#like i totally see why people love them and i have enjoyed fics that include stucky but just. idk man.

[thoushallnotfall]

Walkin' After Midnight

Masterlist

Pairing: Marko x Reader

Word Count: 1.8k

Note: *finger guns* Ehhhhh...so it’s been a minute. How ya’ll been? So completely ignoring that’s it’s been...a long time, here’s another of my ‘imagine the boys in a decade prior to the 80s’ fics--and we’re moving right along to the 50s! (and for reference every subsequent fic in this...series(?) including this one are going to be named after songs from their decade because I am incredibly unoriginal. 🙃 I started this...a very long time ago, and then I didn’t like it so I just left it in my WIPs with like 15 other ideas/half-written fics/updates. I still don’t love it, but upon further reflection after the fact I don’t totally hate it--and it was already started so I didn’t have to work as hard to finish it, so there’s that too.

That being said, I'm kind of interested in writing a part 2, so we'll see...taking babysteps here.

(I’m really having to dig deep for these gifs)

Every kid from Santa Carla grew up knowing two things: Don’t go out after dark if you ever want to make it home, and stay away from the greasers who hung around the boardwalk.

It never really occurred to you that those two points could be related.

Unlike a lot of the teenagers in Santa Carla, who’d run there with nowhere else to go, you’d lived there all your life. You’d never left the city, and the older you got the more you doubted you ever would. Your dad had been killed in Vietnam, and your mom was around so little you half expected one day she’d just stop coming back home at all. You may not be one of the runaways, but you were still alone in Santa Carla.

Still, you were young; and while you knew you’d have to find a way to live on your own sooner or later, you decided to try and enjoy what little youth you had left. One day you’d have to grow up and start providing for yourself somehow, but for now you just wanted to live your life to the fullest before that all got taken away.

With that in mind, you’d taken to going to plenty of the dances and social events in town. You didn’t have a curfew, and no one was around to care about where you were, but even so you tried not to be out too late after dark. That’s always when the people went missing--and they never came back.

That’s why it was the first rule of Santa Carla: Don’t go out after dark.

The official numbers were never right, given how many of people who disappeared were runaways, but the amount of missing people in Santa Carla had always been unusually high. The only thing they knew for sure was that they always seemed to vanish at night.

The prevalent theory among many of the local teens was aliens. They came out with their flying saucers and abducted unsuspecting people in the night. Others were more practical--they just thought there was a really good serial killer in town.

It could be anyone! They’d say.

But people have always gone missing in Santa Carla--is he an old man, still killing people in his 70s? Someone else would question.

Okay, so a family of serial killers! They’d say back.

Personally, you had no idea who or what was making people disappear. You only cared about surviving it, and the best way to do that was stay in at night.

Then, there was the second rule of Santa Carla: Stay away from the greasers.

There was a particularly nasty group of punks who usually hung around the Boardwalk at night. No one knew who they were--probably just another group of runaways--but people had grown to know they were trouble. A gang of greasers who didn’t care about the law and would sooner gut a man than say hello. That’s what people said about them, anyway.

So imagine your surprise when you broke both rules in a single night.

--

The night in question started out well enough. You and a friend had gone to the beach in the afternoon, and spent most of the day there. At one point, the two of you had attracted the attention of some boys--who ended up spending the day with you.

So when the sun got low and it was time to leave, your friend decided to accept the invitation of the boys to go get some dinner at the local diner. You however, weren’t as excited about the prospect. Not only did you not want to be out too late, you frankly just weren’t that interested in any of them. Your friend tried to get you to change your mind, but you held firm.

And so it was that your friend headed off with the guys. At least she brought you into town so you wouldn’t have so far to walk to get home. And while you weren’t jazzed about walking home alone you figured you could make it back quick enough that it’d be okay. Unfortunately, it was nearly dark before you even made it back to town--and well into the night by the time you walked past the Boardwalk.

You tried to hurry your way through the crowded streets of tourists and late-night couples walking hand in hand without any trouble. But of course that's exactly what you find.

"Hey there pretty lady, going my way?" A big guy in a varsity sweater asks. He looked like a jock--maybe home from college? You didn't know him, and you certainly didn't want to.

"Sorry, I'm in a hurry." You say, hoping to sidestep him and continue on your way. He moves to stand in front of you.

"Aw, don't be like that doll." He says, looming over you. "I just want to get to know you."

"Well I'm not interested." You say, trying to push past him. He grabs your wrist, squeezing so tight it makes you wince in pain, before he pulls you back.

"Not so fast girlie--we ain't done talking yet." He says, pulling you back.

Oh God, this is it. He's a part of that serial killer family and you're about to get murdered.

Your frantic thoughts are interrupted as the creep let's you go. He screams as he looks to his other side. You follow his gaze and see a greaser with blonde, curly hair standing next to him--them jock's wrist in his hand. He squeezes it tighter and the jock falls to one knee, yelling in pain.

"Don't like it so much on the receiving end, do yah punk?" The boy says, squeezing even tighter. Despite being smaller than the other boys, the greaser was still clearly stronger.

"What the hell man? Let me go!" The jock begs.

"You want me to let you go?" The greaser smirks. "Alright." He lets the guy go, before quickly using his now free hand to punch square in the face. The boy falls back, holding his now bloody face in his hands. The greaser grabs the bleeding boy by the collar and pulls him up, smiling at him. "Now beat it before I decide to get serious." He says, dropping his collar. The boy scrambles up and runs off, holding a hand to his bleeding nose.

You watched him run off, stunned by what had just happened.

"You okay?" The blonde asks, having turned his attention to you. You practically jump out of your shoes.

"What? Oh." You look down at your wrist. "Yeah, it's fine--I mean, um, I'm fine." You stumble through before looking back up at him. "Thank you."

"No problem. Punks like that deserve a good beating." He says, before he smirks. "And I couldn't let him hurt a pretty thing like you, now could I?"

Uh oh, you may have just gone out of the frying pan and into the fire.

"So what's your deal anyway? You know it's not safe walking around alone at night, right?" He asks, ignoring your apprehensive look.

"We'll um," You hesitated, unsure of how much you should say about yourself. "I was out with a friend, but she had other plans. She drove, so..."

"So now you're stuck walking back. I get you." He says. "Pretty uncool of your friend, ditching you like that. But hey, I'll make sure you get home safe."

"What?" You nearly shout. "Um, no really that's not necessary. I'm fine now, so--"

"No way. I already told you--you're way too cute to be out here on your own." He says, cutting off your attempt to protest. "My bike's nearby, let's go."

"I would really hate to put you out," you try once more to worm our way out of the situation, but he wasn't having it.

He smirks, "I offered didn't I? Don't worry about it." He grabs your hand and all but drags you down the block.

Soon enough, you arrive at a parking lot, and he leds you towards a row of four motorcycles lined up in the corner. He lets you go, moving to the bike at the end and throwing his leg over to sit. He looks at you, holding his hand out. You didn't imagine you could get away from him even if you tried, so you took a deep breath and accepted his outstretched hand. He helps you onto the back of the bike, smirking as gravity slide you down towards him.

"So princess, were are we going?" he asks, tilting his head back to look at you sitting behind him. You hesitated giving him your address, but at this point if he wanted to do something nefarious he didn't need to take you home to do it.

You were in too deep now.

You tell him, and he nods, "Yeah, I know the place." He starts the bike, giving you one last smirk as he revves the engine, "Better hold on tight."

Your arms instinctively wrap around his waist as the bike shoots forward. You squeeze tightly, you hear resting on his back. You squeezed your eyes shut, fear coursing through you as your heart beat raced. As much as you knew you should watch where you were heading, you were too scared to open your eyes. He was going fast--very fast--and with each bump and turn, you were sure you would crash and that would be the end of it.

But the two of you didn't crash, and before you knew it the bike slowed to a stop. You dared to open an eye, and saw you sat in front of your house. A little run down and a bit worse for wear, but still yours. You sat up, shocked you had not only survived the ride, but that he had actually brought you home.

"This it?" he asked like he already knew the answer. You turned to him,

"Oh, um--yes, it is."

"Doesn't look like anyone's home," he commented absently, and you felt your shoulders tense.

"Oh, my parents are here--they just go to bed early," you lied. Something told you he knew you weren't telling him the truth, but he didn't say anything.

You hoped off the bike, smiothing out your skirt out of habit. You took a step towards your door, then stopped. You turned, looking back at the smirking, curly-haired boy sitting lazily on his bike.

"Thank you again. For being me home, and for helping me with that other boy," you were still scared of him, but he had helped you. It would be bad manners not to at least thank him for his help.

He laughed to himself, the moonlight catching his blue eyes as he stared back at you.

"Anytime, princess," he replied. He started his bike, glancing back up at you, "I'm Marko, by the way."

"Oh, I'm y/n." You had certainly not planned to tell him your name, but at this point could it really hurt?

"Well, I'll see you around, y/n," he said, his smile wide and mischievous. Before you could say anything more, he rode off down the quiet street, disappearing into the darkness.

#marko the lost boys #the lost boys #marko x reader #the lost boys x reader #the lost boys imagine

[thompsborn]

sorry just the genuine anger people are apparently feeling over a fucking poll ?? like?? it’s just. it’s. it’s “gay pirates or gay soldiers” and that’s literally it. it’s not that serious. it’s fictional characters. if anything at least the pirates actually kissed. like. take an internet break. it’s literally fine.

#i voted for stede and ed because tbh i never liked stucky #like i totally see why people love them and i have enjoyed fics that include stucky but just. idk man. #mcu steve always rubbed me wrong lmao #like i love him but also i’ve been a tony stark stan since i was 8 and the first iron man came out #when the first captain america movie cane out i was like ok cool but tony stark is my dad #also like. stucky is fine i guess. but sambucky is RIGHT THERE and WAY BETTER #anyway if anyone wants to argue about it don’t approach me i literally Don’t Care it’s not worth fighting #there are so many things worth being upset about in this world and fucking gay pirates vs stucky is not one of them lmao

[earthtooz]

x : MY DILUC, MY EVERYTHING :*+ﾟ

in which: you tell diluc that klee finds him 'too boring' to be your boyfriend. he can't help but feel like she's right.

warnings: 1.3k words, insecure diluc who needs a little reassurance, mostly dialogue, klee being cute but also a menace, so much fluff with a dash of angst.

a/n: i have not posted anything in so long, but i wanted this to be my first fic of 2024 because i love diluc <3 i hope you all enjoy this little fic!

“What do you mean Mr Diluc is your boyfriend?” Klee asks, tilting her head to the side with an inquisitive look in her eyes as you bend down to her height.

“I mean that Mr Diluc is my boyfriend. My partner. We’ve been together for years now.” 

“You mean that Mr Diluc, right?” She raises a tiny hand in the direction where the red-haired in question stands. He’s immersed in conversation with Kaeya and Jean, but from one glance you can tell the estranged brothers are up to no good. Or rather, that Kaeya is having the time of his life provoking your partner.

“That’s the one. I think he’s the only one, Klee.”

Her pointer finger then comes up to her chin in contemplation, and her breath of contemplation materialises as a small cloud, condensating in the winter chill. “Why?”

“What do you mean, why?”

“Why is he your boyfriend?”

“Well, why wouldn’t he be?”

“No offence to Mr Diluc, but he’s so cold and boring!” She cries, clenching her fists to her chest, as if being ‘boring’ was a crime to humanity. “And he never smiles. He should smile more but I would find him scarier like that… so maybe he should stay the way he is: a total gloomy bum bum!”

You can’t help but laugh at her honest statement, muffling the noise with your hand. She blinks at you and wonders what she said that made you laugh, but you simply tell her that it’s nothing.

“Maybe, but I love that ‘gloomy bum bum’ just the way he is.”

“But… why? Y/n is so kind and knows how to smile! Mr Diluc is too sad and boring for you.”

Over the course of your relationship with the wine monopolist, you were met with resistance from various people who believed they wanted ‘the best’ for him. These were including, butand not limited to, businessmen, his admirers, and old aristocrats with wealth on the brink of collapsing. You never let their passive aggressiveness get to you, their comments burned to ashes by the way Diluc lights the way for you with his undying flames. 

Yet hearing a child, who has no real grip of the world beyond explosions and how not to blow up Monstadt, explain that Diluc shouldn’t be with you because he doesn’t know how to smile is… unbelievable. Her intentions are nothing but pure for her knowledge of the world has not yet been tainted by the nuance of human behaviour. As refreshing as it feels to have her support, any insults you hear about Diluc are unpleasant to hear. Though she may not hold any malice, perhaps her judge of character needs to be deepened.

“Sometimes, the coldest people are really the warmest,” you begin, gently wrapping her scarf around her neck. “Mr Diluc is one of those people.”

“Really?”

“Warmer than a fireplace, or a Pyro Crystalfly, or Jumpty Dumpty.”

Her eyes widen. “Really?”

“Yes, but please don’t go blowing one up just to see how warm it can be. Jean already told you about the animals hibernating during winter, you shouldn’t go disturbing them.”

She tucks her hands behind her back, eyes downcast and ears flopped.

“Do you remember when Albedo took you to Dragonspine and when you melted a chunk of ice, crystalflies flew out of it?”

“They were so pretty and became super warm! I wish I caught one of them, but they flew away too quickly.”

“Mr Diluc is just like that ice with the fireflies. You just need to warm up to him and when you do, he can be one of the best people you’ll ever meet.”

“Will he fly away too?”

“You could keep an eye on him and find out.”

She nods, determination alighting in her eyes with the new task you assign her. Although you’re pretty positive she won’t ever succeed with it, you’re just happy you’ve found a way to show Klee that your lover isn’t as terrible as she deems. A flash of familiar red hair appears in your periphery.

“Dear?” He calls, capturing your attention. “Shall we head into the tavern now? It’s too cold to stay out here.”

Sparing one last glance at Klee who regards your partner with fire in her eyes, you can’t help but smile at the pure innocence in her heart. With a ruffle of her hair as goodbye, you take Diluc’s hand and stand, waving goodbye to the rest of the group before heading in the direction of Angel’s Share. Shuddering, you sink deeper into the wool of your coat and the warmth of his Pyro Vision, a perfect combat to the winter frost that’s covered Monstadt.

“You know,” you begin when both of you have arrived at the empty tavern and the red-haired has a fire started in the corner. He urges you to continue with a soft ‘hum’. “The conversation I had with Klee just won’t leave my head.”

“Oh? What’d she say?”

Sitting down on a cold stool, you keep your gaze on him as he walks behind the counter. It seems like he’s preparing drinks and snacks for you: some cheese, crackers, and grapes.

“First of all, she only found out today that I was dating you.”

“Oh? Jean or Albedo haven’t told her before?”

“I guess neither of us appear that much in conversation together. But she refused to believe it at first, being like ‘you mean that Mr Diluc?’, ‘why is he your boyfriend?’,” you laugh. “She thought that you were too gloomy to be with me and that I should be with someone who knows how to smile.”

His cheese knife halts, the sound of metal meeting wood slicing through the atmosphere. However, you’re too engrossed in retelling the story to notice the way he freezes.

“How silly. Kids really have the wildest presumptions and thoughts to match.”

Diluc continues preparing the food, stiff hands moving along the counter. You don’t say more than that, saving further conversation for when he’s done. As he sets the arrangement of crackers, cheese, and grapes down, it’s accompanied by a heavy sigh.

“What if… she’s right?” Asks the winery owner, voice no louder than a whisper.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“I did, but I don’t understand why you think that way too.”

“Well, smiling isn’t my strong suit anymore and I’ve been told by the knights that the children find my expression too scary.”

“You know anyone can smile, right?” You ask jovially. “It’s not like a statistical impossibility-“

“It’s not just that,” he interjects sharply. Your smile fades, acknowledging Diluc’s sombre expression that clarified he wasn’t joking around like you thought. However, seeing the change in your attitude sobered him and that sharp glance fades, turning into something remorseful and softer. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap like that.”

“No no, it’s my fault for not taking you seriously. Please, go on.”

“I’m quite boring, you know.” He fiddles with the ends of his leather gloves. “Did you never think that maybe what Klee said could be correct?”

“Never because she’s not correct. Honestly, Diluc, after all these years of being together and hearing what some people have to say about us, I never thought you’d think like this.” 

He casts his gaze downwards. “Because those people don’t know me like you do.” 

Two hands come up to cup his cheeks, gently directing him to look up at you and meet your kind expression. All inhibitions he had melt away at the sight of your smile.

“I can only hope they never do,” you reply simply, confidence lacing your words. 

Being with him is not easy. He is a busy man, one who manages the entirety of Monstadt’s wine business during the day and takes to the shadows to look after your beloved city at night. Yet, despite working with the sun and moon, he still gives all of him to you. For as long as Diluc will allow it, you hope to be the only person he’ll pick baskets of grapes with, play slow games of chess with, and freely lay out his convictions to. 

You’ll be damned to give up your spot beside him without a fight.

Diluc doesn’t believe he deserves the same. “You’re too patient with me. I’ve let you down too much for you to be this forgiving,” he grabs your wrists and gently knocks his forehead against yours. “I can’t give you everything you want.”

“You’re my Diluc, you already are everything.”

© EARTHTOOZ 2024, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

#earthtooz: genshin impact #diluc x reader #diluc ragnvindr x reader #diluc x y/n #genshin diluc #genshin fic #diluc x reader fluff #diluc fluff #genshin x reader

[thinkingaboutjaedyn]

Hi! Love your writing!

Would you be able to write an aitana bonmati fic? Where the reader and aitana have been together for a while, but the reader is always jokingly flirting with her? Thank you!

lovely jokester ( aitana bonmati x reader )

prompt: your favorite pastime is to make flirty jokes towards your girlfriend

author notes: thank you! i hope you like this and it's what you wanted. tbh this fic is shorter than i wanted it to be but i wanted to post it anyways. enjoy!

you and aitana have been together for almost three years now. being with her has been one of the best relationships you ever had and very fun considering you two both play for barcelona. however you love to keep aitana on her toes. playing harmless pranks on her, saying obviously untrue things to try to trick her, and much more.

your favorite thing is do is definitely make corny flirty jokes towards the spainard. she always acts like she hates it, especially infront of other people, but you and her both know that she loves that part of you.

everyone was changing in the locker room, conversing with each other when you decide to strike once again. smirking as you look at aitana from across the room. she could feel your eyes on her (she knew by heart how you looked at her) but didn't think much of it. you had just pranked her yesterday so it wouldn't make sense to prank her again. you're a prankster, not evil.

good thing you weren't about to prank her. just show your girlfriend some love. you (try to) quietly sneak up behind aitana. she obviously can hear your footsteps even over the conversation between y'all's teammates. still the spainish player continues to slip her jersey on. laughing softly once you hug her from behind. planting a kiss on her cheek. "hola hermosa" you smile mischievously at her. aitana turns her a bit to look at you, with you two's foreheads touching. "hola bebe, what are you doing?" she says quietly.

you smile at her with that little mischievous smile you always do before pulling a prank on her. before she can even react you say (loud enough for the whole locker room to hear), "did it hurt when you fell from heaven?"

aitana bursts out laughing, pushing you away gently. half of your teammates laugh as well and the other half just groan. you see alexia roll her eyes as she walks out. aitana had pushed you right into lucy's arms. "you're so.." your girlfriend roll her eyes in mock displeasure. you would respond with something snarky, but lucy had you in a headlock.

"i'm tired of you and those cringey pick-up lines" lucy says as she messes up your hair. "i am too" claudia says as she pasts by you and lucy to leave the locker room. you gasp out as the rest of your teammates agree. including your girlfriend.

"why is everyone ganging up on me?" you say as lucy lets you go. she also heads out of the locker room. leaving just aitana and you in the room. your girlfriend comes over to you, giving you a short kiss on the lips. smiling once she pulls away, "yes, it did hurt, amor."

you give her a cocky smirk as she lets go of you and leave out of the room. one win for you and those horrible jokes.

you and aitana were enjoying a lazy saturday, cuddling in y'all's bed. aitana has her face nuzzled in your neck with your arms around her waist but of course you had to break up the simple domesticity by making another flirty joke.

"you know, amor..." you say in that tone aitana knows way too well. she groans as she tries to place her hand over your mouth. as an effort to silence you, but to no use as you hold her wrist and stop her. "i'm so glad your father came in your mother. without them i wouldn't have my beautiful girlfriend" you say before bursting out laughing.

your girlfriend gets her wrist out of your grip as you laugh even louder. she punches you in the shoulder, groaning. "just shut up.." the spainish players rolls up off of you and grabs her phone. starting to scroll to find her mother's contact. "and i am totally telling her you said that," she says.

"wait! don't! i'm sorry, please don't tell" you playfully beg as you try to reach for aitana's phone. she slaps your hands away. "c'mon, if you tell than i won't be the favorite girlfriend in law anymore" you whine as you stop trying to be a phone thief.

"should had thought about that before you decided to make that stupid joke" aitana says as she puts her phone up to her ear. very ready to tell her mother exactly what you said.

sometimes your jokes backfire and this is one of those times. one loss for you and one win for aitana.

#aitana bonmati x reader #aitana bonmati #woso x reader #woso fanfics #barca femeni

[yourheart-inmyhands]

I’m here to add onto the idea/request of a previous fic with the archons with a reader who is a fallen god/archon. So instead of reader being banished or overthrown like how the archons may think.. turns out reader/old text books were keeping something from them. Reader faked their death (like another certain archon *cough* *cough* zhongli) and when pressed into why they faked their death. All that reader says is ‘I fell in love with a human centuries ago yada yada and gave up some of my powers and status’ yeah turns out they’ve been human for a couple hundred years and still held onto their god like powers and life span😭. So reader is all like ‘I can be an archon if I do desire again. BUT I grew used to living as a human and I’ve gotten used to you 🫶’ (totally not because they don’t want to resume their duties and explain to their citizens why they were “dead” for a couple centuries) 

hi i only did venti and zhongli for this because i'm trying to cut back to 2-3 characters per post so if you want to see the other two feel free to requests them! i'll be sure to attend to it quickly since i technically shorted you on this one, which i apologize for, i hope you still enjoy it :D

Warning: this post contains yandere-themes, including delusional behaviors, obsessive behaviors, mentions of implied violence, mentions of nations being destroyed, and other potential topics. Please read at your own risk!

Yandere!Venti feels jealous at first, you had loved someone else? But he quickly gets over it, focusing on the fact that you were in fact, technically an Archon. He couldn’t guess which one you were, so you’d have to tell him, but he’d be fascinated to hear about the stories of who your people used to be. It’s pretty clear that wherever you used to is no longer an existing place, the Archon war having wiped out any nation and their God that could not hold themself up against the powerful beings. Venti feels a sick satisfaction at the idea that he may have been responsible for destroying your previous region, he thinks it’s funny.

Venti listens as you tell of your previous home, your people and their land, your first love. He doesn’t care to think of who your first love was, praising the fact that they were dead right now and he was alive and here with you. He tries to remember back to the Archon War, trying to think of who had been responsible for wiping out your nation. It was a long time ago and with many smaller gods culled so that the strongest seven could remain in control. Venti hopes it was him who had the pleasure of destroying your lands, he thinks it would be a cute little coincidence that he had destroyed your people whilst you pretended to be mortal and ran around with a human man. He tells you that you don’t need to return to Archon status, that no one was waiting for you, and if you weren’t careful one of the others might step out of line and execute you. He would never let it happen, but he uses it as a scare tactic, wanting to keep you weaker and more human, below him.

Yandere!Zhongli would find it curious, his extensive memory bringing back the exact playthrough of what had happened back then. He remembers hearing of a lesser god passing, he remembers smiling, taking advantage of your ‘passing’ back then to overtake your land. He doesn’t bring it up to you, not wanting to tarnish his perfect image of himself in your mind. 

It was kind of sickening, that Zhongli could remember way back, back when he still went by Morax, back when killing off weaker gods was something more commonplace. You had passed mysteriously, leaving behind a godless nation with no one to protect it. And Morax was all for having the upper hand. He didn’t bring it up as you reminisced about your days in power, contemplating about returning. “Who left is there to return to? In this day and age you couldn’t gather a following without it being seen as a declaration of war to one of the currently throned seven, me included.” It’s a subtle way of putting it but Zhongli made it clear that it was best you continued to lay low, lest physical action need be taken, Zhongli included. The man much preferred that you say weaker and below him on the food chain, in your place, where he could easily assert his control over you.

#genshin x reader #genshin x male reader #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin x male reader #venti x reader #venti x male reader #yandere venti x reader #yandere venti x male reader #zhongli x reader #zhongli x male reader #yandere zhongli x reader #yandere zhongli x male reader #yandere venti #yandere zhongli #yandere genshin

[veronicaphoenix]

Title: Into the Abyss of Bad Habits — Epilogue | Words: 16.4k

Author's note: Get yourselves a few cups of coffee ready (or tea, for those who are more into it or have an addiction like myself) because this is super long and it's full of sweetness, fluff, and horny men utterly in love with their girl.

This takes place a year and a half after part 3.

Tags & trigger warnings: polyamorous relationship, three people totally in love with each other that go on a very-much-deserved vacation, a bit of implied angst at the beginning, but mostly kinky men, men tied-up, sexual content including p in v (unprotected), oral (both m. and f. receiving), face-sitting, accidental biting, light choking, implied anal sex, dirty talk, praise kink, (a lot of kinks actually, if you start squinting), and probably another bunch of things that I'm forgetting because this epilogue is really long, so forgive me.

This is dedicated to @blessedwithabadomen because without her, half of this fic would probably not exist. Thank you for your constant support and love on this work, and for helping me sort out the writing for the last parts of this story, and for your reassurance whenever I was drowning in self-doubt 🥹 Also, please, if you haven't, go check out her story: In love with the mess. You will truly not be disappointed, and it's just about to get so so so good! Couldn't feel more blessed and thankful for the effort and dedication she's putting into that work ✨ Thank you, L. 🤍

A year and a half later 

London, United Kingdom

Heathrow Airport was buzzing with activity when our plane touched down from LAX in the late afternoon. 

            Noah and I had purposely booked a night flight to ease our jetlag once we hit the UK. It was one of those rare times we were traveling purely for some well-deserved vacation, a break from the hectic schedules of work and touring with Bad Omens. But despite spending the night in the plane, Noah was desperate to unclip his seat belt, get out of the airport with a strong coffee in hand, get to the hotel, and throw himself on the bed. Trying to catch some sleep on the flight was always a struggle for him with his long frame squished into those tiny seats. And I wasn't exactly well-rested either; but I was too excited to see Oliver.

            Our last time together —the three of us— had been nearly two months back in the US at a festival where Bring Me The Horizon and Bad Omens were playing. Even though we were all committed to the relationship and always managed to make time for each other —traveling back and forth whenever possible—, those chance encounters were always a bonus and we enjoyed them all the same. 

            We were still figuring out how to deal with the distance. BMTH had been around for a while, so Oliver had more freedom to move from one place to another, hence why we had been talking about him moving over to the States. We had, in fact, checked some houses in different neighborhoods a while ago, but we hadn’t decided anything yet, beginning with the fact that we had a budget and the houses we saw exceeded it, especially the one I fell in love with. Moving to the UK ourselves wasn't really on the cards, not with Bad Omens still climbing their way to the top and Noah’s and I’s residence being in the America.

            For the past couple of months, we'd been counting down the days until we could see Oliver again. Noah wasn’t very vocal about it, but he was just as eager as I was. Right now, however, he was probably just thinking about grabbing the hotel room key and crashing out in bed for a solid night's sleep. The streets of London could wait for us until next morning. 

            Despite how good things were now, there had been tough days, of course.

            When the UK NextGen tour ended, Oliver wasted no time in buying a plane ticket to join us for the last week of Bad Omens' tour across Europe. However, once the end approached, the farewell was imminent. Noah and I were eager to return home. He was obviously more exhausted than the rest of us. He lacked hours of sleep, and his body was beginning to feel the strain.

            The farewell was bittersweet. There were tears and hugs that lingered too long. What hurt the most was witnessing the final embrace between Noah and Oliver.

            During the time we spent together in Europe, their relationship had grown significantly. The fact that the three of us were in a polyamorous relationship played a big part, but it also seemed like they had found each other after a long time as friends. On one occasion, during one of Bad Omens' day off in Europe, I found the two of them napping in the hotel room when I had slipped away to the nearest Starbucks for a Caramel Macchiato. The sight of them lost in their dreams, cuddled up next to each other in bed, was so tender that it felt like my heart would burst. I kept a picture of that moment stored safely on my phone. 

            Nevertheless, however peaceful that moment was, there were hard moments that had to happen for us to be where we stood right now. There was jealousy, of course. While I never stopped feeling loved by both of them, even when they had their moments and spent hours away from me, focused on their work and making music together, the feeling wasn't the same for Oliver and Noah. It was inevitable because an ocean separated us, and at some point they started feeling that I spent more time with the other. Their heated argument in Oliver’s house the previous summer had thankfully resolved this issue, regardless of both ending up sleeping on the sofa. The good thing about that week in Sheffield was that the drop that spilled the cup killed two birds in one go, resolving the tension that had been building between Noah and Oliver because they refused to acknowledge that they wanted each other the same way they wanted me. 

The image of both of them angry was not a pretty one. Seeing them unleash those demons on stage could be very fun and exciting, but when it was at home, it wasn't pleasant at all. Luckily, we were in a much better place right now and that was part of the past. After that heated fight that nearly got physical, things got so much better. During that trip, we canceled the plans we had for the few days we had left in Sheffield, and decided to spend them holed up at Oliver's house, focusing on resolving our issues, insecurities, and fears, and making up for the lack of affection from the previous days. The reconciliation was so effusive that every time after discussing doubts and possible conflicts that might arise and the solution to these, we ended up having wild sex, and by the time our time together came to an end, we had blessed every corner and nook of Oliver's house, we had used up three boxes of condoms, and we had left the marks of our hands and knees on glass, furniture, and windows.

            This time, a year later, the plan was to  embark on a road trip to the Lake District, where Oliver had booked a chalet. Sheffield was on the way, so we would make a quick stop to pick up Luna. But first, we were to stay in London for three days. I had booked tickets to the Jack the Ripper Museum and to the Harry Potter studios, and I wanted to get to know the city a bit better, so I had planned a route along the Thames and through Camden Town.  

            The moment I spotted Oliver standing right outside the arrival gates at the airport, his smile widened, mirroring mine. Leaving Noah with the luggage, I hurried over to him, and he caught me in his arms. I wrapped my limbs around him, inhaling his scent, feeling his warmth and every other thing offered by his sole being. 

            “Hi, love,” he greeted. 

            “Hi,” I responded, giving him a gentle kiss. “I missed you.”

            “So have I,” Noah chimed in from behind, his voice sounding a tad annoyed as he maneuvered the trolley laden with our suitcases. “I’m the one that needs to be held, by the way.”

            With a laugh, I disentangled myself from Oliver and watched as he closed the distance to Noah. Their embrace was tight, their kiss passionate, and I couldn’t help but grin at the sight. 

            “Long flight?” Oliver inquired. 

            “Just like every other time, but it’s not the flight that’s the issue,” Noah replied. 

            “It’s the long legs,” I interjected.

            “We’ll book you a masseur once we’re at the hotel,” Oliver suggested, wrapping his arm around Noah’s shoulders. 

            I furrowed my brow at the suggestion.

            “Noah doesn’t need a masseur,” I stated, feeling offended. Stepping back slowly as we started to move towards the exit, I kept my eyes on them. They both seemed to find my reaction amusing, their grins widening. I couldn’t help but soften, a smile betraying my feigned offense. 

            Oliver reached out and tousled my hair, which I didn’t mind. After the long flight, I was already a mess. I sidled up next to him, tilting my head to kiss his jaw as the three of us made our way out of the airport. 

As soon as we stepped into the hotel room in London, Noah dropped his bags and collapsed face-first onto the extra-large bed. Following suit, Oliver removed Noah’s shoes from his feet, which dangled over the edge of the bed. It always struck me how Noah managed to make everything seem small in comparison. 

            Oliver removed Noah’s socks and began massaging his tired feet, paying no mind to the fact that both Noah and I desperately needed a shower. Despite offering to make him coffee or order food, Noah declined, already on the brink of sleep. Before drifting off, however, he mentioned that I must be hungry and suggested Oliver and I go out to eat while he took a nap. 

            With that, Oliver and I left Noah to rest (ensuring to hang the ‘do not disturb’ sign on the door) and set out to find a nearby spot for a quick meal. Despite the weariness of our journey, the stroll was a welcome relief for my legs. As we walked, Oliver would occasionally reach out to take my hand, his touch sending a warm flutter through me. He would also point out little details of the cityscape that he knew I would appreciate while filling me up with updates from work and about his family.

            Eventually, we settled for a vegan cheese roll with falafels from a quaint street vendor. As we sat on a bench, heleaned in close, brushing a strand of hair away from my face with gentle fingers. The simple act sent a shiver down my spine, and I couldn't help but lean into his touch, feeling the weight of the journey melt away in his presence.

            By the time we finished eating, my head was resting on Oliver's shoulder, and I could feel myself drifting off, surrounded by the hustle and bustle of the city. We felt like carefree teenagers who had just escaped from class but weren’t quite ready to head home yet. Despite the usual surge of excitement that swept over me whenever the three of us were reunited in the same city, my body felt drained. No matter how hard I tried to summon energy from within, each bite of food seemed to weigh me down further, and Oliver’s constant attentiveness, his arms wrapping around me at every opportunity, only intensified the sensation. 

            “How is he doing?” He asked suddenly, his fingers trailing gently along the curve of my skull. He was referring to Noah. 

            In an instant, memories flooded back, a torrent of emotions crashing against the walls of my mind. Bad Omens was on a deadline to get their new record ready before summer’s end, and the pressure had ensnared Noah in a relentless grasp. Consumed by his passion, as typical of him, he had neglected his mental health, and us. Noah had moved into my apartment during the summer before, but the moment he started working intensively in new music, he had practically moved back to the confines of the house he shared with Jolly, Jesse, and Orie. What began as weekday absences soon stretched into weekends lost, then an entire month slipped through and we hadn’t spent not even one night in each other’s arms. He was going to the gym and keeping track of his diet, but the problem was that he was not taking a break. Of course, we were having sex, but sometimes it felt devoid of passion, as if it was a job that had to be done and left me adrift in a sea of longing. He had also started to miss Oliver’s calls, especially the ones after I had talked to Oliver myself and I had cried over the phone, asking him to please come to Los Angeles or get me on a flight to England.  

            “Much better,” I murmured, drawing in a breath heavy with the weight of the obstacles we’d had to overcome the previous months. 

            Memories of the night in which I couldn’t hold it any longer flooded my senses. I had been in Noah’s house, waiting for an hour for a date that he had obviously forgotten about. When tears started cascading down my cheeks, Jolly and Jesse intervened and got his ass out of the studio. Noah’s eyes were red and his hair greasy. 

            “I guess seeing me having a breakdown did something to him. He looked shaken. Scared, even. And after that…” I sighed, relieved. “He's trying harder now, focusing on everything else that also matters.” Us. “He talked to his therapist and he’s managing things in a different way. He’s going to be okay. And we’ll be ok, too.”

            Looking into Oliver’s earthy eyes, I could see his relief. He had been absent most of those difficult times, and he’d been worried about Noah and about me, his concern also getting the worst of him at times. At some point he’d been this close to dropping his own job stuff and getting on a plane to come be with me and give Noah a good spanking. Thankfully, it never came to that. Things got better. Now, we were reunited again, the three of us. We were better, trying every day, and supporting each other through our imperfections.  

            As we made our way back to the hotel room an hour later, I stopped at a Starbucks to get a cup of Noah’s favorite coffee. I hadn’t been able to resist a few sips, the familiar taste being a comforting distraction from my fatigue. 

            Noah was awake and fresh from a shower when we entered the room, emerging from the bathroom wrapped in a towel that barely covered him from the waist down, his damp hair clinging to his temples and forehead. Even though I had witnessed this sight countless times before and could conjure it up in my mind whenever I pleased, it never failed to stir something primal within me. 

            “I brought you coffee,” I managed to say, my throat feeling suddenly dry as I handed him the cup. 

            “My angel,” he replied, his lips curling into a grateful smile as he took the Starbucks cup from my hand and brought it to his lips. 

            His gaze shifted to Oliver as he sipped the coffee. Oliver approached him, passing by me with a mischievous half-smile, and ran a finger down Noah’s chest, trailing down to his navel. Before he could say anything, Noah’s free hand shot out, gripping Oliver’s wrist, preventing him from venturing any further. 

            “Let me finish my coffee first,” Noah murmured, his voice low and husky. 

