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#t: exes to lovers
kaesficrecarchive · 4 months
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[adam x ronan]
you can crash and burn and come back someone new (and that's what i learned from you) by tamquams (17/17 | 116,305 | T)
Ten years later, Henrietta looks exactly how Adam remembers it fading away in his rearview mirror: desaturated and dusty, and just this side of hopeless.   Adam leaves. Five years later, he comes back.
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daechwitatamic · 2 years
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All That Holly, Jolly Sh*t || MYG
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(banner by @/itaeewon)
Title: All That Holly, Jolly Sh*t
WC: 11k
Genre: exes to lovers, the babiest angst straight to fluffy smut (they’ve got shit to work out, but they get there!!)
Summary: You haven’t seen or heard from Yoongi since he broke your heart five years ago, laying out a logical list of reasons why you were better off breaking up. When a Christmas Eve blizzard traps you together for the night, you have no choice but to examine how few of those reasons are still true. And if they’re not… where does that leave you?
Rating: NSFW - minors DNI
Warnings: manbun!yoongi YES THAT IS A WARNING, drinking, language, kissing, breast play/nip stim, fingering, unprotected sex with bc (be safer than this!!!), multiple orgasms (f), penetrative sex, soft idiots in love 
A/N: Merry Christmas, Kelly!!!! @here4btsfics I was soooooo excited to pull your name for @bangtansecretsanta because it gave me such a good opportunity to get to know you better and start talking to you! I really, really hope you love this little Christmas fic! 
I know you said no angst so just a lil disclaimer, a synopsis I messaged my beta was "it hurts for a hot minute but then they kiss about it and everyone is fine" so I think you'll be okay!!!
Huge thank you to @kookstempo @moonleeai and @cherrysoulth for beta-ing and to @itaeewon for the gorgeous banner!
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“Anything new with you? How’s work?”
You plaster on what you hope is a friendly smile and not a sarcastic one. Seokjin’s girlfriend is super nice, you remember her from a party over the summer, but you do not want to talk about work right now. You want to drown yourself in another cinnamon toast crunch cocktail and double-fist those iced, reindeer-shaped brown-sugar cookies. 
You admit to being a little bit on edge. 
You’ve attended Taehyung’s annual Christmas party every year since you left for college. It’s tradition, and it’s one of the only times each year that the whole group is back together again after you all went your separate ways in the world. 
Except, for the last five years, Yoongi hadn’t attended. You never thought too much about why - too busy, other plans, just the fact that he’s an absolute Grinch… or maybe it’s your presence that keeps him away. You didn’t waste too much time thinking about it. You’re just always happy he isn’t there.
Until this year.
No one even had the decency to shoot you a warning text. Hey, heads up, your ex is here, very unexpectedly.
You knock back the rest of your drink and head to make yourself a new one.
You normally attach yourself to Jimin at these, but he’s betrayed you this year by bringing an absolutely gorgeous date. They’re currently hogging the doorway with mistletoe above it. You make a mental note to remind him tomorrow that the PDA thing stops being cute after a while.
“Work’s good,” you say, finally answering the question. “Nothing new. How about you and Jin? All good?”
“Nothing new to report!” she grins. Then, the smile slips off her face a little as she glances at her phone. She notices you watching and grimaces. “Sorry,” she says, “I’m not trying to be rude, I’m just keeping an eye on the radar. The storm tonight is supposed to get nasty.”
“Hey! What’s the rule tonight?” a voice bellows from the living room. It’s Taehyung, perched against the back of one of his couches, and he points an accusatory finger at the girl you’re talking to.
She must know something you don’t, because while you’re baffled, she looks chagrined. “Don’t talk about the blizzard,” she recites by rote. 
“Don’t talk about the blizzard,” he repeats. “Have another drink. It’s Christmas Eve, we welcome the snow.”
“You’re the only person I know who’s optimistic enough to try to throw a party on a night they’re calling for the storm of the century,” Seokjin tells him, making his way into the kitchen - probably to protect his girlfriend from Taehyung’s scoldings. 
“They say that every time,” Taehyung scoffs, waving a hand. Then he’s up and moving, heading towards the dining room, where a spread of food is laid out. 
There must be more people in there, you think, because the kitchen and the living room are definitely looking a little less crowded than they were an hour ago. Yoongi and Hoseok are on the couch, glasses in hand, talking quietly. The tv, mounted high on the wall, plays a classic Christmas film in black and white. You stop before the balcony doors, peering out into the night. The lamps that line the parking lot glow orange, and you can see in the lamplight that snow is falling steadily, and it’s starting to accumulate a little on the pavement below. 
Jimin comes up beside you. His date’s lipstick is still smudged in the corner of his mouth.
“You’re a hot mess,” you tell him affectionately. 
“I think we’re gonna head out,” he tells you, ignoring the jab.
You shake your head, your earrings glittering in your reflection in the glass. “It’s not even nine,” you point out.
“The roads are going to get slick,” he tells you, suddenly serious. “You should think about getting an Uber before too long, too.”
“You’re going to break Taehyung’s heart,” you inform him. “I think he’s starting to catch on that people are leaving.”
“He should have rescheduled the party!” Jimin says hotly; he and Taehyung had argued about this passionately all week, ever since the forecast picked up on the storm coming through. “We could have done this yesterday, no blizzard, everyone would have stayed all night!”
Jimin’s date slinks over and presses her hand to his upper back. “Ready?” she asks, voice like silk. 
“Bye,” you tell him sulkily. In the reflection, you watch him pause to tell Yoongi and Hoseok goodbye. They each stand, reaching in one at a time to give him a quick one-armed hug goodbye. 
You keep watching the reflection in the glass as Hoseok takes advantage of already being up and heads for the dining room.
You knew it would happen at some point tonight - you’re alone in the living room with Yoongi. You’d just hoped it would happen after you were a lot drunker. 
He meanders over. You glance at the drink in his hand - whiskey, neat. You could have guessed that on a gameshow and earned some money. 
He’s dressed in all black - down to the chelsea boots. His hair is half-up in a bun that sits just behind the crown of his head. The rest brushes the tops of his shoulders, curling slightly at the ends. 
He’d never had long hair like this before. It’s a crime how fucking good it looks. 
Your gameplan tonight has been simple: avoid, avoid, avoid. But Yoongi stands close enough to reach out and touch you, sips at his whiskey, and murmurs, “It’s been a while.”
Five years. But who’s counting? 
“It has,” you allow. You hate confrontation, you don’t want this to be a thing. You’re determined to be polite, play nice, and hopefully get out of here unscathed. “How have you been? Are you enjoying yourself?” 
He wiggles his head. “Eh. You know I’m not into all that holly, jolly shit.”
“It’s a Christmas party,” you point out flatly. “Holly, jolly is kind of the point.”
He shrugs. “The point for me is just to see the guys, catch up with everyone. It’s been a long time since we were all together.”
He means we the guys, not we you and him. But your heart still speeds up at the word, the traitor.
You nod, turning away from him to look outside again. But your eyes stay on his reflection, both of you standing with your backs to the party. He looks down at his drink, swirls the amber liquid around the bottom of the glass.
“You always did hate the holidays,” you observe absently. 
“We don’t have to do this, you know,” he says, so gently that it shocks you into turning to look at him.
“Do what?”
“Rehash everything,” he says with a shrug. “Talk about everything we remember. Talk at all.”
“If you don’t want to talk to me, then don’t,” you snap, suddenly defensive and heated. “You came over here, not the other way around.” So much for polite and non-confrontational. But damn, he has some audacity.
“That’s not what I meant,” he says, a little quickly, holding up his one empty hand like he’s surrendering. “I just meant… don’t feel like you have to, if you don’t want to. Don’t do it for my sake.”
Your temper settles, but you still feel a little… disgruntled, unsettled. “If I didn’t want to talk to you, I wouldn’t be,” you grumble. 
He smiles at this. “That’s right. You never do anything you don’t want to do.”
Maybe that used to be the case. 
The liquor takes over your mouth. “I didn’t want to break up,” you say pointedly, “so I guess that’s not true.”
He huffs out a single laugh, shaking his head at your audacity. “You always just say shit,” he murmurs. “To hell with the consequences.”
“What consequences?” you demand, turning to face him fully. “Are you going to dump me more? I fail to see how I could make things worse for us after five years of not speaking.”
He licks his lips, eyes on his glass again. That was the thing about you and Yoongi - he’s right, you did just say shit. And he always just handled it. He always heard you, processed it, and dealt with it productively. He never took the bait and got mad back, never yelled - even when you’d wished he’d yell. 
“It’s because,” he’d told you, sometime around seven years ago, when you were together, “when you say absolutely wild shit like that, you always mean something else. And I just happen to be very good at translating you.”
Now, he meets your eyes again, having processed. Having translated. “What I’m hearing you say,” he says slowly, “is that you’re still mad at me.”
That’s all it takes to take the wind out of your sails - that’s always how it worked with you and Yoongi. You blustered and got worked up, and he defused you easily - just by meeting your gaze, just by assuring you that you were heard. 
“I think I’m mad at our circumstances,” you correct quietly. “And I think I’ve had too many of these.” You eye the cocktail in your hand with narrowed, accusatory eyes.
He gives you the barest sliver of a smile. “Don’t blame the drinks,” he says, shaking his head. “You never could lie to me - it has nothing to do with alcohol.”
He’s right. For all your faults, for all the negatives you can take credit for, you always told him the truth.
Namjoon appears in the living room, a beer in hand, still in the bottle. 
“I’m trying to decide which one of you needs to be rescued from the other,” he admits, looking between you, “and I honestly can’t tell.”
“Rescue him from me,” you say. “He’s been nice and I’ve been prickly.” 
“You?” Namjoon says in mock surprise. “Prickly? No way.”
You flip him off, smiling. 
Seokjin comes up behind Namjoon, clapping him on the shoulder. “I think we’re going,” he says, looking past you to the snow outside. “I don’t want to drive once the roads are slick.”
Namjoon sighs, following his gaze. “I was having fun,” he says sadly. “But I’m probably not too far behind you.”
“Nooo,” Taehyung whines from the dining room. “Everyone stop leaving! It’s just a little snow!”
Seokjin’s girlfriend finds him, joining your little circle, her phone still in her hand. “We’re supposed to have almost three inches by midnight,” she says in a whisper, clearly not wanting Taehyung to come after her. “We need to get moving.”
When Seokjin and his girlfriend leave, you float back towards the dining room. Namjoon and Yoongi stay behind, talking quietly. Probably, Namjoon is checking to make sure you weren’t too mean to him. Which… that’s fair. 
The truth is, you aren’t mad at Yoongi. How could you be? When he ended things, he hadn’t been cruel, or unfair. His decision had been made logically. You understood exactly why he felt he needed to do it.
That’s where the hurt came from, you figured. You were always led by your emotions - quick to anger, but quick to laugh. Yoongi was always more even-tempered, logical. While you were packing up your life to move away from home for university, he’d laid out the reasons you shouldn’t stay together like they were a grocery list. 
Like it didn’t hurt him at all. 
None of his reasons were wrong. But would it have killed him to act like he cared? You’d been together three years - and you felt like they should count more, since they were such formative ones. Like dog years - each one should have counted for seven. It had broken your heart to let him walk away - shouldn’t he have felt something, too?
You’d dated plenty in college, a few of those relationships getting serious enough to last a few months. But at the end of the day, nobody compared to your first love. How could they? How could anyone? 
No one understood you like Yoongi. No one could translate you like Yoongi. No one knew - or learned - how to settle you down like Yoongi. No one had that mental encyclopedia of useless knowledge like Yoongi. No one else had that perfect blend of dry and earnest like Yoongi. No one else fit to your body like a puzzle piece like Yoongi. 
