#welcome to the oc: an oral history

[safflowerseason]

I also haven't done a comprehensive book post but I'd love to hear your thoughts! If anything, it's just made me have 10,000 more questions than I did before which was already A Lot. Also Justice 4 Mischa/Marissa always.

You sent this before we got Mischa Barton dropping major bombshells!! Now so much has changed!! 

I said this briefly in earlier comments but my overall take on the book now is that, while it had lots of insights in other areas not related to Mischa Barton, it ultimately demonstrated the limits of the oral history approach. MB’s specific revelations also demonstrate why an oral history was probably not the best way to really get “behind the scenes” of what happened on this particular show. Like, in my experience oral histories are generally pretty fluffy and they kind of allow everyone to share memories and their recollections without much pushback…which is basically what happened in the book. If you interview as many people as Sepinwall did and absolutely everyone refuses to go on the record about two co-stars dating because they know just how fucked-up it is…that is a story that requires a *totally* different angle than a fluffy oral history, especially one that's such a direct collaboration with the showrunners. I’ve been thinking about the book recently published by Mo Ryan called Burn It Down: Power, Complicity, and a Call for Change in Hollywood. That’s the kind of approach you’d need to do her story justice. 

At the same time, I do maintain that Sepinwall emphasized that what happened with MB’s exit was not her fault, in spite of his past (sketch) history with the show. He gave a lot of detail about network fuckery, Schwartz’s failures as a show-runner in S3, and he also showed that Brody and McKenzie were actually the ones being assholes on set, not MB, but that no one in charge cared because to Schwartz they were the two most important characters - ie, MB was considered expendable and the men were not. 

As for Schwartz…I already thought he came off pretty terribly in the book but now, like, oh my god. I don’t know how anyone but ESPECIALLY women could work with him ever again. I think it's so gross to claim that you're going to be open and honest about everything that happened on your show when you know this HUGE SECRET. Like I *get* why nobody wanted to go on the record about this and of course it's fundamentally Ben McKenzie's or Mischa Barton's news to share, but then don't PRETEND that you're going to fully explain what happened twenty years later when you know it's not the full story. Jesus Christ.

What makes me so mad is that the only reason Schwartz was so comfortable “taking the fall” in the limited way he did for what happened with MB and the show’s decline in quality is because it hasn’t actually cost him anything, and sadly I don’t think MB’s interview is going to change that. Nobody important in Hollywood cares because it was so long ago and it was his first show and one actress’s mental health and career prospects are a small price to pay for letting a man do whatever he wants on a set. So he didn’t risk anything by going on the record about all this. 

As for the non-MB parts of the book, of course I enjoyed reading everyone’s perspectives looking back, especially in the first year, and the little random fun stories that were sprinkled throughout. Chris Carmack came off as a pretty decent guy to me, and Adam Brody clearly has done a lot of reflection on that era of his life and how he acted at the time. I love Kelly Rowan and Peter Gallagher so much and I enjoyed their take on things (also intrigued by the comment that they weren't super tight on set?!) And I thought the book was a great overview of just how many factors and voices and interests went into making a single piece of television during the peak years of network tv. Like, so many different execs in charge of different things, all putting competing pressures on the show…it’s easy to see why television was so formulaic in that period. The O.C. in its earliest and best days really didn’t fit the mold for anything on TV, and as the book laid out why that was kind of the show's undoing in a way (in addition to Schwartz f*&king it up).

That was a lot and seems like enough to be getting on with for now, haha. Ultimately what I really want is a two volume exposé on the toxic culture of Hollywood in this early 00's era and how so many young women were chewed up and spat out by the system, with Mischa Barton's story as a prime example. She deserves justice!

[little-de-vil]

Brave Little Solider (Song)

A little gift for @mr-nauseam, a song I wrote about Keeper kids who die too young. I purposefully opened with various locations/monuments important to the Cutters as a way for the Keepers to pay respect the origins of the district, to mark a form of unity between the two groups even if that isn't always the case between them usually, but tragedy and death brings people together.

Lyrics below:

Quarries and mountains Rivers and rocks Sawyers and soldiers too We’ve all earned our keep to live on this land And make it a beauty, too No more dust ‘lest your named No more ruins ‘lest you’re waste And then, you’ll be fed ‘til you’re fat Full of bread from your friends And sword in your hand from family who Gave you your life to be that Brave little solider running around Keeping us all from harm Running ‘round quarries and mountains and rocks With guns and a face tough as The rocks the your cutter friends cut And here you are Sword in hand Bread all in your locks You grew from the toughest of keepers there are And you’re still as hard as The rocks that your cutter friends cut The ones in the quarries and mountains, so big and so strong The ones by the rivers, so soft and sweet Just like you, our brave little solider who Kept us from all harm

[broughtabooktothedance]

Wild to think “The OC” was only on for four seasons when it’s managed to hold so much space in pop culture. Alan Sepinwall’s oral history captures the magic and madness of that brief moment 20 years ago, and explores what went so wrong to lead to the show’s inevitable collapse.

[salaciouscrumbb]

stop i’m gonna cry

[safflowerseason]

sooo much going on this excerpt. intrigued by the role of Barton's mother on set, and the commentary about Barton's career trajectory and what was and was not happening. all the stuff about having no more ideas for the character and the relationship...hmmmm.

but the comments about the blogging/recapping culture of the early 00's...my god. they really killed her to appease those bloggers.

excerpt from the forthcoming book about MB's exit. lots to unpack

[ilovetheoc]

Big news for fans of The OC! This week it was an announced that an oral history of the show, titled Welcome to The O.C., will be released on November 28, 2023! Curated by television critic Alan Sepinwall, the book will feature interviews from the show creators and creative team, cast, bands featured on the show, and more.

[unchartedperils]

Today we’re gonna switch it up by jumping into the GTA world. Vice City was my first ever video game but growing up into my early teen years, GTA 4 and it’s DLCs meant so much to me. In particular Ballad of Gay Tony with how well they developed Luis Lopez as a character along with tying him and his boss+surrogate father Tony Prince into the main tale of Niko Bellic.

Anyway in late 2020 I began a post-main GTA 5 AU based on GTAO’s After Hours DLC (brought the nightclubs to online in 5) where Tony and Luis move to Los Santos in starting their nightclub empire. And who welcomes them? None other than my bitch of an OC in IAA Agent Marina Sanchez.

Marina’s my GTA 5 Online character turned OC who’s story origins lie in GTA 4 and BOGT in particular. She’s a shady character who’s had a fling with Tony since her teenage years and fits the GTA works perfectly: she’s a bratty bitch who’s always either snorting coke or giving oral sex somewhere in her revealing clothing.

GTA: The Ballad of Marina Sanchez follows her and the duo’s tale of living in LS in the years following 5’s main story as they attempt to resurrect Maisonette 9 and Hercules, as for Marina she’s being promoted from the youngest IAA agent in history to the head of the San Andreas division. This puts her in contact with many of the state’s shady criminal figures, certain ones who Tony and Luis will have to encounter in order to survive. But as usual, shit will hit the fan and Luis will have to make choices in order to save themselves if need be.

It’s UNOFFICIALLY FINISHED at 21 chapters and as said with previous longfics in 2020-21, it’s not set traditionally with AO3’s chapter structure and also tags are a bit all over the place so additional apologies for that. Otherwise if you’re a GTA fan you’ll get some enjoyment out of Marina, Tony, and Luis’s LS adventures. I do plan on beginning a 4/BOGT fix it soon and there’s a couple sneak peeks via flashbacks in GTA: TBMS.

Also here am I sharing a couple of oneshots featuring Marina so hopefully you’ll enjoy those. And of course below is some manips made.

GTA: TBMS and it’s fellow fics feature GTA’s usual strong-derogatory language with racial, homosexual, and sexist remarks, drug and alcohol use (consensual, dubious, non con), violent action with blood and gore (including major character death via brutal methods), numerous elements of dubious/non con action, sexual endos including anal, oral, and vaginal sex, and mentioning of/implied grooming as featured in GTA 4’s Ballad of Gay Tony DLC just to name a few warnings.

PS: thank you @beeutifulllov3r for making the time right to post this ❤️🥹

[breedaboyd]

Day 17 ~ Pushed Too Far

(Gif by me.)

Prompt: Edging.

Pairing: Stephen Tynan × Damien Brooks (M!OC).

Word Count: 3.4k+

CW: Anal fingering, dom/sub, edging, facials, oral sex, spanking.

The mid-afternoon sun casts a warm glow over the city of Athens, filtering through the blinds of Stephen Tynan's office on the third floor of the US embassy. The room is adorned with a couple knick-knacks from Greece, a blend of ancient history and modern diplomacy. A framed photograph of the Parthenon overlooks Tynan's polished oak desk, where neat stacks of papers await his attention. But he's taking a break from work at the moment.

Stephen's hauled over his desk, pants and boxers pulled down around his knees, as two fingers push deep into him. He's keening and moaning and his glasses are crooked on his nose from where he's been frantically kissing Damien Brooks, a diplomat from the UK embassy. It's a welcome respite from the paperwork, his erection straining against his belly, just shy of being fully hard. There's a glimmering sheen of sweat visible on his forehead but his clothes otherwise remain neatly intact.

"That wide enough, Stephen, or are you gonna need more?" Damien asks as he scissors his fingers and hears the other man moan.

"Just...one more... One more should be good."

"You want the stretch, don't you, love?"

"Fuck. Obviously." Stephen whimpers. Damien adds a third finger and slowly inches his fingers in and out of the other man, enjoying the feeling of being tightly pressed inside him. "Ugh, okay... Okay, please. Damien, I'm ready." Stephen says impatiently.

"Wow, someone's getting needy." Damien says with a cocky smirk.

"Shut up!" But then those three fingers paw at Stephen's prostate and he's mewling, clawing at the edge of his desk and rocking back on Damien's hand. "Please, please, please..."

"No, we can't be all messy and sweaty for the meeting we have in..." He checks the watch on the wrist of his free hand. "Fifteen minutes."

"Then stop doing this now!" He yelps but Damien just slides those fingers in again and it keeps him pinned, desperate for the pleasure, clinging to the hope that the man behind him might have mercy and finally fuck him. But there's no hope. Damien works Stephen open, bullying his prostate, as the other hand wraps around the brunette's dick. Stephan bucks into the grip but it's nowhere near tight enough to get him off. Damien's teasing the life out of him and loving every second of it. "You're such...a bastard...y'know that, Dames?" He hisses and Damien leans down, tonguing at the mark just below Stephen's collar. That little kitten lick and a bite manages to unravel him a little. His legs start to shake, the sensation building even though Damien refuses to give him anything substantial.

"Am I, though? You asked me to come over early. Isn't this what you wanted?" He squeezes his fingers in deep, pushing at Stephen's prostate and making the other man see stars.

"Yes! N-No! ... Shut up!" He's so close to cumming, just on the edge and it's fucking with his head, making his eyes roll and his hands tremble. "F-Fuck, it's— Hnnggh!" He slams a hand over his mouth, whimpering behind his palm, desperate not to out them.

"Aw, c'mon, Stevie. Don't cover your mouth, you'll spoil the fun." Then the bastard slides his hand slowly down the base of Stephen's dick, fingertips skimming the throbbing vein on the underside, trailing a fingertip behind his balls and delighting in the way the brunette's hips stutter. Then the hand grabs his sac and gives it a firm squeeze, not to mention the fingers going to town, stretching his ass open.

"Argh, no, no, no, f-fuck, Damien, I— Hnggg... I c-can't... Ohhhh, God. Ohhmygodohmygodohmygod. Jesus fuckin' Christ...!" He keens, trying his hardest to be quiet, a shiver rattling through him. He wants to slap the stupid grin off the other man's face because it's all Damien's fault that he's like this, straddling the gap between orgasm and overstimulation.

And then there's a sound and it's Damien's phone. He reaches into his pocket with the hand that's not buried knuckle-deep in Stephen's ass and answers the call.

"Damien Brooks. Oh, hey, how are y— Yeah. Uh-huh." He doesn't ease up, the fingers sliding away and suddenly pumping so roughly into him that Stephen can't help but choke on a sob. The long fingers inside him move like pistons and Stephen grinds his teeth, covering his face with both hands as he's wracked with aftershocks of pleasure. He's oversensitive and tired but still leaking from his erection. He needs — so needs — to cum but Damien's talking. He never stops fucking Stephen while he talks on the phone, fingers just working his prostate mercilessly. "Yeah. Yeah. Sounds great. I can do that. Uh-huh. Mhm. I'm actually with Stephen right now so we'll head on over. Yep. Yeah, absolutely. Alright then. See you soon." Then Damien hangs up, pockets the phone and eases his fingers from Stephen's loose hole. The American's knees are trembling and he can feel his cock throbbing, a few drops of precum still dribbling from the slit, creating a damp patch on the carpet.

"God-fucking-dammit, Damien." He breathes through heavy panting.

"We need to be heading over to the bar now to meet Alexei and Jenna and don't you go finishing yourself off while I'm in the bathroom either."

"Asshole."

"C'mon, wash up and you can scowl at me in the elevator." Damien winks, halfway out the door.

"I didn't even get to cum, you fu—"

"Always so greedy, Stevie. Don't worry, I'll let you cum after we've had a drink." Then Damien steps out, listening to Stephen's groan echo down the hallway after him. It's an indication that this is going to be a very, very long night.

Thankfully, the beer garden is nice and airy, which is just what Stephen and Damien need as they order two bottles of Greek beer. Jenna's opted for some locally-produced wine. She's a small thing; slim-faced and round-shouldered, with gentle blue eyes and dark freckled skin that screams that she spends most of her time outside. Despite only really knowing her from official meetings, Stephen's always found her pleasant to speak with. Alexei, however, is a bitter piece of shit, all schedules and policies and he just gets a soda water. Neither of them are much fun though, they're just co-workers after all. Damien, on the other hand, has this habit of gripping at Stephen's thigh when they're sat together in front of people. His hand inches a little further north and Stephen's brain dissolves into static before he remembers the purpose of their meeting.

"What was that convention you were telling me about the other day, Alexei? Something about tourists or..." Damien asks.

"It's been an event that occurs annually for the past few years. My government believes it would be a good way to raise awareness of different cultural celebrations and expand the image of our beautiful country, rather than simply offering travel opportunities." Alexei explains.

"I agree completely. Stephen, did Damien tell you that we're already organising some more activities to help engage people with the history of the regions?" Jenna asks and Alexei makes a face.

"No, he didn't." Stephen cuts in, with a strained smile. "But it's such a great way to celebrate the city. Honestly, I think it's a great idea."

"Great, we can liaise more when the papers are available, hm?" Jenna says, a smile curving her thin lips. But Stephen's head is still swimming with want, his appetite still not sated from before, in his office.

"Damien, isn't this something that could be really impressive for your British tourists? Didn't you have a recent research meeting, as well?" Alexei asks.

"Oh, that was last week but—"

"Excellent, so perhaps you'll put in another funding request? The money is currently split evenly but having extra funds for one particular region could be more useful." Fucking numbers. Stephen scoffs quietly into his beer and the hand on his thigh squeezes slightly. For a moment, he thinks he's actually gone and offended the Brit but then he feels Damien's fingers shift higher and rub against the bulge in his trousers and he nearly chokes.

"Sorry, I'm...feeling a little queasy." Stephen says dismissively, quickly taking another sip of beer to hide his embarrassment. "Damien, if there's no budget left, maybe a fundraiser or a personal appeal would—"

"Have you tried garlic pills?" Alexei suggests, narrowing his eyes in a way that makes the glare bounce off his wireframe glasses. "I would avoid sausage. Or is it salmon? No, it must be feta..."

"Alexei, the feta's just fine." Stephen replies, trying to stop the way the colour is flushing up his neck. And this is just a regular meeting between the four diplomats.

An hour goes by and the sky is painted violet. As the group finishes their drinks, they make idle chit chat and decide that a simple conference would be suitable for the festival. Calendars are filled and everyone walks away happy. Well, everyone except Stephen, of course. He's tired and sweaty and vaguely aware that Damien owes him a fucking orgasm.

As they walk back to the US embassy, the Brit saunters happily at his side, as if he's not completely wrecked Stephen's nerves all afternoon. He's whistling the way that Stephen hates and they're definitely drawing attention from passers-by in the street. Damien's cockiness is the straw that breaks the camel's back and, when they're nearing the embassy building, the American snaps. He grabs Damien's shirt collar and presses him to the wall in a nearby alley, trapping the (only slightly) taller man. He's got this bright, smarmy look in his pretty blue eyes that go dark the moment Stephen strikes; he knows what just happened. Stephen's cages him in, breathing hard against his neck.

"You've pushed your luck, Dames." He murmurs against the other man's throat and Damien swallows audibly, knowing he's invoked Stephen's ire.

"I-In fairness, Stevie, I thought you'd be finished by the time we had to leave, y'know? So, I tried to just—"

"Stop. Talking. You don't get to say a Goddamn thing." He bites back and Damien shuts his trap, teeth snapping together with the speed he closes his jaw. The brunette leans in close, voice a low purr. "My office. Right now." He releases the Brit but it barely makes a difference. Damien has this slack expression on his face — half-horrified, half-aroused — as Stephen leads the way into the embassy.

Thankfully, when they arrive at the door to Stephen's office, it's unlocked and all the pieces of paper on his desk have been tidied away. He stalks over to the mahogany drawers and rips the top one open to reveal a couple envelopes and his old passport, as well as a handkerchief-wrapped set of cuffs and a bottle of lotion that are designed for private use between him and his man. Oh, his kissable, fuckable asshole of a man. He takes out the lotion and the cuffs and throw them on the desk.

"Over the desk, Brooks."