            Oliver responded with a throaty laugh, the sound sending a jolt of anticipation coursing through the room. 

            I couldn’t find rest until nightfall came. Despite my insistence that Noah and Oliver let me catch some much-needed sleep in bed while they entertained themselves on the sofa in the room, they conspired together to convince me otherwise. They argued that it would be better for me to expend the last of my energy and then enjoy a more restful deeper sleep. 

            As if our first night together each time we reunited was ever a night of rest, of course. 

            How naïve I was to entertain such notion, considering that I always allowed them to have their way with me both before and after dinner. 

The first day in London was a whirlwind, leaving Noah and me feeling drained and struggling to regain our footing. The subsequent days, thankfully, unfolded at a gentler pace. We indulged in the luxury of sleeping in and enjoying breakfast in our room, accompanied by tender moments of cuddling, sweet kisses, and the occasional lustful touch. 

            While I briefly talked to my brother on the phone the second morning, Noah took out his MacBook from his bag and started working, which caused Oliver to scold him because we had all agreed that this vacation would be work-free. I couldn't help but shoot Noah a disapproving look, too, which quickly transformed into a gentle shoulder rub and a heartfelt conversation. I couldn’t stay mad at him for too long. I reminded him that he didn't need to be so hard on himself and that it was perfectly acceptable to disconnect from work for a while. Nothing would happen. 

            I understood, though, that part of Noah’s reluctance to let go stemmed from his deep-seated fear of everything that he had built crashing down the moment he stepped away from his responsibilities. For months —even years— I’d been trying to help him to get rid of this fear, but Noah’s stubbornness matched his dedication to his work. Bad Omens was everything to him. When he had nothing, he had the band. I knew I wasn’t the perfect role model in this regard, but I was making an effort to help him let go, offering some reassurance that morning in London as I massaged his tense shoulders and tempted him with the multitude of activities we could do during our time in the city. 

I’d been to Camden Town before, but spending the day with Oliver and Noah proved to me much more fun and memorable. We lost ourselves in the maze of market stalls, where eccentric vendors tried to sell their stuff with infectious enthusiasm, and stumbled upon a booth selling quirky hats and accessories, where we tried on an assortment of those, collapsing into fits of laughter as we admired ourselves in the mirrors. 

            But the highlight of that day came when we stumbled upon a street performer—a magician with gloved hands and a twinkle in his eyes. He made us stop by pointing towards me insistently with a finger. I would have ignored it weren’t it for Oliver, who pulled me, and per consequent, Noah, who has holding onto my other hand, to stand in front of the man. He took out a deck of cards from his pocket, and without uttering a word, he made me choose one of them. I couldn’t see them for they were facing down. I didn’t take long to choose one and flip it around to be met with a card called the Ace of Pentacles. I raised an eyebrow, for I had no clue what it meant, and by the look on Oliver and Noah’s faces, they didn’t know, either. 

            For the first time, the magician spoke with a grin on his face. 

            “Something new will be offered to you, young lady.” 

            “Something new?” I repeated automatically. 

            Noah let go of my hand. When I turned to him, he was glaring at the man with a mix of suspicion and disbelief. The man moved his eyebrows up and down as he stared at Oliver and Noah. I followed the movement of his eyes, expecting either one of the boys to say something to me. 

            But they said nothing. Oliver handed the man a few coins and pulled me away from him.       “What was that about?” I asked as he hurried me through the people crowding the alleyways. 

            “Just some street magic,” Oliver replied, his tone casual, but his eyes betraying a hint of unease. 

            Noah, still struggling to keep pace with Oliver’s determined strides, wrapped his arms around me from behind. “Yeah, just a gimmick,” he chimed in, his voice a soft murmur against my hair. 

            “He was definitely trying to tell me something.”

            Oliver glanced at me, his brow furrowing slightly. “It’s just a street performer, love. They say things to entertain.” 

            “He was probably just trying to keep the act interesting,” Noah added. 

            “That’s why you’re both trying so hard to dismiss his words?” 

            “That’s what you think we’re doing?” Noah replied.

            “You’re being blatantly obvious.” 

            Oliver shared a look with Noah and then shook his head. I slapped his chest, demanding his attention. He replied by wrapping his arms around me and muttering his next words between gritted teeth. 

            “Just let it go, babydoll. Don’t be so stubborn and let things be.” They were definitely hiding something, but it was also obvious that they were not going to say anything. “How about we grab something to eat? I’m starving.”

            The idea of food was a welcome distraction, and I nodded eagerly in agreement. 

            Together, we weaved our way through the maze of food stalls, the tantalizing aroma of various cuisines wafting through the air. We settled in when we found a free spot, and the tension seemed to dissipate. 

            But try as I might, I couldn't shake the nagging suspicion that the cryptic words from that man had a meaning, maybe something that somehow involved Oliver and Noah, and perhaps even me. I had more reason to believe that when I caught them talking about it again after they thought I had wandered to a vintage toys stall in the underground area of Camden Town. 

            “That was some creepy shit back there, man,” Noah said to him. “How the hell did he know?”

            “He didn’t know anything,” Oliver retorted, trying to sound confident in his words, but he failed miserably, and he knew it. 

            “Dude,” Noah replied, insistent. “I saw the look on your face.”

            “Well, I prefer to ignore it, or better: let’s get her s—…”

            I couldn’t grasp the rest of the conversation because a group of teenagers accidentally pushed me and pulled me further from Noah and Oliver, dragging me to the opposite side of the shop with useless apologies and giggles. I sent them a sullen look and made my way out, looking for my boys. 

            I found them after a few minutes, coming out from a packed shop in a corner that was surrounded from every corner, top, bottom, and sides, by merchandising from different movies, series, and bands.          

            Noah was putting his wallet  back in the front pocket of his jeans while Oliver carried a quite big box. I raised an eyebrow. 

            “What did you buy?” I asked when I was in front of them. The three of us moved slightly to the side to let the tourists move through the narrow alleys. 

            “Something for you,” Oliver said. “Noah told me you’ve spent the last couple of weeks watching Chucky so…”

            “We got you a Tiffany,” Noah finished as Oliver faced the front of the box to me. 

            I blinked as the replica of Tiffany Valentine stared back at me with her singular smile. She was dressed in her wedding gown and a biker’s jacket, and she looked just as malicious as she was in the movies.

            “Oh, my God, guys,” I held the box, keeping it at a fair distance to examine the details of the doll. “This must have costed a fortune. What were you thinking?!”

            “That crazy guy back there said that something would be offered to you so… I guess he was right, after all,” Noah replied.

            I licked my lips and looked at them with a face that said, “seriously?”. But how could I neglect the joy at the fact that they had thought about gifting me a collectible of this magnitude?

            “Where are we going to keep her? In the room? You’ll both get freaked out in the middle of the night if you get up to go to the bathroom.” 

            “We’ll go together, holding hands,” Oliver joked. 

            And with our laughs mixing with the sounds of the market, we moved forward. 

            Come evening, we made our way back to the city center and enjoyed a warm copious meal in a restaurant in Covent Garden. 

            The next day, walking along the banks of the Thames, hand in hand with my boys, the whispering breeze brushing against our skin, we sipped hot chocolates. I was holding Oliver’s hand while relishing in the drink when I noticed Noah walking angrily at a certain distance. I let go of Oliver’s hand, earning a shocked look from him. 

            “You can’t both hold one of my hands and still expect me to hold a cup of hot chocolate. Don’t be so dramatic.” 

            With our voices mingling with the voices of other tourists and pedestrians, we walked the long way from Westminster to the Tower Bridge, sharing stolen kisses. While in London, we also hopped on the Jack the Ripper tour,shivering with excitement and clinging to each other as we delved into the city's darker past. Then, to lighten the mood, we ventured to the Harry Potter Studios, where Oliver couldn't resist teasing Noah relentlessly, suggesting how good he would look with Harry Potter’s glasses and a tunic, with nothing underneath. Noah's flushed cheeks and playful slaps on Oliver's chest only fueled the laughter that echoed through the magical halls.

The day we left London in Oliver’s Range Rover had me feeling a bit jittery, especially after we made our pit stop in Sheffield for lunch and to pick up Luna before heading to Cumbria. 

            While I busied myself with packing groceries that Oliver had in the fridge and that would expire soon, I overheard the boys chatting upstairs. Being the naturally curious (and maybe slightly nosy person that I was when it came to those two), I had the intuition that they were discussing something they didn’t want me to hear. It wouldn’t have been the first time they’d done that, after all. Plus, I still remembered that one time they argued and roared like lions to each other in this very room, accusing each other of hogging all my time. 

            I climbed the stairs, Luna trotting faithfully behind me with her tail wagging happily. When I peeked into Oliver’s study —a spot where he and Noah often locked themselves to work together—, I found them both bent over the computer screen, looking all serious. But as they noticed me, Oliver quickly closed his laptop. 

            “Is something wrong?” I inquired casually.

            “Nothing,” they replied simultaneously, their responses lacking conviction.  

            Noah brushed past me, planting a quick kiss on the crown of my head before smoothly transitioning to ask about our trip preparations. It was clear that he was attempting to steer the conversation away. 

            “What were you talking about?” I pressed. 

            “Work,” Oliver replied tersely, his tone final. “I’m sorry. That was the last of it. We’ll stay away from all of it during the trip.” 

            You better, I wanted to reply. 

            However, I wasn’t entirely convinced, and not in regards to this last statement. Perhaps they were simply hashing out some night scenario that involved sex toys and all those things they liked to use when the three of us were in bed. The thought momentarily eased my apprehension, though a part of me couldn’t shake the feeling that they were hiding something.  

The trip to Cumbria took about two hours from Sheffield. We made a brief stop in a rural village to allow Luna a chance to stretch her legs while we refueled the car and enjoyed a cup of coffee and a snack. 

            Arriving at the chalet by Ullswater Lake just after five in the afternoon, the warm glow of the summer sun still lingered, promising us a few more hours of daylight to enjoy. After receiving the keys from the chalet host and familiarizing ourselves with the property, we decided to take a walk by the lakeside and play with Luna, who seemed even more static than the three of us at the prospect of spending a few days away from home.

            The serenity of the countryside quickly enveloped us, offering a respite from the hustle and bustle of our lives in the city. While Oliver and Noah unloaded the luggage, I decided to stay on the porch, basking in the new surroundings and peaceful ambiance. All I could hear was the birdsong, the rustle of leaves, and the gentle lapping of water against the shore. 

            “Doll, you comin’ in?” Oliver’s voice broke through my moment of enchantment as he enveloped me in his arms.

            “Yeah,” I replied with contentment, leaning into his touch. 

            “We’re going to have a good time here,” he mused. 

            I hummed in agreement, savoring the intimacy of the moment and wrapping my arms around my middle, where his kept me securely pressed against his chest. 

            “Especially our pretty boy back there,” he teased, casting a playful glance over his shoulder towards the inside of the house, where Noah was. 

            “Thank you for doing this for him,” I acknowledged.

            “I know he needs it the most, but this is for all of us,” he explained, a hint of exhaustion creeping into his voice as he recalled the challenging months leading up to this moment. “We haven’t had proper holidays the three of us together since… forever.”

            “We’ve been dating for a year and a half,” I reminded him, unable to suppress a smile at his melodramatic flair.  

            He responded with a mock growl, his actions sparking laughter between us. 

            “Come on, let’s go in. You’re going to love the bedroom.”

            He led the way inside. 

            The interior of the house had a rustic charm, with wooden planks adorning the walls and ceiling. The sofa faced the towering windows that stretched from floor to ceiling, offering an uninterrupted vista of the swaying trees and the tranquil expanse of the lake, its surface shimmering in the dappled sunlight. There was also a stone fireplace (not that we would use it, but it added to the coziness of the house). Adjacent to the living room, the kitchen lay open and inviting. Noah had left the food bag on the countertop, next to a water-filled vase that held a bouquet of white flowers that the host had placed right that morning, as a welcoming sign.  

            There was one guest bathroom and, inside the suite, a main one with a bathtub. The suite had a grandiose plush bed dominating the space. Either Oliver or Noah had placed the Tiffany doll box in the middle of it, propped against the bunch of pillows that were calling to me.

            Noah was crouched by the tall windows on the far end, taking out some stuff and clothes from his bag when Oliver and me made our way in. 

            “It’s practically begging you to dive in, isn’t it?” Noah chimed in from the floor, gesturing towards the bed. Opposite the bed, a large mirror hung on the wall, the reflective surface capturing the play of light and shadow that danced through the room.

            Beside Noah, there was a cozy long divan. For an innocent instant, I conceived the idea of laying there with a book in my hands and a steamy cup of tea next to it, totally unaware that I would be propped there in all fours with no book nearby in less than twenty-four hours. 

After the evening walk, we entertained ourselves preparing a light dinner meal that would suit everyone’s tastes. Balancing Oliver's vegan diet and Noah's muscle-building goals wasn't always easy, but we managed. I wasn’t too picky myself, so I was happy with whatever was on the menu.

            With dinner done, we headed out to the porch overlooking the lake. Feeling witchy, I prepared a pot of lavender tea and served us a cup each. By eleven o’clock we were comfortably settled, wrapped in hoodies and blankets in the chairs provided. Noah was snug in one of his hoodies, but Oliver was barefoot, though. We talked for a while, going over through the activities that we would do while in Cumbria. The moment I noticed that the talk was steering back towards work-related topics, I brought back the talk about the house. We’d been thinking about moving in together and find a place in Los Angeles, and even though we had gone house hunting a few times, we couldn’t seem to agree on one house, and I had the nagging feeling inside of me that maybe Oliver and Noah were still not ready to take that step, even if we would spend half of the time away from each other with their tours and Oliver having his family and most of his life in England.  

            As the night deepened, our chatter gradually subsided, giving way to a peaceful silence that allowed me to take in the things I should be grateful for. 

            With a contented smile on my face, I looked at my boys one last time before allowing sleep to take over me. One of them lifted me into their arms and guided me into the house and to the bed. It didn’t matter which one it was. They both felt like home whenever I was tucked against their bodies. 

            They were home. 

It was ten thirty in the morning when I came out from the bedroom, where I had been rummaging through my clothes looking for the swimming piece I had recently bought. My heart swelled with a mixture of tenderness and concern as I found Noah seated on the sofa, his brow furrowed in a deep frown as he stared intently at his MacBook screen. I told him so many times to leave the laptop back at Oli’s house, but to hell if he would ever listen when it came to these things…            Without a word, I approached him, my fingers finding his back and gently starting to massage his tense shoulders. A soft sight of contentment escaped his lips at the touch, but it was clear that the burdens weighing on his mind ran deeper than simple muscle tension. 

            Outside, the joyful sound of Oliver’s voice drifted in through the open door, accompanied by Luna’s excited barks as they played fetch by the water. Through the windows, I watched as Oliver, shirtless and with his hair all over the place, tossed the ball into the water, Luna running after it without hesitation and jumping into the lake. 

            A minute later, Oliver was in the water, too. 

            “Let’s go,” I said to Noah with encouragement, releasing his shoulders. 

            He turned his head to me with a dramatic pout. I just gave him a look and proceeded to lift his MacBook from his lap, placing it on the coffee table before taking Noah’s hand and guiding him towards the door. 

            Finally outside, Luna’s eager bark greeted us from the water. She emerged from the shore and trotted to us, her wet white fur glistening in the sunlight as droplets flew through the air. I reached out to pet her head, feeling the cool moisture against my skin, while Noah crouched down to squash her cheeks and shower her with affectionate whispers. 

            I shed the thin beach robe I wore and left it draped over the armrest of one of the wooden chairs that Oliver had moved to the deck earlier that morning. With my hair cascading down my back, I made my way to the edge, oblivious to the lingering stares of the two men, one behind me, the other one already in the water. I dipped my hand into the water before diving in headfirst. 

            As I submerged beneath the surface, the weight of the world seemed to lift from my shoulders, replaced by a sense of weightlessness and freedom. I swam further from the deck, distancing myself from Oliver. My limbs moved in harmony with the rhythm of the water. In the distance, the silhouette of another house peeked through the trees, a solitary boat resting on its landing. The only sounds were the distant barking of a dog that wasn’t Luna and the gentle rustle of leaves. 

            Just as I was about to start swimming back to where I had last seen Oliver, I found him and Noah already in the water, their smiles radiant in the sunlight as they swam towards me. 

            Noah dipped his head, and as he came back to the surface he shook his head, causing water from his hair to splash in my face. I shielded my face with my hands, laughing. In no time, he had me wrapped in his embrace, peppering my neck with kisses. I hugged him tightly with my arms and legs around him. Moments later, Noah gently nudged me towards Oliver, who pulled me close with a perfect smile.  

            With his hair being longer, Oliver's locks cascaded around his face. I lovingly pushed them back, tucking them behind his ears, and I couldn't help but laugh at how different he looked with his wet hair slicked back. He said something as he raised an eyebrow, but his words were drowned out by Luna's leap from the dock. With a tennis ball clutched in her mouth, she swam over to us. Noah grabbed the ball and threw it far, prompting Luna to paddle after it will all her might. For the next hour, we played with her, reveling in the simple joy of the morning. After the tumultuous year we had endured, both personally and professionally, this vacation felt like a much-needed oasis in the desert.

            I felt a swell of pride, not just in myself, but in the two incredible men I was sharing my life with. 

            After a while, I found myself in Noah's arms again, letting him rock me side to side in the water, my head resting against his shoulder, my skin wrinkling from all the time we'd spent in the lake. Noah and Oliver were talking about a festival anecdote from the previous year in Milan, while Oliver absentmindedly toyed with Luna’s worn tennis ball. She was lounging lazily in the sun on the deck. But the boy’s conversation eventually dwindled into silence, a quietness that I only noticed when I felt Oliver’s chest against my back, his lips pressing a tender kiss to my shoulder. I smiled, nestled against Noah’s body.

            Suddenly, Oliver’s hand, which had previously been resting on my waist, slid down to the seam of my bikini bottom, making me gasp. Noah was observing my reaction with a mischievous grin. Two seconds later, he deftly located the strings of my bikini top and skillfully untied the knot.  

            My questions about what they were doing went unanswered. 

            A wave of panic surged within me when the two pieces of clothing were removed from my body and I was suddenly naked in the water. I looked over my shoulder to Oliver only to find him swimming back towards the deck. Panicking, I looked at Noah. I was about to tighten my grip on him when he disentangled my limbs from his body, kissed me on the lips quickly, and also started swimming away from me.

            “Guys?”

            No reply.

            “Guys!” I screamed, my voice barely above a whisper, my eyes scanning the surroundings to make sure we were alone.

            With no preamble, they got out of the water, meeting on the deck with my bikini pieces in hand, exchanging amused glances before turning their attention towards me, floating in the lake with wide eyes, trying to understand what the purpose of this was. Laughing, they headed towards the chairs, Oliver pausing at the outdoor shower to cleanse himself. Before turning on the water, he tossed my bikini bottom to Noah, who caught it in a swift movement of his arm.  

            “Are you kidding me?” I muttered to myself as I watched Oliver enjoy his shower and Noah have fun examining my bikini with an interested look on his face, as if it was something he had never seen before. 

            Nervously, I kept glancing around me, aware that if someone decided to come out from those houses in the distance or some people in a boat drove past this place they would see me, for the water was clear enough to reveal my nudity. 

            This wasn’t fun. Or at least not until I realized they had no intention of returning my swimming suit. The spectacle was too engaging for them to give it up so soon.  

            I licked my lips in a nervous attempt at sorting out my options. As much as I enjoyed letting them do these things, they were pulling on my strings, and you know that saying ‘two can play at a game’? Well, three can play, too. 

            So, I swam my way back to the shore and climbed the ladder, letting the water cascade off my body, down my breasts and my legs. I stood at the edge for a moment to sweep my hair back, relishing in the stunned expressions on their faces as their eyes scanned my bare body on display.  

            Yes, they had expected me to stay in the water and beg for my bikini. 

            Without sparing them a glance, I walked confidently back to the house, grabbing my towel on the way and wrapping it around me. As I entered the house, I looked back one last time to see their mouths agape.  

            I stuck my tongue out at them and headed towards the shower in the bedroom’s bathroom. 

It had not even been twenty minutes since I stepped into the bathroom to wash myself. While drying my hair, I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror, sporting a naughty smile. The dirty girl in me was just waiting for the provocation to pay off. 

            What took me by surprise was how quickly the anticipated scenario unfolded the moment I opened the bathroom door.  

            I wasn't even given time to look forward to the night. 

            Oliver and Noah were standing in the doorway leading to the bedroom, each casually leaning against one side, still wearing their trunks and their hair still slightly damp. They looked at me expectantly, wicked smiles playing on their lips.  

            It looked like a scene straight out of a movie, really. These things rarely happened in real life. 

            Knowing that minutes of pleasure awaited us –or perhaps hours (I was allowed to be optimistic)–, I provocatively slipped a finger into my mouth, teasingly nibbling on the tip while fluttering my eyelashes a couple of times. 

            Oliver's eyes traced a path up and down my figure, lingering on the expanse of my legs where the hem of Noah’s white t-shirt I had borrowed ended. Little did he know, I wasn’t wearing any panties, just like the time we attended my brother’s Jack engagement party. My mind had truly turned into a perverted thing. Just thinking about what we had done during that evening made me shiver with anticipation, imagining what could unfold today. 

            “Get on the bed.”

            The command didn’t come from Oliver or Noah, bur from my own lips. The startled expressions on their faces made the courage it took me to assert myself like that in their presence totally worth it. 

            Noah arched an eyebrow. 

            “What did you say?” 

            “You heard me,” I replied, unable to suppress the smile that crept onto my face despite the efforts to maintain an air of determination and dominance. The situation was electrifying, fueling an adrenaline rush that promised to leave me grasping for air.

            Oliver was the first to comply, albeit with a hint of reluctance, his gaze trailing me from the doorway to the expansive bed. He settled against the headboard, but I shook my head, silently motioning for him to lie down. Then, my attention turned to Noah. 

            “Noah?” My eyes met with a look that suggested he had a different idea of how things should unfold. I nearly rolled my eyes. 

            “Noah, could you please get on the bed?” I emphasized the ‘please’, hoping to appeal to his cooperation. 

            “Now that’s more like it,” he responded, finally acquiescing. 

            As I turned to retrieve something from the dresser where we had kept some of our stuff, I did roll my eyes. You might not be able to take the Dom out of Noah, but I was more than ready to keep trying, if only for the fun of it. 

            In the back of the top drawer, I found what I was looking for: two pairs of handcuffs. A smile played on my lips as I examined them before turning to face the guys. 

            They were both lying on the bed side by side, their heads slightly raised to watch me. Confusion tinged their expressions as they observed me standing there, the pair of handcuffs dangling from my fingers.           

            “What do you think you’re going to do with those?” Noah questioned as I approached him, taking his left hand and guiding it towards the bars of the bed’s headboard. 

            “It’s about time we turned the tables, don’t you think?” I replied, securing the first cuff, noticing how Noah’s expression was becoming strained. 

            “Baby, you don’t want to do this,” he protested. 

            “But you’re letting me, aren’t you?” I softened my voice, sweetening my tone. 

            Noah pursued his lips, a nervous twitch appearing in his jaw. 

            “I’d let you do anything. That doesn’t mean you have to take advantage of having me at your feet,” he argued. 

            “Don’t you think I deserve a little payback for you leaving me naked in the lake?”

            “You didn’t seem too upset when you came out of the water, doll,” Oliver interjected, lounging back to enjoy the interaction between me and Noah.  

            “A woman has to learn to govern herself, especially is she’s with two perverts like you two.”

            “I’m not a pervert,” Noah protested again. 

            Click. With both wrists now secured to the bed, from my position at the foot of the bed, the image looked tantalizing. But it was evident that Noah wasn’t comfortable not being the one in control. While my initial intent was merely revenge, I began to consider that perhaps this could end up helping Noah relax and let go. He was a control freak and a perfectionist, qualities I benefited from, but which could also burden him. 

            Noah tested the strength of the restraints, growing more frustrated as he realized his attempts were futile. The handcuffs were sturdy; they weren’t freaking toys.  

            I wasn’t too sure that Noah would withstand what I wanted to do to him without starting to plead for release, but it was worth a try. 

            “Dude, you are a perv,” Oliver said. 

            “Just because I enjoy sex and having fun during it doesn’t make me a perv,” Noah defended. 

            “Are you sure about that?” The other man challenged him.

            “Absolutely. Call me whatever you want, just not a pervert.”

            “Kinky lover?” I suggested. 

            “Hm. Yeah, that works for me,” He finally agreed. 

            Oliver’s laughter at the interaction ceased abruptly when I seized his wrist, securing his left hand alongside Noah’s right. 

            “What?” I spoke. “Did you think I was only going to tie up Noah? You took off my bikini bottoms,” I pointed out. 

            “Who’s laughing now, bastard?” Noah grunted. 

            Unlike Noah, Oliver submitted to being tied more readily, without making grumpy faces and pulling at the handcuffs. He simple observed with particular attention as I bound him.

            To secure his left wrist, I had to climb onto the bed and pass one leg over his lap, kneeling over his shorts. 

            “Are you not wearing any underwear?” He suddenly exclaimed. 

            Immediately, Noah’s eyes also dropped to the space between my legs. 

            I hurried to fasten the handcuffs, then stepped off the bed, pulling the shirt down to cover myself. 

            “Are your trunks still wet? I better take them off,” I suggested.

            “Yeah,” Oliver whispered, impatient and wide-eyed. “Take them off,” his words were accompanied by the not-so-subtle movement of his hips. 

            Noah, at his side, was growing increasingly hot and tense. He remained silent, only lifting his hips slightly when I indicated for him to do, allowing me to drop both their trunks to the floor. 

            To tease them a bit more, I stayed still for a moment, admiring their bodies, relishing in the sight of what they had between their legs. 

            Yeah, those were mine. 

            I licked my lips, alternating my gaze between the two. With the intensity of my stare, Oliver’s cock twitched slightly. 

            “Don’t move,” I instructed as I walked backwards towards the luggage. 

            “Is that some kind of joke?” Noah questioned, irritated.

            I retrieved a tiny light blue lingerie set from my suitcase. I hadn’t planned on wearing it until the last night, but it seemed like debuting it now could be fun. I rushed to the bathroom and locked myself in to change. 

            I didn’t spend more than five minutes there, but Oliver and Noah were growing so impatient. 

            When I opened the door, I was nervous, but at least, seeing them both securely tied to the bed alleviated some of it. 

            Their complaints dissipated the moment they saw me. As much as I would have loved to revel in a delicious torture and watch them fight against the restraints, watch their cocks grow harder and harder just by watching me, and thinking of what they might do to me and what I was going to do to them, impatience was already taking its toll on me, and the butterflies in my stomach were dancing anxiously.  

            I climbed onto the bed and positioned myself between the two bodies, placing my hands on their thighs. I caressed them, warming the skin of their legs as well as the skin of my own hands.

            I initiated the warm-up by kissing Oliver, a little reward for behaving. He responded hungrily, his roar muffled by the intensity of our kiss. Tracing my lips along his jaw and down his neck, I savored the sensation, eliciting withheld moans that mingled with the sounds of Noah’s struggles against his handcuffs.  

            I may have had only one mouth, but I had two hands.

            I slid over to Noah, offering him a smile before pressing my lips to his. As I kissed and nibbled, my right hand trailed down Oliver’s chest, tracing the patterns etched into his skin from memory, reveling in the rise and fall of his chest with each breath. When I placed my palm face down, I could feel his heart racing. 

            Noah’s contentment, however, surprised me.  

            I had expected him to beg in a hoarse, choked voice to let him go, unable to bear being at my mercy, so mine was the surprise when instead, he asked me to touch him.

            I repositioned myself, glancing at Oliver before complying with Noah’s request. 

            “Touch him, doll,” Oli said. 

            My left hand moved down Noah's chest, past his navel and through the dark pubic hair before reaching his throbbing member and encircling it with my fingers. Noah let out a sigh that held all the air he had been holding inside. I tugged at him at the same time that my mouth descended through his neck until my lips landed on one of his nipples. He sucked in a breath. His back arched a little, and I took that as a notice to use my tongue to toy with his nipple, nibble at it and suck on it, just the way he loved doing with mine. 

            “Fuck…” 

            That was a glorious sound.

            I settled at the foot of the bed, and leaned down to caress the tip of Noah’s cock with my tongue. He tilted his head back, eyes closed. He was hard as a rock. 

            Beside him, Oliver wasn’t in much different condition, but his eyes were open, and he watched with lust and a fierce hunger the movements of my tongue, lips, and fingers on Noah's cock. 

            “Watch,” I told him, “because everything I'm doing to Noah I’ll do to you next.”

            I loved Noah’s taste. It was a potent blend of masculine essence with a tinge of salty and earthly kick. A surge of pride swelled withing me each time I witnessed how deeply I aroused him. That look of total pleasure on his face? I did that.

            With my mouth on his cock, Noah’s moans filled the room, resonating through the walls. The art of sucking him off was a dance I had mastered long ago, a rhythmic symphony orchestrated by the movements of my lips and tongue, the occasionally scrap of my teeth and a tortuous suction, guided by the music of Noah’s vocalizations. 

            However, I could sense he was holding back. A furrow appeared between his brows; his struggle evident as he strained against the handcuffs. After a few minutes, a vein in his neck began to swell. Next to him, Oliver muttered a curse, his own erection hurting for being neglected while his eyes couldn’t wander away from my ministrations on our pretty boy. 

            Soon, when I felt Noah tense in my mouth, on the brink of release, I withdrew. 

            “No!” He shouted, lifting his head in a rush. “Babe, what are you doing?” His tone was desperate, evident in the rapid rise and fall of his breath. 

            Running a finger across my lips, I moistened them before shifting my focus to Oliver.           “It’s Oliver’s turn.”

            “But— I didn’t come.”

            “And you won’t. Not in my mouth. Not now.”

            His brown eyes widened further as he watched me descend, mouth open and tongue out, towards Oliver’s cock, which was already glistening with precum. 

            “Goddammit, yes…” Oliver mumbled, smiling as he finally rested his head on the pillow, more than ready to succumb to the pleasure I was going to give him. 

            But as much as I wanted to recreate myself on him, and given that I’d assured him that I would repeat the same steps as I did on Noah, it was impossible. The spectacle I had put on with Noah’s cock had already pushed Oliver to the edge. If I were to repeat the same seductive dance with him, he would come in my mouth in less than a minute. 

            And I didn’t want that. 

            Oliver was more vocal than Noah, less inhibited in his desires. Louder. He welcomed me with complete abandonment.

            He hadn’t yet fully engaged with the suction of my mouth when he strained against the handcuffs. As I lifted my head, I noticed that both he and Noah had their eyes closed and they were holding onto each other with their hands clasped together on the headboard.

            How sweet. 

            When I pulled away from Oliver, I remained kneeled between them at the foot of the bed. They were covered in a layer of sweat, their flushed cheeks and erratic breaths emphasizing their captivity—they were tied to the bed, and they were mine.  

            I felt stupidly happy. 

            “That’s it? You’re not going to let us come?” Noah queried. 

            I shrugged, my hands on my knees. 

            “Maybe if you play your cards right…”

            “You know we always do,” Oliver declared with a certain roughness in his voice, now tugging at the restraints. 

            “I’m going to release you,” I said to Noah, positioning myself over him and stretching my body so that my still covered chest hovered above his face. “But only if you promise not to pounce on me like a lion as soon as you’re free.”

            In response to my warning, he playfully pretended to want to bite me, lifting his head and opening his mouth before closing his jaw. The gesture made the three of us laugh. 

            Releasing him, Noah’ didn’t lunge at me; instead, he grabbed my head to bring our lips together. 

            “One of us is still tied. This isn’t fair,” Oliver complained, tugging on the handcuffs for emphasis. 

            Raising an eyebrow with one of Noah’s hands still on my cheek, I retorted, “Don’t talk to me about what’s not fair when I spend half of the time tied to the bed and at your mercy.” 

            “Maybe that’s exactly what we should do now,” Noah interjected. “What do you plan to do about this, huh?” He asked, gesturing towards his reddened erection. 

            “I’ll take care of that,” Oliver declared, “if this feisty kitten decides to let me go.”

            I muttered a playful ‘whiner’ as I moved to Oliver’s lap, unfastening the handcuffs, and letting them fall onto the bedside table next to the keys. In a swift movement, Oliver pushed me onto the bed, eliciting a small yelp from me. His hands swiftly went to my underwear, starting to pull them down. 

            “Are these new?” He noticed. 

            I nodded. 

            “This is fucking sexy. This color looks so good on you,” he complimented as he ironically slid down my panties, tossing them onto the floor. “I’m sure Noah is having the time of his life, aren’t you?” 

            Indeed, Noah’s eyes were roaming over my chest. Being a man who had a particular interest in the underwear I wore, he admired the details on the design of the lacy bra before leaning in to pull the fabric covering my left breast down. Then, he placed his mouth atop of the peak of my breast and licked. 

            A moan escaped my lips. 

            “Always so sweet…” he murmured against my skin, “and so responsive. It only adds to the pleasure.” 

            Yeah…

            Just as with any of their touches, the sensation was intoxicating, and I didn’t want Noah to stop, but Oliver interrupted to insist my bra was unnecessary and I should be naked, always naked. Noah readily agreed, wasting no time in attaching his lips to my breasts again as soon as I was as naked as they were.   

            “I know she’s delicious, but I told you I’d take care of you,” Oliver reminded Noah, “so get on your back.”

            With a pleased smile, Noah complied, kissing my lips one last time before laying down next to me. 

            “He doesn’t have to say please?” I teased, raising an eyebrow at Noah. 

            “Don’t be so jealous,” he said to me, extending an arm to grab my forearm. “Come here.”

            I thought he wanted me to kiss him while Oli sucked him off, maybe cuddle him, and perhaps watch him as he came undone, but then he said, “Sit on my face.” 

            Even though it wouldn’t be the first time, the proposal always made me flush. Nonetheless, I couldn’t hide my excitement, a fact that Noah was quick to notice, a big grin spreading across his face as I shifted on the mattress. 

            “You love sitting on my face, don’t you, baby?” 

            I straddled Noah’s inked chest and leaned forward, feeling his hands grip my buttocks as he helped guide me. 

            “Wait a sec,” Oliver stopped us, causing Noah to glance from the side and above my thigh and prompting me to turn my head. 

            Oliver trotted towards the door, where Luna stood, undoubtedly confused by the scene before her. 

            “You shouldn’t see this, pretty girl,” Oliver said to her. “This one here is already corrupted, but you’re still a pure soul, so I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to close the door.”

            Like the good girl she was, she didn’t say anything. 

            Oliver closed the door and took a moment to open one of the windows on the right side of the bedroom, given that the temperature was quickly escalating indoors. 

            Noah’s laughter rumbled against my thigh as he placed a kiss before refocusing his attention on me. 

            “Hold onto the headboard if you need to. Or pull at my hair, I don’t mind.”

            I took a deep breath and gripped the headboard. I felt his breath between my legs. I closed my eyes momentarily to savor the sensation of his hands enveloping my thighs, pressing me down on him, and the anticipation of what was to come. 

            When I glanced down for a moment, I caught him softly murmuring a tender ‘I love you’ before his mouth found my center.  

            And I melted. 

            Already floating on cloud nine, Oliver kneeled at the edge of the bed and grabbed Noah’s ankles, pulling him towards him. In response, Noah tugged at my legs, prompting me to extend my arms so I could still brace myself against the headboard. 

            “What a fucking glorious view,” Oliver muttered, and I could only imagine. But my thoughts were quickly replaced when Noah’s lips and tongue worked fervently on my clit. By the way his fingers dug into my skin, I knew that Oliver finally had his mouth on him. 

            Even with a window open, the temperature in the room was rosing up steadily, matching the pace of my increasing heartbeat. Noah’s tongue moved with precision, expertly teasing and tantalizing me. He knew exactly how to play with me, using the tip of his nose to rub against my clit before letting his tongue snake out and wander between my folds. 

            As our moans intertwined, Noah’s movements intensified. His focus on me unwavering even as Oliver perpetuated a delicious torture on his cock, which caused a symphony of pleasure and curses to fill the air. The momentum kept building up, with Oli taking him deeper and deeper with every bobbing of his head and scrap of his teeth. Noah pressed me down harder to his face, and the pressure and suction on the spot between my legs was growing increasingly maddening. 

            It never led to madness because at some point Noah’s teeth trapped my clit in between and a sharp cry of pain escaped from my lips, breaking the haze of our pleasure.

