#you always seem to have so much fashion fun

[sugoi-writes]

Vox x GN! Reader - Condensation is Bad for Computers

NO ONE ASKED, I DID THIS ANYWAY. Inspired by minkdelovely, as we had been going back and forth on one-word prompts to get back into the groove of writing. Hope you guys don't mind a little bit of Vox as a treat to hold you over <3

Wifey and I started a Hazbin-rewatch, so I'm SURE I will be getting the itch the crank out a LOT of Al content! Keep your eyes on the horizon!

Heads Up: mentions of work stress/aggravation, Reader is Velvette's secretary, low performers usually get popped, some fingering (didn't specify bits or bobbles), some doggy style, voyeurism and public sex if you use your imagination, Vox doesn't know how fashion works, and... Y E A H... There's cum. There's cum everywhere. HAVE FUN!

Your exchange started cordial; business as usual. Cold eyes and expressions putting out feelers for weakness, and barriers to hide their own. Most of your acquaintance had been like this: business-like, transactional... flatline. There was always an even, unwavering beginning and end. It frustrated Vox to no end. You thought nothing of it, as dense as you were. 

One day, there was a change: a glitch in your programmed agenda. A hand to your shoulder, followed by a concerned expression. Vox had seen the look on your face before. Your head hung neutral, almost lowered. Your eyes held a deep, haggard stare. Your brows, usually neat and high, hung low on your face, revealing and creating deeper shadows on your face. Your jaw was tight. 

Simple put: you were exhausted. That was the delicate way to put it. 

Velvette had you working like a pack mule, unable to sit or "unplug" for even a few moments. Deadlines mounted, growing harsher and more deranged by the hour. You knew what happened to people with poor performances...

There was no firing, rather an erasure. And as meager as it was, you'd like to keep on "living". 

Vox's expression hardened, before his patience snapped. He was on top of you before you could express protest or invitation. Hands found your wrists as your mouth was enveloped by his. The heat of his touch brought a much-needed life to your aching, broken body. You felt like a part of you had been woken from a deep, groggy sleep; a desire was being fulfilled. 

Something that laid so dormant for Vox, yet so patient, finally came out to play. He sighed when you kissed him back.  

You don't remember much of what happened in between. You don't recall your clothing becoming a muddled pile on the floor, or his hands working you through your first climax. You struggled to remember his sweet nothings that were hissed into your temple, his hips claiming your tired body tenderly. He had taken you to a ledge, and you willingly plunged off of it, diving face first into seeking your pleasure. A selfish notion… how very uncharacteristic of Velvette’s hardworking employee! 

When you seemed to regain some of your thoughts, you felt the cool expanse of glass pressing your cheek. Your hands lightly squeaked as you tried pushing your head up... before you were slammed back down. You whined as the TV Star frisked your hair, his other hand bruising your hip. He couldn't help the breathless moan that slipped out as he continued to piston into you. 

Many thoughts swam about your mind as your body recoiled and bounced against the window. 

Would your face be on tabloids across town, your drool and alluring gaze burned into everyone's memory? Would you be able to explain to your supervisor why your appearance became even more rumpled, old tear tracks clinging to your cheeks? Would you be able to play off your ruined voice, cracked and grating like nails on a chalkboard? Oh, how Vox made you scream when you came for the– third… time? By this point, you didn't mind losing count. 

Despite this all, you could only focus clearly on one thing: the fog... The fog that your hot breath created against the glass. The opacity would increase every time his cock plunged in, only to dissipate when he withdrew. The fog almost felt more lewd than the noises that filled the air. The lecherous slapping of skin on skin couldn't compare to embarrassing warmth and condensation that settled on the window. 

You were close. So very close to being fulfilled again. After this grueling month of work-related agony, you were practically owed this. You reach behind yourself and grab onto Vox's tie, yanking him in for a kiss. Initially a little surprised, Vox huffed into your bold move, creating his own in the next breath. He grabbed your right leg, raising and holding it aloft as he lost his rhythm. Your kiss was the missing component to his release, and it was approaching MUCH too quickly. 

You were wracked with the feeling of satisfaction, body locking up during your climax. You greedily sucked on Vox's tongue, swallowing his wanton, heated moans. Your aching, gooey core dribbled with his new release, unable to keep everything inside. That sight may have been as lewd as the condensation, your face unable to keep the heat that rose to your face at bay.

When the two of you parted, Vox released your leg, only to loop his slender arm around your waist. He held you securely as you both slid to the floor, clumsy and spent from your little romp. 

Vox leaned his head against his free arm, panting as he looked down to you and your filth-covered form. Velvette didn't have an eye for this look... but the milky sheen of his release looked especially fitting on your flushed skin. A contrast, a juxtaposition… something so sheer on something so soft and opaque… He would have to find a way to make this a more permanent addition to your wardrobe.

"Fuck me..." he ground out, laughing breathlessly as he came back to his senses. His poor processor fans were whirring loudly, trying to adapt to his temperature change. However, no amount of fans or coolant could relieve the burn in his chest, or the flush that settled over his face. You smile back at him, eyes glassy as you watch him pant and heave above you. 

"I just did. Unless... you need me to help you out again, sir...?" Vox shook his head, chuckling at your tired attempt at flirtation. He didn’t let you linger on the floor for long, bringing you up into his arms like a bride on her honeymoon. 

"I'd rather do what you need for tonight. What can I do to help Velvette's hardworking, doting secretary?"

[restinpeacesensei]

[wigglebox]

HOI so i’m thinking about honestly trying vintage style again y/y/?

[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

[planetsano]

ᡕᠵ᠊ᡃ່࡚ࠢ࠘ ⸝່ࠡࠣ᠊߯᠆ࠣ࠘ᡁࠣ࠘᠊᠊ࠢ࠘𐡏 𖥔 ⭒ ִ ׂ 𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓: (𝟏) 𝐕𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐎.

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 — you’ve got a real big crush on sanzu but your brothers can’t find out or else you’ll be in a lot of trouble.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 — dark themes, stepcest, filming sexual acts, prostitution mention, cruel punishments, (light) blackmail, slight voyeurism, toxic relationships, naive reader.

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 — ran haitani, rindo haitani & sanzu haruchiyo.

Ding!

Sanzu.

Attachment: (1) video.

“The hell did Sanzu send me a video for?” Ran mumbles lazily.

“You got it too?” Rindo’s head lifts, his sleepy looking eyes meeting his older brother’s as he sits on the other leather sofa on the other side of the glass coffee table. Dozens upon dozens of neatly stacked bands of cash were placed on the coffee table, as well as old fashioned glasses with a bit of brown liquor filled halfway and a zip lock bag filled with buds of marijuana and other accessories alike.

“Seems so..” Ran replies, watching his brother bring the blunt from his lips down to exhale a large white cloud from his lungs. Rindo puts out the blunt by smushing the gently into the glass table then setting it to the side.

“Let’s play it then?” Rindo says. They both manage to click play at the same time with both volumes syncing up near perfectly.

As the camera lens comes into focus, the flash dissipates and they see you, their sweet, sweet baby sister on her knees nestled in between the knees of a pair of purple pinstripe dressed thighs. Almost immediately the two brothers had a sense of unease settling in the pit of their stomachs as they saw your pretty face look past the camera. A worried look plastered on your face as you looked at the bubblegum pink haired man behind the camera. You wore a pout on your glossed lips, the specs of glitter picking up on camera due to the flash. Your hands rested on his thighs with your false lashes sitting pretty on your lash line. They fluttered cutely as you blinked and a strap of your silk mini dress was hanging off your shoulder. Rindo and Ran’s eyes widened when they recognized the dress as something you wore just last night.

The night had been a fun one— a night out at one of Tokyo’s hottest clubs with Bonten’s executives was always exciting. Your brothers were nice enough to let you tag along after enough begging, fake crying and dry humping. They remember everyone coming back to one of Bonten’s designated “hideouts,” It wasn’t very inconspicuous, in fact it was a penthouse right in the heart of Shibuya. They often conducted business there, more often than not there would be a few quiet sleeping heads tucked away in one of the many rooms in the luxurious suite.

You tend to get a bit clingy when you have liquor in your system, so it wasn’t surprising when you were sitting comfortably in Sanzu’s lap with your face nuzzled in his neck. You seemed to have taken a liking to the eccentric man much to your brothers’ dismay. You often hear their lectures about how you can’t trust dangerous men like him and yadda, yadda, yadda. You never listened, it was quite hypocritical of them to lecture you about not trusting men like Sanzu while being in the same exact boat as he is. Truth is, you had a really big crush on Sanzu and he knew it. He liked to play around with you when your brothers weren’t around. Stealing kisses, putting his hands under your skirt, and often covering your mouth while his hard cock bullies it’s way into your tight cunt for a quickie.

Of course Ran and Rindo didn’t know that. They were blissfully ignorant and still believing their precious baby sister is sweet and… as pure as you could be. In their mind, the only cocks you were taking were theirs but that’s simply not the truth. Sanzu’s cock has been fucking its way into their precious pussy for a few months now. It’s amazing how you haven’t gotten caught yet. Letting their guard down was probably one of the worst things they could do because when Sanzu offered to tuck you in last night they didn’t think anything of it. Ran probably should have trusted in intuition, maybe they would be in the position they’re in now: seconds away from watching their little sister suck a cock that doesn’t belong to either of them. Ran and Rindo watched on as the video played.

“I thought you said you weren’t gonna record..” You say softly as your eyes shift to the camera then back up to Sanzu, a soft chuckle heard behind the camera.

“I changed my mind, angel.” Sanzu says simply and your brows furrow upward at the nonchalant tone in his voice, eliciting a small whine from you— almost sounding like a puppy’s whimper. You were so.. cute.

“You’re not gonna show anyone, right..?” You ask, (colored) eyes pleading up to the man holding the camera. Rindo and Ran couldn’t see, but Sanzu has the look of pure enjoyment on his insanely handsome features. He gives you a head pat and a wide, close-eyed smile spreads across his lips.

“No, my eyes only. I swear it.” Sanzu says. A lie. “Stop frowning. It makes pretty girls like you ugly. You don’t want to be ugly, right? No one’s gonna love you if you are.” He adds on. You shake your head at him, still looking at him with puppy eyes with a pout worn on your plump lips.

“No, ‘don wanna be ugly, Sanzu..” You say.

“What the hell is this?” Rindo scowls lightly, his handsome face turning in a mix of aloofness and disgust as he speaks. Ran only shakes his head at his little brother’s words, almost in a patronizing way. He was the older brother after all.

“It seems that our baby sister is a free whore.” Ran says. “Doesn't even have enough respect for herself to charge.”

“I told you we should have whored her out ourselves..” Rindo sighs. “Now she's doing it herself for free.”

“Don’t worry, sweet girl. Stand up, show me your pussy.” Sanzu says. Without a doubt or hesitation, you’re on your feet and the camera shifts upward. Your deep emerald green silk mini dress looks amazing on your body, something Ran had picked out for you just a few days before. You lift the bottom hem of your dress up, pulling it over your hips to expose your bare pussy. You hadn’t been wearing any panties that night. Rindo remembers telling you to keep your legs closed or he’d take you all the way home to put some on. From the looks of it, you were soaking.

“Ah, so cute.” Sanzu coos behind the camera. “Spread your lips so I can see that precious little clit.” He orders softly. You do as you’re told and lift your leg so that your bare foot rests on his thigh, taking your pointer and middle finger to spread your lips so that your clit is on full display. The light from the flash reflects off your slick, a tell all indication that you were incredibly aroused. Rindo feels his mouth water at the sight, he’s always been the one to eat your cunt for his own pleasure— leaving you a shaking and stuttering mess as you try to push his lilac hair away from your core.

“I’m pretty, right, Sanzu?” You look up at him with a hopeful look.

“The prettiest girl I’ve ever seen,” He confirms, though it only sounds like a write off so you could shut up. “Rub it.” Sanzu orders again and soon your fingertips are working on your clit in circular motions. You tuck your bottom lip between your teeth, biting down lightly as you continue your motions— your hips bucking into the air every so often when you hit a particularly good section of nerves in your sensitive bud.

“Like this?” You smile.

“Yeah, I bet that feels good, hm?” Sanzu’s hand comes into view, his slender fingers rubbing the skin of your shin and up to your inner thigh. He reaches forward and moves your hand to replace it with his own. His pointer and middle finger rubbing harshly into your clit before he lands one hard tap on your pussy.

“Ngh, not too hard. ‘S sensitive..” You whimper.

Ran and Rin hate it. They’re fucking livid but they can’t seem to tear their eyes away from their phones. They feel even more disgusted that their cocks are hardening past their expensive dress pants as they watch you spread your cunt like a little fucking slut for another man. Have they not taught you anything? They’re so disappointed in you. Obviously, you need to be taught a lesson. One harsher than the last they gave you, a bruised, near bleeding ass wasn’t enough it seems. Maybe they’d lock you in a closet this time? Give you $50 dollars and make you live homeless for the rest of the remaining week and see how well you fend for yourself.

“I can’t believe this ungrateful slut..” Rindo mumbles under his breath, his throat dry from his own arousal.

“She’ll be back from her shopping trip soon. She’ll be sorry.” Ran adds on, his face void from any emotion but the tent in his pants saying otherwise.

“On your knees, again.” Sanzu says and leans back into the chair he’d been sitting in. He watches you sink back down to your knees, your smaller and manicured nails paling him through his pants. “Yeah.. that’s right.” Sanzu groans. You’re in the middle of taking out his cock when he speaks again.

“Tell me who you love more. Your Sanzu or your brothers?” The question startles both you and your brothers. Rin tensing his shoulders a bit while Ran squints his eyes slightly. They don’t like how long your taking to answer the question because the answer should be fucking obvious. Them. But instead, you look past the camera up at Sanzu with that stupid fucking look on your face.

“I don’t like it when you ask those kinds of questions..” You trail off, hand wrapped loosely around his impressive size.

“Tell me or I’ll send this to—” He's quickly cut off by your cries.

“You! You Sanzu! I love you more! Please don’t tell!” You plead, tears pooling at your eyes almost immediately and you didn’t even let him get the full threat out. You already knew what he was going to threaten you with, he often “teases” you about putting you and his little “relationship” on blast knowing full well Ran and Rindo would go absolutely insane if they found out. You weren’t wrong, because as soon as they see you— you’re in so much trouble to keep it at the simplest of terms.

“Ah, so cute..” Sanzu chuckles. “Relax, I won’t tell. Now come on, put it in your mouth..” He ushers gently.

Ran and Rindo watch on in pure and utter disgust as you lean over to place a glob of spit on the tip of his cock. You dainty hand strokes his shaft in long and leisurely strokes, twisting your hand as you do. You hummed in enjoyment as your tongue gave the underside of his cock one solid lick before swirling your wet muscle over the tip, your eyes looking up at the camera as you do.

Your smile as you looked up at him was so.. Naughty? Mischievous? Playful? Maybe a mix of all of the three. You looked like such a slut taking him into your mouth with such ease. Sanzu should be thanking Rindo and Ran for how well you’re taking his cock down your throat. They’re the ones that trained you to properly take a dick. Sanzu grunts behind the camera, his other hand coming back into frame to grab a fistful of your hair. He holds your head in place and begins to fuck up into your mouth the sounds leaving you so disgusting and obscene as his cock head punches the back of your throat. The two brothers continue to watch, both their cocks incredibly hard, aching for a release at the sight of you getting your mouth fucked.

“Tongue out, angel.” Sanzu says through a grunt. Your hand wraps around his cock once more and gives him quick and short strokes as he nears his release. Sanzu can feel his balls tightening, his thighs tensing up as he’s on the onset of his high. You open your mouth, tongue hanging out awaiting the hot load Sanzu was seconds away from hitting your tongue. The warm muscle was massaging the head of his cock, right on the underside. Sanzu came with a groan of your name, spilling his load all over your pink tongue.

“Say ahh.” Sanzu chuckles breathlessly.

“Ahh~!” You giggle, wiggling your tongue from side to side before pulling it back into your mouth to swallow the seed that sullied your tastebuds.

The video abruptly ends and as if on cue both the brothers get a text from none other than the pink haired psychopath himself.

Sanzu

‘Oops. I didn’t mean to send that.. Your sister’s a bit of a slut isn’t she~? Ah, I’m sure you perverts know that anyway. Do I have your blessing~? ♡’

© ALL CONTENT BELONGS TO PLANETSANO/REKIRI. DO NOT MODIFY, EDIT, OR REPOST.

[pochipop]

Hi! May I request a BNHA character headcanon of them reacting to Y/N getting locked out of her dorm room and coming to them to ask to stay with them for the night? If yes, thank you soooo much!! And I'd love it if you could include Izuku, Bakugo, Tenya, Shinso, Shoji, and Shihai! - 🦑

“ BNHA !! ” 🏷️— LOCKED OUT OF YOUR DORM ROOM.

＃CHARACTERS! —IZUKU, BAKUGO, TENYA, SHINSO, SHOJI, SHIHAI.

＃CONTENT WARNING(S)! — NONE.

＃MASTERLIST! — HERE.

＃ALT ACCOUNTS! — @yyolkchi (spam/sketch posting account!) & @ddollipop (mature fic account!)

𖦹. ━ IZUKU !!

Izuku stares at you in surprise when you knock on his dorm room door late at night. It's a few minutes from curfew, and his first line of thought is that something has gone wrong.

"Y/n?" He tilts his head to one side, "is everything okay?"

Physically, sure, everything is fine, ―nothing life threatening is happening, there's no intense dangers lurking around the corner as far as you know, and no risk is being posed to your life as of now. But a silly mistake of yours has rendered you bedless for the night, and at the risk of looking like an idiot, you've gone to Izuku to seek some refuge from the dorm halls.

Sleeping on the ground outside your room doesn't seem like very much fun.

"More or less," you rub the back of your neck awkwardly, "I just. . . Did something kind of stupid, and I need your help."

"If I can, you know I will!" He assures you, in typical Izuku Midoriya fashion, and you have to keep yourself from grinning, "―but, maybe we should wait until morning to talk about it. I don't want either of us getting in trouble for breaking curfew."

"That's the thing," you fiddle with your thumbs, "I actually um. . . Locked myself out of my dorm room, and I came here to ask if it would be okay to stay with you for the night?"

His emerald eyes widen in surprise. Whatever he'd been expecting you to say, that hadn't been on the long list of possibilities. Not that it's an inherently outlandish request, he just hadn't expected something like that from you.

"Won't we get in trouble for that?" He asks, "―maybe we should just go and tell Mr Aizawa about this, I'm sure he'll be able to help!"

"I thought about that, but I feel bad interrupting his personal life like that. He always looks so tired during the day, it feels wrong to make a fuss over this when I can wait until morning to ask instead," you explain.

"Oh. . . Yeah, that makes sense," Izuku agrees, "but oh! Maybe I can use my quirk to break the lock on your door!"

He holds his fist with a confident smile, and you take a small step back.

"I-I appreciate the offer, really, but that seems like it'd do a lot more harm than good. Plus, the noise would probably send everyone into a panic, especially with everything our class has been through this past month. . ." you trail off.

"Right," he nods, ". . . then, I guess this should be fine. It's not like we're doing anything bad, and we'll go straight to Mr Aizawa in the morning!"

"Straight there, promise!" You nod, and Izuku steps aside so you can enter his dorm.

