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Emerald Corp is Coming to Town (M) (Part 2)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Genre: rivals to lovers; (debatable) exes to lovers; holiday romance

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader (f)

Rating/Genre: M (18+); smut

Summary: In a town like Merriman, there are three things you can count on: first, that the holiday season is the busiest tourist time of the year; second, that any presentation given by Remmy Quarrels, elected treasurer, during town hall will be boring; and third, that Yoongi Min will find a way to be infuriating throughout.

This year is no exception, but instead of the usual presentation from Remmy, he announces the bane of small businesses everywhere: Emerald Corporation, hotel conglomerate and killer of joy, plans to open a ski resort on the next mountain. This would be fine, except your family owns the Rosy Finch, a cozy inn at the center of town, and Emerald Corp is a death sentence to places like yours – and the Lodge at Blue Glenn, owned by none other than your rival, Yoongi Min.

When you team up to stop this from happening (okay, fine – when you bully Yoongi into helping), you soon realize things are not what they seem. Not only with Emerald Corp, but your feelings for Yoongi seem to change by the day. As the countdown to Christmas continues, two important questions emerge in your mind: Will you be able to save your businesses in time?

And, more importantly, have you misjudged Yoongi Min from the start?

Word Count: 38K (18K in part 2)

Rating: 18+ (explicit sexual content)

Warnings (explicit content): oral (male receiving), fingering, semi-public sex, panty-ripping, dirty talk, spit as lube, multiple orgasms

Warnings (other): death of a parent (past tense), corporate America *shudder*

Content Creator: thank you @kithtaehyung for the AMAZING PAGE BREAKS AND END BANNER!

Author's Note: This is not the first part of this story. Please read Part 1, here.

Slamming the door to Yoongi’s truck, snow crunches beneath your feet as you walk towards the tree line. Once Yoongi received his breakfast sandwich to-go, you bundled into his car and drove nearly twenty minutes up the side of Mauve Peak.

When he pulled off the road to park in the middle of nowhere, you immediately turned to him with a giant grin. Yoongi sighed, well-aware he was about to be on the receiving end of a litany of jokes about him as a kidnapper.

Several minutes later, you find yourself rethinking whether they were jokes.

“Okay,” you say, scanning the horizon. “I lost cell service five minutes ago and haven’t seen another car since the town line, so this would be a pretty good spot to kill someone.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Y/N.” Yoongi hikes past you. “If I wanted to kill someone, I wouldn’t do it on lodge property. Bad for business.”

“What, murder?”

“No, screaming. Our guests pay for peace and quiet.”

You burst out laughing, stomping through the woods after him. It’s a good thing you decided to wear snow boots this morning; otherwise, you’d be screwed. Yoongi strides casually on, looking nonchalant in the calf-high snow.

Evergreen boughs touch overhead, the sun breaking through them to cast patterns on the snow. There seems to be a trail that you’re following, although most of it is snowed over. Blue dashes indicate where you’re going, and several logs have been cleared where older trees fell.

“So,” you exhale. “What do we do now?”

Yoongi sips his coffee. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, Remmy. He’s been going around undercutting all our hard work.”

“Nuh-uh.” Yoongi wags a finger. “Nope. I said I was taking you somewhere as a distraction, Y/N. Not a place for you to worry about this some more.”

“Well, then you need to do better. I hate to break it to you, Yoongi, but a winter walk in the woods won’t distract me from the fact that my family’s business is going under.”

Yoongi hums in agreement. “Have you ever heard the idiom, ‘the best ideas come when you least expect them?’”

“No,” you say. “Because you made that up. The expression is ‘good things come when you least expect them.’ Or maybe ‘you meet the right person when you stop looking.’ You’ve just twisted the concept to be applicable to now.”

“Anyways,” Yoongi sighs, ignoring you. “Sometimes, solving a problem isn’t about working harder. It’s about taking a break. Stepping away. Looking at the problem from a new angle.”

“You’re a new angle,” you mutter, knowing he has a point.

Yoongi grins. Before you can say anything more, the path ends in a clearing. Nestled against one side of the mountain is a tiny, green pool with a waterfall pouring into it. Evergreens encircle the clearing, reflected blearily in the water in various shades of emerald.

Yoongi comes to a stop beside a large boulder. “Ta-da,” he says, gesturing with his coffee cup. “Welcome to my favorite spot.”

Hearing this, your eyes widen. It takes some effort to reach his side, since the snow all around you has been untouched for days. Reaching him, you remove both hat and gloves to gaze around you with awe.

“Wow,” you exhale. “This is beautiful.”

Yoongi nods. “The waterfall eventually freezes, but it’s too early in the season for that.”

“Oh, that must be amazing.”

He brushes snow off the boulder so you can sit, finishing your breakfast sandwiches as you drink your coffee.

Eventually, Yoongi clears his throat. “This is where I come when I need to clear my mind,” he explains. His gaze stays on the pool. “I’ve been doing it ever since I was a little kid.”

You look around with new eyes. “That long? How far are we from the lodge?”

“A mile or so.”

“You’d come all this way?”

Yoongi shrugs. “Yeah.” Staring into the water, his expression tightens. “Did you… know my dad at all?”

“Not well. I remember him from some of the functions our parents attended.”

He nods. “That makes sense.” Yoongi once again drinks from his coffee, throat working to swallow. “My dad could be… difficult.”

Unsure how to respond, you shift a bit closer. “How so?”

Yoongi frowns. “He was very particular. Things had to go a certain way. When they didn’t, he got mad.”

“Ah.”

You don’t say anything more, pulling your legs underneath you and turning to face him. Silently, you wait for him to continue. To you, it seems as though Yoongi needs to get this off his chest.

“I never planned to come back here, you know,” he muses.

This is a surprise. “No? What was the plan, then?”

Yoongi shifts to fully face you, sitting cross-legged. “I was going to run a fancy hotel in the city. Even if I didn’t always love Merriman, I loved growing up in a hotel. I loved the idea of granting people an escape – a respite from the world. Somewhere they could recharge, you know?”

Studying him in the cool air, you find you understand. It’s not something you have experienced, but it’s something your mom always said. Glancing around Yoongi’s safe place, you understand him better.

“Yeah,” you murmur. “It makes sense. My mom said the same.”

Yoongi contemplates. “I can picture her saying that. My dad used to drag me to all those fancy conferences as an excuse to show off. He wanted to brag, to feel good about himself, but ironically, that was where I first fell in love with the business. I got to hear from other owners. I heard how passionate they were, and it made me love the job.”

“Just… not with your dad at the helm,” you surmise.

Yoongi nods. “Exactly. The plan was to major in hospitality, then work my way up at a five-star resort. Eventually, I wanted to take over. Or buy my own place. I never planned to come back to Merriman.”

“But you did.”

“But I did,” he agrees. Yoongi pauses. “When my dad died, it was… complicated. I returned for the funeral, and it was like I saw this place in a different light.”

You remember that weekend. You attended because everyone else in town did, but you recall it being a dry-eyed affair.

Despite what you said to Yoongi, you remember Mr. Min being a cold-hearted man. There were many times in your childhood you saw him yell at staff or tell Yoongi to stay still. At the time, you didn’t think it was any of your business, but now you regret that.

People brushed past his actions because Mr. Min was rich and important, but that didn’t make it right. Your heart twists, realizing Yoongi felt a need to distance himself from his father and so, felt a need to distance himself from this town. People should have stood up for him. People should have made it clear that he had a place here, regardless.

People like you.

On the day of the funeral, you remember Yoongi standing at the casket with his mother. He was appropriately somber, handing his mother a handkerchief, but he didn’t seem upset. He returned to work in the city the next day, and you remember people calling him cold-hearted. Just like his dad.

Now that you know him, you can see he’s anything but. Fury rises within, wishing you could go back and do things differently. Offer support on a day that was clearly difficult. Despite their relationship, the death of anyone you care for is hard. At best, it brings up complex feelings which are difficult to navigate.

“Anyways,” Yoongi continues. “My mom and I started talking more after. That was nice,” he admits, his voice catching. “We used to be close, but she was hurt when I refused to come back after college. When I realized I had inherited Blue Glenn in the will, it was like… something flipped.”

“Of course,” you murmur.

Yoongi looks sideways. “I was surprised he left it to me, to be honest.”

“I’m not.”

He attempts to smile. “It was probably because there was no one else. My dad had a habit of driving away every general manager he had within six months.”

“And since you took over?”

Yoongi hides a smile. “Not relevant.”

“I think it is,” you say, scooting closer. “You’re amazing with the lodge. Everyone in town knows. And thank you,” you add, your tone softening. “For sharing with me.”

Yoongi’s gaze drops to your hands on the rock. “Oddly enough, it felt nice. I haven’t spoken about my dad – or this spot – in so long.”

“Oddly?”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” Yoongi says drily. “But sharing personal things can be hard for me.”

“You don’t say.”

His lips twitch. “My therapist has been encouraging me to be more open. I talked to him yesterday afternoon and he pointed out I tend to assume the worst scenario before it can happen, and then I shut down.”

“How convenient,” you deadpan. “My therapist says I love to deflect and distract so the worst-case scenario never happens.”

Yoongi grins. “Oh? And what does the worst-case scenario look like for you?”

“I don’t know,” you say lightly. “Maybe trying and failing? Not being good enough.”

The moment the words leave your lips, you regret them. Way too real for a mid-morning conversation. Yoongi doesn’t seem deterred, though. If anything, his focus on you intensifies.

“I get that,” he says. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re amazing and that failure happens to everyone. It’s not a reflection of personal worth.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, touched by the statement.

“It’s true.” Yoongi looks at you a long moment, then asks, “Were you lying earlier? When you said you’d never thought about doing something else?”

A choked laugh escapes. “Damn. You could have at least pretended to believe me.”

He grins. “Sorry.”

You fake-roll your eyes and eventually, sigh. “Fine. Honestly, I’ve been thinking a lot about that question. When I first started, running the Rosy Finch was fun.” You hesitate. “Now, though… I don’t know.”

Yoongi’s hand shifts a bit closer, and his thumb skims your palm. Glancing down in surprise, you bask in the warm sensation it brings you.

“Now, though,” you add. “I’m feeling like maybe fulfilling my mom’s dream isn’t enough for me.”

“What was your mom’s dream?”

“The Rosy Finch.”

“And your dream is…?”

You almost say, I don’t know, but catch yourself just in time. “I’ve always loved baking,” you admit. “And for a long time, I never thought of it as a potential career. I was happy with my job at the inn and baking as a hobby. Lately, though…” You shrug. “I’ve wondered what it would be like. To open my own bakery and do it full-time.”

“Hm.” Yoongi tilts his head. “Didn’t Sugarcoated close last year when Mrs. Katowski retired?”

“It did.”

“And no one else has moved in?”

“Nope,” you say, popping the p.

Yoongi lifts a brow.

Catching on, your eyes widen. “Yoongi, no,” you groan, waving aside the suggestion. “This is the first time I’ve admitted this to anyone else out loud. I’m not ready to, I don’t know, buy a bakery. Or leave the Rosy Finch. That would be crazy.”

Yoongi pauses, fixating on something in your last sentence. “This is the first time you’ve admitted this out to someone loud?”

“Um… yeah.”

His expression shifts, and you realize the distance between you has lessened. Yoongi is close enough now to count each individual eyelash and notice he wears the same cologne as before. Or bodywash. Whatever it is that makes him smell intoxicating and slowly, the space seems to close between you.

