of you, his grip on your hips squeezing as you slowly stop throwing your hips back against him. “Fuck, you’re so good.” He whispers, his eyes shutting as he feels the tip of his cock tingle.

Both of you stay in place as you try to regain your composure. You can already feel your eyes flutter closed, heavy from being tired. Spencer finally pulls out of you, making you hiss and lay flat on the bed.

“Baby, come on, we gotta go clean you up.”

“No.” You whine, closing your eyes again.

“You need to use the bathroom and clean yourself up. We have this conversation every time you’re too tired to get up. Come here, I’ll help you.”

You poke your bottom lip out into a pout as you reluctantly get out of bed, holding Spencer’s hand as you walk into your bathroom together. He helps clean the mess inside you up with a wet towel before leaving you alone to use the toilet.

Once you’re all settled, you walk back into the bedroom, finding Spencer getting the bed ready for both of you to lay down. You wrap your arms around his waist and hug him from behind tightly. Spencer happily hums, reaching behind himself to touch your arm.

“I love you.” You say, giving him a squeeze.

“And I love you.” He says, pulling you around to give you a kiss on the lips. “Do you want to sleep?”

You nod your head, climbing into bed first and getting comfortable right away as you watch Spencer slide in next to you, laying on his side to face you.

You grin ear to ear, kissing his chin. “Hi baby.”

“Hi pretty girl. You good?” He questions, lightly touching your cheek. You lean into his touch and nod. “I’m perfect.”

Spencer brings you into his chest, his fingers rubbing small circles into your shoulder. “Yeah, you are perfect.”

[getlostsquidward]

The gaps in your hearts (Part 2)

Lou Miller x fem!reader

A/N: You asked for part 2, and I shall deliver. I hope it's worth your wait!!

Summary: After your departure, an unexpected circumstance had you arriving back at the loft, back at Lou. Will the gaps in your hearts only become wider or will they be finally filled?

Part one

“Oh, bugger. Baby? I’m home.”

“Nice place.”

“Try heating it.”

“There’s a room for you upstairs. Your stuff’s upstairs too.”

Lou called your name a couple of times but she got no answer. Maybe you went out and got something from the store. She furrowed her eyebrows at the notion that you didn’t let her know you’ll go out like you usually does.

She can’t wait for you to meet Debbie.

The sun has set down and you weren’t at home yet. Lou was growing worried each minute that passes. She’d left you text messages, she tried to call you several times, but all of it went to voicemail. Where did you go?

Debbie had returned from her closure meeting with Claude. She had bought takeout for dinner but Lou wasn’t in any mood to eat. She was antsy but keeping it down so her friend won’t notice. Maybe you were called in at work? Maybe you went out with a friend and forgot to send her a text. The blonde knows you can perfectly take care of yourself but she can’t help but be worried.

“Where’s your girl?” Debbie asked, reminded of Lou calling someone ‘baby’ when they arrived earlier.

Lou just shrugged her shoulders, not really knowing what to answer.

“Maybe she hit her head and woke up from the truth,” the brunette joked.

Lou glared at her friend. “Not funny.”

“Tell me about her.”

The blonde started to tell her friend everything. From how you met, the ups and downs of your relationship, and how loving and wonderful you are. You were patient and understanding; you were perfect in every way and she hated how she’d managed to hurt the one person that did nothing but love her.

The day you moved out of the loft was the most devastating day of her life. It was way much worse than when Debbie left before.

She knew that you were checking in on her through Matt, and she was wracked with guilt. Even after what she’d done, you still care for her. Lou unconsciously checks her phone to see if you left a message but to no avail. You really honoured your word that you’d give her time, and she was thankful for that.

In your two-month break, she really had thought about it all. She used the time to sort out her feelings. Hell, she even opened up to some of her other friends for help, something she rarely does even with those who know her. Unearthing her feelings.

Lou had feelings for Debbie. She didn’t know if it was romantic or if it was just a deep affection. She didn’t really think much of it. Debbie was one of the few of the persons she knows she could trust with her life and in the conworld, such a person was like a rare gem. It was hard to find, and if you do, you’ve got to treasure it. And so she did.

“Maybe you’d mistaken the concept of love and affection. You told me you really didn’t think anything about it and that explains it. The moment you felt that that person was dear to you, you immediately equated it to romantic love.”

The words mentioned had hit Lou, hard. Once she realized that, she promptly had to find you. She called you, but you didn’t answer. She didn’t know where you were staying so she asked your friends, and that’s how Lou found you drowning in liquor in some alley.

“You’re an idiot, you know that?” Debbie berated, feeling rather guilty about how she was probably the reason you left for the second time around.

“I do. No need to remind me.”

“I’m gonna tell you to go find her, but I also need you to focus on the job. Can you do both?”

“Of course,” Lou sighed. She won’t know what she would do if she were to lose you for real this time.

-

You were feeling rueful for leaving Lou without a word. You knew she’d be worried sick, but it was the best for the two of you. Once again, you fell into your routine. It was incredibly helpful that an event was coming and you can spend all of your time at work. Though this time, the constant drinking was out of your to-do list.

Your mind often wandered to Lou. She said something about a job, maybe that’s what they’re doing right now. Has she been thinking of you too?

The messages and missed calls Lou had sent you were not in your knowledge as you’d let your best friend hide your phone, and bought a new one for you. At first, you thought that it would be ridiculous and childlike of you but maybe she had a point. The worst-case scenario would be Lou filing for a missing person’s case, but you knew she wouldn’t dare cross paths with the police.

-

“Oh my god, you guys. This party is nuts. I’m not kidding! If your dress is ugly, you can’t wear it, no shit! They will bower your wardrobe!” Tammy rambled and rushed to get into the loft where she got everyone’s attention.

“I love that!” Lou quipped.

“Oh I gotta pee,” Tammy continued to ramble. “Every table cost a quarter-million dollars that if they allow you to buy one! I mean not just any $250,000 check will be approved, I mean they literally have to tell you whether or not they’ll take your money, it’s crazy!”

Everyone was standing outside the bathroom, still listening to Tammy rant about the Met.

“And then you can’t bring anyone, that you clearly go by yourself. They spend a hundred grand on food and apparently no one eats, it’s really crazy,” the blonde finished as she went out, kind of out of breath from the continuous rambling.

“Did you get the seating chart?” asked Debbie.

“The what?”

“The seating chart.” Tammy handed the special glasses she was wearing to Debbie.

“If I haven’t said it, it’s really crazy. This one person that I’m working with maybe is the only saving grace of that place. Thank goodness for Y/N,” the blonde sighed, capturing the attention of Lou.

She shared looks with Debbie, hoping that it was you their friend was talking about.

After discussing the seating chart, they approached Tammy and straightforwardly asked about you, if you were the same person she’d mentioned. Apparently, you quit your last job and had started few weeks prior to Tammy. Lou asked if you’re doing well, and almost cried when she nodded. When Tammy asked why they are curious, Debbie answered. “Lou’s girl. Left because of this dumbass right here.”

The blonde had a surprised expression on her face, a bit amazed at how small the world is. The person they’ve been looking for was only at their reach this whole time.

“She’s sweet. If you’re planning to get her back, which I know you would, you better not mess up.”

Since that day, Lou was itching to contact you but inhibited herself. She’d finish the job first, then she would have you back. If she was lucky enough to be given a second chance, which she wouldn’t fucking waste, she can finally go to California riding with you on her new bike like you always wanted to do.

Finally, it was the first Monday in May. Lou was still in the van with Nineball, preparing food for her. She remembered you telling her she would look good in a chef’s uniform. She wasn’t actually a chef right now, but she still owes you a hundred bucks.

What if you weren’t gone? Maybe you would be in on the heist too, and you would be the most beautiful woman in her eyes, everyone else in the Met is damned. She knew you would have loved and drooled over the green jumpsuit she was wearing.

The heist was successful, and the ladies were lounging at the loft. Their dillydally was halted when an unexpected guest has stormed the loft. Daphne Kluger.

