#M-MERRY CHRISTMAS I GUESS??

[crystallizsch]

JAMIL VIPER SIR??? ON ROOK HUNT’S BIRTHDAY???? THANKS FOR THE GEMS???

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[twocrows]

Merry Christmas!! Have some Rick and morty decorated cookies :3

+ a tiny Morty one and uncoloured/less decorated versions

[drcloudtheclown]

We're making Christmas cards in my school's art club for the older folks where we live :]

Someone is gonna get a pawsome card when I'm done

[awrkive]

tlp xmas special — jjk (m.)

hello awrkive nation!!! its late but merry christmas to those who celebrate!! sorry for being ia but heres a christmas gift from me to you 🫣 first of all i genuinely forgot abt the car s*x drabble that won that poll i made a few weeks ago which i promised you guys ISHDJDJ but here it is!! this drabble combines all of these three recurring requests for the tlp couple and this might also be the last drabble im doing for them (for now??) so do enjoy!!

pairing: tlp!jungkook x tlp!oc (main story)

summary: in which jungkook looks way too good carrying your sister's three-year old at her christmas eve party and you can't help but let your mind wander

w/c: 6k (ctfu)

warning/s: explicit sexual content (p in v s*x, car s*x, unprotected s*x, cre*mpie), oc having baby fever lol. genuinely not proofread sorry for any errors!

You find babies mesmerizing. They’re charming, they can be a handful, they’re irresistibly cute; so tiny, yet so loud. But to the core, they somehow manage to be a pure embodiment of joy.

Before Nayeon got pregnant, she shared something about having a “baby fever”. Of course you knew what it meant – but you never really felt it yourself. She said it was something about Minhyuk being such a good husband that she couldn’t wait for him to be a father. Well, you related to that specific part, at least; about your own husband being such a good husband. However, for the past year you’ve become a married couple, you never really thought about having babies. Or him being a father. Or you being a mother. 

It’s not like you don’t want to become a mother, like ever, or have a family with him. It’s just you thought you’re still way too young to be having babies. So you kind of just… gloss or skip over that idea – and for the record, Jungkook’s never brought it up, either. 

It’s not until your sister got pregnant for the second time, though, that you got yourself thinking. Seokjin and her had babies almost four years into their marriage, but it’s not very long until they decided to try again after Nari and now your sister is carrying her baby boy for seven months. 

It brings you here, gathered at their house for Christmas Eve. Your families haven’t arrived yet, but you and Jungkook decided to go earlier than the agreed time to help out with the – admittedly, big preparation. And currently, Jungkook’s got Nari – Seokjin and your sister’s 3-year-old – in his arms, asking for raspberries because Jungkook’s her favorite uncle. (Why wouldn’t he be? He spoils her a lot and carries her around when you come over.) He insisted on looking after her so Seokjin can help your sister out in the kitchen while you’re over at the counter island making some charcuterie.

Seokjin’s helping your sister take out the pies they’ve both prepared, with him guarding her and being extra with it because “my wife is pregnant and I’m growing white hairs because she wouldn’t just let me do everything”. Your sister is just so done chastising him for his overbearing antics, but you guess it’s cute, at the core of it all. You’ve always looked up to their relationship all these years. In fact, you kind of see Seokjin in Jungkook sometimes. Seokjin loves your sister the way Jungkook loves you. 

And then, the thought passes over your head like some form of looming possibility, unsettling yet intriguing. It lingers for a moment, uninvited but persistent, as if life is quietly hinting at something you’ve never truly considered before. The idea of a baby, of parenthood, feels distant but somehow more tangible now—like a door you never saw, now standing slightly ajar, waiting for you to decide whether to step through.

Would Jungkook be just as (lovingly) overbearing if you were pregnant? You imagine he’d be even more annoying about it. It’s rare for you to get sick, but when you do, Jungkook practically flips the house upside down just to make sure you don’t have to lift a finger. Takes care of you so seriously, as if the illness would never go away on its own in a few days. So what would it be like if you were carrying his child? Would he act like Seokjin does now, always hovering with a hand on your back, supporting your every move, scolding you if you try to do anything that requires even a little bit of effort?