"Look, Stephen, I really—"

"Now." He bites back and Damien huffs out his name under his breath, a desperate appeal for clemency. "Dames... I'm giving you twenty seconds. Twenty." Damien glances around the room, like he might find an escape route. "...Nineteen." Then the Brit's suddenly grabbing the chair, shoving it aside and hopping over the desk. And, only five seconds later, he's already lost his pants and boxers, his shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest.

He bends himself over the desk, feeling the way Stephen's hands find his ass. Then they're spreading him open and he expects a couple of fingers inside. Instead, there's a firm palm cracking across the curve of his ass. Damien can't help the surprised help that leaves him, his back arching and nails scraping at the surface of the desk. "So, what was that earlier, Dames?" Stephen asks, palming at the Brit's ass. "Did you think I wouldn't finish on time?" Another crack that leaves a red mark on his bare ass. The air is suddenly electrified and the sharp blow has awakened a part of the taller man's brain that usually only wakes up if Stephen decides he wants to top.

"Oh, fuck, S-Stephen, I'm sorry! I wanted to tease you a bit, I didn't—" Then another firm blow. It's making his whole body sing. Stephen Tynan is the only person in the world who can render him pliant and incoherent this way, on the verge of begging already. It's not enough but he's so, so in love with how he ends up here. Another smack that has him biting his lip to stop the cry falling from his lips. Fuck, the door isn't even closed! "Stephen, I'm— Fuck, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

"Yeah, you better be sorry, Damien. Have I ever treated you the way you treated me today, huh?"

"N-No, never, Stephen."

"What am I gonna do with you, Damien Brooks?"

"Oh, God, Stevie, not my full— Mnh!" And in a swift movement, Stephen's cuffed Damien's wrists behind his back, his hair pulled roughly enough to cut his sentence short. Then a smack rings out, again and again, the muscles in Stephen's arm working as he pushes the Brit's shirt tails up his back with his free hand. His pale skin glows a delectable shade of pink and Damien's mewling quietly with each shot to his backside. He can feel how hot his skin is, the ache becoming a pleasant sting and he relishes in every sensation.

Just as Damien's getting used to it, though, Stephen stops and his eyes are watering as his lover trails a hand across the soft backs of his thighs. There's something about the ghost of contact that gets the Brit's heart pumping, knowing the pain's going to come soon. He doesn't have to wait long. A sharp, stinging blow makes him jerk forwards, followed by a crack that echoes through the room, tears brimming. And then, Stephen rakes his nails along the reddened skin, making the taller man moan out, the sound echoing out into the hall. He's powerless, exposed, the man above him a force he's chosen and can't resist. All he can do is lie back and enjoy the ride.

"Gimme a colour, Dames."

"Guh... Green, Stephen. Green, g-green, green... Fuck, please..."

"You wanna cum, baby?" Another sharp smack echoes through the room and Damien's mind grows hazy as Stephen keeps reigning down blow after blow, turning his skin a fierce shade of scarlet.

"Pl-Please, Mister Tynan... Please...let me... Hnngh..." That always gets him a harsh spank; a reminder of who's in charge. It hurts so good and Stephen keeps at it, letting his arm flop down when he's broken the tall brunette into shuddering cries.

"I'll think about it." Stephen murmurs as he sits back in his leather desk chair, just admiring his handiwork. He'd be a lot more hard-hearted if Damien wasn't his man, his slutty, needy whore of a man.

"Get down here." Stephen orders, tapping his foot and nodding the to space between his legs. He can already tell that Damien's having trouble following the instructions with his hands cuffed behind his back but he does it anyway. "Good. Now, let's finish what you started." He reaches down to unbuckle his pants, pulling them open and carefully untucking his dick from his underwear. Then he watches Damien's eyes widen. He's so clearly hungry for it, chewing on the inside of his bottom lip. He might be used to fucking Stephen and making him cum hard but his ability to swallow everything down is just shy of perfect.

Before Damien can really think about it, Stephen grabs the back of his head and pushes him down. "Fuck, yeah... There we go, Dames... Swallow it all, like a good boy. Yeah... Take it deep... Theeeere you go..." He murmurs. His tone is soft and encouraging, hands stroking his partner's face as the other brunette falls apart. He's choked by it, tongue working the underside while his nose presses to the wiry, dark curls at the base of Stephen's cock.

Damien might talk big and act big but, when it comes down to it, he sucks cock like a fucking champ. Stephen's had him every way he can think; held him down, spitroasted him, stuffed him up, choked him, made him beg. And the best bit is that Damien loves it all. God, Stephen just can't ever get over how much the Brit is a little, fucking freak. He looks so damn good; blissed-out and mellow, tears streaming down his cheeks, saliva all over his chin and it's just adorable.

His stamina always catches Stephen off guard, though. And this isn't an exception. The brunette's well and truly enthralled, watching his man choke around his thick cock, looking him in the eye. He almost stops, because Damien's eyes have glazed over and he's stopped moaning or tapping out, his chest heaving, and all he can do is drool. Mister Big-Talk until he has a cock in his mouth. Then he just looks blissed-out and totally absent, like he's slipped into some other world, and Stephen can use his sloppy, slutty mouth like a fleshlight. "Gonna cum all over your pretty, little face and you're gonna go home smelling of cum like the cock-hungry slut you are." And Stephen doesn't last long because he's been hanging onto this climax for an hour already.

He laces his fingers in Damien's blonde locks, pulling his head away, as Stephen jerks himself to cumming. "Keep that mouth open, baby. You wanna taste some of it, right?" He grins, breath coming quick as his chest heaves. He can feel his hips bucking as he teeters on the edge, the sticky slick of saliva covering his fist. "Fuck... Want you to see what you did." He huffs as he edges that little bit closer. And with a few more strokes, he cums; thick, white strands of cum landing on Damien's face, painting over his lips, across his nose, decorating his pale, sweaty skin. And, with what feels like the last bit of his strength, Stephen grabs the Brit's chin.

Then he realises. A long, sticky strand of saliva is hanging from Damien's bottom lip, nearly reaching the floor, pooling between his legs. His mouth is still wide open and his eyes are still watering, fixed up on the man who just wrecked him. Stephen can't help the burst of filthy pride that rushes through his veins. "That's a pretty face, Dames. Nice and messy, just how you like." He says gently, releasing his grip and letting Damien fold between his legs, panting. After a good, hard session with some heavy ropes or a particularly naughty punishment, it takes a couple of minutes for Damien to come back to himself. He kneels there, getting his breath back, watching the floor and waiting for the pounding in his chest to slow...

When Damien comes back to himself, he's sore and red and covered in thick, creamy cum. The aftercare starts slowly, with Stephen uncuffing Damien's wrists and grabbing some tissues from his desk to clean up with. He wipes the thick ropes of semen from his lover's face and chin. Oh, he just looks to perfect, all ruined and tired and fucked out.

"Was... Was it good for you, Mister Tynan?" Damien manages to croak. The scratchiness of his throat already a reminder of what he'd just taken.

"It's always good, baby." He chuckles, helping him stand. "How you feeling, Dames? Ass sore?"

"Yeah... Fuck... Did a number on me this time, Stevie."

"C'mon, lemme take you home, handsome, and then you can get your own back." Stephen winks and, despite being a fucking mess, Damien smiles as he kisses him on the cheek.

"... Gonna hold you to that." Damien sighs. "... And don't expect to walk straight tomorrow morning."

Then, sure enough, the next day, everyone keeps stopping Stephen in the hallways to ask if he's alright, if he's slept funny or if something's happened because, fuck, he's limping and aching like a motherfucker. And every time it happens, every one of those embarrassing questions, he just smiles the smuggest fucking grin that says it all. Stupid sexy British bastard...

[suga-kookiemonster]

this christmas | myg

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Since.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You pull a face. “Please don’t.”

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

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

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

“Hey.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[8:05] We can leave from there!

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

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

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

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

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

[8:06] Great. See you soon!

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

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

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

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

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

No way.

There’s no fucking way.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Merry Christmas to you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You might as well get on with it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He remembered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I think we should see other people.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And there it is.

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

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

It was you he didn’t want.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No,” you say, irritated. “I am.”

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

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

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

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

“What, is he sleeping or something?”

“He’s not with me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Me too, Mom. Me too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I will, Mom.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You realized it could be more than that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still, you hoped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chimothy 🥰 [9:31] wtf do I know

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

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

Dear god, is this man dramatic.

[12:17] Not murdered 🙄

[12:17] Just driving

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

Chimothy 🥰 [12:17] Thank god

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[12:22] Will do 🙌

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

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

“Oh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But?”

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

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

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

“For him?”

“For me,” you correct.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wanna meet him?” Yoongi smirks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Because nothing is ever truly free.”

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

“So?” you prod. “What’s your price?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well woopdeedoo. He can just join the fucking club.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hello?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s not what I’m worried about.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t need you!”

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

Your eyesight blurs. Your bottom lip trembles.

“_____, can you please pull over?”

You pull over.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We’re here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Merry Christmas,” you repeat hollowly.

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

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

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

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

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

“Where’s Yoongi?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“_____?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So. Assholes,” Sierra insists.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wow. Wow, wow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She giggles, reaching for the cup excitedly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just having a bad day.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The problem definitely isn’t you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But in your reasoning, you forget one important detail.

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

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

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

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

You snort, amused. “Are you serious, Si?”

“It’s tradition,” she says pointedly. And she’s not wrong—one year, she jokingly suggested taking a birthday shot for Jesus, and, amused, you easily agreed. But the silly ritual somehow returned year after year, and at some point stopped being a joke and started simply being what your family did after opening gifts and before eating breakfast. “A tradition that we’ve had to skip the past few years because somebody refused to come home.”

You wince a little. “I did come home,” you attempt to counter, but the words sound guilty even to your ears.

Rightfully so, Sierra doesn’t buy it. She narrows her eyes at you. “Yeah, but not for Christmas, which is when this is carried out! So we have to do it now.”

You look at your mother, and though she shakes her head good-naturedly at you, she clearly doesn’t oppose the proposition either. “It is tradition,” she points out.

“It is,” you agree.

So tequila shots it is.

The liquor burns the whole way down, your eyes threatening to water as you try not to gag. Sierra grimaces, a guttural noise coming from the back of her throat as she mutters to herself about getting old and not being able to hang anymore.

“This was your idea,” you helpfully point out, still pulling your own face.

But while the two of you gripe over the alcohol, your mother barely reacts. She merely swallows it down like it’s water and starts gathering stray wrapping paper off the floor and stuffing it into a garbage bag. A little tequila has nothing on her old sorority days, you suppose.

You and Sierra share an amused look, watching your mother pause in her tidying up when something outside the window catches her eye. She waves, her lips lifting into a soft smile.

“Who are you smiling at?” you tease, snickering. “Mr. Wilson about to be our new daddy?” But your mother doesn’t react to your good-natured jesting the way you assume she will, her delayed response immediately piquing your interest. You walk over, curiously peering out the window yourself and predictably spotting Mr. Wilson pushing his snowblower back into his garage.

But to your surprise, there is also someone else, bundled under a winter coat and scraping a shovel against the end of your driveway. Your eyebrows furrow. “Who’s—”

Your unspoken question immediately gets answered when the person finishes their row and turns to start the  next. Yoongi. Your breath sticks in your throat, rage reigniting at the pure audacity.

“_____,” your mother says cautiously, but you ignore her, already stepping around her to grab your boots. You’re so mad, you can practically feel steam coming out of your ears.

Is this a joke? Does he think this is some kind of game?

Just a few days ago, Alex pressed down on an old wound you had assumed was long healed, but it’s only in this moment, as you stare at the person who had stabbed you in the first place, that you realize how naive you’ve been. All this time, you have been actively ignoring the knife Yoongi had indifferently slid between your ribs, hoping that if you pretended it wasn’t there, everything would eventually be okay.

But things were never okay. They’re not okay. You’re hemorrhaging, and Yoongi apparently thinks it’s funny to waltz back into your life just so he can slowly twist the handle.

This time, you’re tired of pretending. This time, you refuse to let him toy with you while you quietly bleed out.

“_____,” your mother pleads as you bound for the closet and rip your coat off its hanger. “He’s just trying to be nice. Please. Just let it go.”

You whirl on her, breathing fire. “I’m your daughter,” you snarl furiously. “Me. Your allegiance is with me.”

She at least has the good sense to look contrite, but you don’t care to hear anything else from her right now, yanking your front door open and stomping down the porch stairs. You’ve turned entirely reactionary, a tempest just barely restrained by your prison of a body.

Yoongi reflexively looks over his shoulder at the sound of the your screen door slamming open against the side of the house, watching you blankly as you march your way to him, still in your pajamas. A runaway train whose path he doesn’t realize he needs to get out of.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” you hiss.

He doesn’t answer right away, blinking owlishly at your hostility. But then you see the guard shutter in his eyes, and he pointedly turns back to his work. “Shoveling.”

“Stop being such a smartass. You know what I mean.”

“I don’t, actually.”

“Let me rephrase then. Why are you oh-so-conveniently shoveling here, at my house, right after I very clearly told you to fuck off?” You swallow, struggling to keep the tremor out of your voice. “Why won’t you just leave me alone?”

He stares at you for a few moments, almost as if he can’t believe what you’re saying. Then he scoffs, shaking his head disbelievingly as he mutters under his breath, “Typical.”

“Excuse me?”

“Typical,” he mockingly repeats louder, eyes narrowing. “Only thinking about yourself.”

“EXCUSE me?!”

“Not everything is about you, _____,” he bites out. His cheeks are rosy with color, and you don’t know if it’s from the cold or his clear irritation. “I didn’t shovel your driveway to make you mad, or to get your attention, or any other ridiculous fucking reason you insist on making up in your head. I did it because I always have, even after you left. Because I know your mom has a bad back, and despite what you may believe, I’m not a dick.”

He’s mad. Yoongi doesn’t often get truly mad—it takes a lot to even make him raise his voice—but you clearly have gotten him there.

Well, fine. You’re mad too. He can join the fucking party.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” you snarl. Across the street, Mr. Wilson has paused in closing his garage door to nosily watch the scene you’re making, but you don’t even see him right now. Don’t see anything but Yoongi and his stupid haughty face. Don’t see anything but red.

Instead of responding, Yoongi takes the time to push the last bit of snow out of the way and into the grass. Then, to your absolute fury, he breezes past you like you’re not there and starts walking home.

Seething, you don’t think twice before following him down the sidewalk, steps quick to catch up with his slightly longer stride. “And now you’re just gonna run? That’s fucking typical!”

His jaw clenches. “I’m not doing this with you.”

“Not doing what?” you taunt. “Not communicating? Oh, wow, just like old times!”

If looks could kill, you probably would have been struck dead a few houses ago, on Mrs. Henderson’s front lawn. But as it is, you’re too stubborn to let this go. Have been letting this go for so fucking long that it’s been eating you up for years. And you refuse to let it consume the scraps of you that are left.

Yoongi shakes his head, scoffs. Refuses engage with you the last couple blocks, even though you do your very best to provoke him, to force him to feel even a fraction of what you are. He’s clearly over it, but when he opens his garage door and you follow him in, he doesn’t try very hard to stop you.

But in his defense, you are a force to be reckoned with. Nothing but pure rage and sorrow and humiliation, a cyclone of self-loathing that will not be impeded by any half-hearted efforts.

Yoongi puts his shovel in its designated corner and then opens the door to the house and stomps inside. There’s a mudroom, you know, that separates the attached garage from the rest of the house, and Yoongi takes minimal time to rip off his hat, slip off his shoes, unwind his scarf, throw his coat aside. Still not looking at you, but not shutting the door in your face, either.

When he moves further into the house and leaves you standing there—not looking back, and not even bothering to press the button to close the garage door—you reflexively take your shoes and coat off too. But it’s like you have blinders on, hyper-focused on the sight of him turning his back on you and walking away. Always walking away. Heart drumming a staccatoed beat in your ears like it’s revving you up for war.

And you are, you suppose. You’re tired of avoiding him—fucking exhausted of spending years ignoring the extremely obvious elephant in the room.

It’s time to call a spade a spade.

The house is quiet when you pad in, the carpet in the living room completely swallowing the sound of your footsteps. Yoongi knows you’re behind him anyway, if the visible stiffness of his spine beneath his sweater is any indication. He ignores you for a bit more, focusing instead on making his way into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water, but that facade is forced to drop when you’re suddenly close enough to touch him and blocking his path to the room’s only exit.

“Go home, _____,” he growls, eyes narrowing.

“No,” you snap. “Not until you tell me why you refuse to leave me alone.”

He pauses, a storm visibly rolling over his expression. “You don’t have to worry,” he says, voice quiet. Eyes steely. “It won’t happen again.”

“Not good enough! That doesn’t answer my question and I’m not leaving until you finally learn to use your words like a grownup.”

“I’m sorry, but can you please just spit out whatever you keep alluding to that’s upsetting you?” Yoongi scoffs. Your vexation flares at his obvious contempt. “Because I really don’t have the patience to play one your little guessing games right now. And we both know that if anyone should be pissed, it’s me.”

The audacity. The audacity. “What could you possibly be pissed over?” you fume. “Oh no, I wanted you to get off my property, poor you!”

His jaw ticks. “You really want to go there?”

“Go where, somewhere where you’re finally honest with me?! Yeah. Yeah, I want to go there!”

You’re owed that, at least. After all these years, you know you’re owed at least that.

Without breaking eye contact, Yoongi drains the rest of his glass and sets it in the sink. Carefully, he angles his body towards you, and instantly, the oh-so slight-change in his stance results in a massive change in intention. Defense to offense. “I just don’t understand why you’ve been so hostile,” he says slowly, “when you were the one who left me.”