“You guys are fucked,” the actress huffed. “Wow, nice place.”

“Excuse me, you are trespassing-”

“No, we asked her to come,” Lou cut Tammy’s accusation.

Debbie started to explain how Daphne might have gotten a sense of what they were doing, so they roped the brunette in. Daphne then asserted how she was the one who was saving everyone from insurance fraud. Another revelation had caused panic to those who didn’t know, scared that they might be busted and imprisoned.

“We will not be the prime suspect.”

“Then who will be the prime suspect?”

Lou listed several people like the security guys and the busboy. Their attention was focused on Daphne that they didn’t notice another person coming in. You quietly opened the door in purpose, glancing at each of the women inside. You’d heard the last bit of their conversation and captured their attention by announcing your presence.

“The shady guy who put Debbie away,” you casually commented, walking towards everyone.

“Wow,” Daphne chuckled. “The boyfriend.”

Everyone but Debbie and Daphne was shocked, for the third time around. They didn’t really expect guests today. Lou looked like she had seen a ghost but didn’t take her eyes off you.

“Yup. If they were gonna be looking for somebody, just had to make sure it wasn’t one of us.”

You whispered a “Hi, Tam” to your coworker, and took a sit in the middle of her and Daphne. “The precision, right?” the actress turned to you. “The attention to detail, a little grace note that really makes something sing.”

While she was blubbering about how well-thought the job was, she scooted closer to you and put a hand on your thigh. Lou raised an eyebrow at the action, jealousy bubbling in her chest.

“Why are you doing this?” Tammy asked, referring to Daphne. “And Y/N? You were in too? How?”

You let the brunette answer first and when she finished, Debbie had answered for you.

“She was our other mole in the Met, aside from you and Nine.”

“Oh, you were an angel, Y/N. She made sure I was okay after hurling my guts out. Much much better company than my date,” Daphne preached, leaning her head on your shoulder. You rest your head on hers in return.

Lou’s jaw was gritted, it was too much for her and she couldn’t look any longer. She looked at Debbie and gave her a perplexed look, asking for further explanation.

The brunette just shrugged her shoulder, knowing it was up to you to talk to Lou. After all, it was the reason she approached you. At first, she had only talked to you about Lou, but later called to ask if you were willing to join in the job. You’d said yes right away.

That night, you saw Lou sitting near the shore. She was staring straight ahead as you sat next to her.

“Lou?”

“You know, I planned to talk to you after we got the money. But you got to me first,” she whispered.

“You have to thank Debs for that.”

Lou chuckled, “Debs? What, you’re on a nickname basis now? She doesn’t even let me call her that.”

“She told me everything. And, I- I’m sorry, Lou. I shouldn’t have left like that, left you worried though you had a job to focus on-”

Lou cut you off as she pulled you in for a hug. “No, Y/N. I should be the one apologizing.”

Her hand was running up and down your back, the touch soothing all of your troubles. You can finally feel at peace. There was no snarling voice at the back of your head, no heavy feeling. You feel like a sailor in the middle of a calm sea.

“I’ll make it up to you, for real, this time,” Lou pulled back, giving you a smile. You nodded in return.

“Although you may have to explain first what was that earlier,” her smile faded, and glared at you playfully.

You were about to ask what she was referring to when you suddenly remembered. You told her how you may or may not have told Daphne that you were on a rough patch and she volunteered to help make Lou jealous. Both of you shared a laugh as she commented on how effective it was that she had to restrain herself from tearing you apart from the actress.

There was no time to waste, you thought as you pressed your lips against Lou’s. The kiss was slow and passionate, the both of you pouring all your feelings out. Her hand entangled itself on the base of your skull as she deepened the kiss, tongue swiping on your bottom lip asking for entrance. You let her dominate you, a soft moan coaxed out of your mouth.

The only thing you could focus on was the feeling of Lou’s lips; your hammering heart and the waves lapping gently at the shore.

“I love you, baby,” Lou murmured, both of you breathless.

“I know, Lou. I love you too.”

[nesquik-arccheron]

Me, You and Mistletoe

I did not plan of writing this today, but apparently wine and hallmark movies really puts me in the mood to write Christmas fanfic. This turned out a little more angsty than intended, but the Christmas fluff is still there. Sorry for any mistakes or spelling errors, I’ve had more wine then I want to admit. A friend of mine does this little trick every year and I love it, she was my inspiration for this! AO3 LINK

SUMMARY: When Rhysand’s company throws their annual Christmas party, Cassian is determined to get a kiss (on the cheek) from every women by the end of the night. The only one who isn’t biting is Nesta.

Christmas time, it was the season of corny love songs, cuddling by the fire and binge watching those hallmark specials you’ve seen a hundred times while eating your weight in chocolate. It was decorations that took over every inch of your apartment, hot chocolate and snowball fights, long walks at night in subzero temperatures with loved ones, and mistletoe. Especially mistletoe. A chance run in with a secret crush, or a deliberate cornering of your significant other, either way, it always ended up the same. With a kiss.

But as always, especially with Nesta, there were always exceptions to the rules.

Nesta was in awe as she stepped through the doors and into the conference space of the ritzy hotel Rhysand had booked for this event. Feyre had done an amazing job, only frantically calling Nesta once to cry about how the blue curtains would clash with the decor she had picked out. Looking now, it seemed her sister's new husband had taken care of that minute detail.

Red gauzy curtains were hung from the floor to ceiling windows, accented by rows and rows of thick garland that ran across every inch of the heavily decorated space. Lights were hung and falling from the ceiling like drifts of snow from the sky, the main light fixtures were dimmed, giving the space a warm glowing feeling. Extravagant centrepieces adorned every table, the place setting were labelled and set with the most luxurious dinner wear. A DJ had situated himself at the front of the room in front of a makeshift dance floor, ‘Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas’ was playing softly from the speakers as to not muffle any conversations. The finishing touch was the springs of holly scattered around the room.

She grabbed a drink before heading over to the group at the front of the room, she had purposefully made sure to arrive fifteen minutes late, as to not have to go through the awkward niceties as guests arrived. Contrary to popular belief, Christmas was Nesta’s favourite time of year. The cozy sweaters, the cold weather giving reason to stay indoors to read, excuses aplenty to see her friends and skip out of responsibilities to shop, all in the name of the season. She loved the aesthetic, the lights and warm fire, cozy decorations, holiday drinks, and the food, especially the food.

What Nesta hated was the social events that came with it. Make no mistake, Nesta loved a reason to dress up, to put on more makeup than usual, spend more time fixing her long thick hair into large curls, to don the beautiful red dress she knew accented her best assets. It was the large crowds, mindless forced conversation, the pressure to put on a happy face, to not let on that she was uncomfortable that haunted what excitement she held. She knew by the end of the night she would be crawling into bed, exhausted, not from the dancing, but from the energy it took to appear normal.

She finished the flute of champagne and grabbed another before running a hand over her sister's shoulder in greeting. Feyre’s eyes brightened, “You made it!”

“Of course I did, I work for your husband, I have to be here,” Nesta said, hoping it came out as jokingly as she intended. But she was never good with tone.

“Oh quiet, I got your favourite holiday treats, so hush up,” her youngest sister shot back, smirking at Nesta. She inhaled, unable to disguise the twinkle in her eye.

“Gingerbread cakes with cream cheese icing, peppermint balls, Eggnog crème brûlée?” Feyre nodded in succession as Nesta listed off her most beloved Christmas favourites.

“And…” She pushed, causing Nesta to inhale at the insinuation.

“Peppermint macarons?”

“Oh yeah,” Feyre said proudly, “Right from Madam Lesandra’s.”

Madam Lesandra’s was the best and most authentic French restaurant in Velaris. It was their mother's favourite place to take them before she died, insisting to visit every year around Christmas to indulge in the most delicious peppermint macarons that ever graced Nesta’s tastebuds. They were not only mouthwatering, but they reminded her of her mother. They had never completely seen eye to eye, her and her mother, but it was a bittersweet memory that she allowed herself to indulge in once a year. Allowing the pain to mix with the joy of a happy memory.