The thought makes your lips curl. Because he probably would. You know he will. 

And as you look at him from across the room, carrying Nari around effortlessly against his body with one arm, with his red long-sleeve polo shirt pushed up to his forearms, white slacks, and freshly cut hair slicked to perfection for tonight’s occasion, he looks… delectable. 

Like a DILF. 

Except he isn’t a dad. 

But god, would you really, really like to fuck him. 

(And would he look way hotter if he – say – gave you a child?)

“Is it done?” Your sister interrupts your thoughts – thankfully, might you add. Because it’s going in a direction that’s way too inappropriate for a family occasion like this, and you need to be family friendly tonight for this Christmas party. 

When you turn around to see if she was talking to you, you find her looking at her husband instead, and with her stance and the tone of her voice, you know it doesn’t sound good. 

“Yeah. I think I just need to add a little more—” 

“Jin,” she says, sounding a little distressed. “Hurry. And make sure it’s perfect, okay? Everyone’s arriving in fifteen, and this is the first time I’m hosting Christmas and I really, really don’t want to disappoint your family and Jungkook’s parents and mom and—” 

“Hey,” You see Seokjin put a hand on the lower part of your sister’s back, effectively cutting her off. Gently, he tells her, “Everything’s perfect, alright?” 

Soft tunes of Christmas songs are playing all over the huge open space of their house, and you know you’re not supposed to listen in to the conversation given that they’re spoken in an almost hushed manner as some sort of discretion, but you can’t help but notice when she turns to Seokjin to give him a downturned smile.

“I just really want to give this my all…” 

He smiles down at her reassuringly. “You have, honey. Let’s not stress, okay? Not good for baby, remember?” Then, he begins to rub her protruding belly, and you see her visibly relaxing to his touch. 

You turn around quickly to not get caught watching, only to be welcomed with Jungkook making a beeline towards you, with Nari still in his arms. 

“Hi, baby,” Your sister automatically greets Nari, cooing at her, mood immediately picking up. The bright-eyed little girl lights up at the sight of her mommy, making grabby hands instantly. Laughing, Jungkook hands her to Seokjin, who receives his daughter and kisses her chubby cheeks with a smack. 

“What were you up to with uncle JK, little missy?” Seokjin says, swaying her side to side. 

Jungkook leans his elbow on the island while looking at the pair, smiling widely.

“Uncle JK said he’s giving me three presents! Three! I wanna open them!” She holds up three fingers, and you giggle at her cuteness.

Your sister softly laughs in response. “Your uncle likes to spoil you, sweetie. But we’ll open them later, okay?”

“Why not now?” She whines, and you smile at how seriously she takes it. “I want three presents!”

“Don’t worry,” Seokjin laughs, “You’ll have lots of surprises when the grandmas and grandpas get here. But we need to change into your dress first.”

Nari giggles. “You? You’re gonna wear a dress too?”

Seokjin raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, why not?”

She shakes her head, still giggling, her pigtails swaying as she does so. God, she looks like a combination of Seokjin and your sister that it’s so uncanny sometimes.

“You’re so silly, daddy.”

Seokjin feigns shock. “Silly? Just wait, Uncle JK and I are going to be Ariel and Belle for New Year’s! Right, Jungkook?” He looks over at Jungkook, who widens his eyes comically.

You laugh, and Jungkook adds, “Well, I wanted to be Cinderella, but sure, I’ll be Belle.”

Nari gasps dramatically, putting her hand over her mouth. “But she’s my favorite, Uncle JK! You can’t be her!”

She’s such a cute kid – and you know everybody in the room agrees. No doubt her mom and dad think so, but when you look over at Jungkook, he’s cheesing really hard – with his nose scrunched into that expression of cute aggression. 

“These two boys are silly.” Your sister interrupts with a playful roll of her eyes. She looks at her husband Nari, “Honey, take Nari upstairs and dress her up, please.”

“I can wear my new dress now?!” Nari shrieks, excitement showing with the way she wiggles in her father’s hold.