Of all the things you could have expected him to say, this never, ever was anywhere near your radar. Your jaw drops, brain scrambling to make sense of it. Because clearly you heard him wrong. “I left you,” you repeat flatly, eyebrows furrowing. “I left you?”

You wait for Yoongi to correct you, to repeat what he actually said, and not the absurd thing you heard. But he does nothing of the sort—simply continues to stare at you as you struggle to digest his ludicrous accusation.

“…Are you smoking something?” you ask incredulously. “Did I miss it when we entered an alternate dimension? Yoongi, YOU left ME!”

“Excuse me?” He’s clearly baffled, but from the way his jaw ticks again, you can tell he’s pissed too. “I left? Or you wanted me to leave?”

“What the fuck are you even talking about?” This is ridiculous. So unbelievably absurd that you would laugh if you weren’t already fighting off tears of frustration. “What did I ever do to give you the impression that I wanted you to leave?”

Your gut twists when Yoongi actually does laugh, though the sound rings hollow. He shakes his head at you in disbelief. “Are you serious? _____, you literally built a whole new life and didn’t bother to leave a space for me in it. Didn’t even give me the courtesy of going through the motions of pretending to consider how I would fit in it. Because obviously, I was never meant to.”

The shock that runs through you at his words is ice-cold, quickly dousing the fires of your fury into embers. “What?” you whisper.

“What, did you expect me to stay where I’m clearly not wanted?” Yoongi scoffs, glaring at you. “You know, I almost did. Because I’m weak. You make me weak.”

Not wanted. He actually thought–thinks–that you didn’t want him. Your mind races at this new development, so many thoughts rushing past that you struggle to properly grasp any of them.

Your disoriented silence does nothing to dissuade Yoongi, who has apparently opened the floodgates and now can’t stop his onslaught of resentment. “Not one time did you ask me to come with you,” he continues, tone perfectly level. Perfectly level, but the words slash you anyway, the implications sharp and barbed. “Didn’t say a single thing that alluded to wanting me there. To wanting me. So I took the hint.”

You don’t know what to say. The truth of why he left has been something you’ve lingered on for years, sometimes in passing before you could whisk the thought away, but always coming haunt you in your darkest of moments. You’ve just assumed it was one of those things—that the universe worked in mysterious ways and you won’t always get all the answers.

But now that you know, you wonder if ignorance had been better. Because now, you feel like you’ve been punched in the gut. Now, your mind is shuffling through all the moments between when he left you and two seconds ago and coming to the dawning horror that everything could have been different.

But no. He can’t put this all on you. You’ve now been called out for your part in it, but he was there too. He made choices too. “Yoongi,” you finally say, forcing the words out, “you never, ever told me you wanted to come with me. I can’t read minds. How do you expect me to know that’s how you felt if you didn’t tell me?”

Yoongi looks completely mystified, as if it’s unfathomable to him that such a thing would ever need to be said. “Because I love you.” His stare burns. “And you know that.”

Your eyes widen, hardly believing your ears.

Present tense.

Your heart pounds as you wait for him to correct himself, but Yoongi does not waver, simply keeps looking at you as if what he just said was obvious.

“Don’t do that,” you whisper. “You don’t get to do that.”

“Do what?” he retorts, pushing forward. Flustered, you scramble backwards in turn, trying to restore the space that he seems set on negating. Trying to restore your sanity. “Communicate? Tell you exactly how I’m feeling? I thought that was what you wanted.”

You shake your head, disbelieving. No. No, no no. “You don’t get to do that,” you repeat, a tremor in your voice.

Yoongi ignores you, advances even closer so that your back hits the pantry door and you have nowhere to go. So that you’re forced to look him straight in the eye when he says, voice cracking, “I may have been the one not to come back, but you were the one who left.”

Back then, you had been terrified to push too hard, fully aware that the house of cards you spent years pretending was made of brick could easily crash down with one misstep. But apparently, you had not been alone in that. Apparently, the same had been true for him.

Tense seconds stretch between you as you stare each other down. Weeks, years. You’re trembling, body buzzing with too much of everything at once. And within the span of a breath, your lips are molded to his.

You’re not sure who technically closed the scant inches between you, but from the way your hand now curls around the back of his neck, winds into his hair and pulls his mouth down to your level, you can safely deduce it was you. Yoongi doesn’t seem to protest though, melting into you immediately. Easily slotting into place like a puzzle piece cut from the beginning to fit you.

But it’s not enough.

You’ve been slowly suffocating, and it’s only now that you’re finally breathing him in that you realize it. You’re not close enough–can never be close enough–and it turns you desperate, quickly devolving things into a collision of lips and teeth and tongue, your body arching into the comforting weight of his.

And it’s as if no time has passed between you at all, Yoongi easily matching your urgency with his own. His pull effortlessly meeting your push in an encore performance of your well-practiced dance. His hands wisp over the flare of your hips, meander over the curve of your ass and squeeze, pulling your pelvis solidly into his. And oh. This is familiar. Years later, but oh-so-familiar, and you groan appreciatively into his mouth, one of your legs eagerly wrapping around his hip.

Everything is heated now, primal. Things happening too fast and not fast enough, the two of you reduced to nothing but your baser instincts, the pantry door rattling behind you as he roughly grinds himself into your core. You pant, sparks of pleasure racing across your skin, the hold you have on his hair reflexively tightening. A noise rumbles from his throat at the action, low and guttural, and that only deepens your lust. Only makes you want more. More, more, more.

And Yoongi knows. He must know, can probably tell from your haggard breaths, from the little desperate whines that escape you before you can stop them. He knows, and he’s eager to give you exactly what you’re asking him for.

Yoongi swallows your whine of protest when his hips slightly cant away from yours. But it doesn’t take you long to realize he’s simply giving himself room to slip his hand past the elastic waistband of your pajama bottoms, simply giving himself room to touch you right where you need him most. And when you gasp, skilled fingers stroking you exactly how you like, Yoongi swallows that too.

He’s deliberate in how he circles around your clit, pace meandering, but pressure sure. It sends electricity running down your legs and need pooling at your core. The careful press of the first finger inside you makes you dizzy; the second makes your knees tremble. You almost lose your balance entirely, but he simply leans his body against yours again, the pressure between him and the wooden door successfully holding you up enough for you to regain your bearings.

And regaining your bearings is not an easy feat. Not with his fingers inside you, long and lithe and knuckle deep. Not with his palm being forced against your clit by the insistent press of his cock. You whimper again, rocking against him and forcing him impossibly deeper.

Yoongi just watches you fuck yourself on him. Watches the tease of movement beneath  fabric, the twist of frustration on your face. Watches leisurely, like he has all the time in the world.

But you don’t. Hurriedly, you push against his chest. Yoongi goes easily, stepping back at the insistent pressure and removing his hand from your pants. He eyes you, pupils blown with lust despite his confusion. Head tilted slightly in question.

And you answer him by reaching for his waistband, hands trembling a bit in your haste to unbutton his pants. He starts to help you, but you’re in a haze. On a mission. And so you scramble to move his pants out of the way just enough to pull him out, spurred by the feel of him in your hand, just like you remember. Hot, thick. Heavy with promise.

His dick twitches excitedly in your hold when you give him a few cursory strokes, muscle memory gliding your hand over the velvety skin, your grip just as firm as he used to like. And apparently still likes, his breath stuttering in his throat as you quickly work him to full mast.

Yoongi’s eyes flutter, and then he regains enough sense to return his attention to you, hands swiftly returning and yanking your pajama pants over your hips and down your legs. You eagerly step out of them, easily spread your thighs when a wandering hand slips between them.

Suddenly, one of your legs is lifted and tucked into the crook of his elbow. The move surprises you, his cock momentarily forgotten as you scramble for his shoulders and lean a bit more heavily against the pantry in an attempt to regain stability. And that’s the only warning you get before, after he gives himself a few more pumps, he settles at your entrance and breaches you.

It burns. You’re wet, but not enough—was too impatient to allow him enough time to work you up properly. So now, as a result, his entry burns, breath catching in your throat, nails digging into his shoulders. Yoongi notices your discomfort immediately and tries to retreat, but you won’t let him, one of your hands scrabbling down his back so you can grab his ass and push.

Want. You want and you need, groaning at the satisfying pressure of his thick length separating your walls, inch by inch. You’ve been hollow, but now you’re not, Yoongi your long-missing piece. Slotting right where he’s always belonged. Where he’s always meant to be.  

Yoongi leans down and kisses you, trying to help you adjust. Trying to distract you from any discomfort with his wicked tongue. And you let him, easily meeting and matching his languid movements.

But there’s only so long you can try to restrain your hunger. And when he’s finally fully-seated, it becomes blatantly clear that you’re ravenous.

“More,” you whisper. Body trembling and dusted with goosebumps. You’re whole again, but you need.

And, never one to deny you, Yoongi gives you what you beg him for.

Slowly, he pulls out enough to thrust back in, the upward angle making his cockhead easily tap your g-spot.

“Ahhhhh,” you moan, sparks dancing across your vision. Arms circling his neck in an attempt to bring him impossibly closer. “M-More—”

Yoongi groans too, spurred by your reaction. Immediately pulls back out and slamming back in, harder this time.

You keen, everything about you encouraging his increasingly frantic pace. It still kind of burns at first, sparks igniting your lower-half every time he thrusts and scrapes against your insides, but you revel in that burn. Revel in the way the breath is knocked out of your lungs, revel in the way the pain rapidly gets swallowed by pleasure as he sucks color down the column of your throat, coaxing you soft and open. The angle assures your clit drags across his pelvic bone with every stroke, and you just whine and bask in it all. Bask in his reverent touch, in his feverish worship.

Ultimately, you can only cling to him as he pistons within you, your pussy the willing victim of his long pent up frustration. His hands greedily slide up your shirt, and you whimper at the additional stimulation, toes curling.

Yoongi shushes you. “Tell me what you need from me, baby,” he murmurs against your jaw. “Anything you want. You just have to tell me.”

“You,” you groan.

“You have me.”

No, he doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand. “You,” you repeat, the word cracking a little.

Yoongi stops kissing you, pulls back so you can see the sincerity in his eyes. Stops the roll of his hips so you can hear the sincerity in his words. Takes a moment to rest his forehead against yours. “You have me,” he throatily says again. Sharing your breath. “You always have.”

You close your eyes, relishing in the heat of him. The weight of him. Instinctively, your hips cant down, body chasing its high, and he obediently reaches for them. His fingers digging into the meat of your ass only gives him more leverage to properly yank you down. To frantically and repeatedly spear you onto his cock. A particularly deep thrust has you letting out another desperate whine, but Yoongi merely shushes you again.

“I know, baby. I know.” He’s breathing hard with his efforts, pressing soothing pecks across your damp skin.

And then finally, you come undone, eyes rolling back, cunt locking around him. You convulse, only held up by Yoongi’s bodyweight and the door behind you. He curses, loudly, the hot grip of you triggering him into his own frenzy and as he continues to pound into you, deep deep. With a final, shuddering groan, he cums too, hips circling as he rides it out, pantry door rattling with each movement.

And you’re blissfully taking it, your pussy eagerly sucking him in like a vacuum. Milking him for everything he’s willing to give you.

A lot. What he’s willing to give you is a lot, because you feel him, shooting hot and sticky inside you, but even after he’s done he doesn’t stop fucking you. Just breathes hot against your neck and continues to fuck his cum deeper inside you, swiveling his hips like he’s in a trance. Like if he tries hard enough, he can make it stay.

Eventually, he calms, softened cock slowing its fevered roll, and he starts to regain sense of himself. Insecurity settles as soon as he pulls out and pulls away, both of you unsure of where you stand with these recent developments. You awkwardly grab paper towels to wipe at his mess while he tucks himself pack into his pants.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and you pause, thrown off guard at hearing him say the words. But then he continues, “I should have asked before I did that.”

Of course. Of course that’s what he’s sorry for. 

Whatever warmth you’d been starting to feel only moments before is doused right out. Sex means nothing, your mind whispers. When will you finally fucking grasp that? 

“It’s fine.” Your reply is frosty, even to you. “I’m on birth control.”

Yoongi’s lips thin, no doubt recognizing that he is no longer the one you are on birth control for. That annoys you, and it annoys you that it annoys you.

You’ve finally said your peace, and thought that you would feel better about it. Hell, you’ve even fucked the guy. So why is your chest still tight? Why does this feel so wrong?

You can finish cleaning up when you get home—you need to get out of here. Need some time and space to regroup. “I meant everything I said,” you murmur, pulling your pants back up.

His expression is guarded. “So did I.”

So that’s it, then. For how long are you going to allow yourself to be made a fool of? For how long are you going to offer pieces of yourself, chipping way until there’s nothing left? You can’t do this again. You don’t think you can survive doing this again.

With a slow nod, you move to turn away. “This was a mistake. I’m sorry.”

Yoongi immediately steps in your path. “What do you mean, a mistake?” he demands.

“I mean just that.”

“Oh, no no no. We’re not doing that. You had no problem saying what was on your mind two seconds ago. Why can’t you do the same now?”

“There’s nothing to say,” you reply defensively.

“What do you mean, there’s nothing to say?”

“Nothing has changed, Yoongi.”

He shakes his head, bewildered. “What are you talking about? Everything has changed. It was clearly all just a miscommunication.”

“So what,” you scoff. “You think we can just say oopsie and move on like it never happened?”

“I didn’t say that.” He’s frustrated. So are you. “I just—”

Something starts insistently vibrating, stealing both of your attention. It’s closest to you, and you quickly recognize the culprit to be the phone Yoongi tossed onto a counter, what feels like eons ago. Silently, you hand it to him.

He reflexively takes it, but gives you a look that tells you he’s not done with you before shifting his gaze to the screen. “Shit,” he mutters, immediately answering. “Hey, sorry. Yeah, I’m coming, I just lost track of time. Yeah, I know. But I’m on my way now.” He listens silently for a bit more, the way he shifts from foot to foot betraying his impatience. “Okay. Okay. I’m on my way right now. Okay. See you in a little bit.”

You raise a brow at the long breath he lets out when he hangs up, an agitated hand ruffling his inky strands.

He answers your unspoken question. “I’m supposed to be at my brother’s right now. My parents went ahead because they wanted to watch Sua open all her presents, but I told them I’d catch up with them after I finished shoveling.”

It is Christmas, isn’t it? And you were so mad when you entered the house that you forgot to even take into account that his parents might be inside, and also failed to notice when they weren’t. Hell, your own family is likely waiting for you too, and you didn’t even bother to bring your phone when you stormed out of the house.

“Oh,” you say, suddenly very embarrassed. You duck your head, turning to leave. “Of course. Don’t let me hold you up—”

Yoongi grabs your wrist before you can get too far, his touch halting your quick escape. “I just think we need to talk this out some more,” he says hesitantly. “Or, at least, I’d like to.”

Your deeply-honed defenses have your lips reflexively parting to tell him to fuck off. But there’s something new whispering in the back of your mind that makes your tongue hesitate. Something new and hopeful and very likely naive.

He’s right. While both of you just aired out some your grievances, you’re not deluded enough to think that wasn’t the tip of the iceberg. Besides, you were both so mad, you doubt either of you did much listening. At the very least, you can admit, his request sounds genuine.

“...I’d like that too,” you reply honestly after a few beats, strangely shy. Like you haven’t known him for years and just got done letting him fuck your brains out.

He shifts, an agitated hand running through his hair. “And I’d really love to do that now but—”

“Yoongi.” You hold up pacifying hands to his visible frustration. “It can wait. It’s waited this long.”

An amused puff of air escapes his lips. “I guess you’re right,” he agrees after a moment, something fluttering in your ribcage at the soft way he looks at you. “Then we can talk later?”

“Talk later,” you confirm. And this time when you try to leave, he lets you.

Your walk from Yoongi’s feels much different from your walk there. There was a tension in your body before that had you wound tight, tight. That’s gone now, your relaxed limbs now making you feel almost boneless. You’re dazed, and with the newly-fallen snow making everything glow, it’s like you’re in a dream. Like none of this is real.

But you know as soon as you enter your house and are met with your mother’s worried face that that’s not the case. That what just happened with Yoongi did, in fact, happen. She and Sierra have been waiting for you to come back, as the three of you are supposed to meet at your aunt’s house to open the rest of your gifts.

“I’m okay,” you assure her quietly, staring your boots. “And I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you and I shouldn’t have yelled at all.”

She doesn’t agree with you, though she should. She doesn’t tell you that it’s okay, because it’s not. Instead, your mother just gathers you in her arms and holds you there. “You’re human,” she murmurs. And that’s enough.

That night—after you’ve showered and gotten dressed and spent the whole day with your family and lugged all your presents back home—your phone rings. You pick it up, curious, only to freeze at the 🚘 on the screen.

Yoongi.

You never bothered to correct his contact info from when Namjoon had given it to you, what felt like forever ago. Now, the seemingly innocuous emoji sends your blood pressure skyrocketing, your body teeming with nerves.

Swallowing, you watch the phone ring and ring, and right before he gets sent to voicemail, you take the leap and answer the call. “Hello?”

“Hi,” he breathes. “It’s Yoongi.”

You find yourself smiling despite your sudden jitters. “I know.”

“Oh. I just—” He’s flustered. It’s reassuring to know you’re not the only one. “Sorry. I forgot you had my number.”

“Haven’t had enough time to block it yet,” you tease, but then immediately want to smack yourself. It’s much too soon in whatever…this is to start say something like that. Yoongi pauses, and you rush to rectify your mistake. “Um, that was a joke.”

This time, it’s him who’s amused, a puff of laughter escaping him. “I know.”

“Oh. Um, good.”

“Mmmm.”