Nesta allowed their heads to touch, the closest thing to a hug she would give either of her sisters, “You really thought of everything.”

“She did,” Rhysand said, coming up behind his wife, wrapping her in his arms, “She did an amazing job.”

Feyre squealed as he kissed her neck and Nesta looked away, refusing to give name to the painful tightening of her heart as Feyre squealed, Rhys whispering praises into her ear. She was happy for her sister, she was, for both of them, but…

“You know, I helped too,” came the voice of the one person she wished to avoid, “I was the main coordinator of the holly garlands,” Cassian boasted.

“Which is why a lot of them are falling down,” Azriel noted, rolling his eyes as Cassian flipped him off.

“He was surprisingly enthusiastic about it,” Mor whispered warily, sipping from her now empty wine glass, “I’d be careful walking near or under them, he probably rigged them to do something that will have him hanging by his balls by the end of the night.”

“I’m sure it will add a nice accent to the decor,” Nesta bemoaned.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Cassian’s voice cut across their conversation, turning towards the bar, grabbing onto something, waving it around so fast she couldn’t quite make out what it was.

“The missing decoration,” he presented it to them like it was a first prize trophy, instead of just a simple sprig of mistletoe.

“This year, I’m going to get a kiss from every lady at the party,” he announced, wiggling the mistletoe over Feyre’s head playful, “Come on, Fey, give ol’ Cassian a kiss.”

Feyre giggle as she planted one wet kiss on Cassian’s cheek, deepening it as he picked her up, squeezing her tightly to him in his iconic bear hug.

“Wish my wife kissed me with such enthusiasm,” Rhys pouted.

“Awww, is little Rhysie jealous that his wife enjoys kissing me more than him,” Cassian teased, releasing a now squirming Feyre from his grip. He gagged as Feyre planted a sloppy, tongue heavy kiss on her husband's mouth, causing the others to make collective gagging sounds.

“Hey Mor, what do you say, take pity on your old friend?” Cassian now focusing his attention on his childhood friend.

Mor did not look as amused, but rolled her eyes, “I guess I can spare one kiss, in the spirit of the holiday.” Mor placed a gentle kiss on his right cheek, leaving a bright red stain from her lipstick against the skin there. Nesta wanted to wipe it off, annoyed when he had left it there to set.

Nesta knew what was coming next as he looked to her, she glared back, daring him.

“Nesta!” Came a shriek from behind her, two very freckled arms pulling her back into her chest before she could realize what happened.

“Careful Gwyn, don’t break her,” Emerie said as she approached, Lucien and Elain following a few feet behind them.

“It’s been a whole three weeks since I last saw any of you, don’t blame me for being excited,” she huffed, kissing her best friends cheek. Gwyn had been out of town, her musical theatre group had been on the road the past few weeks, performing all over the country, but had taken a break to enjoy Christmas with their loved ones.

“Well, since we are dolling out kisses, how about one for your favourite brother Gwyn?” Cassian suggested, wiggling the mistletoe above his head. Gwyn did not hesitate and ran to him, wrapping her arms around him, smacking him on his cheek with her lips.

“Cassian is getting more action from our girls than we are,” Azriel grumbled, “You give him a kiss before your own boyfriend, I haven’t seen you in just as long, even Nesta got one before me.”

Gwyn grinned, eyeing up her boyfriend, “Awwww, is Azzy upset he didn’t get a kiss from his girlfriend,” she said, mocking him in a high pitched baby voice as she leapt into his arms. Azriel instinctively caught her, but he didn’t miss the mischievous glint in her eye as she pressed her lips against his, making a show of forcing her tongue into his mouth. Cassian bellowed a laugh, enjoying the embarrassed look on his brother's face. Nesta gave him a sympathetic look, but it felt short as she couldn't stop the edge of her lip tilting up amusingly.

“Can’t help it if I just have a way with the ladies you don’t,” Cassian explained.

“Oh yeah, is that why you are the only one without a date?” Azriel shot back, wrapping an arm around Gwyn to make a point.

Cassian shook his head, “No one woman can contain this, right Emerie?” His question came with a dramatic wave of mistletoe over his head.

Emerie gave him an amused look, “You don’t have that kind of effect on this type of girl, big boy.”

“I’m going to get a kiss from every woman here, even get me a little something from Gladys over there,” he explained, sending a wink across the room to their seventy-year-old co-worker. Gladys waved, kissing her hand and blowing it towards him. Cassian pretended to catch it and hold it to his heart, “Besides, Mor did it.”

The shorter of the two looked to her girlfriend, eyebrow raised in question. Mor shrugged, “It’s kind of his thing this year, indulge him if you dare.”

Emerie evaluated him, not deeming Cassian a threat she walked to him, placing her lips gently against him, right before licking a long strip up his cheek. In true Cassian fashion, he let out a loud yelp of surprise as his friend retreated, “Did you lick me?”

“The closest thing you’re going to get to a tonging tonight, Cassie boy,” the group laughed, Azriel and Emerie sharing an inconspicuous high five.

“Guess I need to change that,” Cassian rebuffed, a cool smile slowly crossing his face as he looked to Nesta.

“You know, mistletoe is toxic. I’m not sure if you can become ill by proxy, but I think it must be affecting your brain function if you believe you will be getting a kiss from me,” she replied tightly, downing the remainder of her drink and setting the now empty glass onto the bar top.

“Gods Nesta, I love it when you talk dirty,” Cassian breathed. He didn’t look surprised by her reply, but he defiantly took it as a challenge, one she refused to let him win.

A mischievous smile formed on her face as an idea came to mind. She quickly dug into her purse and cheered silently as she came in contact with the one object that would aid her in getting out of this situation, “You know what, Cassian, I’ll give you a kiss.” The group went silent, varying expressions of shock married her friends and family’s faces. Only Azriel and Emerie looked suspicious at her sudden change of heart.

Cassian on the other hand, looked like Christmas had come early. “Close your eyes,” she hummed, attempting to look as innocent as possible. It only caused her friends to grow more concerned, but no one interrupted, clearly intrigued by what she was about to do.

Cassian had always shown interest in Nesta, unabashedly flirting with her whenever the change arouse. Nesta, while never deliberately pushing him away, made her annoyance known at every opportunity, which only made Cassian chase after her even more like a starved animal.

Nesta would never admit how their sparing matches sparked a feeling in her she constantly had to smother.

She knew what was coming next, but she couldn’t stop the blush that rose to her cheeks as he leaned in, almost falling over with eagerness. She let him anticipate the kiss a moment longer, taking a step closer to him, trying not to notice the smell of Cinnamon and spice that hung off of his skin. Before she could let herself be sucked in by his scent, she pulled out the object from her clutch, popping the object between his lips.

Cassian’s eyes blinked open in confusion, taking the object from his mouth while his friends let out amused chuckles as he inspected the object. “What is this?!”

“Why, Cassian, it’s exactly what you asked for, a kiss,” she smiled smugly, accepting the pat of her shoulder from Rhysand, proud enough not to flinch away from the gesture.

“Not a Hershey kiss,” he pouted. The setback didn’t seem to upset him too much, as he unwrapped the small candy and popped it into his mouth, letting the chocolate melt on his tongue, “You’re not playing fair.”

Nesta felt the corners of her mouth twitch in response to his childish tone, “Of course I am, the mistletoe rule only states you have to forfeit a kiss. It doesn't specify what kind.”

“Mark my words, Archeron,” Cassian began, using the mistletoe to point at her as he backed away, “I will get a kiss from you before the end of the night.”

Nesta finally let the smile fully take form on her face as he walked away, “Challenge accepted.”