“Absolutely, baby, and the sparkly white shoes, too,” Seokjin nods. You all coo when Nari lets out an adorable, delighted “yay!” at the words, already leaning towards the direction of the stairs and telling her father to hurry. With a chuckle, Seojin turns to you. “Alright. And Jungkook, please help her with the food.” Seokjin’s gaze falls to your sister, a reminder before he goes completely.

“She’s so cute, I can’t.” Jungkook chuckles.

“Right… my sister was definitely not that cute when we were younger.” you tease, earning an arched brow to your way from your sister. 

“I was the cuter one between us, it’s an established fact,” she rolls her eyes. “When you two get a kid, it better look like Jungkook.” 

Maybe the remark sounded like such a throw-away comment that Jungkook just laughs it off as if it isn’t the first time somebody hinted at you two starting a family. Or maybe he just thinks it isn’t a big deal. Or maybe… maybe he likes the idea? 

You’re about to say something when your sister turns to you.

“You,” she takes you by the shoulders and you look back at her. “You might want to retouch your make-up. Party’s starting soon. And this charcuterie looks—” she looks to the side as if to check if Nari is still around, and when she deems she isn’t at all, she continues to say, “fucking perfect. I love you.” 

“Duh.” you reply, cockily showing off the board to her and to Jungkook who intriguingly looks at your work. 

“I knew you should have been a chef.” Jungkook comments proudly, grinning at you.

“Alright, man,” your sister says in a flat tone, making Jungkook and you laugh. “Jungkook, can help me transfer these to the dining table, please?” She points to the trays of food and Jungkook rounds the counter so he can do just as she requested. 

Before you can head to the powder room, Jungkook brushes past your waist – just one of the candid things he does to have some sort of physical contact with you when you’re not necessarily talking together or close to each other.

It puts a smile on your face as you enter the powder room. 

Inside, you make quick work of putting another layer of lipstick and pressing powder on your face, checking your hair before you stand upright and look at your reflection in the mirror.

You step backwards enough to see half of your body, and from there, you can see how beautiful you look in the outfit you’ve chosen for tonight. It’s a satin red dress with a halter neckline, the gathered drape cascading gracefully around your neck, exposing your shoulders. The silhouette fits at the waist and flows into a straight skirt that stops inches below your knees, and Jungkook may have had a hard time letting you go in your bedroom before you drove to your sister’s place – but you promised him a good time when you get back home so in the end, he had to tuck in a semi on the way from here.

Poor Jungkook. 

Though… you’re beginning to think poor you, instead.

Because you’re thinking about it again. Him in his outfit tonight; the silk polo so he can match yours, and the way he looked so good with a baby girl in his strong arms. 

You can already picture how good he'd look with his own child. He’d be the type of dad who looks effortlessly hot with a baby carrier, showers his kids with gifts because he can’t help himself, and simply excels at being a wonderful father because he’s Jeon Jungkook and he excels in everything he sets his mind to.

Now your brain’s going on a haywire. 

Because now it’s just Jungkook. Hot Jungkook. Jungkook with a baby. Jungkook looking smoking hot carrying his own baby – your baby. 

And wouldn’t it be nice? To carry a being formed by your mutual love? To have someone as adorable and smart and sassy as Nari? God. You hope she’d look like you, but have Jungkook’s eyes because they are your favorite part of him, and then his nose, maybe? And… and maybe have the mole under his lip too, if that was possible. Jungkook had a lot of hair when he came out of his mom’s womb, would your daughter have a lot of hair as well when you give birth to her? 

And why are you already thinking of the gender of your non-existent child? 

You think you’ve gone nuts, but the indulgent little devil on your shoulder is insisting that Jungkook would look so good with a baby girl because you know he’d be such a girl dad. There’s just absolutely no doubt about it, given how he treats Nari. 

You stare at yourself in the mirror again, and absentmindedly, you turn to the side, noting the very clear absence of a bump on your stomach unlike your sister’s. 

Would you carry a baby as gracefully as her? You know her struggles… but… maybe you won’t mind it with a husband like Jungkook… right? Just like she doesn’t mind with a husband like Seokjin. Because Jungkook takes really good care of you. He’d probably panic more than you about certain things. Be extra careful for the both of you. Fetch you your cravings. Love you more than he does now. 