            The reason: Oliver had sucked his tip in a way that nearly made him lose his sanity. In response, Noah accidentally bit my clit. 

            “Baby. Oh, shit. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” 

            His hands gripped my waist and pulled me down onto his chest, his eyes searching my face for signs of distress as I kept a hand between my legs, my eyes closed shut and my teeth scrapping my lower lip. 

            “What happened?” Oliver asked. 

            When Noah explained, Oliver burst into laughter, causing Noah to scold him before he shifted a bit to check my face again.

            “Baby?”

            “That was… not nice,” I managed to say, though my gaze softened as I opened my eyes and looked at Noah, his face adorned with pink swollen lips and traces of my arousal. 

            “I know, baby. I’m so sorry, it wasn’t on purpose,” he apologized, his hands stroking my arms.  

            “It’s ok. I’ll be fine,” I reassured him. 

            I reached out to touch his cheek and wipe away some of my arousal from his chin. He looked so beautiful like this, though. But I was suddenly lifted from atop Noah’s body by Oliver’s strong hands. 

            “Let’s see what all this pretty boy’s fuss is about.” He laid me down on the divan by the large windows overlooking the lake. His chest was glistened with sweat, and his scent mingled with mine, surrounding me in an heady embrace. 

            I took a deep breath as Oliver spread my legs open and inspected me closely. 

            “She looks pretty fine to me,” he said. 

            “I’m okay,” I muttered, feeling a twinge of shyness at the way he was observing me. 

            Noah came to stand on my side. In all honesty, they were a bit terrifying hovering over me while I was laying down. They would have made me tremble if it wasn’t for Noah’s concerned face. 

            “She’s wet and… very hard,” Oliver noticed, running his thumb up my clit, causing me to bite my lip and inhale sharply. 

            Noah bent down, running a soft hand through my hair and kissing my forehead. 

            “Doll, tell Noah you’re okay, otherwise his erection is going to turn into a withered flower.” Oliver’s joke made Noah roll his eyes as he stood up. 

            Instead of reassuring him verbally, I lifted myself on my elbows and directed my attention to his still-hard cock. With my eyes locked on his, I Indulged in tasting the tip once again, teasing him with my tongue. 

            “You sure you’re okay?” He struggled to say, losing focus. 

            “I’ll be better when I have you in my mouth and Olive between my legs.” 

            His expression shifted from concern to disbelief and then amusement. Yeah, he still hadn’t wrapped his head around the fact that he had me. He had me in every possible way. And he had Oliver, too. They both had me and I had them. 

            With one hand, I took Noah’s length into my mouth, pumping him until he groaned, his head falling back in a mix of pleasure and vulnerability. His hands remained clasped together behind his back, emphasizing his muscular form. 

            Meanwhile, Oliver’s lips trailed a path of kisses up my thigh. Usually he was one to nibble, but it quickly dawned on me that maybe he was concerned, too, about Noah accidentally biting me, and he opted for keeping his touch soft and gentle. 

            “Do you have any idea how fucking good you look when she’s blowing you?” Oliver’s words to Noah were a seductive whisper, who made the young one struggle to swallow under his intense gaze. “Next time we’ll get her on her knees, and you will stand before her, with a full-length mirror in front of you. You will see your reflection while she tortures you with that sweet hot mouth, and there I’ll be, right behind you,” Oliver murmured, planting kisses on my legs, his green eyes fixed on Noah as I continued to suck him off. His words weaved a spell around him, Noah’s throat tightening, leaving him momentarily breathless as a drop of sweat slid down his temple. “I’ll get my hands on that fucking tight ass of yours and give you whatever you ask for. How does that sound?”

            A heavy breath suffocated Noah. His reaction prompted Oliver to laugh at how easily he got both of us in this state. 

            “Hold her head,” Oliver instructed Noah, displaying again that face that said ‘let’s get to work’.

            Not that Noah wouldn’t have done it. They were so considerate that they even worried about my hair breaking if it got stuck under our mess of limbs or pillows or whatever that was around. 

            Noah’s hands found the back of my head. He moved my hair to the said and positioned himself closer to me so that my head was nearly resting atop his thigh. I lifted a hand to reach for his cock and stroke it as Oliver kissed my chest and dipped lower until he reached my navel. He stopped. He used his thumb to trace a circle around it, and reverently, he kissed it and licked it, fondling that area of skin and cherishing it as if it was his favorite part of my body. 

            I found myself gradually descending into the depths of subspace, utterly captivated by Oliver’s every move, unable to tear my gaze away from the ministrations he was performing on the skin of my stomach.  

            One of Noah’s hands found the side of my face and gently caressed my cheek. 

            “Do you like it when he does that?” His deep voice was soft, tender.

            “Yes,” I managed to breathe out, my heart racing, my mind filled with cotton. 

            I couldn’t really describe the feeling. Noah was keeping me secured and comfortable against him while Oli pressed kisses on my lower tummy, which felt another level of intimate when they were placed on my navel. 

            “You love it when we’re all sweet and nice with you, don’t you?” Noah continued, trailing strands of hair behind my ear. 

            Oliver answered for me.

            “She loves it.” 

            I mirrored Oliver’s grin of satisfaction. 

            My boys. 

            “But you like us feral when we’re inside of you,” Noah’s voice dropped, and it didn’t matter that we were already naked and touching each other: a shiver ran down my spine. 

            “She’s so receptive to everything we do or say,” Oliver remarked, some sort of amazement in his voice. “She’s fucking perfect for us, man.” 

            And they were perfect for me.

            Oliver stepped back, standing up. He lifted my legs, while Noah extended his arms to reach for my ankles, spreading me open for Oliver. As Oli positioned himself at my entrance, he rubbed his cock between my folds, teasing me. Meanwhile, Noah was about to stretch back to retrieve a condom from the nightstand and pass it to Oliver when I shook my head. 

            “No,” I said. “I want to feel you. No barriers. Just your skin on mine.” 

            Oliver’s eyes turned a shade darker.

            “What did a motherfucker like me ever did to deserve you?” 

            “If you have to ask that question maybe I’m not doing a good job at showing you how thankful I am for your love and affection…” I teased. 

            Oliver clicked his tongue and bent down to kiss me hard and passionate.

            “Look at her,” he said then, directing his words to Noah. His voice tinged with desire. “So needy.”

            The observation wasn’t a tease; it was a simple acknowledgment of the truth. I was indeed needy, overwhelmed with ecstasy at the realization that this was my life, my men, and that we were all totally happy and satisfied with each other, in every aspect possible. 

            Noah took hold of one of my wrists, securing my arm against his thigh, allowing me to use the other to his pleasure.

            “She’s soaked, isn’t she?” 

            “A complete mess,” Oliver concluded, “which only makes… this… smoother,” he finished huskily as he slid his cock inside of me, one inch at a time. 

            The delicious stretch made me let out a moan from deep withing me and dig my nails into Noah’s thigh, seeking to anchor myself. I wriggled, trying to adjust to Oliver, yearning to feel him as deep as possible, to claim him as mine one more time. With a lift of my hips, I impaled myself on the last of his rigid length, gasping as he seared me with his heat. 

            Oliver eased back, teasing me with the almost withdrawal, each movement causing a fresh gasp to escape my lips, my moans growing louder with every thrust. Every nerve in my body tingled with awareness, every cell attuned to the rhythm of his movements as he pushed in and out. 

            “Faster, please.”

            “Yeah,” Oliver roared in response, his hands firm on my hips as he guided me to his desired pace. 

            My entire body responded to him, just as it did to Noah’s whenever he was inside of me, performing the same intimate dance.  

            “Your mouths are wonderful and all that, but man,” Oliver’s voice was strained, “there’s nothing like being inside of her.” 

            “I know. I know…” Noah moaned as I stroked his cock and attempted another long lick the best I could, given my strenuous position. 

            It took him less than a few moments to gather himself and tell me not to stress my neck, but Oliver’s intensified thrusts stole my breath, making me scream in ecstasy.  

            “That’s it, doll,” he encouraged, his hands urging my thighs open as they trembled under the force of his movements and the intensity of the sensations cursing through my entire being. “Get all tight on me.”

            Oliver looked breathtaking as he pounded into me, driving me closer to the edge. The colors of his tattoos appeared more vibrant, accentuated by the sweat covering his body. When I glanced up, I found Noah smiling at the sight, as if he cherished every moment of Oliver taking me to the brink. 

            His hand found my left breasts and squeezed. 

            “You’re so fucking beautiful when you’re about to come,” his voice trailed off as his lips found my ear. “I never thought I would enjoy the sight of another man burying his dick deep inside of you, but seeing Oli fuck you does things to me.”

            “Noah,” I whimpered in response. 

            “Yeah, princess. I know exactly what you need.” His hand traveled up to my neck. When his fingers tightened around it just the right amount to give me a new type of high, I thought I could die right there right then. “Is he fucking you good, kitten? Talk to me, come on.” His grip eased just a bit, enough to allow me to answer. 

            “Yes. God, yes. It’s so good. Please, more. I want more. Everything.”

            “You’re like a fucking renaissance painting,” Oliver said amid his struggle to form words, his breath heavy with desire, his body covered glistening. “Both of you naked, disheveled, you in Noah’s arms, holding onto him, his hand around your neck… He’s fucking thrilled to see you coming undone while you’re drowning in the pleasure I give you.” 

            When Oliver slowed his movements to get one knee on the divan and leaned forward, —to pull Noah into a kiss— I whined for not being able to move and share that kiss with them. I was trapped underneath the cage of their bodies, but oh if this wasn’t a sight to behold. I felt blessed and completed. We were a mess of love and lust and passion, and we couldn’t get enough of each other. 

            “Take her for a ride,” Oliver offered Noah, pulling away from me. “I can’t stop looking at that pretty mouth and those swollen pink lips and I’m going to die if I don’t get my cock in her mouth in the next ten seconds.”

            In less than ten seconds indeed, Oliver maneuvered me onto my hands and knees on the divan. I wasn’t sure if my limbs would hold me, but I had no other choice. Noah stood behind me, bending to shower kisses on my shoulders, back, and butt, while Oliver circled to stand in front of me, his gaze just as hungry. As he indicated for me to open my mouth, I complied because I was, after all, a good girl. But first I had to trace his stomach with my tongue, licking every tattooed inch of his torso and savoring the electricity of his body. Only when I reached the beginning of his happy trail, I put him in my mouth. 

            The intensity in his eyes mirrored that of a predator, hungry and primal. 

            His weight on my tongue was deliciously overwhelming. 

            “The sight of you taking me like this always drives me insane,” Oliver confessed, his hands tangling in my hair. “But you know what tops it? Seeing Noah take you from behind.” 

            As if his words worked magic, Noah slid inside of me, his hands gripping my hips as he pressed against me. “Kitten…” he murmured, holding himself back. “Fuck. You’re damn sure you don’t want a condom on?” 

            I shook my head as best I could, for Oliver was occupying every corner of my mouth and cancelling my ability to speak. 

            “Look at him, baby,” Oliver took his cock out of my mouth so that I could look back over my shoulder. I couldn’t really maneuver as much as I would have liked to, but it was enough to see Noah’s contorted face of pleasure, his struggling smile filled with adoration and desire. 

            His thrusting started a second after, his movements becoming more fervent with very passing minute, each thrust pushing me closer to the edge of bliss.            

            “You should see his face, baby,” Oliver said to me, holding my chin, “the way he’s pulling his hair back because you’re taking him to the edge. I’m not sure what to do, man,” his last words were directed to Noah. “I’m torn between taking your place and finish her off, and taking you and making you scream until you can’t sing until your next life.”

            “Fuck, man. Shut up. I won’t last long,” was Noah’s reply. 

            As Oliver’s hoarse laughter reverberated in my ears and Noah’s powerful thrusts shook my entire body, I summoned the last reserves of my strength to reach out and grasp Oliver’s cock. With trembling fingers, I guided it back into my eager mouth. I sucked him off for a long minute, tracing with the tip of my tongue the thick veins protruding from his length, licking the top as if it was candy. 

            Noah’s next thrust was hard and bordering on pain, but pleasurable all the same. I let go of Oliver to scream, the sound ripping through my vocal cords. Noah’s hands found my hair and he gathered all the messy strands to pull me towards him, tilting my head back until I was left with no choice but to stare at Oliver with watery eyes, my chin up and my lips parted, the saliva dripping from the corner quickly wiped away by Oliver’s thumb. In that moment, I felt completely exposed, vulnerable yet exhilarated by the raw intensity of the experience.  

            “Fuck,” Noah groaned.

            “Yes,” Oliver roared in return, grabbing my face with a hand and pressing his fingers into my cheeks. “You look so beautiful on all fours, letting Noah fuck you hard and deep. You’re so, so good for us, doll. And we love you so fucking much, you know that, right? We fucking adore the good girl that you are.” 

            I was a wreck. There was nothing I could do. I was done for. My heart was going to explode and so was the rest of my body. 

            Despite my helplessness, a prideful smile played on my lips, and Oliver kissed me through it, his touch a blend of amusement, desire, and profound love. 

            “Noah, you should definitely see her like this. She can’t stop smiling while you fuck her. It doesn’t get any better than this. We’re some lucky bastards.”

            Noah’s response came amidst his relentless thrusts, his words spoken with conviction and tenderness. Leaning over me, he enveloped me in a hug, his warm breath against my ear, one of his hands sliding down to my clit. “You’re perfect for us, kitten, so take what we give you, yeah? We’re all yours. Everything we have to offer is for you.”

            I was surrounded by their love and desire. I felt truly cherished and consumed by ecstasy. I wasn’t going to last much longer, and my orgasm was going to swallow me whole. 

            The air was thick with the scent of our worked-out bodies. Our desperate and raw moans filling the room, echoing off the walls as every nerve in my body ignited, higher, harder. Each touch, each thrust, pushed me to the brink. Every tingling sensation escalating, every sensation in every inch of my body was constantly awakened and pushed to the edge of feeling. My entire body tingled, the electrifying sensation turning into ache that crazily enough kept me thrusting back against Noah in pleas for more as I welcomed Oliver’s hot and frenzied release inside of my mouth, driving me to arch my back and press into Noah’s body, yearning for his release, too. 

            I wanted it all. 

            In the end, I didn’t even need much more than Noah’s movements and Oliver’s words. Their tempo had been a tortuous dance that had promised to send me over the edge, and I was just

about

to

fall

right 

over

it.

            “Eyes on me,” Oliver commanded, grabbing my jaw again. “I want you looking at me when Noah makes you come.”

            “Come on, baby,” Noah urged. “It’s right there. Just right,” one more thrust, “there.”

            It was there, and I took it with screams and trembles until my head fell on the divan, my body unable to hold itself, my legs spasming as Noah’s growls filled my ears and his cum spilled over my buttcheeks and lower back.              

A day later — Early morning

Noah's laughter shook his body, causing a ripple effect that had me giggling and squirming against his chest, where I was lying diagonally with my hand extended towards Oliver.  

            Oliver was sleeping face down. He had drifted off after a morning session of lovemaking in which Noah had taken me while I slept in his arms and Oliver had taken him—a chain reaction that had us falling one after another like a line of dominoes.

            Noah and I hadn't been able to fall back asleep, and now we laid intertwined in each other’s nakedness while Oliver’s breathing drifted intermittently above our hushed voices. 

            Being in a playful mood, Noah and I decided to tease Oliver, making comments about how much he snored. Oliver responded with a muffled grunt into his pillow. 

            Later, I found myself idly toying with Oliver’s curls until he grunted again and shifted away from us, turning his head in the opposite direction. That’s when my eyes fell on his nipples, and that’s where I teased him next. 

            Oliver swatted my hand and opened one eye. “Stop,” he ordered. “Why don’t you annoy your other boyfriend? That’s why there’s two of us.”

            I hummed in disappointment and then sighed as I rested my head on Noah’s chest, still looking at Oliver’s sleeping face for a few moments. The softness of his features eased my spontaneous frustration, the comforting touch of Noah’s hand running through my hair also helping. 

            “Did you sleep well?” Noah asked with a soft voice, careful not to disturb Oliver too much. 

            “Hmm,” I murmured, nodding as I rubbed my head against his chest. Shifting, I turned to lift my head and look at him. “You?”

            “Yeah,” he replied, “except for the time I had to get up to pee and the damn doll kept staring at me until I disappeared into the bathroom.” His finger pointed towards the boxed Tiffany on top of one of the drawers in the room, likely placed there by Oliver on purpose. 

            “So, Oli didn’t get up to walk hand in hand with you, huh?” I teased. 

            “Does he really look like he would get up in the middle of the night to ease my fears? He’s totally passed out,” he remarked. 

            “Not really,” Oliver chimed in from his pillow. “Not anymore, anyway, but I’m knackered.” 

            “Knackered,” Noah repeated, a hint of confusion in his tone. My fingers played with his brown strands of hair. The haircut he wore these days was my favorite. “What the hell does that even mean, dude?”

            I giggled softly.

            “You should know by now, love,” Oliver added, still speaking with closed eyes, one hand resting beneath the pillow. 

            “Worn out, tired,” I whispered to Noah. Then, I leaned in to straddle him and planted a kiss on his jaw, feeling the stubble under my lips. He’d probably decide to shave today, and I couldn’t wait to watch him, maybe even Oliver, too, standing together in front of the bathroom mirror with blades in hand. There was something incredibly attractive about watching not just one, but two men shaving. 

            I sighed loudly, feeling like I was still in a dream. 

            My lips traced the curve of Noah’s jaw until I playfully nibbled on his earlobe. Sensing my playful vibes, he turned my face towards him and planted a gentle kiss on my lips, his eyes locking onto mine with intensity. 

            “You were fantastic yesterday morning.”

            His words made my cheeks flush. 

            “Thank you,” I replied, feeling a warm glow spread through me. 

            “You know…” he began, “I didn’t want to fall in love with you,” his tone turned somber as his fingers tucked strands of hair behind my ear. “During those months when we were just having fun and having sex every so often… I was terrified of what I was feeling every time I had you in my bed, in my arms, and I told myself I couldn’t afford to fall in love with you; that I was not good for you. By the time I decided I had to stop fucking you, I realized I had fallen in hard long ago,” he took a deep breath, his index finger tracing the line of my nose. “Now, I don’t regret a single minute I’ve spent with you, any of the steps that have brought us here. And I wouldn’t want things to be any other way. You, me, Oliver. Sex, love, arguments; the sun, and the rain. Everything. I wouldn’t trade what we have for anything in the world.”

            His words melted my heart, and tears welled up in my eyes. 

            Before they could spill over, Oliver’s voice cut through our moment of tender honesty. 

            “You two are really cute, seriously.”  

            Noah relaxed with resignation, rolling his eyes. I slapped Oliver’s bare shoulder, but my body sought his with desperation when I saw his beautiful eyes shine under the morning light streaming in through the windows, accompanied by his radiant smile. 

            I had everything anyone could ever ask for. 

We left the warmth of the bed nearly an hour later, after a tickling match and some cuddling. 

            I took longer in the shower that morning, thoughts of the day ahead and memories of the previous day’s activities mingled with the steam around me. I pulled my hair up in a bun in front of the dresser, and with my bikini on and a well-worn t-shirt that I had long since taken ownership of (and could no longer remember if it had belonged to Oliver or Noah), I walked into the bright openness of the kitchen and went straight to make myself a cup of iced green tea. 

            Through one of the windows, I spotted Oliver and Noah playing outside with Luna. 

             After pulling a few ice cubes out of the freezer, Noah's loud laughter drifted into the house through the door and open windows. I caught sight of him doubled over with mirth, hands on his knees while Oliver, not far off, lay sprawled on the grass, laughing as Luna affectionately licked his face. 

            Witnessing their happiness never failed to reassure me that all was right in the world, in our world. The nights when Noah’s health was a concern seemed distant now, replaced by a sense of well-being and contentment. Any lingering doubts Oliver may have harbored about this relationship or his place within it had melted away. We were a team. We were bound to each other. They loved me, they loved each other, and I loved them. 

            An incoming call on Oliver's iPhone snapped me out of my trance, forcing me to draw my attention away from the window as I reached for the phone resting on the kitchen island. 

            Seeing Amelia’s name flashing on Oliver’s phone screen, the same real estate agent that had guided us through potential homes for our future together as a trio a few months ago, caught me off guard. Memories of our discussions about the charming two-story house in a serene Los Angeles neighborhood, close to the house Jack and his wife Sylvie had recently purchased after getting married, flooded back. Noah hadn't been very decisive about it; He had a preference for other neighborhoods. But the main problem was that the house I fell in love with was way out of our budget, so we had ruled it out. Then we decided to leave house hunting activities for another time, maybe after summer and after their crazy schedules turned less chaotic. 

            That’s why I didn't understand why Amelia was calling Oliver. 

            Nevertheless, I answered the call. Amelia’s warm greeting reminded me of our prior interactions. When I told her that Oliver couldn’t be put on at that time, she seemed pleased to speak with me instead. 

            She started talking about paperwork and payments, which left me baffled. 

            “As I indicated to Noah and Oliver, after receiving the missing paperwork and the main payment, we would have the keys available in a matter of a couple of weeks. So, I was calling to let you know that you can come by the office to pick up the keys to your new home at a time that works best for you.”

            What paperwork? What payment? 

            The keys to my new home?

            I had no clue what she was talking about. 

            “Our new home?”

            “Sure,” she didn’t catch my astonishment, how lost I was in this conversation. “The one with the spacious living room and with the garden in the back, in the cul-de-sac. I still remember your excitement when you saw that room upstairs and shared your plans of turning it into a library. That was a fantastic idea!”

            I blinked, frowning even harder, and looked through the window for Oliver and Noah.

            “The house Noah and Oliver revisited when you were working,” Amelia added.

            It couldn't be. 

            Amelia repeated my name a couple of times when I didn't say anything. 

            I shook my head. 

            “Yes, yes, I'm here. Sure,” I forced myself to say, because I didn't know what else to say. “Um, we're on vacation right now. I guess when we get back next week we can stop by and pick up the keys.” 

            “Perfect. We've sent a copy of the signed papers to both Oliver's and Noah's email. If you have any questions or need anything else, please don't hesitate to give us a call.”

            “No, of course. We will. Thank you.”

            My hand was trembling as I placed the phone back on the counter. My mind was racing with thoughts, grappling with the implications of Amelia’s words—the sudden reality of a house, our house, in Los Angeles, already paid for. 

            In that moment of disorientation, a fresh morning breeze made its way into the house, followed by Oliver’s radiant presence and the sound of his laugh. Noah wasn’t far behind. They were dressed in their swimming trunks and simple white t-shirts, exuding a carefree energy and carrying with themselves the scent of nature, their hair moving swiftly with the wind. 

            They appeared almost ethereal, like angels descending into the room.  

            The morning light filtered through the windows as Oliver stretched his arms towards me in greeting, his graceful features illuminated momentarily before dropping at the sight of my expression.

            “Hey. What’s with that face?”

            “Did something happen?” Noah asked, sensing something amiss, too. 

            “I’m not sure,” I replied. “I just got off the phone with… Amelia,” my gaze flicked towards Oliver’s iPhone resting on the counter. “She said that we can drop by her office anytime to pick up the keys of the house.”

            After a moment of silence, Noah cursed under his breath.

            “Shit.” 

            Oliver took another moment to reply, his shoulders sagging as he licked his lips and placed a hand on his hip while sharing a quick concerned, disappointed look with Noah. 

            “You were not supposed to find out about the house until we were all in Los Angeles,” he admitted. 

            I frowned because there were no plans of being the three of together in los Angeles any time soon. That’s why we had planned this trip to Cumbria as soon as our days off coincided. 

            “We don’t even know when that’s going to be,” I said.  

            Considering their packed schedules, this short vacation was the only opportunity for the three of us to be together before our commitments to work pulled us apart again and Noah and Oliver drowned themselves in work. I also had to return to my job. I wished I could be on holiday for longer, but unfortunately, the demands of everyday life kept me tied to my mundane job in L.A.

            “Yes, we do,” Oliver corrected. “I’m flying with you and Noah back to L.A. next week.” He allowed me a moment to take it all in. His words carried a mixture of excitement and anticipation that was contagious, but my confusion and disbelief at the recent revelation were bigger. “I have a month off, and I planned on spending it with you two so that we could go through the moving-in process together and get everything sorted before I have to come back here for work. We thought that a month would be time enough to work on whatever needs fixing in the house and maybe make some changes. Painting the walls, work on the garden, converting that room with the garden-facing windows into the studio you mentioned wanting, and…”

            “Wait. Wait, slow down,” I interjected, raising a hand and feeling a whirlwind of emotions stirring inside me. “This is… I don’t understand.”

            “Why don’t we sit down?” Noah suggested. 

            Taking his cue, I sank into the soft cushions of the sofa, folding my legs beneath me. Oliver settled beside me while Noah remained standing, always unaware of the effect his long frame had on everybody else, especially on those who were sitting. But I could feel his nervous energy as he paced a little. However, despite both their worries, there was an undeniable spark of mischief crossing their expressions every other second. 

            “I thought you had work to do because you’re already over a year delayed on the release of Bring Me’s new album, and you,” I turned to Noah,” your schedule for next month is packed with photoshoots, interviews, and other meetings and stuff.”

            “Well, yeah,” Noah acknowledged, “but one more month isn’t going to hurt anybody, is it?”

            “I’m sure your fans will have something to say about it,” I chided them lightly. 

            “We all have personal matters to attend, so if things have to get postponed, they get postponed. Period,” he concluded. “This is more important.”

            This. Oliver, me, him. 

            “And it’ll be just a month, so that we can finally settle down,” Oliver added, his voice filled with determination and hope. 

            The phrase ‘settle down’ echoed in my mind, confirming that this was not a joke. I blinked repeatedly. 

            “So… Did you really— You bought a house?”

            “We bought you a house, yeah,” Noah confirmed with a smile, his brown beautiful eyes reflecting the depth of his affection. 

            A sarcastic laugh escaped my lips, disbelief mingling with gratitude. 

            “You don’t just buy a house like that. Especially not that house. It was way out of our budget and…”

            “We made some adjustment to the budget,” Oliver clarified, his tone firm yet gentle. He draped an arm on the back of the sofa, his fingers finding a lose lock of my hair. “You really loved that house when we visited it a few months ago, and we thought… after everything you’ve done for us…” 

            “What have I done for you?” I asked, feeling so utterly overwhelmed and undeserving of this. 

            “Doll, are you kidding?” Oliver said, a hint of offense creeping into his voice. “You have to start giving more credit to yourself or we’re going to have a problem here.”

            Ignoring his scold, and unable to shake off the sensations flooding me, I repeated, “You didn’t buy me a house.”

            “Okay, put it as you wish because technically, it’s our house now,” Noah said. “It’s for the three of us, so, if it sounds better to you, we bought us a house.”

            I had a knot in my throat and butterflies in my stomach. 

            “But I didn’t… I couldn’t… I can’t afford it,” I finally protested, my voice trailing off.

            “Who said you have to pay anything? This is a gift from us to you, because we love you and we want to have a place to call our own,” Oliver silenced my objections with a finger. “You threw a huge birthday party for me last November, Jurassic Park-themed,” he continued, a soft smile tugging at his lips at the memory. It had, in fact, required weeks of work to set everything up as I wished. Oliver was a fanatic of the Jurassic Park movies, and I thought it a great idea to celebrate his 38th birthday with dinosaur animatronics and a whole venue decorated as if it was a jungle. “And you were the one who managed to convince Nicholas and Jolly not to prepare anything for Noah’s birthday because he hates celebrating it. Instead, you took him to an escape room, then out for Mexican food, and finally to see the stars from Hollywood Hills because sometimes he’s soppy like that.” 

            Noah giggled at his comment, his eyes sparkling. The honesty and warmth of their words enveloped me, dispelling any doubts. 

            “If it weren’t for you, I’d still be going to bed alone,” Oliver continued, “thinking that I’m too much of a weirdo for someone to love me. And Noah would probably be locked in the studio, ignoring the growing headache in that big head of his.” 

            Noah responded to his comment by punching him in the shoulder, but Oliver’s response was to grab him by the back of his neck and pull him in for a kiss, then gazing deeply into his eyes before turning his attention back to me. 

            “You love me despite all my bullshit,” Oliver said. “You’ve given me a reason to find the purpose that was missing in my life. You brought Noah into my life.”

            “You brought the three of us together, baby,” Noah added with a soft smile. 

            “We would be a train wreck without you, so the least we could do was to get you the house of your dreams,” Oliver concluded. 

            At this point, tears streamed down my face, my whimpers mixing with laughter of joy. The overwhelming love and appreciation that filled the room leaving me breathless with emotion. 

            “You also bought me that really expensive replica of Tiffany Valentine” I commented. “How much more money are you planning of spending on me?”

            “Our entire bank accounts if that’d make you happy,” Oliver answered, pursing his lips to show that that was the least of his concerns.

            “You know money is not what makes me happy,” I answered, shaking my head. “I just care about being with you, building a life out of moments like the ones we’re spending here.” 

            “Then, there’s no point for this talk,” he added. “We got a house. We’re moving into our new place next week.”

            “We’ll sleep in mattresses on the floor until you select the furniture you want for the bedroom. We’ll let you choose,” Noah announced.

            “Oh, my God.” Reality sank in. Noah crouched down in front of me to wipe the tears for my face. “Okay,” I whispered to myself. “You bought a house. We have a house. This is nuts. It’ll take me a while to process it. I have to tell Jack; he’s going to be strangely happy about this. He’s going to give you both a pat on the back and finally be totally convinced that you love me for something more than just my pussy,” I joked 

            “Already did,” Oliver said. 

            I frowned, realization dawning on me. 

            “Don’t tell me Jack already knew about this.”  

            Both nodded, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to just wrap them both in my arms or throw a pillow to wipe the grins on their faces. They had this planned all along… 

            “You have to promise me something,” I said, turning serious.

            “You name it,” Noah said.       

            “What is it?” Oliver asked. 

            “You’re going to quit this bad habit of making decisions without me.”

            Even if I always benefit from those.

            “Oh, baby, but you love our bad habits.”

            And it had been far too long since I had willingly fallen down the abyss of those. 

Well, this is the end, but not the last time you'll be reading about them. I have a second bonus scene pending to post which I haven't finished yet. It takes place between BONUS SCENE I and THE EPILOGUE, and it focuses on the reader's brother's engagement party. There are some hints at what transpired during that evening in this epilogue, did you catch them? 🤭

And again, thank you so much to every single one of you that took the time to read this, reblog, and comment. It's been a wild ride.

Taglist: @girlfromrussia-universe | @oro-e-diamanti | @lma1986 | @missduffsblog | @bngurngheart | @winterwinchester | @jilliemiw86 | @sorrowsofsilence | @th4t-em0-k1d | @to-be-written | @thescarlettvvitch | @nonamessblog | @somebodyels3 | @starsomens | @ditto66 | @dominuslunae | @cookiesupplier | @midnight-eternals | @pennysky | @iknownothingpeople | @cncohshit | @ladyveronikawrites | @blackveilomens | @robabankfuckmickeymouse | @kageyasma | @concretedaddy2018 | @silentglassbreak | @thescarlettvvitch | @sammyjoeee | @pathion

#noah sebastian #oliver sykes #noah sebastian x oliver sykes #bad omens #bmth #bring me the horizon #oli sykes #noah sebastian fic #oliver sykes fic #noah sebastian fanfic #oliver sykes fanfic #bad omens fanfiction #bad omens fanfic #bmth fanfiction #oliver sykes x reader #noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian x you #oliver sykes x you

[fatuismooches]

fabulam diu oblitus - sequel.

synopsis: The tale of the raven and the sparrow has ended, but that doesn't mean it can't start again.

includes: dottore w/ gn! reader

notes: This is the fifth and final part of this fic, please read the other four before this! This is a fluffier continuation of the last part in order to soothe your hearts from the last part. Thank you to each and every one of you who supported me with this fic, it was a wonderful experience and I hope you all enjoyed it! Now, let's wrap up the tale of the raven and sparrow once and for all. (Also, I realize that this part may seem a bit reader-centric, but I hope it's still good!)

prelude. first interlude. second interlude. postlude. sequel.

It had been years since the Traveler had attended their first Akademiya Extravaganza. It was a marvelous experience. It had also been years since the old sages were overthrown, the Balladeer’s attempt to become a God, and of course, the deletion of the Doctor’s segments as well as the death of the Omega build.

But why was the Traveler still in Teyvat? Since they still had yet to find their treasured sibling, their journey persisted. And so they and their traveling companion had found themselves back in Sumeru for another fun festival. Paimon had already had her fill of games and yummy food, so now they were going to see a performance, by the one and only Nilou. Their friend often danced, but today would be a special one since it was during the festival.

“Oh wow! Zubayr Theater is so much more lively than usual!” Paimon exclaimed. Indeed, there was a large crowd gathered below the stage, all of them excited to watch the dancer’s performance. But there was one person who caught Paimon’s eye. Someone was sitting by themselves, away from the crowd.

“Huh? Look over there, someone is sitting all alone. Do you think they’re okay?”

“Paimon, just because someone is by themselves doesn’t mean they’re in trouble. Maybe they don’t like being around large groups of people.”

“Oh… Paimon knows that! But maybe we should check on them, just in case. We still have some time before Nilou’s performance.” The Traveler gave in to their friend’s request and the pair made their way over to you. But you were too lost in your thoughts to notice them coming.

Your illness still remained, but with all the years that had passed by, at least it wasn’t as bad as it was before. It didn’t totally dominate your life, and you were able to do some things by yourself that you couldn’t do before! It wasn’t a cure, but it was something. Though of course there were bad days, the good days were the ones you focused on more. Good days such as today.

You were back in Sumeru after hundreds of years. You never thought it would happen but, one day your husband came to you and told you the news so casually, you thought you were dreaming. You? Leaving Snezhnaya? It felt unreal! If you were stronger, you would have tackled him to the floor with your love, but alas you had to settle for squeezing him as hard as you could. 

Though, to be honest, you weren’t sure if the Fatui actually had business there, or if he wanted to bring you there since you’d been longing for it for so long. (But it seemed unlikely that Pierro would give him vacation days…) Regardless, your joy was received by him adequately as you peppered his face with kisses.

So now you were here, in your home country. Of course, there were numerous top-tier Fatui agents assigned to you in disguise, always trailing behind with great skill, since Dottore was never going to let you be by yourself. But you didn’t really mind. The past few days had been the most fun you’d had in so long! (If only Dottore could join you. Obviously, he couldn’t in broad daylight… not to mention whatever duties he had.)

As you remember it, each Darshan had set up booths for the Wisdom Gala with a ton of interesting mini-games and other stuff. Though the concept was the same, you were once again realizing how things had changed over the centuries you were asleep… these games were truly novel! You were impressed at the creativity because it was nothing like this when you were a student!

One that was funny was when you were given a mallet… yes a mallet, to hit these little wooden fungi that kept popping up and down in different spots. You were given a question and each of the fungi had a different answer. You had to whack the one with the right answer. Now, figuring out the answer wasn’t the question, but rather hitting them. With your illness, lugging this thing quickly enough to smack them was not an easy task… but it was fun! Hehe, you knew Zandy would have whacked all of them anyway. Ugh, you were really feeling robbed now… the best things always happen in school after you already left.

Though your favorite game was the gear puzzles. You were given multiple gears of different sizes and had to insert them to make all of them eventually turn. You ended up finishing them at record speed, causing a whole swarm of Kshahrewar students around you, begging you to join their Darshan. It was a good thing one of your agents caused a distraction elsewhere for you to swiftly escape… Hmm, maybe you should ask Dottore to make these for you, so you could occupy your mind.

Ahh, not to mention the food… the delicious, authentic Sumerian cuisine that you missed so much. Although some things had naturally changed over four hundred years, it was as yummy as you remembered it. You always packaged some so you could share with Dottore (especially the sweets.) At the end of the day, or when you were tired, you were always escorted back to him. The location was secluded of course, for privacy and safety reasons. Your husband would listen to you ramble about quite literally everything, as you explored Sumeru City thoroughly, not just the festival. Even though he already knew everything you spoke about, he liked seeing your curiosity be indulged in.

But today was different. Today you decided to witness the performances going on in the theater. You had always liked watching them (Columbina often invited you to them) in Snezhnaya, so now you wanted to see what Sumeru had to offer. Four hundred years ago, the Akademiya looked down and shamed the arts far more than they do today. Non-academic writing, drawing, sculpting, acting, singing, dancing, you name it. There was no such thing as the Grand Bazaar or Zubayr Theater. Though you didn’t live here anymore, you were very pleased to see how much the arts were appreciated now, as they should be. Especially that red-haired girl, her dancing was awe-inspiring. You had seen her practice before the performance for a few days, and it was beautiful! If only things were like this when you were a student here…

“Hello there! You’re sitting all the way over here by yourself, are you okay?” A squeaky voice interrupted your reminiscing and you turned to see who it was.