—————

Nesta had found herself enjoying the party more than she had thought. Feyre had poured over the menu for this event for days, mulling over the long lists of dinner options from the caterer, changing the menu three times before finally deciding on the chicken with a vegan option for those who wanted it. Nesta downed every bit of it, almost tempted to lick her plate clean if she wasn’t in public. The DJ took all of their requests and she spent most of the time after dinner dancing with Gwyn and Emerie, doing everything in her power to avoid Cassian and his mistletoe. He had caught her again as she made her way to the dance floor, readily awaiting the silver wrapped treat.

“You’ll run out of those eventually,” he declared, backing away with a smile.

“Not likely.”

He did surprisingly well on his promise to get a kiss from almost every lady that night, from his spectacle with Gladys to even cornering Amren at the dessert table. The red handprint on the side of his face proof of his efforts.

He even got a smooch from Helion in HR, which he gladly accepted with fervour.

She would never admit the feeling of jealousy she sometimes felt towards him. What would it be like to move through life with such confidence, seemingly unbothered by what those around you thought?

He smiled so freely and so often she wondered if he was even capable of a frown that was not mocking. She knew of his background, his life before and after meeting his brothers, and she found it breathtaking that he could still appreciate life for what it was, and not become the bitter hell-storm she had allowed herself to become.

She made it a point to keep her distance from the man in the years she had known him, content to allow herself to wallow in whatever pity party she held for herself. Scared of what could happen if she ventured too close to the sun, afraid she would get burned, or worse. Getting sucked into his ever prominent orbit was far more fearsome than any physical damage anyone could inflict upon her.

Digging into her clutch, she counted four chocolate kisses and silently prayed it would be enough to get her through the rest of the night.

It was around nine o’clock before she needed a break, Gwyn having long ago slipped off with Azriel to god knows what after weeks apart, and Emerie looked as if she would combust if she had to spend one more dance without her girlfriend. So she let her go, making an excuse that she was too hot and made her way to the balcony at the back of the conference space.

Nesta let out a sigh as she stepped outside, the cool winter air stinging her heated skin in the best way. She hadn’t realized how much of her energy the party had taken from her until she had a moment to let herself relax. She wondered if it was still too early to duck out, go home, take a hot bath and snuggle up with a book on the couch, but she wouldn’t do that to her sister, this night meant too much to her.

She perked up when she heard footsteps behind her, “Sorry, didn’t know this hiding spot was already occupied.”

“What with the way you have been watching me all night,” she turned, facing him, “I assume you followed me,” she huffed a laugh, watching her breath curl in tendrils in front of her.

Cassian stepped forward and she shuffled through her bag, looking for the candy, “Do you want the Hershey kiss now, or are we going to go through the hold charade of you holding up the mistletoe?”

Something in his eyes told her he truly hadn’t planned to run into her out here, that he was looking to escape just as much as she was.

“Nah, the balcony is a safe zone,” he explained, coming towards the edge but not close enough to her that she would feel the need to back away, that she was crowded, “I didn’t have enough time to hide any mistletoe out here.”

Nesta didn’t watch his expression, he was just as good at hiding his true feelings as she was, but the tone in his voice gave away his distress, “Some party huh, Feyre did an amazing job.”

He was deflecting, she knew it when she saw it but didn’t call it out. “You know how much I love the social scene, but I’ll admit, I am having a good time, Feyre outdid herself this year.”

There was silence as they looked over the city, the faint thump of the music behind them. It was a silence that they both felt comfortable in, one that you would have after knowing someone for a long time, a silence you could sit in forever.

She wondered what had Cassian retreating into the quiet space. He had always seemed to thrive in this scene, soaking up every bit of attention that was offered. He was often the centre of it. She guessed that sometimes even the life of the party needed a break, a moment of reprieve from the noise. She knew all too well what keeping up a mask was like, a smile on your face, and she wondered what other misconceptions she had of him.

“It’s snowing,” Cassian’s voice broke through the silence, and tore Nesta from her thoughts.

“Oh,” she said, a single snowflake landing on her nose, melting in the warmth from her body and causing a shiver to run through her, “So, it is.”

“We should go back inside, you'll freeze,” he told her.

Nesta shook her head, “I’m not ready to go back in, but you can.”

Cassian sighed at her stubbornness, but didn’t push, “Well, if you insist, then at least take my jacket, that dress does nothing to keep you warm.”

She went to protest, but Cassian had already removed the jacket from himself, dropping it over her shoulders. She shivered again, but not from the cold, but the scent coming off the material. His scent. That warm cinnamon scent that had her gripping the jacket closer to her body.

“Um…thanks,” she said awkwardly, unsure of how to properly process the kind gesture. She decided it meant nothing, it was Cassian, he was this way with everyone, she was not special.

There was a time where she enjoyed their little tango, the spiteful flirting, the playful banter produced by the suffocating sexual tension between them. When she felt that spark of something more, something deeper developing between them, she pushed him away, forcing herself on date after date, indulging in one night stands more often than she even cared to, all in the time of wiping Cassian from her mind. It was easier said than done, especially when they worked in the same building, and her little sister being married to the man Cassian considered a brother.

All of her efforts were fruitless, and Cassian never ran, always right there, which irritated her more than ever. Why was she was so content with being miserable was beyond her, maybe it was a sick twisted way of punishing herself, the sick enjoyment of that sting of pain deep down. But it didn’t matter, she didn’t deserve someone like him anyway, and nothing would change that.

Nesta racked her brain for something to say, the lingering awkwardness that hung in the air making her skin crawl. It didn’t use to be like this.

She was grateful when Cassian broke the silence, “So, any Christmas plans, I know Feyre and Rhys are heading to warmer climates this year, and Elain and Lucien are said to be headed to the Vanserra family cabin…”

“You can just ask what sad, depressing plans the pathetically single sister has,” she said more bitterly than intended. She never felt like she needed a man, but the sting of loneliness hit her hard this time of year.

“Well, what does the oh so single and dejected Archeron sister have planned for the holidays?” He asked, smiling as Nesta let out an amused laugh.

She hesitated for a moment before answering, wondering if it was safe to divulge her plans, but if there was one person she could trust, it would be Cassian, “Church,” she blushed and prayed he thought it was just from the cold.

“Church, really?” He asked, no hint of judgement in his voice, just genuine surprise.

“Yes,” she confirmed, looking to the sky, the snow still falling on them in soft clumps, muffling the noise from inside. “I don’t have perfect attendance, but…our mother used to make us go every year. We were never religious, but there just seemed to be something about mass on Christmas that made her happy, it was the only time I’d ever see my mother smile…”

She swallowed a lump in her throat at the admission, her heart squeezing in her chest, and Nesta took in a deep breath to keep the tears from springing into her eyes. No one knew she did this, she had never disclosed this secret to her sisters, preferring to keep something for herself, a single memory just for her.

“I go to the cemetery every year, bring my mother Iris’s, play her Silent Night, it was her favourite Christmas song,” he told her. She was both grateful and irritated. Thankful that he noticed her discomfort and voiced his own uncomfortable plans, but annoyed that he was able to pick up on her unease. It was a trait she both loved and hated about him, his ability to read her so well, even when she tried her hardest to cover it up. Most people couldn’t see past her hard eyes and deadpan expression, but to him, she was an open book, her pages spread out for all to read but only he was able to decipher the language written on the pages.

She didn’t know what to say, she wasn’t like him, never knew the perfect thing to say at the right moment, all she had was silence and a pained expression of understanding. “I didn’t know your mother, but if you’re anything like her, she must have been…something,” she mentally slapped herself at her lack of better words. She wrote up contracts for a living for fuck sakes, could wield words like a weapon on a battlefield, but the moment she needed to offer a lick of comfort, she couldn’t remember the English language.

Cassian just laughed, “She was, she was the most amazing mother, the most kind hearted, beautiful human being, and I’d be lucky to be half the person she was.”

“If you are only half of what she was, she must have been a fucking saint,” she smiled and took pride in the laugh that erupted through him.

“Always so elegant,” he teased back and she shrugged, trying not to look embarrassed.

“You’re cute when you blush,” he poked, leaning against the edge where she stood, feeling the heat of his body through his jacket. She shivered in response.