It's not the first time you've ever been in his room, but it is the first time past curfew, and somehow, that gives it a totally different vibe. You glance around at his massive collection of All Might items, from posters, to action figures, to DVDs. It's odd, of course, but it's endearing to you nonetheless. You recall he was embarrassed and flustered over you seeing it the first time, but now, he seems to have mellowed out almost completely.

"So um. . . How should we do this? I don't have any extra blankets, but it's not very cold tonight, so I could do without one. Thankfully, I've got plenty of pillows, though! If I sleep on the floor, you can keep the blanket on the bed, ―I'd rather not have it get dirty anyway," he rambles a bit.

"No, I'm the one inconveniencing you! I'll take the floor, no worries about that, and I don't mind not having a blanket for the night," you insist.

Izuku frowns.

"That wouldn't make me a very good friend, and I'm sure my mom would scold me for letting any guest sleep on the floor," he tells you.

"It's okay! It's my fault for locking myself out of my room like an idiot," you assure him, "I'm just thankful you're letting me sleep in here with you at all. I can't imagine the way Bakugo would make fun of me if he saw me sleeping in the hall. . ."

Eventually, the two of you reach a conclusion. Neither of you sleep on the floor, ―instead, you share Izuku's bed, but agree to keep your backs turned to one another and not cross the imaginary line drawn down the middle of the mattress. Before drifting off, you thank him again for letting you stay here, and he says goodnight before closing his eyes.

𖦹. ━ BAKUGO !!

Bakugo is annoyed when he opens the door to see you standing there, and you instantly regret coming to him of all people. This was probably a bad choice, you acknowledge, but you'd been hoping he would take some pity on you in a way the rest of the class wouldn't. He's always stood out to you as someone whose actions speak much louder than their words, ―despite how high his volume seems to always be.

"What do you want?" He grumbles, voice hoarse, much gruffer than usual, "don't you know what time it is?"

"I'm sorry for bothering you," you apologize, "I know it's late."

"Not sorry enough to not do it," he says, wearing his irritation on his. . . Arm, you suppose, because he's shirtless at the moment, so there's no sleeve to wear it on.

"Just tell me what you need, or go away and let me go to bed."

He's just as blunt as ever.

"I locked myself out of my dorm room," you tell him, and it comes as no shock to you that he bursts into laughter at your admission.

You stare at the floor as he cackles at your expense. It's funnier to him than you'd expected it to be, but you only have yourself to blame, really. You're the one that came to him, knowing exactly how he is, after all. It's not like you have the right to complain, although he could certainly stand to be less of a dick about this.

"That's hilarious," he says when his laughter finally dies down and his usual scowl returns to his face, "but what exactly do you want me to do about that? Blast the door down for you?"

"N-No!" You quickly shake your head, "that just turns one issue into another. I came here to ask if you'd let me spend the night in your dorm until I can get help from Mr Aizawa in the morning. . ."

This might have been a big mistake, actually. You're kicking yourself for it by the time Bakugo heaves a heavy sigh.

"It's not like I can leave you out here," he says matter-of-factly.

Your eyes widen as he moves to the side to let you in.

"Don't just stand there," he snarls, "get in here before I change my mind."

You do. He rolls his eyes and mumbles "yeah yeah," when you thank him. Stepping over a weight he left sitting in the middle of the floor, you nearly fall over it backwards when he decides to throw a pillow at you from across the room.

"There's a spot on the floor," he points, "now go to sleep. Don't expect any more hospitality."

With no other options, you do as he says. The floor is hard, of course, and your back will probably feel this night for a few days, but it's better than nothing. At least he gave you a pillow. . . Thankfully, after ten minutes of tossing and turning periodically on the floor, he caves and tells you to just get on the bed, insisting that it's only because you're annoying him with the movement. He warns that if you touch him, he'll blast you into another dimension entirely, ―but that's fine. His bed is a lot more comfortable, and he's a lot cuter when he's not screaming. You could almost fall for him.

𖦹. ━ TENYA !!

Tenya is quick to lecture you as soon as he opens his door and sees you standing in the hall.

"Do you know what time it is?" He questions, "we only have a few minutes until curfew, and it's doubtful now that you'll be able to make it all the way back to your own dorm room before then. As the representative of class 1A, I can't allow you to ignore the rules, and―"

"I locked myself out of my room," you interrupt his speech, a hefty blush tinting your cheeks as he silences himself for a few moments and lets your words sink in.

"That. . . Is an unfortunate situation," he replies, tone switching from authoritative to empathetic, "although I'm not sure what to do with that information. It would be inappropriate to interrupt Mr Aizawa at this hour, and opening the door ourselves would more than likely cause a lot of ruckus, which also goes against the rules for the dorms past curfew. . ."

"I know," you tell him, "―which is why I came here, to ask if you'd let me stay the night with you."

Tenya's eyes widen at your request. He blushes, ducking his head in hopes you won't see it, clearing his throat to keep his voice from breaking the next time he speaks.

"I see," he states, and an awkward silence follows.

"I'm sorry," you apologize, "I. . . I probably shouldn't have asked you this, I just didn't know who else to turn to this late."

"No, I assure you, there's no need to apologize, you did the right thing. As the class representative, it's my job to take care of things like this when I'm capable of doing so," he tells you, which eases your nerves a bit.

He thinks for a minute longer before coming to a decision.

"Come in," he concludes, "you can sleep here for the night, and then I'll report everything to Mr Aizawa first thing in the morning. It may be a bit irresponsible of me to allow this, but it would be far crueler to turn you away."

You thank him as you step inside, stifling a giggle at his extensive collection of glasses. He's doing you a solid favor, after all, so now isn't the time to be poking fun at him. Maybe in the future, though.

"How exactly did you manage to lock yourself out of your room, anyway?" He asks as he closes the door behind you.

"I'm not even sure," you admit, "I went outside for a bit to get some air, and when I came back inside, I realized the door had locked behind me, and I didn't have my key on me."

"In the future, I'd suggest carrying your key with you whenever you leave the room in case of circumstances like this," Tenya notes.

"I'll definitely be keeping it with me from here on out, don't worry about that. Lesson learned, I promise," you assure him.

"Well then. . . Should we lie down for the night? Tomorrow morning is likely to be busy for you," he notes.

"And for you," you quip guiltily, "―and I'm sorry in advance."

He brushes it off.

"Don't worry about that, I wake up early every morning. It would be shameful for me to ever turn up to class late."

Unsurprisingly, Tenya is a true gentleman. He makes sure to tell you that he'll stay on one side of the bed, and when he portions his blanket between the two of you, he makes sure you've got more than him. Before handing you a pillow, he fluffs it up. The way he whispers sweet dreams is almost too much for your heart to handle. . . And for a moment, you consider ways to lose your key just to wind up here again in a few days time.

𖦹. ━ SHINSO !!

Shinso's expression is majoritively unreadable when he cracks his door open and spots you standing in the hall outside. Internally, his heart skips a little beat and confusion thrums through his veins, but he's. . . Excited, dare he admit, to see you here so late at night. He suspects you're the only person who'd have enough of a gall to do something like this.

". . . need something?" He inquires, raising an eyebrow.

His voice is as monotone as always, but on the inside, he's a much different person. Almost like a small child, curious and careful.

"Yeah um. . . It's a little embarrassing, but I was hoping you could do me a favor?" You request, and Shinso cocks his head to the side in inquiry.

"A favor?" He asks, "―what kind of favor?"

You're not exactly giving him much to go off of here, although he can sense that you're truthful about the fact that it's embarrassing. The way you're struggling to meet his eyes properly is more than enough of a hint.

"Well, see, the thing is that I somehow locked myself out of my dorm room, and I was wondering if you'd let me. . . Sleep here with you for the night?"

Your request shocks him to the core. He's never exactly seen himself as the type of person that anyone could come to for things of this nature, —nonetheless you. His mask of stoicism slips for the moment, and his lips part in surprise.

"You. . . You want to sleep here, with me?" He asks

He's not making this easy on you. You swallow down your pride and speak up again in reply, even though you wish you could sink into the ground and disappear right about now.

"If you're okay with that," you clarify, "but if you're not I. . . I understand why, and that's fine too."

Shinso's still working through his own shock, and he doesn't have the sense in the moment to pick up on the desperation and twinges of shame that entwine with the words you speak.

When he doesn't say anything, you back away from him further.

"I'm sorry," you apologize, "I shouldn't have asked this of you. I'm gonna go try to pick the lock again, hopefully that'll pan out in the end or something—"

"No!" He cuts you off so unexpectedly that it startles you, and you flinch before him, which he scolds himself for.

"Sorry, no, I didn't mean to raise my voice, I just. . ."

His words trail off, but after a deep breath, he finds his way. Or, he finds what he can only hope are the right words.

"You can stay the night," he says, "it's no trouble. I'm just not used to people relying on me, so when I realized you'd come to me out of everyone else, I was a little dazed. And I still am, but that's not important, so just come inside. My room is a little messy though."

He's at a loss as to why you'd come to him over anyone else. Midoriya, the ever-helpful boy he is, seems like a perfect candidate to Shinso, —far better than him. Iida as well, so reliable and always willing to lend a hand to anyone in need. Kirishima even, so kind and compassionate, ready to give anyone a smile and word of encouragement at any given moment. . . So why him?

Shinso wonders that for the rest of the night, but he never does ask. Instead, he makes sure you're comfortable and watches as you fall asleep, sparing glances your way throughout the night whilst he struggles to let sleep overtake him. He thinks to himself that you look so peaceful when you're resting, and he can't help but wonder what you're dreaming of. But come morning, he doesn't ask about that either.

𖦹. ━ SHOJI !!

Shoji panics a bit when he opens his door and sees you standing before him. The two of you are friends, of course, but he's always sensed that there was an unacknowledged distance between himself and you that was just. . . Understood. He's always felt that there were invisible lines he couldn't cross, as well as ones he needed to read between. This, however, seems to be in total opposition to that. You're here in front of him at this hour, and he's just trying to keep it together.

"Is something wrong, y/n?" Shoji asks.

"Ah, well, I guess you could put it like that," you answer with an awkward accompanying laugh, "I'm sorry for bugging you so late at night."

"That's okay," he assures you, "what happened? You're not hurt, right?"

He doesn't see any injuries on you, —your clothes aren't dirty nor disheveled, your body language seems at least semi-relaxed, and with all of that noticed, he comes to the conclusion that, whatever it is that's happening, it's probably not dangerous.

"No, not at all," your words confirm his suspicions and ease his heart all the same, "I just made a stupid mistake, and I need to ask someone for a favor, so. . . Here I am."

Your wary smile tells him that it took a lot of courage for you to do this, and even more so, you seem exhausted to him. Whatever's going on, he's more than willing to help.

"Ask away, if there's anything I can do for you, I'll certainly try my best," he tells you.

"Somehow, I ended up locking myself out of my dorm," you admit, embarrassing as it is to do so, "and I don't want to bother anyone about it until morning. . . Other than you, I guess, which I'm still sorry about."

The look in his eyes tells you that you don't need to be. You still are, but the fact that he doesn't feel it's necessary is elating.

"All that being said, I came here to ask if I could stay with you for the night? I understand if you don't feel comfortable enough to say yes, but you were the only person I thought I could ask something like this of."

Shoji's a little stunned, but he agrees rather quickly nonetheless. He's sure you'd do the same for him if the shoe were on the other foot. Since the last time you saw his room, he's upgraded a bit. . . Not by much, per say, but anything is noticeable given the lackluster state of it previously. He has a nicely sized bed now, although it doesn't look like the most comfortable one you've ever seen, and a few books are lying in the corner of the room. You just hope they're for recreational reading and not studying, —it's clear that he deserves to indulge in a hobby or two.

He's a big guy, so it can't be helped that he nudges you a few times throughout the night. But, he always apologizes, even if you're fast asleep. Shoji is hyperaware of your presence and does his best to give you the space he feels you probably want. Crossing your boundaries is the last thing he'd want to do. You'd mind a lot less than he knows, but hey. . . That's a conversation for another time.

𖦹. ━ SHIHAI !!

Shihai does his best to cover up his nervousness when you knock on his door a few minutes before curfew. As much as he wants people to believe that his confidence has no limits, —it does, and they're far easier to reach than he'd ever feel comfortable letting on.

"Hey," he greets as casually as he can currently muster.

"Hey," you parrot, a little breathy in comparison, "are you busy right now or anything?"

He shakes his head, opening the door a little wider so that he can lean against the frame, hoping that will make him seem much more nonchalant than he feels.

"Nope. . . I was just getting ready for bed. Is there something you need?"

Here it comes, —the part you've been dreading the most since deciding to come to him for this. It's not that you fear he'll laugh at or mock you, but man. . . Admitting this mistake you've made to someone like him, who seems to have everything together, feels like a real blow to your ego. Even so, you still felt like he was the best option. He's a lot of things, and a hero is one of them, even if he hasn't officially been granted that title yet.

"This is a little embarrassing," you preface, "but uh. . . I locked myself out of my dorm room, and I need somewhere to sleep for the night. I was hoping you'd let me crash on your floor or something?"

The fact that you've come to him makes him feel a lot of different things at once, none of which he can accurately put a name to. All Shihai is sure of is that "crashing on his floor," as you put it, isn't exactly an option.

"Ah come on, the floor?" He gives you a small chuckle, hoping it sounds more charming than it feels as it erupts from the back of his throat.

"I have a bed, and it's plenty big enough for two. No need for you to wreck your back or anything."

You sigh in relief as he invites you inside. That went a lot better than you could have imagined, —although, in all fairness, you'd mostly been thinking of the worst-case scenarios in the first place. Shihai tries to keep up his facade as best he can manage. . . Maybe one day he'll let you see the vulnerable parts of him, let you see the little boy with big dreams and high hopes that lives inside him, —but today is not that day, and tonight is not that night.

He bristles when you turn in your sleep in the early hours of the morning. The top of your foot brushes his calf, and his heart croons. All of this is so sudden, and to him, it feels so intimate. Something about the feeling of your skin as it brushes against him so innocently, in a moment where you're so unaware that it's even happening. . . He resists the urge to sneak a peek at your face as you rest beside of him, comfortable enough to let your guard down when you're lying next to him. Instead, he resigns himself to this spot at your side, a few inches of space between his hand and yours, and he listens closely for the sound of your gentle breathing, allowing it to lull him to sleep.

[ithebookhoarder]

Jealous Eloise as fem!reader dances at a ball with a suitor? Reader confronts Eloise on why she’s upset and Eloise gives an angsty love confession? Something along those lines you can change it up to whichever is better for the story

You Belong With Me (Eloise Bridgerton x F!reader)

A/N: Oh, Eloise. Love of my life. I had WAY too much fun indulging with this one, so thank you to whoever sent it in 😉 Also, I have set this up as part one of two, as it combined so well with another request I got for Eloise and a female reader - so I hope you don't mind. Keep your eyes peeled as it should be up soon. Promise! 🤞

Part 2

Masterlist:

The start of the new season was always chaotic. Your whole house seemed consumed with nothing but making preparations, from choosing which outfits to wear, to which suitors would be in attendance, to which dances were most in fashion. 

It was no surprise to you that you were not the only people in England also caught in the frenzy of social life. Merely a day or so since your arrival to London and you had already received a staggering number of invitations for teas, soirees and balls for the coming weeks in town. 

The idea of attending even a handful of them made your head spin.  

Luckily, your mother had spent her entire life preparing for this eventual situation. She, and your father, almost had it down to an art. As soon as you would open an invitation, your mother would have already placed it in one her neat piles. Needless to say there was a rather large contrast between the acceptance, and denial piles. The way in which she organised the whole affair so efficiently was almost militaristic.

In another life she’d have made a particularly marvellous general, or so you remarked as you watched your mother’s ‘battle plan’ forming. 

However, despite your mother’s assurance that matrimony was not the entire aim for the season - merely an additional blessing, should you receive such an offer - you still felt like the pressure to find such a prospect was mounting. 

So far, it had taken all your will power not to protest every time your mother and father had made a mention of some other silly tradition or ritual you would be expected to perform before the season was out. 

This morning in particular had almost sent you screaming from the breakfast table as your mother had informed you that she had received your vouchers and invitations for Almack’s for the season, after having had a rather flattering letter from its current Patronesses - all as titled, and ridiculous as the last in their opinion. You really didn't care who Lady Emily Cowper, Lady Jersey, Lady Castlereagh or Mrs Drummond Burrell were. 

You also cared a hell of a lot less about their eligible offspring too - each as ridiculous as the next… and, most importantly, male.  

That was a rather crucial detail in your eyes, given the fact that you knew you were simply not capable of feeling the traditional sentiments about the other sex. It was something you had always known - ever since you were a small girl and played with your dolls house, making up stories for your ‘brides’, and casting the male dolls aside. 

You simply hadn’t seen anything wrong with the idea of two girls choosing to spend their lives together, rather than wasting it on silly boys. However, your mother had been quick to assure you that you would grow out of such childish nonsense when you came of age.

You hadn’t. 

Quite the opposite in fact, as your feelings only cemented themselves, as opposed to waning. You could blame the blossoming affection between you and a Miss Eloise Bridgerton for that… An affection that was currently driving you almost mad with frustration. 

All evening, since you’d first arrived at the terrible soiree that was was to be your prison for the evening, you had been in a state of intense irritation with both yourself and the world.

You were irritated by the silly fop who had just escorted you from the dance floor to your mother; you were irritated by the footman who offered you a glass of champagne; you were irritated with the cloying smell of too many different perfumes that pervaded the ballroom; and you were irritated with the itchy fabric of your dress which made you want to twitch like a demented bedlamite.

Most of all, more than anything else, you were irritated with yourself for your detailed knowledge of the movements of one blasted Eloise Bridgerton.

It wasn’t her fault, per say, that you were unable to take your eyes off of her all night. Yet, you had been dragged to and fro, from suitor to suitor – all the while noting Eloise’s each and every movement.

You were behaving like a jealous ninny. 

“Oh, look!” exclaimed your sister, Charlotte, poking you in the arm. You rubbed irritably at the spot. Splendid. Now you were both itchy and bruised. “There’s Charles dancing with Eloise Bridgerton. Oh, mama will be thrilled. A match between them would be most ideal.”

“Indeed,” you muttered sourly, following the direction of your sister’s finger towards the dance floor, where your elder brother was dancing across the floor with Eloise.

Now, of course, you knew without even asking that chances were your brother had been forced into asking Eloise to dance, just as much as Eloise had been forced by convention to accept - it would be considered the highest of insults to have said no, and whilst Eloise was every bit a rebel at heart, she would never have embarrassed her mother, or family, in such a way. 

However, that didn’t stop your stomach from churning as you watched from the edge of the room. 

Your heart clenched in a way it had no business clenching over such an innocent scene, but it was more likely due to the fact that you knew you could never have such a privilege. 

It was one thing to waltz with Eloise in her own home, but another to do so publicly. It simply wasn’t done… just as it wasn’t done for two women to love one another as you both did. It wasn’t done for two women to start a life together and reject the rules and conventions of society, but that hadn’t stopped you so far. 

You had been to one another as close as two people could be, and had been for a while now. 

You knew how Eloise’s perfume lingered when she was in your arms. You knew how it felt to have her hand holding yours. You knew how it felt to have Eloise’s eyes on you, watching your every move either during a dance in the ballroom or the bedroom. 