His gaze drops to your mouth, then back up.

RIIIING. RIIING.

Springing backwards, you nearly topple from the rock when your phone rings. Windmilling your arms, you hover before Yoongi catches your arm and pulls you forward. His grin has returned, mere inches away while his thumb slides up your wrist.

“Sorry!” you gasp. Fumbling in your jacket, you search for your phone. “I didn’t have service at the car, so I didn’t expect –”

“This spot is closer to the lodge, so sometimes we pick up the cell tower.”

“Oh,” you say, finally locating it. Pulling your phone free, you see your sister has called – and sent four missed texts. “Shit,” you mutter. “I should call Bea back.”

Yoongi unfolds his legs. “Sure,” he says. “Do you want to head back?”

You shoot him a grateful look. “If you don’t mind.”

Nodding, he zips his coat to his chin. “No problem. I’ll head back and warm up the car. Give you some privacy.”

You wait until Yoongi is out of earshot before dialing Bea. She answers on the second ring, sounding static-y on the other end. “Where are you?” she blurts.

Standing, you brush clumps of snow from your jeans. “I’m with Yoongi. We were strategizing after we received new information about Emerald Corp.”

Close enough, anyways.

“Oh, is that what you call it?”

You frown at the trees. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong? You’re asking me what’s wrong?”

Rolling your eyes, you clutch your phone tighter. Bea may be more practical than either you or your dad, but she inherited the same dramatic streak. It makes for borderline comical arguments in your household.

“If you’re not going to tell me, then I need to hang up and –”

“When were you going to tell me that you got into a screaming match with Remmy Quarrels at Brewsters this morning?”

You wince. “It was not a screaming match, Bea.”

“Oh?” She tsks impatiently. “Then why did I get a text from Lou Oyama saying, ‘your sister is about to smack the shit out of that weird treasurer dude over pancakes,’ if nothing happened? And then!” Bea huffs. “Ally Thompson sent me a text saying ‘yooo was that your sister this morning clocking the shit out of Randy?’ End text.”

“First of all,” you say, “Randy Quarrels is an entirely different person from Remmy Quarrels. Second, you received those texts because your friends are dramatic busybodies. I merely had a conversation with our town treasurer.”

“And what was said conversation about?”

You scowl at the pine trees. “Nothing important.”

“Is that so?” Bea asks, her tone turning frigid. “Well, that’s great, because it gives me the chance to say to you what I should have told you last night, which is – Y/N, stop it.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Stop acting like you need to do this alone, like you have no one who can help you when – if you would just stop and ask – people are here. I’m here.”

“What are you… talking about, Bea?”

“The inn!” she all but shrieks.

Your stomach sinks. “Who says I’m doing everything alone?”

“Oh, right,” she half-laughs. “Sure. You’ve involved Yoongi for some reason, who you don’t even like –”

“I like Yoongi.”

“– but you’ve cut me and dad out of everything, and that hurts, Y/N.”

Hearing her genuine hurt, your stomach drops further. Beginning to pace the clearing, you bite your lip as you stare into darkness.

It hadn’t occurred to you Bea felt like this. Growing up, her becoming a lawyer was always the most important thing, and you learned to rank accordingly. Bea never had time for things with the Rosy Finch. She always had finals, or an internship, or was pulling an all-nighter for the LSAT in the library.

You assumed nothing would change when she passed the bar, but you suppose you haven’t really talked to her since she returned to Merriman.

“I’m sorry, Bea,” you say at last. “I… didn’t know you wanted to be involved. I just assumed things were still me and dad, and you know dad… he’s not the best in a crisis.”

Bea exhales. “I know.” Her voice softens. “And to be fair, I could have spoken up sooner. I should have spoken up sooner. I know I wasn’t always there when I was younger, and I would pawn things off on you, which wasn’t great. You took care of me,” she adds, her voice breaking. “But you shouldn’t have had to, Y/N. You’re only two years older than me.”

Blinking rapidly, you stare at the trees. Everything Bea says is something you figured out years ago. No, things weren’t fair when your mom died. You took on so much responsibility and over time, people grew used to it.

It’s hard for you to blame anyone, though. You said you could handle things. You demanded to be let into the adult world, the grown-up circumstances. Maybe your dad should have refused, but he was also grieving.

That’s one way in which your dad is different from you. He buries himself in emotions, while you push them aside and bury yourself in your work.

“Dad relied on you, too,” Bea continues, echoing your thoughts. “But that’s a topic for another day, honestly. I mostly just wanted to tell you I’m here for you, Y/N. I want to be included. Let me be included.”

You struggle to find the right words. “But Bea…” You falter. “You never wanted to be involved in all this. You passed the bar. You should be practicing law far away from Merriman.”

You can practically hear her scowl. “Why are you telling me what I should be doing, Y/N? Did your life turn out exactly the way you planned at fifteen?”

Decidedly no, although you choose not to say this.

“True, I wanted to practice law.” Bea pauses. “And I passed the bar, and I could get a job in the city, but… I don’t know. All I really want to do is help at the Rosy Finch. Is that so wrong?” she demands. “I feel like I can be helpful. All this contract law must be good for something – right?”

There’s a note of uncertainty in her voice that makes your breath catch. Bea seems genuinely unsure, as though she expects you to turn her away, and that breaks your heart. All this time, you thought you were doing what was best for her; you never stopped to consider what she really wanted.

“No,” you exhale, shaking your head. “You’re right. It would be great to have you around to help. I really appreciate it. Truly. “

She clears her throat and makes a suspicious snuffling sound. Blinking rapidly, you try not to cry, too. Some things simply run in the family.

“Okay,” Bea says briskly. She blows her nose. “Well. Now that that’s settled, what’s the plan?”

“What plan?”

“The plan,” she insists. “I assumed you and Yoongi had one.”

“You assumed wrong,” you say, starting to walk towards the car and praying your cell service continues. “We were going to present the signatures we gathered to Remmy, but it seems as though several town businesses may have jumped ship.”

Bea makes a dismissive noise. “We’ll see about that,” she huffs. “I’ll call Hoseok – my friend who used to work with Emerald Corp to see if he knows something. He may have dirt about how they operate. Maybe that will spark some ideas.”

“That’s a good idea,” you admit, switching your phone to your other ear.

“Of course, it is. I thought of it.”

Emerging from the path, you spot Yoongi in the driver’s seat of his car. His hands drum the steering wheel, but when he sees you, he smiles. Smiling back, you completely forget your sister is on the line.

“Are you making eclairs for the town potluck tomorrow? You know how much Jimin salivates over them.” A long pause. “Y/N? Hello? Y/N, hellooooo?”

“Sorry!” you blurt, turning away. “I’m here. What did you say?”

Bea cackles. “W-ow. Did someone hot and moody walk by?”

You sniff, crossing one arm over your chest. “Yoongi is sitting in the car, for your information. He’s giving me privacy to talk. Something you and dad couldn’t begin to comprehend.”

“Aha!” Bea crows. “I never said a name. So, you think Yoongi is hot and moody?”

“Goodbye, Bea,” you say loudly. “I’m hanging up now.”

“Bye, sis!” she cheers, a nickname she only uses when she’s being a little shit. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. Unless said thing involves Yoongi Min, because there are a lot of things I would let him do to –”

“Bye, Bea!” you repeat, and hang up.

Taking a deep breath, you square your shoulders and turn around. Hopping into the passenger seat of Yoongi’s car, you slip your phone in your purse and face him.

“How are things at home?” he asks, pulling onto the road.

“Good.” You fidget with your zipper. “Bea is going to help with some stuff at the inn.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah.”

Staring out the window, you shiver at the lingering cold from outside. Noticing this, Yoongi turns up the heat. You smile, and Yoongi notices.

“What?” he asks.

“Nothing.” Your lips twitch. “It’s just… I was thinking about the first time we went out on a date. Your truck was much smaller back then.”

“A lot of things about me were smaller back then.”

You roll your eyes. “Like your head?”

Yoongi sighs. “It’s the burden of a genius to be underappreciated.”

“And the burden of a fool to think themselves a true genius.”

He breaks into laughter, and you eventually join. As his car speeds down the road, you can’t help but compare now to then. You were so nervous in high school, worrying that at some point, Yoongi would figure out you weren’t who you said you were. Or you weren’t who he wanted.

And truthfully, those insecurities still exist. But at the same time, you’re much better now at picking out what is rational and what might be nonsense.

Your rational voice points out that Yoongi nearly kissed you at the pond. He was inches away before your phone interrupted, which implies something may be happening between you. Entering town, the thought suffuses warmth through you. It seems that the past and the present aren’t so separate, after all.

The annual Merriman holiday potluck is something of a misnomer. Every year on the Friday before Christmas, the holiday potluck sprawls across the town square. People wander in and around the Christmas market stalls where vendors hawk pies, mulled wine, sugared nuts, and all kinds of holiday treats.

Inevitably, all the people end up in the Town Hall once the sun sets. The silent auction there is always a hit, raising money for charities and offering a chance to bid on local goods. You and Jasmine brave the cold for most of the afternoon before caving to visit the inside cider table.

Namjoon, Jimin and Taehyung are already present, spiked cider and hot chocolate mugs in their hands. You and Jasmine join them to hear Jimin’s myriad lists of complaints and stories.

“It’s true,” Jimin says, one hand on his heart. “I came out of my house that morning and there was Taehyung, basically naked in my yard.”

Taehyung shakes his head. “Okay, this is slander. I was obviously wearing clothes.”

“Shorts!”

“And a t-shirt.”

“And a t-shirt,” Jimin repeats, as though this is a crime. “It was like, thirty degrees out.”

“It was fifty.”

“Same thing.”

“No, it is not.”

Namjoon laughs at the conversation, sipping on his hot chocolate. “Jimin, that’s a normal thing around here in the spring. You’ve lived in Merriman for five years. It might be time to stop being surprised about cold.”

Jimin slams a fist into his open palm. “I will never stop being surprised about cold.”

The rest of you crack up, and you finish your drink. The five of you stand at the back of the room, nearly secluded behind the small stage. Bea volunteered to help with this year’s silent auction, so she’s somewhere at the front, organizing traffic.

Glancing around, you spot Seokjin dressed as Santa on the far end. His mom is the head organizer of this potluck, so Seokjin is often cajoled into playing the role. Currently, the McCullen kids are balanced, one on each leg, while explaining to Seokjin what they want for Christmas.

Pointedly, he leans back to avoid his beard being snatched and you stifle laughter before you move on. Bob Schwartz and Mrs. Larson converse near the stage, and you see Judy, the mayor, join them in a paper crown made by her granddaughter.

“Looking for someone?”

You physically jump, turning to find Jimin inches away.

“Jimin,” you groan. “You scared me.”

“You were talking to me like, two minutes ago,” Jimin points out. He peers over your shoulder at Judy and Bob. “So, what are we looking for? Or, ahem – should I say who are we looking for?”

Your entire face heats. “Nobody.”

“Nobody?” Jimin’s brows arch at your tone. “Y/N, Y/N, Y/N. Don’t tell me you’re looking for Yoongi.”

“Shh,” you hiss, clutching your empty drink. “Jimin, keep your voice down!”

“I was right!” he says, gleefully. “Oh my god, Jaz will be thrilled. Hell, I’m thrilled. When did this start?”

“Nothing has started,” you mutter. “Because nothing has happened. I am merely looking around and taking everything in. Merriman is great this time of year. Okay?”