“We should get you inside,” Cassian hummed, mistaking her shiver for chill. She didn’t correct him.

“Fine,” she said, throwing the article of clothing at him, unable to find any excuse to keep it hostage around her shoulders, “But only because the deserts are scheduled to come out,” she assured him, not wanting to him to think she would ever do what he told her.

“Plus, I haven’t gotten my kiss yet,” he told her, giving her that mischievous smile that had her knees shaking without her consent. It was bad enough she even found him attractive, but to give him any indication about how her lower region responded was out of the question. She refused to allow her lady parts to control her ability to think logically.

“Don’t hold your breath,” she sneered, turning before stopping dramatically, “Or actually, do.”

Cassian laughed as she retreated, that same laugh following her all the way inside and through the crowd. She hated how since the day they met, no matter how infuriating she found him, his scent, his voice, his very being followed her around like a bad smell.

There was a point, way back, when she entertained the thought of him. He seemed more than willing to romance her, and from the glowing reviews, some of the ladies around the office gave him, a very giving bed partner. But he scared her, more than she wanted to admit even to herself, so she refused to allow him too close, preferring to go on bad dates and having unsatisfying one night stands to block out the roaring thoughts of him.

She had even toyed with calling up Tomas.

She shivered with disgust, was she so desperate to be unhappy that she would even entertain the thought of calling up her slimy ex-boyfriend. Gwyn and Emerie would disapprove, they had been loud with blaming Tomas for most of her relationship issues, and it was hard for her to argue, his voice echoing in her head whenever she was close to being happy. His distasteful words and hateful voice ringing in her ear the loudest whenever she was around Cassian, telling her how she did not deserve him, how she was awful and unworthy of such unconditional love and affection. She hated how she allowed his words to affect her so much, even after the year they had been split up, he still had so much control over her. She didn’t feel like she would ever remove herself from his grasp.

‘You’ll come back, just wait and see, when you realize no one can love you like I do, that no one will put up with you like I do,’ and she hated that she believed it.

Rarely did she see Cassian the way he had been moments ago, never believing he could have a real conversation, and it was jarring to her to realize that maybe he coped in similar ways. The humour an invisible shield to his most vulnerable parts, to deflect and protect a heart that was just as hurt as hers.

She wished she did not see what hid underneath, it was easier to be hateful and rude if she didn’t see him as more than a joker.

“Hey,” came a voice from behind, Gwyn. “You okay?” She asked softly, not wanting to be overheard. Gwyn knew better than anyone how overwhelming parties can be, and they always made it a point to check in with each other, all three of them. Both her friends seemed to make it more of a point whenever she was alone, being the only singleton in their girl group.

“I’m fine, just tired,” she assured her with a smile, though she knew it was useless to lie to her friend.

“Do you want Azriel to take you home?” She offered sincerely. God, she loved her friends.

Nesta shook her head, “I promised Feyre I would help with ushering the lingering party guests who stay past their welcome, I’ll be fine.”

Gwyn observed her a moment before nodding, “Want to get some dessert, they just brought out the trays of peppermint macaroons,” and her friend wiggled in excitement in a desperate attempt to lighten her mood. It worked, and she allowed the taller of the two to drag her towards the buffet of expensive sweets.

The night was close to perfect. Not once more did her thoughts lead back to Tomas, or the moment she and Cassian shared on the balcony, or her feelings towards both of them. She forced her attention on her friends, on the music, the rhythm and beat calming her. It was Christmas Eve, and damn it all to hell that she wouldn’t enjoy herself, and the open bar.

It was 11 pm before the last of the guest trickled out, Feyre hiding behind her sister as Nesta radically pushed the drunk party-goers out the door. Feyre would never be able to dismiss her employees, always wanting to say on their good side, but Nesta did not care how rudely she asked them to get the hell out, using it as an excuse to get all her earlier frustrations out.

Though Feyre had spent a pretty penny on hiring a clean-up crew for the next day, there had been some decorations that she had brought from home that she wished to retrieve before the morning. So Nesta, as well as the other immediate friends and family, were tasked with finding and packing those items away. One of these items included the yards and yards of brightly lit garland.

Nesta had made her rounds, unhooking the lights from the greenery by hand and shoving them into the large bin she rolled around. Why she had agreed to this was beyond her, but they were almost done and she could go home and fall asleep, only to wake the next day and force herself to mass where she would sing hymns and light a candle for the mother who didn’t love her like she always wished she did.

Maybe staying late to help clean up was helpful to not just Feyre, but for her as well, as she itched to drink more of the liberally supplied alcohol. But it had already been packed away and she had a hefty supply of it at home she vowed not to touch until Christmas Day. Though she was beginning to regret buying out the wine section of the store two days ago. She hated herself when she was drunk, even more so than she usually did.

It was almost midnight before most of the group called it a night, Feyre and Rhys being told to go home so they could catch their morning flight to the Cayman Islands for a luxury vacation that would span from Christmas Day well into the new year. It was not her first Christmas alone, but the first one where she was unable to invade another couples day. Last year she had spent it with Gwyn and her grandmother, along with Azriel of course. It was the looming knowledge that she would have nothing but the overabundance of alcohol in her home to keep her company this year.

She wondered if Cassian felt the same, both of his brothers otherwise occupied with their growing families. This year, Azriel and Gwyn were hoping to spend the one day they had alone together before Gwyn took off on the road again the day after Boxing Day.

She had tried to squirm her way into staying with Elain, but Nesta preferred to stay well away from the Vanserra’s. Especially because of her awkward fling with their eldest son after her breakup with Tomas when she was out looking for a rebound.

Nesta sighed in relief when she placed the last of the lights into the bin. She was done for the night, and Cassian was in charge of taking down the garlands she had detached the lights from. Leaning against the wall in the far corner of the room, Nesta looked out at the city below from the large window. Quiet had befallen the city, most lights having been dulled by the late hour, children in bed and awaiting Santa’s arrival in the night. She watched as a few people who still littered the streets stumbled their way through the newly fallen snow, and she wondered if they were alone too.

A noise from behind her caught her attention, it was Cassian, struggling to unhook a bit of garland from the hook it was attached to, but his large fingers were far too big to grip onto it. She chuckled softly to herself and walked over to him, standing on her tiptoes and using her nimble fingers to unclamp the bit of decor from the wall.

“Thanks,” he said, packing it into the bin beside him, “Next year, I hope Feyre just rents this shit from the hotel and not bring it from home,” he grumbled, looking to his hands that had a few nicks from the wires that held up the decor.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if she were pregnant by the end of this vacation,” she told him, “We may not have to worry about playing cleanup crew next year.”

Cassian agreed, an awkward silence replacing any form of conversation as Nesta folded the last of greenery gently into the bin. They stood there for a moment, words left unsaid hanging in the air, and before Cassian could say something stupid, Nesta spoke, “So, how did your quest go?”

Cassian perked up at the break in silence, “Not bad, caught Glady’s twice,” he laughed, fiddling with the decorations piled in the bin beside him that she had just folded, bridled with nervous energy, “Well, I think she actually caught me the second time, that women is insatiable.”

Nesta found herself outwardly laughing at the comment, Cassian’s expression that of shock at the sound before his face softened, “Oh yeah?” She taunted, she couldn’t help but find the vision of Cassian being cornered by an elderly woman in her seventies that barely reached his kneecaps.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” Cassian said, enjoying her amusement, “At least the other ladies understand the rules of the mistletoe, you don’t just chuck a candy in my face and call me a brute.”

Nesta gave him a mock pout, “Aww, poor Cassian.”

“There’s always next year,” he shrugged before an eerily sly smile spread across his features, “Or maybe not,” he said, pointing above them.

Nesta sucked in a breath as she looked upwards, where a single sprig of mistletoe was hung. It had been cleverly hidden behind the greenery of the garland, almost like it was strategically placed there as a trap, now fully exposed and awaiting the completion tradition.