As if he could sense it, over Eloise’s shoulder, your brother caught your eye and grinned.

You started, blushed, and focused instead on downing the remainder of your glass of champagne.

When you had all but slammed the glass down on a passing server’s tray, your sister turned an inquisitive eye on you. “What is wrong with you tonight? You don’t appear to be in a very good mood.”

You did your best to repress the urge to growl. “I’m fine.”

“Y/N.” Your sister knew when you were lying better than most - a fact you very much were aware of. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing - I should find Lord Sinderby,” you muttered icily. “He is written down as my next partner for the evening.”

You had had enough of standing gawking on the sidelines like a spectator at a bad play. Instead, you were almost glad of the distraction as your partner decided to emerge from the crowd and take your hand in his. 

Just because you knew Eloise returned your affections, didn’t mean you were certain of the future. After all, a dalliance was one thing. To commit to a future together? To face an uncertain existence? To cast off any chance at marrying and having children, like women were supposed to? They were entirely different things. 

Perhaps you had been naive to assume Eloise felt as you did. or maybe you had been optimistic - dangerously so, as your aunt had once warned you. 

The thought was suddenly too much to bear. As was the idea you could be forced to watch Eloise choose another- a spectator in her life and not a key player. 

You cursed to yourself and hastily forced back a tear that threatened to escape from your eye. 

Thankfully, the music started and your partner was far too busy watching his feet to notice. Then again, Alfred Sinderby had never been the sharpest tac in the box. He was kind and wealthy, and that was enough for most women and their mamas, which would explain why so many had had their sights set on him all season. 

Still, he managed to survive unscathed by matrimony just yet, which was impressive - all things considered. Perhaps that was why he always asked you for a dance, given that your disinterest in suitors was widely known amongst your peers, even if it was never discussed aloud. Whistledown had written you both off as being highly critical and particular in your searches, which wasn’t exactly incorrect, even if it wasn’t that simple. 

You had found a worthy match, but taking her hand wouldn’t be as easy as marching in to her drawing room and declaring it then and there for all to hear - something Eloise knew was the same for you too. Neither family would likely welcome the news or understand, either (even if you suspected some members of your families would be more accepting of the idea).

So, for now, you contented yourself with dancing and listening to Alfred’s rather candid sense of humour. It was all you could do to make this evening more bearable. 

That, and letting yourself be dragged from one dance to the other by whomever wished to pencil their name on the card attached to your wrist. 

Alas, it was easier to smile and simper at young gentlemen, than be truthful with yourself. Focusing on keeping up with the steps was a less painful alternative compared to focusing on anything else. 

However, there came a point in the evening where even you could dance no longer and you needed a reprieve from your aching feet and the suddenly suffocating heat of the crowded dance floor. 

Whilst your first choice would have been to reclaim your family for company, or even Lord Sinderby (given the fact he seemed one of a few in attendance tonight able to keep up a decent conversation about anything other than matrimony or one’s fortunes), they were nowhere to be found. In fact, despite standing in the middle of the most crowded room in all of London, you suddenly felt remarkably alone. 

Then again, was that such a surprise? After all, you’d learned long ago there were few who could truly see, let alone understand, you - and the person who did it best was always being pulled away from you in another direction entirely, either by life, her family, or the world in which you both lived. 

Perhaps you were destined to be alone… the thought was a bitter one, but not all that surprising, as tonight had proven once again. 

To hell with it. To hell with this whole night - it was that thought that propelled you to leave the ballroom, and march to the deserted terrace, and gardens beyond it. 

You didn’t care if a young lady such as yourself should never leave the room unattended, nor venture into the darkened gardens where those of looser morals may prey upon those naive enough to stray. All you cared about right then was putting as much distance as possible between you and the gilded cage in which you found yourself. 

That, and there was a sense of peace to be found standing in the late night breeze, staring up at the stars in the sky, and listening to the whispers of the music echoing from the open windows of the ballroom.

It was easy to forget everything, for just a moment. To pretend you were free, with only the company of the various chiseled statues for company… Each, ironically, familiar with your plight in their own ways. 

Marc Anthony… Eurydice… Penelope… Anarkali… 

Was it a sign, perhaps? 

A sign of what though? A sign that love was always doomed? That it was but a foolish folly? Or that love was worth fighting for, even if it seemed impossible?

Why else did people still erect monuments to lovers past, even if they didn’t achieve their happy ending? 

Even without saying anything, you still somehow felt a sense of judgement radiating off of the passive observers that surrounded you.

“Don’t even say it,” you growled, shooting the warning at the Emperor Hadrian, who had the misfortune of being the one to stare down at you at that particular moment. 

“Don’t say what?”

“Good lord!”

You started, swerved, and nearly toppled over the bench you had failed to see behind you.

It wasn’t the statue come to life. That, you suddenly felt you could have dealt with, rather than this. 

Eloise crossed the final few yards of the path, her muslin gown luminous in the moonlight. The thin fabric moulded itself against her legs as she walked, increasing the resemblance to a statuary of classical antiquity, but no statue had ever had that sort of effect on you.

“Shouldn’t you be inside?” you yelped. “You shouldn’t be out here alone. Besides, I thought you had another young idiotic fop to dance with.”

Eloise winced slightly at your tone. “One, your concern for my wellbeing is somewhat hypocritical given the fact you are currently out here alone. Also, I needed to speak to you. About tonight-”

“You needn’t bother,” you interrupted tersely. “Don’t feel the need to come keep me company when you clearly have no shortage of company yourself.”

Eloise winced slightly at your tone. “One, your concern for my wellbeing is somewhat hypocritical given the fact you are currently out here alone. Also, I needed to speak to you. About tonight-”“You needn’t bother,” you interrupted tersely. “Don’t feel the need to come keep me company when you clearly have no shortage of company.”

Eloise squinted at you. “Says the woman who has been escorted on to the floor by practically every man with a pulse in there tonight.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“You heard me.” 

“Well, forgive me if I didn’t wish to sit like some wallflower and play spectator to you and your own constant stream of suitors tonight,” you snapped back sharply. “You can’t honestly have expected me to just sit on some shelf and act like I didn’t care in the least that the one person I wished to dance with, to hold in my arms, is the one person I couldn’t.”  

“I know!” Eloise retorted, her bravado suddenly slipping in place of a forlorn expression of someone just as tormented as you. “Look. I - I’m trying to apologise to you, or at least that was the intention when I followed you out here. I do not wish to fight about something as trivial as this.” 

“Trivial? Is that what you think? That my pain is trivial?”

“Your pain? Ha!” exclaimed Eloise. As repartee, it wasn’t her finest hour, but she was clearly too furious to attempt words of more than one syllable. “You’re the one who has been behaving like some air headed debutante all night - simpering at every word your partners said, and batting your eyelids at them. You were doing this to spite me.”

“Spite you?”

“Yes,” Eloise continued. “You only did this as retribution for me accepting your brother’s dance - something I had no say in, I remind you. Yet, you’re the one running around in my dreams, smiling across the ballroom at me like that – I can’t think. I can’t sleep. I can’t look my best friend in the eye. It’s been sheer hell.”

“And that is my fault?’ You’re the one didn’t bother to— Wait. Your dreams? You’ve been dreaming about me?”

Eloise froze. She took a step back, looking horrified. “Never mind. Forget I said that.”

You took a dangerous step forward. “Oh, no. There are no “never minds”, Eloise Bridgerton. You’re not getting off that easily this time. I can’t keep doing this, unsure of what you feel inside, or if everything between us has been nothing more than some dalliance for you.” 

“Fine.” She took a step forward. “You want to know the truth, Y/N? The truth that every waking minute, my heart aches for you… that staying away from you is all I can do to keep my hands off you.”

Another step towards you. A step that brought you and Eloise so close that her breath stirred the loose strands of hair that had escaped your elegant arrangement atop your head.

You inched backwards, but the hedge was at your back, pricking you through your dress, blocking retreat.

“In fact,” Eloise continued, her hands reaching for you as her head descended towards your own – “you have been driving me absolutely mad.”

With a desperate sideways movement, you wrenched yourself from her grasp, leaving Eloise to almost stumble headlong into the hedge.

“Oh, no,” you warned, tears of rage and frustration gathering in your eyes. “The game where you kiss me and then run off and hide from me for weeks on end… It’s – I just can’t – if you’re just looking for a bit of fun, you’re going to have to find it somewhere else”-

Gathering your skirts in hand, you whirled in the direction of the house, only to be jerked back around abruptly by Eloise. 

“That’s not what I want,” she burst out, turning you to face her.

 “Then what do you want?” 

 “You, dammit! You, and only you.”

The words hung there in the air between you.

Each of you stared at the other, your eyes locked with Eloise’s, both frozen as still as the statues surrounding you.

“Say something… do you… do you not feel the same?” 

“Don’t you know, El?”

Slowly, she shook her head. “No.” Her voice broke. “I don’t know anything right now, other than I do not wish for a life without you in it.”

“Funny,” you whispered achingly. “You took the words right from my lips.”

That was it. 

With infinite gentleness, her lips reached for yours. Her hands slid softly into your hair, stroking your temples, easing away aches you hadn’t realised you had. 

Letting your eyes drift closed, you leant into the kiss, abandoning yourself to the dreamlike unreality of it all. Your hands slid up to Eloise’s shoulders, feeling the warmth of her body through the fine lace and muslin of her dress, as warmth of an entirely different kind spread through you. 

With a movement as soft as a sigh, your lips slid away from hers. They remained suspended in time, your lips a whisper above hers, your hands on her shoulders, her fingers still threaded in your hair. 

“I missed you,” she whispered.

You pulled her tightly against you, rubbing your face in her hair and simply savoured having her. “Me too.”

As if to prove just how much you’d missed her, your lips followed the delicate curve of her jaw, down the elegant line of her throat, pausing long enough to hear the gasp she gave as your lips reached the sensitive hollow of her neck. 

You were undone.

So was Eloise’s bodice; One gentle pull at the ribbon fastened at the neckline drew the fabric apart, allowing you better access to the top of her décolletage - which you were quick to add to your exploration. 

Eloise arched in your arms, her nails digging into your back.

“Y/n,” she groaned in a way that made you suddenly wish you were in the safety of your bedroom, and not in the middle of a darkened garden. Then you could simply do away with the whole garment, altogether, rather than be forced to tease her so. 

Still, you were enraptured by her flushed cheeks and the way she bit at her lip as she squirmed in your arms. 

You were just lowering your lips, when a voice cut through your lust filled haze.

“What in the hell is going on here?”

Oh god. 

You turned.

Eloise balked, hastily reaching to yank her dress back together and fasten the ribbon in place. However, it was too late to hide what you had been doing.   

In front of you both loomed one of Eloise’s brothers – thankfully, the one you thought you liked you best, though that was of little comfort right then. After all, Benedict’s very posture crackled with rage and it looked like he couldn’t decide whether to strangle you or simply snatch his sister away and lock her in a tower until she was forty.

Either way, you were both in trouble. 

“Oh f-” 

[strawberry-nugget]

over and out | k. Bakugo

Synopsis: Bakugo has no idea he's walking into a get drunk with your ex buzzfeed interview, will this small interaction be enough to eventually get the two of you back together? Band! au

Visuals

Authors note: if you've seen this fic over at my old account with different characters no you haven't. This is the third time I'm rewritting it and I think that I finally got it right. I am splitting it into two parts so I have more content to post over the span of s few days<3 if you see any Dennis please forgive me my auto correct is more insane than I am, I was meaning to write Denki.

Word count: 8.9k

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors and ageless blogs do not interact, cheating (not on reader), angst, thigh/p*ssyjob, swearing, alcohol. All characters are in their 20s

I'm left with pockets of regret

Swear I won't forget

The tragedy of successes

Believing in second chances

I lie awake in my own head

The building that stands before Katsuki's eyes is no bigger than a basic and very much urban apartment complex. Its brick walls are painted a bright maroon shade, accentuated with beige drywalls that only function as a mere decoration to the studio. There are quite a few trees sprawled around the entrance; some very well kept lawn is also present and emitting a spray of fresh aura to Katsuki's nostrils, which only passes him like a failed attempt for relief.

Much like what his gut apparently needs to stop beeping it's a little red warning- it's true,hedcd rather not be here at all.

Despite his best wishes, a tingling feeling; a somewhat of swirling sensation spirals under the skin of his jaw and causes him to nonchalantly scratch through the coarse hair of his goatee. His fingernails scrub through his facial hair erratically as he looks around, but he doesn't cease to smooth out the mess he thinks he's made on himself before retrieving his fingers back, sparing them a scanning look.

Oh yeah, he's definitely nervous. The mighty Katsuki Bakugo is nervous. And for such a silly little reason too. A youtube interview- one that his PR team thought would source massive clout to him for his upcoming album.

A small publicity stunt.

Your average celebrity knows how non tv interviews can be the most fun -for example, the one that was help for him and his band members to show off their tattoos and tell the stories behind them- or extremely cringy -Machine Gun Kelly and Megan Fox did ace as the twilight wannabe couple of the year- and Katsuki is more than aware of that; the hit and miss nature of what's held in store for him. Yet, the marketing team of his band has always been pushy and persistent about them accepting most interviews throughout their career. Any reasons behind any interview have only ever seemed as an opportunity for his band to get marketed further to the public.

And right now Bakugo needs the exposure, to rile the audience up for the release of his first solo album, Ground Zero.

Taking a few more steps to the entrance of the building, he turns to look behind him, throwing a few glances here and there to his other band members, who simply stare back at him either enthusiastically or a little awkwardly even. Once he spots Denki talking to a staff member of their management team he clicks his tongue and sighs apologetically.

'I can't stand this' he mouths and Denki shoots him a smile of pressed lips and dewy eyes.

"What is it, blondie ? Do I have something on my face?"

"Shut it Denki" Katsuki snaps "Come at me only when you start wearing actual shirts"

The whole group of men snickers at Denki, Kirishima pointing out how his cropped see through shirt and the leather bikini top he's wearing on top of that is the peak of his fashion statement outfits and he shouldn't listen to Bakugo. Bakugo grunts and doesn't even bother looking at them.

"Ohhh!" Denki hisses and bumps Kirishima on the side "thanks man, seems like some people are just basic am I right?" Katsuki blinks his eyes into his and puckers his lips sourly.

There's been a lot of focus on Denki lately, Katsuki thinks and buried his face in the palm of his hands. Of course, there's always a time that fangirls will start swooning over the scrawny yet hot, eccentric guitarist, because almost every band has one. Denki is charismatic with his guitar, he writes most songs along with him and Kirshima, he has been the one to make contracts with clothing lines to sell his own solo merch, he is the next one who's working on his solo album and yet surprisingly he isn't the focus of this interview.

Katsuki is.

And no one has told him what the interview is about, because as they've claimed, it's funnier for him not to know. That's exactly what Denki's face is saying as he stares back at him with the most mischievous smug on his face, all while twisting the thin charm necklace around his neck.

Katsuki doesn't particularly like the way Kirishima and Sero are wiggling their eyebrows at him and then look at each other, only to be encouraged by Denki's smart comments to keep going.

When he glares at them, Denki opens his mouth again "Katsuki, it's just BuzzFeed!" He comments, to which Sero and Eijiro react with an outburst of laughter.

"Yeah right Katsuki!"

"Juuuuuust BuzzFeed." Sero laughs.

"Guys will you just stop!" Katsuki snaps again at them.

He's more than annoyed, he's infuriated and he feels like everyone is making fun of him, teasing him so profoundly over something that seems so damn funny to them. Even their agent, Tokoyami is, subtly giggling at the back.

Somewhere deep inside he's a tiny bit excited, but he swears he won't let his excited side show.

It's kind of eerie how everyone has agreed to keep this a secret from him, especially when they seem to enjoy this extensively; even the staff member that accompanies them, Tokoyami, smiles again, ever so slightly under the shadows of his long bangs. Katsuki clicks his tongue at him too and in return earns a strict look from the man.

Nonetheless, Katsuki sighs once again and proceeds to focus only on taking the final few more steps to the entrance to the studio. The others do pretty much the same, the sound of sneakers clashing over the pavement and the teeny chattering of everyone these few seconds pass quicker than expected.

"Okay guys," Tokoyami says "Katsuki you're up for makeup and clothes and I want you out at fifteen, we have to be at the studio to record right after this. The rest of you come with me."

.....

Fifteen minutes later Katsuki finds himself looking at his own reflection for the sole and very brief moment he's allowed to because of his schedule, he fixes a few strands of his hair here and there, praying they just stay the way he likes them. He examines his shirt then, a vintage nirvana tee he brought with him to match his waxed jeans with, he rattles the few bracelets on his arms and finally pumps his fingers to the roots of his hair, and tries to feather the sides of his mullet just so that the sides of his undercut are more than just visible.

This will be the first time his fans will see his new haircut, he thinks, but then again he doesn't expect this interview to be out until next week. His PR team surely has a bunch of Instagram content they'd want him to post in that short while.

"You're up!" He hears, faintly and he searches for his phone, eager to place it snug in the back pocket of his jeans, but the disappointed face of Tokoyami flashes in his head. 'Take a picture of your outfits' he always says 'you're the only one in the rock scene that can pull anything off' and honestly he hates it, because he doesn't care about the photos or the hell that comes with him sharing his music.

He nonetheless opens the camera to his phone and flicks his middle finger out. He snaps a picture on his phone and he even does as much as twisting the camera to the front one, taking a low angled picture of his face.

The ones his fans absolutely love.

The three gentle knocks on the door are accompanied by Tokoyami's voice which is heard from the distance once more, just to remind him that his time is up. Katsuki nods to himself and straightens his shirt slightly. He scrunches and curls his toes inside his converse, bites his bottom lip slightly and sighs.

"Coming!"

Katsuki wraps his hand over the handle of his dressing room and pushes it downwards. The beating of his heart is fast and loud; it's pumping and shaking his whole being from inside. His gut is churning excessively, as if it's trying to warn him not to walk out of that door, but he still thinks that's just caused by the atmosphere the guys have created for him.

Damn those idiots for making fun of him for something he doesn't know about he's sure those fuckers are about to put him in such deep shit.

"You're just excited" He tells himself.

And it's enough for him to believe it.

Moments later he finds himself walking eagerly towards the dim lit studio set. His eyes immediately meet with the ones of his band mates, who all seem to have kind smiles splattered on their faces as they stare back at him. He's so sure what they've cooked up is pretty bad and that moment gives it all away.

Everything else, other than the headlights that are pointing on a table with two chairs are dark. Katsuki's curiosity reaches its peak, because apparently he's supposed to have an unknown partner for this interview now.

'I'm going to kill you' he mouths as he turns to his friends and they laugh haphazardly.

Katsuki isn't one to put a smile on his face to wave to the crew members around him to greet them, he's not Kirishima, or Sero, he simply grunts at them, towering almost half of the crew that is surrounding him, heavy with recording equipment.

"Are you ready mister Bakugo?" A petite girl asks him and he growls at her, bopping his head up and down.

"He's sure in a mood" He hears Denki whisper but he ignores it, despite the girl turning her head to him instantly.

"I'm all good!"

"Alright then, please sit down and make yourself at home! We'll bring in our guest."

Katsuki smiles almost sassily and scratches the back of neck, letting a nervous growl escape him. He scans around the room again, his orbs falling right onto the rest of his band once more. Sero is pointing at him with wide eyes and a constipated smile, with his cheeks sucked in mockingly and talking to Kirishima. Denki is on his phone, typing maniacally -probably to Jirou- while Tokoyami is pointing at him angrily.