It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter then, and it doesn’t matter now. Yoongi had left, Yoongi had taken the decision right out of your hands and walked away with it. You weren’t mad at him, but you definitely resented that.
You’d had years to get over it, to forgive him, to come to terms with the fact that he was right about every single thing. But forgiveness and understanding are one thing. Letting go - of him, of loving him - is something else entirely, and you’re starting to think that even a lifetime of years won’t be enough for that.
That’s enough of that, you think, giving yourself a rough mental shake. You set down your drink glass and head for the bathroom, but it’s occupied. You lean against the wall outside, counting your breaths, trying to get yourself back into that holly, jolly headspace. 
The door opens and Jungkook emerges, singing under his breath, “Pah-rum-pum-pum-pum!”
“Hi, JayKay,” you say, moving to slide past him into the bathroom.
“Oh, hey!” he says brightly. “I was just about to leave. You have a way to get home, right? It’s getting worse out there.”
“I was just going to Uber,” you tell him.
“Better do it soon,” he warns. “Soon the drivers aren’t going to want to be on the roads.”
“Good point,” you say, and wave a quick goodbye before shutting the bathroom door. You give yourself a stern look in the mirror.
Get it together, please, you think firmly. Seeing your ex - this ex, too, not just a casual one - for the first time in five years earns you a little wallowing, you think, and you fully intend to. At home. Later. Not here, in front of everyone. 
Not here, in front of him. 
Back in the kitchen, the party has really dwindled down to the last few people. Outside, snow falls as steadily as Taehyung’s guest list. 
The peer pressure gets to you, and you pull out your phone and open a ride-share app. It takes a while before a driver connects, but you’re persistent. Once you have a driver, you watch the little image of their car start to head in your direction on the map.
From the dining room, you hear Yoongi make a tch of frustration. “No one is picking up for me,” he grumbles, seemingly to himself. 
“Good,” Taehyung says seriously. “Don’t leave me.”
You go find your coat, slipping your arms into the sleeves and doing up each button. When you return to the dining room, Yoongi and Taehyung are the only ones left. Taehyung is fully, blatantly, sulking, his arms crossed on the table and his chin resting dejectedly atop them.
“Better luck next time, bud,” you tell him kindly. 
Yoongi is still squinting at his phone screen, frowning.
You feel a twinge of concern, of the need to make it better for him the way you used to on a regular basis. “Still nothing?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t even see anyone on the map.”
You check your phone again - your car is just up the road. “I have one,” you tell him. “Join mine - we’ll just request the extra stop.”
Yoongi meets your eyes, holds your gaze for a minute. Then, he says, so seriously, “Are you sure?”
You know he means it. You know if you give any indication that you don’t want him in a car with you, he won’t push it. 
“Yeah,” you say. “Of course. I’m not going to leave you stranded here.”
“Why not?” Taehyung whines, kicking his feet a little in protest. 
“My car’s just here though,” you warn, eyes on your screen, both of you absolutely ignoring the host of the party. 
“I’ll grab my coat,” Yoongi says, and heads for the hallway.
“Sorry, Taehyung,” you say sympathetically. “I know you’re sad.”
He refuses to look at you. 
After giving over-the-top goodbye hugs to try and un-sulk the whiny baby, you and Yoongi head down the stairs and outside. You don’t look behind you to check that Yoongi is following. The car idles by the curb, and you double-check the license plate against the app. 
In the backseat of the car, you slide over to make room for Yoongi. As soon as he closes his door and the car lurches into motion, the vibe changes. You sit stiffly, ramrod straight, eyes on the windshield. Yoongi’s not sitting quite as straight as you, but there’s a tightness to his shoulders, like he’s holding himself carefully so he doesn’t touch you by accident with the car’s inertia. 
You had put in your parent’s address when you requested the ride, since that’s where you’re staying until New Years’ Day. You and Yoongi sit in blasting, blaring silence as the car crosses the middle of the town you’d both grown up in, that you’d run around in together as teenagers in love. But, past town, towards the quiet neighborhood where your parents’ house is, the car slows to a stop.
“I can’t go through this way, Miss,” your driver says, peering at you through the rearview mirror. “There’s a powerline down up there.”
“Oh shit,” you say, which is probably not very polite of you. You lean forward to look at the same time Yoongi does, your shoulders bumping. You both recoil quickly. 
“I think you can get to the development from the other side,” you muse, “but we’d have to backtrack and go around the lake on the other side…”
“Let’s just go to my place,” Yoongi interjects. “The roads are getting worse, and it’s close.”
You frown. Yoongi’s parents’ house - which you’d been to plenty of times as a younger person - is on the other side of town. Not close by your standards, but you aren’t here to argue.
Or maybe you are.
“I don’t know, Yoongi,” you say, uncertainty creeping into your voice. “How will I get home from there?”
“You might have to stay,” he admits, leaning down to better look at the road through the front windshield. The driver sits, watching you debate, waiting for a directive. 
You give Yoongi a silent look like, okay, and so you see my problem?
He scoffs at you. “It’s fine. We can handle one night.”
You want to ask, how sure are you about that? Instead, you start to tell the driver Yoongi’s parents’ address. 
“Wait,” Yoongi says, putting a hand gently on your arm to stop you. You both freeze, looking at the point of contact. Yoongi shakes himself out of it first, and tells the driver a different address. 
The car shifts back into drive and you look at Yoongi quizzically.
“Did your family move?” you ask finally.
Here’s the thing. You know Yoongi, you get Yoongi; five years apart hasn’t changed that at all. So when he licks his lips, shifts his gaze to his feet, and starts rubbing the back of his neck, you know it’s guilt.
“Yoongi?” you prod, suspicious.
He mumbles something, still not looking at you.
“What?” you snap. “You what?”
“I sort of moved back last month…” he repeats to the floor. 
“You live here?” you repeat, dumbfounded. “You live in town again?”
“Currently, yeah,” he says, and there’s something in that currently that you’d really like to examine, but you’re still fucking floored. 
Yoongi had gone to university in the city - hours away. The distance thing was reasons one through four of his Why We Need to Break Up list. It had made sense, logistically. It made sense when you went abroad for university, and he stayed here. It made sense when you returned and got an internship and then a full-time job in a different city, hours in the opposite direction. It made sense when you managed to go five entire years without being in the same place.
But now he was here. Reasons one through four, moot. 
Reasons five to whatever largely revolved around being young and needing to experience the world and figure out what you want in life, that kind of shit. Now it’s five years later and you’ve both experienced plenty of bullshit.
Reasons five through whatever, moot. 
You wonder, wordlessly, heart pounding again, if Yoongi knows or cares that every reason he gave you to validate walking away no longer applies. 
“You live here,” you repeat. You’re stuck on it, you can’t move on. “I didn’t know.”
“Yeah,” he says guiltily. “I know you didn’t. I… was honestly fighting with myself about if I should reach out or not. I guess I ultimately decided not… since you’re in the city, and you have your whole life and everything…”
What life? You wonder. 
The car pulls into a small, understated neighborhood. You’ve been here before; your chemistry partner from tenth grade lived in this development, you’d come to do homework more than once.
It’s always so weird to come back to this town, where everywhere you go has memories, secondary definitions. It’s not just a library, it’s the library where Yoongi had kissed you for the first time. It’s not just a park, it’s the park where you’d had your first fight, where you’d screamed at him in front of God and the ducks and all the moms pushing strollers. It’s not just a diner, it’s the diner where Yoongi had told you that it made no sense to try and stay together from different time zones. 
Everything came back to him. It always had. It always does. In a lot of ways, you felt like you were fated to be tied to him this way - and you usually didn’t believe in shit like that. 
You always break your own rules for him.
The place is small, and not very Yoongi-ish, but you keep your thoughts to yourself as Yoongi slides out of the car and waits for you. 
“Get home safe,” you tell the driver before closing the door. Yoongi’s got his house keys in his hand, and he leads you up the walkway. It’s slick, and you try to step only in the footprints he leaves in the inch of snow coating the ground.
Inside, the light over the sink illuminates a small, mostly empty kitchen. That’s not very Yoongi-ish either, you think. You remember him cooking all the time - appliances everywhere, cutting boards hanging, pots and pans stored on hooks. 
He passes the kitchen and enters what looks like the living room, reaching to click on a few dim lamps. They cast a yellow glow to the room.
You set down your purse and fold your coat up on top of it. Yoongi waits for you in the living room, his hands in his pockets, his eyes on the window, watching the snow. His jawline from the side nearly takes your breath away. He’s so damn beautiful it makes you sick.
And he’s back, Yoongi is back. 
“Do you want something to drink?” he asks, finally looking at you.
“Whatever you’re having would be great,” you tell him. You settle gingerly on one end of the couch as he busies himself in the kitchen. You shoot your parents a quick text that the roads were too bad and you weren’t going to make it back to their place so they wouldn’t worry. 
Yoongi returns with two glasses of red wine. He hands you one wordlessly and sits opposite you on the couch.
“So,” you say. The awkward, hyper-polite vibe from the car is back. Like you’re strangers. Like you didn’t know each other inside and out, once. “You’ve been here a month?”
“Just shy of it,” Yoongi corrects politely. “I signed a two month lease, so… I’ve got a few weeks to figure out my next move.”
“You don’t think you’ll stay?” you ask, then sip at the wine. It’s good - of course it’s good, he’s got great taste. You love and hate that about him.
He shrugs, drinks from his own glass. “Doubt it.”
He doesn’t give you any more information than that - why he’s back, what’s next for him, why he’s here for such a short time. 
You don’t press it. He’ll tell you if he wants to. 
Instead, you both drink in silence. Outside, the snow seems to redouble its efforts, the wind picking up until it seems to be snowing sideways for minutes at a time before calming into a normal downward fall again. 
“I think we made the right choice,” Yoongi murmurs, and it takes you a second to realize he’s talking about the weather and Taehyung’s party, not about your past. 
“Mhm,” you nod, as you come back into the present. That’s a problem you have - you’re always looking back. “Imagine if we were just leaving now? What a mess. Thanks for taking me in, I guess.”
“You guess,” he repeats, rolling his eyes, but there’s no ire in it. 
You drink in silence a little longer, and then Yoongi rises with a sigh. “I’ll go put clean sheets on the bed,” he says, sort of absently, like he’s both talking to you and also just thinking out loud. “And then I’ll show you how to work the tv in there if you –”
“I’m not sleeping in your bed, Yoongi,” you tell him flatly. 
He balks. “I didn’t mean with me, I meant by yourself!”
“No, I know that,” you reassure him. “But I’m not letting you sleep on your own couch because of me. I’ll sleep out here. It’s fine.”
“Absolutely not,” he says, shaking his head vehemently. That long hair swishes. “You’re a guest. I’m not putting you on the couch.”
“Yoongi,” you say sternly. “If I know you’re out here on the couch and I’m in there with your whole friggin bed, I will simply not sleep because I will feel too guilty about it! And I would like to sleep. So, please, put your chivalry and hospitality aside, and let me sleep. Out here.”
He considers this, because he knows you, and he knows you’re telling the truth. “Fine,” he concedes, and disappears into what must be his bedroom. 
When he returns, he’s carrying a stack of what looks like linens. He sets down the pile and you spy blankets and pillows. He pushes the pillows aside gently and picks up something else, turning to hold it out to you, an offering. 
It’s gym shorts and a large tshirt, and you reach to take them without thinking. Once they’re in your hand, they feel suddenly heavy with meaning. You used to wear his clothes all the time - you might have one or two of his hoodies in the back of your closet at home because you love them and don’t want to get rid of them, even though you feel too weird to actually wear them. You’re not sure how you feel about wearing his clothes again, now that it means nothing. The alternatives are pretty undesirable, though, so you’ll have to grin and bear it.