“Right, right.” Jimin nods, then takes a sip of hot cocoa. “I’m going to pretend to believe that because it will make you happy. Not because I think it’s true.”

Before you can retort, Bea appears in your circle with a stranger on her arm. An extremely handsome stranger, with wide eyes and broad shoulders. “Hey, guys,” she gushes, thrusting him forward. “This is Jungkook Jeon. His aunt is Sally Jeon out on Mule Road, and he’s apprenticing at her shop for the next couple of months.”

You take Jungkook in with interest. Sally Jeon owns a furniture shop that’s popular both with tourists and locals. Half the rooms in the Rosy Finch were furnished by her; it’s rare for her to take on an apprentice though, even a relative, so Jungkook must be good.

Jungkook blinks, and you imagine Bea left out exactly how many people he was meeting. Awkwardly, he lifts a hand. “Hey,” he says. “I’m Jungkook.”

Namjoon lifts his mug in greeting. “Hey, Jungkook. Let’s get you a drink.” Steering him towards the festive drink tables, you hear Namjoon ask, “So, how are you liking Merriman so far?”

Bea leans over and whispers in your ear, “Isn’t he hot? Also,” she adds before you can answer, “Hoseok texted me back and said he may have something on Emerald Corp. He said he’d call later tonight, so fingers crossed!”

You nod, excitement flurrying in your stomach – when the front door swings open and Yoongi walks in. Whatever response you had swiftly dies.

Removing his furry hat, Yoongi unwinds his scarf to hang this and his coat on available hooks. Turning, he runs a hand through his hair and is immediately accosted by Mrs. Chen, a silent auction volunteer.

“You’ve got it bad,” Jasmine laughs, appearing on your other side.

At least Bea has disappeared, now talking with Jungkook and Namjoon in the corner near the food.

“Will you all quit doing that,” you complain, turning around.

Jasmine grins from behind a mountain of cocoa. “It’s not my fault that your face went all dreamy when Yoongi walked in. Bea even waved that fine Jungkook Jeon in front of your face, but nothing. Nada.”

You set your empty mug down on the next tray you see. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you say loftily.

On the inside though, you personally feel your ogling is justified. Yoongi is wearing all black, his clothing tailored to his body within an inch of its life. It’s hard not to stare when he turns around to display what must be the result of time at the gym. Or possibly just a heaven-gifted posterior.

“You should go talk to him.” Jasmine gently nudges your arm. “Before the rest of the town’s elders get him.”

She has a point, you acquiesce, as Mrs. Larson makes a beeline for Yoongi with a large bag of chocolate. He does seem to be popular with the over seventy crowd, and Yoongi stops to chat with nearly every retiree present.

“Fine,” you sigh, hiking your purse on your shoulder. “But only because it’s the polite thing to do.”

Sagely, Jasmine nods. “Right, yes. Of course.”

Making your way across the room proves easier said than done, since most of the town has been crammed into the building. Not to mention you’re stopped several times by well-meaning neighbors. First, Joan Tusk wants to discuss her spring gardening and then, Sally Jeon asks if you’ve been introduced to her nephew. By the time you make it halfway, at least thirty minutes have passed.

Bea is standing on the rickety stage, a microphone in one hand as she concludes the silent auction. “Alright!” she calls. “Everyone, listen up. The action is over, and I’m going to read out the winners – if I call out your name, go see Lou Oyama at the back of the room. Lou, wave!”

Lou, standing on a chair, waves.

Bea faces forward. “Ho, ho – how about we start with hot yoga?”

Grinning, you turn and push your way towards the front. Unfortunately, by the time you reach a break in the crowd, Yoongi has disappeared. Grimacing, you stand on tippy-toe to see over the crowd – and unfortunately catch a familiar, grating voice.

“… if you’ll just give me a second to respond, I can answer your questions!”

A loud huff. “I’m telling you Remmy, nothing you’ve said so far has been helpful!”

Curiously, you slowly scootch sideways until you see Remmy standing before a tight knot of people.

Remmy is barely visible at your angle, struggling to get a word in. “Friends, please,” he begs. “Just listen to me!”

“We’re through listening.” Mr. Halloway scowls. “That’s the problem. You haven’t said anything new.”

“Exactly!” Remmy blusters. “Because I have nothing new to share. As soon as Emerald Corp sends over their business proposal, we should be –”

“They haven’t provided a business proposal?” Uriel, a local accountant, sounds truly appalled.

You stand off to the side, hiding your smile, since it seems as though the town has finally seen through Remmy’s bullshit. Or at least have enough reservations to ask difficult questions. It’s heartening to see after your run-in with Bob.

For a moment, you consider joining them but hesitate when you remember Yoongi and Bea’s words. You don’t need to do everything yourself. For now, you can trust the town to have your back.

Decision made, you begin to move past – and lock eyes with Remmy when he attempts to do the same. Coming to a halt, he registers your appearance and surges forward.

“Y/N!” he says sharply. “Wait a minute – Y/N!”

Realizing there is no graceful way out, you grit your teeth and turn. “Hi, Remmy,” you greets as he stomps ever closer.

“You,” he growls, pointing a finger at your nose.

You fight the urge to bat him away. “Me?”

“You,” he repeats, lowering his finger to your chest. “You did this. You stirred up the town with all these… these… false accusations!”

You actually roll your eyes. “What was false, Remmy? Everything I said has been true.”

“You told these people I would come for their stores next. And you said Emerald Corp told you they would put you out of business, when they said no such thing.”

You place both hands on your hips. “And how would you know, Remmy?” you ask. “I don’t recall you being there, unless you were hiding under the table like you did back in high school.”

Face turning scarlet, Remmy’s gaze darts around when the crowd titters. The second most infamous thing Remmy has ever done (besides scoring town treasurer) is the time he was suspended for hiding beneath a lunch table in an attempt to spy on Lucy Walsh and her friends.

“And besides,” you continue, “Emerald Corp implied it. They told me and Yoongi they planned to undercut us in price until we closed, and then they would raise their rates.”

Murmuring ensues from the people gathered, and you hear Mr. Halloway mutter, “I knew it!”

Remmy scowls. “I highly doubt that.”

“It’s true,” a familiar voice says, appearing alongside you. “I was there, too.”

A knot in your chest loosens when Yoongi appears. He briefly meets your gaze to ensure you’re okay before he turns to face Remmy. The utter calmness of Yoongi’s demeanor cuts through Remmy’s argument.

Remmy seems to realize this, because his face turns purple. “I’ve had just about enough of you, two,” he spits, taking another step forward. “You’ve been against progress for this town from the start. Tell me how you plan to boost tourism to Merriman, hm? What’s your great idea?”

You falter, since this has been your fear from the start. Of course, you want your neighbors and colleagues to thrive; a boost to town tourism would do that, and you have no idea how to achieve the result otherwise.

Yoongi merely arches a brow. “I don’t know,” he says. “That’s the job you were voted into, Remmy. My job is to run the Lodge at Blue Glenn, which is what I’m doing. And my job as a resident is to hold you accountable,” he adds. “Which is also what I’m doing.”

Somewhere in the back, you hear the distinct sound of an Ally Thompson whistle. Mortified, you close your eyes, since you’re sure this run-in will soon be reported to Bea. If she hasn’t already seen your argument from the stage.

Rumbled agreement echoes through the crowd and, sensing the shift, Remmy takes a step backwards.

He then turns on you. “I would watch what you say about Emerald Corporation, Y/N,” he spits as he points. “They don’t take kindly to slander, and I doubt the Rosy Finch could survive an expensive lawsuit.”

A moment of stunned silence follows this statement, and Yoongi’s expression goes eerily blank, before the whole place erupts.

“What did you just say?”

“Why, I never!”

“The audacity, Remmy Quarrels! I ought to call your mother, she would –”

Indignant bodies push forward, shoving you behind them to safety – relatively speaking. You stumble before catching your balance only to be knocked askew by a well-meaning Ally.

The world around you tilts, freezing in place before you crash into the festive drinks table.

“Ah!” you yelp when the punch bowl goes flying.

Both you and the punch hit the ground, its red contents drenching you from head to toe. You sit there, stunned before slowly, you peel your right hand from the floor. Glancing down, you realize your blouse has turned pink – not to mention see-through. Grimacing, you attempt to cover this with one hand.

Skidding to a stop, Ally glances over their shoulder. “Oh, no!” they moan, dropping beside you. “I am so sorry, Y/N!”

“It’s… fine,” you mumble.

“It’s not.” Biting their lower lip, Ally shakes their head. “That was super clumsy of me. I’ll grab you some club soda, or something. Oo, maybe some ice!” they blurt, scrambling to their feet to hurry off.

They are gone before you can protest, disappeared into the crowd. Slowly, you exhale and wish you could turn invisible. People around you have started to notice, tutting and offering you help from the floor.

Briefly, you consider playing dead but decide against it when you realize the fire department would likely be called.

Yoongi drops into a crouch. “Hey,” he says, head tilted. “How’s it going?”

“Oh, good,” you sigh. “Never been better.”

He smiles at you, and your stomach lurches. Oh. Why does he have to be so attractive? And at a moment when you’re fully covered in punch.

Yoongi examines the floor. “I can see that,” he says. Behind him, you see someone approaching with a mop and bucket. “Can you stand?”

“Probably.”

“Probably?”

“Do you think people will clap when I stand?”

Yoongi considers this. “If they do, I’ll push them down next.”

You laugh, surprised and the next thing you know, Yoongi has slid his arm around your waist and is helping you upward. Mild applause does break out but is swiftly quelled with one look from Yoongi.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he says, guiding you towards the exit. “Seokjin said we can use the bathroom in his office. It was roped off for the party, so we should have some privacy.”

Although you nod, all you can focus on is his arm around your waist. Yoongi does not seem to notice, leading you past a velvet rope and up a staircase that goes to the second floor. Ally chases you down at the door to hand over a club soda, which you dutifully take – and then hand to Yoongi when he gestures.

Releasing your waist, he lets you climb the stairs, staying close behind in case you fall. The second floor is administrative, full of offices and physical records that date back to the town’s founding. Yoongi leads you down a long hall to a room at the end, entering and flipping a switch on the wall.

Light floods the room to display a small office, the placard on the desk reading, Seokjin Kim. Which explains how Yoongi knew to bring you here.

Removing his suit jacket, Yoongi lays this on the chair. “Do you need me to get you anything? I can run to the general store. Of course, I did see Jennie Fleur on the dance floor earlier, so it might be closed.”

“I’m okay, Yoongi,” you say softly. “You don’t need to do anything.”

He pauses with one hand on the back of the chair.

“Seriously,” you continue, well-aware that you’re babbling, “it was my own fault. I should have known better than to engage with Remmy. He was just being–”

“An ass,” Yoongi finishes, turning abruptly. “Remmy was just being an ass.”

Your response dies in your throat as you slowly nod.

His expression, dark and intent, makes you shiver. Yoongi soon notices, his gaze dropping to your shoulders – and lower, his pupils expanding when he notices the indecent state of your shirt. Even through your bra, you can feel your nipples tighten.

Yoongi exhales, and you see his spine stiffen. Shit. Maybe you made him uncomfortable with your appearance.

“Sorry!” you blurt, breaking the silence. “The bathroom is through there?” you squeak, gesturing at the open door on the left.

Releasing the chair as though burned, Yoongi steps backwards. “Yeah,” he says, thrusting the club soda forward. “Here. Take this.”

“Okay,” you hasten, darting around him to shut yourself in the bathroom.