Nesta tried to cover her shock, along with the slight, and very unexpected fluttering in her stomach as she realized she had been caught. With no way out. She didn’t need to reach into her clutch to know she had run out of chocolate kisses long ago. Cassian had cornered her more than once, but she had given her last one away to an intern that had approached her and would not take no for an answer.

She froze, digging into her bag again but knowing she would still find it empty of the candy she had used as a defence. She was completely and utterly fucked.

“What?” Cassian asked, a look of concern replacing one of mischief at her expression.

“I,” she began, looking up to the offending plant before looking back at the man in front of her, “I don’t have any candy left…” she admitted.

Cassian’s face fell and so did her stomach. Was he so disgusted by her that he couldn’t keep the charade of wanting to kiss her up when it was offered to him?

“Oh…” he nodded, pursing his lips in thought, “Well, it just says a kiss, my cheek is free real estate,” he offered. No disgust, just the fear of making her uncomfortable his only reason for the hesitant reply. Cassian was all jokes and light laughter, he was pure and sweet and everything she wasn’t, and no matter of joking would have him sincerely pressuring any women to kiss him if they denied him.

She knew she could walk away and he would let her. But she found she did not wish to.

“It’s okay, rules are rules,” she tried to say as nonchalantly as possible, attempting to push down the blush threatening to make itself known on her face.

Cassian nodded in reply, not wanting to make it more awkward by outwardly denying her. If she dared admit it, he looked slightly….thrilled at the acceptance.

They both stared at each other a moment before leaning in at the same time, both going in the completely wrong direction and almost bumping faces. They chuckled stiffly, leaning in once more, Cassian not leaning down far enough this time which had Nesta colliding with his jawline.

Having enough, Nesta reached up, grabbing his face in her hands, but instead of planting a quick kiss on his awaiting cheek, she allowed her lips to softly grace his own.

She could feel his body tighten in surprise at the change in direction, and she almost pulled away, heartstoppingly abashed, before he pushed back into the kiss, fitting their lips together in a firm lock.

The kiss was more tender than anything she had expected from Cassian, she had felt nervous, panicked, sick to her stomach as she made the split second decision to kiss him on those inviting lips rather than his awaiting cheek. And as he kissed her back with such emotion, every turbulent insecurity within her was put to rest.

It seemed as if there was nothing left in the world besides them, besides this moment as they kissed in the dim glow of the Christmas tree while snow gently fell outside the window. It was so perfect that Nesta did not think it could be better if she had scripted it.

It was a moment she ever expected, never even entertained the thought of because it seemed like a fantasy, but as she looked up into his hazel eyes, she realized it was an opportunity she did not wish to pass up. She was tired of questioning herself, wondering if she was worthy of the attention he gave her, wondering if she would dim the light that shone all around him, would taint the pure and beautiful soul that lied beneath that hundred-watt smile. He scared her to death, but she found herself feeling brave in that moment, wanting even.

She breathed in sharply as he snaked his arms around her, pulling her closer to him, and she lost herself lost in the feeling of his arms around her.

The kiss ended all too soon, and she resisted pulling his face back down for more. His hold slackened, giving her room to back out if she wished, but he did not pull away entirely. So they stood there, without breaking eye contact, arms wrapped around each other, trying to catch their breaths.

Cassian opened his mouth to speak, and Nesta steeled herself, the fear of rejection still there. But before he could put a voice to those thoughts, the sound of approaching footstep had them tearing apart from each other.

“Hey, just came to check in on you two, haven’t seen you both in a while,” Azriel said as he stopped in front of them. Nesta couldn’t conceal the blush this time. Azriel was often quiet, and did not make his presence known unless he wished to. How much had he seen?

“We’re good,” Nesta said, trying to look as composed as possible, even with a beet red face. Thankfully, unlike his brother, Azriel knew discretion.

“Just finishing up removing the rest of the green prickly shit,” Cassian gestured to the bin of garland, elegant as usual, but acting much more unbothered than her. Was he not as affected by the kiss as she was, or was he just a better actor?

“Well hurry up, we are all waiting to leave and I have the key to lock up,” he told them, “Nesta, need a ride home?” He asked, knowing she did not have a car at the moment.

“No, got an Uber coming,” she explained, waving her phone for emphasis.

“Okay, get the rest down so we can leave,” was all he said before walking away, giving Nesta a wink before heading back over to Gwyn across the room.

Oh, he knew.

—————

Nesta shivered at the cool wind that greeted her as she stepped outside the hotel, thankful she had her coat this time to protect her from the chill. They had waved goodbye to Azriel and Gywn, Nesta promising to call and maybe flying down to see her during the new year.

It didn’t feel as agonizing as she had expected, to be standing at the road's edge with Cassian, who had offered to wait with her for her Uber. He had refused to allow her to stand alone, and ignored her protests to leave, even demanding to see the licence plate number and car make in order to make sure she didn’t get into some random car.

She didn’t have it in her to be insulted by the statement, she was old enough to take care of herself, more than capable to go down her checklist before she got into the car with a stranger. The thought behind it though made her body hot and though she had friends and family who would extend such kindness to her, there was something different about that person being Cassian.

She didn’t know what was between them, before and after that kiss, or why she had felt so brave to forgo his offer of walking away and forgetting the situation. She just knew that she did not wish to be alone any longer, to wallow in her self-pity and drown herself in alcohol. It was a terrifying thing, to start over, to let someone in, but Cassian wasn’t just anyone.

She had known him longer than any of her boyfriends, their comradery lasting longer than any relationship she ever had. She had avoided him for years out of fear, but she was beginning to think she may be able to be brave again.

“So…” she began, her voice breaking the quiet between them. She cursed herself, unsure of what she was even going to say.

“So…” he echoed after she did not continue, urging her to talk.

“I was just going to say I hope you have a good Christmas,” she said tightly, curing herself. Yes, tell him you hope he has a good Christmas, after he confided in your that he visits his dead mother's grave, she scolded herself.

Cassian smiled, “I’ll try….”

“Maybe I’ll see you at mass?” Cassian looked to her, understanding lighting up his face at what she was offering. Companionship.

“The church on Oak street has a beautiful display on Christmas,” she told him, “If that’s something that you're interested in I mean.” She examines her phone, trying to look as nonchalant at the extension of the invitation as she could. Her body burned, could someone die of heatstroke in winter?

“Thanks for the heads up, I’ll have to check it out.”

Cassian saw her babbling for what it was, an invitation, one he hadn’t expected. She was trying, and it meant the world to him that she was.

Silence settled in around them, more comfortable than before, but Nesta considered it a Christmas miracle as the white sedan came to a full stop in front of her, “This is me.”

Cassian nodded, “Merry Christmas, Nesta,” he said, leaning in to place a gentle kiss on her cheek, but was met with the soft plush feel of her lips on his for the second time that night.

It was a quick, almost shy peck to his lips, but the shock of it still coursed through him, “Rules are rules,” she told him before slipping into the car, “Merry Christmas, Cassian.”

Cassian felt the cold rush of the wind on his face as he watched the car drive off. Something from behind fluttered against his ear, causing him to jerk to the right in search of the offending object.

It wasn’t until he turned around did something fall from his hair to land on the snow covered sidewalk before him. Slowly, he reached down, plucking the object from the ground and smiled.

He wasn’t sure when she had looped it through his bun, or how she had done it without his knowledge, but Cassian felt his heart constrict tightly in his chest as he held the single sprig of mistletoe delicately in his hand, almost as if he was holding her to his chest instead.

And for the first time in a long while, Cassian was looking forward to Christmas.