“There’s a half-bath on the other side, through the kitchen,” he says, nodding towards the bathroom in question. “So you don’t have to feel weird walking through my room to the full bath if you don’t want to. Though... do you need to shower? I can get you towels and stuff –”
“Maybe in the morning?” you say, eyeing the clock on the wall. “Just… could I borrow face-soap? And toothpaste?”
You’ll have to make do without your make-up remover and an actual toothbrush. Finger-brushing it is. 
When you emerge from the bathroom, teeth freshly finger-brushed, wearing Yoongi’s clothes, he’s standing at the kitchen sink, rinsing out the wine glasses you’d used.
You brush past him silently, and start setting up the couch how you want it. You hear the sink turn off, the click of the lightswitch as he shuts off the lights behind him. He comes back through the room and pauses in his doorway.
“Do you need anything?” he asks. 
“No,” you say, feeling small in his baggy shirt, feeling small in the face of all the feelings you’re swimming in right now. “I’m all good.”
He looks at you for a long minute, searching. “Okay,” he says, finally. “Sleep well.”
He turns into his room, and you watch his skinny wrist turn as he reaches to shut the door.
“Yoongi,” you say, the word out of your mouth before you really know what will follow it. He pauses, peeks his head back into view, raises an eyebrow at you. “Thanks,” you say, meekly.
He nods, silent, then reaches to close his door, gently and effectively shutting you out.
You get comfortable on the couch, bunching the blanket up around your head how you like it. It takes almost no time at all to fall asleep, and when you do, you don’t dream.
You’re awakened sometime later by a noise, and you sit up, your brain scrambling to catch up to the present and figure out where you are.
A couch, it processes. It comes back to you a little at a time. Yoongi’s couch. Yoongi’s house. Yoongi’s house in town.
The noise that woke you must have been his bedroom door opening, because as you slowly get your bearings, you become aware of him staring at you from his doorway. 
“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he says apologetically, then moves across the room towards the kitchen. “I just needed water.” Then, from the kitchen, as an afterthought, he asks, “Do you want one?”
“Please,” you say immediately, mentally cataloging all the effects of dehydration you can feel. Cottony mouth, ringing ears, the tingling beginnings of a headache…
He returns to the living room and stops near the couch. You stretch to turn on one of the dim lamps, casting a quiet yellow on the room. He stands there in too-big pajamas and holds out a water bottle silently. 
It’s definitely still the middle of the night. You can’t have slept more than a few hours. Everything feels different, somehow. It was so awkward before; you’d felt the need to be cautious and hyper-polite. Now everything feels blurred, fuzzy with sleep, softer. You’re sitting up, the blanket you’d been sleeping under still over your lap. You reach over and lift the other side, holding it up like a question.
Yoongi pads over and sits on the far side of the couch, but he curls his legs up and slips his bare feet under the blanket. You let it fall, covering him from the shin down.
He taps on his phone and grimaces at the time. “Hey,” he says, a little wry, “Merry Christmas.”
You smile. “Merry Christmas, Yoongi.”
He taps at his screen again and a speaker near his tv comes to life, playing what has to be a Coffee Shop Christmas playlist, pre-curated. You lean your head against the back of the couch, listening to the strum of acoustic guitar and the gentle snare of a drum meander through a mellow, lethargic version of It Came Upon a Midnight Clear.
“Christmas music, huh?” you tease, eyes closed. “That’s very holly, jolly of you.”
“I don’t hate Christmas,” he protests. “I’m not, like, a Grinch. It’s just… another day. So is tomorrow. Why all the fuss?”
You bump his foot with your knee beneath the blanket. “Scrooge.”
Ignoring your teasing, he looks sideways at you, something baleful on his face. “Y/N? I wanted to tell you I’m sorry.”
You’re surprised into silence, looking back at him across the couch. “What? What for?”
He grimaces, like the answer is too big, like he’s got an annotated list of every fault he’s mentally cataloged. “For all of it, I guess.”
You’re not letting him off the hook; this is too important to skirt around. “What are you sorry for, Yoongi?” you ask seriously.
He laughs once, quietly, incredulously, like he can’t believe you. “You really want to go there?”
“You know I do.”
He thinks before he speaks - one of your favorite things about him. “Because for the last five years, I hated myself for leaving you behind. And I wondered every day if you hated me for it, too.”
You sit in silence, feeling frozen. Yoongi lets you - Yoongi waits. Is he admitting regret? Does that mean he’d do it differently, given the chance?
Because here you are - being given the chance, in a way.
“I was never mad at you for going,” you tell him, because you know he needs to know. Yoongi doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean, which means he really did wonder if you hated him. You don’t owe him much, but you figure you owe him this truth. Then you admit, “But I was mad at myself for… letting you. Did you… I mean, should I have argued? When you left?”
You’d always wondered. What would have happened if you’d fought just a little harder for him to stay?
He scoots a little closer, tugging the blanket closer to his knees, thinking about your question. “I think part of me had hoped you would… but it wouldn’t have changed my mind,” he tells you honestly.  “Just would’ve made it hurt more. The way things happened, I could lie and tell myself you were fine with letting me go.”
You exhale on a note of indignation. “Fine? That was you. You were so… okay with walking away.”
He shakes his head. He must have taken the bun out when he went to bed, and his hair swishes around his shoulders, loose and beautiful. “I wasn’t okay. I didn’t go a single day and not wonder… how you were. I didn’t go a single day sure that I made the right choice.”
You feel, weirdly, kind of pissed. “What am I supposed to do with that, Yoongi? Seriously?”
He opens his mouth to answer this rhetorical question, but you don’t let him. The words pour out of you, unleashed after five years of being held back.
“This is just… unfair. Because normally, in the movies, when you get this moment - the post-mortem - with someone from your past… they always ask why, right? Why’d you leave? But I don’t need to ask why - I know the why, I understood why. I want to know… I want to know if you regret it. If you’d take it back.”
“That’s two different questions,” he says solemnly, “with two different answers.”
You cut your eyes at him. It’s the middle of the night and your brain is mostly mush. You need him to just be forthcoming, just say things plainly.
He knows.
“Of course I regret it,” he whispers finally, as if the words hold too much weight to utter any louder. “I regretted it while I was still saying it. I hated being away from you, I hated not talking to you, I hated not knowing how you were or what you were doing or if you… still cared about me at all.” He pauses, inhales slowly, rubs a hand down his tired face, then exhales with a whoosh. “But would I take it back? I don’t know.”
You exhale, eyeing the ceiling. Who’s the one just saying shit now? God. “You can’t just say things like that, Yoongi,” you tell him, eyes trained on the shitty, popcorn ceiling above you.
He says your name, still so soft, so quiet. 
“What?”
“Don’t cry.”
It’s so stupid. You hadn’t cried then, not in front of him. You wipe hastily under your eyes. “Sorry,” you say hastily, trying to save face. “It’s the lack of sleep.”
“I’m not sure I would take it back,” he repeats carefully, and you realize he hadn’t been done before - you’d interrupted his thought, “because when I left… I knew the whole time that it didn’t make anything better. But if I hadn’t… I think I’d still be wondering if I should, if we’d be better apart. I wouldn’t know, so the question would still be hanging over me.”
You think he’s saying something without saying it, but it’s like four in the morning and you just aren’t sure. 
“But now?” you prod. 
He shrugs, like it’s so simple. “Now I know the answer.”
You want to shake him. You’ve never had a conversation go in circles like this in your life, and you need to get to the center of it. “Yoongi,” you say, your voice tight like a warning. 
He knows.
He always knows. He cuts to the chase. “I have a job lined up in the city.” 
You almost drop your water bottle. “My city?”
“Your city.”
“Yoongi,” you say again, pleading. “Just say what you mean.” Please.
He smiles your favorite of his smiles - only one half of his mouth lifts at first, cocky, until it spreads the rest of the way and shows his gums in all their glory. “Just thinking about that whole list of reasons we shouldn’t be together… null and void now, don’t you think?” 
You feel like you can’t breathe. You’ve both been circling it like predators, and now you’re closing in. 
“So what does that mean? For you?” Do you dare to ask it? You do. “For us?”
Someone else, you think, would probably have asked you, what do you want it to mean?
But it’s Yoongi - and Yoongi knows the answer already. 
He’s pushing the blanket off of his legs - and yours - and coming to hover over you. Your body responds, laying back against the pillow you’d been sleeping on, making room for him like it remembers exactly how you fit. Your fingers find his jaw like they’re magnetically drawn, your thumb sliding against his cheek. 
His hair falls around your faces like a curtain, blocking out the dim lamplight, as his mouth finds yours. 
Kissing him again is everything. It’s absolutely everything. He’s home, he’s wilderness, he’s calm, he’s the whole damn storm, he’s undoing every seam you have, he’s stitching you back together, he’s beautiful beautiful beautiful.
His lips are soft but sure against yours, his jaw moving under the press of your fingers. You feel like you’re flying, falling, maybe both, as your eyelids flutter. He’s bracing himself with his hands on either side of you, holding himself over you. You were resting your free hand against his side, his ribs like piano keys beneath your palm, and you find yourself bunching his shirt into your fist, trying to pull yourself up, closer, closer.
You have to will yourself not to babble against his mouth, I missed you, I missed you, I missed you. You could say it six hundred times and it still wouldn’t get it all out of you. You pour it into the kiss instead, straining up to meet him, beating words away from your mouth as you toy with his bottom lip. 
He drops his lower body carefully, pinning your hips beneath his own, shifting to hold himself up on elbows instead of hands. The weight of him is welcome; something needs to keep you tethered to this planet. 
He licks into your mouth, tongue sliding against yours, and you inhale sharply against his mouth. 
“Yoongi,” you murmur against his lips, and he turns his head to kiss your palm where it’s been resting against his face. There’s something so tender about it that tears spring to your eyes, and you blink them away quickly. 
Then he’s leaning down to capture your mouth again, humming a low, happy note against you. You go for the hem of his shirt, pulling until it gets tangled against his armpits. He sits back on his haunches, helping you pull it over his head and tossing it somewhere behind you. Your eyes trace him, over and over, trying to remember every shade and every line, trying to find every difference from five years ago. He’s beautiful, flushing dark across the chest, eyes positively predatory in their focus on you.
“You, too,” he says, sounding a little breathless, and you scoot back and sit up. He goes for your hem before you can, tugging it up and over your head. The cold air assaults you and you shiver. Yoongi makes a noise somewhere between a groan and a growl in appreciation, lowering himself over you again. His kiss is insistent this time, one hand coming up to cup a breast, fingers deftly rolling your nipple, sending electricity skittering down your spine. You whine, deep in your throat, and you feel his lips quirk into a smile. 
“Would you kick my ass if I said ‘I’ve missed your tits’ right now?” he asks, chest quaking as he tries to rein in laughter. 
“Yes,” you grumble, reaching to weave your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. You tug him back so you can kiss him again, and he lets out a quiet, breathy moan as you do. 
“Okay,” he says, in between kisses, “but I did.” Then he puts his money where his mouth is - or maybe vice-versa - to prove it, lowering his head and taking the other nipple in his mouth, flicking it lightly with his tongue. Your whole body reacts, feet stretching, back arching to push against his body, fingers tightening in his hair as you moan out loud. Each little motion of his mouth ignites sparks that reach every part of you - the pit of your stomach, the base of your spine, clear down to your toes. 
It’s honestly embarrassing how turned on you get as he continues, working one side until you’re writhing beneath him, thighs rubbing together desperately, then switching to continue his onslaught on the other side. 
“Yoongi,” you gasp, and some absent part of your brain is aware that his name is the only coherent word you’ve said in a while. “Please, you’re torturing me.”