“Did you need…” You hesitate, not wanting to accidentally dissuade him from reaching out to you when your newfound truce is so fresh. “Is something wrong?”

“Wrong? Oh, no. No. Well, kinda, yeah.” He lets out a long breath. “I know we agreed that we have a lot of things to talk about, and I still want to do that. But my job just called me and I need to fly back tomorrow.”

“They called you on Christmas?” you ask, annoyed for him. “Why are they contacting you at all during the holidays? Weren’t you supposed to be on vacation until New Year’s?”

“Yeah. But Taehyung’s release date is moving. Apparently, some popular popstar has decided to release her album at the same time, and now A&R is worried his buzz will be buried by hers, so our schedule now has to jump ahead a few weeks. I would just mix things from here, but he still has some songs to record, so it’s just better if I go back.”

“Jeez, that sucks. I’m sorry.”

“Eh, it’s fine. They paid for the ticket back, and I’ve already told them we’re going to renegotiate my royalty amount. So it is what it is.”

“It still sucks. Do you…” you hesitate, inwardly debating on your next words. “Do you need a ride to the airport?”

“I—yeah,” he says, your offer clearly surprising him. “Yeah, that would be great. My flight is early though. Are you sure?”

“Yeah, it’s no problem.”

“Cool. Okay.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll send you my flight info.”

“Sounds good.”

There is a long, long pause after that, one that neither of you is sure how to fill. This is uncharted territory, and you don’t know how to navigate it.

Yoongi finally clears his throat, mercifully setting you free from limbo. “Okay then. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” you breathe. “See you tomorrow.”

Another pause. Then, softly, he says, “Merry Christmas, _____,” and hangs up.

The sun is just starting to breach the horizon, soft rays filtering teasingly through your blinds and dusting your room with speckles of light. It’s pretty, you muse as you watch the gentle glow spread, chasing away the darkness. Crazy to think that something so beautiful is an absolute. That one merely has to have the patience to wait for it.  

You’re never up this early on your days off—and certainly not during the holidays—but it’s not like you got much sleep last night anyway. So you get ready quickly, merely throwing on some jeans and the first sweater you touch. You don’t plan on getting out of the car, in any case.    

Sierra, trudging down the hallway on her way to the bathroom, pauses in your doorway when she sees you’re fully dressed already. She rubs her eyes, raises an eyebrow. “What are you doing up so early?”

You bite the inside of your cheek, hoping you give off an air of nonchalance when you reply, “I have to take Yoongi to the airport.”

That wakes her right up, both eyebrows now seemingly attempting to shoot past her hairline. “Your ex-boyfriend who you just cussed out in front of everybody and then fucked in his kitchen, Yoongi? That Yoongi?!”

You facepalm, groaning in embarrassment. “Say that a little louder, why don’t you.” God, you’re really starting to regret telling her the whole story when she cornered you in one of your aunt’s bathrooms yesterday.

Your sister waves a hand, unconcerned. “Mom’s still knocked out and she fell asleep with the tv blasting. She can’t hear shit.”

“That doesn’t make what you said any less embarrassing.”

“Wasn’t embarrassing when you did it,” she quips, and you’re mad because you can’t even be mad. Because she’s right.

“…Yes,” you finally admit, trying not to pout. “That Yoongi.”  

Sierra grins, looking entirely too happy this early in the morning. “You know, I always knew you two would get back together.”

You scoff at her assumption, face warm. “First of all, rude, considering he literally dumped me via text. And nobody said anything about getting back together—I’m just driving him to the airport.”

“But you’re thinking about it?” she pushes, watching you expectantly. And you don’t know what to say. Are you? It’s way too early to even think about that, literally and figuratively.

…But would it be the worst thing?

Sierra just smiles like you gave her the answer she was fishing for and promptly turns away, continuing her trek to bathroom. “You’re going to be late,” she throws smugly over her shoulder.

The ride to the airport is quiet.

Normally, this wouldn’t be surprising—Yoongi is even less of a morning person than you are, and if he’s ever seen up and about this early, it’s probably because he never went to bed. But the quiet that settles between you now is different from expected lethargy. Is more jittery, antsy. Just on the edge of breaking itself.

You’ve already made small talk about Christmas, of course. Got that out of the way early, chatting about how generous Santa was to Sua this year, how your aunt got tipsy on moscato and sang loudly and off key. Safe topics. But now that those are all out of the way, the only thing left, aside from what you’re both dancing around, is silence. So silence is what you sit in for the rest of the ride, you ultimately turning on the radio halfway through just to have something to cut through the unspoken tension.

It isn’t until you’ve navigated to departures and pulled up to curb drop off that you finally break it.

“Well,” you say awkwardly. “Looks like this is you.”

God, this is weird. It’s weird, and you hate that it’s weird. Hate that this is what the two of you have come to, when things used to be so easy and effortless.

“Thanks,” Yoongi says, but he doesn’t make any move to leave. Instead, he stares at the dashboard for a bit and then finally turns to you, startling you with his sudden intensity. “I want you to know that I’m sorry I didn’t communicate better back then.”

You stare back at him, wide-eyed at this turn of events. Dazed at finally hearing the words you’ve been waiting an eternity to hear.

But Yoongi doesn’t wait for your response, just continues to tell his truth. “Our lives were at a turning point when we graduated, and it terrified me that everything was changing. It really hurt that you didn’t seem to care if I was with you or not. It really hurt that I needed you more than you needed me.”

His confession shocks you into action, protest immediately tumbling out of your mouth before you can even process it. “Yoongi, of course I needed you, are you crazy? You have no idea how much you leaving fucked me up.” You let out a disbelieving laugh, gesturing at nothing. “But for you to feel that way, I clearly am not very good at communicating either. So I’m sorry too.”

His expression softens, lips parting to respond, but you’re not done. You need him to know.

“I’m sorry if I ever made you feel unloved or unwanted,” you profess sincerely. “Because that honestly couldn’t be further than the truth.”

Yoongi holds your stare, something akin to hope swimming in his irises.

You let out a long exhale, nervous to say what needs to be said. “But it’s not the same. We’re not the same. And we can’t just pretend that we are.”

Your words hover between you, their truth heavy in the resulting silence. A Top 40 song uses the opportunity to warble vapidly in the background. But then, after a few harrowing moments, Yoongi gives you a slow nod.

“You’re right. We’re not,” he agrees, expression adamant. “But I’d still love the opportunity to get to know you again, if you’ll let me.”

Something warm flutters in your chest, and you duck your head, once again shy. Why are you shy? It’s just Yoongi. Just your Yoongi. “I’d like that,” you admit.

He smiles then, first small and hesitant, but quickly widening into too much gum when you smile back. Unwavering, he unbuckles his seatbelt and opens his door, one leg already out before he pauses and backtracks. Before you realize what he’s doing, he’s leaning over the console, his face getting closer and closer and making you crosseyed.

Your eyes reflexively flutter shut when his hand reaches up to cradle your cheek, when the distance between you rapidly disappears. You feel his thumb rub a few gentle circles into your jawline, and then, after a beat, his lips press rather tenderly against your forehead.

Stunned, you can only watch him, wide-eyed, when he pulls back, unabashedly meeting your astonished stare. Then, with one final, resolute nod, Yoongi climbs out of the vehicle and shuts the door. You watch him as he grabs his suitcase from the trunk, rolling it the short way to the automatic doors. You watch him as he disappears inside without looking back.

And that’s how, for the second time in your life, Min Yoongi walks away and leaves you behind.

But it’s going to be okay, you know. As you pull away from the curb, merging into oncoming traffic, you can tell that it’s different this time. That this time, his departure settles your heart much less like a goodbye and much more like a see you later.

That this time, it feels like a promise.

⇢ collab masterlist | my masterlist

[safflowerseason]

okay I finished the oc oral history if anyone has thoughts/impressions they'd like to share! I'll do a longer post with my thoughts in a bit. immediate takeaways: white men fail upward in hollywood, the oc would have lasted more than four seasons if it had premiered as a ten-episode teen drama on HBO in 2012, and everyone talked *around* mischa barton--her as a person, her experience on the show, and her performance--in a way that was very sad and telling.

[salaciouscrumbb]

where’s my post about how seth cohen was the harbinger of our current nerdy superhero hellscape

[mischas]

This year is the 20th anniversary of “The OC.” Are you marking it in any way?

We did the [“Welcome to the OC, Bitches!”] podcast finally for everybody and that seemed to make people happy. And it’s sweet [the cast] have been out picketing. I wish I could be there with the whole fam. It’s a tricky one with “The OC” because it’s just not that easy to revive. But I mean, I finally agreed to participate in the book [“Welcome to the O.C.: The Oral History,” which comes out in November]. So there have been quite a few things going on marking the 20th anniversary of it. But any specific chance for us to get back together right this second with all that’s going on with the strike? Probably not.

It took you a long time to agree to participate in those things. Do you feel differently about the show now as an adult?

Sure. I mean, there’s a lot more time and space between the actual events of the time and like, we’ve all matured and grown up. I was talking to Tate Donovan and some of [the others] about it. All our attitudes have softened towards the whole thing. Now it does have a certain sense of nostalgia to it and you’ve put some distance between the events of the time and now. I think it’s just really heartwarming to see this generation during lockdown watch it again and see young people watching it. It’s nice to know that people still get a kick out of it. And it was really fun to see [the cast] again, and to go to dinner with them and get to reconnect in that sense with some of them. It’s been nice.

[shesawriter39049]

|PRETTY PLEASE| M|

SMUT/ LIGHT ANGST

Pairing: Taehyung X Reader ( A lil Joonie at the end)

Song reference: Dua Lipa-Pretty Please

About- Tae fucks you on top of your receptionist desk before you fire her…

Or- Tae’s feeling a little needy...and somewhat low key, self continuous about you possibly hiring a new production assistant..AKA...Jungkook. It seems as though Mr. Kim takes pride in being the youngest within the office! It seems as though your baby boy just needs a little..reassurance....

Warnings: Soft dom OC, Service top Tae, Baby/baby boy/praise kink/ over-stimulation/ cum play/cum as lube(using someone elses cum as lube to be exact) Fingering, Semi public sex, unprotected sex/ dirty talk, biting/marking kink/minimal prep, oral(F receiving), Finger sucking, (Joon is mentioned a couple times during sex but not physically present) he dose however come in after it’s over and shares a kiss with Tae at the end BTW (I feel like I’m missing some...but theirs nothing like off the wall in this one)

Note- This one shot  is a part of my OT7 Poly AU called 7 deep! Part 1 will be linked below! Short version of the overall plot: Your Married to Namjoon, however you’re both in a open relationship and run a very successful Adult Entertainment company called “Onyx” with your 5 college lovers AKA BTS Minus Kookie! There is a lil backstory sprinkled in because without it the dynamic would not really make sense....

Tae is her executive assistant upon other things BTW... 

Theres a HUGE praise kink and a lot of dirty talk here...he’s her baby..point blank...