The Traveler and Paimon… It seemed that you were blankly staring at them for too long because the floating one spoke again.

“Um… are you okay?” 

“Oh! I’m fine, sorry, sorry, I just spaced out for a second there,” you apologetically waved them off. This was going to be a bit annoying.

A while ago, you had decided to let go. Let go of the pain, of any possible thoughts of revenge, of the sheer grief you suffered from your loss. Because continuing to work yourself up like that would only worsen your illness and mental state. For the most part, you’d been successful, living each day as best you could along with your husband. You still thought about the segments though, always thankful for what they did for you.

But now that the Traveler stood in front of you in flesh and blood, your composure wavered a little. This was the same person who killed Omega. You couldn’t help but feel a twinge of hatred, but you relaxed with a deep breath.

“That’s okay! Well, Paimon is Paimon, and this here is the Traveler. We saw you here by yourself and just wanted to see if you were alright!” The blonde nodded in affirmation.

“Ah, I see. There’s no need to worry about me. My body can’t handle standing for so long, so it’s better for me to sit, even if I’m a bit far away from the stage.” There was no harm in telling them right off the bat because you had a feeling that Paimon’s line of questioning would make you reveal your illness anyway. She talked a lot, according to your fellow Fatuis.

“Huh? Are you injured?”

“No, it’s just my illness. My body struggles to do many things a healthy person would, so I need to be careful.” The pair nodded at you in sympathy.

“Oh… Paimon is sorry about that. That sounds really tough…” 

“It’s alright. It’s been like this for many years, so I’ve grown accustomed to it.” The fairy placed her hand on her chest in understanding before she brightened.

“Ah, Paimon has a good idea! Why don’t we keep you company during the performance? You know, we’ve been here loads of times and are even friends with Nilou! We can definitely tell you some cool things!”

“Oh, that sounds… nice.” You smiled at them, not because you liked them, but more because you were interested in their stories about this place. Paimon cheered and the Traveler took a seat near you. It made your skin crawl a bit, but you didn’t show any outward reaction.

“Say, Paimon never asked your name.”

“You can call me [Name].” The only person who knew you in this country was the Dendro Archon, and you doubted they would tell her about you, so there was no point in using another name. Also that was too much work.

“So [Name], is this your first time in Sumeru? We can show you all the best restaurants if you need it!” Ah, so the agents were also accurate when they said she liked food a lot. And the fact the Traveler was silent most of the time.

“No, I used to live here. But, I moved away a long time ago, so this is my first time back in many years.”

“That sounds nice. It must feel good to be back, huh? It’s too bad the Interdarshan Championship isn’t taking place this year. That would have been lots of fun!” Paimon sighed, memories of the last one flowing through her mind. Ah yes, you remember that as well. You and Zandik were never chosen as nominees of course… but it was a fun event to observe. For you at least. Zandik would always go on about how foolish the competitors were, how they couldn’t see how simple the seemingly difficult challenge was. You always laughed at his criticism.

“Mhm, it’s too bad. Maybe I can come back another time to see that.”

“Yeah, you definitely should! Speaking of, did you come here with anyone?”

“Yes, my husband accompanied me here. But he’s working right now, so I’m by myself.”

“Aww, that’s too bad. It must be lonely to enjoy a festival by yourself, huh?”

“Perhaps a little bit, but I do not mind. He’s taken care of me for countless years along with his work duties, it’s more than enough for me to even have the opportunity to experience this festival.”

“Wow, you two really do sound like a loving couple!”

“Hehe, yes… yes, we are,” you had started to smile loopily at the thought of Dottore and ignored the look the Traveler and Paimon gave you. But your attention returned when the stage lights flickered on and the crowd started to simmer down.

“Looks like the performance is starting! Oh, Paimon can’t wait to see what Nilou has in store this time!” You were excited to see it as well.

—

The performances were delightful. The play was well-acted and interesting, and the red-haired girl’s dance at the end was beautiful. Huh… you wish they had more festivals like this in Snezhnaya. Or maybe they did, and you didn’t know about them. You’d have to ask Bina about that when you return.

“That was so, so touching,” Paimon sniffed as the Traveler comforted their friend. You couldn’t help but agree as well. “We have to go say hi to Nilou now!” The Traveler and Paimon rose as you watched them.

“Just stay here [Name], we’ll be back in a few minutes!” You smiled at them as they went off to greet their friend before you quickly dropped your expression. Stay? With them? Nah, you had enough for today. You wanted to go back to Dottore now and bother him to let you cuddle him on his lap. So when they weren’t looking, you slipped out of the theater, and your bodyguards slyly followed, attracting the attention of no one.

Ah, you had a lot of things to say to Dottore now, didn’t you…

—

“Huh? Where did [Name] go?” When the pair returned, you were gone.

“They must have left. I bet it’s because you were asking them so many questions, Paimon,” the Traveler teased her.

“Hey! Paimon was being friendly and they didn’t seem to mind! Anyway, let’s go outside. It’s only been a few minutes, maybe they’re still around.” The pair exited and walked around the city for a bit, but you had already disappeared into thin air.

“Traveler, Paimon! It’s nice to see you again!” A gentle voice called out to them. It was Nahida, who walked up to them with a bright smile on her face. The other two responded in kind.

“Oh, hey Nahida! Long time no see, huh?”

“Yes, it’s been quite a while. You must come over for a bit and tell me about your travels sometime. I guess you’ve been enjoying the Akademiya Extravaganza, right?”

“Yup! Traveler and Paimon enjoyed a lot of fun games and delicious food! And then we went to see some performances at the theater, and now we were looking for someone, but eh, it’s not really important anymore.”

“Hmm? Looking for who?”

“Just someone we met a few hours ago at the theater. Their name is [Name].” The Dendro Archon’s eyes widened at the mention of your name, immediately straightening up.

“[Name]? Did you say [Name]?” The Traveler and Paimon noticed the God’s surprised expression and inquired about it.

“Yeah, do you know them, Nahida?”

“I… I can’t believe it. Do they happen to look like…” Nahida then went off to give a brief description of you, and the Traveler confirmed that you indeed matched her words. Paimon was a bit worried.

“Nahida, why are you asking us this? You’re making it seem like we were talking to a long-lost criminal or something.”

“Well, I suppose that wouldn’t be too far off. This [Name] that you’ve met is… part of the Fatui. But that’s not the big part. They’re the Doctor’s lover.” It was silent for a few seconds before Paimon responded, nearly yelling as the Traveler’s jaw dropped.

“The man [Name] is married to is THE DOCTOR?!”

“Oh, so they’re married now? Last time I heard they weren’t.”

“Nahida, surely you must be mistaken, right? You’re far too casual about this, no one could be dating the Doctor of their own free will!” Nahida was about to respond when yet another voice interrupted.

“She’s not lying.” A familiar voice echoed from somewhere and the group turned to face it. It was the former Sixth Harbinger, standing to the side, braced against the wall. “That [Name] is indeed the partner of Dottore. I met them while I was in the Fatui.”

“Ahh… Paimon’s head hurts…” The Traveler nodded in agreement as they too rubbed their head at this revelation. “But why? Why would they want to be with the Doctor?”

“It’s futile to ask me about their relationship,” the puppet scoffed. “I cannot begin to comprehend how the two of them supposedly love each other. I’ve spoken to them a few times…” the puppet thought back to those encounters in the lab, “but our conversations did little to enlighten me on the nature of their relationship.”

“[Name] and Dottore have a long history together. It’s… complicated, but I’m not lying when I say they’ve been together for centuries. But what concerns me is that if [Name] is here, then the Doctor must be close by as well… and the Fatui too… He wouldn’t let them roam around all by themselves.”

“Oh no! That’s right, [Name] said that their husband accompanied them here. So that means the Doctor is in Sumeru!”

“I see… the Matra would have noticed if a boat of Fatui arrived at the port… so that means the other agents must be well disguised. But nothing has happened lately. Sumeru has been at peace like usual, there’s nothing that the Fatui have been digging their nose into recently. I wonder…” the God of Wisdom began to mumble to herself while Wanderer merely looked on.

“Paimon would have never guessed they were in the Fatui… do you think they were lying about their illness too?”

“No, they are indeed afflicted with a mysterious illness. From what I know, [Name] used to be quite a formidable force four hundred years ago. But their illness gradually sapped their strength away from them, leaving them as they are now… so they have virtually no physical prowess anymore.”

“Oh… that’s quite sad. Wait, but that doesn’t change the fact they’re part of the Fatui, with the Doctor no less! They’re our enemy, no doubt!”

“That’s not to mean [Name] is weak. Although their mind has certainly been ravaged by many things, they possess a strong will. Not to mention, they are the one and only Doctor’s close confidant. I’m sure if pressed, they have some tricks up their sleeves.”

“We have to do something! The Fatui are always up to no good, I bet they have some horrible, evil plan to… to… ruin the Akademiya Extravaganza! We can’t let them do that!” Paimon exclaimed while the Traveler nodded in complete agreement. “Nahida, what’s the plan?”

“The plan is to let them be.”

“H-Huh? Nahida, you’re just going to let them go?”

“That’s correct, Paimon.”

“Lesser Lord Kusanali, are you sure?” Even Wanderer, who usually went along with the God albeit with some moaning and groaning, had an objection.

“The festival has been going on for several days now, and tomorrow is the last day. If the Fatui truly were planning something, it would have been done by now. And to be honest, I suspect that the only reason the Doctor made the trip here was for…” You, Nahida wanted to say, but then decided against it. She wasn’t one hundred percent sure, after all. “Actually, never mind. Don’t worry about it, Traveler, Paimon. But if you happen to see them tomorrow, you could speak to them again. I am admittedly… interested in [Name].”

“Well… alright Nahida. We trust you.”

—

While the group was busy chatting about you, you were making your way back to Dottore. It was already evening, and all you wanted to do was relax in the embrace of your beloved. However today, the Fatui agents were escorting somewhere else rather than your temporary home. Where? The more you walked, the quicker you realized.

The large Ruin Golem in the mountains of Sumeru’s forest.

Seeing it from a distance brought back fond memories for you. You remember the first time you and Zandik entered it. He was incredibly fascinated with it and literally spent hours in it. Of course, you were forced to stay with him and help him with all the research and note-taking. But looking back, it was fun. And you may or may not have kissed him a lot in there, and he was very annoyed at you breaking his focus, but did nothing to stop you.

This same spot, near the Ruin Golem, was also a frequent star-gazing spot. Because he would spend so long there, even until night fell, and you kept insisting it’d be romantic to watch the stars here. He didn’t really agree but… Zandik surprisingly indulged you more than you realized.

Soon, you were much closer to the Ruin Golem and Dottore was in sight, waiting for you. The Fatui agents bowed to you as you dismissed them and made your way over to your husband, who was patiently waiting for you while gazing at the large robot in front of him. You wondered if he had finished his work, for him to be wasting time like this.

(In reality, there was no real mission in Sumeru. The five-day long trip was done to indulge your long-time wishes. Pierro had only let Dottore go on it if he managed to finish at least three-quarters of his paperwork before the trip, and the other quarter during it. So needless to say, Dottore had worked quite hard to acquire this time off, but you didn’t need to know that because then you would feel absolutely terrible and he’d have to deal with your countless apologies.)

“[Name],” he greeted you.

“Zandik!” You immediately hugged him to which he reciprocated and patted your head. “I missed you! Oh, I have so much to tell you. You wouldn’t believe what happened. I met the-”

“Traveler,” Dottore interrupted.

“You know already?”

“Of course. I was notified the moment it happened.”

“Oh.” Well, now that you think about it, that made sense. Of course, Dottore would be aware of everything that happened to you… you were alone, but in a way you weren’t. He still had that overprotective and possessive streak, and rightfully so. He chuckled at your reaction.

“But, I believe your point of view will be far more eye-opening. So please, do tell.” You brightened and immediately began prattling about everything, not before you two laid down on the grass and got comfortable, the same as you did four hundred years ago. Though Dottore wasn’t particularly worried about the Traveler doing anything to you, no, of course, he had planned for this possibility (unlike you) and already had measures in place just in case anything happened. 

So the conversation began to move onto softer things. Like you bringing up old memories every five seconds. For example, you two also used to come here frequently to investigate the forest for classes. Zandik usually found these ones boring and was much more interested in Ruin Machines, so you often sped through these boring expeditions in record time so he could do more “fun” things.

“Perhaps we should do that again.”

“Do what? Investigate the biodiversity of Sumeru’s forest?”

“Correct.” You laughed at his words but Dottore looked rather serious about it.

“Isn’t the sun going to set soon? And I thought you weren’t interested in that stuff anymore.” 

You were surprised he was doing this, but Dottore had already risen to his feet and stuck out his hand to you expectantly.

“No matter. We can still see, no? And I do believe it will be interesting to see how it has changed over four hundred years.” That was a lie. He didn’t actually care about the plants of the forest. He was only doing it because he knew it was something you would like. And he was right of course, for you smiled happily and took his hand, clasping it tightly.

“Alright then! I’ll lead the way, just like old times,” you puffed your chest out. “Just follow me, Zandik. And you’re taking notes this time! You don’t know what you put my hand through all those years ago!” Dottore only chuckled at your huffing. You were always on note duty because he kept breaking his pens and spilling ink everywhere, much to your dismay.

But regardless, you two spent an evening examining Sumeru’s fauna, the conversation turning surprisingly rather intellectual. But it soon turned quiet as you two ended the night off by gazing at the stars, just like old times. 

The stars may be a lie, but sometimes lies are still beautiful.

—

Today was the last day of the Akademiya Extravaganza, and you decided to spend the day enjoying the city one last time. You were set to leave with Dottore this afternoon, so you only had about half a day to do what you needed to do. You didn’t know when you’d be back again, so you wanted to imprint it into your mind, and maybe get a few souvenirs as well. It all went well, you did what you needed to do, bought what you wanted and passed it on to your agents to keep for you, and were actually about to head back to Dottore when you met some familiar faces.

The Traveler and Paimon… again. It seemed like the Gods really did hate you, huh? 

“Hey [Name]!” That familiar high-pitched voice waved to you and called out your name… ugh. Just as you were about to go, too. But you pretended otherwise.

“Hello Paimon, Traveler. It is good to see you again. I must apologize for leaving yesterday. I had… matters to attend to,” you apologized.

“Don’t worry about that! Paimon understands.” You smiled back in response and waited to see if the pair would say anything else, but they just… stood there for a few seconds and looked at you.

“Well, if that’s all…” You turned to leave, but Paimon blurted out a strained response unusually quickly.

“Wait! Paimon means, would you like to take a walk with us? Our conversation got cut short yesterday, it would be nice to talk a bit more.” You squinted a bit at Paimon’s expression. It seemed a bit… off. Regardless, you did have some more time to kill, and perhaps they would tell you something of amusement you could relay back to Dottore. So it wasn’t too bad of a decision.

“Alright, that sounds fine,” you nodded in agreement. Paimon had to hold in her sigh of relief. And so the three of you began to walk, taking in the sights of the city. Paimon asked you some more questions, but she seemed a bit… nervous? You weren’t dumb, the more she talked the easier it was to notice. The Traveler was good at keeping a poker face, but Paimon on the other hand, was not. She was nervously looking back and forth between you and the blonde. Which could only mean one thing. 

They knew your real identity. 

Ah, so they found out. Huh. You weren’t expecting that, but you didn’t care much. They were bound to find out eventually, so long as they kept fighting the Fatui. You didn’t know if they were going to confront you right now or not, but you weren’t going to wait around for it. You knew your Fatui bodyguards were close by somewhere, but you didn’t want them to get hurt by the Traveler, so you stretched your arms out, a signal for them to back away a bit. Because you already had a defense mechanism readied that you didn’t want to affect them. Courtesy of Dottore, of course.

So before Paimon could ask another question, you abruptly stopped. You two had exited the city, so there were no regular civilians around either.

“[Name], why did you-”

“There’s no need to pretend anymore. You know who I am, don’t you?” The looks on their faces gave it all away, and the Traveler instantly put up their guard, which you chuckled at.

“Now now, there’s no need to get all worked up. Surely the ever-righteous Traveler won’t hurt a poor, defenseless soul like me, right?” You simply smiled at them, and Paimon was immediately on the verbal defense.

“Hey! You’re in no position here to be saying stuff like that! The Traveler here has taken out countless Fatui, you’re no different,” the travel guide bluffed. She remembered Nahida’s instructions to let you be, but how could she let you talk to her like that?! “And, and,” she scratched her brain for another warning, “we’ll take you to the Matra for questioning!” Paimon blurted out her best threat, which you only laughed at.

“Oh no, I’m so scared…”

“Hey! We’re not joking! You’re connected with the Doctor, they’ll lock you up!”

“Mhm, you know all of that, don’t you? And yes, I’m well aware of your martial prowess,” you looked directly at the blonde. “The same hands killed Omega, didn’t they?” At the segment’s name, the Traveler stiffened. The look in your eyes wasn’t the same as it was before. It had a carefully veiled sense of loathing that had come up to the surface.

“You know, for years I wondered to myself, how did Omega look like in his last moments? What did he think of? What did he do?” Your voice gradually became a soft whisper. “These questions used to drive me mad, but I don’t think I want to know the answer anymore.” The two were shocked at the clear love and longing you had in your voice for the deceased segment. It wasn’t fake at all.

“But why? Why would you willingly be with someone like the Doctor?” Earlier that day, the Traveler and Paimon had decided to scout Sumeru again in hopes of finding notes that you left behind, and after careful exploration once again, they did. Your notes, however, always had careful logical additions left by Zandik. And then, in response… you’d flirt with him on the note, to which the scholar never responded. The pair didn’t know what to feel or say to that.

“Ah, there it is. The same question I receive every time. But it’s okay. I can understand your confusion. Though if I were to stand here and tell you every reason why, it would make you only more confused. So let me answer your question with the simplest answer of them all. I love Dottore. Dottore loves me. That is the foundation of our relationship.” Unfortunately, that answer seemed to only make the two more confused. 

“… It seems that you still do not understand. But that’s okay. It’s not like it matters anyway,” you supposed they were unconvinced a man such as Dottore could love, but you weren’t here to convince them of that. So then you turned to leave before Paimon spoke again.

“Where do you think you’re going? You are coming with Traveler and Paimon!” You let out a sigh at this creature’s persistence. Looks like you’d have to do something.

“You know, I was really hoping I wouldn’t have to use this,” you mumbled under your breath before you retrieved a pill from your pocket and swallowed it, although it was a different color from your regular ones. The Traveler continued to watch on carefully, ready to summon their sword at any second.

“Hmph! Any last words?” Paimon put her hands on her hips as she stared at you. You thoughtfully looked up and began to think, before you came up with something. You despised the Traveler, but a question couldn’t help but linger in your chest. And hey, they’ve helped Childe and Arlecchino in the past, despite nearly being killed by them, right? And that Electro God too. You didn’t know if they were stupid or just too nice. It was worth a shot. And, you didn’t care if you were selfish or not. You were tired of being nice.

“Traveler… may I ask you a favor?”

The Traveler raised their eyebrow, partially offended and shocked you would ever ask them that considering the antagonistic stance you took. That was the last thing they expected, but you took their silence as an opportunity to continue.

“You hop to different worlds, don’t you? Different universes?” The Traveler nodded, unsure of where you were going with this. Your gaze flickered to the floor, eyebrows furrowing before you made up your mind.

“Then, when you leave Teyvat, could you… look for me?” Out of everything that could have come out of your mouth, the Traveler could not have expected that.

“I want to know… I just want to know if there exists a world, where none of this happened. Where I was never sick, where he didn’t have to do all of this to find a cure. I want to know if there’s a world where everything is okay for us.” Your eyes fluttered shut as you spoke, loads of memories flashing through your head about everything you’ve gone through. The Traveler and Paimon remained speechless because they truly did not know what to say, before you cringed at yourself for saying something so stupid.

“Ah, what am I saying? I know you have no sympathy for us, it was dumb to ask,” you waved it off. “Forget it. But I’m afraid I’ve wasted too much time here with you. I have things to attend to.” At that moment, you reached into your pocket and produced a strange device, and before the Traveler could summon their sword, an irregular, headache-inducing sound echoed throughout the area. Instantly, the Traveler knew it was the same sound device Omega had used to put them to sleep all those years ago. But it was too late, as their mind became foggy and their knees buckled to the floor.

“To think that you fell for the same thing twice… that’s kind of embarrassing for you, mighty Traveler,” your laugh was the last thing they heard before they fell into a dream. “It’s a good thing Dottore told me to carry this thing… and made a pill so the effects wouldn’t work on me. Well, bye now.”

—

After rendering those two unconscious, you made your way to the boat you and Dottore were going to leave in. Your agents had caught back up to you and you swore you heard them mumbling about how “cool” you were. It was cute.

You saw your husband standing leisurely on the boat. You guess he had no reason to disguise himself considering he was already about to leave. You immediately smiled and climbed onto the boat with his help.

“I guess you were immediately notified of what happened, weren’t you?” You teased. 

“Of course,” he went along with your tone. “I am always aware of what hindrances may plague my spouse.” You hummed in acknowledgment as you watched the Fatui prepare to set off.

“You know, this whole trip, I’ve been thinking something stupid.”

“No thought from you could be stupid. Do tell.”

“I’ve been thinking… that I love you so much that it may begin to physically hurt me when you’re not around.” Dottore seemed amused.

“Is that so?”

“Yes, really! All those times when you left me alone in the lab, I swear I started developing some side effects!” You pouted as Dottore found himself laughing at your pain.

“Well, not to worry. I am a doctor, after all, I know very well how to treat this ailment.” Dottore ran his fingers up and down your neck, leaving behind a tingling sensation.

“Oh, do you? Well, go ahead, doctor. Make me feel better.”

“I would be delighted to but, the treatment is a little… hands-on,” his deep voice made your heart race with excitement.

“Aren’t you the one who always gets mad at me for trying to skip my medicine? I see no reason to hesitate.” You smiled boldly.

“As you wish. But don’t say I didn’t warn you…” Dottore then pressed you against the railing of the boat, holding you down so you wouldn’t tip over, and then began to lean into your lips.

(The Fatui agents kept their heads turned the whole time.)

—

That had happened years before the Traveler defeated the Doctor, and consequently killed you in the process. Sometimes they wonder if things could have turned out differently. Especially since some of the other Harbingers were certainly not pleased with them when they finally fought, namely the Third, but she too eventually met her demise. But what’s done is done.

The Traveler thought that would be the last they ever saw of you and the Doctor, but they were wrong. As one would expect, Dottore was connected with many of the events in Teyvat, and so he popped up here and there again throughout the rest of the Traveler’s journey.

But one thing they did not expect was to see you and Dottore again. Where? The Ley Lines had somehow shown them people from the past, as they once did with the Shogun. 

It was… strange. Strange to see the two of you just be normal. Normal people, normal students before it all changed. You, a stark contrast to the person they saw before - energetic, bubbly, handling your weapon with ease as you protected Zandik from any possible danger. Zandik, a lot more grouchy and less suave, morally ambiguous but not quite evil yet. Two people who were alone and found company in each other’s likeness. It created a sort of… understanding for the Traveler. Not forgiveness. Understanding.

So when they finally left Teyvat, they decided to fulfill that favor you had asked them. To find you in another universe. It was also to satisfy a sort of curiosity they had themselves. Would you two truly be happy in another world? They would find out as long as they continued to journey with their sibling. So they traveled and traveled and met many new people, and went on many new adventures, your request lingering in the back of their mind every time they visited a new planet.

Admittedly, it was actually kind of… sad to see your fates in the other universes. In many universes, you died, or he died, leaving the other all alone unable to come to terms with their fate. In some universes, you were ill again. You did not survive. In others the relationship did not last, breaking it off due to numerous reasons out of your or Zandik’s control. And maybe the worst fate of them all… you two never crossed paths. Never able to give the other a chance at love.

If the Traveler had a Mora for every time fate divided you two, they might be as rich as Pantalone. They wondered if your request would ever be finished. So when the Traveler entered the next universe, they weren’t expecting much. 

This world was a bit different from the others. It had no supernatural powers, but it had great technology. Things like “internet” and “phones” and “computers.” But they had gotten accustomed to it quickly, as they always had. Right now they were at an outdoor cafe, waiting for their sibling when they heard a familiar voice.

“Ugh, I swear, as soon as the term ends, I will be running to give that guy a scalding rating!” The voice spoke with annoyance and a slam followed soon after, presumably textbooks dumped onto the table. This cafe was frequented by students, so this was no surprise for the Traveler. Cheap, yummy, and a good study spot is what they heard from passersby. 

“I told you not to take him,” another grouchy voice replied. “You brought this on yourself.”

“You know that he was my only option! I literally got the last seat in the class,” you whined back, the chairs dragging across the concrete. “Besides, I don’t want to hear that from you when you complain about your professors every single day, Zandik.” That name nearly made the Traveler choke on their drink.

Zandik? Did they hear that right…? They turned around, hoping not to arouse attention, and then their eyes widened as they looked at the pair that just arrived.

They were the spitting image of the [Name] and Dottore from Teyvat, although these people were dressed in different clothes that were normal for this planet. There were a few minor differences that the Traveler only recognized because they were familiar with Teyvat’s version of you, but there was no doubt about it.

These two people were this planet’s version of you and Dottore. But the question was, were you two happy together? The Traveler needed to find out, and this position wasn’t good for spying so they moved to another inconspicuous location.

Zandik only rolled his eyes at your defiant quip before opening his heavy textbook, which you soon followed suit. The friendly banter between the two of you flowed naturally. When the food came, you tried feeding him the piece of cake which Zandik tried shooing your hand away, but had to give in after a while with slightly red cheeks. Your hands occasionally brushed against each other, but neither of you pulled away. Interesting, very interesting. Could this be the universe…?

After you two left the cafe, the Traveler decided to follow. This was probably a bit stalkerish, but they just needed to confirm. (Good thing they had skill in this area.) 

In the busy public streets, your shoulders only brushed, but when it became more deserted, you reached out to hold hands with Zandik. He huffed and mumbled something to you, which the blonde could not hear, though you only responded with a laugh as you squeezed his hand tighter. But then your attention was diverted by something else.

“Oh, look there Zandik! Do you see that?” You whisper-yelled, drawing his attention to a tree branch. “It’s a raven and a sparrow! Together! The thing is on top of the other’s head!” You couldn’t contain your amusement. “Isn’t that really strange? Don’t ravens eat sparrows sometimes?”

“Yes, and the sparrow must be rather stupid for allowing itself to get so close to something that can kill it,” Zandik said bluntly.

“That’s not nice,” you poked him for that comment. “Just because they’re different doesn’t mean they can’t be friends. Just like us, Zandik!”

“The world is not that nice, [Name],” he sighed, your optimism causing him great headaches sometimes.

“Yeah, I know thatttt~. But you never know! Hehe, you know, this reminds me of the time a few months back when a butterfly landed on your nose. You looked so cute! Ah, I’m so glad I got a picture.” Zandik immediately scowled, because you set the bloody thing as your wallpaper, so anyone who looked at your phone’s home screen could see the embarrassing moment. Ajax and his wretched finance and theater friends did not let him hear the end of it. Your boyfriend then started walking much faster, dragging you along as you yelped at the increased speed.

“Stop babbling and hurry up, otherwise I’ll leave you behind.”

“Okay, okay! Just slow down!!”

Soon, the two of you reached your newly rented apartment. Both of you had only recently moved out of the dorms, but it had been a lot of fun decorating and growing accustomed to this new life. The Traveler watched as you disappeared into the building, and then noticed your figure again through a window near the upper level. You were cradling an animal, a cat actually, and kissed it gently. Zandik then made his way over, uncharacteristically scratching its chin as well, before saying something to you. (Perhaps scolding you for giving your pet too much attention. A very Zandik way of saying he himself wanted more attention too.) You only shook your head with mirth before pressing a kiss to your lover’s lips, and the two of you moved away from the window, now out of sight.

Well, the Traveler’s job was done now. You and Zandik were happy. Maybe not in Teyvat, maybe not in any other world but… you two were happy in this one. And that was all you wished for.

[Name] and Zandik were happy.

And that’s the perfect ending for a fairy tale, right?

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #dottore x reader #il dottore x reader #genshin il dottore #il dottore #genshin dottore x reader #dottore fluff #dottore angst #dottore #genshin dottore #genshin impact il dottore #zandik x reader #genshin impact zandik #fatui harbingers x reader #fatui x reader #genshin impact x you #fragile reader <3 #divider by cafekitsune

[sailoryooons]

F*ck Christmas | myg (m)

❆ Paring: Yoongi x f. reader

❆ Summary: Making hating Christmas your entire personality was never the plan. Then again, it seems bad things only ever happen around Christmas - like discovering your fiancé cheating on you, forcing you to move back to your sleepy hometown. But Min Yoongi happens to love Christmas, and if there is one thing your very stubborn childhood crush is going to do, it’s try to reignite your Christmas spirit. Even if he has to force-feed it to you with gingerbread cookies and too-sweet eggnog.

❆ Word Count: 23,466

❆ Genre: smut, fluff, friends to lovers

❆ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

❆ Warnings: Reader is miserable to start this and isn't very nice to Yoongi because she has Feelings and unpacked issues, a lot of nostalgia, mentions of depression and depictions of anxiety, mentions of parent deaths (Yoonig's mom, readers dad), a lot of familial guilt, reader isn't always The Best, Yoongi's dad has some failing memory with old age, Yoongi and reader and their endless pining, cheesy and very contrived scenarios, explicit language, recreational drinking, explicit sexual content including, unprotected sex, oral (f. receiving) fingering (f. receiving), Big Dick Yoongi, bodily fluids, established safeword, honestly emotional fucking ok, reader being a bit in subspace/overwhelmed during sex, cheesy as fuck ending

❆ Published: December 28, 2022

❆ A/N: Holy shit this is finally done. It is days, late, about 10k more words than it was supposed to be because I couldn't shut the fuck up, and it is not my favorite thing I have ever written, but I hope that you enjoy it anyway, and that you find some comfort if you have a hard time during the holidays like I sure as shit do (which is why this fic is legit so late ijsdgkjng). Eternally grateful to M for being my mental crutch during this process, reading to make sure it doesn't suck and constantly assuring me I'm not writing a total car wreck. Super pleased to have been able to write with @here2bbtstrash @gimmethatagustd and @nabiolive so please please please make sure you check out their fics when they're posted (Jai's is posted now so GO READ!!!!)

Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

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The monotonous shuffle of feet, mechanical click of the baggage claim conveyor, and three-toned chime before a muffled and completely unintelligible airport announcement work together in tandem to make a grating symphony. 

You spot your neon green, plastic suitcase drifting through the black flaps of the conveyer. As it nears, a cluster of people block your access, huddling and waiting for their bags right up against it. With an angry sigh, you navigate around them, throwing a glare as you reach for your back and haul it off the conveyor. 

People who crowd baggage claim when their bags aren’t out are at the top of your travel intolerances, second only to people who clap when the plane lands. 

Wheeling your suitcase toward the entrance as fast as you can, you look at your lock screen to see that your mother has blown up your phone with text messages.

[Mom]: Gate G

[Mom]: I’m at gate G

[Mom]: I still have the white Macaran. Gate G I am waiting by it.

[Mom]: What are you wearing? I will try to pull up closer. 

[Mom]: They are asking me not to wait. Do you have your bags yet? Is it close to Gate G?

“For the love of Christ,” you mutter under your breath, shoving the device in your pocket. 

The airport doors open, making a stuttering suction sound as they do. Cold air hits you in the face, making you flinch and squint. 

Just near the column marked ‘G’ your mother waits in her white car, waving wildly when she sees you. Despite your temporary annoyance, you give her a tight-lipped grin as she climbs out of the car, running to you with hand motions signaling she wants your bag. 

“Hi, hi!” she cheers, grabbing you quickly for a brief hug before making grabbing motions toward your bag. “Here, let me! Let me!”

“It’s fine,” you assure, trying to wheel the heavy bag away from you. You both end up wheeling it together, your mom refusing to let go of the handle until she’s opening the trunk and you’re hauling it into the back. “Thanks.”

Inside the car, the leather seats are heated and the hot air is blasting enough to threaten a nosebleed. You close the vents as your mother gets in, saying something you can’t hear over the blaring horns, slamming of her door, and fumbling with her seatbelt.

“What?”

“How was your flight?”

Awful. Long. Filled with absolute dread of the finality of your one-way ticket. Wondering if the movers had successfully delivered your shit to storage and dropped your car off at your mother’s house.

Naturally, you say none of these things. You offer canned responses with forced happiness that your mother doesn’t detect. She’s just happy to see you. The thought makes you soften a little.

Outside the world is covered in sheets of white. You know the winding roads well. Your mother talks about how it’s just the two of you for Christmas morning, but that she is volunteering at the homeless shelter on Christmas Eve. You take this in with a soft hum, eyes watching as you pass Mulberry street.

If you drive down another mile and take a left, you’ll be at Plaza Center, the mecca of your childhood with a movie theater, a Blockbuster turned Mattress Firm, Lucky Strike bowling alley, and a combination grocery store and liquor store where you used to huddle outside in the cold while waiting for someone’s fake ID to work. 

Soft music plays in the background as the tires hum on the road. You pass by the newer additions to the town – Starbucks, Olive Garden, Longhorns – they’ve all replaced longtime restaurants and a laser tag place that you remember having three birthdays in a row at. 

“Tired?” your mom asks, drawing you from trying to draw up the red brick houses from memory instead of watching them blur by. You hum. “You can take a nap later, get that airplane yuck off of you. Yoongi is working on fixing those damned cabinets. He ripped out the whole thing-“

“What?” 

“What what?”

“Why is Yoongi in your house?”

Your mother blinks at you owlishly as she pulls up to the stop light. You realize suddenly that she’s in one of your father’s old sweatshirts from university. It cuts you like a knife as you readjust yourself in the seat, suddenly tense and griping the door. 

“Min Yoongi still lives here?”

“Of course he does,” she scoffs and turns when the light changes. “Do you not keep up with him? You guys used to be such good friends.”

“Why is he at the house?”

“I just told you, he’s re-doing those damn cabinets. They had mold in them.”

For a moment, you just slow-blink at your mother. Min Yoongi is in her house – your house, now. You haven’t seen him since college. You knew he had moved back after school to help move his dad into a home, but he was supposed to leave once his dad was settled. 

He was… well he was supposed to be a big-shot architect. You just assumed he was. It occurs to you that you can’t remember the last time you even looked at Yoongi’s social media, though that was more on purpose than you’d like to admit.

Who wants to see what their life-long crush is still up to after they’ve long stopped talking to you?

“So you had him do our cabinets? He’s an architect, not a contractor.” 

“You really don’t know shit,” your mom laughs. “Yoongi took over his dad’s shop down on Miriam. Home Depot keeps trying to run him out, but most of us still like the comfort of Min’s Hardware. Plus, he spends the entire last quarter of the year building toys and the like for the children’s home and new chairs and furniture for the old folks home.”

You pause. “Is Old Man Min-“

It’s hard to bring yourself to finish the sentence. You remember the bleak affair of summer 09’ when Yoongi’s mother passed away, but you feel like someone would have told you if his father had passed. 

Thankfully, your mother shakes her head. “Still kicking. Yoongi didn’t want to sell out to one of those land development companies, though. They kept trying to pressure him – they want to open up a Super Target – but he said no.”

“Huh.” You lean back in the seat as your mom turns down your street. There is a sense of trepidation as you pass rows of brick-and-mortar homes with nondescript cars in the drive. “Good for him. Fuck Target.”

“Yeah, well. I wouldn’t mind a target, but I certainly don’t want it to replace Min’s.” 

A dark blue truck sits in the drive of your home. It’s hard not to focus on it, your eyes drifting from the swan-shaped mailbox to the giant blow-up decorations still wiggling, even covered in snow. The wind chimes are frozen on the porch and there’s a tarp on the swing set in front of the kitchen window.

The kitchen window, where you vaguely make out a shape with his back turned.

Butterflies erupt in your stomach. You have no reason to be nervous to see Min Yoongi and yet the thought of awkwardly walking into the kitchen like hey how are you threatens to make your demand your mom drive you back to the airport even though you have nowhere to go.

No home to go back to. No fiancé to-

Your mom shuts off the dark and slides out. She’s still rattling on about the developers buying up land and putting in condos and luxury apartments that no one can afford. You’re a beat behind her, slipping a little on the icy drive as you scramble out of the vehicle and retrieve your bag. 