The moment the door clicks, you stifle a scream. Fuck. Turning to face the mirror, you realize the situation is far worse than you thought. Not only is your shirt completely see-through, but your white lace bra is clearly visible.

Helpless, you stare and wonder what you did to deserve such shit karma.

Eventually, you sigh and begin undoing the buttons. Nothing to do but damage control. Peeling yourself from the shirt, you drape this over the sink and try not to shiver. Carefully, you pour club soda on the stains and allow this to sit. Using paper towels, you dutifully blot, then wait and repeat the entire thing.

Minutes pass and still, your shirt looks better suited for Valentine’s Day. Pink and blotchy, the fabric looks something like a melted candy cane. With another loud sigh, you slump on the counter.

A loud knock comes from the door.

“Y/N?” Yoongi calls. “How are things going?”

“Bad,” you admit. “My shirt looks like peppermint tie-dye.”

“Well… at least it’s in the holiday spirit?”

“The spirit of Halloween, maybe.”

“It can’t be that bad.”

“No?” you demand. “I’m tempted to open this door and show you.”

“And you won’t do that because…?”

The heat in your body rushes lower. “I mean, I’m basically naked in here, so…”

“Oh. Yeah.”

Looking down at your body, you regret the decision to wear a microskirt. It seemed like a cute idea at the time, but you should have known. Without the blouse, you are basically wearing underwear. And it’s cold, you think miserably, fighting another shiver.

“Do you want my jacket?”

Startled, you look sideways at the door. “What will you wear, then?”

“Oh, I don’t know. The shirt I have on underneath my jacket?” Yoongi suggests, amusement clear in his tone.

You contemplate. “Right. Okay, yeah. Give it to me.”

Opening the door a crack, you wait for Yoongi to thrust through a bundle of fabric. Snatching this from his grasp, you shut the door and take a hasty step backwards.

Shaking the blazer out, you gape at the fabric. “Whoa,” you breathe. “Are these lapels velvet? Is the inside lined with silk?”

“Are you asking because you genuinely can’t tell, or…?”

Huffing, you push one arm through the sleeve. “Take the compliment, Min,” you call, setting him off in laughter.

Watching the mirror, you button the blazer and allow it to hang. Quickly, you realize this may be less decent than your previous attire. Tugging on its ends, you attempt to lower the hem before realizing this makes your bra visible. Giving up with a sigh, you suppose it doesn’t matter. Most people downstairs saw you get drenched with punch.

Hanging your destroyed shirt on the towel rack – you can come back tomorrow – you grasp the doorknob.

“Okay,” you call, feeling more than a little silly. “I’m coming out.”

“Fantastic,” drawls Yoongi.

Hearing his sarcasm, you scowl and push open the door.

Yoongi leans against the edge of the desk, fiddling with a glass paperweight he holds in one hand. When he sees you, he straightens so suddenly, his foot slips from under him. The paperweight rolls to the side, forgotten.

Concerned, you pause. “What?” you ask, craning your neck as you look over your shoulder. “Am I popping out of this or something?”

It takes two attempts for Yoongi to say, “No.” His voice is strangled. “You’re not popping out of anything.”

“Oh. Okay.” Nodding, you face forward. “Good.”

Lifting an arm, you examine the gold stitching at the end of one sleeve. The craftsmanship is superb, and you hold it up to the light. “This is kind of cute,” you muse, squinting. “Maybe I should dress like this more often.”

“No!”

Alarmed by Yoongi’s intensity, you drop the sleeve.

He winces. “I mean, no,” Yoongi corrects, his cheeks turning red. “How… could my lodge compete with you if you did?”

Your head tilts. “I can think of a few ways.”

A muscle in his jaw flexes and you realize how that could be misinterpreted. Or maybe it’s how you meant it to be interpreted. You’re finding it hard to think in his presence, the silence thickening between you with each passing moment.

Yoongi takes a step closer. Gently, he lifts a hand and touches the edge of your sleeve. “You look good in it,” he says, his voice a bit rough. His gaze flicks upward. “I shouldn’t like it as much as I do.”

The clock ticks – once – in the corner of the room.

You don’t know who moves first, you or Yoongi, but suddenly, you find his mouth crushed to yours. His hands slide to either side of your jaw, tilting your face and deepening the kiss. Yoongi teases you, coaxing your lips open to brush his tongue against yours.

A harsh moan escapes you, your knees nearly buckling.

Yoongi chuckles, sliding one arm around your waist to pull you against him. His knuckles divot into your lower back, eliciting a wave of pleasure. Your kisses take on a more urgent quality, until all that remains is yes, here, more, now.

Squirming against him, your hands slide up his neck and fist into his hair. Yoongi groans his assent, walking you backwards until your legs hit the desk. He helps you up onto it, wrapping one of your legs around his waist.

“Oh,” you exhale when his mouth finds your throat. “Yoongi.”

Yoongi lifts his head; eyes wide, pupils dilated. “Say my name like that again,” he rasps, cupping your hips to drag you towards the edge.

“Yoongi,” you moan, tightening your grip.

His hips roll with yours, fully clothed, and you nearly combust. When your eyes flutter shut, he makes a choked sound.

“Eyes on me,” Yoongi demands, such heat to the words that you instantly obey.

A satisfied gleam enters his gaze. “Is that what it takes to get you to listen to me?” he murmurs, bending to kiss your throat.

“Is that what it takes for you to get to the point?”

He chuckles against your skin. “Y/N, I swear, that I –”

A loud knock interrupts you.

“Y/N? Yoongi? Are you in there?”

You freeze against him, your body heaving with his. Yoongi also goes still, his eyes trained on you. His hair sticks up in the back from where your hands have run through it, looking thoroughly debauched. You never imagined you would like that so much.

Shifting slightly, Yoongi reaches down to adjust himself. Your gaze follows the motion and, well – damn.

“If you are,” Seokjin loudly continues from the hall, “I thought you should know that Remmy Quarrels has left. And Yoongi, you won the basket-weaving lesson. I know you didn’t enter, but Taehyung put your name in and–”

“Seokjin, leave,” Yoongi snaps.

Seokjin snorts. “Suit yourself,” he calls, his footsteps fading after him.

Slowly, Yoongi pinches his brows together. “Sorry,” he grunts.

“Don’t be,” you say, automatic.

The longer you sit here though, the more time you have to dissect what just happened. You kissed Yoongi. Or – he kissed you. There was kissing, and touching, and – oh, fuck. Cold air rushes between you, filling the space you wish were full of words.

“So,” you begin.

“Y/N,” Yoongi says at the same time.

Both of you stop, look at one another and gesture for the other to speak. You wait a long moment, then exhale in a huff.

“Okay, me first,” you find yourself saying. “This kiss was… good.”

“Good?” Yoongi asks.

“Great?” you clarify.

He frowns. “Is that a question?”

“I don’t know,” you groan, throwing a hand in the air. “What do you want me to say? That the kiss was mind-meltingly hot, and if Seokjin hadn’t interrupted, I probably would have let you make me come on this desk?”

His lips part. “Yes. That.”

“You still haven’t said what you think,” you challenge, crossing your arms. “What do you want from me, Yoongi?”

His eyes darken, revealing a depth you had not thought possible. Yoongi takes a step closer, his hand finding your waist, and then –

Another knock comes at the door.

You audibly groan, your head tipping backwards.

“Y/N?” The voice belongs to Taehyung. “Sorry to disturb you, but you left your purse downstairs, and I thought you should have it. It… well, it was directly in the line of punch, I’m afraid. A lot of it is soaked.”

Stomach plummeting, you glance at Yoongi, and he takes a step backwards. His hand falls from your body. You watch him smooth his hair, tuck his shirt back in his pants – when did that happen? – and look generally presentable in under thirty seconds.

“What the hell,” you mutter as you watch.

Yoongi shifts closer. “Want me to let him in?” he asks so only you hear.

Hopping down from the desk, you fix yourself the best you can. “Yeah,” you exhale. “Why not. It seems like we’re the hot spot tonight.”

Yoongi’s lips twitch and he reaches to open the door. Taehyung stands in the doorway, looking extremely uncomfortable with your poor, sodden purse.

Gasping at the sight, you rush across the room. “Oh, no,” you moan, flipping open the flap. Immediately, you wince, because Taehyung has put things delicately. Everything inside, from your phone to your wallet, has been fully soaked.

Stricken, you stare at the carnage. “Thank you for bringing me this,” you manage to say.

Taehyung sadly nods. “You’re welcome.”

Yoongi moves beside you, looking into your purse. “I can get rice,” he offers. “That might help with your phone.”

“No need,” you sigh, shutting your bag. “I have rice at my apartment. I should probably go there and attempt to salvage what I can.”

He simply nods and you clutch the purse dismally to your chest.

“Okay,” you say, glancing between them. You wish you could say goodbye to Yoongi in private but can’t think of a reason to do so without Taehyung. “We should talk more. About the, um, lodge. Tomorrow?” you ask.

Yoongi nods. “Tomorrow.”

“Okay,” you say, shifting your weight. “Bye, then. This was great.”

Yoongi’s lips twitch, and relief floods your body. If Yoongi is smiling, things can’t be that bad. He kissed you, too, you remind yourself.

“Great,” he repeats with a solemn nod. “Absolutely.”

“Thanks for the coat,” you tell him.

His eyes gleam, and you remember what he said earlier. I shouldn’t like it as much as I do. Hastily, you turn to Taehyung.

“Thanks, again,” you squeak, and squeeze past him towards the stairs.

You get almost to the bottom before you hear Taehyung say:

“Dude, your hair is a mess.”

Choking down your laugh, you dart for the doors, not waiting to hear Yoongi’s answer. Jasmine meets you halfway, joining you in your mourning of your adorable purse. Truthfully, the bag is cheap as hell, but the real losses are your phone and your driver’s license.

As soon as you get home, you put your phone in a bag of rice, but there’s no way to tell if it will work before the morning. Taking a shower, you scrub the rest of the punch from your body and climb into bed.

It takes a while for your mind to quiet, too busy replaying the events of this evening. Your body is too worked up to even think about sleeping. It’s not until you thrust your hand between your thighs and come with his name on your lips that you close your eyes.

Tomorrow, it seems, can’t come fast enough.

Unfortunately, you drew the short straw in the family group chat and are scheduled to work at the inn the next morning. Which is probably for the best, because when you left, Bea was nearing the bottom of her third cup of eggnog. She’ll likely wake up with a tremendous hangover.

Your phone remains a casualty of holiday punch. Despite the bag of rice, when you plug it in the next morning, the screen stays dead and you resign yourself to purchasing a new one. Throwing your things in your work tote, you rush down the steps of your rickety staircase.

A plus of your apartment is it’s only a few blocks from the Rosy Finch. You make it there in record time and settle in for what will hopefully be a quiet shift. Most of the town, even the tourists, took Bea’s approach to celebration last night.

Seated behind the desk, you tap your fingers and stare aimlessly at the Christmas tree. Without your phone, the only technology you have is the reception computer, so ancient it only contains the booking software and solitaire. A game you’ve already played thrice since the start of your shift.

Spinning around in your chair, your gaze moves towards the window, and you try to make a game of the weather outside. If it snows within the next hour, you’ll reward yourself with a candy cane.

Scintillating.

The bell above the front door rings and you nearly cheer, spinning around to face forward. Enthusiasm that quickly dies when you see the new entrant is Remmy Quarrels. He surveys his surroundings with an air that suggests the premises don’t meet his standards. Removing his hat, he crosses and presses the silver bell for service.