Joonie’s lost and jsut wants everybody happy

WC: 7K

Onyx Entertainment 7:09 AM

~~~~

“Y/n’’ Taehyung comes over slowly, voice still full of sleep. sitting even lower, and huskier than usual..almost a whisper actually. Positioning himself right behind you, hips flush against the swell of your ass, snaking his arms, around your waist. Hands trailing slowly up your stomach, allowing his fingers to roam your body freely until one of his hands is flush around the front of your neck. Applying just enough pressure to trigger a slight chill to course up your spine, as the stark contrast from the array of metals he has dancing along his delicate fingers brushes against your skin. However, your so used to the position, especially where Taehyung is concerned it doesn’t stifle you the way it used to, somehow your still able to function….

Arching your back even deeper….however contrary to what he may want…that’s not really why your arching at the moment…..

“God,was it necessary for you to wear this dress today??!” Tae whispers, sounding almost pained at the revelation! Face nuzzled into the side of your ear, nipping at the gold hoop dangling from your lobe. “Y/nnnn” He’s needy…and whiny…very..not that your surprised though…

A low almost disinterested hum rings in the back of your throat as your fingers patter against the phone. ‘Yes baby?.”

”Stop, ignoring me” Pouts off his lips as he nips your ear even harder, a slight growl that sounds far too cute to be even remotely threatening leaving his throat!

A disgruntled...nah, an infuriated groan huffs off your chest upon seeing there’s 40,yes 40 voicemail’s.. stored on said phone. Well aware your busy, but not busy enough to have gotten 40 messages all in one night. A string of curses hush off your lips upon hearing the date and reasons behind the numerous calls that were clearly never returned.So ya know, there goes a good… shit, 10k down the drain in payroll over the past 4 in a half months she's worked here!

“Tae, add “Officially, fire Jordan’’ to my list of things to do today..please and fucking thank you…”

Slamming the headset against the desk phone hard enough to have to actually bounce off the receiver. Taehyung knows you like the back of his hand though, not even blinking as he damn near acts as if he’s spider man grabbing the phone before it completely falls off the desk. Within seconds he instantly brings his hands back to their initial position, caressing your frame against his own. Suddenly your curiosity gets the best of you so you welcome yourself to her desktop. Logging in to Outlook to check her work email. And what do you know, 120 unopened emails…. god why…WHY!?

“You have got to be fucking kidding..” Sighs off your lips in disbelief “What the actual fuck has she been doing this entire time!?” The question was rhetorical: you really didn’t wanna know, it took every ounce of self control not to search her browser….You’d probably pop a vessel if you logged on and found her history full of online shopping, Facebook, and UberEats! Body slouching into his almost as if all of the energy got sucked out of your body upon seeing the shitshow that is Jordan’s email!

“So wait, am I adding that to your schedule before or after your 7:30 AM appointment to fuck Taehyung Kim?” Brow quirked in genuine curiosity, as if he just asked you the day's weather forecast or something!.

Honestly? It took you a minute to even catch on because he said that shit with his entire chest, like, he meant that! Not even an ounce of amusement laced within his delivery….

A loud cackle ripped from your throat once you actually process what this man just said. Reclining your head against his shoulder, placing a lingering kiss along his cheek which he leaned into instantly. The grip he holds around both your waist and neck tightening once you start to rock your hips against him. Biting your lips,lashes fluttering in his direction, yanking the chain around his neck ever so slightly.

“Hmm….must have missed that when I skimmed my itinerary this morning…huh?” A sly smirk playing along your lips as you lock eyes with his.

“Mmm, minor but very important schedule alteration…weren’t you the one who taught me that you always have to be ready to adapt to any and every situation?”

A low hum rings in the back of your throat as you gently massage his freshly dyed scalp “I do recall saying something along those lines...” Ghosting your lips over the hinge of his jaw...blowing lightly.

Those electric blue locks you'd grown to love were now replaced by a color you haven't seen in lord knows when. Black, as simple as it may seem it just  compliments his caramelized complexion and dark brows perfectly. His hair is getting long all over now, and the older he gets the more comfortable he seems to be with letting his entire face be seen, hair parted messily down the middle in soft waves. It’s still kinda surreal watching him turn more, and more into a man as the years go on! Still remembering when he was walking around campus with his hella brassy box dyed blonde hair and Pacsun jeans....

Turning his head so his lips hovered over yours close enough that you could almost taste the Caramel ice capp on his tongue. Nosing along your face like a spoiled puppy silently begging for affection, chin tilted upwards just enough to let you know what he needed!

“We don’t have time baby boy you know this..” Leaning down to kiss the pout off is lips before it even appeared “You know were slammed and Yoongi has production getting in at-”

Taehyung leans in to capture your lips in another kiss, clearly less than intrigued by anything you had to say at the moment. This time a little deeper, moaning against your tongue as he breaches the seam of your lips. It’s hard and messy, Tae’s teeth accidentally clack against your own, your trying to speak but it keeps getting muffled against his lips! He’s shameless with his need, the way he’s licking his way around your mouth while he slowly grinds his hips into your ass tells you that. Nothing subtle about how hard his dick is straining against the leather of his pants…

He doesn't waste any time either,clawing his way up your thighs, hiking your dress up, around your waist, sliding his hand down to cup your pussy between his palm. Taehyung lets out a loud wanton moan, one that bounces off the brick walls around you once he feels how warm and wet you are. The blatant wet patch in the center of your panties, that his fingers are damn near stuck too!  You move your hand up to the side of his neck, taking a somewhat aggressive hold to try and get him to calm down enough for you to speak. Nails digging tiny crests into his skin, yet you don't stop because you know he fuckin loves it.

“No fuckin patience” Tugging his bottom lip between your teeth, far to fond of the man in front of you to have any bite laced within your delivery.

“You talkin about me or you?” A playful smirk plays along his tongue as you lean up to trail yours over his lips to ease the sting before sucking it into your mouth.

“What’s got you so distracted today hmm??” Head cocked to the side, feigned innocence’s playing along your tongue as you gaze back at him, taking in how blatantly fucked out he already looks.

A low whine rips from his lips as he forces himself to break apart just enough to actually speak properly! “Are you forgetting we came here together?” Brow arched knowingly, Taehyung drops his head, to lick, nip, suck, and kiss your neck, ripping a soft moan from your throat, reclining your neck to give him more room to work. Breath hot and heady against your skin as he noses up the side of your neck.   “And we have plenty of time,I already know you don’t need much right now….” Clasping his fingers around your heat even tiger “Baby, please”

Point being, Tae utilized his free access to the apartment that Namjoon and you share this morning after deciding he had no interest in driving himself to work. Which also means, he heard the two of you fucking in the shower, Joon and Hoseok had been in NY for a convention for the past week so lets just say it was long overdue. And actually…. correction, he wasn’t just chilling in your apartment, he was laying on your bed getting off to the two of you fucking in the shower. Still, this boy is insatiable and that wasn’t enough for him to be even remotely satisfied...

“Mmm…” You rock backwards, grinding against his length even harder, tilting your head back, taking the brunette’s ear between your teeth. Pulling hard enough to make him whine, body shuddering against your own, lips flush to his ear “Oh, so it’s my fault you invited yourself in and listened to us fuck in the shower?” Painting your lips down the side of his neck until you suck a mark into the juncture of his collarbone. Low enough that his shirt can cover it during business hours, though you know if he had it his way your marks would be plastered over the front column of his neck!

“My fault you’re already nice and hard and all you wanna do is fuck me until I come allll over your cock too?” His body goes completely pliant under your tongue, just like a cat being pulled by the nape of its neck. A faint whimper falls from his lips as he reaches up, hands getting tangled into your hair pressing down to keep you in place. “My fault your too horny to focus today?”

“Fuck today!” He scoffs around a moan “You’re always distracting, I always want you, god, since fuckin Econ, second period, you know this.” Damn, he’s taking this back to his freshman year of college!? “You already know what you do to me!” Mumbling against your jaw, kissing across it as best as he can at the current angle.

A pleased hymn rings in the back of your throat at the memory “My spoiled baby…” Breath fanning out warm against his skin “Always loved being marked up by me huh?” Taehyung is a resident switch, especially during his college days, yet for some reason where Yoongi and yourself are concerned this man becomes submissive as fuck. He’s always a pleaser, but it comes something serious where your concerned, his need to make you feel good almost overtaking his own need to climax!

Tilting your head to meet his hooded gaze head on “What’s got you all hard baby? Thinking about how easily you could just slide in?” Nothing accidentally about the low moan that slides off your tongue after every word. As you place your hand ontop of his. Gently rocking it back and forth against your clit “ How warm and wet I am? How messy it’ll be, feeling Joonies come dripping out of me as you fuck me?”

“Y/n! Just- fuck…”

‘Is that what you want Tae? You wanna fill me up and fuck me open with your big, thick ,cock?” Your staring him dead in the eye as these words purr off your tongue “Joonie came hard too, there's still so much leaking out right now, my panties have been saoked since I left the house..” Taehyung’s jaw tense as you slip a hand behind you, gripping his dick in your palm through his pants. He was always one to go commando so the rough texture flush against his length was really fucking him up right now. Eyes fluttering shut, “You know I’d still be nice and tight for you too..I’m always tight and warm around you aren't I baby??”

Taehyung didn't even have to open his eyes to know you had a smirk on your face, he could feel the smirk within your voice and he whined..loud. Dragging his bottom lip between his teeth before releasing another moan once you free him from your palm and start grinding your hips back against him.

You push back and he whines even louder this time, leaning down to nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck. “God, please, baby let me fuck-let your baby boy fuck you. Let me make you feel good…” You can feel his cock twitch behind you, and there's no denying it, you want it just as bad as he does.

You can tell he’s getting himself worked into a frenzy so you kiss him quite. Massaging your tongue against his cooing lightly at how quickly he just melts into you!

“Mmm, if I let you fuck me are you gonna be a god boy for me? Make me come all over your cock?” You know, you already know but you like riling him up….

“Fuck yes, I’ll fuck you so damn good…” Sinking his teeth into your pulse point, not even attempting to let up until he rips the neediest whine imaginable from your lips, knees damn near bucking in the process. Taking the skin between his teeth and sucking...hard..Tae wants to leave a mark..he appears to be feeling oddly possessive today…

“God, I can fuckin smell you now...fuck…” Taehyung’s grip on your hip tigtnes “Let me….fuck baby let me…”

“Jesus-Fu- Do you even know how good you sound when you beg?” A shaky breath signs off your lips and you can feel Tae Smiling against your skin..well aware he’s about to get what he wants.

“Yeah, I know, I know, I sound good,” Tae smirks around a moan . “I know I do, I know how much you fuckin love it too… Love seeing me all hard, and needy for you…..only you. Your the only one that gets me like this”

A fond smile plays along your lips as you stroke his nape..”My baby boy yeah?”

Taehyung just whines in response bucking his hips even harder, honestly you could tease him all day but there really isn't the time. “Yours, always yours” there’s a slight pout playing on his lips. Almost as if he’s trying to convince himself of that as well which is something you take a mental note of to bring up later!

“Yeah,” You moan, low and breath. “Yeah, come on...fuck me.”

“About damn time….” You can feel his lips curl into a smile that you can only imagine sparked something wicked! Because your baby boy is a spoiled brat at heart!

With one clean sweep he knocked every damn file off Jordan’s desk and flipped you onto your back. Hips shifting slightly so your legs are dangling off the edge, as he steps between them. Kneading your inner thighs beneath skilled nimble fingers as he loosely wraps them around his waist.

Once your situated you peer up at him, a playful smirk playing on your lips as your nails claw up his sides…. “You wanna make me feel good Tae?”

“I wanna fuckin ruin you, I always do...every time I look at you I just wanna give you every damn thing! However you want it….” Tae Moans….sliding your panties to the side a slight hiss ringing in the back of his throat as he claws up your thighs. Your still dripping, lips swollen, clit still sensitive to the touch.

You visibly shudder, gut twisting at the admission...as you take in his lust-filled hooded gaze.“Such a pretty pussy baby…” Long, delicate fingers trail up and down your clit gently. Leaning down to blow a trail up your lips just to make you squirm.

“Fuckkk” Back arching off the desk, not one to try and hide how affected you are. You know he gets off on praise. “You can, you already know you can do whatever you want to me….” You moan even louder as he works your clit a little quicker, adding more pressure.

“God, I still can’t get over the way you sound” Leaning down to kiss you, deep languid strokes of his tongue while he traces his fingers around your entrance….he knows damn well you don't need it but he can’t help himself. “I wanna put my fingers inside..feel how tight and wet you'll be around my cock…” Tae slurs around a moan as his tongue hits the roof of your mouth. Instead of responding you reach down, taking his wrist and guiding him straight in, until your both gasping against one another.

Inserting his middle and ring finger, making you pull back just enough to catch your breath, inhaling a sharp breath through your nose. He can feel Namjoon’s come just leaking out once his fingers slush through as he buries himself knuckle deep. “Fuck, Yn” Growls off his tongue, gaze instantly darkening

Nose scrunching into his face the deeper he works his digits into, your warm, tight and messy, so fucking messy! Curling his fingers upwards as if he’s trying to scoop his come forwards so he can push it all back in, “Such a messy pussy”

“Feel good baby?”You can feel him smiling into the kiss, and a deep groan rips from the back of your throat.

“You know I can handle more than that baby, come on….” Taehyung moans at the instructions pulling back to brace his forehead against yours gazing down at you through hooded lids. His arm starts to move a little harder, making you spread your legs on instinct, wrist shifting ever so slightly until your moaning louder, deeper..hips rocking up to meet his palm. Making sure it smacks against your clit head on every time he makes contact.

“Yeah, fuck. Like that, just like that”  Snaking your hands under his shirt to claw up his back, cooing at how hard he shutters at the contact “Angle u-fuck” A light giggle leaving your lips a stated smile on your face as he finds the spot before you even get it out. Twisting and angling his arm, fucking his fingers into you until he finds that ridget patch nuzzled between your heat, thighs tensing around his waist once he does and he just beams down at you…

He starts working his fingers faster, adding a third, spreading them ever so slightly as he pulls out so he can slide in with little to no resistance. Regardless of Joon fucking you this morning, you still always manage to snap right back in place. No matter how many times they’ve fucked you over the years, you always fit around Taehyung’s cock like a glove...always.

Tae is the youngest and he was also the least experienced when you all met, and by that I mean he was one of those college kids that didn't know any better, Simply because none of his prior partners ever took the time to..properly make their needs known...that is until he met you one Thursday night…

So you often found this strong sense of pride at the way he fucks you now...no instruction truly needed. He could get you off with his eyes closed at this point.  You just no he gets off on it...gets off on being your good boy, and he always is.

Your loud now, and Tae’s leaking so much precome into his pants it’s unreal. Rocking your hips even harder up and down, you can physically hear how wet you are, without a doubt leaking onto the desk! You already close, closer than you wanna be before is cocks splitting you in half.

“Fuck stop!”

The smirk that tugs along those lips was something lethal, gaze dark, a low hum ringing in the back of his throat as he raked over your form. How ragged your breath is...how hard your thighs are tensing around him…..

“Why?’ Head cocked to the side as he sticks his tongue out wetting those pouty lips of his. “Can’t handle coming 3 times today?” The arch in his brow is taunting and you can’t even lie, there's something really sexy about how confident he’s gotten over the years “ Don’t wanna come until I’m balls deep inside you” The question coming off more as a statement, gaze daring you to tell him anything different.

Your breath hitched, every vein in your body felt like it was on fire as he pulled you into a kiss. ,deep, rough and messy while you clench down around his fingers. Ripping every once of bravado he had to shreds...within seconds, once you trapped him between your heat, cock twitching on command.

“Now. Fuck me” You breath out, eyes locked with his as you slide his fingers free, lacing your tongue around the. Slow deliberate strokes, humming around the taste of both your and Namjoon’s arousal coating your tongue and Taehyung looks fucking wrecked! You allow him to slide in knuckle deep until he hits the back of your throat, and he can’t help but moan at how easily you take him.

“Come onnn Tae, fuck meee” A low whine hanging off your tongue as you guide his fingers back down your body hovering over your clit again…. “I need your cock baby”

“Fuck, yeah okay...I’ll fill you up baby” Stepping back just enough to unzip his pants and much to know ones surprise he’s rock hard, standing straight up, the tip painfully pink it almost looks as though you can physically see him throbbing. An obscene amount of Precum’s leaking down his shaft as he grazes his thumb over his slit. Hissing at the contact, Tae’s so hard it literally hurts at this point , balls tight against the base of his shaft.

Mouthwatering shamelessly at the sight as he grips his cock and smacks it along your clit a couple of times. Just to hear your juices slick all over the place, literally sounding as if he just splashed his palm in water!

He leans down and kisses your neck until you grab him by the hair to turn his cheek, to kiss him, deep and hard, making him taste Namjoon’s come on your tongue. You grind your hips forward letting his cock graze your clit until he's groaning low and desperate against your tongue. Hiking your legs up around his waist, digging his nails into the swell of your ass. Pressing your heels into the small of his back to pull his hips even closer!

“You sound so fucking good like this, so fuckin ready to fuck me huh baby?” Tae practically growls when he answers you, he technically responds “yes” first in Korean which is...rare, typically only happens when he’s overwhelmed and clearly…

“Yeah, yes, fuck I want it, need you baby please .” Grounding his hips even harder until he has your eyes rolling to the back of your head, fuck this boy is going to be the death of you. The pout on his lips is a stark contrast to how thick, and hard his cock is as it rubs against your clit…

Letting your fingers roam through his hair, landing on the back of his neck “Fuck me…”

He doesn't even bother lubing up his cock he doesn't need it , he just shifts his hips slightly to angle you upwards and slowly sinks his cock inside, breathing out deeply through flared nostrils as he does…

“Fuckkkk” Leaves both of your lips in unison once he breaches your entrance. Heat instantly pooling in the pit of your stomach as he starts to stretch you open. His eyes stay on yours the entire time, though hooded and unfocused they never waiver! Panting out hot and heavy against each others tongues, as you try to adjust to the stretch...

You can both not only hear but feel Namjoons come overflowing the deeper he gets! You can feel his arms starting to shake from how overwhelmed he is from all the pressure building around him.

Leaning up to whisper a combination of praise and absolute filth in your baby’s ear until your ripping the neediest moans and groans from his throat.

Dropping his head to leave a trail of open-mouthed kisses up the side of your neck, along his jaw, nipping at the diamond hoop in your ear.

There’s no edging his way in either,Taehyung is sliding all the way home. Not stopping until your filled to the brim. Continually whispering praise after praise into his ear which already has him throbbing on impact. Squeezing your ass even tighter, nosing up your cheek until you bring your lips flush to his, sliding in tongue first, need overtaking finesse at this point but neither of you cared!

He starts to move and you dig your nails into his ass, hard enough to make him groan even through the leather!

“Don’t, move yet….be a good boy for me, and stay still... “ He grunts and damn near has a temper tantrum but he obliged….”Stay still pretty, you can do that for me can’t you?”

Right as he's about to speak he finds himself choking around a moan as you purposely clench around him .