Breath work, he tells himself. He needs to work on his breathing.

The sound of bubbling laughter is what startles him next; a mellow, kind sound is echoing through the set, accompanied by the instructive voice of the staff member from before.

"Oh you're so sweet" He hears as all sound comes to pause before the giggling starts again.

Kirishima's face is the only one that is breaking in anxiety and Katsuki catches on that immediately.

Katsuki can faintly recognize that laughter, it's certainly something he's heard before whether intentionally or not but at the very moment it's hard for him to remember where or when.

It's only when the laughter turns into speech, only when the voice behind that sound sets sturdier and tickles his ears that he realizes to whom it certainly belongs to. And finally, he feels like he's been right to feel weak in the knees.

Your name falls off his mouth like a forbidden spell, but it isn't even audible -all air sucked out of his lungs, how can he even talk in a tone that you'd like in your ears.

He looks around, desperate gaze falling over his friends and he spots Kirishima shooting a concerned one back; they all know he hasn't seen you know a while. You've been present- just as frequently as him- in premeditated events that he's been invited to, such as Met Galas, after parties, mutual friends' birthday parties and any social event that artists have to attend. You being an upcoming actress that audiences wholeheartedly love after landing a role on a drama, never miss out the publicity of any event.

And he's never been able to catch more than one glimpse of you anywhere else, spare the occasional recommended YouTube video of your interviews, to which he has to press the block button, not wanting to entice himself or indulge into getting a glimpse into your current life. He's never felt he has the right anyway.

He only has the courage to watch an interview twice while editing one of the songs to his upcoming album, finding himself wondering if you would ever understand it was meant to be for you. But even that had been ripped away from him, just like you as soon as he came to realise what he had been doing.

Seeing you now, so close, and so forcefully placed in the same room with him makes his stomach churn and turn with anxiety.

He can't help but notice that you too practically freeze on your very spot. At the sound of his voice calling at your name -which you somehow heard- you take a reluctant step back, eyes wide and lips slightly part as you bring your hand just under your chest; a visible indicator of your haze and unpleasant surprise. You seem to doubt whether you want to take another step closer to him or the set and Katsuki slightly sighs, praying it's just under his breath.

"Are you alright?" The assistant next you you asks and your eyes don't even begin to bat away from Katsuki's

"Oh yes, completely fine, but when I was told I'd have an interview with one of my exes I- I didn't expect him"

You notice how the staff member panics slightly at your words so you're quick to sign her to calm down along with a long blink of your eyes. You hear her exhale in relief shortly after, her own eyes opening right into yours.

"Don't worry," You say, smiling. Your whole face alters significantly with every second passing "I won't let him yell at you"

Katsuki drags himself to the set begrudgingly at your comment, but doesn't spare you a look.

Your heart skips a beat as you're trying to walk towards the small table in the centre of the set. You spare a pressed lol smile at him and watch as he smiles back at you in a similar manner.

"Hey Bakugo."

"Hey" He whispers "you good?"

"Aha"

Katsuki can't help but frown at how your replies are overly tense, how you seem unable to find a comfortable spot in your seat, as far away from him as you can -Denki laughs in the background again, but this time Kirishima jabs him in the ribs, threatening to pinch his nipple

"Great, I'm good too!"

There's a strange awkward tension in the air and the crew of producers know that; in fact Bakugo is sure they depend on it. Fans have always been starving for the reason Katsuki and you ended your relationship three years ago and everyone knows that, yet your heart skips a beat at the thought of you having to confront that in such an interview.

You can practically hear your managers setting this whole thing up, having always been against you two breaking up; the couple whose love run cold comes face to face with each other after years. You guess they think it's the marketing that'll get both your fanbases going.

You spare him another look, eyes lingering onto his form for far too long -on his knees, his hands, the dark polish on his nails- but you're looking at anywhere that isn't his face or his eyes. Your heart is hammering, your gut is churning, it's inevitable to feel this way and you know it. The only thing you can bet on is trying to breathe to regulate the embodiment of your anxiety.

Thankfully no one is pointing out that you're shaking.

"Are you ready?" A staff member asks-not the kind girl from before- startling you.

"Ah, yes!"

"Yeah!" Bakugo grunts

The set director is frantically ordering everyone to get in their places as your anxiety continues to peak; numerous people walk back and forth, headphones on their heads, as they're trying to get into position. The commotion doesn't take too long -you find yourself having to force a smile a second before the camera rolls. Katsuki, right next to you, puts on his usual sultry face.

"Today we're doing the drunk exes question list celebrities edition. You're not the only ones to suffer with it." The girl from before announces earning a few nervous laughs from you and a few other people in the back

"I should have really been informed about this, my girl's gonna freak." Katsuki announces with a small laugh, mouthing an 'I love you' to the camera. You stare in -you hope we'll masked- shock at how his persona goes through this change, the half heart he draws in the air with his pointer and his middle finger- his rings clinging and clashing- would surely be edited with a cute gif later on.

"Well we wanted you to be spontaneous" She replies

You almost feel sorry for him, knowing that his girl would definitely be watching him. Bakugo isn't the type to tolerate much jealousy or even anyone causing him a scene about anything and it's not like you can help it. You didn't even know you were going to be having an interview with him, thinking it would be your most recent ex who was called to have an interview with you, the ex you're still friends with, not Bakugo and his atrocious ego.

You fall back into the conversation between Bakugo and your interviewer shortly after you try to put a halt to your raging thoughts and you're presented with the drink the production has arranged for you -a favorite of yours truly Katsuki Bakugo- a bottle of Hennessy X.O.

Of course Bakugo would only be a show off like this. With his money and his manners no one would even hesitate to serve him drinks this expensive.

"Show off" You mutter and he sticks his tongue out at you, whipping his head from left to right.

"Thank you so much" you say, as an assistant is setting down two glasses for you

Katsuki, ready to pour the liquor in his glass, lifts it up but quickly sets it down once Tokoyami shoots him an intense death glare from the back of the set. He clears his throat and rests his eyes on your face, squinting his eyes at you as he nudges for your glass. You snort when you give it to him, mouth dry as you're trying to not give out any satisfaction to him.

You even thank him through your teeth and you can see how bad it riles him up.

"I'm Asui," The girl who's interviewing you says "I'll be your interviewer for today if you'll have me" She earns nods from both you and Bakugo "Let's begin with our questions shall we?"

…

The first few questions are rather standard. Boring. You've been asked all of them before in the past 'are you single right now' 'what do you remember about the last time the two of you spoke' 'how did you think your fanbase took it when you broke up' and all that jazz. They're tiring to say at least, because it's noon and it's somewhat uncomfortable, digging up these few memories that you never knew had been branded in your brain.

It hurts that you have to see him like this. Only talking to you when needed, sharing things about your relationship like it's a story from a past life and even your head tells you that it is, that what the two of you had belongs into another dimension, so far away from the present.

He's so aggressive as he slurs some of his words, any hint of smug wiped away by all the drink that's in him by now, trying to brush off anything he can salvage, and for other he doesn't care at all.

"What's a gift of them that you still have to this day" The interviewer asks and you know that the rings on his fingers were gifts for anniversaries and there's a copy of your diary that has a journal entry of your first date decorating his band's first studio album

"Ah, can't remember" He says while looking at you and you take it upon yourself to reply with something worse. He has to feel the poison running through you at the sound of his words.

"I got rid of everything" You reply and you don't let anyone know about the fenced heart you have tattooed above the inside of your elbow, and you know he still has his.

It's bitter to say the least, how he's looking at you.

The mellow taste of cognac in your mouth is drowning everything out -at least that's something- and the copious amount of intrusive questions only continues to rage upon you, sneakily trying to catch you off guard while the blond next to you is still speaking.

"I noticed the two of you are tense" Asui says and you nod, downing another gulp of your drink and Bakugo is quick to fill it up for you again.

Was it an unspoken rule that you had to drink until you'd pass out?

"Since this is the first time you have actually spoken in three years we shouldn't force too much upon you" You nod again. "But we do have to ask, just why did you guys break up?"

Bakugo is staring at her, eyes almost shut, face in his palms, you can tell he is not in the mood to talk, just by the way he's turning his feet to the other side of the set, having them face the wall -it's such a touchy subject and you're too drunk to keep your mouth shut.

You want to talk, but you've avoided this subject like the plague for the past three years, not exactly sure if you do want to share this with the public just yet.

You've always romanticised the way people would know; maybe it'd be when you were forty years old, divorced to some big Hollywood star, with three kids and talking about your first love to a late night show, but the way Katsuki unapologetically looks at you doesn't seem to leave you any space to even think about that fantasy right now. You don't even know if you care about whether he wants to make the reason the two of you split public, but you remind yourself that he is the one who's over you.

He is the one who jumped from one girl to another in a matter of months after you split, he's the same person who was seen by paparazzi walking around with groupies and you have been the only one stuck in time, not being able to get him out of your head.

He's the one out there living his best life while you're the one living with your thoughts fixated on how it'd feel if he ever came back.

You choke on your words "our schedules didn't match up. We were broken and we wanted to move on"

Bakugo swears under his breath, you're still not able to relax around him and the few infuriating answers you gave back then are forcing him to open his mouth again. He doesn't feel right about having you face the big fish all on your own. He can feel anxiety reeling inside of him, but he decides to push it aside.

"Me not being able to be content enough to focus on us. I had a tour, she had to be focused on what she does. It seemed as if our lives didn't align anymore. We weren't sure we were in love."

You gulp when you trail your eyes into his, scared to even let them linger on him for even a second. He was the one who wasn't sure he was in love. You move your head around, setting your gaze over to the side where the other members are sat. They're all looking at you apologetically, as if they're sympathizing with you for wanting to keep whatever had happened to yourself; they know that being famous isn't as easy as they'd want to think it'd be. They know that what both you and Katsuki are saying is the most glorified, fictional, version of the actual truth about your splitting.

But you're sick of excuses, you don't want them to make any.

And that's what you were afraid of, them taking pity on how you are, looking at you with eyes that tell you they'll contact you later to ask you to forgive Bakugo.

And you'll never do that. Not because his friends ask.

Kirishima in particular is somewhat smiling at you, softly, kindly. It's always been a pity that the two of you stopped hanging out after you and Katsuki split, he used to be an amazing friend and he'd still be if you hadn't cut him off. Youre content enough to think that to this day he still comes over to talk to you at award shows unlike the other guys, unlike Katsuki who won't even look at your direction. You awkwardly smile back at him and lift your glass to drink as much as you're able to in one sip again.

"Do you regret it?" Katsuki likes to consider himself smart for dismissing that question like a superhero dodging a bullet. There's a faint romantic smile on his face as he speaks and you can't help but stare, trying to convince yourself that's the most warm smile Katsuki can master. He looks- he looks beautiful.

"Awe come on don't we have more fun questions?"

"Nope"

His face contorts in seriousness in seconds "I will not answer that question"

You come to terms with the fact that thinking straight is probably not an option at the moment. You've drunk a lot, shot after shot you're feeling yourself get loose, your vision blurring more and more after each one.

You quickly glance over at Katsuki's direction to see if he looks as drunk as you think you look. Indeed, there's a tint of blush plastered on his porcelain cheeks and his eyes are blinking faster than normal. The next question hits you before you have any time to process how much you want to push your memories with him away.

"Have you ever written or produced something for them?"

"As in writing a song about them?"

"Yes"

"Yeah." Katsuki answers in a heartbeat and he tries to ignore that you just want to look him dead in the eye and probably swear at him for saying that. But he soothes himself with the fact that this is only a one time thing, it's not like he's going to talk to you ever again after that.

. …

The interview finishes shortly after, the crew bowing respectfully at both of you as you and Bakugo sit up from your seats and begin to march into different directions. Asui immediately sticks to your side along with your agent, leading the two of you back to your dressing room.

Your agent seems to get distracted by a wave Denki shoots at your side -you wave back at the group, but she leaves your side to walk up to them, you watch her get smaller and smaller as she's walking away from you, throwing a smile at Tokoyami while she's at it. Asui leads you to your dressing room and you only manage to steal another glance at the band to see if Bakugo is there.

He's not, and you close your eyes really tight as you're praying to not bump into him. Asui helps you take step after step because you're stumbling and apparently, luck hates you, because as you're walking past Bakugo's dressing room, his door opens and his hand shoots at yours grabbing your wrist and squeezing it. He drags you into his dressing room and you yelp, stumbling on your feet. He slams the door shut after screaming to poor Asui that he wants to be alone and drags you behind a huge metal hanger filled with clothes.

"What the fuck was this stunt huh?" He asks, eyes filled with rage and you can only hiccup as you're trying to process what he's saying.

"Like hell do I know" You finally reply "they didn't tell me you were going to be that ex"

You're trying to set your eyes on anywhere but him. His breath smells heavy of alcohol and you're sure yours does too, but that's not something you can care about at the moment; your wrists hurt from being pinned over your head. You want to throw up, you're so upset, you don't want to look at him.

So you're going to leave.

"Excuse me" You caught, your stomach turning "I don't want to be around you" You try to eiggle your hands but Katsuki won't budge. He slams your wrists harder onto the wall, your body shakes.

"You're not going anywhere" Bakugo grunts, pushing his chest into yours

"Fuck you, I am"

Your next effort to move is vain as well, for Bakugo is far too strong -your eyes fall onto his naked biceps and you try not to growl at how smooth his skin looks or how tight and big his muscles are. Seems like he's only glowed up since you broke up.

"If I had to go through an interview talking about our first kiss while drunk then you can stand the sight of me"

"No, i can't" You whine

"Yeah you can" He argues back

"I can't stand you"

"Well that makes two of us" He grunts and his face is inches away from yours. You close your eyes, letting the sound of his loud breathing overwhelm you and you swear your own breathing is in sync, your chest hurts, your throat is tight. You expect to be yelled in the face, about how stupid you are, about hoe he doesn't want to see you anywhere near him ever again.

But that doesn't happen, at least not for now, when you peek your eye open to look at him you see him latching at you full speed, as if trying to close a non-existent space between the two of you.

He kisses you and your chests collide with each other.

The moan you let out despite it being small, is muffled by Katsuki's big palm over your mouth. Your heart is throbbing in your chest, your excitement causing your adrenaline to spike, your breathing heaving as Bakugo leans down to stick his forehead to yours, sweat solidifying into droplets onto your face.

He's struggling too, breath hitched and audible but his control is better -of course it is- and his eyes are the opposite of unkind as they fall onto you, perhaps for the first time this afternoon. It's mouth watering to say the least, how he parts your legs open with his knee while making no sound, how there's no rattling on the wall you're pressed against. You almost scream when he brings his face impossibly close to yours and you close your eyes, not ready to feel what is going to come next.

You get startled when he moves right past your face, lips brushing the softness of your earlobe "We gotta be quiet, babe, "promise me you won't make a sound" he whispers and only when you nod against his palm leaves your mouth.

The breath you take as your mouth is free again is excruciating. It fills your lungs with much more air than a huff through your nose could ever provide you with and suddenly your drunk and hazy body feels a little better.

Still not good enough to acknowledge how bad you're going to mess up with what you're doing. Balugo's grip that's still tight around your wrists until now, doesn't hurt anymore, even so when he decides to drop your hands and scoop your face to bring it closer to his, you feel your core churn.

You mutter something slurred against his lips that you can't keep track of -probably prompting him to act faster than he does- before his lips are slammed into yours, your bottom lip soon snatched between his teeth as he bites hard, rolling it between his tongue.

He's never been known for kissing you softly, and you've missed being angry over the bruises on your lips after endless hours of making love till morning comes. You've missed him. Utterly. You can't believe this is even happening, thinking that you'll pinch yourself and you'll wake up, hot in your bed and then get sad about still dreaming about him. About how he used to taste.

He makes sure to help you keep track of your reality, pushing his tongue into your mouth, softly twisting and turning his hot muscle against yours, the hand that isn't cupping your face running along the curves of your body, hooking up your shirt squeezing the fat if your breasts over the cotton of your bra.

"Fuck" He pulls back to watch your breasts bounce as he's pushing your bra over your chest. "They're so perfect" He says and cups your breast in his hand, his thumb coming to toy with your sensitive nipple.

You almost screech in response.

"You know how hard it was for me to not run my mouth on everyone about you after that fucking stunt you pulled on this year's met gala?" He slurs and you know exactly what he's referring to; the ancient greek style dress, sewn and styled on you to look wet, almost exposing your chest. You're filled with pride over the fact that you indeed stirred his head up, just like you had planned to, just like you had hoped you would.

You grab into his shirt and kiss him again, forcing your lips to love in sync with his, your hips rutting against his maniacally, your cunt clenching onto nothing, your clothes throbbing in a dull ache as the seam of your pants seems to be the only thing proving you with pleasure.

"I want you to fuck me so hard" You breathe into his mouth and he hisses as you shimmy your hands under the raw trim of his shirt.

"Yeah you do?" He breathes

"So bad"

"M not gonna" He grunts and his hands wrap around your wrists, your breasts bouncing against his chest with every long, heavy breath you're taking, he wants to calm himself down. He can't do this. He shouldn't "I can't i-"

Your intoxicated self wants to throw a tantrum, dizzy and infatuated by his smell, his whole presence, indulging in feelings you've trained yourself to forget and it's not easy at all to hold back. But you hang your head low with a sigh when his hands don't move away from restraining yours.

None of this is fair. If he's so over you then why are you not over him? If he's had all the time to move on in the world and put his tongue on things he's never known the taste of then why doesn't he want to come back to you. It's not fair. Not fair. Not fair.

And you make sure to say so, pouty lips and an angry, humming voice while you're at it. Bakugo must be infuriated, you think, he doesn't react and it doesn't take too long for you to bring out the worst in him and you guess you'll have to live with the fact that he does see you through a crowd of beautiful celebrities, but he treats you like a ghost. And he'll treat you as a ghost.

He's so unbelievably perfect with his stupid girlfriend so why would he need someone like you. You've barely been with anyone in these past three years, stuck at home because of the pandemic, only ever having gotten on a date with your coworker who ended up wanting you to play wing woman for him and your best friend.

Why would he want you when he gets to have someone he can share interests with, someone to write songs with. Half of his stupid songs are written by his girlfriend.

If it wasn't for the alcohol you wouldn't even be here.

You don't catch what he says, but he's speaking, voice low and raspy, as you remember it. It sounds different than the voice he uses to talk in front of the camera, it sounds like his singing voice, like it sounded before all of this mess.

"You're not even listening to me are you?" He asks and this time you choose to answer, hands trying to wiggle away from his to cover yourself. You feel exposed now more than ever.

"I'm just going to go" You announce

You don't want to say another word because everything hurts, because your agent was right when they told you that you should at least try to date someone as a publicity stunt, because your friends had told you to never, ever, ever crawl back to Bakugo.

They should have known better, you should have known better, Bakugo isn't the person you've glorified in your head and it's easy to blame yourself for everything when three blurry years have passed since your break up.

But Arctic Monkeys make songs about the pain you're going through and Bakugo will never understand how easy it is for you to waste away in just the thought of his and a tune that reminds you of him.

And just when you try to find the words to tell this all to him and take a leave your hands are not free yet and his eyes are wide in yours, every hair of his pointing towards the sky.