—————

Tag list: Let me know if you wish to be added or removed. (Or if you only wish to be tagged on my main fic, totally fine)

@sv0430 I @a-court-of-valkyries I @vinylcryes I @champanheandluxxury I @nestaspegasus I @angelic-voice-1997

[mypoisonedvine]

Making Ends Meet | dark!Mandalorian x reader

summary: you’re just a simple woman trying to make your way in the universe, with the universe’s oldest profession.  unfortunately for you, a new customer doesn’t plan on going easy on you.

word count: 3.2k

warnings: smut (dub con), kidnapping (?? kinda), prostitution, rough sex, pain kink, lots and lots of degradation, ooc mando being a meanie

please do not read if this content would be triggering or upsetting for you, dark fics aren’t for everyone and it is your responsibility to manage your own content consumption

If you were going to have any hope of making rent this month, you needed to book someone tonight— and not a cheapskate who’d try to stiff you after he’d already stiffed you, no, you needed a big spender, a high roller.  You needed somebody who had extra credits to throw around and wore it on his sleeve.

You needed a guy like the one who had just walked in— with beskar on his sleeve.  That’ll do quite nicely, you thought to yourself as you watched the Mandalorian cross the room to talk to the bartender.  

Seemed like he was here on business, unfortunately, from the way he didn’t even venture a glance at you or any of the other women skulking about; but then again, you couldn’t be entirely sure where he was looking with that big helmet covering his face.  It might not be the easiest sell, but you were determined to get this guy for the night— and, more importantly, his money.

Walking up to the bar with your best sultry saunter, you leaned in beside him and smiled as he turned his head to look at you.  "Hey," you purred.  "Haven't seen you around before.  We don't get a lot of new faces around here… even when they're hidden."

He didn't say anything, which was a little concerning, but his head tilted down a bit as if he was looking at your body, which was a good sign.

“What brings you to Tatooine, hm?  Business…” you trailed off as you ghosted your fingertips over his armor-clad forearm, “or pleasure?”

“Business is my pleasure,” he informed you sternly.

“And pleasure is my business,” you countered with a smirk.  Before you could say anything else, the bartender returned with a sack in his palm that he tossed into the Mandalorian’s hands, something metallic jingling inside.

“For a job well done,” he explained with a crooked, toothy smile, “as promised.”

“Payday, huh?” you noticed, your tongue darting out to wet your lips.  “Never comes often enough, amirite?”

Your quip was met with tense silence as he slipped the bag into a sack at his waist.  He turned to leave, but you reached out for his shoulder and stopped him.  

“Wait,” you requested, desperation starting to taint your tone of voice.  He spun and faced you again, and you tried to keep your body language relaxed and sensual in spite of your stress.  “What are you gonna spend all that on?”

“My ship,” he decided after a quick moment.

“Why not spend it on yourself?  You must be tired after working a long, hard day,” you sighed sympathetically, stepping a little closer.  “Why don’t you stay a bit longer and take a moment to relax?”

It didn’t seem like he knew what to do with that, and you motioned to a wide, cushioned chair nearby.  Amazingly, it worked; he walked to the chair with that swagger of his, the blaster at his hip suddenly so much more obvious with the way it swung with every step.  As soon as he sat down, you put a leg up beside him, straddling him slightly but leaving enough space to (hopefully) have him wanting more.

“You must be getting hot under there,” you smiled, making sure the double entendre was obvious.

“Maybe I am,” he shrugged.

“All this heavy armor... does it get uncomfortable?”

“I’m comfortable,” he denied.

“Good,” you purred before biting down on your lip as you rubbed his chest— or, rather, his chestplate.  “You know, I’ve heard that Mandalorians are even harder underneath the steel.”

He paused a little before he answered.  “Only in a few key places,” he finally replied, his gloved hand reaching to brush over your thigh.  You grinned, knowing you finally had him.

“Why don’t you come to my room and show me?” you suggested.

“I imagine your time isn’t free,” he observed.

“Fifty credits for an hour, or a hundred for the whole night,” you enumerated.

“That’s a little steep,” he noted with a tone of irritation.

“It’s my price,” you shrugged, “take it or leave it.”

“I’ll leave it,” he decided, shoving you back and standing up to leave.

“No, wait,” you blurted out, “eighty for the night.”

“I don’t have all night,” he informed you sternly.  “Twenty for the hour.”

“Twenty?!” you squawked.  “What kind of girl do you take me for?”

He grabbed your wrist tightly, suddenly, and pulled you into him.  “A whore,” he answered with a rough growl, “and apparently not as cheap as you look.”

You swallowed dryly, irritated by his attitude but desperate for the cash you knew he had.  “How often do you come through Mos Eisley?” you asked quietly.

“As rarely as I can manage,” he replied.

“If you pay a hundred now, I’ll be here every time you come in, for as long as you need,” you offered.  “Standing order, permanently.”

It was difficult to negotiate with someone whose face you couldn’t see: you weren’t sure if the silence was him considering it, or just watching you squirm in his grasp for fun.  

“A hundred,” he repeated slowly, “for whatever I want.”

“Whatever you want,” you nodded quickly.

“Whenever I want,” he added.

“Whenever you want.”

He let go of your wrist and you stumbled back, rubbing the sore skin with your other hand.  “Show me to your room,” he requested suddenly.

You led him back behind a few tattered curtains, past the hall and up the stairs to your cramped apartment.  It wasn't much, but the red silk draped everywhere and the incense burning in the corner certainly set the mood for the work you did.  Your door slid shut automatically behind him, and normally this is the part where he’d kiss you or you’d kiss him, but that was sort of impossible in his current state.  With an awkward pause, you waited for him to undress.

“Take off your clothes,” he instructed instead— and it was even more dominant than you expected, but you were happy to oblige as you untied the strip of fabric keeping your flowy tunic together, letting it fall off of your shoulders and onto the floor.  You didn’t have anything else on, just for the sake of simplicity, and he said nothing as he stepped forward until he was just inches away from you.

He quickly disposed of his gloves to touch you with his bare hands; his rough, warm skin over your waist and hips and breasts was a strong contrast to the worn leather, and even moreso to the hard, cold beskar.  His skin was tan, especially considering that it rarely saw the sun, and you let yourself imagine what the rest of him would look like based on that long with the subtle dusting of dark hair that extended from his arms.  Of course, in your mind, he was stunningly gorgeous, because it was more fun for you that way.  The way he spun you around quickly and forced you to bend over the edge of your bed made you realize he wasn’t as interested in your fun, though.

You yelped a little at the unexpected force, and again when he slapped your ass out of nowhere.  

“You’d better make it worth my while, after I paid a hundred credits,” he grunted.

“Of course,” you agreed quickly, looking back to see him slipping to fingers underneath the edge of his helmet.

“Don’t turn around,” he growled.  “Don’t look back.”

“Okay,” you nodded nervously as you whipped your head back to face in front of you, staring diligently at the dark red comforter beneath you, “I— I won’t.”

You heard the rustle of clothing and a sigh of relief— noticeably one not modulated through the helmet speaker.  Unceremoniously, his helmet was tossed down onto the bed beside you, bouncing and rolling a bit before it found purchase on your quilt.

Next must have been his trousers, as you heard his heavily-equipped belt fall to the floor just before the subtle little grunt you’d come to know as the sure sign that a man had freed a throbbing cock from the confines of his trousers.  He roughly kicked your legs apart, grabbing your hips and using them to hold you up as he started to grind his bare cock against your slickened folds.  You could tell by the way his shaft spread your lips that you had no chance of taking him— he was too thick, you couldn't even tell how long he was yet but he was definitely too thick.

He must have realized something similar, because he pushed you forward a bit; you realized he was looking down at your pussy, which made your face burn with embarrassment.

"Get yourself wet for me," he instructed firmly.  

You didn't think you would ever be able to get wet enough to fit him.  "How?" you asked.

"I don't care how, just do it.  You have thirty seconds."

You gasped a bit but shoved your hand between your legs and frantically rubbed your clit— it didn't really feel that good, with the pressure and fear overwhelming your senses instead of pleasure.  And he didn't make it any easier on you by literally counting each second.  You got a bit wetter, sure, and you'd already been turned on from earlier, but it was still not gonna do you much good against the monster he intended on putting inside you at any moment.

"Fifteen," he continued counting, his voice dropping so much deeper all of a sudden.  "Fourteen."