“Fuck, baby your pussy feels..Goddamn Yn” He almost sounds awed as if to say after all these years it’s kinda crazy that you still have this kinda affect on him! He lets out a low hum when you do it again, Taehyung is hot to the touch at this point “Fuck, tell me” his tone takes on an almost demanding tenor which only makes your toes curl against the sole of your Louboutins!

“Tell you what Tae?” Tone somewhat teasing until you take in the look of almost desperation within those big brown eyes of his, “That you're my baby? My good boy? The best boy?” Eyes fluttering shut briefly, a low hum ringing in the back of his throat “That your cook feels so fuckin good even when your not doing anything? Or how good you're being for me no matter how bad I know you wanna move.”

Fingers gently caressing the back of his neck “What do you wanna know baby?” In contrast to Tae’s your voice drops down to a whisper,nothing but fondness and affection dripping off your tongue. You can sense something’s wrong more than just him being horny. Yeah he had a praise kink but this feels different as if he NEEDS the validation outside of just sex. “Or…” reaching you to take a delicate, somewhat intimate hold on his jaw, temporarily shifting the mood. “Tell you how much I love you? Because I really fuckin do Tae…”  His breath hitches in his throat, you feel his cock twitch and his heart hammer against his chest at the admission “Soo much baby…”

“I love you” The words ramble off his tongue repeatedly almost as if he can’t stop...

Leaning down to nip at your bottom lip “Keeping my cock, nice and warm…..squeezing me soo good baby…” Leaning down to suck on the hinge of your jaw. “I just-I wanna make you come so bad, wanna fill you up with even more come until your just dripping with it. “ Tae’s voice dropped to an octave you haven't heard in lord known when, instantly reminding you that you created a fucking monster…..you know what he’s doing though. Since you won;t let him move he’s trying to get you worked up enough that you don’t have a choice.

This time when you clenched around him it was involuntary and so was the needy ass moan that ripped from your throat

His skin is flushed...eyes begging you to let him fuck you “You get me soo hard, I don't even understand how you could even expect, me to wanna go out and find someone else after I’ve been wrapped around you for so many years. Yn fuck-” Eyes rolling to the back of his head mid-sentence, the tighter you suck him in, he’s overwhelmed and just rambling at this point but you know what he’s referring too...

Meaning, even though you essentially operate as a closed triad as long as there’s open and honest lines commutation. The boys aren’t technically tied to Namjoon and yourself...yet outside of maybe a little drunken grind and make out session in the clubs...or something….at least over the past 2 years none of you have strayed...None of you have ever wanted too..more than content with what you have...

You reach up, placing your fingers in front of his mouth ‘Spit' ' He does with zero hesitation, as you bring your hand down to work your clit…The second you make contact you start pulsing around him even harder...and now Tae’s squirming on top of you. It’s becoming way too much he’s going to fuck around and come before he even gets to move

“Baby please, I can’t- I need-”

“Fuck me then!” Voice gently yet commanding

“Oh thank fuckk” Taehyung almost shouts as he thrust into you, hard and fast, almost knocking your head into the raised back of the desk! Snapping his hips forward with purpose, clearly well aware that the two of you don’t have much time.

He leans down to kiss every exposed piece of skin he can reach, your neck, shoulder, collarbone, before making his way up to your lips, sucking his tongue into your mouth. “Fuck, I can still taste you, both of you!” He kisses you through each thrust, hard, and opened mouth, panting out against your tongue, as you rake your nails down his back. Pulling out almost completely only to thrust in hard enough to have your thighs weakening. Practically dropping from his waist until he reaches under resecurring them in place.

“Yes, fuckk yess..” Each roll of his hips is sharp, precise, hitting every spot you need to have your eyes having a continuous meeting with the back of your head!

“Taeaahyung fu-” Pulling apart, drifting your eyes to where his cock is flushed, and sliding all the way out only to slam back in…Blurring the lines of where you start and he ends..."Look at how good your fucking me….always such a good boy for me yeah?”

Your winded...and your thighs are shaking, eyes heavy as all hell, but the moan that slips past his lips at the praise is more than worth it. You swear you feel his cock get even harder actually. You rock back, tensing your muscles around him, ripping a low groan of your name off his tongue before he actually responds.

“Yeah I’m good...so fuckin good for you baby!” You can feel his breath get lodged in his throat as he speaks, shifting your hips so they are raised a little higher. The moan that rips from your throat as you arch off the desk has him fucking into you even harder. Addicted to all the sinful sounds he knows he’s the only one responsible for right now...  “You take me so well, sound so fucking pretty for me…” Dragging his bottom lip along his teeth!

“Fuck me harder, I know you wanna...you know I can take it! Use me baby, fuck meeeee”

He groans, leaning down to pull you into a messy kiss as he pulls out and snaps forward making you almost scream, head pulling back in a stifled gasp as he picks up his pace, grounding his hips and steadying his rhythm. Brining your hand back down to work your clit, knowing your close, but you still need a little more.

“Fuck you look soo good getting yourself off like that….”

You let your eyes flutter open, a menacing smirk playing on your lips as you remove your hand from your clit. Sucking your fingers into your mouth as you fuck into him even harder. Lathering them with an unnecessary amount of spit, as if you weren't already dripping all over the place.

“You like watching me get myself off for you?” Bring one hand up to massage your nipples through the thin fabric of the dress while the other comes down to graze your clit. Locking your eyes with his as rub yourself, harder, faster, clearly with a purpose this time around. Eyes growing heavy as you moan out, rocking upwards to meet his thrust but never once breaking eye contact.

Tae, moans even louder at that, especially once you start fucking into him with the same amount of forces he's giving you “Yeah, baby fuck me...fuck me” Biting his lip, grunting and groaning through clenched teeth once he feels you start to tighten around his cock which has been throbbing this entire time!

Tae, braces your legs on either side of his shoulder, angling your hips even higher as they roll into you, deep and fast. The sound of skin slapping, Tae, grunting, and you moaning bouncing off every surface. Turning his head to the side to kiss at your ankles...teeth gently grazing along the strap of your heels, as he rolls his hips even deeper, head luling onto his shoulders.

You whine low and breathy as you click the backs of your heels together behind his head. Pressing the back of your thighs flush to his chest to bring him even closer. Those big, extremely sexy hands of his grip your waist, even tighter gripped your waist trying to pull you even closer. Ass flush with his hips at every stroke, the intoxicating feeling of the deep drag and stretch of his cock deep inside you had Tae’s toes curling against his Saint Laurent boots.

“God why do you look this fuckin hot!?” He actually sounds upset to be honest, and you can't help but laugh no matter how hard it is to breathe right now. Your thighs are practically vibrating on either side of his head.

“Fucking me open with your cock…like it was made for me...made to make me come-” Stopping mid-sentence not by choice just because fuck you couldn't breathe he was deep at this angle “Fuck and your gonna make me come too, keep fucking me Tae- just….fuck!”

“I was baby,fucking you just how you taught me…” He whimpers and moans even louder eyes fighting to stay open and maintain eye contact. Something about the way he said that “The way you taught me...” Was exactly what you needed to let go!

“Taeeee” you whine “I’m going to fuckin come harder.. Fuck please!!” Throwing your head back against the desk, knocking against what feels like a stapler but you can’t be bothered to care by how good he feels right now. Your gasping, breathless, and more importantly now your the one that sounds needy and there's nothing sexier than that to Taehyung.

Leaning up to grip him by the back of his neck and he leans into it. Basically folding you in half, he can feel how hard your starting to squeeze him, and he damn near chokes on his own words. “Yeah, yeah, just like that , come for me, come for your baby...”  

He gasping and whimpering right over you, jaw slack but not fully able to really kiss you back right now, so you decided to toy his bottom lip around your tongue. “Harder,harder” You instruct low and breathy tight into his mouth. “Fuckkk”

You clench your muscles around him as hard as you can, moaning loud and unfiltered until your coming, hard. Your spazzing and coming all over his cock and it’s actually almost pailful at this point.

“Yes, fuck baby ..your so good, soo perfect... ” You can feel that he needed this ,not just physically, just everything, about him in this moment screams how bad he needs this! There's no way he's coming no matter how close until you do, until you milk him through it!

You swear for a minute your heads spinning, fuzzy and lightheaded, ears burning as he rips you apart nerve by nerve...like he said...Just how you taught him! It takes a minute a good minute for you to pull you shit together and fuck if it dosent do wonders for you baby’s ego!

You whimper directly against his lips, gaze heavy, still completely fucked out “Such a good boy, you’re doing so good, come for me baby…” His thrust are becoming sporadic and out of rhythm because you don't stop stroking your clit, so your still spazzing around him, your still coming! You've always been one for over stimulation, I mean fuck you have 6 lovers for fucks sake how could you not. Your coming, moaning,painting and it’s ripping Tae’s orgasm straight from his body whether he was ready for it or not!

Taehyung cries and you can feel is cock twitch one more time before hes coming, snapping his hps forward, and stalling in place as you clench down around him! moaning louder and louder, “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Tae collapses forward once he’s finished, so spent and you pull him closer, encouraging him to rest on top of you no matter how heavy he truly is.

“So good,” you whisper “Always such a good boy for me…”  He leans down, completely blissed eyes heavy, and kisses you slow...intimate...hands gently stoking up and down your thighs as the two of you breathe as one… realizing this isn't really the time or place for this but you need amount to fully come down!! “I love you…” Slurs off your tone completely spent, and you feel him smile against your lips.

“ I Love you” A moan starts on his tongue and ends on the top of yours as he slides out, you can feel the come leaking onto the desk. Before you can even process what’s happening you see Tae drop down to his knees...bracing your thighs on either side of his head. Scooping up as much of the overflow as he can pushing, his fingers in knuckle deep curling upwards in the process...Thighs threatening to clench around his head in over secretive as a low whine hisses from your lips!

“Oh my god” Fingers seamlessly found there place in his soft, slight damp locks, tugging on his scalp relentlessly as you rolled your hips into his tongue. Though you really should be running away from the sensation but fuck, you can;t help it! Low breathy whines and moans fell from your lips the harder he sucked your clit between his lips, moaning out as all of your arousal's coat his tongue. Your clit is still rock hard and your literally a second away from coming all over again...that is,,until he slides in 3 fingers deep and apparently where Taehyung is concerned you don’t even have a refraction time because...

“Tae-baby- fuckkkk”  Back coming to a complete arch as you came with a silent cry, you were panting so hard you almost felt like you were about to pass out. Taehyung’s tongue was still relentless, causing you to jerk and twitch away from him, trying to edge your way up the bed but it was no use..you were already crowning the headboard.

“Please, fuck - I can’t , I can’t …” Thankfully it seems as though he agreed, maybe it’s because your thighs wouldn’t stop spazzing and you soiled the spot right beneath your ass you were so wet! Kissing, licking, sucking a path from your clit, up your stomach, sliding your dress back into place, before his face was finally flush to yours. Sliding his tongue into your mouth without warning, kissing you deep and messy,letting you taste a combination of Tae, Joon and yourself thoroughly as you licked the excess coming from the corners of his lips causing you both to moan. Hands soothing up your trembling thighs trying to sooth you but it was no use..you were a mess!

Taehyung could feel them vibrating against his palm. Smiling smugly against your lips, clearly pleased with the sudden state your in . Locking your thighs around his waist, bracing his hands beneath for support because he can feel how pliant your entire body is beneath him.

“Wrap your arms around my neck” Whispered against your lips as he kissed you again while shifting off the desk, gripping your bag, and leading the two of you down the hall into your office. Voice sitting even husker now than it did initially....eyes still comptely blown out

Laying you gently on the leather chaise against the wall and you can’t help but smile up at him with nothing but fondness. Remembering those days when your baby boy was still lost in that fuck boy phase and thought after care was not kicking his partner out after! Now you watch as he slowly spreads your thighs apart. Cleaning you gently with a couple baby wipes kissing every inch of skin he touches in the process before doing the same to himself.Tucking his spent cock back into his leather pants with a slight hiss due to oversensitiveness…

“Thank you baby…” Taking his hand in your kissing along his knuckles “Fuck Tae, you were in a mood this morning...holyshit” An exhausted chuckle leaves your lips as you settle into the cushions, your thighs were literally still humming.

“Aye gotta make a lasting impression before you go meet my replacement right??” He tried to laugh it off, but not only did his “smile” not even remotely reach his eyes...you could hear light tremor laced within his delivery that he tried to mask by said laugh!

Brows scrunching to the middle of your face immediately because...WHAT!?

“Speaking of, you and Yoongi have that 2:30 interview with Jungkook. So you might wanna dip out and shower first, you just might still end up feeling kinda sticky, between me and Joonie there’s just..fuck..”

To be honest, everything kinda melted into a blur and it almost seemed as though you really weren’t listening because all you kept thinking about is him saying you were going to meet his “Replacement…”

“I mean even with a pantyl-”

“What?!” You honestly did not mean for your response to come out as snappy as it did but again… WHAT!?

“I said you might wanna-“

“That’s, what this was about?!” Brows furrowed in the center of your face in confusion more than anything because what the fuck Tae! “First off, he was your idea, but if he makes you uncomfortable for any reason we don’t have to interview him! You have to work with him too baby, I don't want-” You know your deliveries off so you find yourself reaching up to gently caress his jaw, which is a stark contrast to your tone at the moment!

“No, no” Flagging his hand in the air dismissively “ I want you to, he seems  like a good kid and like he knows his shit Yoongi needs..no he deserves that..he already does so much!” Nervously raking his hands down the nonexistent wrinkles on his black silk dress shirt. “I don’t know baby, ignore me I’m just being stupid …”

He gets up with a box of Clorox whips and sprays heading back to the lobby so you opt to follow, no matter how much your thighs are literally screaming at you the entire time! Well aware that the desk without a doubt needs to be toughly whipped down with the next half hour before production starts trickling in! Kicking up the air as well to get the humidity out of the atmosphere, thankfully space had an open enough floor plan that, the typical sex smell That may clog up a bedroom wasn’t as potent…

Without even sparing you a second glance he starts spraying down the desk, whipping the surface diligently, actually somewhat aggressively which let you know he felt a way about this. Nobody's jaw just twitches while they clean..he was annoyed…

“Ugh no.” Reaching out to grasp his wrist halting his movements, and now it was clear he was adverting your gaze, eyes locking on a fucking paperclip to his right… “ I will not ignore you and your feelings are valid, always, even if I don’t quite understand them.” Exchanging his wrist for his jaw, gripping it firm enough to firm him to make eye contact and there's nothing subtle about how glazed over they were…

“Baby…” Cooed off your lips as you stoked his face you watched his nose twitch as he tried desperately not to cry, so you leaned down... Placing a lingering yet innocent kiss along his lips. No ulterior motive just hoping it gave him some sort of comfort…. Feeling the way he just melted into you...yet the tension stayed evident within his body…”Talk to me Tae..please..:”

He didn’t pull away fully, resting his forehead flush to yours “I don’t know... I just-”

The two of you pull apart the minute you hear the faint ding of the elevator, eyes instantly scanning the camera to see it’s nobody but Joon. Starbucks, and Mcdonalds in hand, clumsily trying to type in the code so Taehyung decides to be the one to break apart and help him out. More so because he just really didn’t want to get into this right now….never has he been so thankful that Namjoon’s early! 

Heading for the door to help your husband lord knows how clumsy he is the last thing we need is coffee all over your freshly polished floors. Looking fine as ever....sometimes you really don’t understand how the fuck you go so damn lucky! Wind swept freshly dyed ice blonde locks, all black slacks and fitted blazer... 

He smiles down at Tae, who tilts his chin upward, silently asking, and Namjoon already knows...placing a kiss along his lips that started out innocent... Until he caught a taste of something lingering on Taehyung’s tongue, which rips a deep groan from the back of his throat. The second his tongue breaches the seam of his lips, his entire body freezes, feeling the almost violent manner in which the younger was shaking against his frame had Namjoon pulling back instantly...Searching your eyes for some sort of clarity as to why Tae looks like he’s about to cry. Or why he holding onto his blazer for dear life....

‘Baby??” Namjoon’s tone is tentative, scared...uneasy.and honestly, you aren't sure which one of you he’s addressing so you speak up.

“It seems as though Tae is feeling a type of way about us possibly hiring Jeon…” You're cautious of your tone, keeping it light, concerned but not accusatory because you really don’t know what’s going on honestly! Watching your husband’s brows furrow having no idea who the hell you’re referring to.. And it rips a snort from your lips and a wet chuckle form Tae’s as he gently whips his eyes...trying to catch the stray tears that have betrayed him and slipped out…

“The kid who just graduated from USC...the production major Yoongi and Yn are interviewing today...and it’s not that I feel a type of way I just..”

“Tae, your crying…” He almost sounds heartbroken even repeating the words and your stomach drops as you take in the two men you love to death. At a loss as to what has Taehyung so uneasy that he’s crying. And why it hindsight it seems now, felt the need to fuck you before your interview so you wouldn’t’ “Forget” him. How the fuck could you ever forget him!? He’s never been one to be insecure...ever!

“You don’t just cry for shits and giggles...baby....” Tae turns his head but the light catches the glaze in his eyes, and how hard his jaw twitches int he process..

“Aye” Namjoon’s tone just says “Look at me” not even leaving it up for debate and he dose...regardless of how bad he wan’t to doesn't even think about it. 

“ Just because you’re not listed under CEO dose not mean your opinions and concerns as far as who we bring into this company aren’t valid. You know this…before we had this big fancy building and all these employees it was just the 7 of us...don’t think we’d ever forget that” 

Eyes flickering around the room slightly, upon seeing the mess onto of the desk and he kinda puts two and two together… “What were you doin before I came in??” Voice low, tentative...comforting…bringing his gaze down to the cleaning supplies in hand.

“Ugh, cleaning the desk…” His voice breaks at the end, and he won’t even look at the two of you….”

“Kay, how about I finish cleaning the desk, and you go talk to Joon, and I’ll be in there in like 5 ...Okay?” Swaying over in his direction, taking the box of wipes, and spray from his hand before placing a kiss to the side of his head. Pulling back to do the same to your husband…whose eyes are desperately looking to yours for some form of directions that you, unfortunately, can’t give right now!

Taehyung just nodds, snuffling a couple more times as he fiddles nervously with the collection of rings dancing along his fingers. Many of which are gifts from his 6 favorite people at this point…..

Namjoon walks over and places the bags and tray of drinks on the glass table in the center of the room..wiggling his fingers in the younger’s direction.

“Come talk to me Tae, Tae..” 

That’s all she wrote for now, I feel like there's a lot of DOM Tae FF’s which I love, however when I look past “V” and meet the two in the middle I don’t get straight dom vibes..lol sorry not sorry..but either way it’s all for fun and I hope you all enjoyed. Part 1 is attached, it's Joon X OC with Tae coming in at the end…NOTE this is not only a Tae centered AU....

MASTERLIST

[opaleyedprince]

castled vania oc post

sterling: the last surviving member of a whole family of werewolves - as far as they know. not particularly fond of hunters or the church to the point of hostility as the default response, but very fond of other creatures of the night - immediately trusts sypha, the two of them bonding over the way both their families travel and also their shared method of keeping an oral history. has tan skin, grey hair and hazel-brown eyes; dresses lightly in grey fabrics and is just shy of trevor’s height. they prefer close quarters combat and usually aren’t very talkative, preferring instead to listen to others or just enjoy the world around them. calloused hands from training and woodworking, which was one of their hobbies before the world went down the toilet.