Ding.

Your eyes narrow, since he stands directly before you. Pointedly, you stand up.

“Hi, Remmy,” you drone.

His gaze lowers. “Oh. Y/N. I didn’t see you there.”

You fight not to roll your eyes, since you highly doubt that’s so. Instead, you layer one hand over the other and smile at him pleasantly.

“What can I do for you this morning?”

He leans a forearm to the counter. “Y/N, I’ll get straight to the point,” Remmy sighs. “I don’t want to waste either of our time.”

“Is that what you think we’re doing?” you ask politely. “Wasting your time?”

Remmy scowls. “I do think this is a waste of my time, Y/N. I am the town’s treasurer. I don’t have time to be gallivanting around, convincing every person of every single decision I make.”

“That is literally the job of the town treasurer.”

“I don’t have time for this!”

“Understood.” You nod and attempt to look serious. “It would probably be better just to make good decisions from the start, then – hm?”

Remmy nods until he realizes what you’re implying. He sputters, “Merriman voted me into this position to make decisions in the financial interest of the town. That’s what I’m doing.”

Spending time with Yoongi must be rubbing off on you because right now, you could not care less what Remmy thinks. In the past, you might have attempted to spare his feelings, but everyone has their limit, and you’ve apparently met yours.

“Merriman voted you into your position because no one ran against you,” you snap. “And what do you mean ‘financial interest of the town?’ Because this Emerald Corp deal isn’t in my financial interest, and I’m from the town. Or Yoongi’s interest,” you add.

Disconcertingly, Remmy smiles. “Is that so?”

“Is what so?” you ask, blinking at his expression.

“Mr. Min,” he muses, which seems rather pretentious since you all went to school together. “Does he agree making a deal with Emerald Corp is not in his best interest?”

“I mean, I can’t speak for Yoongi, but I believe so. He’s told you as much last night,” you add, confused as to where this is going.

Remmy tilts his head. “That’s true, but then, something must have changed between last night and this morning.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Do you not know?”

“Right.” Done with the conversation, you point one hand towards the door. “Then, if you’re not here to rent a room, you can get off our property.”

Remmy lifts both hands. “Excuse me for trying to be neighborly,” he says, something about his tone making your stomach flip. “I just happen to have a meeting with Emerald Corp this afternoon.”

“Good for you.”

“And as I was getting my coffee this morning, I thought I saw their car heading up to Mauve Peak.”

Your hands freeze. That’s… odd but not incriminating. It could have been anyone’s car. Granted, not many people in town would purchase a Tesla, but you never know. It could have been another tourist.

And even if it was Mr. Jones, that doesn’t mean Yoongi knew they were coming. Slowly, you lean backwards.

“And?” you say.

Irritation flashes across Remmy’s face. “And,” he continues, “don’t you find that strange? What could Mr. Min need to discuss with Emerald Corp without you?”

“That’s none of my business.”

“Ah.” Remmy smirks. “How nice. You trust him. After everything, you still blindly trust the one person who seeks to gain from cutting you out.”

Your stomach sinks. “Again – what are you talking about?”

“Are you honestly so naïve, Y/N?” he demands with an eye roll. “Clearly, Emerald Corp wants to build in the area. But why would they sink time and money into new construction when they could buy an existing property and renovate it? That would solve all their problems with local perception. Yoongi is going to make a deal with Emerald Corp,” he says slowly, enunciating each word so you can understand.

“Yoongi wouldn’t do that.”

Remmy smiles in a way that makes you uneasy. “A word of advice,” he says silkily, leaning over the counter.

No good advice has ever followed that phrase, but you decide to hear him out.

“The Min family has owned that property for generations,” Remmy informs. “Before he died, the late Mr. Min always said it would stay in their family for generations. You might think he’s your friend” – here, you get the unpleasant feeling Remmy knows more than he says – “but Yoongi Min is first and foremost a businessman. And as someone who also went to business school I’ll tell you that in business, nothing is ever personal. It’s about survival.”

You barely refrain from grimacing at the end. The insult to your education stings a little, but you quickly brush past this.

Unfortunately, Remmy has managed to hit upon several insecurities. You don’t really think Yoongi would do this, but now a tiny voice in your mind is wondering what if. Not for the first time, you curse your dead phone. If you could just speak to Yoongi, you could clear things up, but instead you have to sit here feeling shitty for the rest of your shift.

You don’t need Remmy to know that, though.

Lifting your chin, you meet his gaze. “Thanks,” you say. “What season of the Apprentice did you rip that speech from?”

Remmy’s jaw drops. “Did you hear anything I just said?”

“I did,” you acknowledge. “And I honestly don’t care.”

The bell above the door tinkles.

Sputtering, Remmy continues, “But you should really–”

“Welcome our new guests? I agree,” you say, leaning around him. “Welcome!” you say brightly to the man and woman who just entered. “Thanks for coming in, Remmy.”

Scowling darkly, Remmy waits a long second before turning around to stomp outside. He smashes his hat over his hair as he goes, slamming the door much harder than necessary.

Fixing a beatific smile on your face, you check in the newcomers in record time. Once they head upstairs to their room, you slump at the desk and try not to fixate on what you just heard.

Easier said than done. By the time your dad arrives to relieve you at noon, you’re practically bouncing out of your seat. You need to do something to distract you from this mess, so you stuff your feet into snow boots and grab your keys from the bowl.

“Bye, dad,” you call on your way out the door. “I’ll stop by the house tomorrow for dinner, like usual.”

“Bye, sweetie,” he says but then hesitates.

You step one foot outside before slowly retreating. Your dad now fiddles with his paperwork, expression full of such guilt, there can be no mistake.

“What is it?” you ask as you shut the door.

His glances upward. “Oh, nothing, honey. Nothing at all. You head out to lunch, Y/N. I’ve got this.”

Your dad sounds determined, and you wonder if Bea had a talk with him, too. She’s certainly been making the rounds.

Turning to face him, you cross your arms. “Dad, what is it?”

Exhaling, he drops the papers on the desk. “Okay, fine. I was just wondering… have you spoken with your friend Yoongi today?”

Your stomach sinks. “No.”

“Ah. Alright, then.”

“Dad.”

“Okay, okay!” he huffs. “It’s probably nothing, but I overheard some people talking at the Bean Exchange and it sounded as though Emerald Corp might be on their way to the lodge. Apparently, there’s a big meeting. Yoongi didn’t tell you?”

Slowly, you shake your head. “No. My phone got wet last night, so I’ve been cut off.”

His face brightens. “Oh, that explains it, then. Yoongi probably couldn’t reach you. I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.”

“Yeah,” you say, quieter. “Maybe.”

The thing is – Yoongi knew your phone was dead. He was there for the punch, so if he really wanted you to know, he could have scheduled this meeting for a different time or sent you an email. Unfortunately, the work computer doesn’t even get email for you to check.

There is one way you can confirm, though. The longer you stand here, the more appealing it sounds, until you find yourself with your decision made.

“Okay, I’m going to head out,” you say, flipping your keys.

Your dad’s brows furrow. “Y/N…”

“Gotta go, dad!” you call on your way out the door.

Climbing into your car, you crank up the heat and pull onto the road. You suppose you could call the lodge and ask to be connected to Yoongi, but if he’s in a meeting, he probably won’t answer. The lodge is only fifteen minutes away. It would be easier to go there and ask Yoongi yourself. Hopefully this can be cleared up in time for lunch.

And… possibly time for other things. Remembering the events of last night sends heat coursing through you, thinking of Yoongi’s mouth, his hands rough on your hips. You have imagined them many places since then and are practically vibrating to feel him again.

Parking in the first spot you can find, you sit for a moment with the engine running. Remmy and your dad were telling the truth, you realize, staring at the Tesla parked several spots over. It has rental tags on it, which seems likely it belongs to Phil Jones.

The important thing to do is remain calm, you decide. Nothing has happened. You have no idea why Yoongi is meeting with Emerald Corp; he probably sent you a message or tried to reach you but couldn’t.

Then again – this is exactly what you worried about from the start. You do your best to hold onto Yoongi’s reaction when you suggested he might sell you out. This invigorates you enough to exhale and nod, stepping out of the car.

Entering the lodge, you’re momentarily distracted by the holiday décor.

“Seriously?” you blurt, turning around in a circle.

It would seem that since your first meeting with Emerald Corp, the decorations have multiplied. Additional Christmas trees have risen – dressed exactly the same as the one in the Rosy Finch.

Huffing, you take in the gold baubles and beads. Luanne, your decorator, was the one who suggested them for you. Possibly Yoongi was right and you should stop using the same holiday designer.

Deciding to ignore this for now, you march across the lobby. Stopping at the front desk, you rest both hands on the counter.

“Hello!” you greet Taehyung.

He looks up and blinks. “Y/N!” Briefly, Taehyung glances over his shoulder. “This is a surprise. Did Yoongi ask you to meet him?”

His sweater today is a gigantic snowman with googly eyes, paired with red plaid pants. It all paints a vivid picture, and you do your best not to be distracted.

“No,” you respond, clearing your throat. “But I have something I want to talk to him about.”

“Of course.” Taehyung hesitates, though. “Yoongi is in a meeting right now, but I can bring you to his office to wait?”

Your stomach twists. “Sure,” you say, struggling to stay pleasant. “Lead the way.”

Another worker takes his place, and Taehyung waves you alongside him, bringing you down the hall. You recognize the same path as last time, passing the door to the conference room – now shut – and other small rooms.

At long last, you reach a door with a gold placard that reads, Yoongi Min. No title. Taehyung grasps the handle to glance over his shoulder.

“Yoongi should be out of his meeting soon,” he says as he opens the door. “Once he is, he should – oh, shit.”

Hearing his alarm, you peer over his shoulder.

Yoongi sits behind a mahogany desk wearing a navy-blue crewneck and grey slacks. To your utter devastation, he also wears clear-framed glasses to examine the paperwork on the desk before him.

When Taehyung stops short, Yoongi looks up and frowns. It takes him a moment to see you, but when he does, alarm enters his gaze. He recovers quickly though, and you watch Yoongi physically shift, retreating behind the cool exterior you know so well. Oddly enough, seeing the mask makes you realize he has not worn this with you for some time.

“My apologies,” says Taehyung, hastening to retreat. “I didn’t realize you moved to this room.”

Pointedly, you plant your feet and ignore any attempt by Taehyung to push you aside.

The man across from Yoongi turns, and you recognize Mr. Jones of the Emerald Corporation. When his gaze meets yours, his lips curl.

“Miss Y/L/N,” he drawls. “How wonderful to see you again. I was just meeting with Mr. Min about an exciting opportunity. Emerald Corp is hopeful that the Lodge at Blue Glenn will be joining our portfolio.”

When your stomach flips, your gaze darts to Yoongi, whose face betrays nothing. He looks the same as he did when you entered, which is decidedly unhelpful.

Could Yoongi have reached out to Mr. Jones behind your back? Maybe something happened with him between last night and this morning. Possibly Yoongi’s mom reached out to Emerald Corporation on his behalf, or maybe he wanted to ask Mr. Jones about something unrelated.

Or maybe, a voice whispers, now that he got what he wanted from you, he no longer cares about doing what’s right.

The moment you think this, you attempt to banish it, but the thought proves to be sticky. Struggling to focus, you cross your arms.

“What is this?” you demand, looking between them. “Yoongi, do you care to explain?”