Inside your chest, your heart pounds against your ribcage. You keep glancing out the window, wondering if you’ll suddenly see Yoongi’s soft, sweet face. Kicking ice off her boots on the porch, your mother opens the door as she talks on, breezing in and to the side to take off her boots.

You step in awkwardly. Unfamiliar. 

Everything in your view is the exact way you remember it, except suddenly… None of this feels like yours. Or like anything that has ever belonged to you. To your right, there is an open doorway that leads to the study – or the computer room as your dad chronically called it. It’s dark inside but you can see the indents on the carpet from the faded office chair, and the power-down Dell on the desk with multiple broken drawers. 

On the right is a cubby where you can kick your shoes off and hang your bag. You follow your mother’s example and take off your boots, feeling in a daze as your eyes drift down the hall. There’s a set of stairs that lead to the second floor just beyond the door to the computer room, and the living room and kitchen open up at the end of the hall.

Christmas music and the smell of cinnamon float down. There’s a lump in your throat as your mom walks toward the living room – and ultimately where the kitchen is. And Yoongi. Who is apparently hammering at something loudly, from the sounds of all the banging that drowns out the sound of Michael Bublé. 

“I’m gonna lay down,” you blurt before your mom can enter Yoongi’s line of vision. You’re frozen in the doorway, eyes wide, heart hammering. “The plane ride really exhausted me and I have a bit of a headache. Yoongi’s banging will make it worse.”

She frowns. “Well at least come to say hello.”

“I’ll see him later,” you assure her, moving toward the hardwood stairs and bending to pull up your bag. “It’s a small town, no big deal. Tell him I said hello.”

You’re halfway up the stairs when your mother says your name, irritation evident. You don’t respond, jogging the rest of the way. The bottom of your bag clips one of the stairs, making you stumble. You curse and recover before rushing down the right side of the hall, past the pictures on the wall and your open bathroom with the mermaid curtains straight into your room where you slam the door.

Leaning against it, you close your eyes and take a few breaths. In and out. In and out. Downstairs, the hammering pauses. You assume your mother is talking to Yoongi. Guilt eats away at you like a worm to an apple. You shove it down and walk into your room proper, trying not to think about how you want to avoid the man downstairs at all costs. 

Collapsing on your bed, you flinch and grab the mattress, forgetting how springy it is as they twang under the sudden weight. Your room is exactly how you left it. Aquamarine walls, a sea turtle lamp, a horrible collection of Justin Bieber memorabilia including a lunch box you can’t ever remember using, and an old box TV with a tiny DVD player. 

A broken lava lamp stands frozen in time on the white, paint-chipped dresser. You wonder if it even turns on anymore. The rolling closet door is open, empty save for extra sheets and towels and a couple of Vera Bradley duffle bags your mom never tossed out. 

Everything is the same and yet… you have never felt more like a stranger in your own home.

Pulling the scale pattern quilt from under you to wrap yourself in, you close your eyes and drift off to sleep, although the hammering downstairs starts once again.

-

A knock on the door and your mom’s voice telling you to come eat dinner pries you from sleep. Your limbs feel heavy and your back and neck ache with the unfamiliarity of the springy bed. Your thoughts are honey-thick as you try to remember that you’re not in your apartment – your old apartment that is no longer yours – and that your ex is not with you.

Mouth dry and limbs sluggish, you manage to trek down the stairs, footsteps heavy and awkward. There's still Christmas music playing somewhere in the living room, but it’s at a manageable volume now. You try not to think about it too much, finding Christmas music particularly grating this year.

The smell of dinner drifts from the kitchen and your stomach growls viciously, reminding you that you only had cheese and crackers for lunch. You rub your eyes, entering the open concept area with the kitchen facing the living room and the dining room tucked on the side of the kitchen against the glass-paned windows that look out into the yard.

Your mom sets something on the table and straightens, gesturing to something on the island countertop as she says, “Will you bring those potatoes over, Yoongi? I keep forgetting them on the counter.”

Two things happen at once. 

The first thing that happens is the slow-blink turning of your head, suddenly aware that a man is standing in your kitchen looking at you. Your feet glue themselves to the floor and your mouth parts a little in surprise and confusion that there is another human being in your house outside of you and your mother. 

The second thing that happens is the surge of panic and curiosity slamming into one another, two rogue waves at war as they unsteady the sleeping waters of your mind post-nap. You feel the urge to turn on your heel and run back up the stairs, but you’re stuck staring at Yoongi, both terrified to see him and... well you haven’t seen him in a while. You’re curious. 

Yoongi’s hair is blonde - a color he hasn’t had in years - with silky lowlights that look really good on him. Though most of it is tucked behind delicate, round ears that are decorated with his signature silver hoops, a few rogue strands fall endearingly over soft cat eyes. He’s broad in the shoulders, the material of his shirt pulled taught over the hint of biceps.

And Yoongi’s face – devastating as always. You always thought that he looked like a child of the moon goddess, smooth, milky skin with a rose-flushed mouth. His mouth as always looks soft, and as it breaks into a smile now when he sees you, it feels like the entire world might spin out of control. 

“Have a good nap?” Yoongi questions. His voice is so much deeper, raspy, and soft, and nothing at all like what you remember. But it’s been how long since you’ve seen him? At least four years. Maybe five. 

“Huh?” you can’t stop the words from leaving your mouth, your brain unable to connect the dots and form anything else.

Yoongi chuckles and ducks his head a bit, pink in the cheeks. He picks up the glass dish of potatoes that your mother asked for, rounding the island and putting it on the dining room table. He moves in your childhood home with ease, returning to the kitchen and popping up a drawer for a serving spoon.

“Jet lag, much?” that teasing tone of his is still there and you suddenly remember being in the ninth grade, hiding your face in your hands because he was poking fun at you for something innocent. “I don’t bite.”

“Why are you here?” Again, you’re unable to stop the words from coming out of your mouth. This time, however, you have enough sense to realize how rude it sounds. Swallowing past the rapidly forming knot of anxiety, you move toward the table. “You don’t have a headache from all that hammering you’ve been doing?”

Yoongi shrugs and sits down at the table across from where your mother has seated herself, pouring a glass of red for herself. “You seem to have slept through it fine.”

“Yeah, well.” You sit down next to your mom, suddenly feeling defensive. “A five-hour flight will do that to you.”

Yoongi hums, agreeing as he glances up at you again. You’ve had dreams about those damn eyes, written about them in childhood diaries. Wondered about them late at night, when your ex was fast asleep next to you.

Thoughts and memories of Min Yoongi paint several parts of your life. Childhood crush. Close friend. The subject of your dreamy sighs. The crush had worn off around college, but there was always that something when you looked at him. Perhaps the acknowledgment that he was impossibly beautiful and charming. 

Or maybe the inescapable fact that you might always harbor something extra for him.

Averting your gaze, you clear your throat and grab the bottle of wine from your mom, pouring a healthy amount. “Why are you ripping out the cabinets anyway?”

“There was mold in the back of them.” He accepts a plate of meat from your mother. “I came over to help your mom pull down that bone china she keeps hidden away and found it.”

You glance at your mom. “You couldn’t use a ladder?”

“You try having old hips,” she huffs. “Yoongi isn’t that far. He’s a doll and he’s always a phone call away.” 

There is nothing wrong with Yoongi helping your aging mom. At least, that is what you tell yourself as she asks Yoongi about a TV show both of them have been watching. You fill your plate and listen to them, hovering on the edge of a conversation you can’t contribute to.

“And then she had the nerve to act like she was holier than thou,” your mother agrees, shaking her head. “The Greens are going to get theirs, now that Alicent was exposed for a snake.”

Yoongi snorts. “I don’t know, no one ever gets punished the way we want on that show.”

“Who is Alicent?” you ask, dubious.

Both of them look at you. Your mom waves you off with a roll of her eyes at Yoongi. “She doesn’t watch TV. I’ve been begging her to watch for weeks now. Thankfully you caved in.”

“I just don’t have time for TV.”

Your mom pats your hand delicately. It doesn’t feel comforting like it should. “I know. Thankfully I can gossip about it with Yoongi.”

They seem comfortable. Your mom laughs as Yoongi rants about some character arch you have never heard of. You watch as your mom cuts into her steak alongside him, handing him sauce for his diced pieces. He thanks her easily, not missing a beat as he uncaps it.

Suddenly, you feel like a stranger in your own house. All this time you’ve been living on the other side of the country, Yoongi has been here doing... whatever it is that he does. Making himself comfortable in your home. Filling a space for you. And now that you’re here, it’s like you don’t exist.

No one asks you how you’ve been. No one asks for a single detail about your life. Whether it’s out of pity because they know you’ve been left out in the cold with no home, no fiance, and leave from work because... well they felt bad that you were cheated on and booted from your apartment.

It's like you don’t exist anywhere. You don’t exist in your mom’s life. You don’t exist in Yoongi’s.

And it drives you mad.

You get up abruptly from the table, startling both of them. “I’m feeling ill,” you mutter tightly. You’re moving away from the table as your mother sputters, surprised. “I’ll try to eat later, I’m going to lie down.”

“Do you need help up the stairs?”

Yoongi’s question and concern seem genuine. It makes the sudden gnawing feeling inside of you even worse. “No,” you snap. “Enjoy your dinner and conversation.”

They both call after you as you turn and hightail it out of the kitchen and toward the steps. Everything feels blurry and the tightening of your threat is the only warning of sudden tears. It feels silly and pathetic, to suddenly be worked up into a frenzy over – well you’re not really sure over what. But it doesn’t sting any less, whatever this sense of feeling left out is.

Crawling into your bed, you pull the covers over your head just like you used to when you lived here last. The tears burn hot down your face and you press the heels of your hands into your eyes, as though you can grind the tear ducts to dust. 

You hate being home. You hate that it doesn’t feel like home. But most of all, you hate that at the height of your misery and embarrassing life, Min Yoongi now has front row tickets.

Somehow, you manage to sleep.

-

The sound of thunder wakes you up in the morning. No, it’s not thunder. Thunder comes and goes in slow rolls of sound, fading, and building in a gentle percussion. This is the constant booming of something bang bang banging in a repetitive pattern. 

Irritation drags you from sleep. You peel the covers from over your face, blinking and groaning in the morning light that filters through the curtain. Crust forms in the corner of your eye. You rub furiously until you see colors explode behind your lids.

Blinking until your room swims into view, you stare up at the ceiling a little longer until you remember that you’re in your childhood room. And that the loud banging sound coming from downstairs is probably Yoongi.

The sticky, nasty feeling from last night curls inside of you again. Less potent, but still there. Looking back on it, you feel a little dramatic. Watching Yoongi and your mom exist in a space so easily without you while you were there triggered a sliver of guilt you had been nursing since you decided to move home. 

Even now, you ignore the feeling as you slip down the stairs and toward the kitchen. The hunger is demanding and ever-present, and though you’re unsure you want to face Yoongi again after last night, you can’t ignore the dizziness from lack of food. 

Sunlight filters in through the kitchen window. Dust motes float in the air, suspended in gold light. There are pieces of wood and metal piles of hinges and knobs, screws rolling across the counter, and plastic-wrapped pieces of hinges and bolts, but it’s still your kitchen.

There’s still white backsplash against the sink with a yellow duck soap dispenser. There’s a black fridge with chip-clip magnets holding up pictures of your family, your graduation photos, and drawings that you created as a child. The island countertop is buried in Yoongi’s supplies, but you imagine that if it weren’t, there’d be fake fruit in a basket with mugs full of tea gone cold.

Today, Yoongi is in a black, oversized t-shirt, and a beanie. There’s a small speaker next to him, Michael Bublé singing clearly through the kitchen as Yoongi slides a shelf into one of the newly constructed cabinets. 

“You really like Bublé.”

Yoongi flinches, turning around to see you hovering and hesitating near the kitchen counter. He grins a little, wiping his hands on his pants. His blonde hair just barely peaks out from underneath the beanie and his face is flushed red as he crosses his arms over his chest and leans back on the counter. There are dark circles under his eyes, but he otherwise looks beautiful first thing in the morning.

“I like Christmas music,” he offers with a shrug. “Tis the season.”

“Hmm.” Your eyes scan the kitchen. “Is there a way to make coffee in this mess?”

He nodes and moves a cabinet, revealing the coffee maker. “Ta-da.” You huff once in laughter before going to your fridge in search of creamer. You sense Yoongi’s dark gaze on you as you do. “How are you feeling?”

“Hmm?”

“From last night? Feeling better?”

“Oh.” You shut the fridge and avoid his gaze. “Yeah.”

He hums. You flick the lid on the coffee and pause, looking around the kitchen for one of the pods to make the coffee. Yoongi leans over with a chuckle and pulls open a drawer, revealing rows of neatly placed Keurig cups.

“Thanks,” you say flatly. 

“Mhmm.” You pop it in and turn the machine on. “How long is your cabinet project going to take?”

“I’ll be finished by tomorrow. Why? Want me gone that bad?”

“You’re loud.”

“Comes with the nature of the job. Sorry, usually no one is here in the morning. Your mom is at the park.”

“Since when does she go on walks?”

He shrugs, dubious of your confusion. “She always goes on walks. Jeez, you have been gone a long time.”

“So what?” You snap, arms crossed. “You know everything about my mom now?”

“I spend a lot of time with her. I help her around the house and she brings me lunch and makes dinner sometimes. I keep her company.”

Tension creeps into your shoulders and neck. Pressing your mouth into a firm line, you turn your back to him, unable to make eye contact as the little sliver of guilt in you strikes at him, viper quick. “Cause I wasn’t here to do it, right?”

“That isn’t at all what I said.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Your name leaves his mouth with a sigh. “Have I done something to upset you? You haven’t seemed keen on me being here since last night. I was excited to see you after all this time and catch up.”

“I wasn’t gone that long.”

“I mean it’s been five years-”

“Sorry I left town because I had a life. I get it, I left home and left my parents here and my mom has been lonely since my dad passed. You’re a knight in shining armor, I get it.”

“What?” You ignore looking at him, despite shuffling closer to you as you pour creamer into your coffee. You feel a nasty tension in your throat. Somewhere, you know that you’ve launched a hate campaign against Yoongi within twenty-four hours of being home. And yet you don’t look at him. “I - wow. Okay, I didn’t think that of you at all. We seem to be on wildly different pages, why would I ever think that?”

Before you can answer, the front door opens and closes. Your mom's arrival has you slithering toward the kitchen’s exit, throwing Yoongi a glance. His frown is deep and genuine concern flickers in his eyes. “I don’t think that,” Yoongi ventures again, trying to keep you in the conversation. “I think a lot of things about you, but that isn’t one. This conversation has really gotten away from me, can we start over?”

“It’s fine,” you mutter. “Sorry for assuming.” 

Your mom waves, shrugging off ice-covered boots and a jacket at the door. You wave and rush out that you’re going up for a shower to wash off the airport funk. She waves you off and grins, heading down the hall and launching into a conversation with Yoongi. 

A nasty feeling trails you up the steps. You don’t even make it to the top of the stairs before you already know you’ve been irrational, emotional, and completely out of line. But seeing Yoongi after all this time, seeing the way he’s there for your mom in ways you aren’t, and nursing wounds of moving home against your will and plans… it’s a lot to swallow. 

In your room, you sit on the bed with your coffee on the nightstand, head dropped into your hands as you cry. It’s been coming all night. It’s been coming since you caught your ex in the apartment with another person. It’s been coming since you were no longer what they wanted in mind, body, and soul. It had been coming since you were asked to leave the apartments because you had moved in - not the other way around. 

The pain festering inside of you for the last two and a half weeks isn’t Yoongi’s fault. In fact, part of you is surprised that your grief and guilt at dedicating the last five years to someone who you didn’t even like that much and who has now cheated on you has surfaced in the face of Min Yoongi. 

It isn’t his fault that you rarely came home to start. It isn’t his fault that after Christmas two years ago, you didn’t want to come home at all. Didn’t want to be in a home without your dad. Didn’t want to be in a home that wasn’t in your new city, away from old failures, away from old hurts. Didn’t want to be in a home down the street from the Mins.

“Jeez,” you laugh at yourself, no mirth evident. “What better way to kick off seeing Yoongi again?”

-

Yoongi finishes the cabinets the next day and you manage to avoid seeing him again, unsure how to fix the weirdness. 

A few days later, you come down to see your mom on the couch, tucked into a flannel-patterned blanket, and watching Hallmark movies. You cringe at the thought of poorly budgeted, badly scripted movies. Your mom, however, has always loved them. And your dad always watched them with her.

Something softens inside of you. You can’t remember the last time your ex willingly watched anything they were uninterested in for your sake. Perhaps because they had long been fucking someone else. 

Shaking the thought from your mind, you trail to your mom, slipping wordlessly onto the couch and pulling an extra blanket over your legging and socks. Your mom shoots you a wide grin, eyes crinkling at the edges. She reaches over, patting your hand and squeezing it before settling in, keeping her hand on yours. 

Though you turn to the TV, your eyes sting as you try to focus on the plot of a newly single woman who has moved back to her sleepy hometown during the holidays. Naturally, there is a storied past with the beautiful but sensitive male lead who owns a failing bookshop. It’s unsurprising when the female lead takes a job there unwillingly, and you watch 

“These are very cheesy,” you observe, watching as the two leads fall in love over clumsily spilled coffees, one full of Christmas cheer and one that hates Christmas. “Why do you like them so much?”

Your mom shrugs. “They always have a happy ending, they’re easy to follow along, and they fuel that little hope that the holidays have something a little special.” She looks at you when you grunt and she sighs. “I know you haven’t had very good holidays the last few years. But you used to really enjoy them.”

“They’re just… too much. It’s just another day.”

“Hmm. They mean a lot to some people, though. Take Yoongi for example - he’s doing extra work at the shop selling wares, making pieces for Christmas, and trying to finish making toys for the children’s home this year. He hardly sleeps.”

You think about the dark circles under Yoongi’s eyes that morning. “That’s a lot.”

“He could use the help.” She glances at you from the corner of her eye. “You know where the shop is.”

“Yeah.”

Morning fades into afternoon. You find yourself shaking your head around a mouthful of a sandwich with crunchy chips in the middle as your mom settles next to you, placing a glass of iced tea on the table. Your legs are crossed and you lean forward to press greasy, chip fingers into the paper towel you’re using as a napkin.

“She is so stupid if she doesn’t believe him,” you mumble around your mouth full of food. “Like hello? He has no reason to lie to her.”

Your mom's laughter fills the room and she shrugs. Somehow, you’re on your third Hallmark movie, and you haven’t managed to move or do anything productive with your day, like unpacking your bags or looking at the computer room full of the shit that the movers delivered to your mother’s house now that you don’t have a house. 

“If she believed him,” your mom says with a sip of tea, “Then there wouldn’t be any drama. And without drama, there would be no movie.”

“Ugh, all of these movies are the same.”

And yet you make no move to turn it off or leave. 

When you finish your sandwich and settle back, full and bloated, you realize that you’re rather enjoying just a day watching cheesy movies with your mom. Even if they hit a little close to home on the narrative of your current situation. 

But no - you’re different. Your life is real, and you’re stuck without a home and without a place to go. Clenching your jaw, you force the memories and the words to leave. You don’t want to think about the way your ex gently asked if you had somewhere else to go. You don’t want to think about the words I’m sorry. I love you but I’m not in love with you anymore. 

I mean, you weren’t either but… marriage still seemed like an okay option. A good social move. Something you’d be content with, even if you weren’t head over heels in love.

“Here,” you hold your hand to her for her empty plates. “I’ll do the dishes.” 

Getting away from the TV gives you a second to breathe. The rush of the faucet drowns out the sound of the TV, warm water rushing over your fingers as you run the plates underwater.

Outside, the world is a blanket of snow. You can see Mr. Park across the street shoveling the drive as his wife gets into the car, the taillights kicking on. The grass is frozen, a sea of ice and frozen Christmas decorations.

In the drive, your car is parked next to your mom’s sedan. She hadn’t mentioned that it was delivered, but you don’t know where you would go anyway. You don’t really have any friends to visit. At least, not anyone you’ve kept in touch with enough to call up and go to lunch.

The absence of Yoongi’s truck reminds you that he had been working on the cabinets, drawing your eyes to his craftsmanship as you flip the sink off. With dried hands, you brush your fingers over the lightly stained wood. It’s smooth and cool to the touch, the curves and indents artfully done. 

Yoongi had always been an exceptional artist. His passion has been in buildings and even interior design, but you’re not surprised to see that he’s as easily a handyman and woodworker as he is anything else. 

You think back to what your mom said about him, alone for the holidays and working hard. A sour taste sits heavy on your tongue as you think about your barbed words. 

Chewing the inside of your cheek, you lean against the counter and pull your phone out, flipping through social media until you find his page. There isn’t much in the way of family and friends, but there are plenty of photos of new projects and a beautiful black cat. 

I was excited to see you after all this time and catch up. 

Heaving a sigh, you push off the counter and announce that you’re going to get dressed to run a few places, telling your mom to make you a list if she needs anything. 

Getting dressed is harder than you expect. The urge to crawl back into bed and go to sleep almost wins out, but you somehow manage to pull on the jeans and thick sweater, followed by a scarf and jacket.

There is something empty and strange about the motions. It feels like you’ve forgotten the movement, the slide of clothes foreign to your skin. After two weeks of making phone calls and arrangements for an over-priced hotel bed, you supposed you haven’t gotten dressed much recently. 

Picking up the list from your mom and giving her a kiss, you’re out of the door, glancing down at her slanted script. You huff, laughter cut short by the bite of cold wind. Of course everything she needs is from Min’s Hardware, though you had been planning to go by there anyway.

With a deep breath and squared shoulders, you get in the car and think about how the hell to apologize to Yoongi.

-

Min’s Hardware had its first building expansion when you were in tenth grade. You remember how excited you were when Yoongi told you that his parents bought out the recently emptied arcade next door to add a lumber department. Even in tenth grade, Yoongi had sketched out aisles and systems for the store, layout after layout of the most functional way to accommodate the expansion. 

Before opening day, the two of you and some other kids in the neighborhood had run through the aisles, the smell of cedar and pine and fresh sawdust so wonderfully potent it made you dizzy. Yoongi specifically had shown you the different types of wood and pliability, explaining what he would use each for. 

By then, it was summer heading into eleventh grade and he had already decided he wanted to be an architect. He had insane drawings for new shopping centers the next city over, and wild renderings of his dream buildings full of avant-garde but functional structures. 

From the parking lot, you can see that Yoongi still occupies the same two spaces Min’s has stood in since tenth grade. Except now it shares a parking lot with a Starbucks and Chipotle building, melded together. The line for coffee snakes around the building into the empty parking lot in front of Min’s, a mismatched creature of metal and purring engines. 

Icy ground makes you slip a bit before you steady yourself on the door handle, gasp stuck in your chest before you can breathe out slowly, confident that you won’t slide and bust your ass. 

From the outside, Min’s looks both the same and different. There is a new sign above the store, now with its own light humming in the dark, gray winter sky. Tinted windows prevent you from seeing inside entirely, but you can see the faint outline of racks as you approach. 

Standing in front of the double doors, you suddenly feel the urge to spin on your heel and run in the other direction. If the inside still looks the same, though, the counter is right next to the door, which means if Yoongi is there, he can see you.

Standing. Staring. Looking at the cold, metal handle of the door and not doing anything. 

“Rip the bandaid off,” you mutter to yourself. 

Yanking the door open startles you, the bell on the door chiming wildly with the force of your pull. It’s the same bell that was here when you were a teen, and a tingle slithers down your back at the memory. 

It's warm. The smell of mixed wood hits you, soothing and fresh. To your left is a counter with an elderly gentleman reading a book. He looks up behind the POS system, grinning at you. He’s dressed in a long sleeve shirt with a festive sweater to match the Christmas soundtrack playing over the speakers. 

Your eyes flicker to his badge and you fold your lips to stop the giggle that threatens to escape when you look at his name tag: Elf Ian. 

“Good afternoon, miss!” he greets, shuffling behind the counter. There’s no one else in the store as you crane your head away from the register, looking at the rows and rows of hardware and things for sale. “How can I help you?”

“Hi, I’m looking for Yoongi?”

“Mr. Min is back in the carpentry section. I can take you there.”

You wave him off with a smile. “No, that's okay, I know the way.” 

“Really? You’ve been here before? You look like a new face.”

“It’s been a while,” you admit, admiring the layout of the store, each of the towering metal shelves marked with aisle numbers and departments: electrical, flooring, lighting, hardware, paint, heating and cooling, and so on. It’s not as comprehensive as a Home Depot or a Lowe’s, but Min’s has everything that a small town needs. “Back and to the right?” 

He nods with a smile. 

The Rockettes play overhead as you wander toward the back of the store. You take the paint aisle, admiring all of the colorful paint swatch papers. Your shoes scuff on the floor, speckled with some paint splatter near the spray section as though some kids got into the supply. 

You distinctly remember Yoongi accidentally spraying a bright pink into the air once. 

All of the pricing is written in neat, slanted handwriting on thick brown pieces of paper. You pause at the end of an aisle, reaching out to press a finger against one to trace the letters. You recognize the font from years worth of scribbled and pressed flat architecture designs. 

The carpentry section has rows and rows of wood of different shapes, sizes, and variety. Behind all of that is a sizable desk for specialty services, and you know that the door leads to a room that houses Yoongi’s woodworking shop. It had once been the bowling alley section of the arcade before Old Man Min bought out the unit. 

No one mans the tall, L-shaped desk. There are several binders with types of wood, types of stains, project ideas, samples, and frames. You smile when you see some you recognize, the peeling plastic of the front evidence of old age. 

A large counter behind the desk has a few wrapped items that Yoongi must have to be shipped or picked up. There’s a cup of coffee that looks like it’s gone cold, a jar full of wrapped mints for the taking, and a small button that says ‘push for service’ next to the POS system. 

Swallowing thickly, you press the button. An automated chime echoes from behind the wooden swing door that leads to the woodshop. Before Yoongi took over, his father used to make furniture, fill custom orders and make repairs. It’s no surprise that Yoongi has opted to take over this portion, especially if he’s making custom orders for the children’s home. 

The door swings open, breaking your trance. Yoongi pulls up short, eyebrows raise as he wipes sawdust from his apron. He’s in a sweater and jeans today, the sleeves pushed up to his elbow to help him work and his blonde hair shaggy and a little unruly. The pink sheen on his cheeks and nose is all you need to know he had been working pretty hard.

“Hi,” he offers tentatively, looking you up and down. You hate that he looks so guarded. “Coming to custom order a rocking horse?”

You grin. “Actually I was wondering if you did chairs?”

“Hmmm.” He shuffles toward the counter, dropping his hesitance as he leans on his elbows, a sideways smirk on his face. Despite everything, it makes your stomach flip. “We do all kinds of chairs. Rocking, dining, bar stools, even church pews.”

“Wow, Min’s really is the best and where expectations are beyond the Minimum.”

Yoongi groans and covers his face with his hands, flushed pink as you laugh at him. “That’s not even our jingle anymore, okay? I was a kid when I came up with it.”

“I thought it was cute!”

“Yeah, you thought Jackson was cute in the fifth grade too.”

“Isn’t he on his third kid?”

Yoongi gives a loud laugh. “Sixth, Miss I Failed Algebra Twice. He and Jiah have their hands full, I just dropped off a new crib yesterday.”

You whistle, crossing your arms over your chest. Yoongi looks at you, eyes glittering as he smiles. It does something to you, to see your childhood crush here and happy. It’s at such odds with where you are in your life that you don’t know what to make of it. Even Jackson is married and happy with kids. 

“Impressive. You do a lot.”

He hums in agreement and stands up to stretch. “Holidays are always a demand. I’m just trying to keep up to make everyone’s Christmas magical.” You scrunch your nose at that and he frowns. “What?”

“Why does Christmas have to be extra special? It’s just another day.”

He beckons you to come around the counter and to the back as he turns to head for the swinging door. “Come on, Scrooge. Let me spread the magic of Christmas and lead you on your journey to redemption.”

Ignoring the ‘employees only’ sign on the waist-tall swing door that leads to behind the counter, you scoff and roll your eyes. Yoongi stands in the doorway leading to the back, propping it open with a foot for you. As you pass him, the bright light of his shop and the smell of wood stain and chemicals hits you instantly. 

“What do I need to redeem myself for?”

He lets the door swing shut and follows you in, taking the lead as he heads towards a table filled with goods. “For whatever you feel like you need it for.”

Yoongi’s words feel ominous and tug at your heartstrings. You suppose you do feel the need to make up for picking a fight with him. Which is why you ended up here in the first place, despite your mother’s list. 

The shop is a little different than you remember it, but some things are the same. There are giant slabs of wood to choose from in neat shelving, massive wood-cutting machines and saws with warning labels and plastic cards over serrated metal, tubs of chemicals to cleanse wood and shelves of bottles of different liquids for all of Yoongi’s processes. 

At a young age, you were never allowed back in the woodshop. The first day Old Man Min had finally let you come around the corner was just as magical as it feels now. It’s large and daunting, with all of the unfamiliar machinery and the loud hum of an air compressor near the back of the shop. 

A wireless speaker stands on a cluttered counter, blaring holiday tunes over the whine of the compressor until the machine kicks off and it’s just the echo of Grandma Got Ran Over by A Reindeer. 

“It’s weird being back here again,” you murmur, eyes sweeping the toys and pieces of furniture Yoongi has on a table with a laminated sign: children’s home. “You’re really making all of this yourself?”

“Mhmm.” He leans against the table, crossing his arms. “Someone has to. They needed extra toys this year but specifically, some serious upgrades to the rooms of the residents. I’m doing what I can, free of charge, of course.”

“You’re a saint.”

He puts his hands together in mock prayer and bats his eyes before you break out into laughter. He shrugs and murmurs, “Just someone who wants to help. They deserve good furniture year-round, but especially on the holidays.”

“Since when do you like the holidays so much?”

“Since I’ve started spending them alone.”

The answer hits you in the gut. Hard. You stop admiring the shop to look at Yoongi. There’s a soft openness to his face that unnerves you. Brutal honesty offered in exchange for nothing. No expectation for you to share, but proof that he has enough trust for you - however unearned - to just admit what he feels out loud.

That kind of introspection and understanding of self terrifies you. So instead of sharing something of yourself or offering a gentle word to communicate that you get it, or you’re sorry, you gesture to the table where he has carving knives and pieces of wood. “What are you working on?”

If your shift in conversation bothers him, he doesn’t show it. Yoongi rolls with your stilted punches, turning and walking to the table. “Working on carving some designs into the drawer faces for these nightstands I made.” 

“They’re beautiful.”

And they are. Flowers and vines curl on the edges of the wood, perfectly placed in the four corners of the slab. You reach out a hand and hesitate, looking at him to ask permission. He nods and you press your fingers along the grooves he’s carved, following the rough cuts, careful not to get a splinter. 

“You’re still artistic as hell.”

“Thanks. It’s hard on my hands and then I have to sand them all with paper to get into the small details which is hell.”

You chew the inside of your cheek. His words about redemption echo in your head: for whatever you feel like you need it for. 

“Need help?” He looks at you, surprised by your offer. You’re a little surprised too, but the way that you snapped at Yoongi haunts you and there’s something… else that is gnawing at you and has been since you saw him in your kitchen that first night on your return. “I’m serious.”

“If you want to sand some of these down…” 

You nod. “I think I remember how. Do you still keep the sandpaper in that Husky drawer?”

He gives you a crooked grin and nods. “Oooo she remembers. I’m honored.”

You feel warmth in your cheeks. “Tell me what needs to be sanded. I’ll do my best.” 

With a smile larger than what you probably deserve, Yoongi quickly rehashes how to hold the sanding paper, the technique he wants you to use, and assigns you a pile of drawer faces. With your project in front of you, Yoongi goes back to his own thing, the steady hammer against his carving tools drowning out any thoughts swirling in your mind.

At first, it’s slow going. Your shoulders are tense and you keep glancing at Yoongi, a little nervous and wondering why you offered to help. It wasn’t what you had intended to do when you walked into the store, but it feels like the best way to say sorry.

It also means you don’t have to audibly admit that you were being weird and embarrassing with him in your kitchen. 

Time passes and the tension in your shoulders begins to bleed out. The scritch scritch scritch of the sandpaper in your hands is soothing, the repetitive motions creating a soft buzz in your ears as you zone out on your task. 

Focusing on small things has always been a good thing for you. Even when you were little, having something that you could throw yourself into and let your anxieties and thoughts drift away to somewhere far away where they could not hurt you was paramount. 

Now, as the time passes without you noticing, thoughts of your cheating ex-fiance and old apartment melt away like ice on a snow drive. it’s just the pressure in your fingertips, manipulating the sandpaper into different folds to get into the creases of the design. 

Yoongi’s presence stirs your stomach and heart as you look up. He looks over your shoulder at your work before leaning in close to pick up one of the slabs of wood. He’s removed his gloves and runs his fingers over the designs. 

A shiver brushes up your spine as you zero in on Yoongi’s fingers. You have no idea if it’s your newly single status or the fact that it’s Yoongi that makes you stare open-mouthed and hypnotized. His fingers look a little callused from working wood, but you wonder how they’d feel if-

“Not bad,” he hums, giving you a grin before setting down the wood. “I’m pretty impressed. You haven’t lost your touch.”

“Please,” you mutter, looking down at the table and picking at splinters. “I helped you for hours when we were kids.”

“That’s cause I helped you with your math. It’s getting late and I’m a little tired. You hungry?”

You realize that you are. Fishing your phone out of your pocket, you flip it over to see a few texts from your mom and realize that it’s almost seven at night. A sound of surprise escapes you and Yoongi laughs, tapping your elbow gently before walking away.

“Come on,” he insists. “We close early on Sundays. Help me turn all this shit off and close up and we can get food. My treat for helping out.”

“Yes to food, but you don’t have to-”

He waves you off. “Let me do something nice for you, yeah?”

Closing the store feels oddly familiar. While you have never watched Yoongi do it as the owner and operator, there were times as a kid when you finished your homework at the woodshop counter with Yoongi while you waited for his dad to get off and take you home after school. 

The Min’s don’t live far from your home and based on your mom calling Yoongi for every little thing, you assume that he lives in his childhood home now that his dad is in a home for elders. 

Outside, the world is winter-dark and bitter cold. it’s not snowing, but it’s that dreary in-between that makes everything feel heavy and cold-wet. Yoongi shuffles you toward his truck, both of you shivering and cursing as you slide into the cab and he turns it on, cranking the heat and turning on the seat warmers.

“Nice truck,” you comment. And it is nice. “New?”

“New-ish. Being the owner of Min’s Hardware really has its perks.”

You hum. “So you do own it? Just you?”

He nods, putting the car in drive and heading toward an unknown destination. Yoongi keeps his dark eyes on the road as he says, “Bought it from the Old Man when he decided to go into a senior living facility. He’s up at Retger’s - he loves it - but he wanted to put everything in my name before his mind started slipping.”

“I see.” You pick at the hem of your jacket, something heavy settling in your stomach. “How is he?”

“Happy. They have a great staff and a lot for him to do. His memory is on the downside of things. He always remembers me but he gets confused about his days and when I last saw him or what we talked about.”

“Is that hard?”

You almost kick yourself for the question. It slips out before you can ask, and you think of course it’s fucking hard. It’s his dad.

“It is,” Yoongi admits with a drawn-out sigh. Dead air hangs between the two of you as he navigates the backroads of your home, little streets and turns stitching into your very being. “Not sure what’s worse, though,” he adds, glancing at you. “Knowing that the days are numbered and being able to prepare, or losing him suddenly.”

It’s like a constrictor squeezes your windpipe as you look out the window. You can’t see the stars through the tops of the trees, but you get a glimpse of a swollen moon for a second. It’s beautiful and bright, your new point of focus as you nod. 

“I think we can agree that losing a parent is hard,” you offer. “Doesn’t matter how much notice you had.” You hesitate, then go for it. “I haven’t really figured out how to navigate life post-dad. It’s part of why I never come home. I think… I think my mom suffers from it a little.”

For a few moments, Yoongi is silent. You sink further into the seat. Though the admission weighs heavy on you, pressing you down down down into the leather seat, it also feels… good to admit it. Like running a burn under freezing cold water, the sting poignant but soothing at the same time. 

“I think that it’s okay to have your own life.” His voice is very quiet and he looks at you sideways. “And that we all deal with grief in a manner of ways. No one begrudges you for it, least of all your mom. I think you should cut yourself some slack.”