enoch: his mother came to the belmont family seeking shelter from the church and they welcomed her as one of their own, for she’d done nothing wrong. enoch grew up with trevor and has a particular gift for fire magic (and holy water, but he doesn’t know that himself for awhile shhh). escaped with trevor when the church came for the belmont estate and all who were within. sees trevor as an older brother, even though enoch is now taller than him. taller, but not wider; trevor is stockier and enoch is more willowy. enoch has black hair, dark brown eyes, and dark skin. he wears a lot of hooded cloaks and would love to wear prettier clothes, but that’s not a good idea when you’re on the run from the church and also dracula’s monsters so he makes do with clothes like trevor’s for now.

[little-ideas]

Once Upon a Fantasy

Invitation to The Mystic Dance hosted by @little-butterfly-writes here

This was so much fun to do! Thank you for having me :3 I started writing and the story just took on a life of its own resulting in my longest piece yet ^^;

I know I don’t usually write OCs, but this story centers around Vanderwood and my CMC Ao (though Saeyoung also features a bit). The setting is supposed to be in an older time, but I have no sense of history’s fashions, technologies, and music, so please just consider this either a fantasy world or some hodgepodged amalgamation of decades/centuries

Hope you enjoy! ^ w ^

Lengthened shadows flickered about the fringes of paper, the glow of lantern flame warm yet small in the dawn of night. Said paper was of fine quality but wanting in splendor next to the companion twould respond. The clinking of metal nib against glass dotted silence, followed by the soft scratch of pen on the paper’s surface.

Dear Mister Vanderwood,

the letter began, each character drawn slow and exact, crafted with as much precision their writer could muster. Before her leaned a slate, smudged with chalk and the scribbles of drafted note from which she now copied. Ao much preferred the flow of ink on parchment to the drag of chalk on rock, but paper cost a pretty penny and could not be wasted on the idle ramblings of initial thoughts, so the slate had done until she knew precisely what she would write. She only wished she knew where to send her letters instead of waiting for Saeyoung to take and deliver them; but no matter, such were simply the ways of the rich, she supposed.

Glancing at the box upon her shelf, she wondered when she might receive another letter from the gentleman.

~*~

He came the week the invitations were delivered. Town abuzz and bursting with excitement for the Mint Palace Ball, Ao had nary a hope she might see Saeyoung’s companion once more before the festivities began, yet he had appeared at her door in lieu of his friend.

“Saeyoung’s busy with the dance, then?” Ao questioned, pouring two cups of coffee. “Couldn’t escape with you?”

“He’s under extra watch after sneaking away too many times.” Vanderwood responded.

Ao flinched, had it been her fault? Vanderwood must have noticed for-

“He likes to skip his tasks to play with the town’s strays,” he explained, sipping from the cup she handed him. Ao smiled, where once Vanderwood had hesitated to drink, now he waited no longer.

Taking her own sip, Ao mulled over Vanderwood’s recent tidings. Saeyoung would be unable to visit until after the dance -her cats would be displeased at that for he always brought them delightful treats- and she would be unable to send any letters. A shame, but she understood and selfish she should not be. Not now, for if Saeyoung was busy, then surely her guest must also be, yet he was spending time here, with her.

“Vanderwood,” she began, trying to keep her tone light, “is it really ok to be here? Surely, you must be busy, too.”

At this he grinned, and for the briefest of moments, Ao felt her heart stop.

“Whose work do you think Saeyoung is doing?”

She blinked, answer unexpected. Then, slowly, his words sunk in and Ao, too, began to smile. Then giggle. Then could not help but laugh alongside him, tears dotting the corners of their eyes. Through Vanderwood’s letters and his own boasts, Ao knew that Saeyoung -their energetic, brilliant, rapscallion of a friend- had a habit of absconding to destinations unnamed and, though she knew not what it might be, forcing Vanderwood to do their work instead. How appropriate, then, that Vanderwood act in kind for the busiest event of the year. They both knew Saeyoung would not learn his lesson.

As the laughter lulled and soft silence settled betwixt them, Ao could not help but admire her friend- the ease of his countenance; his acceptance of her “tiny beasts” pawing at his sides -creatures she and Saeyoung adored but he was not particularly fond; the divide between his conversations both oral and written -the former dictated by necessity, the latter far more relaxed. Upon their first meeting, Ao had found Vanderwood to be terse and intimidating, despite Saeyoung’s introduction, but through months of correspondence, she had grown to know him -far more verbose in letter- and thought him endearing. She feared not the silence amongst them anymore.

It was he who spoke first.

“Will you be going to the dance?” His voice startled her, causing her to jump, and he hid his smile behind the rim of his cup.

“Pardon?”

“The Mystic Dance at the Mint Palace, will you be attending?”

Ao paused before responding. She supposed she should, the whole town would be off, the food was sure to be delicious, and she might even perchance to see her two friends; however, people were different in the eyes of society, and she wondered if the night might end what little relations they currently had. An event open to all, free of status on paper, did not mean such conventions would be adhered to in practice. Looking at Vanderwood, though, she shook head of such notions; he and Saeyoung would not do such, and to think as so would despair their reputation. She smiled at him.

“I will if you teach me to dance.”

~*~

The counts had been easy; the closeness, movement, and posture, not so much. Vanderwood had come several times since his last visit, true to his promise of being her instructor, and Ao might have felt bad were it not for the heat flaming her cheeks whenever she recalled Saeyoung’s laughter at her miserable attempts at turning during their last visit (how he escaped, she knew not, only that she pitied the poor soul waiting on him). She would learn, she’d vowed, if only out of spite.

Determined not to become a spectacle again, Ao’s evenings had been filled with enough practice that her head was now constantly counting off 3s, her shoulders held a dull ache, and the furniture had been misplaced for days. Yet as Vanderwood now led her around the room, she had not glanced at her feet and had only stepped on his once. Maybe twice. Alright, three times, but in her defense, she had tripped! Or so she insisted to Saeyoung, whose rapid applause came the moment they separated.

“Marvelous, indeed! Would have thought you a different lass!” He teased.

Ao stuck her tongue at him, and Saeyoung leaned against his friend, arm draped across his forehead. “Forsooth, Mary, our lady doth wound me!”

Vanderwood sighed at their antics, yet his smile betrayed his amusement.

“Perhaps you’d care to dance with the lady?” He gestured to Ao; brow quirked.

“And risk my toes?” Saeyoung gasped, “I’d never!”

“Saeyoung Choi!” Ao shouted, attempting to stomp on his shoes. “You absolute heathen!” She missed and the two began a chase about the room, jerking knees and squashing stones, until Saeyoung ran back towards Vanderwood.

“Help me, Vandy!” He cried. “A demon gives chase!” His attempt to hide was thwarted by Vanderwood’s arms surrounding his own and holding him in place, grin stretched across his face. Saeyoung gasped in mock betrayal -twisting to get out- before slumping forwards and extending a foot in defeat. A firm press upon the top of his shoe and Saeyoung was freed, rejoining his friends’ sides to complete an afternoon of mirth and merriment.

~*~

Laughter echoed down the streets as people clapped and cheered -fiddlers skipped along the cobblestone roads whilst onlooking peddlers tapped rhythms with the boxes of their wares. Shops were closing, but with the dawning of the ball in a few days’ time, taverns opened early, seeking to make coin from their many guests. In town, nary a room twas available at any inn, yet still the folk kept coming.

Parading after the fiddlers, people poured into the streets, bouncing with the beats as they sashayed along towards open spaces. All this Ao and Vanderwood had witnessed through her windows yet remained inside. Now, rocking upon her heels, Ao grabbed Vanderwood’s hand, tugging him towards the door and the festivities beyond.

Initially, Vanderwood had no intention of participating in such jovialities -his latest letter from the week prior apologizing for his previous and most likely continued absence- but Saeyoung had pulled him from his desk, knocked upon Ao’s door, thrust him at her, and vanished within the throngs of people scurrying about. Graciously, she had offered him welcome and rest in her abode, but Vanderwood had caught her gaze frequently flit to the outside merriment. Having arrived unannounced, it would not have done to kept her from whatever plans she may have had, or so he told himself. Truthfully, he, too, wished to join the crowds -the carefree and lively spirits of the townsfolk were always a welcome reprieve from the stuffiness of High Society. As Ao sternly told her cats to mind the house and behave, before pulling him with her into the party beyond; however, he wondered if perhaps that were not his only reasoning.

*

It was not his only reasoning, Vanderwood realized, watching his friend dance about, the fires illuminating her smile as a new tune picked up. He saw her beam when her eyes met his own, then beckon him over, but he shook his head, lifting his goblet. She rolled her eyes and huffed at him, yet quick as her smile had fallen, it returned, and she twirled around once more.

Vanderwood took a swig of drink, attempting to ignore the beat which seemed to thrum louder now in his chest. He should rest while he could -Ao would soon drag him out to join her, of that, he was sure.

*

True to form, she had sought him out after a few more songs had pass, laughing as she spun and planted her feet firmly in front of him.

“Mary Vanderwood!” She panted, grin undermining her admonishment. “One does not simply turn down an invitation to dance!” Vanderwood merely watched as she struggled to regain her breath.

“Drink?” He offered at last, holding out his cup as the notes of a new song began. He chuckled when Ao frowned at him before downing its contents.

“Well,” she sighed, “one song can wait.” Then, as though realizing what she had just done, stammered a “thank you” and handed back his cup.

When the music began anew, Ao tugged Vanderwood towards the crowd of dancers, weaving betwixt the bystanders, pattering along seemingly as though she had missed not a beat of song. And as she kicked up her skirts and twirled about, pulling him deeper in with her, Vanderwood was glad the fire’s glow concealed his cheeks’ blush.

~*~

Well, tonight was the night. Donning the dress before her, Ao prayed it would be nice enough -what little remnants of her wages she had after necessities and paper, she had saved for the fabric to sew a proper, formal dress. Though simple in design and decoration, the dress fit her well and complemented her complexion -vibrant red to catch the eye, with a silhouette that tapered in towards her waist before flowing out about her once more. Practicing a few steps, Ao found she rather liked the way it fanned around her when she spun.

Against her neck sat not pearls, but a ring -a memento of family long gone- and she gripped it tight, wishing for all to go well. Drawing her cloak about her, invitation in hand, Ao left for a fate unknown.

~*~

Ao blinked once. Twice. Pinched her hand and -ow! - this was real. The gentleman before her -noble of birth, correspondent of the treasured letters she kept within the box upon her shelf, beloved friend- stood now with hand outstretched and crown atop silken, brown locks. He chuckled at her reaction.

“Well?” He asked, nudging her hand. “I believe one does not simply turn down an invitation to dance.”

Timidly, Ao placed her hand in Vanderwood’s, and he pulled her closer -left hand closing around hers, right palm tucked against her back- before leading her about the floor.

“You never told me!” She hissed, gaze flickering to his crown before eyeing those around them. He laughed, a familiar sound in so foreign an environment.

“You never asked.”

Ao frowned, about to retort when they spun and she tripped, stepping on his foot. For a moment, they both froze. Then, slowly, they giggled, chuckled, laughed, roared -voices filling the room, and their eyes with tears. Vanderwood took Ao’s hand once more and continued leading her around the space, and for the first time that day, she relaxed.

And if Saeyoung saw the pink that tinged both their cheeks? No, no he did not.

[nayutai]

Baby Don’t Move

⇢ Pairing Yunho x Female OC | Office Worker AU

⇢ Word Count 6.010

⇢ Warnings Yunho has a filthy mouth and a huge dick, oral sex (female receiving), rough sex, cursing (in general), aaaand I think that’s it

⇢ Summary Naima Yancey is ambitious and determined so her promotion at DevTech comes as no surprise to anyone. What should be a joyous moment for her is tainted. The promotion comes with a real office, more money, and a higher status, but it also comes with close proximity to the office golden boy Yunho. He gets under her skin in a way no one ever has, but she’s determined not to let this oversized menace ruin this opportunity for her. Turns out, Yunho would rather ruin her instead.

The muted ding of the elevator sounds much too joyful to Naima. Her transfer to the accounts receivable department should be marked by the sound of a death rattle or a dying elephant. A twinkling little ding only makes her even more pissed off. She glances down at the contents of the box nestled in her arms to see the brand new name plate she’d been given for her new office. 

Naima Yancey

Receivables Supervisor

The youngest supervisor in DevTech history according to HR. She guesses that anyone else in her position would be excited about the transfer she’s mentally griping about. It’s not every day that someone like her gets unexpectedly promoted to a supervisory position. Naima has only been with the company for three years and apparently she’d made the most of that time. She pauses next to a sea of cubicles to scan the numbers above the offices on either side of the employees rapidly typing away at their stations. Only a few of them even bother to give her a second glance and for that Naima is incredibly grateful. She finally spots her destination, hiking the cardboard box she’s unloaded her desk into a little higher on her hip. She takes half of a step and immediately regrets every life choice that led her to this point.

“Well look who we have here. Are you lost, Ravioli?” Naima grits her teeth at that god awful nickname, swallowing the scathing retort that’s burning her throat. The deep baritone voice sounding off somewhere over her left shoulder is the cause of every ounce of the work stress she carries in her shoulders like a boulder. 

Yunho Jeong. Beholder of an unfair amount of undeserved beauty and the victim in Naima’s most murderous dreams. 

“You were in the staff meeting when they announced my promotion, Yunho.” She deadpans. Her skin is starting to itch from the prolonged exposure to the man in front of her. The smirk that is practically permanently etched on his face does nothing but piss her even more. She wants to smack him until it disappears.

“I’m just messing with you, Ravioli. You know that. Welcome to Receivables.” He shoves his hands into the front pockets of his jeans as he starts backing away. “Try not to fuck it up!” Naima can feel the thick cardboard of her box bending to the forceful clench of her fists. The weight of of nearly fifty pairs of eyes keeps the scathing remark she wants to make from bubbling up. 

Fucking Yunho. Naima hasn’t even been in Receivables for an hour and she’s already doubting if the extra money is worth the headache. Okay, who is she kidding? The extra money is definitely worth it. Getting ahead of her bills had felt like the pipe dream of a wistful millennial before it had become an unexpected reality just last week. No way she lets some oversized preteen bully ruin this for her.

Naima is almost done putting her things into her new desk when the sound of an office door loudly closing disturbs her concentration. She looks up to see the source of the noise is none other than Yunho himself. All of the offices on this floor conveniently have floor to ceiling windows next to the door which allows people directly across from each other to see into the other person’s office. Naima is absolutely horrified at the implications of this as Yunho stares her down with a satisfied smirk. It’s obvious now that he slammed his door on purpose to get her attention. 

“This is the worst day of my life.” Naima mumbles to herself as she does her best to ignore Yunho’s gaze burning into her forehead. 

IT arrives a few tense minutes later to set up her docking station and get her started on the training modules for her new job duties. She’s taking notes on how to perform certain functions in the billing system when she receives a chat notification from her work husband Knox Rivers back in her old department. 

KR: Hey wifey how’s the swanky new digs?

NY: My office is DIRECTLY across from Yunho’s office

NY: I can literally see every move he makes and he can see mine

KR: Dreamville? My treat

Naima immediately perks up at the mention of the bar down the street that has become a favorite amongst their group of friends. It’s going to take a lot to make her feel good about working in such close proximity with Satan’s hardest working demon, but a free round of drinks is a great start.

NY: I’ll meet you downstairs at 5:30

Naima nearly bursts into tears when she steps off of the elevator and spots Knox leaning seated in the lobby playing a game on his phone. She’s always thought that he looked like Thor with his long hair and athletic build and right now a superhero is exactly what she needs. A giggle bubbles up from Naima’s throat at the red stain that creeps down Knox’s throat when she sneaks up on him to kiss his cheek. 

“Come on, big guy. There’s a Blue Magic with my name on it and I intend to collect my due.” Naimah declares, clapping Knox on his broad shoulders. 

“Lead the way, my lady.” He holds the door open like the gentleman he is with a dramatic flourish. Naima’s heart twinges a little. She misses the days when talking to him in person required her to lean back in her chair as opposed to taking an elevator ride. 

A few other people from the office are already at Dreamville when Naima and Knox arrive. They’re quickly swept up in familiar gossip and more drinks than anyone has a right to consume on a Tuesday evening. She’s engaged in a dangerous game of darts with a new employee named Xavier when a horribly familiar voice rings out above all the noise in the bar. Her head whips in the direction the voice came from, but the dart flies from her fingers anyway nearly taking some poor girl’s eye out. She yells out an apology but apparently her almost victim has had a little too much to drink herself and simply waves her off.

“Nice aim, Ravioli. An inch to the left and you would’ve scored a perfect murder.” Yunho taunts. Naima crosses her arms across her chest in indignation. Her eyes watch him intently and therefore don’t miss the way his gaze drops to get a look at her cleavage. His jaw ticks and she wants nothing more than to comment on that but Xavier interrupts by extending his hand in Yunho’s direction as he introduces himself.

“Naima, you ready to leave? I was about to call an Uber.” Knox materializes out of nowhere, phone in hand and Naima’s eyes nearly pop out of her head when she sees that it’s nearing eleven. She hadn’t realized that they’d been there for so long.

“See you tomorrow, Ravioli. Later, Knox.” She’d almost forgotten that Yunho was still here. He winks at her before he turns to walk away and, despite the fact that he can no longer see her, Naima flips him off. 

Naima is still fuming nineteen minutes later when the Uber arrives. She successfully dodges Knox’s first few questions about why she’s so mad, but he eventually wears her down. She’d forgotten that Knox becomes a wannabe psychologist that likes to talk about people’s feelings after he’s had a few drinks.

“What do you have against him? You’re probably the only person at the whole company that doesn’t get along with him.” Naima rolls her eyes skyward. Yunho the golden boy is apparently loved by everyone and it makes her seethe even more. She wracks her brain for someone at the company that she can add to her side and thankfully comes up with a name.

“Fake news! Saia in purchasing called him a douche nozzle last week and I am inclined to agree.” Naima is quite pleased with herself as she settles back into the plush seating of the SUV. Her satisfaction is short lived.

“Saia doesn’t count.” Knox counters quickly. “Yunho dated her younger sister and it ended badly so that just leaves you.”

“The night before my first day at DevTech, my friends from back home came to town to celebrate and we went to this super fancy restaurant.” The red light at the intersection bathes them both in its glow which is ironic in Naima’s opinion. 

She regales Knox with the store of how her friend Keyanna had bought her a ravioli entree to go so that she could have her favorite food on her first day. Yunho had snuck up on her when she was in the break room, startling her to the point that she ended up dropping a ravioli on her white button up. Of course the evil bastard had laughed about it till he could barely stand. She’d had to walk around for the rest of the day with the sauce stain on her shirt and Yunho has called her Ravioli every day since then.

“That…” Knox pauses to piece his thoughts together. “okay, yeah, I can’t say I’d be too fond of him either after that.” He admits.

“See? He’s an asshole and I hope he steps on a lego every day for the rest of his miserable life.” Their Uber driver, who had remained silent aside from the quick hello when they’d gotten in her car, snorts at the curse Naima speaks into Yunho’s life. 

“You know he teases you because he probably wants to fuck you right? Men aren’t as evolved as people would like to believe.” Knox points out. Naima withdraws from him as if he just told her to go fuck herself.

“If he thinks that being an asshole will grant him access to my pearly gates then he’s a bigger idiot than I thought he was.” She and the driver exchange a high five when she chimes in with her agreement. Naima makes a mental note to make sure that Knox tips her good for being an intellectual.