He examines you for a long moment, pointedly tapping the paperwork before him. After a moment, Yoongi sighs and reclines in his leather chair.

“I thought it would be obvious,” he says, glancing at Mr. Jones. “The Emerald Corporation wants the Lodge at Blue Glenn to join their portfolio. I would stay on to run the day-to-day, and in return, they would finance a large expansion. Enough to cancel the land sale they plan on Mount Bowler.”

Taehyung’s mouth has been hanging open, but he manages to close it.

Noticing this, your frown deepens. “Emerald Corp would…. withdraw from Mount Bowler?”

Mr. Jones stands from his chair, buttoning the front of his suit jacket. “If we owned the Lodge at Blue Glenn, we would hardly want to compete with ourselves, would we?” He chuckles at this, then looks at Yoongi. “Mr. Min, I am impressed by what you shared with me today.”

Unthinkingly, you step forward. “When did you ask for this meeting, Yoongi?”

Yoongi looks down at the paperwork, unable to meet your gaze. “That’s irrelevant.”

“I disagree. I think it’s extremely relevant.”

“Y/N,” Taehyung lowly cuts in. His brows furrow, glancing between you and Yoongi. “Maybe we should leave…”

“No,” you huff. “Anything Mr. Min has to say to Mr. Jones, he can say in front of me. I deserve to know.”

Yoongi’s gaze sharpens when he looks up. “Fine,” he says, gesturing before him. “Mr. Jones, would you mind if I keep this paperwork overnight? My team can look at it today so I can respond to you by tomorrow. I very much look forward to doing business.”

Although Mr. Jones seemed hesitant at first, his expression swiftly clears. “Yes, not a problem,” he responds, looking pointedly at you. “Now, would you mind if we moved on to the tour of your property? It’s grown a bit… crowded in here for my liking.”

“Of course,” Yoongi says smoothly. “Taehyung, if you wouldn’t mind showing Miss Y/L/N out–”

“There’s no need for that,” you huff, jerking your arm free when Taehyung leans closer. “I don’t want to stay where I’m clearly unwanted.”

Turning around, you stride fast down the hallway. With each step, your mind whirls, struggling to piece together the events of today. For a moment there, it looked like Yoongi wanted you to… what? Say something? Play along?

You can’t imagine why, and so, your thoughts churn even as you climb into your car. For nearly ten minutes, you sit there and wait for Yoongi to follow. Or even Taehyung – maybe Yoongi will send him with instructions about what the hell is going on.

No one comes after you.

Eventually you force yourself to put the car in reverse and make your way down the mountain. Your heart sinks with each mile, feeling more and more like you’ve missed something important. Or worse, that you’ve made yourself look like a fool.

Rather than return home right away, you decide to head to the Rosy Finch. Distracting yourself with work seems like a good plan – especially if Yoongi has made a deal with Emerald Corporation. You told your dad and Bea you had things under control. The least you can do is come up with a back-up plan.

Exiting the car, you trudge up the sidewalk until the front door flies open and Bea tumbles out.

“Y/N!” she yells, waving a thick sheaf of paper. “Thank god. I was about to resort to sending a carrier pigeon. You not having a phone is seriously inconvenient.”

“What are you talking about?” you ask as you reach her. “My phone has been dead for less than twenty-four hours. What happened?”

Gripping you by the arm, Bea pulls you inside. “Let’s talk about this where it’s warm. My body isn’t built for the cold.”

“You sound like Jimin,” you say, but allow yourself to be pulled. Once inside, you remove your jacket and boots. “Okay, now what’s this about?”

She thrusts the sheaf of papers forward. “Here. Read the top one.”

Accepting this, you briefly scan the first page. And then stop, re-read, and feel your eyes widen. “Bea,” you say slowly. “Where did you get this?”

“Hoseok!” She beams. “He called me last night as I was coming home from the potluck. Granted, I was a tiny bit tipsy, but –”

“A tiny bit? At one point, I saw you bullying Namjoon and the new guy into doing shots.”

Bea beams. “Jungkook – isn’t he cute? Anyways, Hoseok got back to me with a bunch of stuff about Emerald Corp. Apparently, they’re known in the industry to be shady. Deceptive pricing, stealing a boutique inn’s name when they refused to sell, and a bunch of other little things, but the big deal.” Bea pauses to take a deep breath. “Are their predatory contracts.”

“What does that mean?”

She waves a hand. “They’ll put crazy things in their contracts but in tiny print or at the last second. Impossible things to fulfill, like the lodge needs to turn a profit of a billion dollars within the first year, or Yoongi won’t remain manager. Or deceptive things, like a promise to keep the name legally the same – except they’re allowed to change all signage and promo. Things like that.”

Slowly, you sink onto the lobby couch. The papers Bea gave you are many – and detailed. Lawsuit after lawsuit, all of them settled with vast sums of money.

“There are even rumors of bribery –”

Your head snaps up so fast, your neck cracks.

“– but that hasn’t been proven,” Bea finishes with a pout. “Either way, it’s all damning stuff. There’s no way the town will let Emerald Corp build once they find out.”

“No,” you murmur. “I would imagine not.” Glancing at the first page, you notice something else that gives you pause. “Bea… did you send this information to anyone?”

“No?”

“Then why does it look like this email was forwarded?”

Bea frowns, then types something into her phone. “Oh! Shit,” she says, her eyes wide. “Yeah, I did. I forwarded this to you and Yoongi last night and um, said you should try to get your hands on a contract. Huh.” Bea squints at the screen. “That was smart of me. It would be great for us to have a real example.”

“Bea,” you groan, collapsing back on the couch.

“What?” She looks up, defensive. “How is that not a good idea?”

Groaning again, you drape the papers over your face. “It is a good idea,” you say, muffled. “And it would have been good for me to know earlier. Before I went over to Yoongi’s and interrupted him in the middle of meeting with Emerald Corp. He must have been trying to get you that contract.”

Bea says something unrepeatable and you remove the papers to look at her, aghast.

She squeezes both hands together. “I am so sorry, Y/N,” she cries. “I did try and text you, but you had that punch bowl fiasco. And then… I was hungover. And took a nap.”

“Bea!”

“Right, sorry.” She brightens. “I will fix this – I swear. I’ll just go find Yoongi and explain to him that I –”

The door to the Rosy Finch bangs opens, and Yoongi rushes in.

His scarf hangs wildly around his neck, his pea coat undone and dark hair mussed. Yoongi scans the room once before he spots you.

“Y/N,” he breathes.

Hastily, you stand and scatter the papers at your feet.

“Y/N,” Yoongi repeats, crossing the room in three strides. “That wasn’t what it looked like. I – here,” he says, interrupting himself to thrust a binder at Bea. “The contract Emerald Corp provided me this morning. Let us know what you find.”

Bea blinks down at the gigantic contract. “Wow. That was fast.”

Ignoring this, Yoongi resumes facing you. “Y/N. Can we talk?”

Wordless, you nod. Bea makes a shooing motion and, remembering where you are, you come to your senses.

“Right,” you say. “Follow me.”

Leading Yoongi down the hall, you try not to concentrate on the differences between the lodge and here. While Blue Glenn drips sophistication, the Rosy Finch is cluttered and charming in a way that screams chaos.

Your small office is the only place to be alone, so you usher him first before shutting the door. Paper and books are stacked haphazardly, covering most of the desk and several large swarths of floor. Carefully, you pick your way towards the only chair.

“So,” you say awkwardly, “we haven’t cleaned in a while. This room is more for –”

“Y/N,” Yoongi cuts you off.

Startled, you turn and find him wearing an expression of such utter anguish, you have no response.

“Let me explain,” he pleads.

Arching a brow, you lean against the desk. “What’s there to explain?”

“I’m sorry for everything I said at the lodge,” he says. “It wasn’t real. None of it. I know that your phone died, so you probably didn’t see it, but Bea sent over a bunch of paperwork last night and asked us to get a contract from Emerald Corp. I figured I would be the best bet, since they want a ski resort and the lodge is a ski resort. Anyways,” he sighs, “I reached out to Mr. Jones when I woke up and he called back immediately. He said he was leaving town tonight and only had the morning free. I tried to call you at the Rosy Finch, but your dad answered, and there was no time, and–”

Stepping forward, you lightly press your finger to his lips.

Yoongi stops, blinking down at your hand.

“Yoongi,” you say, dropping your palm. “It’s fine. Bea explained everything to me just now. I’m… sorry I doubted you.”

He stares. “You’re apologizing to me?”

“Well. Kind of.”

Yoongi doesn’t move. “You’re not… mad at me?”

“No.” Your head tilts. “Why would I be?”

“Well… because of what that looked like!”

“I mean, sure,” you say with a shrug. “Next time you go undercover to take down an evil corporation, please try harder to give me a heads up. Maybe send Taehyung with a note.”

Yoongi blinks owlishly at you for several moments before abruptly, he turns and begins pacing the room. He does not get far due to all the books and papers. Politely, you lower yourself onto the armchair to wait.

Eventually, Yoongi stops. “You’re really not mad?”

“No.”

His brows furrow. “Huh.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Is this because of what happened back in high school?”

A guilty expression steals over his face and quickly, your amusement fades.

“Yoongi,” you say softly. “There’s one very important difference between now and then. We were fifteen years old.”

“I was sixteen, actually.”

“Oh, so much better.”

His lips twitch, and eventually, Yoongi moves closer. He steps between you and the desk, leaning against it until your knees gently touch.

“Still, I’m sorry,” he adds, his gaze fixed on you. “It felt awful to have to say all those things. Especially because of – well,” Yoongi exhales. “Because of how we left things last night.”

Heat curls in your lower belly. “What do you mean?”

Yoongi crosses his arms. “I’m trying to be better at this,” he declares. “Talking about how I feel.”

“Please, do continue.”

His lips quirk. “I think that last night… when we were interrupted so many times, I started to overthink it. I shouldn’t have let you go home alone. I should have insisted we talk there and then. I should have told you that I like you,” he adds, somewhat self-deprecating. “I feel the worst about that.”

Your smile slowly fades. “You like me?”

“Yeah.” Yoongi tilts his head. “Honestly, that feels like an understatement. I don’t know if I ever stopped liking you after high school. And then there was last night, and… I don’t know. It just seemed impossible you would like me, too. After all this time.”

Your ears seem to fill with distant buzzing. “Years?” you whisper.

Reaching down, Yoongi grasps both your hands and pulls you to stand. You end up in between his thighs at eye level.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “I don’t move on easily when I like something. I… never really moved on from you.”

“But… you were always so mean to me?”

“How?”

“You… well… you always avoided me! And then, when I was around, you would barely speak.”

He arches a brow. “Like I said, I was nervous.”

Before you can protest, Yoongi entwines your hand with his and places them both on his chest. The thump-thump of his heart speeds under your touch.

“See?” he murmurs.

“You like me,” you repeat.

He nods.

“I like you, too,” you confess, realizing you haven’t said it out loud. “I mean, in case that wasn’t clear. Even when I thought I didn’t, I see now that I was incredibly obvious, and I –”

Yoongi cuts you off and crushes your mouth to his. Melting into him, you wrap both your arms around his neck. Yoongi pulls you closer, one hand slipping under your sweater to cup your waist. His kiss turns impatient, demanding and your heart races as–

“Y/N! Yoongi!” Bea calls through the door.

Breaking away, Yoongi groans as he buries his face in your neck. You try to stifle your laughter, pliant against him.