He releases you with a wet pop, grinning up at you deviously. “So pretty when you beg like that,” he remarks, like he’s observing the weather - which is still a fucking blizzard, by the way. Then he’s coming up to kiss you again, deep and slow this time. His hand slides along your bare stomach, around and under your back, and you arch your back partly to make room for his arm underneath you, and partly because you can’t not, as his fingers leave a trail of goosebumps in their wake. 
“Please, what?” he murmurs, lips close to your neck, his fingers tracing the edge of the shorts you’re wearing - his shorts. “What do you want?”
“Anything - whatever you’ll give me,” you manage. All you can focus on is his fingers, their circular path along your lower stomach, toying with your waistband. 
It must be the right answer, because he slips his hand into your shorts, fingers pressing along your slit, your underwear clinging to you already. He slides his fingers along the slickened fabric, eyes on your face, listening to the tiny moans that escape when you exhale. 
He shifts to his side, between you and the back of the couch, and you loop an arm around his neck - half to hold yourself up on the couch, and half because you need to be holding him. You can feel how hard he is now, as his body presses against your legs. He distracts you with a kiss, and slips your panties aside, wasting no time in sheathing his middle finger up to the last knuckle.
You hiss his name, your head lolling back against the couch in pleasure, your neck bared to him. He gives it a quick nip and then a kiss as he adds a second finger, pumping in and out of you slowly. You groan, the sound rumbling from your chest. You could let him do this all night if you had the patience - just this simple act feels so good you think you might come undone.
And if you remember anything about sex with Yoongi, he’s just getting started.
He slips his fingers out of you and brings them up to your clit, circling once, then twice, before going back to where he started, the pad of his middle finger circling your entrance, careful to stay just outside. 
Your whole body turns to jelly, everything quivering from head to toe at the sensation. You grip the couch with both hands, digging your fingers in. “Ohhh my god,” you manage, something accusatory in your tone, like you’re asking him how the fuck are you doing that? 
He smiles against you, middle finger still running in lazy circles through the wetness collecting there. “That’s right, I know what you like,” he murmurs, smug, his lips tickling your neck, before plunging both fingers back into your heat without warning. He repeats the cycle - in, out, up, down, around, around, in again - until you’re dizzy from it, your fingers clutching the fabric of the couch so hard that you’re sure you’ll rip it.
You have one single moment of clarity that sends you reaching down to where you can feel him hot and hard against your leg, but he shifts away, tutting.
“You first,” he says. “I want to see you make that face you make. It’s been literal years.”
“Oh my god,” you say, feeling yourself flush. “Yoongi! Seriously?”
He laughs, shoulders shaking. “What? I love to watch you lose your shit. What a fucking ego boost.” He punctuates these words with a quick change of wrist direction, suddenly pistoning against your front wall in a way that has your comeback melting right out of your brain.
He’d had you close before, and the sudden switch-up does the trick - you feel everything tighten from your shoulders to your toes, your eyes screwing shut. Yoongi shifts his weight to hold your leg in place so you can’t try to close them on him and redoubles his efforts, humming in pleasure as you squeeze around his fingers like a vice.
You let out a series of wordless cries as the pleasure builds to the point you want to shy away from it, and then Yoongi presses his thumb to your clit just so and you’re spiraling over the edge, your ears filled with a buzzing white noise, your toes curling, your desperate hands leaving the couch and clutching Yoongi instead, trusting him to guide you to the other side.
When you come down, heart hammering in your chest, you bat his hand away, breaths heaving.
“Take those off,” you pant, tugging on the bit of his pants you can reach, and shimmying your own bottoms the rest of the way off and dumping them onto the floor. 
“Bossy,” Yoongi remarks, smirking sideways at you as he obeys. 
You resituate yourself against the arm of the couch as he comes to kneel near your feet, stroking himself languidly. You both freeze with the same thought at the same time.
“Do I…” he says hesitantly, “do you want me to wear -?”
You stare at him, wide-eyed, mind racing for an answer. You’re tempted to just tell him it’s fine, because surely having a how many people have you been with in the five years since we broke up conversation will absolutely kill the mood right now. But that’s not really safe.
“Maybe you’d better?” you venture. “Have you -? I mean, we don’t need to talk about this right now. But I haven’t been with anyone without… you know.”
“Same here, and I got tested after… the last one. Just in case,” he admits, eyes on yours, and the moment feels heavy. Do you trust Yoongi to tell you the truth?
Of course you do. 
“I’m okay if you’re okay,” you tell him. “No pressure.”
“You’re still on -?” he checks, and you nod.
“In that case,” he says, and leans over you to kiss you again. You can feel him, rubbing along the messy slickness, and it occurs to you that you haven’t even touched him yet. 
You whine, twisting your shoulders to try and reach him with a hand, but he’s too impatient, lining himself up and starting to sink into you. You groan at the stretch - it’s been a while since your last fling - but the sound that tears through Yoongi’s throat is more like a growl, guttural and animalistic.
“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he growls through gritted teeth, as he slowly rocks into you until he bottoms out, his hips tight against yours.
He’s everywhere - caging you in, hovering above you, holding you down, filling you up. He’s everywhere, and he feels both so familiar it makes you want to cry again, and also - somehow - brand-fucking-new, like you’ve never felt him before. 
You can feel every ridge of him, every twitch, as he sets a slow but even pace, letting you adjust. 
“God,” you gasp when he hits a spot just right. His head had been hanging above you, his eyes watching the place where he disappeared inside you, all that long hair loose, but he smirks up at you at this.
“Good,” he coos, and picks up the pace, hips smacking yours, filling the room with the lewd sounds of skin on skin, his grunts and your whines. 
You’re gasping a little at each stroke, that tight feeling bubbling at the pit of your stomach growing stronger with each thrust. “God,” you growl, fingertips pressing into his shoulder blade as you hang on for dear life. “Yoongi, fuck!”
He slows on purpose, straightening up, forcing you to release your hold on his back. He grins at you, that shit-eating, one-sided grin, and then grabs your ankles, maneuvering them both to rest against his right shoulder. He leans forward against your legs and hammers into you, breathing hard, and you swear to god you see stars for a second.
“Ohmygod, yes, there,” you gasp, hands going to the backs of your own thighs to help alleviate the stretch. You need to start doing yoga or something.
The build-up is slower this time, the feeling pulsing through you in waves that strengthen and ebb again. Yoongi can tell when it’s real by the change in your voice - wordless whines rising in pitch, by the arch of your back, by the way you clamp around him so hard that he almost loses it right there.
“Yeah?” he asks, the word more like a gasp for air. “Close?”
“Please,” you beg, the sensation of pure light racing up your legs to your toes, the pulsing starting slow and determined in your core. 
“I’ve got you,” he promises, brows furrowed with concentration as he works to keep a steady pace. He grips one of your ankles and switches it to his other shoulder, creating space to reach down and rub gentle figure-eights around your clit. 
The wave takes you over, and there’s a long moment where you’re completely devoid of your senses - no sight, no sound, nothing but how tight tight tight everything has gone, too tight to even breathe - and then it breaks and you can hear yourself wailing, eyes shut against the onslaught of sensations. You clench around Yoongi hard, the aftershocks rolling through you, so hard that he hisses and drops his forehead to yours, his pace slowing significantly as he fucks you through it.
You go boneless as it leaves you, and Yoongi pushes all the way inside you and stills, pressing his lips to your temple.
“You good?” he murmurs, so sweet for someone who just had you experiencing the multiverse. 
“Mhm,” you manage to respond, so spent and tired that you can barely form the word.
“C’mere,” he grunts, slipping out of you, and he grips the back of your neck, hauling you upright and falling backwards in the same motion, pulling you over top of him. You loop your arms around his neck, feeling floaty, and he wraps his around your middle. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, his breath loud next to your ear.
“Can you keep going?” he checks. “I know you’re tired. I’m almost there, I promise.”
“M’good,” you assure him against his collarbone, and he gives you one quick squeeze before reaching down to adjust himself. He pushes in and you cry out, the sound muffled as you press your face into him. You’re so sensitive now, the sensation is entirely different. 
“You can take it,” he whispers, sliding a hand down your spine. Then, with a grunt of “shit,” he grabs you and jackhammers up into you, his fingers furrowing into the meat of your ass, so tight you think you’ll have five little bruises on each side when this is over.
You feel so close to him - your cheek presses up against his, your arms wrapped tight around him, his hands securing you in place, his heart beating wildly against yours where your chests press together. 
You gasp for breath into the crook of his neck, holding on for dear life, just trying to take what he gives you. You can hear his breathing change as he gets close, his pace quickening but his thrusts starting to come less evenly, his grip on your ass tightening just a bit further as he pulls your hips down to meet his every few thrusts. 
“Is inside okay?” he asks, the words sounding like they’re torn from him. 
“Yes,” you tell him, but it comes out more like a moan.
“God,” he grunts in response to this, and the word tears, ending on a strangled moan as he empties himself deep inside you. 
You lay there, gasping for breath, for a long minute. Then Yoongi gives you an affectionate pat on the ass, indicating that it’s safe to move.
“Go get in the shower,” he suggests. “I’ll grab you a towel and meet you in there.”
“I don’t know if I can get there,” you say, joking, but your legs feel like jelly. You grab your phone and make your way, wobbly, through the living room and into his bedroom.
You hadn’t come in here before. It’s clean, but sparse. It’s devoid of anything that makes it feel homey. It’s devoid of anything that makes it feel like Yoongi.
You keep going, padding through his room and towards the attached bathroom, fumbling for the lightswitch. You place your phone next to the sink and fiddle with the shower’s knobs until you get a steady stream of hot water going. 
It feels heavenly to step under the hot water, your aching muscles relaxing in the steam. But it feels even better when Yoongi wraps his arms around you from behind, pressing his lips to the side of your neck.
“Hi,” he murmurs. 
“Hi,” you giggle. You might still be riding a little bit of a post-orgasm high.
You both rinse off in silence, and then Yoongi places his hand on the knob, looking at you to make sure you’re ready to get out. You nod, but he hesitates.
“Will you sleep with me?” he asks, a little unsure, leagues different from the cocky man you’d been tangled up with mere minutes before. “Don’t go back to the couch.”
You give him a soft smile, and he turns off the water, reaching for the towels hanging just outside.
“Of course I will,” you tell him before wrapping yourself up in the soft, gray terry-cloth. 
You crawl into his bed once you’re dry, and he joins you after making a quick pass through the living room to turn the lights back off and gather up the clothes you’d both tossed around. When he clicks off his bedside lamp and rolls to face you, you feel a fluttering of nerves in your stomach. 
You’re not sure where you go from here. 
You lay facing each other in the darkness; it’s just too dark to really see much, but you can tell he’s looking at you. 
You’re laying there, letting your thoughts spool around you, the what-if’s and what-now’s laying themselves out in your mind, when you realize you’ve reached out without meaning to, your fingers tangling in his long hair, rolling strands between them. You keep playing with it, cautiously, practically holding your breath, waiting to see if he objects.
Instead, you feel him relax under your hand, letting out a long breath. “That feels nice,” he admits, voice breathy with almost-sleep and barely audible.
You fall asleep without any answers, with your fingers curled up in Yoongi’s hair. 
You wake up to a warm body behind you, not quite touching. You shift your cold toes a little closer to the warmth you find, smiling when you hear him whine about it. The light outside is white, that abnormal shade of light that comes from sunlight bouncing off of snow and ice. You’re about to close your eyes again when you realize that the warm body behind you isn’t sleeping, because you can hear the incriminating clicking and clacking of a keyboard.
“Are you seriously working right now?” you ask him, rolling a little to look at him over your shoulder. He peers back at you guiltily, his glasses low on his nose, fingers frozen in the air above the keys. 