"Ah fuck me, I can't even-" He kisses you instead of finishing his sentence, as if he doesn't want to wait another second and he attacks your chest and your neck with hungry kisses and bites.

You melt into his ministrations -it feels as if you have no pain reception and you fall into hellflame to prove it- and you don't feel guilty about it -not too much at least, and not right now. You find it astounding, how much you can achieve with a pouty face.

The buckle of his belt is undone by your hands and your denim skirt is lifted and bunched right above your stomach, its flare brushing the underside of your breasts. He's kissing you again, sporadically, while having to peel himself away to lower his pants, his lips moving along your jaw, placing kisses over your makeup, smudging your once perfectly placed lipstick all over your chin.

He hisses when his cock rubs against your folds, his head dripping in precum as he spreads it on you, his hands squeezing your doughy ass as he tries to pull your legs apart while trapping your heels closed with his.

After that, it's back and forth. He's rutting his hips into yours, his head rubbing against you while you're dripping on him, your juices getting mixed with his own and your cunt clenching. You tell yourself you can be satisfied with it, as he grabs your face with his hand and forces your mouth open, rolling his tongue into yours.

You whine when he bites in your neck because it feels like actually wants to take a bite, sharp canines digging into your flesh and you're scared he's going to draw blood, but he doesn't dare dive into your heat, still driving his dick over and over onto your clit. Only the occasional ache of his head accidentally aligning with your entrance is a reality check from time to time, you're too focused on coming, your world has been covered by the dark veil of your closed eyes.

He's moaning like an animal, bunching your leg around his waist to make you open up further, while he holds his cock against you with his hand, the hot throbbing of your cunt driving him towards his limit as time passes

Bakugo's thrusts only get tougher harder, abusing your clit with his raw force and he keeps that pace that has you dig your nails into his back through his shirt, he forces your leg down once again and squeezes your hips together until your seeing stars, until you come undone in cries he muffles with his mouth of yours.

His cock feels like he's going to explode, his stomach feels like it's tied into a knot with a ticking bomb and he swear he can make it, he can make another thrust without bursting but the flesh of your thighs and the feeling your cunt against him are wilding I'm his thought and the feeling is sending him in cloud nine. So much that he copes in ropes of white against you, coating your panties, your thighs, your belly.

"Shit, fuck, that was hot" He says

You mewl against his chest, feeling your entrance throb for more "want you to fuck me" You say. His brown eyes are diving into your gaze. You might be coming down from the influence of alcohol but the infatuation you have over him right now surpasses anything, even your rational thinking.

He's not doing any better, more drunk in your eyes that he ever was by that cognac, he takes it upon himself to spin you around and slam your chest against the wall, to bend your waist and open your ass up to him.

He growls at the right of you, dripping and squirming and he takes his cock in his hand and teasingly rubs it against your heat.

"Please don't tease me anymore," you plea, "can't take it. Just want you"

Katsuki doesn't think he's he's in a place to deny you or even so go against your word, that must be why he immediately aligns himself with your entrance or why he bottoms out inside of you fast, rough, but he fills you up deliciously.

You turn to face him, mouth already moving to speak your dirty words when there's a knock on the door of the dressing room.

"Fuck," Katsuki says and quickly retreats to himself "who is it?"

"Kirishima" The voice behind the door announces and bakugo's palm is once again placed over your lips "Denki said you need to be alone. Came to see if you're alright"

"M better than alright" He slurs

"Wanna come outside? I'm pretty sure she's left by now. Scanned the whole building and I couldn't find her."

"Don't care where she went"

"We have a recording session at the studio, I'll be waiting for you."

"Thanks" Bakugo grunts

"Jirou has been there the whole day, let's not make her wait any longer"

"Yeah whatever I'll be there in a sec"

Your head hurts as you try to process that they're talking about you, yet you don't make any noise. You feel bad, maybe Katsuki did want to be alone, maybe you shouldn't have followed him to try to say goodbye. None of this would have happened if you didn't want to play polite for the first time in three years.

Now you were ruining his life and it seemed like you were doing it out of spite

"Have to go," He announces, watching you nod "I don't know why we did that, but it'll never happen again"

You feel like he's jabbing at you with his words, twisting the knife to the would he inflicted on you. Of course you should have known that, you shouldn't have sacrificed your barely recovering sanity over s single moment of satisfaction. You watch him buckle his belt, wipe the sweat off his forehead and you fix your own clothes.

You count on the light that is dimmed by the copious amount of clothes to not betray the rivers of tears that are spilling down your eyes and your prayers are heard, your nose doesn't even make a shuffling noise as the lamp in your throat keeps tightening

Bakugo Katsuki is out of the dressing room as swiftly as he dragged you inside of it and in seconds he's gone. He doesn't say goodbye, and you don't look in his direction.

. …

Remember Katsuki's girlfriend? Setsuna? The singer from that forsaken pop punk band that never makes it to the charts and only gains publicity because of Bakugo? Well, she must be the happiest girl on the planet for all you and your green eyes monster can count.

Katsuki Bakugo is officially engaged. To her. It says so on her post along with a tooth rotting, sappy, cheesy fucking capture. You've memorized it by now, with how many times you've read it -it's been fun keeping this a secret, I love breaking all the norms with you, happy to be yours forever more- you could recite it, having it printed in your brain, stirring your stomach in the all wrong ways.

You've been so incredibly stupid. And you still fucking are.

Your eyes are burning as they're fixed on your laptop screen, maniacally scrolling through an article about the post you had just come across on Instagram. The one you've found is small, only 200 words, describing exactly what the reporter needs to include, with a link that leads you to their official Twitter profile so you can keep up with all Katsuki Bakugo and Setsuna Tokage news, as if that's what you want to do.

You follow the profile nonetheless, keeping yourself updated -on subjects other than Katsuki- won't do you any harm.

You leave Twitter immediately, not ready to be swamped by anything on your homepage and run to YouTube to find some true crime documentary to keep your mind off things. There's a plethora of videos about Bakugo there as well but only one catches your eye. It has your name on it -and truth be told it sends panic waves through your body- but as you read along you realize what the video is.

You chuckle as you read your name paired with a sentence you know only your fans would come up with; 'y/n digging Bakugo Katsuki's grave for 12 minutes straight'. You click on the video, moments of various interviews and red carpets playing in the background as the frame is paused a copious amount of times. You laugh at the frame of you squinting at Bakugo when he walks past you at the premiere of a superhero movie.

It's always funny that your fans know what you say between the lines, or how they pick up your energy depending on certain interviewers. You don't even have to mention Bakugo's name at all for them to realise you're talking about him and it's insufferable -you're insufferable for still thinking about him, for still talking about him publicly.

Fortunately most footage is old, only taken a few months after your break up, where things were still rough between you and Bakugo, glares and squints and death stares exchanged at every event the two of you had to be.

You click pause onto the video and then close the YouTube tab, deciding that it's time for you to go through the script you've been given for your shooting on Monday, you still have two days to learn most of your lines by heart. You visit your email and click on the doc the writers have sent you, the script popping up on your screen immediately.

You spend a few hours reading, eyes glued on your screen, reciting the words one by one, your laptop still in your hand as you walk through your kitchen and set the kettle on the stove, your eyes not even averting away from the screen as you grab a mug from a cupboard and set it on the counter.

You sigh as you finish another page, your temples burning in protest to your hand trying to reach to click on the next page. You decide it's time to take a break and the kettle makes its whistling sound, letting you know that the water is ready. You get up, grab the kettle and pour water into your mug, the tea bag you set in it a while ago staining the water in a deep sienna color.

You want the rest of your night to go smoothly. Now that the strobe lights of the city are bathing the streets, trying to mimic how the bright light of day shimmers everywhere. At least that's what you tell yourself when you pick your phone out of the pocket of your teddy jacket, or what you think when you tap onto the familiar pink and orange app, Bakugo's username falling from your fingertips in rapid speed.

Sure, there it is, a picture similar to Setsuna's, but this one doesn't show their rings -you feel eerie to think that maybe he doesn't love her like she loves him, because he hasn't posted their rings, as if his fans have no idea who she is, as is its making it any less.

It's just so sudden. Two weeks ago you jumped each other in his dressing room after an interview about your past relationship and now he's getting engaged; you hope it's a publicity stunt. It should make sense, and that thought calms down your upset stomach -just when you thought you could get him back- because Mina told you he has an album in the works and he hasn't announced it yet, perhaps, this is to promote his album, to stir fans up.

But that could mean that you too could be a publicity stunt, you think as you click on the comments, scrolling past the ones written by verified accounts. You hate the thought that Tokoyami and your agent cooked this together, but then again you trust that the person who's supposed to manage your career along with you would inform you if you were to be used in such a way so you could play along.

Any who, the comments are of crazed fans, other leaving broken hearts, other writing in all caps and some, feeding the green eyed monster inside of you; 'I wish he stayed with (y/n)' 'there goes all my hopes baku(y/n) would be back :('

You hate that you feel satisfied with people sharing this view, you were a fan favorite couple, and you still are, you're simply not together anymore.

Soon enough -and after many, many reloads comments about how Katsuki should have ended up with you are everywhere, and they're so many that by the time you reload the page the comments have been shut off. And since you're way past the point of being petty and you like to torture yourself you hit the follow button to Bakugo's account.

You want to tap on the button that will let you out if his profile but your heart commands otherwise, he doesn't have that many posts either way and you've deleted all your own from years ago. You just want to see if he's kept any picture with you. After endless scrolling you come across one that startles you.

It dates back to 2015, back when Bakugo was still young and inexperienced, back when the group only had two hit singles and was just entering the charts. The picture is him, the world wide beloved rockstar All Might and you holding All Might's shoulders, captured with words you don't know why you let your mind forget: the love of my life, my idol and an idiot.

You want to giggle, remembering the time he had posted it but your heart hurts. How could all of this go so wrong. When did you stop loving each other? When did he stop loving you? You exit his profile because tears are gathering up in your eyes. Sure if he wanted you he wouldn't be getting married. He probably doesn't even remember what happened in the dressing room.

Maybe you imagined it all.

But now you can't set your attention back to your script. There are only a few pages left and you tell yourself you can read the first thing tomorrow morning, you feel tired and your tea has gone cold, the time you spent stalking our ex's account was more than you had realised. You sigh as you lock your phone and dump it in your pocket again.

Your couch looks warm on the other side of the room and you decide to walk to it and lay down, maybe open the tv and watch anything the channels can offer for tonight. You drape the blanket you have on your couch over your feet and stomach and curl up to yourself, only peeking your right hand out to zap through channels with the remote.

BBC has a live singing show and you settle for that. The singer on your TV screen is setting his guitar down, you can't help but wonder what song he was performing before you tuned in. You've seen him before but you just can't put your finger on where.

When he walks in though your brain caps you with electricity. Because this, this is pure karma. You quickly tap onto the circular button of your remote to read the description of tonight's BBC Live; 'Headphone Jack perform their favorite songs with us tonight, enjoy' it reads and you almost slap your forehead with the remote.

Despite being reluctant though, when you hear Jirou's voice engulf the space of your living room, you decide not to change channels.

"Thank you for having us," She says and there's a comfortable silence as she reaches for her guitar "we'll start with one of my all time favorites, Arabella. Hit it Denks"

You feel an oddly familiar feeling run through you and Bakugo's face looks as beautiful as ever and as he slowly hits the drums with his sticks, sleep is making your eyes feel heavy.

[pen-observing]

Hi! If you will have any inspiration about this

What do you think would be little things that brothers would bring you as courting you? As like birds or penguins with rocks and sticks?

Thank you 💜

sjdaj this was fun! i did have an image of lucifer bringing feathers as a meme in my mind for a sec

what the brothers bring you while courting you/wanting to impress you:

Lucifer:

He is what many would consider to be a classic idea of a man. Tall, dark, handsome with refined taste. Because of this he tries to be refined in what he brings you as well. Why should you two not share such traits?

Lucifer because of this relies on the extravagant, classic choices. Most of all – jewelry.

Rings, necklaces, bracelets – everything he sees while out on an errand that catches his eye.

He also tries to match some items with you. He has a golden pen, why shouldn’t you have one as well?

However, one thing that gets in his way is that: no matter how strong his impulse to buy or obtain rare jewels is – he cannot always give them to you.

He overthinks it.

‘if I give them two rings two weeks in a row, would that be too much? Would they then spend money to buy an outfit that matches it? Would the gifts lose their meaning if I don’t space them out? If I continue to give them so many gifts, they would feel responsible to return them so they would spend more money on me and we both know that I am the one who has more money so--’

All these thoughts come to him. Sometimes Lucifer even thinks that your pride would be hurt if he gives you jewels so often.

He tries not to go overboard but he knows that there is a whole desk drawer of little boxes just waiting for the right time to go to you.

Mammon:

No matter how much Mammon may chase gold and sparkles – he is no Lucifer and there is no way that he can just rely on jewels.

Sure, on very special occasions he manages to surprise you with them and that does make it more meaningful.

Mammon puts aside everything else and actually gets a job whenever your birthday is close.

So what else could be bring you?

He is well aware of how birds bring branches or rocks – how sometimes they even spend so much time flying high above and continuously dropping walnuts for others on the road until they crack. His approach is similar.

When you have issues or need to open something – he always offers himself.

It is a bit silly but being there for someone counts.

Besides this – every trinket that he sees somehow ends up in your room

Plushies, fun masks, nail polish that matches his, a leaf that fell in his hair while he was sleeping under a tree and dreamt of you.

He also brings postcards, magazines, photos you might enjoy.

Once he brought you a heart shaped stone and bragged about how his keen eye managed to observe it in the clean river!

Something in every corner of your room will be adjacent to him.

“What if I brought you branches?” “What?” “Nothing!”

He just wanted to ask!

Leviathan:

Lucifer is impulsive in buying just one thing, Levi, however, is impulsive all around.

And that impulsivity goes in many directions.

He is able to use and calculate all his Akuzon points to make sure that you get 10 products instead of just 1.

He takes it very, very seriously.

Sometimes he buys you way too many snacks, other times he orders 5 costumes

Often his courting relies on the thought; what if we shared this!

His mind says that the more you have in common the better match you are.

This is why he brings matching keychains or slippers or even computer backgrounds and mousepads.

He still knows that ‘matching’ does not fully count but it really warms his heart when he sees that you are willing to share and indulge in those small things that would not really matter to others.

It gives him a confidence boost and reassures him that you are in fact open to him.

However, something still has to be yours alone.

Yours alone, from his hands and he needs to make sure of that.

Levi does bring you pearls like penguins do.

And he did in fact spend a long time underwater making sure he brings the best ones.

Just... never show him the video that trended of a female penguin cheating on her partner in the human world.

Satan:

Satan, no matter how much he tries to deny it, is in many ways similar to Lucifer.

He might dress the way he does but he tries to be a classic gentleman in this regard.

He does bring jewelry too – however he never brings it without a deeper, more profound reason.

‘so what if this ring is rare? What does it matter to them? Nothing.’

He has to hear you say it is very pretty to give it to you.

The necklace needs to remind him of your eyes or he is not buying it at all.

Because of this – he is very picky so few gifts are of this nature.

What else does he bring?

Satan writes you notes all the time.

Sometimes they are there to remind you of water or meals, other times they are short quotes.

In fact, he brings you annotated books; lines that remind him of you; quotes of feelings he knows thanks to you.

He brings you parts of himself and looks for parts of you in everything.

This is his idea of courting.

And don’t be surprised to get letters (wax made by him) under your door even if you live close by.

Asmodeus:

Unlike the others, Asmo has no problems with giving you whatever his own impulse says to.

Why should he hide these 2 perfumes that he bought thinking of you and wait for 3 weeks to present them to you?

No, do it right then and there because your heart felt the love or do not do it at all!

Because of this, his impulse costs a lot. Only second to Lucifer.

Asmo wants to give you luxurious things but he knows that jewelry alone can get boring rather fast and is limited by time and fashion and practicality etc.

So he gives you luxury in everything.

New lines of fragrance are yours as well as his, new skin care products that few humans can buy just show up at your door.

Does he also give you framed photos of him? Yes

Does he give you best silk? Also yes.

Why should the two of you not enjoy these things? You deserve it after all.

Still, Asmo is very sentimental too.

He gifts you photo albums of things that make him feel so. Memories of trips and walks; of sleepovers and quiet nights as well.

Yes, luxury is there but this small pretty pen is cheap and has hearts on it! He simply has to give it to you!

Beelzebub:

Beelzebub knows the ‘proper’, ‘correct’ or expected ways to court someone.

He knows what gifts others give and why.

But, all of that seems slightly...like vanity or showing off to him.

It just wouldn’t feel right to give you a framed work of art or color stones that glimmer if it does not really awake something.

His gifts are as gentle as him.

Yes, food is the most obvious choice but he really does worry if you are eating well because humans are fragile.

Flowers that he sees in shops or on walks.

While once walking with Luke he saw some and said how pretty they would look on you. Luke taught him to make flower crowns for that reason.

Most of his gifts are handmade.

He wants to help you on his own no matter what.

The most consistent gifts however are those that you said you needed.

Doesn’t matter when you said it or how, maybe it was just a passing thought, but he remembers and he gets them for you.

Belphegor:

it wouldn’t be wrong to say that he manages to mix up all of these ways and refuses to settle down on just one type.

This is because he is similar to Beel.

Beel gives you thinks you said you needed; Belphie gives you those you did not even notice.

He is constantly observing you and being as smart as he is – nothing escapes him.

You don’t have to complain how you grew bored of your boots or how annoying those headphones are.

He just notices it and gives you new ones.

Sometimes he looks at you during a party in Diavolo’s castle and things that a necklace is missing and would actually be useful in the future as well; so, he buys it.

Books for assignments you are not aware you will need next year find their way to your table. Yes, it is a year but he is a published Devildom scholar so trust him with this.

Paintings, matching rings with stars, a keychain of some small alien from a human TV show etc.

He treads the lines of outlandish with luxury and simple.

Seeing you surprised no matter what because you never mentioned these things always brings him joy.

a/n: how tf do you spell jewelry is it this or jewellery or i hate his word pls

[againstacecilia]

Hands

Pairing: Din Djarin x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.9k

Rating: Explicit, 18+ ONLY (Minors DNI)

Excerpt: "You’d thought about the Mandalorian in that way a couple of times. In the quiet of hyperspace or dark nights on deserted moons, the idea of… Propositioning whatever man laid beneath the beskar seemed like an okay idea. But once the stars stopped blurring through the windshield or the sun rose on your camp, those thoughts evaporated like morning dew and you were left with a hollow feeling—more than a little lonely."

Warnings: When I say 18+, I mean 18+. Unprotected sex (wrap it up, folx!), language, fingering, blow job, cursing, light choking, hair pulling, pretty unedited, just plan on a cold shower afterwards and probs don't read on the work wifi.

Summary: Mando's gone, the kids asleep, and you're bored. And maybe feeling some other things, but you've never had a problem taking care of those things on your own. And just when you start thinking it'd be more fun if someone else was helping you out...

A/N: SMUT. I mean, ahem, smut. It's all smut. Maybe a little fluff but 98% smut. Today is Pornhub's 15th anniversary (don't ask, shut up) and the 45th anniversary of the beginning of Star Wars so I put it all together as an excuse to get SPICY. 😂 Thank you so much to @creatively-analytical and @peetiespetals for beta-reading and giving me feedback, love you both SO MUCH. 💖 As always, love you all. Come say hi and let me know what you'd like to see!