“I figured it out,” Bea continues from the hall. “This is so good. Well, bad for Emerald Corp, but good for us. They must have a truly awful opinion of small-town law, since there are several blatant violations in this contract. It will never hold up in court. Which I know, because, hello, lawyer. Anyways, I do think they’ve been paying Remmy, but that may be hard to prove.”

Yoongi lifts his head. “Bea?”

“Yeah?”

“What does all of that mean?”

“Glad you asked, Yoongi. It means I need to work on some things, and I want to call Hoseok, but by the time I’m done with them, Emerald Corporation won’t want to touch this town with a ten-foot pole.”

Elation sparks in your stomach. “No way! That’s awesome, Bea.”

“I know, right?” she calls. “I need to go over things again, and maybe compare to a file Hoseok sent, but –”

“Bea,” Yoongi interrupts again, strangled.

“Yeah?”

“I am extremely grateful for everything you’ve done.”

“Why, thank you! It’s no problem. I –”

“But I need you to leave,” Yoongi demands, cutting her off. “Now.”

Bea cackles. “I was wondering how long you would let me go on. Bye, guys!” she calls, her voice fading along with her footsteps. “Be safe! I’ll be all the way at the front. Far away, in case you…”

The moment she falls out of earshot, Yoongi removes his glasses and kisses you roughly.

You make a surprised sound that swiftly melts to a moan. Without breaking the kiss, Yoongi walks the two of you backwards until your spine hits the wall. He curves over you purposefully, nudging aside one of your legs to press his thigh to your center.

“I thought she’d never leave,” Yoongi groans, his nose skimming your throat.

Leaning against the wall, you move on his thigh. “You have to be nice,” you say breathily. “That’s my sister you’re talking about.”

“Please” – he sucks the skin below your ear – “no mention of siblings when we’re making out.”

“You don’t even have siblings.”

“Exactly,” Yoongi murmurs. “Let’s keep things on me. And you. And everything I want to do to you.’

You gasp when his hand slips higher under your sweater. “And what, exactly, do you want to do to me?”

His thumb brushes the bare skin of your hip. “I think it would be better if I show you.”

Your breath hitches when his palm slides up your body to cup your breast. “Ah,” you moan, your head tipping back.

Yoongi shifts his thigh, watching you move while he drags his thumb, achingly slowly, over your nipple.

“Yes,” you pant. “Yes. Yoongi – more. I’ve been thinking about this all night.”

“What did you think about?”

“Your – fuck – your mouth.”

“What else?”

“Your hands,” you pant, arching against him. His thigh is perfectly positioned so that each time you move, it soothes your aching clit.

Yoongi makes a soft sound of agreement. “Can you take this off?” he asks, tugging the hem of your sweater.

When you nod, he helps drag both sweater and t-shirt over your head. These are tossed aside, leaving you in just your bra and jeans. Yoongi stares at you, his eyes dark before he shakes his head.

Taking a step backwards, he points at the desk. “Here,” he demands. “Place both your hands on the desk and lean forward.”

Your breathing catches as you nod, walking past him to set both palms on the desk. Your breasts feel heavy, aching against the lace cups of your bra. Leaning forward, you stick out your ass and glance over your shoulder to find Yoongi watching.

“What now?” you murmur.

“Now,” Yoongi says, stepping closer. He smooths his hand down your back, then squeezes the curve of your ass. “We do what I have been thinking about since last night.”

Your heart pounds. “Which is?”

Rather than respond, Yoongi reaches around and slowly unzips your jeans. He tugs the material down and over your hips, stopping when the fabric bunches at your knees. Slowly, he does the same with your panties.

Your legs are pressed tightly together, unable to move and you can feel how wet you are when you shift your thighs.

“Y/N,” Yoongi murmurs, cupping your ass with both hands. He moves to stand behind you, pressing forward until you feel his bulge through his slacks. “Have you been like this all day?”

“Y-yes.”

He squeezes your ass again, spreading your cheeks. Your chest rises and falls when you feel his clothed member pressed against your wet pussy. You must be making a mess of his pants, but Yoongi doesn’t seem to care.

“What did you imagine me doing with my hands?” he murmurs.

“Yoongi,” you moan, head tipping back. “Please, please. I want you inside me.”

“Is that all?” he muses.

You groan when he slides his index finger into your throbbing cunt. Yoongi slowly withdraws, then pushes inside you again.

When your arms start to shake, you lower yourself to your elbows. Placing one cheek on the desk, you meet Yoongi’s gaze as he adds another finger. Yoongi does not look away, his cheeks flushed while he slowly fingers your dripping pussy. The sound is obscene; wet each time he pulls out.

“Ah,” you moan, pushing back on his hand.

Yoongi slides an arm around your center, his lips brushing your throat while he continues to work your pussy open. “Careful,” he murmurs. “I want you to enjoy this.”

“What” – you pant – “does it” – a moan – “look” – your back arches – “like I’m doing?”

He adds yet another finger, hitting your g-spot and making your knees buckle. You nearly collapse on the desk, but Yoongi tightens his arm to keep you upright while he fucks you with his fingers.

After what feels like eternity, he snaps his wrist forward and gives it to you hard and fast, until your legs start to shake. Your ass pushes back with each thrust, mindless and numb while your pleasure builds.

You grip the desk tight, your cheek still connected while your hips move against him. Yoongi begins to finger you roughly, his hand wrapping around your waist rising to cup your breast. He tugs your nipple in time with his thrusts, and you barely hold on when your orgasm shatters.

The office dims, your entire body shuddering when he slowly withdraws. Yoongi helps you out of your jeans and panties, lowering you onto the chair so you can rest. You watch him, chest heaving, while he licks each finger, sending another wave of heat through you.

Which explains your next actions.

“Fuck,” you exhale, watching him closely. “Sweater – off,” you demand. “Pants, down. Keep your boxers on.”

“Okay,” Yoongi laughs, undoing his belt to drop this to the floor. He removes both sweater and pants, tossing them sideways. “I have a condom in my wallet, if that’s what you want.”

“Yes – but later,” you say, dropping down to your knees. Wearing just your bra and panties, you look up at him. “I want to try something.”

Yoongi goes still, his expression almost fearful. “Y/N,” he says slowly. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Have to?” Sitting back, you meet his gaze. “Yoongi, I want to. I um, kind of have this fantasy.”

Unthinkingly, his hand drifts towards his cock. The bulge in whatever fancy boxer-briefs he wears is prominent, and again, your mouth waters.

“Go on,” he murmurs, brushing his length.

Your gaze tracks the motion. “I want to suck your cock.”

Yoongi nearly chokes.

“In a specific way,” you continue, lest he get the wrong idea. “I have this fantasy of sucking your dick when you’re really into it. You know?”

Leaning forward, he examines you closely. For a moment, you think he might refuse, and then Yoongi smirks.

“Do your worst,” he says, leaning back.

His hands grip the edge of the desk, and Yoongi arches a brow to let you know he’s ready. Emboldened, you reach up and tug the waistband of his boxers. His hard dick springs out, nearly slapping his stomach with its generous length. Yoongi then removes his boxers, but you barely notice, too consumed by the visual.

Holy fuck. Even in your fantasies, you never imagined this. Eight inches, thick and vascular, with a mouth-watering bead of cum leaking from the tip. Reaching upward, you tentatively grip him.

Yoongi inhales. “Y/N, if you’re worried about –”

Ignoring this, you deep-throat him.

Yoongi groans out loud, gripping the desk while his head tips back. You watch his abdomen hitch, muscles flexing while he fights to remain in control. Hollowing your cheeks, you suck him harder before removing with a pop. Using both your hands, you fist your spit up and down.

“Fuck,” Yoongi groans, cupping the back of your neck to bring you closer. “You’re amazing, Y/N. Absolutely filthy.”

Spreading your legs wider, you suck him again. This time, Yoongi is prepared and he does what you asked. Still cupping your neck, he watches you sucking him off as he smirks. Thumb stroking your throat, he gently pushes down, waiting for you to gag before he releases.

“That’s it,” he soothes. “You’re so fucking good to me, Y/N. Looking so damn pretty with my cock down your throat.”

You gag again, just for the drama and he thrusts a bit deeper. Eyes watering, you look up at him before you swipe your tongue over his tip. Yoongi clenches his jaw.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, starting to lightly thrust while holding your head in place. His gaze remains steady, his words velvet and smooth. “You look so good with your lips wrapped around me. I’ve fantasized about you on your knees so often. Or me on my knees. I don’t really care which.”

Your hips roll against the floor, so turned on you think you might come again. Sliding off his length, you begin to fist his cock while sucking the tip. Yoongi groans, his hips thrusting involuntarily forward.

“Wait, wait,” he pants, grasping your shoulders. “Not like this.”

Puzzled, you sit back on your heels. “You don’t want to come down my throat?”

Yoongi visibly clenches. “Not the first time, no. Ask me again tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” you say hopefully, your entire body aflame.

Yoongi helps you up but only makes it halfway before kissing you again, grasping your waist, then your ass, as his hand slides towards your knee. Yanking your leg higher, he messily grinds his wet cock against your core. The feeling of his hot, hard length leaves you speechless; you want him so badly it hurts.

“We –” Yoongi breaks away, panting. “We should go. Get a room? Or go to my place? Or your place.”

He says each option in such quick succession you can barely follow. You know Yoongi is being rational but can’t bring yourself to care.

“Yoongi,” you whimper, well-aware you’re playing dirty when you press yourself against him. The curves of your breasts nestle into his chest, and he audibly moans. “I need you. Now.”

His eyes flash, still holding you to him. “Here? In this office? You don’t want a bed?”

You shake your head. “No. Unless you want a bed?”

Yoongi barks out a laugh. “Y/N, I thought I was clear. I want this. I want you. I will fuck you literally anywhere you ask me to. Here. Your car. My car. In the Brewsters bathroom. Hell, I’ll call Remmy and let him listen on speakerphone.”

“You wouldn’t,” you breathe, the idea kind of turning you on.

His gaze gleams, and you know he sees through you.

“Yoongi,” you protest. “I want you now.”

“Okay, baby,” he murmurs and you nearly melt at the endearment.

Yoongi lowers your knee and leaves momentarily, crossing the room to dig around in his pants. Retrieving his condom, he rips the packet open to roll this onto himself. By the time he returns, you’re practically aching.

Kissing you roughly, Yoongi presses you to the wall. “Yeah,” he murmurs, grasping your thigh. “This was a good call.”

He thrusts between your legs, rutting his length against you while you drench his cock. You groan, head thrown back while your body is thrust up the wall. Yoongi is so, so close and you feel so pathetically empty.

“Yoongi,” you beg him.

Gripping you by the waist, he positions you on the wall and thrusts roughly upward.

Your lips part when he fills you, unable to speak. Yoongi continues to watch you, his nose an inch away when he slowly withdraws to thrust upward again. He gets deeper this time, nearly halfway as your thighs start to shake, realizing how big he is.

Reaching around, Yoongi gently strokes where his cock fits, keeping your panties to the side to accommodate his length. He begins to move you up and down, getting deeper each time. His thick cock splits you open and, using his knee, he widens your thighs so he can sink even deeper.

“Oh my god,” you whimper, nails digging into his shoulder as you try to hold on.

Reaching around, he makes a frustrated sound, and you hear – to your shock – the sound of fabric ripping.

“Yoongi!” you gasp.

Tossing your ruined panties aside, he meets your gaze. “They were in the way,” he explains, bending to suck your nipple through your bra. “I’ll buy you another pair.”