“I just wanted to answer a few -”
“It’s Christmas morning!” you scold. 
“I’m aware of that,” he answers dryly.
You narrow your eyes at him. “Turn it off, Yoongi. It’s Christmas and you are in bed with someone. My God.”
He shoots you a defensive look, but finishes whatever he was doing and clicks the laptop closed, leaning over to place it on his nightstand.
“You haven’t changed at all,” you say, a little fondly, sitting up a little next to him.
“Neither have you,” he says pointedly. It’s less fond when he says it. 
You consider this. “You want to know something stupid?” you ask. Yoongi doesn’t answer out loud, just meets your eyes and waits. “You’re right. I haven’t changed. I think… I think I’ve been afraid to.”
He turns to face you, sensing how serious you are about this. “What do you mean?” he presses. 
You stop to think, the way you learned to after spending years watching him, knowing he did this better than you. “I guess… some little part of me always wondered what would happen if we crossed paths again. If I changed too much… what if I stopped being someone you’d want? What if I became someone so different that your heart didn’t know mine anymore?” 
It sounds so corny coming out of your mouth, but the truth behind it is so heavy you can’t hold it up anymore. It was a fear you’d secretly harbored for half a decade - what if fate put Yoongi in your life again, and he still didn’t want you? 
And Yoongi does what he’s always done - hears you, understands you, answers you in your own language.
“Impossible,” he says softly, leaning closer to you, eyes combing your face. His voice is like a layer of snow, smooth and clear, full of something unnamable. Or maybe you don’t want to name it. You turn your head, as if that will get you further away. “That’s impossible. My heart will always know yours.”
You look at your hands, feeling a little choked up. Your heart stutters and jumps in your chest. The question you’re holding back churns in a little ball behind your ribs. 
“Hey,” he says, softly but intently. You manage to look up at him. “Let’s make breakfast?” He says it like a question.
“Yeah,” you say, able to speak again. “That sounds good.”
Yoongi lends you sweatpants, since it’s too chilly to roam around the house in basketball shorts, and busies himself in the kitchen while you get changed. When you finally join him, he’s plated something for each of you, and he pushes a glass of iced coffee towards you.
You can’t help but smile. “You remember,” you accuse, and he avoids your eyes, cheeks flushing. 
“You get a girl ninety-thousand iced coffees, it stays with you,” he defends.
“Ninety-thousand,” you scoff, but you’re pleased. As you eat, you look out the kitchen window. It’s bright outside, but it’s still snowing - tiny, wispy flakes floating leisurely down to join you. The road clearly hasn’t been plowed yet; the snow outside is untouched, unbothered, a perfect sheet of white. You can’t even tell where the road is, except for the mailbox poking up out of the feet of snow on the ground already.
Yoongi follows your gaze. “Looks like you’re trapped here for a while,” he observes. 
“A shame,” you deadpan, and he kicks at you playfully beneath the table.
“Well,” he says, thinking out loud, “since you won’t let me get any work done… do you want to put on a movie?”
“A Christmas movie?” you ask, perking up. 
He rolls his eyes, but he’s fighting a little smile. “I guess that’d make sense,” he agrees. 
He leads you back to the couch, which you eye sideways, remembering clearly what this couch witnessed about three hours ago. Yoongi seems unphased, slouching sideways against some pillows and looking at you expectantly. You join him gingerly, leaning against him, and he drapes a blanket over your legs.
“Pick something,” he asks, passing you the remote - another old Yoongi trick that you remember well.
You take the offered remote, clicking through the holiday options for something that you don’t think will make Yoongi gag. As you scroll, brows furrowed in concentration, he clears his throat beside you.
“So, uh,” he says, and you stop scrolling, because he sounds nervous. “Next weekend I’m supposed to go look at some apartments. Do you… would you want to keep me company?”
You look at him, eyes wide, the remote forgotten in your hand, still aloft and pointed at the tv. 
“Why?” you whisper once you find your voice. 
He shrugs, wets his lips. “You know the city well,” he says. “You can offer your brilliant opinions - tell me if the neighborhood’s okay… if there’s good take-away… where the transit stops are, that kind of shit.”
“Hm,” you say, a little tightly.
He shoots you a sheepish grin. “I’ll take you to dinner after?”
You give him a look. “Say what you mean, Yoongi.”
He purses his lips a little, disgruntled at being called out. Then, busted, he sighs and tries again. “Can I take you to dinner next weekend? Preferably in the city, and preferably after you help me make some choices about my living situation?”
You grin, unable to hold it back. “Yeah,” you say, trying hard to fight back the smile, to play it even a little bit cool. “Yeah, I’d really like that.” Trying to save your dignity, you turn back to the tv and go back to scrolling until you find a movie that seems like it’s not too over-the-top. 
Yoongi reaches an arm around your shoulders, and this time you settle against him comfortably. You can feel him breathing beneath you, can smell that Yoongi smell - clean and alluring, can hear the shouts of some neighborhood kids running around outside. From the tv, tinkling bells and happy strings play a medley of Christmas songs as the opening credits run. 
Part of you is already thinking about when the roads are plowed and you have to go home, shower off the scent of him, update your best friend about all of this, miss Yoongi in a much more real way than you’ve had to in about three years. But at least you have the promise that you’ll see him again next weekend. You close your eyes, content, happy to just be right now. 
Yoongi feels it too, obviously. He gives your shoulders a squeeze, looks down at you fondly, and murmurs, “You know what? All this holly, jolly shit isn’t so bad.”
“God bless us, every one,” you deadpan. “It’s a Christmas miracle.”
He grins at you, gums showing, and you smile back before leaning your head against his chest as on the TV a little girl watches out her window for signs of Santa.
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Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed!!! My full masterlist can be found here :)
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estrellami-1 · 2 months
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Steddie Week 2024 | Steddie Microfic
July 7th prompt: Free Space - Mystery, Hands, Long, Trade, Exes to Lovers or Getting Back Together, Drunken Confession (aka I combined all the prompts I didn’t use this week) | July prompt: one
Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 6
Word count: 1,111
No warnings apply
Rated T
@steddie-week | @steddiemicrofic
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It was never a mystery, to Steve, how they got together. How they worked together.
The only mystery is how he managed to let him go—to lose him in a way Steve hadn’t understood until Eddie. Because Nancy was great, she was fantastic, Steve was in love. He doesn’t doubt that. But it never felt like it did with Eddie: low lights in the club, hands on each other’s bodies, open-mouth kisses that really was nothing more than them panting into each other’s mouths—
Stumbling into the bathroom, or into either of their bedrooms, hands in hair and under shirts and unbuckling belts—
Sleepy, slow morning kisses. Breakfast. Holidays.
How did it end?
Steve thinks, remembers fists clenched at sides, red faces, stiff shoulders.
Remembers shouted words, cold shoulders, slammed doors.
Remembers the key left on the kitchen counter.
That had done it, he remembers, he had called Robin, already sobbing, and she was on her bike and halfway there practically before she had hung up the phone. She’d held him as he fell apart on the kitchen tiles.
Then again, when he went to go to bed. Saw the two pillows. Threw one off; it hit the wall, slid down. Had to change the sheets; they smelled too much like him.
It took him a long time—a really long time—to get to the point he’d be okay on his own for more than a couple hours, to the point he could go out to clubs again. Not the same ones he’d gone to, never those, but… he moved on. Kind of.
He knew, and Robin knew, that part of him, at least, would always love Eddie.
It’s why when they’re in a club—a new one they had just found, okay music but better drinks and prospects—and Steve grabs her arm, she looks the direction he is.
He feels like he’s swallowing sandpaper. “His hair is longer.”
“It is.” She pries his fingers off, just so he’s not bruising her anymore, but holds his hand. “What do you want to do about it?”
“I don’t know,” he mutters, watches the way Eddie prowls through the crowd, smirking at people, but still definitely on his way to the bar.
The bar. “I’m gonna get us more drinks,” he says. They both ignore the fact that they’ve barely touched their current glasses.
“Let me know if you need backup.”
“Will do.” He looks at her, for the first time since seeing him, and smiles. “Love you, Robbie.”
She rolls her eyes, but smiles. “Love you, dingus. Go get your man back.”
Steve makes it to the bar before Eddie, asks for whatever is on tap. Looks away at the wall. Can’t watch him walk up. 
“Long Island,” he hears directly beside him, and turns to see Eddie turning to see Steve.
He takes a breath. “Eddie.”
Eddie looks… he looks good, because he always does, but he looks tired, maybe a little thinner. Not… not good, not happy like he was. He swallows. “Steve.”
The bartender hands over their drinks, and Steve takes a sip only to cough. “Sorry, fuck,” he mutters, finally looking at the glass in his hand. He’s got the Long Island, and Eddie’s got his beer.
Eddie’s watching him with an interesting little smile. “Trade?”
“Trade,” Steve agrees, nodding. He coughs again. “God, how do you like that?”
Eddie snickers, pulls a lock of hair over his face. Steve wishes he wouldn’t.
Miraculously, they keep talking. They’re never searching for the next word to make the silence go away because there is no silence.
Eventually Robin comes up to him, pulls him into a hug. “Imma go home with that girl,” she murmurs, pointing behind her. A cute, preppy-looking blonde smiles nervously at Steve. He smiles at her, then back to Robin. “Of course. Call the house, give me the address.” He kisses her forehead. “Have fun.”
“Oh, I will,” she grins, then turns to look at Eddie, eyes narrowed.
Eddie gulps. She grins, scary as anything, and whispers something in his ear that has him paling. “Yuh-yep. Yeah. Got it. Thanks Robin.”
Steve grimaces when she walks away. “What did she say?”
Eddie looks at him for a long minute. “Something I’ve known for a while now,” he eventually murmurs. 
It was inevitable, really, that they would end up back here, hands in hair and under shirts, stumbling into Steve’s apartment, panting into each other’s mouths, trying to undo buckles by memory because the worst thing in the world right now would be to stop kissing.
“God, Steve,” Eddie gasps, pulling him down the hall. “C’mon- c’mon, please, need you, need you-”
“Yeah,” Steve answers against his mouth, just as affected. He’s got his own pants halfway off, thinking about his shirt next, thinking about the lube in the drawer that hasn’t gotten as much action as it used to, and suddenly he aches for it. “Need you inside me,” he mutters, kissing down Eddie’s neck, stopping at a place behind his ear that he knows from experience makes Eddie’s knees weak.
“Fuck,” Eddie chokes out. “Yeah, yeah, c’mon, c’mon baby, lemme in you- lube’s in the drawer?”
Steve opens the drawer in answer, roots around until his fingers close on the bottle. Pushes it into Eddie’s hand, pushes him away so Steve can get naked.
Eddie’s eyes rake along his body. He drops his own pants just as fast, limbs flying as he strips out of his shirt too, clambering onto the bed beside Steve’s hip, eyes wide and fingers shaking as he lubes up.
It’s after, when everything’s cooling and drying and becoming itchy, that Eddie’s breath wobbles. “I shouldn’t,” he mutters into Steve’s shoulder. “Shouldn’t say anything. But hell if I don’t miss you like crazy.”
Steve closes his eyes, tries to keep the tears at bay. “You’re drunk.”
“I had less than one drink.”
The tears win. “We broke up for a reason,” he whispers. “Didn’t we?”
“I was scared,” Eddie says.
“And you’re not now?”
“Only of losing you.”
Steve sobs, can’t help it, but he feels Eddie’s hot tears on his neck, too, and that somehow makes it better.
It’s the next morning, after slow, sleepy kisses and breakfast, that Steve sighs. “I never stopped loving you. I don’t think I can.”
“I don’t think I can, either.”
Steve slowly turns to look at him. “So what does that make us?”