This could not get more embarrassing…

Months you had been on this kriffing ship. Months you had chased bounties and taken care of the Child while Mando was busy doing bounty hunter things. You couldn’t be too upset about it, though, the Mandalorian paid well and that little green creature had you wrapped around his claw almost immediately. 

It was just so dull sometimes. 

Especially during times like this. Mando had been gone for days, you and the kid had done everything on the ship to keep yourselves entertained, and now that he was finally asleep for the night there was nothing to keep you occupied except for your own thoughts. And those thoughts… Well, they were so much more fun to have when you had special company.

But that kind of company was hard to come by when, every time you stepped into a new town, people tended to avoid the hulking metal presence at your side. How were you supposed to flirt and make new friends when the darkness of his t-shaped visor was staring them down from across the room? 

You’d thought about the Mandalorian in that way a couple of times. In the quiet of hyperspace or dark nights on deserted moons, the idea of… Propositioning whatever man laid beneath the beskar seemed like an okay idea. But once the stars stopped blurring through the windshield or the sun rose on your camp, those thoughts evaporated like morning dew and you were left with a hollow feeling—more than a little lonely. 

So, it usually came to this. It was your own hand helping you seek release, your own thoughts and imagination driving you through fantasies of the touch of another. At least you knew how you liked it. 

With the child tucked away in Mando’s bunk and the door sealed, you nestle into the cocoon you’d fashioned for yourself in a warm part of the cargo bay. Blankets bought from various markets on dozens of planets created a soft and safe space for you amongst all the metal and electronics. A wall of supply crates gives you partial privacy; not quite a room, but enough. Your favorite pair of lounge pants and soft base layer shirt are a whisper over your sensitive skin, flesh beginning to heat as you lean back and your hand drifts down the front of your pants. 

You slowly circle your clit with one hand, the other reaching up to palm your breast. A sigh escapes your lips as you speed up the circles, images of someone else’s hand swirling in your mind. Strong hands, tipped in orange leather… Another image surfaces: those hands, and the arms they’re connected to, lifting a dead bounty off of you and throwing them to the side before gently helping you up.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, he snuck up on me.”

“Are you hurt?”

“Mando, I’m fine. You got him.”

Your breath quickens as you slip a finger inside you. You keep that vision of him in your mind, the feeling of his strong body surrounding you while checking for injuries. The feeling that began blooming in your chest at the sound of concern in his voice. Your other hand slips from under your shirt to grip the blanket beneath you, chest heaving with heavy breaths. You add another finger, your shimmering climax just out of reach. You are moments from release when a breathless voice says,

“Am I interrupting?”

This could not get more embarrassing…

Your eyes fly open to see Mando standing above you. His helmet is tipped to the side and you can feel the eyes beneath roving over your flustered form. You yank your hand out from the waistband of your pants and scramble up, heart pounding and limbs shaking, cunt aching from the sudden intrusion. 

“Mando! I, I uh…” You swallow thickly, face burning with mortification. 

He walks up to you, an eternity between steps, until your back is against the wall above your makeshift bed. He crowds your space, heavy breaths escaping through the modulator in his helmet. He lifts one of those orange gloves like he’s going to touch you before clenching his hand back into a fist and letting his arm fall. 

“Don’t stop on my account.”

You snap your gaze from his hand to his visor. “What?”

“Don’t stop just because I’m here,” he says, voice low and dangerous. “You looked like you were enjoying yourself.”

With him standing so close, something bold in you speaks before your common sense can butt in, “It’s not as fun by myself.”

He’s silent again, still as night. This time when he moves, his hand does reach toward you, wrapping around one of your wrists and pining it to the wall above you. The leather is warm where it meets your flesh and his grip is strong, but still somehow gentle. You were positive one move or word from you and he’d let go, step away. But you didn’t want him to. 

“What now?” You ask quietly, not wanting to break whatever spell has fallen over your quiet ship. 

“Now,” Mando responds, taking your other hand and guiding it to the waistband of your pants, “You finish what you started before I walked in.”

You dig down deep to that bold part of you that spoke up earlier and take control of the hand at your waist. Oh you’ll do more than just finish what you started. You snake your fingers just under the band, slipping your pants down over your hips and letting them pool on the blankets under your feet. “Like I said, it’s not as fun by myself.”

He lets go of the hand pinned above your head and you immediately drop it to his chest. You trace a finger along the lines of his armor; drawing lines and whorls down the chestplate until you finally come to rest on his belt. A growl slips from the Mandalorian and you pause, looking up at him. 

“Is… Is this okay?” You ask tentatively. 

“Yeah,” Mando breathes. “Only…”

“I know, helmet stays on.”

He nods. He’d told you of his Creed before, nothing past the words This Is the Way and never removing his helmet, but you’d seen his Creed in action. In the way he treated his friends, in the care he showed to the Child, in the sacrifices he made to bring good to the galaxy, he showed his dedication to The Way with every breath. You may not fully understand what it meant when he uttered the phrase, but you could always respect what it meant to him. 

“We can work with that,” you say with a sultry smile. A low laugh rumbles through the modulator and right to your core. You grab his belt and tug, unfastening it and opening the pants on his flight suit. You reach in to palm him through his base layer, running your hand first up his length and then down to cup his balls in your hand. A shudder goes through him. 

Without warning, Mando pushes you down onto the blankets. His hands skate up your thighs to massage your breasts. He positions himself between your legs, on his knees before your half-naked body. You moan, low and throaty, closing your eyes to savor the feeling of him on you. You feel him remove his hands and open your eyes to watch him slowly remove his gloves. He undoes the velcro at his wrists, pulling at each individual finger before pulling off the coverings one by one. A thrill goes through you at seeing the exposed flesh, at what that skin might feel on yours. 

“Show me,” he growls. A demand, laced with authority and power, but with a tinge of… Nerves. Like he’s just as unsure as you are how this situation came to pass. 

It lights a fire in you. 

With a shallow nod, that fire burning in your eyes, you ghost your hand down your body. You make sure to linger on the spots of your body that make his breathing hitch; your breasts, your hips, anywhere that causes the electricity in the air to spark. You finally reach the apex of your thighs and begin anew the circles you traced minutes ago in the privacy of an empty ship. Except now…

The Mandalorian continues to kneel before you, mask staring hungrily at your hand. It’s like he’s memorizing the rhythm and flow of your movements, staring at your body like it’s a painting in a museum. It stirs a hunger in you to meet the fire still burning, drives you to weave your free hand into your hair and sigh…

His hands shake as they drift toward your legs. His fingers, strong and calloused from years of hard work, dig into the supple flesh of your thighs. You remove the hand from your hair to take one of his and lead it to your heated core. 

You guide his fingers into the tight circles he watched you do, another sigh slipping through your lips as he finds the rhythm on his own. His visor lifts to look at your face, your pupils blown wide in pleasure. While one hand continues its circling, he brings the other up from your leg to slip a finger into you. Without prompting, another joins moments later. 

“Oh fuck,” you breathe, grasping at the blankets. 

“Mmm,” he chuckles darkly, “I can see why this is more fun with someone else.”

Your witty comeback dies in your throat as he begins pumping his fingers in and out of you, the hand on your clit speeding up as you buck your hips. Instead, a needy whine winds its way into the mostly quiet cargo bay.

“Mando, oh my God I’m gonna…” Before you can finish the sentence, your release rips through you like wildfire, burning and speeding through your body as your muscles shake and spasm. Your walls clamp against his fingers but he stays with you through it all, milking every bit of orgasm out of your body. 

As the tide of your climax recedes, your eyes flutter open to see Mando staring again at your body. His hands are still on your body, exploring the curves and shape of you. Your breathing evens out and your mind becomes yours again as you watch the way he nearly worships your body with his hands. Those damn, gloveless hands.

You let out a small, satisfied laugh. It seems to wake him from whatever stupor he's under as he raises his helmet to look at your face. "Well that was fun," you say with another laugh.

His laugh joins yours, his baritone voice like bells ringing in the air around you. "Yeah it was."

"You're pretty good with those hands, anyone ever tell you that?"

He adjusts to lay down next to you, one hand skimming over your body in idle swipes. "They have, but never… In this context."

You turn your head to look at him, the familiarity of your positions swelling your heart. "What made you try 'this context'?"

He sighs, his head finally falling to rest on your pillow next to yours. "Bounty got away. I was… Frustrated. And I couldn't stop thinking about you."

You can't tear your gaze away from him as admissions spill from the lips hidden behind a curtain of glass and baskar. You can't slow the thundering of your heart as he says the things you were too scared to admit that you'd been feeling too. 

"So I came back. I'd been gone too long anyway. And when I got here and saw you…" his hand grabs a fistful of flesh at your hip, pulling your body up toward his, "like this, I couldn't stop. Couldn't stop avoiding what I've wanted for weeks."

You lift the leg he pulled toward himself over his hip, rolling him to his back and straddling him. His exposed hands come to rest on your bare thighs. 

"Mando, you've no idea how long I've wanted this. Wanted you."

Your naked core rubs against his still hard cock, straining to be released from his pants. With a teasing circle of your hips, you pull a groan from the man below you. "How do you want me?" 

You circle your hips again, a new orgasm building at the touch. "However you want it," you groan, head tipping back as you grind against his lap.

"Let's start with this," he says before lifting you up off of him. He sets you down at his side before unbuckling and removing layers of armor until all that's left is a dark long t-shirt and pants. You help him remove the shirt, aching to touch all this newly-bared skin. Mando works his pants down his legs before reaching for your shirt and yanking it off over your head. 

"So impatient," you tsk, attempting to be coy. The attempt fails as you take in the full sight of him and your desperation becomes as potent as his. Straddling him again, you bring your lips to meet every inch of him you can, working your way down from sculpted shoulders to broad pecs, to his soft stomach and trail of dark, curing hair. 

"Does that mouth do anything but sass?" He asks boldly. 

"Of course it does," you respond with a wink before scooting all the way down between his legs, cock leaking in front of your face. Your mouth waters as you take him fully, hand coming up to pump the base while your tongue swirls around the tip. Pulling off him for a moment, hand still idly stroking his length, you ask, "Is this what you had in mind?"

"Something… unh something like that," he manages to say. The sight of him coming apart at your touch is enough to snap the restraint you were masquerading as teasing and you dive back onto him, the sounds your mouth makes on his cock are obscene and drive both of you faster. 

Happy to return the favor, you continue your ministrations for a moment before a hand weaves into your hair and pulls you off of him. He pulls you up towards his chest and you willingly follow. As he does, he sits up and swings himself behind you. You catch yourself on your hands and knees with a surprised oh slipping from you. It doesn't take long for him to fit the head of his cock at your dripping entrance and shove. 

The feeling of his stretching you and filling you is intense, pain and pleasure mixing in a harmony you'd never experienced before. You repeat his name over and over again as he sets a punishing rhythm, his hand gripping your shoulder to steady himself. After a few thrusts, he moves that hand to your throat, lifting your back to meet his chest. Light pressure surrounds your neck as he squeezes the sides. 

"Fuck… You're so… So fucking tight." He gasps, free hand squeezing one of your tits. 

"Holy shit, don't stop." You whine, mewling in time with his thrusts. "Oh gods please don't stop!"

"I'm never letting you go. Never… fuck… Never going to leave you. I need you… Need you to close your eyes and promise not to look."

Too dazed to connect the dots, you nod and close your eyes. His hand leaves your throat and a clunk sounds through the cargo bay. 

Holy shit, he just took off his helmet.

As the thought tears through you, you suddenly feel teeth on your shoulder, followed by open mouthed kisses up to your neck. Mando bites down again before whispering directly in your ear, "Let go, I got you."

The smooth sound of his voice free of the helmet is all you need for another orgasm to explode through you, sparks dancing behind your closed eyes. He isn't far behind, hips shuddering into you as his pace falters. You both collapse, falling into your bed in a tangle of arms and legs and skin. Your eyes stay tightly shut and you make sure to face away from him, just to be safe. 

More kisses, softer this time, pepper your shoulders and neck. Mando breathes deeply, memorizing the way you smell without the helmet interfering. You cover your eyes with your hands before turning to face him. 

"Hi," you whisper tentatively. You're suddenly self conscious and fully aware of how unexpected everything that just happened was.

"Hi," Mando chuckles, placing a kiss on your forehead. "How we doing?"

"Well, I can't speak for you, but I'm better than I've been in a long time." 

"Me too," he responds, resting his chin on the top of your head and pulling you into his arms. You pull your hands away from your face and quickly bury into his chest, eyes closed and wrapping around his torso. You lay here like this for a while, just listening to each other breathe and tracing lazy circles on his back. 

Eventually, you'll have to untangle yourselves from each other and Mando will have to put the helmet back on. You'll have to talk about what tonight meant to the other, and share what it meant to you. You'll have to figure out what tomorrow will look like. But, for now, you'll just listen to his heartbeat and commit to memory the look of his hands.

[writethatdown]

the art of goal setting and achieving them™

alternatively, how to NOT be lost in life.

first of all, if you are someone who is treating this period as a season of rest, please go ahead and do it. you can always come back to setting goals and having changes in your life later.

this post is based on my personal experience and the few self improvement books that i have read. and this is from a person who was mentally unhealthy since as long as she can remember (slowly improving), so i get it, setting goals and achieving them are hard.

i understand, you feel like changing the whole life around on jan 1st, i know i know. i know it's always all or nothing mindset, there's lack of patience, there's guilt for the things you promised yourself you'll do but never did, there's grief over lost potential. i know. and i know that a lot of you lot are tired, lose motivation after the first day, have a couple bad days or weeks or months and feel like a failure.

i know it's hard to get out of bed sometimes or most of the times. i am listing everything at the beginning to let you know that it's okay. it's okay, you are not a failure. i promise

you can do this too! this may seem like looking at a void, but i promise you, life can be better and these are some strategies i am applying this year to get ahead of life.

how to set goal(s)?

if you are someone who already has one, i want you break it down to the smallest thing possible. your goal is to be healthy? startby saying: drinking two glasses of water daily is my goal. as simple as that. you want to get that good grade? start by making a moodboard on pinterest with those aesthetic pictures and a playlist of lofi music. something fun and slow.

if you are someone who doesn't have a dream, feeling lost and confused, i want you to look at what makes you happy. stuffed animals makes you happy? how can you take that one step higher? maybe start with learning how to make them, or designing them. your happiness comes from a band? what if you elevate your fashion, seeking inspiration from a band member? find a goal, which will bring you more happiness, write it down, break it down as above.

if nothing seems to make you happy right now (i get it love), look at what makes you comfortable. a vanilla candle, a hot cup of coffee, or a new mattress? make a goal to save up for that candle or that highly priced coffee or that mattress. there. you have a goal/dream/desire now.

how to achieve the goal

okay you are not going to like this but, slowly is the fastest way to achieve your goals.

when the present is unpleasant, we'll often only look forward to the future, yearning. but i want you to cherish the present, be grateful for anything (you are here, breathing, alive, and your life is changing for the better as we say it)

remember, anything on the upside from the present is good. it's better than the misery you are facing rn.

now if you perhaps have a list of goals, pick one from it. prioritise, choose randomly, ask a friend—do anything and fixate on one goal.

you got that? now make the simplest action plan. even for buying that vanilla candle. if you can buy asap, well congrats! you just achieved a goal! but if not, do some math and figure out how much to save each day/week/month to afford one.

reflect on your progress!!! it's really important to keep track of your consistent days. use a habit tracker, daily journal page method, recording/vlogging your journey, anything to make this more fun and indulging.

remember that achieving goals should be like a muscle. you need progressive overload. once you feel like you've mastered the first step in your action plan, move on to the next.

and once you have completed/achieved that goal, move on to the next goal! (or make one)

do NOT try to juggle multiple goals at the same time (it can be highly energy draining)

HAVE REST DAYS, IT'S MANDATORY. as much as the whole action thing is important, rest is important too! treat yourself, take rest. this was a major thing i had to learn the hard way throughout the journey :(

if you can, find friends with similar interests, habits, journey as you. online or offline. and share your stories in that safe space. it's always reassuring to know that you are not alone!

feel free to add more tips if you have!! or omit/modify any of the existing information in the article if you have better alternatives!! i just want to remind you once again that you are a beautiful soul and deserve the best things in life!!

[lunarticxenia]

Moon Signs Pt. 2

Hi guys here’s part 2 of the moon sign series! After I post this, I’m going to be focusing more on answering your questions, I have a lot to answer. Thanks so much for all the support! Without further ado, here’s Libra through Pisces moons! 

🌵Libra Moon: You guys LOVE attention, and you don’t even try to hide it LMAO. One of my good friends is a Libra moon and he literally loves to say outlandish things just to get a reaction from us and to get attention from us if we’re not talking to him enough in a conversation. Libra moons also love relationships and if underdeveloped they may feel incomplete without one. They can also be very dependent on their partner for happiness as well. However, they are romantic and in love with love. They’re also extremely sensitive and are very feminine. Even in men, it gives them a more feminine touch to their personality. They also hold their morals in very high regard. They have their set morals and won’t change them for anything or anyone. They also tend to hate conflict and usually shy away from confrontation. They’re also too nice, WAYYYYYY too nice. You guys need to be more assertive LMAO. They’re also extremely optimistic and if they don’t believe in that particular way they at least try to be optimistic with others. They’re always reminding you the glass is half full. Also, Libra moons are mad clingy. Even with those they’re not dating LMAO. My Libra moon friend whenever I try to leave the FaceTime Call, he’s like “Don’t go... :(”. They just love to be around the ones they love. They’re also in love with beauty, and all things beautiful in the world. They’re lovers of music, art, film, and literature. Libra moons also have a softness in their eyes, I can’t describe it. This girl I used to like has a Libra moon and her eyes were just so soft. They’re also extremely indecisive, they tend to flip flop between who they wanna be and what they wanna do. They also aren’t shy when it comes to compliments, they will compliment TF out of you. They’re the best hype man. They also put others before themselves a lot, and can be very shy upon first meeting them. However once they feel comfortable around you they open up. One last thing, I feel like they tend to like anyone who’s nice to them...don’t attack me. LMAO.  

🌵Scorpio Moon: I feel like Scorpio moons have about ten different playlists relating to their emotions and still won’t open up to anyone about how they feel. Scorpio moons I feel have such intense emotions that they just don’t deal with them and they tend to implode after a while. I relate to them a lot in that respect tbh with my Sun square Moon, because that’s how I am. You guys are also super passionate and super creative. Every Scorpio moon I’ve met has been really creative in some way whether it be makeup, fashion style, or artwork. I’ve also noticed that this is a very alluring placement, there’s this intriguing way about them, and like Aries Moons, they have a fire in their eyes. Their gaze is INTENSE. They’re also very selective with who they let close to them, they don’t let just anybody in. They’re also very good at reading other people and seeing people’s true intentions. They have an extremely good intuition. If underdeveloped this can be used to manipulate other people, as well as being compulsive liars. Scorpio moons are also very protective over the ones they love. If you mess with anyone they care about, they will kill you. End of story. Also I feel like every Scorpio moon I’ve met has been through the wringer, like they’ve really had some hard experiences, it’s so sad to me. Scorpio moons are also extremely stubborn, remember this is a fixed sign. Scorpio moons ain’t playing, once they’ve settled on something, they’re not budging. Also, can we just say, masters at investigating people. These are the friends you want stalking your ex’s social media. They will find out everything. They’re also really good psychologists as well, almost all the Scorpio moons I’ve met are actually Psychology majors LMAO. They’re very good at finding the root causes of people’s issues. I also feel like Scorpio moons undergo a lot of transformations in their lives. I’ve known a Scorpio moon for about 10 years now and he’s undergone so many different transformations in his life. Mentally and physically. They’re also extremely sarcastic and have a tendency to be pessimistic. They’re also mad scary when angry. I’ve seen them angry before, as an Aries moon, even I get a little scared.... love y’all tho. 