“Hmm,” is your only reply. 

Orange parking lot lights come into view. You chuckle a bit when Yoongi turns into Mars Diner. It’s something out of a Jetson’s episode, with large metal pieces like Saturn’s tilted rings arching over the building and a sun-bleached rocket blasting into the sky.

The lot is full and through frosted windows, you can make out shapes of people in booths. A few kids hang around outside, leaning against their cars and sitting on tailgates, breath misting in the cold. 

Yoongi parks the truck and hops out. You’re quick to follow, shutting the door with a firm click and hiding your hands from the cold in your jacket pockets. The door opens and the bell dings, sound pouring out as a family deposits themself onto the sidewalk.

“Hey there Yoongi,” one of the men says, backing up to hold the door open as the two of you approach. “How’s it going?”

“Hey Scott, it’s going well. How are those new stairs treating you?”

“Sturdy as can be. Thanks again for swinging by to help out.” The man - Scott Ledgfield, you realize - looks at you and squints before he says, “Holy shit kiddo, I haven’t seen you since you were a teenager.”

You look at the town’s local pharmacist with a tight grin, immediately feeling the eyes of his family and friends turn on you, ears pricked by the sound of someone old-but-new returning to the neighborhood. You give a small wave to the people you know.

“Uh,” you stammer. “Just got back. It’s nice to see you, Mr. Ledgefield.”

Your mom’s friend opens his mouth to perhaps ask more but Yoongi shuffles you toward the door and throws a hand in a farewell wave. “Jin will kill us if we keep this damn door open.”

Just as you step into the restaurant in full,  the door clanging shut behind you, a familiar voice hollers behind the counter. “Yoongi, don’t keep that damn door open!”

Inside the diner is exactly how you remember it. A round kitchen sits at the core of the building with two large serving windows facing the door. A full, 360-serving counter circles the kitchen with red vinyl stools in front of them, and booths with planet chandeliers over them are full of people looking over laminated menus.

At the helm of it all is Kim Seokjin standing at the register as he rips a receipt out of the machine, grinning as he hands it over to the woman he’s ringing out. There’s a chrome-color apron tied around his waist and he has a rocket ship name tag that says: Captain Kim.

“Wow,” you mutter as Yoongi waits patiently for the couple in front of him to pay. “Jin running this place with his parents now?”

“Mhmm. Kim Senior is in the back still making everything and his mom does all the billing and admin now. Jin does… well, what doesn’t he do?”

“Yes,” Seokjin agrees as the couple leaves and he leans on the counter, a plastic grin on his face. “What don’t I do?” His eyes slide to you. “Huh. I heard you were coming back to town and thought they were bullshitting me.”

“Who is they?” 

He waves his hand, before telling another server to jump on the register before he opens a swinging piece of counter open with his hip. “You know, the collective they everyone uses when they’re referencing the entire town.”

“I see.”

Seokjin looks the same as he did in college - broad shoulders, narrow waist, beautiful face and dark eyes that shine with trouble or mirth, depending on who you ask. He gestures to you and Yoongi to follow and you do, heading to the back corner near a frosted window that still has plates and baskets on the table.

“How have you been?” Seokjin asks as he begins collecting the previous diners' things. “Didn’t think I’d ever see you back here.”

“I’m okay. I think it’s just temporary, I haven't worked it out yet.”

“Hmm, we always say it’s temporary and now look at us - Yoongi is running Min’s and I’m one burnt hash brown from being spatula’d by a customer.” 

The vinyl covering sticks to your jeans as you try to slide. You’re forced to hop your way into the booth as Seokjin places the dirty plates and dishes on a round platter and grabs a bottle of cleaner from behind Yoongi’s side of the booth.

“Well,” you venture awkwardly. “There’s nothing wrong with being home, right?”

“No,” he agrees and gives you a look that you can’t read. “There’s not.”

Awkward silence hangs in the air at his tone. You chew on your lip and can’t help but feel like somehow you’ve offended him. You weren’t really friends with Seokjin growing up, but he was a friend of friends, and you knew him well enough to attend birthday parties growing up.

Now, you reach for a menu and busy yourself with it as Yoongi clears his throat and asks how business has been with the holiday only a few days away. Seokjin’s tone with you melts away as he answers Yoongi’s question, slinging a towel over his shoulder while chatting. 

A girl who looks in her late teens comes over with an order sheet and pen, sending Seokjin back toward the register where someone has a gift card that no one knows how to ring up. He leaves with a roll of his eyes as the server takes your order before scurrying away.

“Don’t let Jin make you feel weird,” Yoongi says airly, looking over the menu. The dim light from Saturn and Uranus reflect in his dark eyes when you peek at him over your menu. “He thinks you have a chip on your shoulder.”

You smack the table with your menu. “Why on earth does he think that?”

“Have some respect for the decor. We’re not on earth, we’re in space.”

“Yoongi.” 

“Look,” he sighs, putting his menu down. “When you graduated, you were very hellbent on letting everyone know that you didn’t want to come back. Then you got a very nice job in the city, and did just that and never turned back. Which is fine, I respect the hell out of you for it. But you didn’t talk to anyone, and now that you’re back under… whatever circumstances, you act like being here is going to hurt your reputation.”

“I’ve barely seen anyone while I’ve been here.”

“It’s… the posture and the way you look at everyone.” You frown and he grins, reaching over the table to poke the space between your eyebrows. “It’s that,” He insists. “You look at everyone with a very intense scowl and like you have better things to do. That’s all.”

“Do you think that?”

“Nope.”

“Really?”

He looks up at you, expression soft. “I think a lot of things about you. Having a chip on your shoulder isn’t one of them.”

Before you can unravel the weight of his words and the rush of something you feel in response, the server returns with your glass of hard cider and Yoongi’s dark beer. You mull over his thoughts while he places his order and you rattle off your favorite, which you’re pleased to see is still on the menu. 

Quiet settles over the booth as you sip your drink, averting your gaze. He thinks you have a chip on your shoulder. 

When you think about it, you realize that you sort of do. 

Back when you had graduated high school and went to college just an hour away, you swore you wouldn’t go back and take up a job just to stay close to family and what you always knew. Coming from a small town, you felt like you had yet to see the world or experience anything real.

Even in college, it always felt like you were too close. All the same kids you went to high school with became your apartment neighbors and your university classmates, and everyone went to the same parties and fucked the same people.

It was like watching high school repeat all over again. Bringing home drama from college to the holidays, and then hearing what so-and-so did while they were home from school. 

The thought of ever coming back was suffocating. So you took the first job you found that felt like it was lightyears away, stuck right in the middle of corporate America in a screaming city that you could hardly sleep in for the first few months because you were overwhelmed and a little afraid.

City life had become addicting though, and seeing all your little hometown friends go back to mom-and-pop jobs while you climbed the corporate ladder, got engaged and sent really nice presents home as an apology for going to Aspen for Christmas instead of seeing your parents felt powerful and liberating. 

And then your dad died on Christmas. While you were out with friends at a resort. That had been the first blow, the first reason to start thinking that the holidays weren’t for being cheerful, or for celebrating or for… anything, really. 

With that mindset, you spent the next Christmas with your fiance tucked away in your apartment, just the two of you. It had been your anti-Christmas, doing everything that was the opposite. You watched horror movies and ate popsicles, you decorated your house for Halloween and Valentine's day, you did everything possible to forget that you weren���t home opening presents with your parents - no just your mom now - and it worked. 

Now, you’re sitting in your hometown diner across the table from the one person who has always been the exception to the rule, with Christmas music blaring over the speakers and every person wishing you a happy holiday that walks by the table. 

A pit opens up inside of your stomach as you stare at the bubbles rushing to the top of your cider. The same, nasty feeling that made you snap at Yoongi in the kitchen rises up instead of you, a hydra ready to grow more heads and become an untamable beast.

“Where did you wander off to?” Yoongi’s question startles you from your thoughts and you look up at him. “You were so caught up I thought you might make your cider explode like Professor X.”

You laugh, surprising yourself. “Did you just make an X-Men reference?”

“Yeah, I still like comics, okay?”

You hum. “I was thinking that…” You take a large swig of your cider to press the tightness in your throat back. “I was thinking that maybe I do have a chip on my shoulder. I just… the holidays honestly bring out the worst in me, and I think I was already sour about being home.”

Like your admission of guilt on the way over, you feel lighter admitting your thoughts to Yoongi. There’s a pause in the conversation as your server puts down a burger in front of him and your chicken sandwich in front of you. 

“I think,” Yoongi says slowly as he pops a fry in his mouth and chews thoughtfully. “That it’s really easy for the people here to write off anyone who dares to do a little bit better than what they grew up with. For people like Jin, he always knew he’d come back home. I think it’s equal parts jealousy and wanting respect.”

“I don’t mean to make anyone feel disrespected,” you murmur. “Honestly, my distaste for coming home is more to do with the time of year than anything.”

“How so?”

Between bites of your dinner, you tell Yoongi about how your holidays have been over the last few years. How you stopped going home for them because it felt suffocating to be in a house with parents who didn’t understand anything about your love for being somewhere far away. How you stopped going home because if you stayed away with your friends and coworkers, you didn’t have to see how much they missed you.

All this time, you’d been running from guilt. Especially after the passing of your father. Even the sound of holiday music and the pressure to make plans to visit and buy gifts for people you were now somewhat unfamiliar with was enough anxiety to make the thought of Christmas and all of its bullshit unbearable. 

Once your dad died, the thought of the holiday season was even worse. It meant going home and crying on Christmas because it was just you and your mom. It meant getting thinking of your pity text messages instead of well wishes and happy holidays. It meant forgetting a pair of scissors to open gifts because that was your dad’s job, and it meant that there was an inescapable void in your home. 

Yoongi settles against the booth, looking at you with sad eyes. But what’s more, there is empathy there. Understanding. You don’t feel pitied or judged by Yoongi and the relief that washes over you as you spill your guts out at your favorite dinner is overwhelming.

You get another round of cider and you tell him about your cheating ex. How you were kicked from the apartment that hadn’t been yours from the start. How it’s one more negative feeling associated with Christmas, and how it was forcing you to go back to a place you wanted to see least of all, during a time you hated. How you… didn’t even care so much that the relationship was over. That you were just angry about having to find somewhere else to live and a little embarrassed that everyone saw it coming but you.

Sipping his beer, Yoongi sighs. “I’m going to say something that I want you to consider, and not take personally.”

You push around a cold french fry on your plate. “No promises.”

His smile is fleeting. “The holidays didn’t steal these things from you.” 

The words hang heavy in the air between the two of you. 

Elsewhere, the music has turned down a bit. It’s getting later and the dinner rush has faded to a soft hum in the background. The bell on the door chimes less and there are more empty booths than there are full. Seokjin disappears to the back for a much-earned break. 

It’s a simple concept that Yoongi has given you and yet you want to fight him on it. 

The holidays didn’t steal these things from you. Well no, they hadn’t. But it seemed that your bad luck was recurring, cycling back at the same time every year. Doomed to make your dread stronger and stronger with each passing Christmas. 

“That might be true,” you admit. “But it’s not like I’m the only person who hates the holidays. I mean, at least I have a reason and it’s not some sort of anti-corporate America speel.” He opens his mouth but you cut him off. “Which, by the way, is a very valid point. Hallmark makes all of its money on being a Christmas vampire feeding off the people like me who have trouble going home for the holidays. Except I reject it.”

“There is another alternative.” 

“And what’s that?”

“Embrace that life fucking sucks but eventually we can figure it out. If we want to and if we have the means.”

“What if we don’t have the means?”

Yoongi gives you a severe look. “Does your insurance cover therapy?” You nod. “Good, you have the means. If healing from this anxiety and guilt is something you’re interested in. Come on, I want dessert.” 

-

Later that night, when you have had an overwhelming amount of fudge and talked to Yoongi about anything and everything that doesn’t involve Christmas or any of the horrible feelings you’ve spilled to him all day long, you lay in bed flicking through your phone on one hand while you hold a thin, plastic card in another.

Squinting as the phone brightness increases when a new webpage is loaded, you manage to find what you’re looking for, typing in your insurance information and answering a few questions before you hit send. 

Once done, you set the phone on the nightstand and settle in your bed, heart pounding as you stare up at the ceiling and wonder how fast you’ll hear back on a request for a therapy consultation. 

All the while, Yoongi’s words circle round and round in your mind: Embrace the fact that life fucking sucks, but eventually we can figure it out. 

You roll on your side and squeeze your eyes shut and dare to hope that maybe Yoongi is right.

-

A routine nestles its way into your life before you’re aware of it. You get up and go downstairs for breakfast.

Once in the dining room, you have breakfast with your mom, trying not to get queasy over the fact that your dad’s chair remains empty at the head of the table. Sometimes, Yoongi is there in the morning and has breakfast with the two of you. Those days are much easier to fill the silence.

After breakfast, you shower and pick through your belongings, trying to rearrange your old room and make it somewhat adaptable to the lifestyle you had at your apartment. Adjusting to the fact that your mom is up at six in the morning on the dot and is ready for lunch by eleven nearly drives you to the edge, but you manage.

Most days you find yourself wandering to the back of Min’s Hardware and asking if Yoongi needs help. He always seems surprised to see you back, no matter how many days in a row you find yourself there, chewing on the corner of your lip. 

The silence that comes with helping Yoongi has become an addiction. You notice that he no longer plays Christmas music in the shop when you’re around, opting for just general pop. You’re both thankful and a little embarrassed, but you say nothing as he gives you projects to sand or stain. 

When you’re both tired and your fingers are cramping and worse for wear, you break for lunch. Sometimes you go to your house where your mom has fixed you both a meal. Other times, you pop by the diner where Seokjin gives you lunch on the house.

Seokjin comes around, the more he sees you with Yoongi. You’re still a little extra nice around him, trying to prove that you don’t think you’re better than him. You just… don’t know how to be him. Don’t know how to settle into life like everyone else so easily has. 

It’s two weeks in that Yoongi upends your carefully crafted routine by leaning against your workstation - you don’t know when it became yours - and says, “What are you doing for Christmas Eve? I know your mom is volunteering and she said you weren’t but I don’t want to assume you’re… not doing anything.”

Today, Yoongi is in a green sweater and jeans, the sleeves of his shirt wrapped around his hands as he works. His hair is unstyled, showing just how long it’s gotten. It’s darker at the root where his natural color grows in, but even so, he looks beautiful as ever. Unsettlingly beautiful. The kind that makes you a little shy when he puts his full attention on you these days, especially when he shows you how to do something by gently touching your elbow or your wrist. 

“Ummm.” You race to think of a response, but the words are sticky in your brain with his proximity. Usually, he does his own things, but every time Yoongi comes close these days, your brain gets a little out of sorts. “I was going to do like my little anti-Christmas thing and watch Halloweentown, I guess.”

“Maybe one day I’ll join you on that. For now, I wanted to see if you wanted to um - join me.”

“Join you what?”

He presses his lips flat and raises his brow at the poorly articulated question. “For Christmas Eve. It isn’t very exciting or anything, but I usually have dinner at the home with my dad. They make a great honey ham and then Seokjin has a party at his house after everyone leaves their family dinners. Alcohol is encouraged.”

“Oh.” You blink once. Twice. “You want me to have dinner with you and your dad?”

Blossom-pink blush spreads over Yoongi’s cheek and nose. You chew your bottom lip as you watch him. He doesn’t meet your eyes as he picks at stray splinters on the table. “I just thought maybe you didn’t want to be alone.”

Yoongi’s words from a few days ago echo in your mind when you asked when he started being such a fan of the holidays: when I started spending them alone. 

The thought of spending time with Yoongi with his dad, tucked into a corner of an elderly home with cheesy holiday decorations and staff that talks too gently, and putting on a show for those who feel alone and sad is dizzying. It terrifies you. It makes you want to run. 

Which is why you swallow past the stone in your throat and say, “Um. Sure. Yes. I would like to go with you.” 

He bites his bottom lip, trying to fight a smile. You clench all over, seizing up at how cute he is when he does that. “Really?”

“Yeah, Min. Really.”

“Wow, you haven’t called me Min in… a min.”

“God that was so cheesy.”

“Mhmm. We’re closed tomorrow because I’m helping out at the children’s home but I’ll pick you up at five Saturday. They serve dinner really early there.”

“Okay.” 

Yoongi grins, all gums and round cheeks and shining eyes and for a moment, you forget that you’re supposed to be heartbroken and sour and pitiful. His smile stops everything and you immediately want to say something clever to make him do it again.

Instead, you just nod awkwardly and say, “Okay.”

-

Piles and piles of clothes litter your floor as you yank on an oversized peacoat and rush to the bathroom to check your outfit. You’ve been through at least fifteen different combinations and messed up your neatly place hair, and you still are unsure what the fuck you’re supposed to wear to a Christmas Eve dinner at an elderly home with the Mins.

You are very out of your depth.

When your phone dings and you see that Yoongi has arrived to get you, you scream in frustration and decide that wide-leg jeans paired with black combat boots, a black turtleneck and an oversized coat will have to do. It’s something you would have worn back in the city, but you’re unsure if it’s a little too casual for this.

Outside, the wind snaps against your face, stinging your nose and lips. You fight the urge to lick your lips and remove the very faint, pink lip stain there as you rush to the truck where Yoongi waves enthusiastically. 

Yoongi’s gummy grin warms you more than the heated interior of the cab when you jump into the passenger seat, shuffling the crinkling gift back in your lap as you shiver and stick your hands in front of the air vents to warm them. 

“You look nice,” Yoongi says as a greeting, putting the truck in reverse and looking in his mirrors. “What’s the gift?”

“Um-” Embarrassment heats your cheeks immediately. “I uh, got your dad something? I felt sort of weird showing up without a gift. I don’t know. Is that stupid? I can leave it-”

Your name is soft on his lips as he pauses in the middle of the street to look at you. You stop your rambling, staring at him. His eyes are dark pools, glittering in the dying afternoon sun as he smiles at you. His hair is shaggy again today like he air-dried it and the tawny colored coat makes his hair even more vibrant. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” Yoongi says gently, smiling. His lips look soft and pink today - well they always look like that, but you notice a little extra today. “That’s not stupid. It’s incredibly kind.”

“It’s - um - I know he used to really love reading all those mythology books and he was fond of the stuff with Odin and Thor? So I got him a Norse mythology one? It had a cool tree on it.”

For a few moments, Yoongi stares at you, unblinking. The truck is in drive, but he has his foot on the brake so it just sits in front of your house collecting little bits of snow. The weight of his gaze threatens to make you melt into the seat. You drop your gaze to the red and green package in your lap, trying to figure out how to explain that the idea was dumb.

“You are incredibly thoughtful.” Yoongi’s voice is so soft you’re almost sure you imagined him speaking at all. You glance up and he has a look you can’t unpack on his face, but it’s something like fondness, perhaps. “He will absolutely love that. I got him an Egyptian one.” 

“Are you sure?”

Yoongi takes a hand off the wheel and reaches over the center console to squeeze your hand where it’s gripped tight on the present. His fingers are calloused and rough from the years in the shop, but his touch is soft. Reverent. Your hand feels like it’s tingling even after he lets go and says, “I promise. Thank you. It’ll mean a lot to him, but it means even more to me.”

Still a little nervous and dizzy from the simple touch of his hand, you nod. 

Finally, Yoongi pulls into the road and starts driving, quiet as his eyes focus on navigating to the center of town. Music plays softly in the background and you glance out the slightly frosted window. 

Outside, families unpack themselves from cars, hurrying in bundles of jackets and loaded with presents to the doorsteps that are cast open for other family members and friends to help them in. Your heart squeezes at the thought and you look away from all of the houses and lights, instead focusing on the lines painted on the road. 

It feels like forever ago it was your family casting open your doors to house Christmas Eve with your extended family. But your uncle and his wife had long since moved away, and their kids had their own kids to celebrate with, and though the invitation was probably there for you and your mom to visit, it felt weird being with your dad's family when your dad was… not around. 

“Dad may or may not remember you,” Yoongi hums as he drives. “I think he will because he’s good about people from the past, but he might not get your name right. I don’t correct him because it can confuse and frustrate him, so just go with whatever if you can.”

“Of course. I’ll just follow your lead.”

From the corner of your eye, you can see that he drives with one hand on the wheel, one hand hanging off the center console where he leans on his elbow. “He has a little trouble with train of thought, just let him get it out. He hates when you try and finish sentences for him.”

You smile. “He’s always hated that. You were the most impatient son ever.” 

“Well, practice has made perfect. I’m a changed man.”

“Uh-huh.”

The home is covered in holiday decor as you expected. Cars line the lot of what would look like apartment buildings if the sign out front didn’t indicate that it was a senior living center. Honestly, they look better than most of the apartments you’ve had in the city, a single reminder that everything is so much more affordable when you step out of your self-made comfort zone.

Ice and snow crunch beneath your boots in the parking lot. The two of you hurry along, shivering and laughing in the cold. Yoongi surprises you when he pulls you in by the waist, pressing you to his side to walk in a quick, albeit warmer, huddle to the main building. 

Warmth hits you in the face and melts back the cold as you step inside, a shiver racking up your spine. There’s a massive Christmas tree in the lobby with a ‘donated’ sign in the front thanking a local company for the tree, and there are hand-crafted ornaments that from another sign, inform you they were made by the children in the orphanage on the other side of town.

Christmas music tinkles lightly overhead as Yoongi leads you to a counter where a woman with a Christmas vest and a bright smile greets him enthusiastically. It’s obvious that she’s familiar with him as she rattles off how his dad has been doing, scribbling his name on a tag with a candy cane heart and handing it over to him. 

Tag in hand, Yoongi awkwardly shuffles to the side to reveal you to the woman behind the desk, whose name tag says Esther. Her eyes go round and her mouth forms a small ‘o’ when she sees you, surprised that Yoongi has brought a guest. You hate to admit that you feel a little pleased if it’s not common for him to bring other people here. 

Ignoring that, you give her your name and she hesitates, glancing at Yoongi. He nods his head with a tiny frown before she scribbles your name onto the tag and hands it over to you, an unreadable expression now on her face. 

“Enjoy.”

Sticking the tag on your jacket, you glance at Yoongi as he leads the way toward the common room where they’re having dinner. “Well, I don’t think she likes me.”

He hums noncommittally and you say nothing more, following his twists and turns until you’re in a large common area nearly bursting at the seams with Feliz Navidad and tinsel. There are people of varying ages inside sitting around pop-up round tables and folding chairs. Red and green plastic table clothes cover the tables, little gift-wrapped boxes act as centerpieces. There’s another tree donated in the corner by Min’s, making you poke Yoongi’s side and gesture to the tree.

Shy, Yoongi shrugs and scurries away from you, spotting his dad sitting on a sectional looking up at the glittering tree. You hesitate to follow, a little lost as you watch Yoongi call his dad’s name gently, catching his attention. They look so much alike that it’s dizzying to watch as his dad stands up, bringing Yoongi into a tight hug.

You clench your jaw, willing the sudden burning in your eyes to go away. You feel your palms sweat and your throat constricts, making you look away from them as they hold each other by the shoulders, exchanging greetings that you can’t hear from the middle of the room.

All around you are people with their moms and dads. The room is crushed with holiday cheer, held hands, kisses on cheeks and tight hugs. You start to realize this was a terrible idea, excuses and ways to leave flipping through your mind like a Rolodex when Yoongi calls your name. 

Turning to face them, you feel like a deer in headlights. Eyes wide, mouth agape, frame tense. Yoongi gives you a nod as he leads his dad to you. Old Man Min walks well enough, and is a little shorter than Yoongi with peppered hair, kind eyes and a knitted scarf that looks like something perhaps your mom made. 

“You look just like your father!” His dad greets, throwing open his arms when he sees you. Your stomach drops to your ass at the declaration, but you force a smile, bending down a bit to hug him quickly. “I haven’t seen you since… I last saw you!”

That makes you laugh. “It’s nice to see you.”

“I’m just glad Yoongi finally brought you! I’ve been asking to see his girlfriend for two weeks!”

“Dad,” Yoongi admonishes giving you an apologetic look. “She’s… not.” 

Old Man Min waves him off as he heads towards the serving line where there is an array of holiday-themed catered food. “I’m starving. I’ve been waiting here all damned afternoon!”

“Sorry,” Yoongi whispers as he goes by you, upping his pace to keep up with his dad who has his sights set on food. “He does remember you very well, by the way.”

Ignoring hot coal burning in the pit of your stomach at the comparison to your father, you shuffle in line behind Yoongi. All of the workers behind the table serving recognize him immediately, brightening and greeting him with dazzling smiles and heart eyes. 

Next to him, you raise your brows and watch as he shyly interacts with them all, answering the same questions over and over and thanking them for putting on a wonderful dinner. They bask in the shower of his praise until he leans over to you and insists you get the mac and cheese. Yoongi doesn’t notice the shift, but you do, the staff immediately stiffens and goes quiet when they see you interact.

At a table tucked in the corner for just the three of you, you dig into your meal, answering all of Old Man Min’s questions he throws your way. They’re easy to answer: what do you do now, how is your mom, when did you come back. Some of the questions he repeats on accident or drifts off when asking, but you don’t mind, chewing around mac and cheese and waiting for him to get it out, or repeating your answer with the same vigor as before.

Yoongi seems nervous at first, neglecting his food to look back and forth between the two of you. You nudge him gently under the table and his dark eyes fall on you. You give him a face, trying to convey that you’re okay and he grins sheepishly, looking down at his meal and deciding it’s safe enough to start eating. 

“So how did my son finally start dating you?” his dad demands, sipping his sweet tea. “I thought he would finally ask you out in high school and then… uh college, but he never did!”

“Dad,” Yoongi starts gently, but you’re quick to cut him off, touching Yoongi’s arm gently as you smile at his dad. “Recently,” you explain. You glance at Yoongi with narrowed eyes. “Didn’t know he had a crush on me in high school, though.”

“Ha! Of course he did! Why do you think he always wanted you over at the shop? Sure were over there than uh… what’s that girl's name? Jan’s daughter.”

“Jessa,” Yoongi offers softly, not meeting anyone’s eye as he becomes interested in pushing honeyed ham around his plate. “Dad you’re embarrassing me.”

“Yeah, Jenna! She was never at the shop nearly as much as you. Nice girl, not you though.” He stabs a piece of ham and shakes his head. “Always knew you’d be the one. Your dad and I were always sure of it.” 

Yoongi tenses but you smile at Old Man Min. “Really?” 

“Mhmm. Your dad was a hell of a guy! I remember back when we were in high school…”

Yoongi’s dad launches into a tale of when he and your father were kids and you’re shocked to discover that the unsettling feeling in your stomach starts to fade. You listen, chin in your palm and elbow propped on the table as you sip on cider to the adventures of your dad in his youth. 

The wound stings a little but… it’s bearable. And it’s nice, to see Yoongi’s dad come alive and recall so many things from his own childhood. The color on Yoongi’s face and the way he keeps trying to hide his smile in the collar of his jacket says everything about how pleased he is to see his dad happy and healthy. 

Almost without thinking, you reach over under the table and take Yoongi’s hand, giving it a squeeze. He looks up at you, brows raised. You can’t help but smile, really glad that he brought you here. Somehow, it is exactly what you needed. 

Yoongi squeezes your hand back, making your heart pick up. As you start to pull away, he snatches your hand back, lacing your fingers and squeezing. You stare at him, surprised and flustered and feeling a little breathless as he settles in his chair, refusing to look at you as he holds your hand in his lap, engrossed in the tale his father is weaving. 

With a nervous exhale, you lean back in your chair, content with the warmth of his hand and whatever the hell sparks with his touch.

-

Seokjin is very drunk and very happy to see you when he throws open the front door to his incredibly nice home in the new, gated community just beyond your old high school. The two-story home is full of warmth, people from your high school and college, and a lot of booze. 

Immediately you’re uneasy, smiling awkwardly at the shocked faces of your old peers. Yoongi is heedless, though, keeping a hand on yours as he leads you through the party. You’re distracted by the firmness of his hold on you, the way it makes your head spin, the way that you don’t know what holding his hand means, but it’s nice. 

And then you’re in the kitchen, pressed close to his side as you field questions from old friends that aren’t as much friends as they are nosy people from your past. No one asks about your handholding, but the way they glance down to where Yoongi has your fingers laced with his is enough to know it’s all anyone is going to talk about in whispered circles and for the next two weeks. 

If Yoongi is bothered by this, he doesn’t show it. You however, are very in your head. The loose, happy feeling you had at dinner with his dad is replaced with stiff movements, quiet murmurs of hellos and asking how are you to people you don’t really care about, and cringing when a group of people pass by caroling room to room.

Yoongi senses the way you freeze up, the way you press yourself into the pantry as though you could melt into the wood and remain unseen. He tugs you toward a glass sliding door where there is a patio filled with smokers, all of them shivering and breathing smoke and steamed breath into the string lighting. 

Going past them, Yoongi tugs you down into the back of the yard and to a gate. People whistle behind you and Yoongi throws a middle finger over his head, uncaring. He throws the latch and squeezes through the gate, so you follow. 

Behind Seokjin’s house is a lake with a lit fountain, frozen and off for the winter season. He trudges toward it and sits down on damp grass, patting the spot next to him. Tentatively, you sit down and look over at him. 

“Sorry.” His breath fogs in the cold. “I didn’t think about how shitty that might feel for you before inviting you.”

“It’s okay. I just… don’t really know how to answer their questions.”

“What do you mean?”

You pull at frozen grass to distract yourself from having to look at him. “I mean, I just broke up with my fiance a few weeks ago because I caught them cheating and now I show up to a party where everyone thinks I’m a stuck up holding your hand.”

“Not everyone thinks that.” You give him a look and he amends, “Okay, a lot of people do but not everyone.” 

“Great.”

“If they saw you the way I do, they definitely wouldn’t think that.” You shoot him a questioning look as your heart beats a little bit faster. Your nerves start to tingle as you watch him figure out how to phrase what comes next. “You have no idea how nice it was to have you with me tonight. I’ve been doing that alone for years and I love spending time with my dad, but having someone else there to take the pressure off and to see him happy was… fuck it was really nice.”

The icy core around your heart that began to scrape itself together once you entered the party melts just a little bit. You chew on the inside of your cheek, unsure what to say. Thankfully, Yoongi continues. “I know you don’t like the holidays because it reminds you of being home and everything you want to get away from, and of the bad things that happened to you. I didn’t like them for… fuck, for years.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. They sucked without my mom, but it wasn’t so bad because we’d come to spend time with you guys or go over to the Kims. My dad made it work, and even though it felt like a fucking gut punch those first few years after my mom died, I sort of adjusted.”

“And then?”

He sighs heavily, looking up at the moon. “And then dad’s old age happened. The man you got tonight was… man, it was good. He was great tonight, happy and present and vibrant. It’s not always like that though - it’s usually not. There are a lot of times when he might forget my mom is gone or might forget that he sold the shop to me and thinks he has to go to work and… it was really hard at first. Trying to make that adjustment.”

“You’re so patient, though.”

“I wasn’t always. Around the holidays I was trying to run the shop and visit him so he wouldn’t feel alone and deal with my own grief about how fucking alone everything felt. There wasn’t anyone to relate to and I was just…” Yoongi shrugs and runs a hand over his brow. “Honestly, I wasn’t very nice for a bit. It was really frustrating to learn new ways to talk to him and I just… hated everyone.”

Fuck you know how it feels. You look at Yoongi as he stares out at the frozen lake. You would never guess that Yoongi, who makes so many different things in his spare time for the holidays could be mean. Yoongi, who eats something different every time you go to Jin’s diner. Yoongi, who chased a stray cat around your backyard until he could bring it in and warm it up inside before taking it over to the shelter. Yoongi who has been unwaveringly kind, and invited you to Christmas Eve dinner so you wouldn’t be alone. 

When you were teens, you could have bought that story. He had always been a little standoffish and hard around the edges. You were always in his inner circle, a rare witness to the way that he could melt for the people that he cared about. But the Yoongi of now does not seem like someone who hates the world like Yoongi of then had the potential to - and did.

It doesn’t make sense, this Yoongi that he talks about in the past and the Yoongi that you see in front of you. The Yoongi in front of you is gentle, kind, and soft with those around him. He never raises his voice, he is gentle with customers, and he often pulls more weight than he should at his own store to take the pressure off his employees.

“What changed, then?” you ask, desperately seeking an answer. In him, you see what you want to be. The calmness, the confidence in who he is and what he’s doing. He’s not drowning in his grief, or trying to reconcile a cacophony of feelings. At least, it doesn’t seem like it. 

“Therapy, for starters,” he laughs and gives you a look as he lays back in the grass. You join him, feeling the cold sink into your coat, but you don’t care. You like laying here with him under a blanket of frozen stars with the muted sounds of the party just beyond the wooden gate.

He continues, “But also a lot of introspection and a lot of self-hate. This version you have of me now? It’s gone through a lot of pain and suffering and reconciling with myself. It’s not an easy process, but it is worth it. And it started with me not blaming Christmas for things  that were just… beyond my control.”

“Fuck, so I have to apologize to Santa? I’m not even religious.”

Yoongi’s breath turns to fog as he laughs. You watch the way his eyes crinkle, shining with mirth under the gray light of the moon. He glows under the night sky – cheeks frozen-blush, lips chapped a little from the winter wind, nose cherry read. Droplets of dew cling to his long hair, a crown of diamonds on a prince spun from moonbeams.

At least, that’s what it feels like as you watch his laughter settle. Yoongi smiles up at the sky and that tight feeling constricts in your chest again. This version of him is so much softer than the teenager you remember. Warm at the edges, melted with a lifetime of experiences that have thawed that hard exterior.

Something like envy slithers through you. Envy that Yoongi has long healed from his hurts. That he seems to have settled here he is now, in happiness and knowing his path. He doesn’t have everything but he has enough, and as he turns to look at you, dark eyes sparkling, you can’t help but avert your gaze.

You don’t want him to see the inside of you.

“It’s more about Christmas as a concept,” Yoongi sighs, looking back up at the sky. Marshmallow clouds drift across a midnight canvas. You can only make out the brightest of stars here, the light pollution dimming the effect. “I’m not religious either, but the effect that the holidays can have on people is touching. Heartwarming. People love others a little extra.”

“Yeah, well they should do that year-round.”

“Small steps, small steps. Maybe it’s an open conversation at a dinner, or maybe it’s someone seeing family they haven't seen in a while. There are so many opportunities for love and warmth and chances to open your heart.”

“You sound like a Hallmark commercial.”

“Make fun of me all you want,” he chuckles. “I know it sounds idealistic and a little bit naïve. But I’ve experienced too much sadness to keep thinking that’s all there is, and I’ve seen people’s lives change around the holidays. It’s special.”

You hum. “Why wait until the end of the year for all of that so-called happiness, then?”

“Life is hard - like really fucking hard. Sometimes when the end of the year is staring you right in the face, or when you're realizing it may be your last Christmas with an aging loved one is the push people need to brave that first step to being happy.”

“You’re celebrating procrastination.”

Yoongi sighs. He rolls over on his side and props his head up with his hand. You feel a flush of warmth curl through you under the weight of his full attention. Suddenly the cold hard ground you’ve opted to lay on doesn’t feel so bad.

“I’m celebrating people being moved to do something.” His tone is gentle. You glance at him from the corner of your eye. He seems thoughtful, bottom lip tucked between his teeth. “I’m celebrating that sometimes the holidays are the worst time for people. But something small will happen to make them feel even a moment of happiness. Just one small second of relief from the fucking madness.”

You think about everything that’s happened in the last few weeks. A tightness constricts your throat and you try to swallow past it. It takes you a few moments, but you imagine what it would be like to have just a fucking second to catch your breath. To have a moment of pure, unfiltered happiness.

“I just…” Yoongi’s voice is barely above a whisper. “I want people to be happy. And it feels like maybe this time of year has more potential than most. So that’s what I celebrate. Not the gift and the capitalism and the hypocrisy of it all. But the little seconds in between.”

A long, slow breath of air leaves you. You watch it steam and curl toward the sky before fading. “Well, Yoongi. I wish I was nearly as optimistic.”

“Maybe you can be.” You glance at him and see him smiling. “Just give me a chance to persuade you, yeah? My work seems to be paying off so far.”

“It is. I have an appointment to talk to a therapist in three weeks. It’s just an introductory thing, but…”

“That’s great, honestly. I don’t want to say I’m proud of you because that’s pretentious and you’re not doing this for me, but I really hope it helps.” Silence settles between you. It isn’t uncomfortable, but you are cold, despite the warmth that blooms when he studies your face. “Wanna go inside and drink a fuck ton of wine and then Irish exit?”