Eddie shakes his head. “I don’t know. All I know is it makes me yours.”
“Yours,” Steve parrots, daring to curl his fingers over Eddie’s, breath hitching when he holds on just as tight. “That sounds pretty damn good to me.”
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steddieunderdogfics · 3 months
Note
https://archiveofourown.org/works/54410164/chapters/137825320 for the enemies to lovers theme!
do you think i have forgotten (about you) by stupidwithsteddie
Rating: Teens and Up
9,811 words, 3/3 chapters
Archive Warning: No Warnings
Tags: Battle of the Bands, Musician Eddie Munson, Musician Steve Harrington, Enemies to Lovers, Exes to Lovers, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Gay Eddie Munson, Angst with a Happy Ending, bitchy steve harrington, Hurt Steve Harrington, Hurt Eddie Munson, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Upside Down (Stranger Things), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, make ups, Love Confessions, Misunderstandings
Summary:
“I hope you’re successful, Eddie. I genuinely hope that for you but I hope you know that the songs that your fans will love the most will always be the ones I wrote. I hope you’re haunted by me every single time you step onto a stage. Fuck you, Eddie.” He spat, watching as Eddie’s face contorted into anger but he stormed away before he could let him respond. Steve Harrington didn’t know much but he knew one thing — he hated Eddie Munson and he always would. -- or the battle of the bands au where steve and eddie have a complicated past and they're forced to confront it through the only way they know how - music
Thanks for the rec!
This rec is a part of Theme Weekend. The theme this weekend is Enemies to Lovers.
Know a fic that deserves extra love? Submit through our asks or the submission box!
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theblogof-rassilon · 6 months
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Hello Rassilon. Apologies for the deception but I rather wanted to make sure you started reading, so I thought it best not to announce myself. I'm assuming you're alone; you always did prefer to read your Asks in private. I wouldn't try too hard to stop reading, there's every likelihood you'll just hurt yourself. So just listen.
Anon ask of Omega (Your Ex) regarding Rassilon's current partners. Ask begins.
I hope you'll forgive me the self-indulgence, but I have worked so very hard for this moment, a culmination of two centuries of work. It's rare that you get the chance to monologue through another, and you can't tell me you're not curious.
Why does an ex seek to talk about their former partner's lovers?
It's a simple enough answer: for satisfying one's curiosity. Uninspired, perhaps, but my god. The discovery, not simply of the variety of partners you take interest in, but that you would quite willingly date the teacher of one of Gallifrey's most infamous children.
It's a strange thing to know about an ex, but the fascination, Rassilon, the fascination of it all. I have dedicated my afterlife to handing myself knowledge of these partners, and I feel nothing but satisfaction in this choice.
I believe there are far more people in this world that would catch your eye than you would ever guess. And I have preceeded all of them.
Of course, their desires did not manifest overnight. When Tumblr first gathered your romantic intereste – Borusa, Banthony, and the rest – to discuss and hypothesize on the nature of their love for you, I felt what I believe we all felt: jealousy, and anger.
But as attention on Tumblr increased in number and discussion on the greatest partner for you emerged, I began to develop a very specific concern. Banthony was so obsessed with his ideas on you and his marriage, even as our fellows began to flirt and confess our love to you ourselves.
I began to worry that if Banthony successfully attempted to catch your gaze, then I would be as much a victim as any, trapped in the nightmare landscape of a twisted world without your love.
At first, I attempted prevention, but the cause seemed hopeless. The only way to ensure I did not suffer the tribulations of what I believed to be an inevitable confession of love was to stop my own feelings of love. So what began as an experiment soon became a race. I would make you fall in love with Banthony before professing your love to anyone else, therefore eliminating what myself or Borusa's feelings may be.
And there, I think, we are brought just about up to date. I have enjoyed our little trip down memory lane, but past here lies only a happy future for you and Banthony.
Goodbye, Rassilon
- Omega xoxo
I- I don't know what to say.
Omega, if this is really you, if you somehow, by every twist and turn of fate imaginable, survived this long in some form... My love for you has always been the greatest of any I have felt. Never have I loved another in the way I loved you.
But that is in the past. I have to stop letting you hold me back. I made my decision that fateful day; I did what I had to do to reach the top, to shape this society- our society, our dream- in the way that it must be shaped. Gallifrey could never have had two rulers. You knew this going in. And, best of all, dearest love, you knew that I would not be able to stand a threat to my power and my control. So, as much as I loved you, Omega, my sweet Ohm, my darling Peylix, I had to let you go. For us, for our home, for our people, for our dream. For Gallifrey. We would both be dead and gone by now if I had not, but now, you live on in your beautous creations, and in our shared society. Look at our children. At what we have created. This must be enough.
Oh, but my darling, you never could be so easily satisfied.
That is why I loved you. And that is why I had to let you go.
If this really were you, I would say, dearest Ohm, that I am glad you are able to let me go. I know that must be exceedingly difficult. But, I am happy with Borusa, and I do not love Banthony. If I did not have Borusa to think of, perhaps things would be different, and I would honour your wishes. Perhaps, then, you may finally find peace.
I am truly sorry that I must leave you trapped in your death, but you will never be in a world without my love. My love for you transcends the grave- and yes, I know, it must be your grave, my darling, for you cannot have survived beyond. I know, in my hearts, that you are gone and that this cannot be from you, not really, for you are lost to all but my memory.
Goodbye, my love. For whatever isn't left of you, for whatever could have been- my love for you persists even now, across regenerations and across death and across time.
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absoloutenonsense · 1 year
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Thank you for the tag @disgruntledkittenface ! I am currently trying to write so of course I want to do anything except write, and this was perfect. And a lot of fun!
rules: give us the links to your fics with the most hits, second most kudos, third most comments, fourth most bookmarks, fifth most words, and fic with the fewest words.
fic with the most hits: Not a huge surprise to me that it's Nothing But You On My Mind 😅almost since I posted that fic, it ran away with all the stats. I recently remembered that I posted that fic in March 2020, which is wild.
fic with the second most kudos: thinking about the t-shirt you sleep in was the first longer fic I wrote, and at the time I thought the longest fic I would ever write (lol)
fic with the third most comments: Party Lines surprised me in lots of ways while writing and after posting! Still the fic I've written with the most smut where no one actually touches anyone else
fic with the fourth most bookmarks: It's Always Better When We're Together -- epilogue to NBYOMM (thanks to a friend who sent me an image of a stained-glass car who saw it and had a perfect prompt for me)
fic with the fifth most words: 'cause I want you (for the worse and for the better) -- one of my newest fics!
fic with the fewest words: The fic I wrote literally while on a bus traveling in a different country because of a silly thing someone said: tried it with butter and everything changed
For those that'd like to/haven't done this already, I'll tag: @lululawrence @homosociallyyours @kingsofeverything @pocketsunshineharry @becomeawendybird @uhoh-but-yeah-alright @londonfoginacup
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lesbicastagna · 2 months
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i don't get why most people hate it but like...when characters have bad loveless sex i say yay! yippee! and things of the like
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moonstonediaz · 1 year
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i’m so used to horror movies and drama shows that i was just WAITING for something bad to happen in the heartstopper finale
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merigoldaround · 1 year
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I got an idea for a fic this morning and I don't know if I can come up with anything better ever again after that.
(I always do though)
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wttcsms · 1 year
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hello, which bllk needs more attention bc i have some tiny drabble ideas + would love to give ur fave some content (im literally so kind [im just indecisive])
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johnnydany · 2 years
Photo
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World's Best Ex Girlfriend T-Shirt
Get yours: https://www.teepublic.com/t-shirt/37546683-worlds-best-ex-girlfriend
Share And Tag Who Would Love And Wear This T-Shirt.
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kaesficrecarchive · 1 year
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[minho x jisung]
in silence by daisier (2/2 | 55,425 | T)
When Minho went to buy groceries, he saw Jisung’s face on the cover of a magazine at checkout. Hands shaking, he picked it up. It was their newest issue. Jisung’s face was smooth, flawless. He looked perfect. He looked like a stranger. Minho was filled with the sudden urge to cry. He didn’t. If Minho had to describe Jisung in one page, nothing in the magazine would’ve made the cut. Jisung was a force of nature. He was the storm and the sun after rain. He was stubborn and wonderful and kind. Minho loved him still and knew at that moment that he always would — in silence, in loneliness, through phone and TV screens. My superstar, he thought, and tried to smile even as it felt like his heart was breaking all over again. Mine, and everyone else’s.
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coral-blaze · 8 months
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(via "Valentine Romantic Couple - Forever in Every Heartbeat - Be Mine" Classic T-Shirt for Sale by Coral-Blaze)
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baby-yongbok · 26 days
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One Last Time
Ex-husband!Bang Chan x afab!Reader
✦ Genre: Soon to be exes to lovers [18+ MDNI] ✦ Summary: Petty claims of possession lead to one last night of pleasure.
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✦ CW: Choking/ light breath play, pussy spanking [for a second], Unprotected sex [wrap it up party people], Size Kink [for a second], Oral (f rec.), Chan is... aggressive(??), Chan is referred to as Chris, He calls you a bitch once. only once. ✦A/N: Bang Chan made me do it. There's barely any plot in sight. I wrote this in 4 hrs in the middle of the night. Enjoy! + reader is depicted as chubby/plus size and is a POC ♡
✧ Masterlist ✧
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It’s funny how things change. Day turns to night, hot to cold and love to pure seething hatred. 
Okay, maybe that’s a bit dramatic but you swear that that’s all you can feel swarming in your chest as you sit across from your soon to be ex-husband. 
He made a show of things at the settlement meeting this afternoon. He pushed back on every negotiation you made which has led you to where you are now. Each of you on your side of the bed with a pile of stuff littering the Egyptian cotton sheets that he just has to take with him. 
“There. Are you happy now?” You throw the last item on top of his pile and Chris stares down at the item with that damned smirk that you used to love. “Almost.”
He stands from the mattress, dark eyes on something behind you. He grabs it before you can turn. “I bought you this purse.”
The muffled thud of his hard bottom shoes against the carpet is all that you hear before he turns the black designer bag upside down. The contents clatter against his shoes, items rolling in different directions as you watch with a clenched jaw. 
He’s circling back to his side of the bed as you call upon the might of the gods to keep yourself calm. After being married for five years Chris has learned each and every one of your buttons and how hard he needs to press them just to tick you off. 
You’ve decided not to give him the satisfaction of making a scene. That’ll only feed his ego. Besides, he has buttons of his own, some that you installed yourself.
“Now I’m happy.” He drops the bag into his pile, smiling before you like he’d just gotten away with a million bucks. “Yeah?” 
Two can play that game. “I bought you that suit.” The smirk on blushed lips transfers to your painted ones as you stare over at him with arms crossed over your chest. 
“I’d like it back.” With an innocent bat of your lashes Chris smiles. It’s gone just as fast as it came and it doesn’t reach his eyes. He's pissed. 
“You’re fucking serious?” You hold your hand out to him. “Dead serious.”
Dark eyes are staring into darker ones as he holds your gaze. You’ve gotten used to him challenging you. You’ve gotten used to him being a petty asshole and you’ve learned how to play him at his own game. 
You watch as he pops the button of his suit jacket. Tongue in cheek while his fingers work to free him of the fabric. His eyes stay on yours as he peels the smoky threads from his shoulders. He shimmy’s it down thick arms, pulling at the cuffs until he’s free of it. He’s left in a skimpy t-shirt before you and you take the liberty of letting your eyes wander. 
“Want the pants too?” Chris throws the jacket over into your pile before his hands start to fiddle with the metal of his buckle. “Keep ‘em. They’re the nicest thing you own now.” 