Halfway out of time already and you weren't that much more wet than when you started.  Your mind was racing with thoughts of everything sexy you could manage to conjure— his voice did help, the deep timbre reverberating right up your spine as anxious fear started to blend in with forced arousal.  You tried to focus on the ways that being fucked by a faceless, mysterious stranger was sexy, rather than the ways it was terrifying.

"Ten," he counted, his voice changing as you heard him smile— you weren't sure how you could hear it, but you could.  "There you go, I can see it now."

You whimpered a little, the sound catching in your throat as fingers suddenly teased your entrance, not quite pushing in but threatening to.  As they swirled around your folds, a lewd wet sound filled the air, mixing in with your heavy breathing and his dark chuckle.

"You hear that?" he asked, and you nodded quickly.  "Just a few seconds left, make them count."

Rubbing faster, you felt your hips start to rock of their own volition, similarly to the way your walls were clenching around nothing in search of being filled.  

"Three, two, one," he finished as you felt the thick head of his cock start to push against you.  You dropped your hand, knowing you'd need both to stabilize yourself.  "You want it?" he asked roughly.

"Yes," you answered, your voice coming out weaker than expected.

"Beg for it," he instructed coldly.

"Put your cock in me, please—" was all you could get out before the words stopped in your throat as he suddenly pushed in.  You were barely processing the first inch as he barreled past your resistance to shove the next few in.  It already felt like you would run out of room inside your body before he ran out of cock.

"F-fuck," you hissed, "slow down.  You're too big."  You hoped maybe he'd take pity on you if you phrased it as a compliment.  You were wrong.

"You're a whore," he reminded you, "can't you take it?  It's all you're good for, anyways."

That got you to shut your mouth as he thrust himself completely into you, finding the end of you easily with the head of his cock while your hands clutched the bedsheets for dear life.  You winced but managed to suppress a cry as he started to fuck you, not quite fast yet but so much deeper than your brain could process.  "Ffffuu-uuck," you stammered, the sting starting to fade but the overwhelming pressure never really letting up.

"How's it feel?" he asked, almost sounding like he could moan but holding back.  "Don't lie."

You realized, then, that he didn't want you to fake pleasure like most clients did— he wanted to see your pain, and know he caused it.  He enjoyed hurting you.  You swallowed the lump in your throat and whimpered your honest reply: "Hurts."

"Good."

His balls slapping against your clit only added to the overwhelming sensations you were trying so hard to ignore, pain and pleasure becoming indistinguishable all of a sudden.  You could tell your walls were clamping down on him as pressure built in your gut and threatened to push past the point of no return.  Your moan was so much louder than you expected it to be, broken and guttural and animalistic. 

He pulled your hair roughly, making you yelp.  “That’s right,” he instructed through his teeth, “fuckin’ scream for it.”

“Fuck!” you sobbed loudly.  

He leaned forward and it felt like his body would surround yours, somehow, especially when he reached down to roughly grope one breast and then another.  He never stopped thrusting through it all, even when his head fell exhaustedly between your shoulder blades— it was so odd to be able to feel his forehead and hair on your skin but have no idea what his face looked like at all.

The telltale signs of orgasm were arriving in your body— your thighs quivered, your voice cracked, your walls and clit throbbed with need.  It felt like you could read every detail of his cock inside your silky wet heat, like the ridge of his leaking head was rubbing up against your swollen g-spot with every thrust.  You felt as if being so full of him had forced you to vacate your mind, too, to accommodate his size— as if that were possible.  

Either he sensed your peak approaching as well, or he just had convenient timing.  "Wanna feel you come around it," he grunted.  "Can you come for me?  Or are you completely useless?"

“‘M close,” you warned him as your answer, shame sending a shiver up your spine even though you felt guilty for it.

“Then come,” he ordered, “right fuckin’ now.”

It was odd how that actually did push you over the edge, his brutal thrusts and degrading words creating a perfect storm inside you as the friction became too much to bear.  You sobbed as it wracked through you, arching your back absent-mindedly, clenching your legs together as best you could with his legs in between them.  He didn’t stop fucking you through it, which meant that the sensation built to the point of ‘too much’ extremely quickly as your attempts at begging for mercy were lost to breathless moans.  Overwhelmed, your body collapsed onto the bed limply, your hips only staying up because he held them up, like your weight was nothing to him at all.

"Yeah, just like that,” he taunted, “fuckin' come on my cock, fuck— you're just a dumb slut, huh?  You love getting fucked like the desperate, needy fucktoy you are, is that it?"

"Y-yes," you whined weakly, cheeks burning at the feeling of him using your body— or maybe it was from the head rush caused by the afterglow of your orgasm. 

"You like it when it hurts,” he posited.  “You want me to hurt you."

"Yes— don't stop, please…" you whimpered, quiet but definitely loud enough for him to hear.

“Not gonna stop,” he promised, “‘til you’re full of my come.”

“Fuck,” you groaned, voice sounding hoarse and thin.  It had been a while since you lost your voice because of a session… and since you had walked funny for a few days afterwards.  This one was definitely going to do both.

As his hips started to slam harder and faster into yours, you really hoped it was a sign that he was close; his raspy groans made you sure of it, though.  You could feel his cock swelling and flexing, incredibly, and it made you a little light-headed but it made your overstimulated walls throb around him as well.

With one deep, exhausted growl from the man behind you, a warmth began to spread through you from the inside out.  When he released his grip on your hips, you fell onto the bed with a sigh and a thud.  A hand appeared in your peripheral vision to snatch the helmet off of your bed, and it only took him a few moments to stuff his softening cock back into his trousers and magically be dressed again.  Funny how he looked exactly the same as he had half an hour ago, meanwhile you were confident you looked totally fucked-out and fucked-up.

“You’re a good fuck,” he offered a monotone compliment as he pulled on his gloves, staring down at you as you slipped your robe back on and tried to ignore the warm sticky feeling between your legs.

“You’re… intense,” you replied, chuckling a little.  “Guess I’ll see you around, then.”

He didn’t respond, or leave, but just stood there looking at you for a minute as you stood up and adjusted yourself, trying not to limp noticeably because you figured he didn’t need any more ego.  “‘Whenever I want’ only applies when I’m on this planet,” he observed suddenly, interrupting the silence, “which I try not to be.”

“You can come around as often as you like,” you explained.  You froze when he appeared behind you, reaching his arms out and caging you in against the wall the second you'd turned to face him.

“But wouldn’t it be so much more cost-effective if you were with me all the time?  On my ship?”

You whimpered a little as he leaned in closer, and you felt his gaze on you through the dark visor of his helmet even though you couldn’t see it.  “That… that wasn’t the deal,” you whispered nervously.

“The deal’s changed,” he growled, ignoring your yelps of pain as he manhandled you and pinned you to the wall by your neck before you could even try to fight back.  “Whatever I want, whenever I want,” he growled, “that’s what you said.  I’ll hold you to that.”

The leather gloves creaked softly as he tightened his grip on the sides of your neck, forcing your lips to fall into a useless gasp for air.  Your hands reached out to claw at his chest, a silent plea for release, but he wasn’t having it.  

“Whatever you want,” you barely managed to croak out as your vision started to go dark.  “Please, Mando…”

“Whenever I want?”

“Whenever, please,” you cried, tears stinging your eyes.  He let go, finally, and you crumpled at his feet.  Somehow, you’d managed to sell yourself into slavery— for a measly hundred credits.  This whole thing had begun with you needing to make rent, and it ended with you realizing you wouldn’t return to your apartment again at all.  

He didn't need to shackle or bind you to make you follow him to his ship; his power over you was nauseatingly effortless, but you weren't about to try to run from an unhinged warrior like him.  

You'd always wanted to leave Tatooine and explore the galaxy… this wasn't exactly how you'd imagined doing it, as a Mandalorian's whore, but there were worse fates.  Like being a Mandalorian's target.  And you planned on doing whatever he wanted you to if it meant avoiding that.