“What if I wanted those?” you ask, breathless when he begins to move again.

Yoongi continues to watch you while he sucks your nipple. He grazes this with his teeth, then moves to the other side. “You can keep them,” he murmurs, like some kind of dark angel. “It’ll be easier to fuck you if I can get to your pussy.”

You moan at his words, and then again, when he does something with his tongue you’ve only dreamt of. Yoongi rises to plant one hand on the wall, gripping your ass with the other as he starts to fuck you.

Your breasts bounce with each stroke, threatening to spill from your bra while he ruts you against the wall. It feels depraved but intimate with his gaze on you.

“Keep your thigh here,” he instructs, sliding his palm behind your head so you don’t hit the wall.

Yoongi pulls himself nearly all the way out, teasing you with the tip before he fills you again. He does this again until all you can hear are the sounds of him panting, his cock deep inside, and your whimpered pleas to go deeper. Harder.

You aren’t sure how much time passes before you begin to feel insane. His cock is deep, but not deep enough, and you’ve been balanced on the edge of an orgasm since he first thrust inside you. Yoongi purposefully dances around this, avoiding what you crave, and you arch against him, fighting for friction.

“Yoongi,” you groan. “I need more.”

He gently bites your shoulder. “More?”

“Harder.”

“Harder?”

“Yes.”

His breath hitches when he nods, abruptly pulling out to turn you around. “Why didn’t you say so?” he asks, pressing your palms to the desk once again. “What a sweet, tight cunt you have,” Yoongi murmurs, sliding two fingers inside you. “You need to be fucked harder than that to come?”

“Yes,” you groan, head thrown back.

Yoongi drops his hand and you whimper, desolate, before he roughly grips your hips and thrusts in from behind.

“Oh my god,” you choke out, collapsing forward.

Yoongi smooths a hand down your back until you lie horizontal. Gripping your ass, he spreads your cheeks and then, slowly spits. You feel his slick hit his cock where’s lodged deep inside, and your face flames when he reaches to rub this on your clit.

“That’s it,” he murmurs before he withdraws. “Now, take it.”

Slamming in to the hilt, Yoongi begins fucking you harder. You bite your lower lip to choke down your scream, remembering you’re still on semi-public property. Yoongi uses his hips to slam into you, hitting your g-spot again and again. At this angle, the stretch is obscene, making you feel so full, you nearly weep. It brings your insides to a blinding, bright pleasure as your legs start to shake, pinned between him and the desk.

Yoongi’s hand slides around to gently rub circles against your swollen clit and you dissolve, breaking apart in pure bliss. Your orgasm lasts a few moments, your insides spasming as Yoongi chokes on your name and thrusts a final time.

He comes deep inside you, cum filling the length of his condom. Yoongi keeps his other arm on the desk to avoid crushing you with his weight. After a while, he gently kisses your back, then your neck before slowly withdrawing his softening cock from your body.

Removing his condom, Yoongi ties this in a knot and deposits it in the nearest trash can. It takes several minutes to collect all your clothes – made even more difficult when Yoongi keeps removing your things and hiding them beneath piles. Eventually, he agrees to help you with your sweater, tugging down on the neck until your head appears.

When you’re – mostly – presentable, Yoongi flops in the chair and drags you on top of him. Happily, you curl against his chest. It would seem Yoongi is the type to be touchy after sex, which you have no complaints about.

“To be clear,” he mumbles into your hair.

Pulling back, your smile widens.

Yoongi pauses. “What?”

“No, nothing.” You nod encouragingly. “Please continue.”

He lifts a brow. “To be clear,” Yoongi repeats, “I would like to do that again. Soon. I would also like to take you on a date. Again, soon.”

You slip your arms around him. “I’m amenable to that.”

“Great. What are you doing tonight?”

Your laugh shakes his chest. “Well, I was planning to egg Remmy’s house, but I suppose I can move things around.”

“Why move them? I’ll join.”

“You?” you pretend-gasp. “An upstanding citizen like yourself? It would sully your reputation.”

“I can think of a few things I wouldn’t mind sullying tonight.”

Your toes curl, already imagining what Yoongi can do with a bed and proper leverage. You snuggle even closer.

“Okay, great,” you declare. “Let’s fuel up then, and head to my place. Or your place. Wherever.”

Yoongi’s face brightens, and when he looks at the door, his expression turns thoughtful. “You know,” he says slowly. “I can’t help but notice the inn seems to be running smoothly.”

Your jaw drops. “Are you implying something?”

His lips twitch. “No. It just seems like your sister has been helping more.”

“Yeah,” you admit. “She’s been pretty great the past couple of days.”

“That was your sister who called the other day, wasn’t it? What did she have to say?”

Exhaling, you return your head to his chest. “She said a lot of things. She said I’ve taken care of everyone else for too long, and that I need to ask for help. She said she wants to help more around the Rosy Finch.”

“Hm.”

Loudly, you sigh. “They don’t need me, it seems.”

“And… is that a bad thing?”

Hearing the question said out loud forces you to confront it. A month ago, you might have said yes without considering whether it was true. Now, though, you examine the question from every angle and recognize you feel differently than you expected.

A small part of you remains anxious; that must be acknowledged. It’s terrifying to think that your family may no longer need you or that things will happen outside your control. But a larger part of yourself feels somehow… free.

Able and allowed to choose your own path.

Tilting your face to him, you smile at Yoongi. “No,” you say honestly. “In fact, I feel better than I have in a long time.”

His smile grows to match yours. “Good,” he murmurs. “I plan to keep things that way.”

“Merry Christmas, Yoongi.”

“… it’s not Christmas yet.”

“Can you please just –”

Laughing, he kisses you, and your worries melt away.

One Year Later

“Snow,” you complain, bursting out of the kitchen. “How are people going to reach town hall if it snows?”

Yoongi barely looks up from arranging petit fours on a fancy plate. “The same way they always do,” he says. “With snow tires and all-wheel drive.”

Huffing, you collapse on a stool at the table. “What if tonight is a disaster?”

At long last, Yoongi pauses to look up from his work. “Hey,” he says, his tone reassuring. “Everything is going to be fine. People love your baking.”

A meow in the corner echoes the sentiment and you turn, beaming, to face Yoongi’s new cat. Sugar – or Tang, for short – wanders in from the lobby, tail flicking pointedly as he ignores you, then turns to rub his entire body against your leg.

Awe-struck, you clasp both hands over your heart. “I love you,” you whisper to him.

“Relegated so soon to second place,” Yoongi bemoans, bending to scoop Tang up in one arm. He nuzzles their noses. “Okay, let’s put you outside so you don’t eat all of Y/N’s hard work.”

They disappear through the door, leaving you alone with the food. Glancing around, you can’t help but consider how much things have changed in one year.

True to her word, once Bea was done with them, Emerald Corporation chose to avoid Merriman like the plague. They fled to several towns over where, last you heard, they ran into permit problems and have not broken ground.

Remmy stepped down as town treasurer (town treasurer – take a shot) back in March, bowing to local pressure, and Namjoon was perplexed when he won in the recall election.

He ran mostly because Jimin bullied him into it and, despite Namjoon’s protests of never majoring in finance, he’s doing a much better job than Remmy ever did. This year’s holiday potluck is scheduled to be the biggest year yet; so much so, that your pop-up bakery was asked to operate a new booth.

You have been baking all week to prepare but still don’t feel ready. “Ugh,” you groan, slumping against the table as Yoongi reenters.

Taking one look at you, he says, “Do you not want to go?”

Appalled by the idea, you immediately straighten. “No,” you blurt, starting to gather your things. “Of course, not!”

Yoongi’s lips twitch and he nods, turning around to busy himself with the tins.

Early this year, you sat down with your family and confessed that you wanted to take time from the inn. Neither your dad nor Bea even batted an eyelash. Your dad went so far as to tear up with happiness at the idea of your own dream.

When you confessed your idea of starting a bakery, Bea leapt into action. Within weeks you found yourself enrolled in pastry classes at the local college and began to apprentice with Sara at the bakery in the next town. You still work there on weekends, but over the summer, you started to work on your pop-up store, Butter Half.

Butter Half began organically, with Namjoon and Jimin begging for cookies they could give visitors to their agency. Word soon got out, and next it was Jungkook who asked if you could make him some sourdough. Then it was Taehyung requesting truffles for the lodge, and soon, you found it necessary to create an order form.

The rapid growth has been exciting but nerve-wracking. Thankfully, Yoongi has been here every step of the way.

Placing covers on dishes, Yoongi begins to stack these in your travel bags. “Where do you want me to put these?” he asks. “In the truck with the rest?”

“Yes, please,” you say, both hands on your hips as you survey the table.

Yoongi has been kind enough to let you use the lodge test kitchen over the holidays. Partially, you feel this is so he can sample every batch but would never complain. Especially not when it means working so closely together.

The two of you tried to take things slow but soon realized this to be pointless. After so much time spent dancing around your feelings, it was hard to hold back once they were acknowledged.

It takes several trips to load everything in the truck, and by the time you’ve secured things, the time is nearly noon. Busying yourself with one final check of the kitchen, you cross this from your list as familiar arms wrap around you.

“Did you forget something?” Yoongi murmurs, gently kissing your neck.

You lean against him. “What kind of question is that?” you tease. “If I forgot something, I’m not going to remember it by – oh!” you gasp when Yoongi lifts your left hand and taps the fourth finger.

Tearing away, you rush to your apron which rests on the counter. Slipping one hand in its pocket, you pull out a ring – your lovely, emerald engagement ring Yoongi proposed to you with last night.

“I have got to start remembering this,” you mutter as you slide it on.

Turning around, you hold up your hand and savor the look on Yoongi’s face. Apparently, he’s been holding onto it for over a month, waiting for the right moment. Last night, consumed by nerves, you dragged him out to your spot by the pond. He chose then to propose, and of course, you said yes.

Which, in hindsight, may not have been the smartest move, since it resulted in little sleep from either of you due to the – ahem – celebration.

Crossing the room, Yoongi pulls you against you and kisses you deeply. Enough that you shiver and slip both arms around him.

“Do you think” – you speak between kisses – “it’s important for me to be on time to my first event?”

Yoongi laughs and breaks the kiss. “You are going to the potluck, Y/N,” he says, tugging you towards the doors. “You’re going to sell all your baked goods and show off your ring, and then I’m going to drive us both home and spend a few hours with my head between your thighs.”

You smack him on the shoulder. “If you’re not trying to make me skip the event, you’re doing a terrible job.”

He laughs again, pulling you towards the car and you settle into the passenger seat, the heat already blasting. As you pull from the lodge and head down the mountain, you take out your phone and send a quick text to Jasmine.

Y/N: hourly update that I haven’t been kidnapped [12:23 PM]

JAZZY-JAZ: thank god [12:24 PM]

JAZZY-JAZ: also you can stop these now. Seokjin might get jealous [12:24 PM]

Your grin widens. In a twist that surprised exactly no one, Jasmine and Seokjin began dating last summer.

Your fingers type faster.

Y/N: I also have something important to share with you [12:25 PM]

JAZZY-JAZ: WHAT [12:25 PM]

JAZZY-JAZ: WHAT IS IT WHAT [12:25 PM]

JAZZY-JAZ: I TAKE IT ALL BACK, Y/N, WHAT IS IT WHAT [12:25 PM]

Putting away your phone, you turn to face Yoongi and find him already smiling, his hand outstretched for yours.