He mumbles something incoherent under his breath, his hand comes up to rake through his hair as his eyes wander the space you used to share. His gaze stops at your vanity, busy eyes study your open jewelry box then look back to you. 
“I gave you those earrings.” He stalks towards the table, snatching the gold studs off of the surface and slipping them into his pocket. “And..” 
The muffled thud of his shoes is all you can hear over the thick tension pulsing around you. It’s all that you can hear over your own enraged heartbeat. “This necklace.” The clasp is snapped from around your neck before you can breathe a protest. You gasp at the sudden pressure of your chain being ripped from you. 
“What the fuck.” That smirk is stolen  back when he slips the jewelry into his pocket. He stands in front of you, barely an inch between you as your chests rise and fall in unison. “You’re fucking ridiculous.”
“Me?” He fakes a pout, blinking over at you. “I didn’t do anything” 
“Whatever, you got your stuff, get out.” You’re hissing at him, heart racing and blood bubbling with the annoyance you’ve been harboring for the length of this insufferable process. “I’m done with you.”
“Not so fast.” he says slowly, his hands finding your waist before you can step around him. You attempt to shrug off his grip and fail. “I bought you that too.” 
His eyes trail from your eyes to your lips. His tongue darts out to lick over his own as he stares. “That lipstick.” His eyes find yours again.
“Fuck off, Chris.” There’s a bite to your tone that makes him smile. He’s always loved a challenge. 
“I bought it.” He pulls you into him by your waist. Your body is flush with his and one of his hands quickly abandon the plush flesh to wrap around your neck. “ I wan’ it back. I think that’s fair.”
It’s dark on dark as he leans in, eyes searching each others frantically as Chris closes the gap and kisses you gently. It barely makes a sound, it’s feather light and quick. 
“You want it back?” You whisper against his lips and he nods. “Then I want the pants.” 
That fucking smirk pulls at his red stained lips and his mouth is on yours in an instant. It’s hot and messy, drowning out the previous softness. You grab at his arms, clawing down the flesh while his fingers dig into your hips. 
He licks into your mouth with a desperate groan as you turn your heads left and right, his tongue explores your mouth as he takes in the taste of you one last time. Your arms wrap around his neck as one of his hands grab at the swell of your ass.
 “Fuck.” He groans against you, stealing another kiss before you catch his bottom lip between your teeth. “Up.” With a firm smack on your ass you jump up and his hands find purchase on the curve of your bottom over your dress. 
You fall into a mess of tugging and moaning. The tension you once felt in your chest melts into pleasure as his hands wander your bareskin. He drops you onto the mattress, pushing the sorted piles out of the way and hovering over you in your ripped dress as you lay sprawled out on the sheets before him. 
“Gonna miss this.” Chris’ mouth is stained cherry red with your lipstick, it’s smeared over your cheeks and it compliments the bruises that he’s sucking into your skin. You bunch his shirt up his back, scratching along the way and leaving your own marks as you please. 
“Shut up, eat my pussy.” You pull him back with a fist full of his hair, he hisses a moan through clenched teeth as his own hand finds it’s way around your throat again. He squeezes this time. It’s just enough to have your eyes flutter shut, just enough to get you right where he wants you. 
“Can’t you be my good girl for one more night? Can’t you stop being a bitch for just a second, baby?” Chris leans down with a tighter squeeze. Your fingers wrap around his wrist, your nails digging into the flesh. “Did you already forget who the fuck I am?”
He loosens his grip giving you the satisfaction of that blissful rush before squeezing again. “Do you see how small you are?” He whispers, placing a kiss by your ear. “Do you feel how strong I am, baby? Don’t you know how this goes?”
A moan is all he gets as he pulls back to admire you. Your pretty mouth is parted with a silent moan as your thighs press together in a desperate attempt at cumming. “I should make you suck my cock.” His knee wedges between your legs and presses hard against your core. 
“I should fuck this pretty throat. I should get you back for being such a fucking brat through all of this.” The hand that was around his wrist scratches up his arm as he lets up again, letting the blood rush and giving you the dizzy feeling he knows you love. “I should -”
Your fingers wrap around his neck before he can finish his thought. Fierce eyes stare up into his as your other hand moves to unbutton his pants. “Just gimme what’s mine.”
Your hand slips into the waistband of his underwear as you pull him closer to you. “Wan’ my cock?” He moans at the soft feeling of your fingers wrapping around the tip. Eye’s fluttering shut as he attempts to take a breath against your grip.
 “‘S mine.” You lean up to his ear. “Isn’t it daddy?”
It was quick when he pinned you against the mattress. Both of your wrists were in his grip before he shifted them both to one hand to free his cock for you. “You’re a fucking tease. You’re so fucking predicatable, you know that?” He’s hissing as he fights with the fabric of his pants and your dress. 
“You want a reaction outta me, huh? Wanna rile me up, sweetheart?” With a shift of hands and a grunt he’s turning the two of you over. You follow him with a gasp, straddling his waist and sitting over his cock with your clothed cunt. “C’mon I’ll let you. Use me, get what you want.”
Your resolve sinks as his cock twitches against your core. Chris is lying beneath you looking like a sin personified and you feel compelled to indulge in his offer. He is still your husband after all. 
Your panties are pushed to the side in an instant. Chris’ wrists are pinned over his head while you grind your cunt over him. Sloppy sounds of you working over his leaking cock swirl in the hot air and Chris watches it all with drooping lids as you work against him. “Put it in, lemme watch it.”
You ignore him, slowing your grind to counter his request. “C’mon, baby, lemme feel you. I can make you feel so good. Let daddy fuck you, c’mon.” He watches you, head reeled back and moans dripping from your lips like drool as you  do as you please. 
“Fuckin’ tease.” He breaks free from your hold, hands wrapping around your waist and guiding the grind of your hips just as your clit catches on the head of his cock. “I asked nicely.” 
His cock catches at your entrance as he controls you. The push of him against your pussy has your mouth open in a silent scream as he bullies his cock into you. “You keep forgetting who I am, hm?” He sits up, landing a firm smack to your ass to match his brutal thrust as you settle in his lap.
“Chris, shit, just fuck me. Fuck me.” Your nails are in his back, drawing lines that could surely draw blood. He hisses at the pain, smiling with a bite of his tongue as he fucks up into you. 
His hips snap into yours, gradually picking up the pace until you’re falling apart against him. Chest to chest, you’re panting into each other. Littering the thick air with profanities as he splits you open on his dick. “Oh my fucking god, Chris. More. More more more, please. C’mon.”
“Take it.” He growls below you, allowing you to push him back against the mattress and ride his cock to your heart's content. “That’s it, take it. It’s yours, all yours.”
Your nails dig into his pecks, leaving marks on the flawless skin and you use him for leverage. The loud smack of skin against skin decorates the air accompanied by your moans.
 “Don’t hold back, baby. Enjoy that fucking ride.” He thrusts up into you, meeting you halfway. “Let loose, just like that.”.
Chris is rambling under you, mumbling under his breath and growling praises when he fucks deep into you. 
“Fuck me, fuck me harder. Wan’ it harder.” It’s dark on dark again. Hooded eyes stare into each other void of rage, the only priority is pleasure. You’re only here to take advantage. 
“Wan’ me harder?” He fucks into you, moaning at the squeeze you give. “Wan’ me deeper?”
With a lift of his hips Chris flips you over. “Be good for me, yeah? One last time, be a good fucking girl and lay on your back for me. Lemme eat this pretty pussy.” He rips your dress down your frame with a grunt. Your panties get the same treatment before he’s falling to his knees before you. 
“Gonna miss you on your knees.” You prop yourself up on your elbows, staring down at him behind a fucked out haze. “Lookin’ so pretty for me with a mouth full of my cunt.”
With a smirk Chris licks a wet stripe from your hole to your clit. He swirls his tongue around the bud, sucking it between red stained lips and flicking it. Your head drops back against the mattress with a loud moan. Your hands comb through and grab at his damp dark locks but he quickly repositions you to hold yourself open for him. 
“Watch me eat it.” He reaches up, brushing your chin with his fingertips. He lays a flat wet lick to your pussy, hooded eyes staring up into yours. “Eyes on me. Eyes on daddy.”
He spreads your cunt with his fingers, holding you open for him while he spits down onto your clit. He collects it all on his tongue, licking it over the nub before spitting it back. Sloppy slurps against a drooling pussy is all that fills the room. “Daddy, please, wanna cum on your cock.”
He pulls back with a pop, spitting back down onto your cunt. He watches it drip down to your hole, following the stream with his fingers to press it into you. 
“You wan’ me deep right?” His middle and pointer fuck you open as he coos. “Want me to spread this tiny cunt on my dick?” You’re moaning. Panting confirmations and whining pathetically into the air. 
“Then hold it.” He kisses your clit, sucking it in then releasing. “Don’t cum.”
“Please.” You moan a plea, unraveling little by little with each suck and flick of your clit. His fingers fuck you open, curling into your soft spot and pushing you further towards the edge that you’re trying to avoid. 
You could just cum. You could just take what he’s giving you instead of following the rules but it’s so good like this. He’s so good like this. You miss him giving you what you want.
“Chris, ‘m gonna cum for you. I can’t. Please jus’ gimme.” He blinks up at you with pussy drunk eyes as his kiss bitten lips move against you despite your begging. “Daddy, please. I wan’ your cock.”
"Don't cum for me yet" he speaks against your cunt before licking a wet kiss up to your clit. 
"I can't, Chris. I can't, I can't, I'm gonna cum." Your eyes are glued to the way he licks up and down your swollen pussy. Taunting you with the skill he's gained over the years. He's pushing your buttons again.  
"Daddy, daddy, daddy, please you have to let me. You’re gonna make me cum. Your mouth, your fucking mouth, please let me cum."
You're babbling, you know you are. You’re slipping through the cracks quickly and you can’t do a thing to stop it. There’s no going back and Chris knows it but he still smacks the inside of your thigh. Warning you to be good for him and let him build you up a bit more before you take his cock again.
"Don't." He kisses your clit. "Cum." He sucks the bud into his mouth and swirls his tongue over it with a moan. He's a madman if he thinks you could survive that. 
"Fuck, 'm cumming. I'm cumming, 'm sorry." You’re shaking, your nails dig into your thighs as you keep yourself open for him.  "Cumming, 'm cumming, I can't stop cumming, I can't stop cumming."
He moans into you as he laps up every drop of arousal that you're giving him. He commits your sweet taste to memory with one final swipe of his tongue before he’s kissing up your stomach. 
His lips trail up the valley of your breasts. He licks over the mound, sucking your nipple into his mouth and swirling it with a hum. Once he’s satisfied he moves to your shoulder, kissing and licking his way over to your collarbone then finally his lips are back on yours.
You’re gasping as you tremble through your orgasm, aftershocks wash over you as you taste yourself on his tongue. Chris smirks, whispering against your lips. "No one else will make you feel this good, baby. No one else will make you cum like this.”
The head of his cock slips through your dripping folds, catching against your clit before he’s pushing in. “This is mine. All mine." He sinks in to the hilt then slowly drags his cock back against your walls. 
“This is what I want.” He straightens up, looking down at your pretty face contorted in pleasure. 
“All of that other shit doesn’t matter.” He moans, holding your thighs back to get a perfect view of you.  “I wanna watch it. Wanna see the way my pussy opens up for me. ‘S mine, isn’t it, baby? Tell me this shit is mine.”
“Yours, it’s yours. Fuck, ‘s fucking yours, please, you’re gonna make me cum.” Chris slows his strokes, grinding deep into you and dipping his hips to hit the soft spot that turns you into putty for him.
You’re drooling at the feeling. Tears threaten to fall from the corners of tired eyes as you watch the way he admires your cunt. The corner of his bottom lip is tugged and held firm between his teeth as he fights back his moans so that he can hear yours clearer.