A wave of exhaustion washes over Naima when their apartment complex comes into view.  Thoughts of a hot shower and her fluffy pillows makes the time required to drive to their part of the complex feel like an eternity. She bids the friendly Uber driver a safe and prosperous night before all but running towards her building with a wave to Knox tossed carelessly over her shoulder as he makes his way to the building directly across from hers.

“Morning, Killer.” Yunho is way too chipper this morning especially since Naima has already had to suffer through elevator chatter about how he won a drinking contest last night. It doesn’t help that now he’s bringing up her almost homicide.

“Don’t you have something else to do? Like your job?” Yunho pretends to recoil from her remark as he follows Naima to her office. She wishes she could just haul off and smack him but that wouldn’t bode well for her professional career.

He props himself up against the wall next to her office and it’s as she unlocking her door that she registers just how close he is to her. A small shift of her weight to her right foot would push her up against his chest. Her mind drifts back to what Knox had said last night. She side eyes him cautiously before turning fully to face him head on. If anyone were to ask, Naima would blame what she does next on residual alcohol still inhibiting her rational thought.

“Do you want to have sex with me?” Yunho blinks several times in shock but he recovers quickly. He flips around to take stock of the people still filtering into the office to see if anyone is within ear shot and is seemingly satisfied by the lack of people around them.

“I never pegged you to have an exhibition kink, Ravioli.” She curses herself at the way the low timbre of his voice resonates deep in her gut. The greasy smile on his face however, makes her want to puke.

“My kinks are none of your business. I’m just trying to prove a point. Now answer the question.”

“I can only imagine what that point is, but yes, I would absolutely love to ravish you.” He leans in even closer so that she can smell the minty scent of his toothpaste when he whispers in her ear. His closeness doesn’t make her recoil in the way that she thought it would and the reasoning behind that is definitely not something she’s willing to explore.

The second she gets her laptop booted up she’s tapping out a message to Knox.

NY: Lunch on me today. We need to talk.

KR: I’m all yours at 12:30 

Naima is still pondering her conversation with Knox when she steps off of the elevator to go back to her office after lunch. He seems to think that the best way to get Yunho off her back is to fuck him. According to Knox and his personal knowledge of “guy logic”, that will get her out of Yunho’s system and his annoying behavior will cease. Naima isn’t so sure about that. She’s so far inside her own head that she doesn’t even hear someone calling her name until they tap her on her shoulder. Of course, it’s Yunho. Luck is just not on her side today.

“Ravioli, you should consider getting your ears checked. I called you four times.”

“And you should consider that maybe I just don’t want to talk to you.” She replies. He makes himself comfortable in her office as she drops her purse into one of the desk drawers to jump back into her work. 

“Oh, don’t be that way, Ravioli. I thought we were past this animosity thing since you practically propositioned me in the hallway.” He looks so smug as he recalls her blunder from earlier. God he’s so infuriating. Naima adds this to her running list of why men should be removed from Earth. She says nothing, choosing to simply point towards her office door. Thankfully, he’s not too dense that he can’t take a hint and returns to his own office space.

She’s settled into a steady pace with her work when her computer pings with a message. The prospect of clearing out her dashboard and possibly being able to leave early is too sweet to break her stride. Two more subsequent pings from effectively breaks her concentration.

YJ: hey

YJ: you look so cute when you’re concentrating

YJ: don’t ignore me I’m sensitive 😭

She looks through the glass into Yunho’s office to see him already staring directly at her. His head being propped up on his hands suggests that he’s been doing it for a while. He blows a kiss in her which she returns with a middle finger. She raises her computer monitors so that he’s no longer able to see her face. 

Next order of business: buying blinds

Naima groans out loud when her computer pings with yet another message. At this rate she’s going to have to stay late to get everything done. She halfway expects the new message to be another annoying attempt at conversation from Yunho but thankfully this one is from someone that she actually doesn’t mind talking to.

KR: hey did you hear that Yaya bought a new house?

NY: yeah she just texted me that she’s having a bbq this weekend to celebrate the closing

KR: you going? 👀

NY: don’t ask me a stupid question like that of course I’m going

KR: lmao okay so we can split an uber then

KR: wanna leave at like 3?

NY: yeah that’s fine with me!

Naima is so happy for Saturday to finally roll around that she could cry. Yaya had told her a few things on the menu on Wednesday and her mouth has been watering ever since. Her husband is a chef at some fancy restaurant so she knows that this will be the best food she’s had in a while. 

Knox and Naima are both slack-jawed at the absolute grandeur of Yaya’s house as their Uber driver comes to a stop in the center of the horseshoe shaped driveway. She’d neglected to mention that her new house is actually a castle. Naima frowns when she spots Yunho’s flashy Mercedes amongst the cars already parked in the driveway, but she’s determined to have a good time despite his presence. They follow the sound of music and splashing to the backyard to see a majority of the DevTech staff in the backyard. They’re quick to strip down to their bathing suits to join in on the chicken fight in the pool.

Naima has just sent Alexis from marketing flying off of Xavier’s shoulders when Yaya announces that it’s time to eat. It’s a race to get out of the pool as everyone is hustling for a good spot in line. Naima is cursing the god awful heaviness that plagues her every time she steps out of a pool when she hears a low whistle from behind her. It’s Yunho and his eyes are trained directly on her ass. Big surprise there.

“Yellow is definitely your color, Ravioli.” He produces a large, fluffy towel seemingly out of nowhere, offering it to her. She’s hesitant to accept it but a quick glance towards the now empty table that had once held an assload of towels changes her mind.

“I think I would look just as good on you.” Yunho smiles as if he’s just hit her with the best pick up line known to man. He’s gotten quite brazen with his flirtatious attempts ever since he’d exposed his sexual intentions on Monday.

“You talk a big game but everyone knows that overly confident men are just…” Naimah trails off with a pointed look at the front of Yunho’s jeans as she takes a sip of her lemonade. “overcompensating.”

Yunho pokes at the inside of his cheek with his tongue as he considers the woman in front of him with amusement. He revels in the way she swallows nervously when he closes the gap between them. Every breath she takes causes her barely covered chest to graze against his but, to her credit, she doesn’t back away. Maybe it’s the alcohol, but being this close to Yunho is making her blood run hot. She chooses to blame it on her primitive instincts and not actual attraction, but even she knows that’s a lie.

“Didn’t your parents teach you not to speak on things you know nothing about, Ravioli?” She can’t decide what she’s more mad at, the nickname or the insinuation that this asshole just said she’s wrong. She’s not.

“Didn’t your parents teach you not to lie?” She bristles. Yunho’s sarcastic little grin only grows in response to her anger. It’s like he gets off on making her want to wring his neck.

“Admit it, Ravioli. You want this just as much as I do.” Naima gasps when Yunho suddenly wraps an arm around her wait, jerking her to him. He leans down so that he’s speaking directly into her ear and in that moment, Naima knows she’s a goner. All these months of resisting him and he’s about to break her by whispering in her ear. She wants to scream bloody murder. “All you have to do is say the word and I’ll take you higher than you’ve ever been.”

“Prove it.” Naima feels like she’s put the final nail in her own coffin. Yunho has successfully worn her down. She can’t see his face, but she doesn’t have to to know that he’s smiling like he’s just won the lottery.

“Let’s go, Ravioli.” Naima expects Knox to be disappointed to see her leaving with Yunho when she waves at him to say bye, but instead he wiggles his eyebrows at her suggestively. She makes a mental note to yell at him for that later.

The ride to Yunho’s apartment is entirely too short. Naima’s shoulders are wrought with tension as she follows him up the stairs. Part of her wants to turn and run, but a much larger part is telling her to stay to see this through. Yunho has spoken quite highly of his sexual prowess and she’s more curious than not on just how much of it is true.

Yunho is on her the second she toes off her shoes by the door. One of his large hands firmly holds her jaw in place while he ravages her mouth with his own. Naima clings to his shirt to both hold him to her and ground herself in the moment. She feels lightheaded but it’s not from lack of oxygen. He uses his grip on her jaw to pry her mouth open, furthering his claim on her. The hand not covering her jaw skims across the skin above her shorts before deftly undoing the button. Her lips chase his when Yunho pulls away but he avoids her advances.

“Your lips taste so sweet. I want to taste all of you.” Naima shivers at the roughness of his voice. His normal baritone is a lot to deal with but this is downright sinful. He roughly hauls her off her feet into his arms, causing a fresh wave of arousal to flood her panties. 

She busies herself with leaving marks along the column of his neck, loving the way she can feel his gruff moans vibrating against her lips. The smack of Yunho’s hand hitting the wall to steady himself when she grinds her hips against his startles her into.

“Jesus fuck, you’re killing me, baby girl.” Naima smiles mischievously, letting her lips linger on his skin. Something about the pet name he called her makes the heat simmering in her belly grow even hotter. He tosses her on his oversized bed once he collects himself enough to finally make it to his bedroom. She watches him curiously as he turns to dig around in his nightstand. His hand reappears with several foil packets in his grip which he promptly drops onto the mattress for later use. 

Clothes fly haphazardly as Yunho hastily strips them down till nothing but his boxers remain in place. He smirks when he notices Naima’s playful grin drop when she takes in the size of the bulge he’s sporting. His large hands grip her hips, flipping her onto her stomach and rustling her around to a more favorable position. Finally satisfied with the way her face is pressed into the expensive Egyptian cotton of his bed sheets, Yunho buries his face in her dripping cunt from behind. He groans at his first taste of her and her answering whine is nothing but appreciative at the way it vibrates against her.

Naima yelps when Yunho’s large palms suddenly land on her ass with a resounding smack. He soothes the sting with tender caresses against her flesh. His tongue never leaves her entrance as he continues to coax a seemingly endless stream of arousal from her. She has the sheets in a death grip, moving her hips as if to separate herself from Yunho’s lethal tongue but wherever she goes his face simply follows. The slurping sounds of him feasting on her are absolutely obscene but she’s way too far gone to be embarrassed. She doubts that she would be able to form a coherent sentence of protest even if she wasn’t. 

“You’re so fucking wet. I could drown in this pretty pussy.” Naima keens at his filthy words, squirming restlessly as the pleasure builds and builds within her. 

It’s no surprise when she tumbles over the edge with a strangled shout, but she’d expected for him to release her once he’d made her come. Much to her surprise, Yunho doesn’t seem to have any plans of stopping. He tongues her through her orgasm, sucking gently on her clit as he thrusts two fingers into her still spasming entrance. Her knees buckle immediately from the sharp pang of oversensitivity. Yunho pulls his fingers from her long enough to land another harsh smack to her ass while his other holds her hips in place. The discomfort bleeds into pleasure until she’s racing headfirst into a second orgasm.

“That’s it, baby. Let go. Give it all to me.” Naima swears she’s on the verge of blacking out when Yunho finally releases her. She collapses against the mattress when he relinquishes his grip on her, trembling from head to toe. His chest is warm against the sweat-slicked skin of her back when he covers his body with his own. He leaves chaste kisses along her shoulder as he loops an arm around her torso.

“Don’t tap out on me now, love. There’s still more fun to be had.” Yunho grinds his cock against her ass, smiling against her skin when he feels her shudder in his hold.

He pulls himself up on his knees, dragging Naima’s tired frame with him. He makes quick work of removing his boxers and rolling on one of the condoms he’d grabbed earlier. She jerks when the head of his latex covered cock bumps against her sensitive clit as he covers himself in the slick still leaking from her cunt. Yunho watches the back of her head like a hawk as he slowly presses himself against her entrance. He swears quite creatively at the way her muscles lock down on him.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Yunho!” Naima drops her head to rest on her arms, doing her best to relax. He reaches underneath her to rub circles into her clits and succeeds in pushing forwards a few more inches.

His breath catches in his throat when she pulls her hips before pushing back against him to sink down a little further on his thick length. They work together until he’s finally seated balls deep inside her. Yunho’s eyes roll back in his head at the tight squeeze of her perfect cunt. He’s been inside quite a few women in his day, but this feels almost like uncharted territory. He hisses when she flexes around him involuntarily, tightening even further though he didn’t think that was even possible.

“I’m going to wreck this pussy, baby.” He punctuates his statement by withdrawing till only the tip remains, pushing back in with a purposeful thrust of his hips. Naima nearly chokes on the pitiful whine that claws its way out of her throat. “You’re gonna feel me in here for days.”

To his credit, he tries to keep his pace even and not too fast. He really does. His fingers are probably bruising her skin from how tightly he’s gripping her hips but it’s the only thing keeping him grounded and sane at this point. 

“You call this wrecking me? I could’ve done this at home with my Rabbit.” Naima can admit that Yunho’s dick was a hard pill to swallow at first, but she’s thoroughly adjusted and in need of more. Judging by the way his hips still she’s about to get just what she was aiming for. She gasps when he grabs a fistful of her hair, yanking her upright so that he can whisper in her ear.

“Didn’t I tell you to watch that pretty little mouth of yours?” He practically growls in her ear as he grinds against her cervix. The pain mixes with the pleasure in a way that’s starting to make her lightheaded. 

“No, you didn’t.” She responds breathily. Her fingernails dig into his thighs painfully but Yunho doesn’t care even a little bit.

“Well, I should’ve.” He shoves her back towards the mattress not giving her even a few seconds to get her bearings before he’s rearing back to slam back into her tight heat. 

She shouts his name, squirming in his iron grip but he shows her no mercy. The time for that has past. Yunho’s hips piston in out of her at a furious pace. His gaze is fixated on the way her pussy creams on his dick with every thrust. His chest rumbles in protest when manages to pull away from him enough for his cock to fall out of her.

“Don’t run from me, Naima. You wanted this dick and now you got it.” She keens at the sound of her real name coming out of his mouth. The way his husky tone wraps around the syllables should be illegal. He fists the sheets next to her head with one hand as he uses the other to reposition her hips to allow him to slide back inside. His legs straddle both of hers, giving him the leverage he needs to fuck her into the mattress.

Naima’s fingernails are leaving crescent shaped marks in Yunho’s wrists as she holds on for dear life. She’s never been so thoroughly fucked in all her life. He’s reaching spots inside her that she didn’t even know existed until now. She’s on the verge of tears when he slows his frantic pace. He lowers himself so that his larger frame dwarfs hers once more. His arms looped under hers to hold her close to him. Yunho resumes his movements, opting for a much more relaxed cadence. The purposeful grind of his hips is just as overwhelming if not more so after the intensity from before.

“This is my pussy now.” Yunho grunts into her ear. He sucks marks into every inch of skin that his lips can reach. “No one will ever fuck you this good. Never fuck you this deep. You’re all mine.”

Naima bites down hard on a pillow that she must have grabbed at some point as she clenches around him hard. It dawns on her vaguely that Yunho hasn’t touched her clit once. She’s about to come from penetration alone. A feat she’s never been able to accomplish. The very Earth feels like it’s opened up beneath her when the orgasm that had been flirting with her senses finally washes over her. She feels him grow impossibly harder inside her as he reaches his own end. Black spots dance across her vision when the throbbing sensation of him filling the condom triggers a smaller, biting orgasm. 

She’s surprised that she manages to stay conscious if only barely. Her surprise only grows when she feels a warm towel gently wiping between her legs. Her shock reaches a fever pitch when Yunho’s fingers start working into her calf muscles. She chooses to stay silent out of fear that he might stop if caught being nice. 

“You done pretending to be asleep? Or did I actually fuck you stupid?” She can practically hear the smile in his voice as his fingers climb higher to her thighs. So much for peacefully enjoying this massage.

“I like you better when you don’t speak.” His amused laughter brings a smile to her own face despite her attempts to tamp it down. She shivers when he places a chaste kiss on the swell of her ass before going back to his ministrations on her legs. Knox is never going to let her hear the end of this once he finds out.

 She’s about to go insane. Naima’s stomach has growled twelve times in as many minutes and if she doesn’t eat something soon there will be fatal consequences. She checks her phone once more to check Knox’s location and nearly cries when it says that he’s arrived at DevTech. Just a few minutes stands between her and hot bacon, egg, and cheese croissant and an extra large caramel macchiato. 

The sight of Knox navigating the sea of cubicles with her breakfast in hand may as well be the second coming of Christ. She throws her arms around her neck the second he steps into her office. He pretends to be disgusted when she pecks him on his cheek repeatedly. Knox takes a seat in one of the leather chairs in front of her desk to talk before he goes back downstairs to work. Their conversation when Yunho suddenly burst through the door.

“What the hell are you doing?” Naima is appalled at the way he’s just invited himself into her office without even having the decency to knock first.

“I should be asking you that. I asked you for the Murchison report fifteen minutes ago but I guess you were too busy with your little boy toy here to actually do your fucking job.” Knox stands, mouth fixed to defend her, but she holds up her hand to stop him.

“Knox, can you excuse us please?” Naima says sweetly. Her tone is sweet and even, but there’s a hard edge to it that tells Knox she’ll be able to handle Yunho’s temper tantrum just fine.

Naima wraps her sandwich up as she motions for Yunho to have a seat in the chair Knox has just vacated. She shrugs her shoulders when he refuses, crossing her modest office to lock the door and close the blinds she’d installed.

“What the actual fuck is wrong with you, Jeong? Did you fall and hit your head? How dare you come to my office and insinuate that I’m not doing my job?.” He can tell that she’s working hard to keep from yelling at him but her words feel like a slap in the face either way. 

“Look, I just need the Murchison report so that I can finish some paper-” Naima doesn’t even let him finish his sentence. She has no patience for him and his bullshit.

“Cut the bullshit, Yunho. The Murchison report wouldn’t be useful for anything other than end of year reporting which we are eight months away from so what the fuck do you actually want from me?” She’s seething. DevTech has a super relaxed company culture but HR still wouldn’t take too kindly to her punching another employee in the throat.

“Why didn’t you text me back yesterday?” Naima is taken aback. She remembers receiving a few texts from him on Sunday — how he got her number she doesn’t know — but it wasn’t anything that she felt warranted a response. 

“Why would you want me to?” 

The more they talk, the more Naima realizes that they went into that bedroom with very different ideas of what was going to happen afterwards. She’d intended for it to be a one time thing for him to try and prove her wrong which he’d succeeded in doing. Nothing more, nothing less. Obviously, Yunho had other ideas that went far beyond the four walls of his bedroom. 

“This is new territory for me. I’ve never been jealous over women because I can get a new one in five minutes. I’ve never had a problem in that category.”

“Get to the point, Yunho.” She’s quickly growing bored of this conversation and she’s ready  for it to be over.

“The point is that I want to see where this goes. Are you down for that?”

“No, you’re an asshole.”

“I mean, yeah, that’s true, but I’m cute and I’ll eat you out till you cry so what’s it gonna be?” He looks so hopeful that part of Naima wants to reject him again just to mess with him, but she’s not totally heartless. She decides to make him a deal.

“I’ll give you one week and then we’ll go from there now about this eating out business…” She trails off, looking at him suggestively. 

“Come home with me after work and I’ll give you what you want and more.” The mischievous grin on his face promises another day of limping around and Naima is excited to say the least. 

“You’ve got a deal. Now get out of my office.” She deadpans as she starts to unwrap the breakfast sandwich she hadn’t been able to finish earlier. He catches her off guard when he swoops in to steal a kiss from her lips as his “parting gift”. 

“Later, Ravioli.” 

She touches her fingers to her lips as she watches him walk back to his own office through her open door. It’s going to be an interesting week.