🌵Sagittarius Moon: The funniest people ever. Sagittarius moons always have me laughing my ass off. Their sense of humor is very diverse. They tend to stick with sarcasm and like to say outlandish things to make people laugh. Also, I feel like Sagittarius moons tend to go for science/math oriented careers or at least have an interest in those subjects. I know four Sag moons, and they’re all in STEM it’s actually crazy. They’re also extremely blunt and honest, especially when it comes to people they don’t like LMAO. They make it very clear when they don’t like someone, it’s so funny. They’re also just so much fun, like they’re genuinely so much fun to hang out with. I feel like I’ve never not had a good time hanging out with a Sagittarius moon. I feel like Sag moons however tend to struggle with asserting themselves a lot of times, until they get really fed up.  They’re very much go with the flow kinda people, and this can be to their detriment especially with the ones they love, they don’t wanna rock the boat. However, they also make really good mediators and are good at settling arguments. They also really like to travel, and likely have traveled a lot. All the Sagittarius moons I know have traveled to at least 4+ countries. They love traveling the world, and I’ve also noticed move or want to move far away from their childhood home. They wanna explore everything the world has to offer. My cousin who’s a Sag moon left her parents’ house to move a few states away and my other friend who’s a Sag moon wants to move to the other side of the country. These individuals also tend to like foreign culture as well. I’ve noticed Sagittarius moons tend to like foreign music or foreign tv shows. I feel like they also tend to ignore their emotions when they get sad and just don’t like to deal with their emotions. They also don’t like to talk about how they feel and will brush sad things off because it’s just too upsetting for them. However, once the emotions boil over, just like their anger, they will blow up LMAO. I’ve also noticed that they’re really good at teaching people things? Like my Sag moon friend explained this Chemistry equation to me I couldn’t understand and I got it after 10 minutes. Natural teachers. 

🌵 Capricorn Moon: Guys, it’s okay to open up. You don’t have to pretend to be so strong all the time, you’re not weak for showing your emotions. Anyway, Cap moons have high expectations for people, and will not tolerate any bs from people. I seriously commend them for that. I feel like Cap moons struggle with how their points are being expressed, they can say one thing, but it’s seen as something else. While Capricorn moons may struggle with expressing their emotions, I haven’t found them to be closed off or cold when meeting them. Every Capricorn moon I’ve met has warmed up to me very quickly and have been super nice. I feel like they’re very friendly and once they have a conversation with you they’re really warm and kind. Also, they’re not afraid of anything?? Except for showing their feelings maybe. But like, they’re so open to trying new things like scary rollercoasters and aren’t afraid to fight for themselves if they have to. Also, super fucking ambitious. I wish I could be ambitious. These people will really have like three jobs, be in school, and tend to household responsibilities. I don’t know how you guys do it. Now everyone says Capricorn moons are just analytical and systematic when confronted with conflict, and I personally haven’t found that to be true. If they feel wronged?? Nah. They’re not going to be systematic or logical or anything. They will go off. As for personal challenges, yes they’ll be more analytical. But I feel like everyone boils down Cap moons to emotionless and machine-like nerds, which I find to be very untrue. Capricorn moons are very soft once they’re vulnerable with you, and genuinely feel like they’re bothering people when they show their emotions and feel weak for showing them. Also I’ve noticed that their mom is a big motivator for their success. Their moms always push them to do their best in work and school. If poorly aspected, they could feel too pressured by their moms to do well. Also, they’re so underrated for being funny. They have a really dry sense of humor and it’s well developed. I also feel like they get overlooked for putting others before themselves, when it comes to the people they love they’ll do anything for them. Brb gonna go give my Cap moon friends a hug. 

🌵Aquarius Moon: You guys are just so unique. There’s something unique about each and every Aquarius moon, whether it’s a quirk or a hobby. These people are literally the best to talk to. It’s so easy to have a conversation with them, they really can talk about anything. I’ve also noticed that Aquarius moons tend to be interested in astrology and tarot and things of that kind. Every Aquarius moon I’ve met has been really interested in it, and even involved in it. I feel like they also have big dreams, and have big plans for themselves. Aquarius moons also love to get lost in their music and tend to use it as an escape. This can be a problem because they tend to avoid dealing with their feelings. They also go between reacting to things really heavily vs not reacting at all. It just seems like it goes back and forth. They speak up with things are unjust however only to their friends or online. They just don’t like to deal with face to face conflict in that regard. They also give really great advice. My best friend is an Aquarius moon and she always gives me the best advice. She knows me better than I know myself tbh. I feel like Aquarius moons relish in being unique LMAO. I’m 99% sure they had an “I’m not like other girls” phase. I feel like this placement always tends to space out and daydream a lot. They also aren’t the types to just lash out at people, their anger is more subtle (unless they have other placements of course). I feel like Aquarius moons also have a lot of friends but they tend to have a small group of friends that they tend to be super super close with. They’re also...really charming? I don’t know what it is, but like every single one I’ve met has been really charming and likable. They also have a really goofy sense of humor and love to do wild shit to make people laugh. I feel like some downsides of Aquarius moons are that they tend to be too analytical and rationalize things too much, and they inadvertently invalidate other people’s feelings. Aquarius moons are also super open minded to all opinions. I have a friend who I tend to disagree with on certain issues but they’ve always been open to hearing my opinion. They also love to travel too. I’ve noticed that as well. 

🌵Pisces Moon: To think, I was almost one of you guys. No seriously I almost was, if I were born four hours earlier I would’ve been a Pisces moon LMAO. Anyhoo, Pisces moons are just so sweet. I don’t know how else to start, they literally are the sweetest people and give off this mystical type of aura. They’re very otherworldly. Also, these people daydream 24/7. They put Aquarius moons to shame in daydreaming. This girl I like is a Pisces moon and I always catch her daydreaming LMAO. They’re also extremely sensitive too and feel things so deeply. They try to hide how they feel from people, but you can see it in their eyes. I can always tell when my Pisces moon friend is upset just by the look in her eyes. They also tend to be introverted and it takes a while for them to warm up to someone. My co-worker is a Pisces moon and it took 2 weeks for her to finally start talking to me LMAO. They also have really vivid and wild dreams too. I feel like my Pisces moon friend is always telling me about some wild dream they had like that they were in a castle or in an ocean. They also can be really moody, they can be fine one second and then get really sad out of nowhere. Their emotions are like the ocean. I feel like another downside of Pisces Moons are that they can be very manipulative however this is really with any underdeveloped water moon/sun placement. I also feel like they tend to be escapists a lot. They don’t like to deal with reality a lot, and they see the best in everything and everyone even if it’s to their demise. They’re also super friendly and are nice to everyone they meet, even if they’re reserved they’re still very sweet. They’re also extremely creative too, I feel like every Pisces moon I’ve ever met has some sort of creative hobby. My co-worker who’s a Pisces moon is working on becoming a photographer and her stuff is AMAZING. I think that’s because they see the best in the world and the beauty in everything; and they know how to show that in their work so others can see the world like they do. They’re also super empathetic and are really good listeners. You can talk to them about anything and feel understood. :) 

So this wraps up my moon sign series! I hope you guys liked it! Again, don’t take offense these are just my opinions on each moon sign! Hope you guys enjoyed, and if you don’t see your moon sign here it’s likely in part one. 

[madameminor]

In More Ways Than One - Bad Batch x F!Reader

Summary: A night out with the Batch almost turns into a bar brawl, until your quick thinking sets up the perfect cover. Then your squad starts thinking it doesn't have to stay a cover. Sharing is caring, after all.

Tags: Implied smut, but mostly build up, fluff, and backstory.

Warnings: Sexual harassment by other clones.

Notes: Hey y'all, first fic posted here on Tumblr. I love writing and I wanted to give back to this community- I was feeling so ashamed of my thoughts, and then my friend pointed me to tumblr, and I found all you thirsty hos. (Thank goodness). This will be a series, of sorts, that will be mostly smut after this starter. Enjoy!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 3.5 Part 4 Part 4.5 Part 5 Part 5.5 Part 6 Part 6.5 Part 7 Part 8 Part 8.5 Part 9 Part 9.5 Part 10

“OHHH YEAH!!” Wrecker cries, breathing in the atmosphere of 79’s. “It’s about time we had this kind of fun!”

Clone Force 99 was on shore leave, and as the squad’s medic you had prescribed them all IMMEDIATE non-combative fun - mostly because YOU needed it (heh, the perks of power). Just you and the boys, YOUR boys, unless someone picked up an extra companion for the night… which never seemed to happen. The Batch is still in their armor, but you chose to relax a little- just some easy out and about evening clothes that make you feel good about yourself. Sometimes under all that armor, you forget what it’s like to be a WOMAN.

It helps that the Batch call you ‘the Queen’ - you wield your medic privileges like a scepter, ruling the ship’s wellness like your own little kingdom. It was the reason clone command kept you on with the 99- they wouldn’t take regs, and every other medic had quit within a month. You, however, weren’t scared off by their reckless risk taking- you THRIVED on it, knowing that if they planned to continue this thrill ride, then they’d better be healthy and hearty, dammit. When put like that, the squad started seeing you as an ally, not an enemy, and adopted you as one of their own.

You look around at the Batch, feeling your heart smile at each of them. Hunter leads the column, as always- ready to defend, senses alert even here, grounded, aware. This trip was for HIM, too- giving him a chance to take the night off from being on constant alert- but you could only ask so much from a highly sensitive active-duty Sergeant.

Wrecker and Echo follow, Wrecker getting pumped to the music, Echo looking around to see if he knows any of the clones present. The innocents- sort of. Wrecker with his unbridled glee for life, Echo with his purity of self, always looking to do the right thing for his brothers and the Republic. You link arms with both in a moment of joy and they both smile at you.

Tech and Crosshair bring up the rear. Tech is finishing some repair notes on his holopad (insisted he couldn’t relax until it was done). You allow it only to let his mind wind down before you claim a table- he’s still paying attention. Crosshair just observes the crowd. His silence is comfortable by now- he’s always listening, he just doesn’t speak unless he has something to say. Hunter might be able to detect more physically- but you suspect Crosshair sees more intellectually.

“Why are we here again?” Crosshair asks, unimpressed.

“It’s the only place that Wrecker can enter the dance floor without hitting all of the overhead lighting. That, and the Queen enjoys it.” Tech says, glancing up from his work. “There are fouler places.”

“Come on, you two, lighten up. It’s not like you have to live here.” Wrecker says, punching Crosshair in the arm as you all head to a table off in a dark corner- Hunter is wearing a device Tech fashioned to be able to bear the sights, noises, and smells, but it could only tune out so much.

“True, living with YOU is far worse.”

“Oh stop it, Crossy.” You know he hates that nickname, so you use it when he’s being a- “Just stay over here and glare everyone away, you’ll be fine.” You turn to see his reaction. “See, you’re so GOOD at it.”

“You give me lots of practice.”

“You’re welcome.”

Wrecker pounds the table with both fists. “Enough with the talk, more with the drinks!”

Hunter looks over to the Genius. “Who’s turn is it, Tech?”

Tech finally holsters his holopad. “The Queen’s, then mine, then Echo’s.”

Wrecker grins at you, “Alright, your majesty, you’re up!”

You push your chair out. “Yes, yes, but only because I am a kind and benevolent ruler. Don’t get into any trouble while I’m gone, please?”

“You’re the one who attracts trouble,” Hunter counters.

“It’s not MY fault I’m cute,” You snort, heading for the bar.

Wrecker looks at Hunter while the others watch you leave. “It’s not?”

Hunter smiles. “Eyes front, boys.” Three heads snap to look at him, blushes creeping up on their faces.

-------

The bar isn’t very busy- there’s a lull at this time of night- the early risers are trickling out, and the late night partiers have yet to come in. You slide up and smile at the bartender, leaning over on one hand as you casually order your drinks. The bartender starts working, and you settle in to wait.

“Look, fellas, that’s an invitation if I ever saw one.”

You can tell that he’s drunk by his voice alone, and you mentally roll your eyes. To play nice, or not to play nice?

You stand straight and look over to the three clones down the bar. You don’t recognize the markings on their armor, but you do recognize the high level of inebriation in their body language. Fabulous. This is nothing new, regs hit on you all the time, but this promises to be of the very unpleasant variety.

You keep your tone even, but you don’t force a smile. “Can I help you, trooper?”

“Oh no, you can go back to leaning over if you want, I was just enjoying the view.”

“Unless you want to give us a closer look.”

“No thank you,” you say dismissively, looking back towards the bartender, hoping that’s the end of it.

“Aw come on, don’t be such a prude. At least give us a smile.”

“Is there a problem?”

You all turn to see Crosshair standing with his arms crossed, glaring at the regs. You raise an eyebrow at him.

“They sent me to help carry drinks.”

Uh-huh. You smile to yourself- the boys could be a bit protective, even if you could take care of yourself.

The one on the left takes note of his markings and laughs. “The defect squad’s in 79’s? That explains it, you must be their little ice queen!”

You work to keep the irritation from your face. Did those damn Regs even turn your NICKNAME into an insult? WT actual F?

The one sitting in the middle takes a swig of his drink. “I’ve heard of you. Won’t give any clones the time of day, huh? Hands full satisfying the Sad Batch?”

“Are you done here?” Crosshair gives good cold-shouldered contempt- probably why he was sent over instead of the others. You call to the bartender, asking him to bring the drinks to your table. He waves, so you nod at Crosshair.

“Excuse me.” As you start to walk away, you feel one of them catch your wrist and pull you back. It’s the one in the middle. This one is working on your LAST nerve.

His grin is mean, his face is close, his breath smells like whiskey. “You don’t have to go with these rejects, you know. Don’t you want to see what REAL clones are like? Trust me, we’ll show you a much better time.”

Before you can react, Crosshair latches onto his wrist, squeezing it until the reg loosens his grip with a yelp.

“Leave. Her. Alone.” He spits the words out like the threat they are, dropping the clone’s wrist like it was something nasty. You smirk as you massage your own wrist, following Crosshair.

“No wonder they call you the whore of the 99- you come whenever they call. Probably in more ways than one.”

Oh, so this reg wanted to die.

Crosshair whirls, murder in his eyes. You have about .5 seconds to decide to help him or stop him.

As much as you’d LOVE to see your Marksman trounce these idiots, that would get you thrown out. A mischievous thought crosses your mind: they had given you the answer, something to keep them and future aspiring lovers off your tail.

“Cross, CROSS…” You stop Crosshair’s advance with your hand on his chest, leaning in close to him, your nose nestling in his neck. “Ignore them.”

“He CALLED you a-“

“I know, love.” You wrap one of his arms around your waist. Crosshair finally looks down at you, the murder fading from his eyes as he realizes what you’re doing. “They’re just jealous they aren’t you, or anyone else on the squad. They’re just jealous I’m yours.” You glance at the open mouthed regs over your shoulder. “If you start a fight, everyone will join in. Why waste your time on them when you could all be spending time with me?” You take his ever-present toothpick from his mouth, the other hand tracing a finger down his jaw line. “I know which I would prefer.”

Your finger gently pulls his jaw forward into a kiss. He stiffens for a moment, then relaxes into your lips. They’re so soft, supple from all that toothpick teething. This feels way less strange than it should… You both linger a little bit longer than necessary…for show. Right?

You pull away just enough to whisper against his lips. “Lets go have our own fun, honey.” You turn, looking the shocked troopers up and down before flicking the toothpick at them. “Boys.”

You walk towards the squad, enjoying- er, feeling Crosshair’s hand on your hip.

His voice is close to your ear. “You’re letting them off too lightly.”

You grin up at him. “You mean letting them off alive?”

He looks down at you from the corner of his eyes. “I wouldn’t have killed them.”

“And that would be unforgivable.”

Crosshair smirks but doesn’t take his eyes off you when you face forward. That was quick thinking on your part, and probably very effective… and incredibly, incredibly hot. He finds himself hoping more regs bother you throughout the night, if it means he needs to keep proving “you’re theirs”. He blinks and looks towards the squad, trying to shake the thought out of his head, just like all the thoughts of you before today. His hand is suddenly aching to start tracing the outline of your spine- he moves it away before he can oblige.

“You owe me a toothpick.”

Hunter is sitting with his arms crossed, face unreadable as you rejoin them.

“What in karking hell was THAT about?”

“Yeah, what were you two KISSING for?” Wrecker says, confused more than anything.

You speak before Crosshair has a chance. “I wanted to make it clear I was unavailable.”

“Did it work?”

You turn to the Marksman, eyebrow raised. “Crosshair?”

He looks at you out of the corner of his eyes before looking back at Hunter. “They’ll leave us alone.”

“Good!” Wrecker grins as the bartender appears, a full tray of drinks in his hand. “Then let’s have some FUN! YEAH!”

-------

You’re all on your second drinks, belly-laughing at one of Echo’s gossipy stories about the Captain of the 501st before you excuse yourself for the restroom. The Batch watch you walk away before turning en masse to the Marksman.

“Alright, Crosshair, what happened?” Hunter asks, eyes intent on his brother’s face.

Crosshair moves his toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other, glancing to make sure you were out of earshot. “They called her a whore.”

“They WHAT?!” Echo and Wrecker are on their feet.

Crosshair folds his arms and leans back in his chair. “Apparently that’s what the regs are calling her- the whore of the 99.”

Wrecker’s anger only subsides a little in his confusion. “What…What does that mean?”

“That she’s making it with all of us, that she’s OUR whore. Saying that’s why she won’t flirt with any of the regs.”

Tech relaxes, indignant but assured. “Well, I’m glad she had the chance to set them str-“

“She acted like it was true.”

Silence. For once, even Tech was at a loss for words. “She…she what?”

“That’s what she meant by ‘making it clear she wasn’t available’.”

Echo sits again in disbelief. “Wait, wait, she wants this rumor to continue?”

Wrecker looks around at his brothers, trying to piece this all together. “So, is that why you kissed her?”

“It stands to reason that if this were to work long term, we would all have to be ready to help her back up this claim," Tech muses.

“So we’d ALL have to kiss her?”

“I don’t think any of us are particularly opposed to that.” Hunter says quietly, looking at his squad. Each one turns red, only Crosshair keeping his head up.

“Stop that, it’s annoying,” he glowers.

Echo recovers next. “But sooner or later it’s going to come out that it isn’t true. We can’t be worried about play acting while we’re on missions with other squads.”

“What if we weren’t play acting?” Hunter asks pensively.

They all look at him blankly.

He sips from his glass. “What if she WERE ours?”

Wrecker’s mouth hangs open. Echo can only blink. Tech puts his chin in his hand, thinking. Crosshair silently stares at them all. No one objects. No one says anything.

“I know none of you would mind the idea- and I’m well convinced she wouldn’t either.”