“Fuck yeah,” you laugh, letting him help you to your feet. 

Back inside of the party, you do just that. Yoongi plies you with sweet, red wine until there’s a cotton-soft buzz in your body. You’re a little bit nicer to people who still whisper when you walk by, and you even let Seokjin drag you into a single karaoke performance of Baby It’s Cold Outside. 

It’s already embarrassing to show how horrible you are at singing, but to make matters worse, you cannot stop glancing over at Yoongi who leans against the wall of the living room, a plastic wine up in his hand, dark eyes focused only on you. 

Heat pools in your lower stomach at his gaze, watching it darken by the minute. You do not miss when Jessa - who Old Man Min has dubbed Jenna - approaches Yoongi tentatively. And yet he is dismissive, the overly-warm and kind exterior replaced with something sharper. Hungrier. 

And his focus is entirely on you.

When you finish the song and wander over to him, breathless, he keeps his eyes pinned on you. Fathomless pools that draw you in until you feel like you’re falling falling falling, weightless and breathless. No one has ever looked at you like that. Not even your fiance. 

“What?” you ask, voice shaking as you lean against the wall, face tilted up toward him. You feel warm and wine-slow all over, limbs heavy and comfortable. Your lashes flutter when you slow blink at him. His lips are stained red from wine. “Why are you looking at me that way?”

“What way?”

Embolden by sweet wine, your talk on the lawn and your innocent hand holding, you huff. “In a way that makes me want to be stupid and kiss you.”

“That would make you stupid?”

You drop your gaze and press the rim of your plastic cup to your lips. “I don’t know,” you admit. “I kind of want to do it, but I don’t… know?”

His voice is lower and deeper, soft against your sense as he leans in a little. “So you want to kiss me?” You nod. “But you don’t know if you want to kiss me?”

“I don’t want you to think it’s… I haven’t been single for long. I don’t want you to think that of me. It isn’t because of that. I’ve wanted to for like years and - yeah.”

“I already told you. I think a lot of things of you. That isn’t one.” His gaze flickers around the party. You don’t realize how close he is until he turns back to you, warm breath fanning against your head. “How about we do our exit now and talk about that kiss where there’s not so many eyes, hmm?”

Mutely, you nod at him. Now you definitely want to kiss Yoongi. He’s gone from the soft, gummy-grin man full of holiday cheer to a darker, calm version of himself that is new. Confident. And quite frankly toe-curling. 

Yoongi wraps his fingers around yours and leads you to the exit, saying nothing to anyone that you pass by. Then you’re out in the cold and he’s unlocking the truck, popping open your door and pulling you toward it.

“Are you okay to drive?”

“Very,” he promises, voice raspy. “I only live across the stoplight, remember?” 

“Ohhh.” You get into the passenger seat, leaning your head on it and looking at Yoongi, who is momentarily propped against your door. “You’re taking me home?”

He leans forward, eyes dropping to your mouth as he mutters, “Uh-huh.”

And then he’s kissing you and the entire world fades into the background.

Yoongi’s lips are just as soft as you imagined. You sink into the kiss, leaning forward into the heavenly press of his mouth. Everything shifts, the dizziness of the wine mulling into dizziness of Yoongi - the way he smells like cedar and rose, the way he presses your mouth open with his, the way he tastes like sweet notes of wine. 

The soft brush of his tongue against yours makes your thighs squeeze together. He’s slow as he kisses you, taking his time to suck your tongue into his mouth, rolling his over yours languidly and fuck you’re going to die from just a kiss. 

Yoongi pulls back and you whine, hands going to the collar of his jacket and pulling him back, missing the warmth of his mouth, the gentle pull of your lip between his teeth. “More,” you whisper, pressing your lips to his.

His chuckle buzzes through your mouth, a gentle tingle as you pull at his bottom lip with your teeth playfully. He groans as he kisses you, a little sloppier, with a little more tangled tongues and spit. The wet smack of his mouth against yours is interrupted when someone’s dog starts barking in one of the yards, startling you. 

“Fuck,” he laughs, voice husky. “In your seat, come on. Let’s go.”

“Meh.”

He grins and pushes your leg back into the cab of the truck. “Greedy.”

Yoongi shuts the door and rounds the hood. Your eyes are glued to him as he gets in, your heart pounding in your chest as he starts the car. It occurs to you that you just kissed Yoongi. Min Yoongi, the one person you’ve been spending time with since you got back. The one person who you thought about late at night when your fiance was asleep and you were chasing thoughts of your past. 

The one person who seemed to be willing to look a little deeper. To see that the poison inside of you wasn’t because you didn’t like anyone, or because you thought that you were better. It was because you were afraid and sad and didn’t know how to deal with anything. 

Wordlessly, he reaches over the center console, placing his hand on your thigh and giving it a squeeze. You shut your legs, stomach clenching at the feeling of his fingers brushing gently over your jeans. When you look at him, there’s a sideways smirk on his face and you know he knows that your stomach is flipping over the simple touch. 

It feels like the drive lasts a thousand years. You’re squirming in the seat as Yoongi’s thumb brushes back and forth, giving you a squeeze now and again accompanied by a grin. You can’t help but smile back, heart in your fucking throat as you see all of the familiar houses pass you by. 

The Min home is exactly like you remember it but with less cars. Yoongi parks in the drive, popping open the garage with the press of a button to reveal a workshop of tools, shelves for storage and a flickering overhead light that has been faulty since you were in middle school. 

Outside, Yoongi reaches for your hand, pulling you close as you pass under the garage and toward the door that opens up into a white-tiled kitchen. The hum of the closing door follows you in as he flicks on a light, revealing a large kitchen with oak cabinets and a counter full of mail, a catch all, and various containers of sugar, and coffee and other items. 

Yoongi chucks his keys and shuffles out of his jacket, tossing it on the counter and turning to you. He gives you a cunning smile and beckons you. There’s no denying his summons, your feet pulling you toward him automatically as he catches you by the waist, pulling you into his chest as he brushes his mouth against yours again. 

Somehow, it feels normal to be doing this. To press your palms against his chest as he lounges lazily against his kitchen counter, one hand on your waist and one hand on the side of your neck as he tilts your mouth to his, kissing you hungrily. Like he’s waited an entire lifetime to do this. 

The thought makes you pull away suddenly. You look up at him, his face flush and lips kiss-bitten and spit-slicked. His eyes flutter open, looking down at you half-lidded and dazed. “Hmm?”

“Did you really have a crush on me?” 

He snorts and rolls his eyes, tilting his head backward until it hits a cabinet. The hand on your neck is firm, a steady weight that sends your thoughts wild when his thumb brushes back and forth across the skin of your over-warmed throat. 

“Of course I did. You paint so much of my life, you have no idea.”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“Cause I was terrified. I wasn’t very honest with myself back then, there was no way I could be honest with you. Then after college you got that nice ass job and I realized I was coming back home and I couldn’t go with you.”

“Even in college?”

“Yeah,” he whispers to the ceiling. “Even in college. I had this big idea to maybe tell you when we graduated. I was going to work at that new startup I told you about - it was only thirty minutes away from you. And then that didn’t happen and…” He shrugs. “I realized we weren’t on the same path. It seemed pointless.”

You stare at him for a few moments, thoughts flicking through your mind at a blinding pace. Yoongi had liked you in high school. In college. Had put off telling you because he didn’t think you’d be interested enough to stay, or to figure it out or to-

“I’d have dated you anyway,” you murmur. Carefully, you move a strand of blonde hair from his eyes when he looks down at you in surprise. “Yeah,” you laugh when you see his face. “Yoongi, I was totally head over heels for you in high school and in college. And then you dated Jessa and I just figured it would be embarrassing to tell you later so I just didn’t say anything.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No. Those first few months when you never texted me that you had settled in at your new job I figured you had new friends or just didn’t have time for me. I didn’t even…” You sigh. “I didn’t realize you didn’t move there. I was too nervous to look at your social media.”

“I barely update it anyways.”

“I know. It’s all your cat.” That piques your interest and you pull away from him, looking around. “Where is your kitty? I want to see.”

“I love that you are excited about my cat, but I would like to request that we look for him later. I have other things I wanna do.”

“Oh?”

Yoongi’s gaze is dark when you look back at him. Your fingers tighten in his shirt, going still under the razor-sharp look he gives you. “Yeah,” he confirms. “I want to show you how fucking bad I wanted you - do want you. And I don’t want you to think I’m just saying all this, or that I’m using a moment of weakness. Since you walked into the kitchen that night, I have not been able to stop thinking about every second of my life that I liked you. That I wanted to kiss you. That I wanted to fuck you until all you could think about was the way I felt.”

“Yoongi.”

“Hmm?”

“I would like that very much.”

Yoongi’s smile is dazzling, completely at ends with how he just said he wants to fuck you but you don’t care.

Especially when he gives you a chaste kiss to the mouth. Once. Twice. And leads you through the home that you already know. His bedroom is on the opposite side of where his parents slept, and when he opens the door to reveal a room lit by a single salt lamp, you almost expect it to be covered in drawings of buildings and filled with canvas prints of famous buildings around the world and sheets designed like graph paper.

Instead, you’re surprised to see an elevated room with newly painted, limewash walls, a heavy desk tucked into the corner with leather portfolios and neatly stacked papers, dark linen sheets folded neatly on the bed with several pillows - including decorative - against a beautiful headboard with a keen design you know is his.

The room looks lived in and elegant, and it smells like the sage and jasmine reed diffuser in the corner. 

“You’re fucking hot,” you blurt, startling yourself and Yoongi. “Like your room is - adult. And you made that desk and headboard right? Fucking-” You look up at him and shake your head. “It’s really hot that you do all of these things.”

“Wow. Just the room does it for you, huh?”

You shove him playfully and he falls back on his bed, sitting with a soft bounce. He opens his legs and leans back on his palms, eyes drifting up and down your frame. He smirks, cool confidence making your hands shake as you take a step forward, suddenly feeling far more nervous than you ever have around him.

“Come here,” he purrs, lifting a hand and patting his thigh.

In a trance, you compy. Carefully you crawl into his lap, knees pressed into the mattress on either side of his waist as you settle your ass between his legs. His hands wrap behind you, pressed into the small of your back as he leans forward, catching your mouth with his. He pulls your coat from your shoulders, dropping it to the floor as you settle your hand around his neck, sliding your fingers through his hair.

Kissing Yoongi makes the world stop. Here, in his bedroom, in his lap, nothing else matters. It doesn’t matter that you’re living in your mom’s house again. It doesn’t matter that you have to figure out what to do about a new place to live. It doesn’t matter that a teeny-tiny part of you was relieved to find your fiance cheating. It doesn’t matter that you were more mad about being kicked out of the apartment than anything else.

All that matters is that something slides into place when Yoongi leans back, letting you fall onto his chest. You giggle into his mouth, letting the slide of your tongues and lips lull you into a sense of longing that you’ve harbored for years without realizing it. 

You’re drowning in Yoongi. Your lungs are full of him, sending you gasping into his mouth when he rolls your hips against his, the friction sparking a fire in you. You’re completely lost in him, drifting further and further his mouth places hot, wet kisses on your jaw and neck.

It never occurred to you that you could want someone - Yoongi - this badly. You tremble on top of him as his fingers pull your shirt from the waistband of your jeans, fingers seeking the warmth of your skin. 

Breathing becomes difficult, your lips ghosting across the tender skin of his neck, nipping lightly as his calloused fingers brush across your hips, digging in as he rocks you against him. You can’t help but shiver at the feeling of arousal in your stomach, fingers quaking as he lets out a soft moan next to your ear. 

Gently, Yoongi rolls the two of you over, slotting himself between your legs and pressing his clothed hard-on where you want him most. You look up at him as he pushes his hair out of his eyes, skin flushed and full of warmth and want. He is beautiful.

Something in you blooms, hungry and feral. You grab his hands and pull them to your chest, squeezing his palms under yours. He grins, getting the hint as he gives your tits a gentle squeeze, working a light moan from you. 

“You always had great tits,” Yoongi admits, thumbs circling the gentle hint of nipples through your shirt and bralette. You squirm under his touch and his grin grows wider. “Yeah? Sensitive, hmm?”

“Yes.”

With a pleased hum, Yoongi removes your shirt. It’s cold in his room, but he’s quick to bend down, his hands rubbing up and down your sides, chasing away the goosebumps as he looks up at you, mouth hovering over a peaked nipple. 

Slowly, Yoongi flicks his tongue over your nipple. The sensation makes you kick against the mattress, the stimulation something but not nearly enough. You want more, your hands shooting to his forearms and digging your nails in. 

Yoongi huffs, warm air gusting over your skin as he gives you what you want, lowering his mouth and wrapping it around your nipple, soaking the fabric of your bralette. Your eyelids flutter shut, one of his hands holding himself up and the other ghosting along your ribs back and forth, making you shiver repeatedly. 

Pulling away, Yoongi plucks your nipple playfully with his teeth, making you squeal from a pinch of pain but a flood of pleasure. You feel lightheaded, teetering on the border between present and somewhere far away and he’s barely even touched you. 

“You okay?” Yoongi asks. You realize his lips are ghosting against your chin. “You look a little dazed. We can stop.”

“No.” You shake your head, trying to dispel the fog and blinking down at him. “No it’s - it feels good. It’s hard to think when you touch me I just-” The words are stuck in your mouth and you squeeze your eyes shut.

He kisses your nose gently. “You just what?”

“I’m just really into it and it makes me feel all floaty and out of it but present. I don’t know. It’s overwhelming but good.”

“Do you want to keep going?” You nod. “Okay. You can stop at any time, okay? You ever used safe words?”

“No.”

He kisses you sweetly on the forehead, mouth drifting south until he’s nosing you lightly. His next words come out mumbled against your mouth, the hum sending a soft buzz through your lips. “Tell me a word we can use if you need to stop. No matter what we’re doing, the moment you feel uncomfortable, you use the word.”

“Christmas?”

He snickers and presses his forehead against you. “Fine, Christmas is fine.” He pecks your lips. “Okay.” He pulls your hand from your face, giving you a gentle, innocent kiss to the lips. It helps settle you a little. “Tell me what you like.”

“Umm.” Yoongi places butterfly kisses along your jaw, teeth nipping you lightly. You curse and feel your eyes roll back in your head as he sucks at your skin greedily, one of his hands coming up to brush a thumb back and forth over a nipple. “I don’t know.”

“No?” He pinches your right nipple and you moan loudly, earning a smile against your kiss-slicked neck. “You must like something. Do you like it slow? Rough? Messy? Do you like being choked? Hands above your head? Or in control?”

You shake your head. “Want me in control?” You nod. “Got it.” His hand drifts up to your neck and gives the sides a gentle squeeze. A thrill shoots through you and you lean up into him, nodding. “Yeah? Like having my hand around your throat?”

“Yes. I like…” Your words trail off for a moment as you think through the haze of Yoongi’s rasping voice and mouth. “Umm hard but sort of slow?” 

“Mhmm.”

“And messy. Messy is good.” 

Yoongi gives a satisfied hum. His hand leaves your nipple, brushing down your heated skin toward the apex of your thighs. He presses his fingers firmly over your clothed pussy, not nearly enough friction with underwear and jeans in the way. “And what about being eaten out? Do you like that?”

“Yes.”

You feel his smile against your throat. “Thank fuck. I’ve been dying to taste this fucking pussy.”

Suddenly you’re glad you have a safe word. Yoongi’s words send a fresh wave of arousal straight to your core, a moan leaving your lips as he worships your skin with his mouth. It feels like you could fall headfirst into him and never stop falling. The tension in your stomach is so tight you nearly snap when he unbuttons your jeans, everything he does is so overwhelming that there is almost an urge to cry. 

It’s hard to piece together why you feel like this. Why there is an inferno screaming inside of you, begging to be let out. Why the press of Yoongi’s fingers over your damp panties nearly sends you into a blackout, why when he circles your clit through the fabric you let out a strangled noise.

But you think… maybe you know what it is. 

Instead of thinking too hard about it, you focus on the way you’re short of breath. The way that your entire body is vibrating with energy. You look down to where Yoongi is on his knees between your legs, dark eyes looking up at you intently. His hands skate up and down the soft flesh of your inner thighs, squeezing periodically. 

Way back when, you were always nervous letting people between your legs, letting them see the most intimate parts of you up close. It was anxiety-filled and you were constantly nervous about being wrong - or just. Anything. 

But when Yoongi drops his gaze down to where your underwear sticks to your folds and lets out an appreciative curse, there’s no anxiety at all. Just a desire for Yoongi to make you his. For you to dig your fingers into him and make him yours.

Flashing you a wicked grin, he leans forward and gives a slow, wet lick over your panties. “Oh fuck,” you gasp, back arching and thighs twitching shut a little. The stimulation is more, but not enough. “Please don’t tease me.”

“Hmm, no? Want my mouth on this perfect pussy?”

“Please.”

He tucks his fingers under your underwear and pulls them down slowly, pressing a kiss to your knee absently. “You’re so much more pliant than I expected. Just want to be taken care of?”

Something inside you squeezes sharply and you shut your eyes, nodding. Realizing he can’t see you nodding, you whisper, “Yes.”

Firmly but slowly, Yoongi presses his palms into your thighs, spreading you wide. The stretch pulls your muscles but it’s a pleasant burn that is immediately forgotten when you feel his hot breath skate over your aching hole. 

You have never wanted someone’s goddamn mouth this bad. Yoongi laughs and you realize that you’re squirming, wiggling your hips a little toward his mouth. You immediately stop, hands covering your face as you groan, realizing that you are pliant for him. 

Embarrassment morphs into surprise and white hot pleasure when Yoongi licks you slowly from dripping hole to clit. Your breath gets stuck in your chest at the sensation, his tongue languidly rolling around your clit before he slow-drags it back down, dipping into your hole teasingly. 

“Holy fuck,” you gasp as he repeats the motion, the flat of his tongue dragging upward. “Fuck, Yoongi.”

He hums contentedly, flicking his tongue back and forth over your clit playfully. Your thighs tighten and shake, and you’re only able to let out the breath you’ve been holding when he pulls away and gives a soft chuckle.

“Fuck,” he grumbles, shuffling and sliding his hands under your ass. His fingers grip you firmly and he pulls you to his mouth, using the grip on your ass to anchor you to him. “Can you look at me, baby?” 

The new endearment makes your fingers clench in the sheets. It’s dizzying when you shift to your elbows, barely able to prop yourself up. The room tilts as he grins between your legs, lips glossed with your arousal. 

“Want you to watch,” he murmurs, kissing your inner thigh. It leaves a sticky mouth print. “Such a sweet little cunt.”

Yoongi’s words have no time to land. He leans forward and you watch with acute fascination as he sucks your clit gently between his lips. Your nerves turn to molten lava and though he wants you to watch, your head falls back and you feel your eyes roll, a whimper escaping your mouth as he suckles greedily. 

Everything Yoongi does has always been art. He eats you out no different, alternately between eagerly tonguing every inch of you and sucking gently on your clit. You somehow manage to lift your heavy head, swimming with no thoughts but Yoongi Yoongi Yoongi to watch as he closes his eyes, humming delightedly as his greedy tongue slips into your clenching hole.

“Holy fuck,” you squeak. Your legs threaten to close as the knot in your stomach tightens. You know you’re going to come soon, knees squeezing his shoulders as he hums and sucks and licks, not letting a drop go to waste. “I’m gonnnaaa-” 

You can’t finish the sentence. He knows you’re going to come, his tongue firmer, his mouth hungrier. His mouth is loud and wet against you, which might gross you out if you weren’t babbling, twisting your hips under him as the pressure in your stomach shot upward. You’re panting and nearly delirious when one hand slides from your ass to your hole, his thumb applying just enough pressure to relieve a bit of the ache. 

“Fuck,” you squeak.

You come hard, eyes squeezed shut, Yoongi sucking your clit harshly and humming, the hum of his mouth sending you over and his thumb dipping into your hole to apply pressure. Under the force of your orgasm, you collapse to the bed, full-body twitching as his gluttonous mouth sucks at you, not letting up.

A numb-like tingle settles into your veins. You feel drunk, and not from the wine. Something headier that makes your thoughts white noise and your limbs heavy-soft. Yoongi gives your clit a kiss before squeezing your ass playfully, kissing his way up your stomach to your chest. 

“How are you doing?” he asks gently. 

“I think I just saw god,” you croak, voice hoarse from overuse. “Fuck. Fuck.”

He hums and licks into your mouth. You taste yourself on him, sticky-sweet and heady. He moans, dropping his hips to press against your slick thighs and still-dripping cunt. “Let me,” you mumble against his mouth, hand dropping between you and squeezing him over his jeans. Fuck. Your eyes flutter open, your hand feeling the full size of Yoongi’s cock. “Oh my god, do you have a big dick?”

Yoongi bursts into laughter, groaning and burying his head in your neck. He busies his mouth with placing sloppy kisses, more tongue than anything, against your pulse point. “I mean, yeah.” 

“I mean, yeah,” you mimic in a high-pitched voice. He laughs and you squirm. Even his laugh is hot. “Well show me. I wanna suck you off.”

“Can I be honest?”

“You just made me come from tongue alone, so yeah.”

“If your mouth comes near my dick I might come. I was close to busting in my fucking jeans like a teenager just now. I’d love for you to suck me off another time, but I am living my dream right now and I might bust a nut immediately.” 

You look at him owlishly. “Living your dream, huh?”

“Shut up,” he growls playfully. “Roll over on your stomach for me and put that perfect ass into the air, hmm?” 

With sluggish limbs and your head spinning, you do what he asks. He snaps the back of your bralette and you let it fall down your arms before tossing it aside. Leaning on your elbows, you put your ass in the air, wiggling it for effect. He huffs out a laugh behind you and you turn your head to watch him pull his shirt off.

Underneath his clothes, Yoongi is flushed pink and smooth. You watch, dazed and appreciative as he undoes his jeans swiftly. There is something alluring about watching the way his hands work his pants off. His strong thighs flex when he straightens, tucking his thumbs underneath the waistband of his briefs to slide them down and -

“Holy fuck,” you blurt. Yoongi looks up at you, blonde hair sticking to his forehead and cock bobbing heavily against his stomach. He does have a big dick - thick and long with a flushed tip leaking precum that makes your mouth water. “You’re joking.”

For a moment, the confident Yoongi from a second ago wavers, face red as he shyly gets on the bed. “If we have to stop we can-”

“Please fuck me,” you beg. You don’t even hesitate, shuffling your knees so that your ass is higher. “I don’t care if it hurts. Please.” 

His hands are on your ass, making your heart hammer in your chest. You think it might give out as Yoongi shuffles behind you, his thighs brushing against the back of yours. You feel the sticky crown of his cock against an asscheek, making you press backward to apply pressure. A sharp smack lands on your ass, earning both a cry and a moan from you. 

“Don’t fucking start,” Yoongi growls. Both of his hands grip your ass as he slides his shaft between your sticky folds. Your forehead rests on sweaty sheets as you pant, feeling how hard and long he is. “Gonna fuck you open with my fingers a little.”

“Yoongi.” 

“You said you wanted me to fuck you, baby. So let me.”

Yoongi’s hands drift from the apples of your ass to your fluttering hole. There’s a pit in your stomach, butterflies going wild as his fingers brush around your ring of muscles, hole twitching. His cock is pressed against your ass as he slides a finger in, a sigh of relief leaving your lips as he presses against your front wall, the smooth glide of his fingers addicting. 

“More,” you whisper. “Please.”

He hums in agreement, sliding in another finger. It’s a stretch, but it’s good. Pleasure whites out everything else. There’s just the tight glide of his fingers, pressing against that soft spot in you. Everything he does, your stomach lurches, the pleasure turning you boneless as you continue to melt into the mattress, letting Yoongi slow-fuck you with his fingers until he decides you can take him. 

Slowly, he removes his fingers, a line of arousal sticking to your ass as he uses both hands to spread you open. He moans, shuffling so that his cockhead catches your entrance, holding the blunt tip there for a second, letting your hole clench and unclench at the pressure. 

“Holy fuck, please.”

“What was that?”

“Min Yoongi, plea-”

Your words turn into an embarrassing sound as he sinks deep into your pussy, so wet that he slides almost to the hilt. The wind gets knocked out of you and for a second, you lay there in white light, unable to think about anything but the painful stretch of his cock reaching deep deep. 

There’s nothing else but the feel of him, hips pressed to your ass, hands rubbing up and down your back, letting your walls flutter around him as you adjust to the girth. And you do have to adjust, remembering to breathe through it. When the slight sting fades, you swivel your hips, making both of you sigh. 

Taking the hint, Yoongi pulls out, using his hands on your ass to control both of your movements before he sinks back in, finding a smooth, steady rhythm that has stars exploding behind your eyelids. You’re gone in seconds, thoughts replaced by the livewire feeling in your stomach and the way Yoongi fucks you hard and deep, though his movements are slow. 

Yoongi makes sounds behind you that make you fall apart that much faster. His hands are reverent and careful as he pulls you onto his cock, fucking you like you asked. Slow. With purpose. Every thrust is weighted, Yoongi putting his entire frame into each stroke as he fucks you into the mattress, punctuated by his stilted breaths. 

“Fuck,” he swears. “You have no fucking idea the way I dreamed about this. Fucking-” he breaks off with a growl, fingers gripping you with bone-shattering strength. “Wanted to do everything with you. For years.” 

Something inside of you snaps and you let out a muffled cry, realizing that you're near tears. Because yeah. You know what he means. You knew it when you saw him standing in the kitchen making a home with your mom. You knew it when you saw him carving rocking chairs and brushing sawdust out of your hair. 

“I’m sorry,” you gasp as he adjusts the angle, hitting your spot on the upstroke. It nearly sends you into space. “But me too.”

He smacks your ass, the sting almost sending you headfirst into your orgasm. “Yeah? Thought of me even when you weren’t here, hmm?”

“Yes.”

“Thought of me even when you were lying awake at night in a city without me?”

“Yes.”

He slaps your ass again and you feel your orgasm, so tight and intense that you think you might die if the pressure doesn’t pop. “Come on,” he grunts, a hand sliding around your waist and reading down to press tight circles on your clit. Your vision goes white. “Come for me, then. Fucking show me.”

It’s all you need. You come around Yoongi, squeezing him so tight and screaming viciously into his sheets. He grabs you tight and curses loudly behind you, immediately coming deep in your cunt, shivering against you as he pants through it. You’re barely aware that his weight is on top of you, your entire being somewhere else far away.

For a while, there is just gasping breaths and tangled limbs. You’re unsure how to string together words, your mind and bones melted. Your body twitching with post-orgasm tremors. 

Strings of thoughts begin to pull together. The twine to make coherent ideas. Memories. Things. You feel the weight of Yoongi, who is only half on top of you as he tries to catch his breath. Tries to piece himself together, both of you collapsed and tangled in something beyond just bodies. 

Whatever it is that just happened is more than just fucking and you know it. Know that Yoongi knows it. You’ve been dancing around an inevitable thought for weeks, while watching him hunched over his workstation, painting stain on a cabinet with his sweater sleeves pulled over his hand. Watching him shuffle boxes of dreidels that he hand-carved for the synagogue down the street. 

The dread of coming home during the holidays was always about the association to your family. To your dad being gone. To the guilt gnawing at you for leaving your mom. But now, as he pulls the rest of himself off of you and rolls onto his back, hands grabbing you and pulling you to his sweaty side, you think that maybe being afraid of home was a little bit about him too. About the memory of him. About the little inkling of a crush that you never got over. 

“Your mom is gonna give us so much shit in the morning,” he mumbles, words a little slurred. You curl into his side, tucking your face in his neck. He smells a little like cedar, a little like sex and sweat. “She might never let me in the house again.”

“Untrue. She loves you.”

“Hmm. It’s a start.”  He sighs, words drifting off. “And no safe word needed. I could barely choke you out if I wanted. I thought I was gonna come as soon as I put it in. Holy fuck.”

“Fuck Christmas,” you laugh. “I want you to do that again. However you want to.” He snorts. “Also, I want to suck your dick in the morning. I didn’t get you a gift.” 

“Fine,” he mumbles. “Sleep, yeah?”

You hum. “Yeah.” 

#yoongi smut #suga smut #min yoongi smut #yoongi fanfic #yoongi x reader #bts suga #bts fanfic #minors do not interact #minors dni #bts suga smut

[prince-liest]

Omg, I just wanted to say I ADORE your characterization of Al and Vox! I don't even have the words to express how much I love reading your stuff, especially the Anon responses you post on here. The behind the scenes thoughts are literally my food, lifesource, its so good when people not only write characters IN CHARACTER, but also include stuff about their analysis/understanding of the character too.. I'm literally obsessed with breaking down characters and yk, cracking their chrome domes open to see how they work (which admittedly, I am not the best at <_< but I love reading them). Just wanted to say how much I love your writing. I had maybe 2 questions, please don't feel pressured to answer them :>

What in your mind (in reference to the 66.6 fics) would motivate Alastor to let Val get close to him in the first place? Or was that more you picking these two characters up by the scruff of their necks and plopping them into a hypothetical scenario to explore their character and write some fun intimate thingsTM?

What do you think of the dynamic of Vox and Al vs something like Lucifer and Al? Personally I've noticed that something Alastor craves, behind the mask of his static smiling persona, is attention. He's (at least how I saw it) usually peeved when people don't care about his absence, and seems especially bothered by the King of Hell refusing to really acknowledge him, so he goes out of his way to push Lucifers buttons (like calling himself a father figure to Charlie, IN FRONT OF HER ACTUAL FATHER LOL) whereas with Vox, Vox is literally CONSTANTLY thinking about Alastor. Man literally interrupted his regular TV program to do a segment about how much he totally didn't at ALL care about Alastors dissapearance or the fact that he returned (suree buddy). So Alastor can have more fun with him and annoy him by ignoring and messing with him on purpose.

ty if you do respond to this, sorry if it was hard to understand, sometimes I forget how to put the thoughts in my brain into coherent words!

Ahhhh, thank you very much, anon! I'm especially happy that you're enjoying my commentary on Tumblr, haha - I spent a while on Twitter because that's where all the fandom zines I was in were being hosted, but nothing beats Tumblr for giving me a nigh-unlimited word count and a captive audience for my rambling! >:D <3 I'm back to cocooning myself on the OG hell site.

Thank you for this ask, it really brightened my day! :D

As for your questions:

1. I'm assuming that was a typo and that you mean Vox (but in case you did mean Val: that was just a funny accident of him walking by the room! Alastor wasn't paying enough attention until it was too late), and to that I say:

I think Alastor allows Vox to take a go at him in canon because he finds Vox's obsession with him to be entertaining, but also because Alastor is kind of a narcissist and that same obsession massively feeds his ego, especially in a political climate that otherwise forgot about Alastor. Vox's whole "Who gives a shit about Alastor coming back?! Haha, now let me have a public meltdown and short out power to the whole city about it! Oh, fuck, why is he back, though?? Can we send a spy in to find out??" is exactly the reaction that Alastor wants every time he mentions his mysterious absence and gets brushed off.

At the same time, Alastor doesn't seem to register Vox as a sincere and genuine threat. He's a big enough fish in the Pride Ring pond that his obsession with Alastor is gratifying, but Alastor's self-absorption also doesn't really allow him to treat Vox as a threat tier above "annoying in a funny way, and also television is stupid." (Perhaps this will change in season 2... :eyes: (or perhaps Alastor will get Even Worse) (please god let him get even worse))

So those two things in combination make Vox the perfect candidate for Alastor to experiment with while maintaining his ego and not feeling particularly threatened. Despite Vox's Safeword 101 talk, Alastor would never put stock into that system with Vox unless he was certain that he himself would be able to back up a 'no' with overwhelming force. Him even considering safewords in the Live On Air! series is less for his own sake and more a politesse he offers on Vox's request to warn Vox to slow the fuck down before Alastor tries to put his insides on the outside.

2. And in direct contrast, we have Lucifer...

... Who Alastor obviously actually cares quite a bit about, because he's a whole nother power tier from both Vox and Alastor, and furthermore and possibly even more importantly, a credible threat to Alastor's relationships and standing in the hotel. I think a lot of discussion I see about Alastor prodding Lucifer seems to talk about how quickly he got annoyed about Lucifer's comments, but that misses the fact that he was pissed off before Lucifer even showed up. He got pissy the moment he saw the welcome sign, actually! And I wager that he was narratively absent for the scene where Charlie actually calls Lucifer because he would have done his best to manipulate her out of doing so had be been there.

And given that the two clearly haven't met before (though obviously Alastor knows of Lucifer - and hates that the inverse isn't true, hah), it's not 100% clear exactly why he's immediately so annoyed, but in my personal view of things and barring something like "he's projecting onto Lucifer because his contract is with Lilith," I think that what we know of Alastor's personality points most strongly to "he liked being the hotel's benefactor and sees it as His Project, and doesn't like the idea that Charlie called daddy for something that she thought mysterious, powerful Alastor couldn't handle." He distracts a lot with obviously-goading comments about practically being Charlie's dad in his duet with Lucifer, but underneath that he puts a lot of emphasis on the work he's done for the hotel and the fact that he's been supporting Charlie and the hotel from the start, so why the fuck is this deadbeat asshole suddenly turning up?!

Tl;dr: Charlie missed her insight roll on Alastor's personal investments and he's sooooo offended - and taking it out on Lucifer!

I think one of my favorite things about both Lucifer and Alastor is that they both sooo obviously belong in the Pride Ring, hahaha.

#ask #hazbin hotel #alastor #vox #radiostatic #my writing #anonymous #long post #part of the reason I love Alastor so much is that pride is also definitely my sin of choice #I relate to you #you horrible little narcissistic maniac you #meta #personal

[courtney-deserved-better]

seeing as it’s now been one year since the last chapter of slippery slopes was posted, i decided to make a big sappy post talking about what this fic has meant to me over the last two and a half years

i started writing slippery slopes after a bolt of inspiration struck me on this post. i’d tried writing my fair share of long fics prior, most of them remaining unpublished and all of them unfinished. i’m not quite sure what made me think i could write slippery slopes other than a strong desire to write the alenoah fic i wanted to read but that didn’t exist at the time. slippery slopes was the 30th fic posted in the alenoah tag, which didn’t have any finished long fics at the time. i think if you told 2021 pj that in two years there would be over 600 alenoah fics, many of them tdwt rewrites, their head would explode.

i honestly had no idea what i was jumping into when i started writing slippery slopes. looking back, i was very insecure about my writing. i’d actually forgotten about that until i was reading some posts i’d made while i was still writing it, where i wondered if i was going to be able to pull off the miscommunication plotline and the unplanned alecourtney friendship. almost every announcement of a chapter draft being completed included me saying i felt weird about it, or thought it was bad. i felt incredibly uncomfortable writing serious angst and when that started playing an important role in the fic at around chapter seven i feared that my writing was awful and other people would dislike it the way i had. i genuinely don’t think it hit me that slippery slopes was a popular fic until a few months before it became the most kudosed fic on ao3.

back then, i was able to understand why other people liked slippery slopes, but i couldn’t read it without cringing. i’m not sure when exactly the switch flipped—probably after i finally finished it and was able to distance myself from the writing process—but it became a fic that i’m incredibly proud of. i can reread it now and enjoy it without cringing in the slightest. i was able to see my writing as good, and well-crafted. i will always appreciate slippery slopes as a fic where i grew incredibly as a writer. i understand how to plan out long fics while still allowing for spontaneity. i can comfortably write angst. i feel strong in my choices for characterization and friendship even if it may seem unconventional. i have so much more confidence in my writing now, and a lot of that is thanks to you all.

other than desperately wanting an alenoah tdwt rewrite fic, a huge part of why i wrote slippery slopes was because i felt lonely in the td fandom and was hoping that this fic could connect me with more people out there. and boy oh boy it sure has. and not just the plethora of alenoah shippers—way more than i expected—but there were also people who didn’t ship alenoah, but still stayed for the story, and people who had never considered alenoah but gave my fic a chance and ended up shipping it anyway. when i didn’t believe my writing was good, there were many, many kind commenters who showed my fic love and encouraged me to keep going with it. and even now, there are commenters whose fresh excitement make me feel like all the time i spent on this fic was so, so worth it. and they all inspire me to keep writing. 

i may be a good writer, but i don’t think i can ever fully express what everyone’s support has done for me. i still struggle to wrap my mind around the fact that there are dozens of drawings of my fic that you all have made! that’s crazy! i am so, so lucky to have such wonderful readers, and i hope you all know how incredibly grateful i am. slippery slopes would not exist without you. this was a joint effort. it’s amazing to me how a spontaneously started fic for a crackship ended up changing the total drama fandom landscape the way it did. who would’ve guessed that a simple whim to write an alenoah fic could become quite the slippery slope.