“Shit, You’re gonna make me cum. Gonna make me fucking cum, make daddy cum.” The precise snap of his hips grows sloppy as the seconds pass. His once slow grind is now erratic. He’s purely seeking pleasure, sinking deeper into the haze with every drag. 
“Fuck, squeeze me. Yeah, just like that, that’s my girl. Pretty fucking girl on my cock.” Each thrust is met with a slap to your clit. You jolt at the contact, back arching off of the mattress. “Cum for me. Cum on my dick.” 
With one more flick of your clit you're trembling beneath him. Your cunt sucks him in and he takes it all with a loud moan. Chris lets your legs fall so that he can hover over you. He holds himself up on his elbows as he kisses you through your climax. You moan into it, shaking with each thrust and twitch of his cock. 
“Shit, that’s good. So good, baby, ‘m gonna cum.” The frantic bucking of his hips against yours comes to a halt as he falls apart. 
Moans tumble forward as he does. His muscles tense and his eyes roll back as he drives himself deep into you, filling you with every drop of himself that he has to offer. Chris collapses on top of you, his weight pinning you in place. 
You pant below him, coming down from your high as aftershocks wash over him. He kisses your neck, breathing heavily into your skin. 
“Now.” He pulls back slightly, gaze catching yours. “Now I’m happy.”
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hoshigray · 27 days
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It’s been almost a year, and I still can’t get ex-husband! Toji out of my head…
꯳⃘꤫⃛✿ contents: Toji x afab/fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - anal - backshots/doggy style position - fingering (f! receiving) - clitoral play (swiping) - [un]protected sex - creampie - pet names (baby, mama, sweet thing) - Toji loving on your body, even though he shouldn't be - mention of excess cum.
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“What in the world are you doing?”
“What’s it look like I’m doin’?”
Tsumiki and Megumi weren’t at the house yet — the children were still busy at school with extracurricular activities. Ex-husband! Toji, the dutiful and responsible adult he is, swore to pick his kids up once the hour hand reaches the sixth hour and the minutes nearly touch the thirtieth number. In the meantime, he stays at your home, where you call up a pizza dinner order for the children to eat after a long day before returning home with their father. However, while the youngsters are away, the black-haired man takes the time to do what he does best: pester you with his company. 
“Like you’re about to stick your dick in my ass.”
“And if I am?” He sneers, teeth peaking under the deft scar of his lips. “Y’re the one that said y’r pussy’s off-limits.”
You lift your brow as your ex-spouse spreads your legs, sitting with his knees atop your bed in your room in your abode. Do you really want to be doing this, letting this brawny man strip you off your bottoms and unzip his jeans to free the erection poking under his boxers? You have to bite your lip to conceal the smirk you share with him, watching him rip the wrapper he pulls out from a pocket and screen his cock with a rubber. 
“And why are we doing this again?” Forest green eyes flick from your lower region to your face, having to suck in the gasp creeping into your neck. 
He scoffs, “Because we’re killin’ time.” Wrong: You were already killing time by reading and replying to emails on your bed, under the impression that this grown man before you could spend his leisure time watching sports highlights or something in your living room. Clearly, Toji had a different proposition. “What, can’t spend a few minutes with ya while the kids are away?”
You roll your eyes with a smile. “Last time you tried to spend a few minutes with me—“ A cold sensation near your entrance has you pucker involuntarily, Toji pushing the covered glans of his cock. “We missed Tsumiki’s soccer game by thirty minutes.”
“Still made it, didn’t we?” 
Had to fight rolling your eyes the second time. “Only one time.” You hit him on the back with your foot when he grins. “One time. And don’t—Mmmph!” Finally, the cockhead is inserted into your hole, stretching it with his girth as he pushes it inch by inch carefully. “…Make a mess, either.”
And you know he heard you perfectly well, a curt nod and a whisper before seizing your lips with his, “Yes, mama.” Sure, he can be a bit of a hard-headed dickhead, but his attentiveness is as strong as a titanium. Therefore, you can instantly trust him — an ex-lover you would depend on and rely on if it could come to it, and of course, you’d do the same for him and his kids. 
…But not as strong as his playful stubbornness as the man drills his raw cock inside your ass. 
“Dahhh!! Ahhh, fuck…God, this ass…!”
“Nnnmm! T-Toji, I said ONE time!!”
You should’ve known it would end up like this — the two of you were already glued to each other from the excess amount of come that coated his dick, burrowing to and fro from the innards of your rear channel. His firm hands grab hold of the flesh of your butt, and you can only grip the sheets beneath you while your face is smooshed to your pillow. 
God, you had a feeling this would happen, knowing that your ex-husband is the type to get all riled up like this and steer off course. Would’ve been best had you put your foot down when you had the chance; however, it’s too late now that you’re mewling under his bow, all desperate from his balls smacking onto your skin. 
“Good God, baby,” he exhales with a smile, massaging your butt in loving kneads, observing how his girth disappears inside you. Fuck, you looked too good, making his whole body itch with want. “Can never get over this sweet ass of y’rs.”
“Tojiiii…!!” His name leaves with shrills; you sense him bending down to your ear, and the added weight of him from behind makes you feel caged and submissive. “Shtoop it, we can’t…! Gotta st—Ooop!”
“Y’don’t want me doin’ that, sweet thing,” he murmurs to your ear, breath hot to your cold helix and lobe. “Can tell ya want this just as much as I do with—shit—how twitchy y’re bein’ right now…And, maybe here…Heh, thought so,” his chuckle, so close to you, has you moan with flat lips after he sneaks a hand in between your thighs to palm your vulva, fingertips teasing the lips of your vagina and feeling it pulse at the touch. “Can tell how excited y’ are fr’ me. Y’re twitchin’ so much, baby.”
“—Mmmff, b-because, you’re making—Hnnmm!!” You nearly wobble at his fingertips swirling circles around your clit, trembles forcing you to quake as he gently pinches and swipes the pearl. While Toji drives his length slowly yet precise, the tip grazing your wall so much you howl cutely. “F-Fuuuck, so good, Toji…right there, right thereee…!”
Toji coos, “Shhh, relax, baby,” kissing your ear as his fingers glide to your folds; you can’t stop spasming, so many senses putting you through an overload! “Right here, sweetheart? Ya want me here?” The tip of his forefinger taunts the opening of your cunt, and you can’t take it anymore!
“Oh fuck, yesss,” you turn over your shoulder to plead. “Please, stick them innn, g-gonna cum, wanna cum on your fingers!!” 
Oh, that dialed Toji’s excitement more than expected, slipping his digit into your slick, and you scream aloud. “There you go, mama…” A free hand grabs your chin so he can claim your lips. You pepper him with kisses enthusiastically, your mouth agape for him to shove his tongue to dance with yours. All the while, his thick finger scrapes around to scratch your texture, and the pace of his pelvis grows staggering. 
With every rushed push and grind is another wiggle inside your chasm, struggling to hold your balance on your palms as the shocks become irresistible with more clamps of your asshole. You release, your body shackling with the wave of pleasure and your nerves keen to the highest point. You can’t stop whimpering, so overstimulated almost to the brink of tears.
And Toji is right there with you, feeling you squeeze him with your holes and whining as he sucks on your tongue and nibbles on it with sportive intent. You felt too good to him, clenching onto him like you could never let go, so it’s no wonder he’s seconds away from climaxing alongside you. Hot groans fill your space, passionate saliva keeping you both stuck as he pumps his load into your fluttering anus once again.
Tense bodies fall into tranquility as the seconds go by, and the trembles subside, smacking lips with each other as if lost in desire. Until you remove away from his scarred mouth with a hum, shamrock eyes hooded like yours before a fit of laughter is shared.
“You done now?” You inquire as noses brush up. 
Toji lifts a brow and looks to the side, faux pondering before smacking a rut to your butt again. “Mm, not really.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Toji!” You move to push him off you, yet you underestimate how easily he can maneuver you to your back. “Go pick the kids up so they can eat and go home!”
“They’re grown enough to wait on me,” he snickers and cages your hands above your head. “As fr’ me, I don’t got another two weeks to wait.”
No bothering hiding your annoyance in your eyes, even if you permit him to kiss you again. “Hopeless as ever.”
He chortles. “Y’re one to talk.”
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fruity-phrog · 1 year
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Okay, I saw someone say that Nimona, while being good representation, “didn’t take the big step forward in queer rep that everyone says it did”.
That is wrong. So wrong, my dude.
Yes, an explicit and open queer relationship in children’s cartoons is not new, per ce. Hell, just this year, two popular kids’ cartoons had the main character in an open, adorable, plot-based queer romance. But this is different for a few reasons.
Reason number one, it isn’t left in suspense. Yes, they had that split for three odd weeks, but they started the film as a couple. One of the very first scenes is them together as a couple, Ambrosius saying he loves Ballister, them holding hands, Ballister leaning on Ambrosius’ shoulder. Ambrosius says he loves Ballister three times during the film, and none of them are any more than halfway in. It’s very clear, from their very first interaction, that they are an established relationship, which isn’t something I’ve seen...at all in other animation.
Secondly, they are the plot. Ambrosius not believing Ballister, Ambrosius cutting off Ballister’s arm, Ballister trying to get the video to Ambrosius - this is what drives the plot. In any other children’s animation with queer relationships, the relationship is not the main focus. Even The Owl House, which is so amazing with its constant representation, would still make sense if Luz and Amity never happened. But Nimona’s plot wouldn’t make sense without Ballister and Ambrosius’ relationship. It, quite simply, can’t be erased. It could work as a friendship, yes, but that’s the point. They could have just been two close friends that fell on opposite sides of a fight, but they weren’t. They were two lovers that fell on opposite sides of a fight. 
Thirdly, they aren’t sanitized for “family viewing”. An emerging trend in children’s animation is to only have mlm relationships as fathers to make them seem more “family friendly”. With the exception of Kipo, there really isn’t many tv shows or films that places light upon an mlm relationship. And if it does, it'll be a teen relationship because teenagers being queer tends to come across as less “dirty” and more “innocent”. But Goldenheart is none of these things. They are adults without the mollifying aspect of having a family. And on top of that, they fight. They wield swords and they get bloody and they shoot at things and get angry and yell. They aren’t “clean” and “innocent”.
As well as this, they are in a film. Films are far more accessible than tv shows. You have to watch twenty seven episodes before Lumity in toh is canon. Troy kisses Benson on the eleventh episode of Kipo. And there are two hundred and eighty three episodes of Adventure Time before Marceline and Bonnie kiss. But with a film, the queerness is much more forward - especially in Nimona, where it’s literally the second scene. Animated films hardly ever display queer relationships, but Nimona did.
Finally - they aren’t perfect. I don’t know about you, but three weeks of thinking your boyfriend/maybe ex is a murderer? Doesn’t sound like a healthy few weeks to me. I have only seen big relationship arguments portrayed in straight relationships in cartoons - think Star Vs The Forces Of Evil - whereas queer relationships either have the massive fight prior to being canonically gay - She Ra - or have conflict, not arguments, that are dealt with quickly - Dead End/The Owl House. But Goldenheart? Goldenheart suffers. Their relationship is pushed to such extreme boundaries as for them to be pretty much exes throughout most of the movie. And yet, they are clearly healthy, happy and very much in love at the end. 
TL;DR - Nimona is amazing with the queer representation, and it is a milestone for LGBTQ+ cartoons. Not only is the relationship romantic for the entire movie, the plot is driven by Ambrosius and Ballister’s sort-of-break-up. In short, they are treated the same way straight people are. They have flaws, they have massive arguments, they have plot importance, they have backstory. They are in love. And that’s what matters more than anything else. 
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