Echo finds his voice. Barely. “Hunter, you can’t be serious. She’s in our SQUAD. She’s a SOLDIER. Command would never allow it.”

Hunter’s laugh is short and low. “We’re the Bad Batch, trooper- we’ve always done things differently.”

Tech speaks up from his musings. “Theoretically, this scenario works well- she wouldn’t need to worry about solicitations... and we…”

“We get to share the one woman we’re all attracted to without compromising or segregating our squad.” Hunter’s serious face gives way to a small smirk. “Even share her at the same time- on occasion.”

They fall silent as each member wrestles with their own excitement. Could this really happen?

“There’s no way she’ll go for this.” Echo quietly reasons. “One, MAYBE two, but not… ALL of us.”

Hunter stands slowly, finishing his drink in one gulp. “Only one way to find out.”

“Where are you going?” Tech asks, adjusting his goggles.

“Those regs are facing where she is- gotta help make it convincing.” He walks off towards the dance floor.

Echo massages his face in exasperation and disbelief. This squad was INSANE. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“Nothing has happened yet.” Tech finishes his own drink. “For all we know, Hunter could be letting the spotchka do the talking…” He looks up to where Hunter disappeared. “Though, I, for one, hope it isn’t.” His voice is quiet, but earnest. The rest stay quiet, thinking their own thoughts, unsure of what to hope for and what to expect.

------

You finish checking your reflection in the mirror, that kiss with Crosshair still on your mind. You had broken one of your rules- don’t seem to pick one over the others. You hadn't really MEANT to, it was just all you could think of in the moment. They probably accepted it for what it was- just a tactic, you were worrying for nothing. You groaned to yourself and massaged your temples. In your ideal world you knew how each of them kissed, how each one felt beneath your hands or in your mouth or between your thighs- but this was the real world. And you couldn’t bear the idea of picking just one. So you picked none. And that was just the way it was. With a resolved sigh and a wink to yourself in the mirror, you open the restroom door to make your way back to the batch.

Looking at the dance floor, you see the regs from earlier seated at the bar, watching the dancing throng. You roll your eyes, turning to head back to your table- but a hand lightly grabs your arm and pulls you towards the wall. Ready to punch, you make eye contact with…

“Hunter!” You lightly punch him in the arm. “Don’t DO that, I was about to deck you!”

He grins, pulling you in so you can hear him against your ear. “Didn’t think you would hear me.”

You smile. “That’s probably true. What is it? Did you come to babysit?”

“Kind of.” There’s something different in his voice. You notice his hand has moved to your back, that you’re pressed up close to him. “Crosshair told us about what the regs said.”

Your eyes were getting sore from all this rolling. “Of course he did.”

“He also told us you played along.”

“Yes, hoping it would spread to others. I don’t exactly RELISH fighting them off.”

“Shall we make sure they get the point?”

Confusion. Suspicion. “What do you mean?”

“You wanted it clear that you belonged to ALL of us, right?”

Small lightbulb. “…yeees?”

“Well then,” his voice was practically a purr, “shall we give them more proof?”

You pull back to look at him. Your mind is screaming at you to remember the rule you JUST TALKED ABOUT, but you can’t keep the suspicious smile from spreading across your face. “…If you think it would be a good id-“

He tilts your head up to him and kisses you, starting off light, gentle, but deepening with each wave. Maker, he was a good kisser. You slide your arms around the back of his neck, ignoring that inner voice and giving in to the moment. He lightly bites your bottom lip, swallowing your gasp before pulling your body into his. You barely manage to keep your tongue under control. Thank goodness his armor separates your bodies, or you might take it too far-

And just like that, it’s over, he pulls away slightly to smile down at your swollen lips. He glances up towards the bar.

“Looks like they got the picture.”

You laugh lightly. “Damn, Hunter, I think every clone in a 3 click radius got the picture.”

“Good. Then they’ll believe you’re ours.”

“Exactly.” He can hear a thrill in your voice, subtle, but present. He was right. He could feel himself pushing against his codpiece at the thought, emboldening him in his next steps.

“It doesn’t have to be pretend, you know.”

You turn to him, eyes suspicious. “Pretend what?”

“To be ours. You could be, all of ours. If you wanted to.”

You blink, unsure you heard correctly. “Hunter, have you had too much to drink?”

He smirks. “No, but I can see how you would think that.” He leans in again, his voice next to your ear to be sure you hear each word. “Just think about it, mesh’la. We have.”

They have? All of them would agree to share you? Excitement sends a thrill down your spine and through your core, making you shiver ever so slightly. Damn. You hate that he probably knows exactly what just happened, his sensitivity gives him such an annoying insight into your reactions.

He grins. Yeah, he felt that. “Ready to head back? Or could they do with more convincing?”

You swat his arm playfully, smiling as you push yourself upright. “You are a bad man, Sergeant.”

“Comes with the territory.”

------

The rest of the night is as fun as you hoped- drinks, dancing, laughter, deep conversations, and late-night food, REAL food. No one mentions the clones from earlier, or what happened with Hunter and Crosshair- it feels like nothing’s changed. It isn’t until the end of the night, heading back to the ship, that a thought pops unbidden into your head:

What would going home be like if you belonged to them?

You imagine being pinned to the floor of the marauder, Wrecker holding down your arms with Hunter’s head between your thighs, screaming for him not to stop. On your hands and knees with Echo in your mouth, Crosshair pulling you back onto him, their breathe fast and shallow. Tech losing control while you’re spread out on his worktable on Kamino, teeth biting into your neck as he-

“Your Majesty.”

You start and look up the ramp to see Hunter smirking down at you, leaning on the doorframe.

“Caught in a daydream?”

You want to make an excuse of some kind, cover it up, but it wouldn’t make a difference- he’s picked up your heartbeat, pupil dilation, your pheromones- fine. You’re a medic. You can play this game too.

You walk up the ramp one step at a time until you’re face-to-face. You lean in slowly, hands on his chest. “YOU told me to think about it, Hunter. So I’m thinking about it. And tonight, I’ll think about it as long as I want to. And you. Can. On. Ly. Listen.”

You feel his heart skip a beat before attempting to pound its way out of his chest. You smile at a point scored right in his face. He eyes you up and down as you smirk and walk past him into the ship.

“Boys, I brought one more round as a nightcap- who wants one?” Your suggestion is met with cheers and laughter. Could it really get any better than this?

Apparently, yes, yes it could.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I saw that requests are open so I thought I'd put in something here since I love your work, hope you're doing well miss raven💕

now for my request, headcannons of a gn!mc/yuu that's a royal with diasomnia cast (it can be child of a king/emperor, it doesn't really matter really) but they're very laid back and too casual about it for example "oh yeah I'm a prince/princess of a really powerful country, it's whatever"

again, hope you're having a good day! ✨💕

Curiouser and Curiouser...

“Hmm, is that so? What a curious state of affairs. A royal transported to another world, leaving their kingdom in an uproar as they seek out their missing heir... I’d imagine it would be a frantic scene. Are you not perturbed by that possibility? Fufu. The scenario seems rather fascinating to me. If only I were there to witness it for myself.”

He’s more surprised at how casually you say your secret than the meat of the secret itself. Malleus sees his own crown, and the very Draconia bloodline, as something to be revered—even feared in some situations—and he cannot imagine so flippantly throwing his title around. Truly, he struggles to wrap his mind around the whims of children of man... or perhaps it is only just you?

Malleus wants to know more about a kingdom from another world. What’s it like? What of its history? What kind of a role do you play in governing it all? He’ll want to listen to you for hours to sate his curiosity. Malleus can share things about his country with you as well, from its unique, old-fashioned architecture to the use of magic in daily life. You can really tell just how much pride he has for his homeland just by the lilt to his deep voice, the sparkle inlaid in his dark eyes. Through exchanging the best parts of your cultures, you’re able to bond and understand each other on a deeper level.

He suggests that you should consider forming an friendship with the Briar Valley, thus creating the very first interdimensional alliance! When you’ve both ascended to your respective thrones, you’ll keep the alliance going strong... or so he dryly teases. Once you’ve ventured beyond the mirror, Malleus isn’t sure if his voice will reach you—so instead, he grants the promise to always be with you in spirit, both in and out of court.

While Malleus is amused by how casually you take your status, he does step in to give a pointer or two about composing yourself. As a fae, he certainly understands the value and the joy in and making mischief, but he is not so oblivious as to neglect his duties in favor of it. He often warns you against falling into the trap of being too carefree and casual, steering you back along the path when you are lost.

“A sovereign is the face of their country. Speak out of turn or behave poorly, and it reflects poorly on your kingdom,” Malleus tuts, ancient wisdom shining in his eyes. “As the ambassador and representative for your nation, you must act with decorum—and with head held high—as the situation demands. Have pride not only in yourself, but in the kingdom you represent, and the great power and responsibility upon your shoulders, Child of Man. An idle and ignorant ruler only spells doom for its people.”

"That’s the way to be—you mustn't let your position hold you down. The true value of a crown comes not from its name, but how its wearer conducts themselves. And yet, despite the weight upon your head, you can still find it within yourself to live as a free spirit. Kufufu, quite a feat indeed.”

Lilia appreciates the light-hearted attitude you’ve chosen to adopt. He’s meet so many austere nobles in the fairy courts over the years, it’s refreshing to meet someone of a high status who doesn’t take things so seriously! Lilia definitely feels like he can still be his goofy self around you in spite of this new discovery.

He’s good at keeping secrets, but that doesn’t mean he won’t have fun with the knowledge he holds! When Lilia catches your eye in the hallway, he might smiling knowingly, relishing in the secret only he’s aware of—and when he greets you hello, he’ll dip into a playful curtsey. No one knows what he’s up to except for, of course, you.

Lilia tells you that he’d love to visit your kingdom someday—it’s another place to mark off on his travels! And surely, as the sovereign of this land, you’d be able to sneak out and serve as his willing partner in crime tour guide? The culture, the atmosphere, the food... Lilia wants to experience it all with you!

Every so often, Lilia offers you his wisdom and reminds you to reevaluate your position in a more serious light, to not entirely discard the weight of the crown. As someone who has lived through the decades, he has seen countless countries and people fall on account of sloth or neglect—and he doesn’t wish to see the same cruel fate befall you.

“It will someday be you who is considered the ultimate authority. A ruler cannot afford to live as a child forever—a clear divide must be made, and you must know when to skirt the line between work and play,” Lilia advises, his deep-set ruby eyes creasing. “But fear not, you will not be alone in this matter. You will be supported by a panel of royal advisors and experts in every field—and, of course, you will always have me.”

“... Oh. I had no idea. But I understand—you are trusting me with this important information. I will ensure that I keep it close to me and safely guarded. You can count on me.”

If your declaration is casual, then Silver’s reaction is just as casual. He blinks a few times, as if waking up from a nap, then nods solemnly, instantly accepting your declaration as fact (and even if it wasn’t, you had a feeling Silver would have instantly believed you anyway).

Whether Silver realizes he is or not, he becomes a little more protective of you (most likely because he’s been trained since childhood to protect his own liege; it’s nearly an instinct for him now). When he walks alongside you, Silver’s always just a little bit ahead, almost as if keeping a look out for any danger. If he thinks something suspicious is ahead, he’ll put his arm out to stop you in your tracks while he investigates.

Silver introduces you to his woodland critter friends, granting each a fancy title as if announcing them to a royal hosting a ball. Lords and ladies of the forest flock to make up an entourage, and you laugh in return, introducing yourself to them by your own formal title.

For you, such a laidback royal, Silver prepares a crown of flowers instead of one of gold and jewels. He asks you to bow your head, and when you do, he slips it on as if crowning the next sovereign at a coronation. The flowers light, comfortable, and sets your heart at ease—the same feelings you instill by your rule.

“It suits you well,” he quietly confides with a shy smile. “A peaceful kingdom where everyone can be friends... It sounds it could never happen, but I’m sure you can make it a reality. Until the day you can wear a real crown, let’s dream of that kind of a world.”

“WHAAAAAAT?! To think that you were descended from noble blood all this time... A royal, right under this Sebek’s nose, hidden right in plain sight... When you could be STRUCK or TAKEN OUT by an enemy force any ANY time?!? HRGGGGGH!! WHY WAS I NOT INFORMED OF THIS SOONER?!”

Sebek’s reaction is the total opposite of your announcement. He’s loud, he’s alarmed, he’s outraged, and he has zero chill. Sebek seems offended that you didn’t tell him such a vital fact earlier, and launches into a tirade to express these thoughts. Did you not trust him enough? Did you not deem him worthy, or believe his skills to be lacking?

Once he calms down (well, “calm down” is relative), he swears a vow to protect you since he is “doubtful that a mere HUMAN such as lackadaisical as yourself could sufficiently protect themselves”. An entire nation’s future hinges on your survival—and Sebek will do everything in his power to make sure your survive to coronation day!

Though he stresses that your safety should take priority over all else, Sebek does a poor job of doing it discreetly. Everyone you go, he trails after you shouting at the top of his lungs for a path to be cleared and announcing your full name and title. It sends a lot of dirty or confused looks your way, but do you really have the heart to tell Sebek off when he looks so proud of himself?

His worrying gets to be a little too much at times, but Sebek doesn’t appear to see an issue with it. In his eyes, all the precautions be takes and all the fretting he does serves a far greater purpose—and he would much rather that then the alternative, a (worst case scenario) future where both your bloodline and your kingdom have been turned to ashes.

“I worry TOO much?!” Sebek snorts, repeating your own words back at you. “NO SUCH THING!! If anything, your attitude is far too NONCHALANT!! You are the face of an entire country, the face of its VERY FUTURE!! YOU CANNOT AFFORD TO BE THIS LAX, NOT AT ALL!! The crown and all its powers are YOURS to command—so you cannot display such a MEEK DISPOSITION!! YOU MUST OWN UP TO YOUR DESTINY AND ACT LIKE THE PROPER RULER YOU WILL ONE DAY BE!!”

[aconstantstateofbladerunner]

Consider: A fic where either some of the other teachers try to convince Izuku into thinking that everything All Might has done is abusive/quirkist/whatever ( think all might bashing fic style, except that we the audience know all might is not the terrible monster they are trying to portray him as), completely ignoring their own shitty actions towards him and personal biases against the quirkless.

When I say 'teachers' I mean Aizawa or Nezu - but you could probably have some fun doing the same with All for One, but more 'gaslight-y'.

My initial thought would be to write the fic from Aizawa’s perspective ala Cain so we get his skewed views on things front and center. Why does All Might seem to show so much favoritism to Midoriya? Why do they seem like they know each other? Perhaps Aizawa has already made assumptions about a big time rich hero like All Might. The kindness is an act to cover up the less than savory truth, it always is. All the little touches and smiles become suspect. Maybe he could mishear/misinterpret a moment of All Might talking about his own quirklessness as some kind of derogatory comments. Typing that, i got the idea that maybe what kicks this off is Aizawa finding out Izuku used to be quirkless, and his own prejudice comes in the form of thinking he’s fragile and can’t take care of himself, maybe even that he shouldn’t be at UA for his own safety but he’s already here so he has to be even more vigilant. That could perhaps lead to him finding out about One for All, and thinking it abusive, if not a form of grooming, to hand such a powerful quirk to a random kid. This isn’t too dissimilar to a fic idea I scrapped called One for Everyone Else where Aizawa found out about One for All, and decided he was the better option to train Izuku and driving a wedge between Izuku and All Might. This might be the missing piece to make that concept work, so thank you.

And maybe, just because i kinda feel like being a bit of a dick to all might bashers, Aizawa’s concerns would come off as justified first. I could trick the readers into taking his side, while leaving hints to the harm he causes that people invested in the bashing might not catch. Namely Aizawa’s own subtle prejudice, and the fact that his tough love approach really isn’t the kind of support someone like Izuku needs. I could have Aizawa make those critiques i hate of how All Might telling Izuku he couldn’t be a hero AT FIRST makes him an irresponsible monster, while he hypocritically only trains Izuku and Shinso after they already proven themselves as having more than zero potential. He could convince the other teachers that something unsavory is going on with All Might, and they either refuse to work with him or petition Nezu to get him fired. Maybe he gets Izuku’s mother involved (this would have to take place before kamino) and she forbids him from seeing All Might outside of school as well. And Aizawa doesn’t understand why Izuku’s grades, both academic and hero related, start slipping when he’s finally getting proper training for his specific circumstances. I don’t know how things would come to a head, but they would in a likely very uncomfortable fashion Aizawa isn’t prepared for.

[zenosanalytic]

Reply-Reply to Purified-Zone: We Need to Talk about Nepeta

ok so, for context, this question is in response to This Post about the Puma Sisters which applies the sort of absurdist fantasy naturalism popularized by the clown-breeding meme to Catgirls.

I didn’t tag that Nepeta because I think Nepeta is a fundamentally DIFFERENT take on Catgirls, one that is both more and less mature.

How less? Well in Homestuck, after Murderstuck and Cascade, Nepeta is generally treated as a joke character and a way to needle fans, and even before then there was always an undercurrent of her being used to comment on catgirls&fangirls as an internet&fandom type.

How more? Bc in subverting the common image of catgirls and fangirls, she makes the point that tropes dont define ppl, ppl define themselves. Catgirls tend to be paper tigers or glass cannons, and she canonically hunts and kills Alternian predators with just a set of clawgloves for fun(and also skins and prepares their hides for wearing, which is a HUGE undertaking so basic to her she barely mentions it). Catgirl fashion practically defines anime fetishwear, and yet she dresses(aside from the peltcap) like an oldschool goth in oversized trenchcoat, slacks, and a nice, practical belt. Catgirls tend to be oversexed and sexually aggressive while she’s shy, retiring, thoughtful, and her only canonical romance is a moirallegiance. Most stories dealing in catgirls never really give you a look at their interiority, typically present them as fairly surface-level, what-you-see-is-what-you-get type characters, and Homestuck certainly doesnt give her as much time as she deserves but right off the bat Nepeta is a roleplayer; she’s a person whose central hobby is pretending to be someone else.  She’s someone we don’t get to see or hear much of and which many of the characters don’t seem to take seriously and yet, as we can see in the convos we DO get and from her shipping wall, she’s one of the deepest thinkers in the cast. She IS a catgirl, but she’s also all this stuff which media with catgirls, and general internet-consensus at the time HS started, would tell you catgirls cant be, and there is no contradiction in that bc the ‘contradiction’ only lives in your head, not reality.

There is a compelling irony in Nepeta, the catgirl, a stock-character who is trophically oversexed and shallow, being shy and thoughtful; a shipper, a stock-character who is trophically driven by enthusiasm, being interested in relationships As A Technical matter; a joke character meant to be disposable being one of the most sincere, and loving, and deeply loved and mourned, characters in the story. And I won’t ignore that, also, her ships are just accurate and good; she knows who will work well together and who won’t; she handles her pain in healthy ways and gives ppl good advice about handling theirs. Nepeta is overlooked and dismissed, by both her peers and the narrative(in the same way fangirls, the foundation of modern fandom, were long overlooked and dismissed before being awarded a FLIPPING HUGO for Ao3), and yet she’s generally one of more insightful voices ON psychological and relationship issues in a story where ppl listening to someone with insight about those things probably would have been super-helpful. Whether intended or not, Nepeta ends up being a commentary on fandom itself in the late 00s and 10s, and an emblem of it today, when we are all catgirls uwu