#slippery slopes #alenoah #my fic

[softguarnere]

hi dove! i can't believe i've never requested anything on your blog! could you possibly write a enemies to lovers - lewis nixon x reader? maybe where feelings are discovered after one of them gets hurt/captured/something like that! you know i'm a sucker for angst with tons of fluff! thanks for being awesome!

mads <3

Coming Clean

Lewis Nixon x reader

A/N: omg hi Mads! Thank you so much for the request 🤗 I love your work (especially the way you write Nix) so I really hope you enjoy this! I edited and wrote the last half of this fic while sick, so if this is totally incoherent, that's why - and I'll just have to do my best to fix it when I'm better😆 (As always this is written for the fictional depictions from the show - no disrespect to the real life veterans!) 💕🕊️ Warnings: language, mentions of war

“I am not being overdramatic,” Nixon insists in what can only fairly be described as a rather theatrical tone. 

Dick only glances up from across the table, an eyebrow quirked as he studies his friend. He nods slightly. Thank you for proving my point, the gesture seems to say.

“Nix,” he says, his tone serious, even though he opts for his friend’s nickname instead of a more reprimanding Lewis. “I don’t think comparing anyone to Sobel is fair.”

Nixon drops his fork and holds his hands up in surrender. “Whoa, okay. All I said was that if she wanted to, (Y/N) could give him a run for his money. That’s all.”

“They’re nothing alike,” Dick deadpans.

Nothing alike? A bit nondramatic, in Nixon’s opinion. An understatement for sure. He starts to protest, but Dick cuts him off.

“I think the two of you just got off on the wrong foot.”

Scoffing, Nixon leans back in his chair. “Well, I wouldn’t call overhearing someone explicitly talking about how they think you’re unqualified for your job getting off on the wrong foot. But close enough, I guess.”

“That’s not what I said.”

The voice is enough to startle both Nixon and Winters – although the ginger presses his lips together in a way that suggests he’s only just managing to repress a smile as he takes in your arrival on the scene. Nixon, on the other hand, has to forcibly close his mouth to stop from gaping at your sudden presence.

“What I said,” you continue. “was that I wasn’t sure how well a Yale man would hold his ground amongst the other officers.”

A frown tugs at the corners of Nixon’s mouth. For once, he’s grateful that part of his upbringing included lessons in how to conceal one’s true emotions lest someone gain the upper hand by using them against him. He presses his lips into a thin line and steels himself.

“Remind me where you studied again, Lieutenant?”

Your face pales. Bingo! You may have had him there for a second, but he’s struck a nerve.

“It was just a joke,” you say, your voice quiet.

Nixon only shrugs before turning back to Dick. There are footsteps as you walk away, but he doesn’t turn to see you go. Instead, he tries to concentrate on his tray of food. Tries being the operative word, since Dick seems intent on staring at him with that look of utter disappointment on his face that could make a saint feel guilty.

“What?” He stabs some broccoli with his fork, not looking up.

Dick sighs. “It was a joke, Nix.”

The potatoes on the corner of his tray are his next victim. Unseasoned and questionably cooked as they are, Nixon still puts all his focus into getting them firmly on his fork.

“Why does it bother you so much?”

Now he looks up. “Huh?”

“The joke,” Dick clarifies. “Why did it bother you so much?”

It’s not so much that the jab at his alma mater bothers him. It’s just . . . Huh. Why does it bother him? The way it’s said, perhaps, or the people it was said in front of. After all, it was one of the first things that you said upon Nixon’s arrival after his promotion. Not a good look for a newcomer in such a prestigious position. If he wanted people to poke fun at him despite his achievements, he could have just stayed home.

Sure, that’s probably it, he tells himself. You’ve just hit a nerve. No need to psychoanalyze this whole thing.

To Dick’s question, he only shrugs.

His friend, thankfully, does not press the issue.

. . .

Lewis Nixon, you’re beginning to realize, does not forgive and forget.

Well, that’s too bad, because all the other officers seem to think that he’s funny and charming. And they’re right. But clearly those qualities are not on display whenever you’re around. And you’re not about to ingratiate yourself to him by groveling for forgiveness over some stupid offhanded joke.

Too bad. Because you’re a big enough person to admit that despite his flaws, Lewis Nixon has his good qualities – not to mention that he’s handsome.

“Why are you staring at me?”

The sudden question draws you out of your thoughts. You blink, back in the present moment.

“Pardon?”

“You’re staring at me,” Nixon says. He doesn’t look up from the stack of mail that he’s censoring, intent on his work.

You avert your gaze, trying to ignore the heat you feel rushing to your cheeks. The words on the letter in front of you turn to nonsense the more you try to focus on them. If you work hard enough, you won’t be tempted to let your thoughts wander to the man sitting across the table from you.

“Here.” A letter lands on top of the one you’re reading as Nixon, once again, interrupts your thoughts. Startled, you look up to find him looking at you rather expectantly.

The letter he’s tossed to you looks familiar. It takes you a moment to realize that it’s written in your handwriting – a letter that you wrote to your family back in the states. When you glance up at him, he turns back to his own work.

“You spelled accommodate wrong. Thought you might want to fix it before sending it off to your family.”

Oh of course he would point out your mistake like that! Anyone else would have let it go. Your family will be so thrilled by the letter that they wouldn’t even give the misspelling a second thought.

The sigh that you push through your nose comes out louder than you expect it to. Nixon, however, doesn’t look up. Swallowing your pride, you aim for a tone that’s halfway pleasant.

“Thank you, Nixon.”

Is it your imagination, or does the corner of his mouth twitch slightly? A smirk, perhaps.

“You’re welcome, (Y/L/N).”

. . .

Though the world no longer trembles with the barrage of artillery fire, you keep your hands pressed firmly over your ears, staying low in the foxhole. Is it the cold causing you to shake, or the adrenaline that still courses through your veins?

You had been out making rounds when the shelling began, just trying to make sure that the rest of Easy Company was okay. The shellings are always unexpected, but this one caught you out in the open, exposed. You had had to dive into the nearest foxhole, hoping for the best as you hid from the explosions just outside.

Someone had grunted when you fell into the foxhole, your elbow connecting with their stomach. There had been no chance to apologize over the loud, cracking booms that filled the air.

After a shelling, there always seems to be a moment – a split second, really – of silence before it all goes to hell again. Then the calls for a medic will break out and everyone will jump into action, throwing around orders amid the screams and groans of the injured.

Now, as you wait for the few seconds of silence, you feel the person beneath you shift.

“Sorry,” you mutter, your arms shaking as you attempt to push yourself off of them.

“Christ,” a familiar voice grumbles. “My fucking ribs.”

Nixon’s voice is all the motivation that you need to push yourself the rest of the way off of him. Still full of adrenaline, you push yourself back on your heels, staying low in the foxhole, but ready to leave at a moment’s notice.

The Princeton man rubs his ribs. “You came out of nowhere. That really – “ He pauses, his expression shifting into one that you’ve never seen on him before as his brows furrow. Gently, he leans towards you. “Hey, (Y/N). Are you okay?”

“I-I’m fine.”

“You look – “

Ka-BOOM!

The air splits in two as the second round starts. The shell must hit somewhere very near your foxhole, because the reverberations its impact sends through the ground cause you to topple forward, straight into Nixon.

Before you can even think about pushing yourself away from him again, something strange happens: you feel his arms wrap around you, drawing you in, close and tight, as the barrage continues. You bury your face in his shoulder.

When the second round ends, you both remain still, breathing heavily as you wait for whatever comes next. Only when it’s clear that the Germans are no longer firing do you pull away from each other. Neither of you looks the other in the eye.

“Sorry about your ribs.”

“Huh? Oh. They’re fine.”

Neither of you leaves the foxhole until absolutely necessary. And the next time that the Germans begin firing, when you somehow find yourself back in the same foxhole, neither of you seem to question how easily you wrap your arms around each other, bracing for the impacts and explosions.

The fog of war is a hell of a thing.

. . .

“Medic! We need a medic!”

The call is so unexpected that Nixon actually stops midsentence and turns his attention towards the panicked voice. Several others follow suit. After all, in the middle of Berchtesgaden, who would need a medic? It’s not like they’re in combat. And there’s nothing and no one around that should be putting anyone in danger.

Dick jumps into action immediately. Of course he does; he cares so deeply for his men – anyone can see that. It’s especially evident in this moment as he steps forward to intercept the panicked looking Talbert.

“What’s going on?” he asks.

“(Y/L/N) needs a medic.”

Despite his wishes, Nixon feels his heart skip a beat at the mention of your name. It’s because of the startling and unusual news that Tab is delivering, he tells himself.

“For what?” he asks at the same time that Dick takes charge of the situation, charging down the street they’ve been standing on, yelling out that he needs to find Doc Roe.

As soldiers snap to attention trying to find the trusted medic, Nixon moves closer to Talbert.

“What happened to (Y/L/N)?”

Talbert takes a step back, his eyes wide, like he’s being confronted by a madman. Sure, Nixon’s tone was a little demanding – a little worried – but there’s really no need for the other man to look so shocked.

“A couple of us were out exploring the woods,” Tab explains. “She caught her ankle on a root and tripped. Might be just a sprain, but it looks pretty nasty.”

“Where is she now?”

“We got her back to the house that she was quartering in – Hey! Nix, where are you going?”

Talbert’s voice fades behind him as Nixon rushes down the street. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he’s vaguely aware of people stopping to stare at him as he passes, his pace a barely restrained run.

Several shocked faces look up at him when he bursts into the house. He stops in the doorway of the living room, staring into where you are.

You sit on the couch, one leg propped up beside you. Other than the swelling in your ankle, you look okay – if not a little surprised, that is, to see Nixon gaping at you like this. For what it’s worth, the few Easy men who are scattered throughout the living room look just as stunned.  

“(Y/N),” Nixon breathes. Coming back to himself, he clears his throat, willing his heart rate to slow down to normal levels.

“Um . . . I think we should – we should maybe clear out, yeah guys? Give (Y/N) some room to breathe,” Babe suggests.

Casting glances between you and Nixon, the other men squeeze past him in the doorway as they make their way out of the house. Behind him, the door closes, but Nixon doesn’t move. Somewhere within the house, through all the silence between the two of you, a clock chimes to signal the top of the hour.

“Can I help you?” You finally ask.

“We’re at the end of the war.” Nixon’s voice, once again, is louder than he intended it to be. He clears his throat again before pushing on. “We’re at the end of the war, and you somehow got hurt.”

“I tripped in the woods. So what?”

“So what? I was worried about you!” The words are out of his mouth before they have his permission to be spoken. They’ve escaped before he truly grasps the gravity of what he’s just said.

You quirk an eyebrow – a rather sarcastic expression that he’s come to know on you, but your voice is quiet when you ask, “You were worried about me?”

He was worried about you, he realizes suddenly. And he’s been worried about you for some time now, though he can’t place when his feelings towards you softened, when he started to care.

“Yeah,” he admits. “I want you to get home safely.”

“Why is that?”

His head spins. Maybe you should have been put in intelligence, the way that you’re pressuring him for answers while keeping a collected tone. It’s exasperating, honestly, how you’ve somehow gained the upper hand.

But part of him . . . likes the feeling it gives him when the two of you spar like this.

Something tugs at the corners of your mouth. It might be a smile you’re trying to suppress, or one of the smirks that he’s come to know so well.

“Nixon, I think you’re very bad at expressing your emotions.”

He blinks. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” With your propped leg taking up the space beside you on the couch, you instead gesture to the chair that sits nearby. Without knowing why, Nixon takes a seat. It’s a bit like waiting outside the principal’s office, the anticipation of it all. “But,” you continue. “it’s kind of cute to see you so flustered.”   

You’re messing with him, surely. Yet he can’t find any sort of witty comeback.

After a moment of staring at each other, you nod with the assurance of someone who has finally made up their mind and is resigned to their fate. “I think it’s time I finally came clean.”

“About?”

“I think you know. But just to watch you squirm, I’m going to start at the beginning.”

He’s heard you tell stories before. The two of you could be here for a long time.

But, he thinks as you start your narrative, he’s starting to realize that he wouldn’t want it any other way.

#band of brothers #band of brothers x reader #band of brothers fanfic #lewis nixon x reader #lewis nixon #my writing #mutuals #tumblr friends

[yuebings]

fic writer meme

thank u @fruitdaze @uhuraisgay @cairoscene @englishsub for tagging me!

How many works do you have on Ao3?

44 currently! double 4s? during MY lunar new year? i gotta change that up quick

2. What's your total Ao3 word count?

315,042 words

3. What fandoms do you write for?

my most written-for fandom is mdzs, but i don't really write for it anymore...if you look at my ao3 profile u can kinda tell i'm a sporadic one-and-done type when it comes to fic hehe no one can predict where i'll go next. my latest fandom is jujutsu kaisen!

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

so you've been robbed by a musuem

the stone-filled sea

the family-dodging bathroom-dwellers association

and his wanting grows teeth

diving blind

it's like a wangxian sweep except for the last sambucky lol

5. Do you respond to comments?

i am trying to get better at that! sometimes i don't have the energy to go through and respond to every single one but trust me when i say that seeing the wonderful comments people leave truly makes my day

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

tbh i don't think i've ever written straight-up angsty endings (or at least the way i see straight up angst). every 'bad' ending has a ray of hope in it, or at least an acceptance that like...yes, this is the way it was meant to be, and to reject the outcome would be to reject everything that came before it. sometimes things were meant to go to shit. there was no other way to go. we were doomed but at least we loved each other. i will suffer but at least i can remember you. so on so forth.

with all that said, it's a toss up between the longest journey (di feijing & lei chun), or all things in pain (wen ning character study). 'angsty' endings, if only in the way i described above

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

a lot of my happy endings aren't super-sweet happy endings per se, but rather a promise or hope that things will get better. idk what that says about me lol like maybe i have more interest in the "how to become happy" part than the actual happiness itself...? but ANYWAY i'd say the sappiest ending is i have is uhhhh feel like a brand new person (msr take edibles together) because 1) their mutual attraction is finally acknowledged 2) they're making out 3) they're high as balls. what's better than this

8. Do you get hate on fics?

not any time recently! i've rarely had negative comments before and all of them have been of such a ridiculous nature that my only response was like "lmfao ok"

9. Do you write smut?

nope! not yet, at least. maybe some time in the future i'll feel like it

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you have written?

haven't written any, don't really read them either! i keep my blorbos locked up in their separate cages. siloed.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

yes! kind of. if this counts, a couple years ago someone on wattpad stole over 100 wangxian fics (including mine) from ao3 and reposted them onto their own account without credit. we got their account taken down tho so all is well...but this is why i say in my ao3 profile that i do not allow reposts. please tell me if u ever see my work reposted anywhere........

i've also come across a fic in a diff fandom that was VERY clearly "inspired" by one of mine (lifting certain scenes and lines beat for beat) and gave no credit. so there's that as well.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

yes! it's always an honor when someone wants to translate my work :)

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

nope! my creative process is so erratic that i feel like i'd be a nightmare to co-write with, so this is probably for the better

14. What's your all time favorite ship?

this is a hard question to answer. i don't have an ultimate favorite that always stays at the top of the pile, cuz my interests change all the time! right now i'm really enjoying platonic yuuji & megumi & nobara & gojo. in terms of what i go to most often when i want a comfort re-read...finnpoe.

15. What is a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

omg. you want a DEEP CUT? i have a wip for a rarepair in an already sparse fandom...yeongshin/seobi from kingdom on netflix (the historical korean zombie drama). i LOOOOVE that show i comfort re-watch it all the time. i love their bonded-thru-trauma-frenemies healer/warrior dynamic and i have this wip going for yeongshin getting bitten and seobi developing a zombification-reversal cure through sheer willpower and spite alone........there's maybe 2k written and i was relying on a season renewal announcement to motivate me enough to get the rest of it out but uh. fellow kingdom warriors if you're out there. i think we may be losing this battle............kingdom season 3 announcement save me..............

16. What are your writing strengths?

as a haver-of-siblings, i think i do general family dynamics pretty well! someone has told me in the past that i am good at packing meaning into very few words. i also think i'm good at angsty emotional beats (i sure like writing them, at least)

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

bro if there is any action scene in my work, writing it is like pulling teeth. what do you mean he's getting hit. what do you mean i have to think of an interesting way to describe punch #1 and punch #2 and punch #3. STOPPPPPPPP I CANT DO THIS.

in terms of technique i used to struggle with this thing where i NEED to perfect the writing i'm working on before i can move on. like i'd waste huge amounts of time rewriting a three sentence paragraph over and over and over again until it was perfect before i could move onto the next scene. i'm getting a lot better with that tho!

18. Thoughts of writing dialogue in another language in fics?

i've never done it myself, like, full on written-in-a-diff-lang dialogue, but i think it's cool as long as context clues/some form of translation is provided. and if proper research is done if the writer isn't a native speaker

19. First fandom you wrote for?

the man from uncle (2015). lol. napollya could have won in an alternate universe where armie h@mmer wasn't a piece of shit

20. Favorite fic you have written?

HOO. i gotta say it's my sambucky ghost fic the boy who cried ghost. it's by far my longest fic (even tho it isn't actually very long compared to others ive seen LOLLLL) and it took me AGES to write and ended up being quite personal!! part of the reason it took me so long to finish was bc i couldn't bear to write about sam struggling with grief/guilt when i was also going through something similar, so when i finally got around to writing the moment of catharsis i kinda felt like i was helping myself, too! which was a very interesting experience, and definitely served to lodge this fic in my heart forever and ever. it's not exactly popular but i'm proud of it :)

tagging @tantai-jin @bluecrystalrainingdaggers @vinelark and anyone else who wants to participate!

#BTW I AM EATING AN APPLE FRITTER. IF ANYONE EVEN CARES. #and my cat is squeaking very loudly rn. he is so cutie #yue.txt

[sherifftillman]

come along, one and all, to the hawkins fair! a special event held in honor of two thousand of you fine people being here. why not have a look around? we’ve got two wonderful parks for you to peruse, writer’s world and gifset grounds, so take your time, pick an attraction or two and be sure to check out the fireworks show at the end!

●・○・●・○・●

-ˏˋ Writer’s World ˊˎ-

🪞 hall of mirrors: you’re here, you’re there, you’re everywhere! which is the real you? who are these doppelgangers? – send me a description of yourself and i’ll write you a short blurb about what i think your role would be within the stranger things timeline! (+ add a 💕 if you also want to be shipped with someone)

💜 tunnel of love: they can’t stay still. your breath is shallow. awkward laughter as you catch each other’s eye, crammed in a boat with a strangely ominously glowing void ahead of you. – send a character or ship (please specify if the ship is standalone or an x reader polycule! i’ll assume all ships are standalone unless stated otherwise) and i’ll write a romantic blurb. (+ add a 🔥if you want smut)

🎠 carousel: the music fills your ears, the cool metal pole pressing against your warm, flushed cheek as you see your best friend next to you, having the time of their life. – send a character or platonic ship (please specify if standalone or x reader) and i'll write a friendship blurb. *this is the only option where i will also accept members of the party as options, but not directly interactive with the reader UNLESS as a side character/sibling of reader. (e.g. i won't accept dustin x reader but i would include dustin (+ other kids) in a henderson!reader x older teen scenario, or dustin with other canon characters)

🎪 big top: sit back, relax, and enjoy the show! this one’s all about celebrating you, dear audience, so we’ll need volunteers! volunteer yourselves, your friends, your idols. everyone deserves a spotlight! – send a fic you’re proud of! send a fic you love! this totally isn’t a thinly-veiled attempt at me trying to farm fic recs since i’ve slipped so much! it could be a reader insert or a ship. i don't mind any ship (as long as it doesn't include b*lly or j*son), especially rarepairs!

🌀 a portal?!: uh-oh, looks like HNL’s been at it, again. this time, it seems as though they’ve opened a portal through the entire multiverse! people are appearing that look strangely like existing hawkins residents. – send another character that a stranger things actor plays and i’ll write a romantic or platonic blurb for them, too! (+ add a 🔥if you want smut)

●・○・●・○・●

-ˏˋ Gifset Grounds ˊˎ-

🤹 the juggler: that’s right, i’m the juggler, baby! i can juggle almost anything you want, anything at all! i might even toss one your way, get ready for it! – make me choose between any number of things! people, ships, scenes, locations, seasons, etc.

🎈 balloon stall: get your balloons here! we got all the colours here, you want one? two? all?! you got it, kid. – send a character/ship and as many colours as you want to be featured.

🐤 hook a duck: feeling lucky, duck? why not take a chance on one of these rubbery fellas? anything could be under it, anything at all. you won't know unless you try! – send this and i'll have a randomiser decide who i make a gifset for.

🎡 ferris wheel: far above the shrieks of an excitable crowd, the blaring lights, the aromatic mix of sickly sweets, sweat and smoke; a moment of peace. just you, the world beneath you, and a simple song to guide you. – name a character and either choose a song/artist yourself or leave that up to me, and i'll make a lyric gifset for them!

👻 ghost train: what is dead may never die. what lurks within the dark depths of the unknown? truly anything can happen, if you dare to take the leap and open yourself to possibility. – give me an au (literally anything non-canon-compliant) and i'll try and make a gifset about it!

●・○・●・○・●

🎆 fireworks! 🎆

i just wanted to take a moment to thank every one of you. it's been insane how i can once again fall in love with writing, be this close to finishing a majorly hefty writing project, and learn a new skillset that i actually enjoy right from the get-go. being a part of fandom again has me getting out of the house again, going to conventions again, making new friends wherever i go, making plans to go to places i've never been before with those people. i thought that part of my life was behind me. i've never been more proud to be wrong.

all of you have encouraged me in ways i couldn't begin to explain, but the mutuals i'm tagging inspire me with their support and creativity every dang day. i'm so lucky to have these people in my life in any capacity, whether we talk every day or we've never spoken (though if the latter's the case, i'd love to fix that!) 💜

@denim-mixtapes @fanatictypist @keerysquinn @userquinn @hellfirehoe @reysorigins @eddieandbird @heroeddiemunson @roykentt @iero @hellfireclubs @corroded-hellfire @munson-blurbs @lunatictardis @loveshotzz @quinnsbower @newlips @wroteclassicaly @usedtobecooler @corrodedbisexual @dindjarins @stargyles @mulderfcx @enidsnclr @elizabethgillies @sebuckyverse @wordscomehither @eddiemunsons-missingnipple @hearsegrrl @mcbeanzontoast @pitifulbaby

#*mygifs #*2kcelebration

[cohandshake]

I’m aware that this is going to be a horrendously unpopular opinion—which is why I’m doing it on a dead side blog rather than my main

I honestly don’t understand people who listen to artists whose whole shtick is “I’m an awful person and everyone I know leaves me because I use and abuse them”, and then are shocked when the artist turns out to be an awful abusive person. Like, what were you expecting?

I keep seeing all these people saying “well, how was I supposed to know he was bad? How was I supposed to be able to tell?” And then they’re all like “ohhh woe is me, I can’t believe I loved these albums! I’m going to have to get rid of all this stuff I got and completely rearrange my whole life!” Like??? If you liked the songs so much that your whole room is plastered with posters and merch… surely you listened to the lyrics??? At no point was he ever trying to hide the fact he’s like this, it’s all over his songs.

One thing that also gets me, it’s that everyone is now like “if you support or like his stuff you’re a terrible person” and like. That’s valid. But YOU liked his stuff where he made no qualms or effort to hide this, before. Does no one have any kind of critical thought? Like, when you hear the lyrics, you just think “oh yeah, this is a totally normal line” and move on? To say that “oh he tricked all of us into listening and liking his stuff and being a rabid fan”, like you weren’t tricked. The only trick he played was being a “hot guy online” that everyone seemingly collectively decided was great because of that.

or is it being faced with the actuality that’s horrifying? by your own logic, you’re also just as complicit. — this isn’t to say that I don’t understand standing in solidarity with victims that have spoken out, and the purging of his work being part of that. I just think it’s a little hypocritical to get on your high-horses and say everyone is a peace of shit if they don’t immediately disavow his stuff, since the signs have been there from the start.

And this also isn’t to say that I didn’t like his music. I did and I do. In fact, I only know of him BECAUSE of his music (I found him when he was still covering pat the bunny and wingnut dishwashers union). I’ve had no illusions of him being a good guy, and still consumed his work— did I know just what kind of piece of shit he was? No. Maybe because I’ve only known him for his music that makes me so critical of most of the reactions. I didn’t have the chance to be pulled in by a “nice guy act” online like so many people seemingly have.

Speaking of his online personas, it does make me wonder how no one apparently thought he was bad before this? Like I’ve read some fics (not enjoying Minecraft doesn’t mean the fics aren’t good) and people generally and routinely portrayed him as this manipulative, erratic, controlling guy — even when writing him as the good guy, they still always included elements of these personality traits in the work. And now, I see artist after artist discontinuing and deleting works (and if this is what makes them feel better, fair play) saying that “they cant continue writing/drawing his character now they know the truth about him” but at the same time they were always so vocal about “I write about the c! not the cc!” Like if you were truly separating the character from the actor, would so many of you be speaking this way? Looking at the rampant amount of Harry Potter fanfics (not even starting on the manacled debacle), then no — the artist and the work are only connected when it’s live action amateurs.

And also, if you’re THIS distraught over some guy YOU DONT KNOW turning out to be terrible, get some help, that’s not normal i don’t think — or it shouldn’t be, the internet and social media has normalized being strangely attached to strangers and celebrities that you otherwise wouldn’t be.

#wilbur soot #wilbur situation

[somuchwhatever]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Got tagged by @somewhereapart, and I figured y'all may be sick of seeing me just post fic so here ya go.

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

88

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

305,612

3. What fandoms do you write for?

AO3 tells me I've written for Battlestar Galactica, Buffy, General Hospital, Law & Order: SVU, Law & Order: OC, Lie To Me, Stargate: Atlantis, Stargate SG-1, and The West Wing. And I honestly can't think of any others outside of just ficlets I've tossed into the wild over the years.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Flinktober 2022 (EO, SVU/OC)

i remember skies (EO, SVU/OC)

gala (EO, SVU/OC)

bizarre love triangle (EO, SVU/OC)

Chautauqua (EO, SVU/OC)

I did not include one that was cowritten with a bunch of other people because I will always assume the kudos are for them.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

As often as possible. If someone takes the time to comment, I want them to know that i care enough to acknowledge and thank them for that kindness and effort. Especially when I write mostly for a fandom where I've seen people specifically state that they will read works but NOT comment on them as some sort of punishment for whatever random/imaginary fandom sins the writer whose free content they are enjoying has committed. That's just dumb and unkind, so I make the effort to let people know their comments are appreciated, even if it takes weeks to circle back.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Hmmm. There are several chapters in the first flink posting that would qualify, but I'm going to go with my largest Sam/Jack (SG-1) fic, Gravity Sings. It's hard to pretend it's not angsty when you've literally killed off half the planet.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Hmm. Not really sure. I'm a sucker for fluffy endings, so I tend to write them quite a bit. Maybe waltz or Chautauqua?

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Occasionally, but I shut it down quickly. If you come up in someone's space where someone is providing you free entertainment and be rude? Don't expect a pass from me about it. The scroll bar isn't difficult to use, and neither is the back button. I use it frequently on poorly-written works or things that may be well-written but just aren't my thing. What I don't do is sling entitlement issues around demanding things be written to my satisfaction (unless you employ my beta services, in which case, you asked for it!). :D

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I never really did prior to the first flink experiment, and I created that experiment purely to practice writing smut. Well, I take that back. @rgrdsalxndra would be the first to remind me I'd often cockblock Elliot and Olivia by having them dream-smutting without real-life release. But I started that project with the express purpose of getting better and more comfortable with writing smut, so I'm making that the hinge point.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

Because SVU and OC are different shows, I write them regularly. But if you mean out-of-universe crossovers, I've only really written one, R.E.M. (SGA, BSG, Buffy). It was based on a prompt from an LJ friend, "Elizabeth Weir, Kara Thrace, and Buffy Summers walk into a bar..."

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I'm aware. There are much better people out there to steal from. Also, I always assume if something is similar to what I've written, it's because fandom truly does become a hivemind at some point. Nothing new under the sun and all.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not that I'm aware. If I had to guess, I'd say Gravity Sings would be the most likely candidate since SG-1 fandom is probably the most global and that fic has been around much longer than any other likely candidates.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Wrote Wet Dream with much better smut writers than myself in a group chat, and a bunch of us in SG-1 fandom way back in the day once built an SG-1 AU loosely based on The Big Bang Theory called The House That Jack Built, and I have several entries in that little universe.

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

How does anyone pick this??? I love them all for different reasons. I will say EO has a grip on me nobody else ever has, but then they have that 25 year slow burn that is just absolutely and sickly delicious.

15. What's the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Glazed and Fired (SGA) was originally the first part of a 5 Things fic that got away from me, and I had always intended to go back and finish it but eventually just put it away for good. I fully intend to finish my others (Skies, I'm looking at you).

16. What are your writing strengths?

Grammar. Economy of language (this is also sometimes a weakness). Getting into the head of characters who are typically very closed off.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I feel my writing is way too mechanical. I'm also still not comfortable writing smut. I always walk around with a sense of imposter syndrome with my writing.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I'm literally one class shy of a degree in French, and I had to write many upper level term papers in that language, but let me assure you I have zero plans to ever write in another language. I sincerely applaud those of you who do.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Stargate SG-1

20. Favorite fic you've ever written?

Geez. It probably changes regularly, and I'm hesitant to say because my faves are never anyone else's. all i ever wanted (a rather dark Elliot-centric fic) holds a very dear spot in my heart just because of how my muse just grabbed a keyboard and churned it out. This is not a popular opinion, and hardly anyone read it, but I still love it a lot. And just because it was the first fic I wrote that was widely recc'd, I have a soft spot for Things Not Dreamed (SG-1), a Sam & Jack & Daniel fic written from Daniel's POV.

tagging in a no-pressure way (and sorry for any double tags):

@morethanwords229, @whatbecomesofyou, @samwrites99, @rgrdsalxndra, @shut-upjohn, and anyone else who wants to do it!

#fanfic #ao3 #memes #writing #writer stuff #sg 1 #buffy the vampire slayer #lie to me #l&o svu #law and order oc #law and order svu #battlestar galactica #stargate atlantis #stargate sg1 #west wing

[hitsuzenhusbands]

hey! i hope you're having a good day! i just read your (amazing!) asoue fic "ashes to ashes," and i was fascinated by the way you portrayed kit and olaf. i thought i'd send this ask because i'd really love to hear more of your thoughts on their dynamic if you feel like sharing? but if you don't feel like expanding on it, i totally understand! thank you so much for sharing your beautiful work on ao3!

OHH anon you are so kind...i apologize for being so extremely late but i just finished writing a little analysis so i figured now's about the right time to write a semi-legible response. might have been scary and incomprehensible otherwise. but i am finally here to scream and cry and thank you so desperately because im SO happy you enjoyed them AND decided to ask for more info! <3

to begin, i'd be absolutely inconsolable if i didn't point you towards @virginian-wolfsnake's fic the eye of the storm, probably one of my fave k&o fics of all time that delves into the meat of their relationship through the years from the perspective of kit. they're young and still excited by missions and flirty and tender and genuine, and, in time, when the rest of their world collapses, so do they--messy and tense and so wonderfully realistic you have to read it and then read it again. honestly, if you don't want to read the rest of this but still want an answer, just read that. but also read it anyway

and now i have to ask you to forgive me...i have not read the books in a very long time and while i know the netflix series (in comparison) is bad and awful and terrible, i have watched it a million times. so if i'm wrong on anything. that's why.

to begin, the version of olaf i depicted in my fic is at the height of his...how do you say...pathetic misery. not including the spiral he has during the series. to me, the death of his parents are the beginning of his downfall into something-like-insanity, but he's still (and will continue to be) recognizably himself, if that makes sense. he's always been messy and emotional and dramatic (see the line: "...Kit has seen him in worse states and with a much better view..."), but only now does he reveal not a different side of himself per se, but a different angle of one that already existed.

im a fervent believer that olaf's always been a little self destructive and a lot crazy. hes spent the greater half of his life coming to terms with the fact that he is intrinsically not as noble as the rest of vfd--hes impulsive and obnoxious and self-obsessed, barely even literate at times--and it takes a special kind of guy to carve the insignia of the organization full of people he despises into his own front door. still, his parents' death was a catalyst, meaning he wasn't entirely opposed to vfd beforehand. he probably liked the missions and the secrecy and the dramatics, obviously the disguises and everything, but i think before the night at the opera it was really just a source of fun for him. he never truly grasped the reality of it, the nature of his actions and the weight of his involvement. whether that was out of naivety or pure neglect of the facts is up for debate. (there's a little bit of this in the shattering of thalia and melpomene if that interests you at all, beloved anon. see the line: "...[Esme] could never compare to the extent to which [Olaf] removes himself from everyone else entirely. How he spends so much time worrying about himself he almost forgets to worry about himself...Esme could never truly get lost in her own greatness. Could never turn a blind eye to the inner workings of V.F.D.")

kit, on the other hand, definitely did. serving as a volunteer was her purpose, the sole thing she had to cling to. she dedicated her life to it, making conscious decisions to go against her moral code in the hope that it all truly was for a greater good. i think, at times, she could fall into her own little fits of self-destruction, putting vfd above herself entirely (see the line: "This wouldn’t be the first time she’d done something she would never truly volunteer for...he’d still spent year after year watching her run off...to do something she could never speak of." "...she still returned with clenched teeth and knit eyebrows, as though she had no choice in the matter at all.")

to avoid any more convolution, in my mind it goes something like this: both are volunteers--olaf born and raised (along with beatrice), kit torn from her family and thrust into the thick of it so early on its all she knows. they grow up, probably-definitely know each other but dont know each other until, say, late teens-early twenties?

up until then, they've been everything previously described, but intermingling with one another changes this. olaf's easygoing approach rubs off on kit, partly because she finds more joy in his company than in missions, partly because he makes every attempt to keep her from leaving. i like to think she tries to keep his relatively flimsy moral code in check, or at the very least restrain his temper to the best of her abilities.

to me, they're a simultaneously great and terrible couple. at their best, they counteract each other in a positive way as described above and serve as a welcome distraction from the realities of a crumbling vfd, a little island of tenderness and domesticity in the ocean of turmoil that surrounds them.

and at their worst, their personalities combat so violently it's hard to see how they ever could have been together. olaf deals out the worst of it, prone to neglect and self-isolation, a deeply inset refusal to discuss anything with her, an inclination towards firestarting and an increasingly poor reputation with everyone kit knows. then again, kit isn't free of blame (if you can call it that), she's just as opposed to talking anything out as he is, and her isolation takes on the shape of running off to do as many missions as as she can before she's dead on her feet. she's pulled in different directions--a well-instilled hatred towards firestarers, only further influenced by whatever rumours olaf's growing list of enemies supplies her, versus her love for him, her knowledge of who he really is, a concept that is often tested. (see the line: "He’s reminded of a fight they once had, about something or other, that ended in her angry admission that it was easier to be upset with him when he wasn’t nearby.") 

anyway, the idea is they grow further and further apart both ideologically and physically/relationship-wise until the opera night and the crash following that (see: the whole fic!) and from then on i think they fall into something like an evil situationship. they barely see each other, complete opposite sides of the schism. i say situationship because i think when they do see each other (on missions, at events/in public, in private, etc.) it is just a terrible experience no matter what. they're both torn between hating the other for what they know about them/what they did (i like to think olaf finds out about kit supplying the darts) and reminiscing/yearning for what they once had.

for the sake of this i wont give my thoughts on whose baby kit has because that's a whole other thing (not really. its just more of a fun hc i think about on occasion as opposed to something concrete in canon or even my version of canon) but their scene in the end does make me insane. its a culmination of all the time spent wishing what happened didnt happen, almost as though theyre seeing each other for the first time once again, perhaps not blind to the past but looking away for (on olafs part) one final moment of normalcy.

i hope thats what you were looking for to any degree, anon. im a little rusty on my lore but they matter to me soo much. if i have to leave this on anything, its go read eye of the storm. kitlaf fic of all time.

#im so sorry this took approximately one million years #i hope it suffices anon... #also i hope its ok to tag u out of the blue my wonderful mutual #that fic is so good....makes me crazy everytime i think abt it #asoue #a series of unfortunate events #count olaf #kit snicket #kitlaf #answered asks #analysis #fic posting