You remember Seokjin rubbing a gentle hand over your sister’s bump, and it brings your own to caress the flat of your stomach over the smooth fabric of your dress. 

Obviously no baby there. But… just imagine. You with a baby bump.

Hah. 

Weird, because it’s the first time the idea’s planted in your head and you kind of like it more than you thought. 

You nibble on your bottom lip as you continue to caress your tummy, not noticing the knock that came from outside. 

“Oh my—” 

“Baby?” 

“Jungkook.” Your hands retreat back to your sides. When you look at Jungkook, standing on the doorway, you let one hand clutch at your chest as you tell him, “You scared me.” 

The door clicks as he locks it behind him. Your husband arches his brow as he goes over to you. “What are you so jumpy for?” 

You ignore the question, looking back to the mirror again to fix your dress. But as you do so, you see his reflection – and you catch how he intently stares at you through the glass as well, walking behind you closer and pressing himself against you. His proximity suddenly makes you nervous.

“You should’ve knocked.” 

“I did. You didn’t answer.” 

“I didn’t hear.” When you turn around, Jungkook takes a curled strand of hair over your face and tucks it behind your ear. 

“You look beautiful. So gorgeous.” He says before he wraps his arms around your waist and presses a kiss to your lips, one that you welcome fully even though you just reapplied your lipstick. When you break away, you see some remnants on his lips… and realize you picked the wrong lipstick for tonight. You should’ve brought the kiss-proof lippy instead.

You wipe it off and Jungkook smiles before he ducks down, not caring, and kisses your cheek for good measure before he speaks again, “What were you doing in here?” He wiggles his eyebrows, as if he knows you were up to something before he barged in. 

You avoid his gaze and turn back around. 

“Nothing,” You say, trying to busy yourself with your hair again. But Jungkook can be really annoying when he wants to be, so of course he pushes, quite literally and figuratively. 

“What was it? I saw you…” He teases, pushing his nose in the juncture of your neck and shoulder, tightening his hold around you. 

“What did you– Jungkook!” You half-snort and scoff when Jungkook bites your neck playfully. You turn around to push him, but he’s insistent on keeping the nonexistent space between you and cages you in his big presence instead, trapping you in between the edge of the sink and the heat of his body. 

“This damn dress…” Jungkook whispers as he splays his hand over your stomach, which makes your breath hitch. 

Did he really see? See you pretending to have a baby bump at the thought of him impregnating you? 

But Jungkook doesn’t really say anything further, just lets an idle finger run over the curve of your hips up to your waist, until it stops at the exposed skin of your shoulder. 

“Can’t wait to fuck you in this.” He whispers in your ear, eyes meeting your gaze in the mirror, not subtle in the way he checks out your body after. 

You huff out a scoff, giving a little more force into the push that you give him this time. His more relaxed hold on you makes him stumble a little bit backwards, chuckling when you roll your eyes at him once again. 

“You’re not even gonna take it off me?” You ask as your turn on the tap, arching your brow at Jungkook’s reflection in the mirror. 

A sly smirk makes an appearance on his lips. “I don’t need to take anything off to make you cum, baby.” 

You turn around, leaning on the sink. “So you’re saying you’re not interested at all about my very elaborate choice of underwear tonight, then?” 

That catches him off guard, his brows furrowed in confusion and then realization.

“You minx.” 

You chuckle, swatting his hand away when he tries to touch you. When he whines, you take a step forward and wrap your arms around his neck, and Jungkook’s predictably eager to encircle your waist in his arms back again. 

“Later. We have to keep it PG for at least three hours tonight. And you can—” you push at his chest for leverage so you can lean down a little to ride your dress up your thighs. Looking at Jungkook, you watch as he stares at you closely, intently, but oblivious to what you’re doing. He clearly enjoys it, though, judging from the hint of a smile on his lips and the shine in his eyes when more of your skin gets revealed. 

Especially when he catches a glimpse of your white lace underwear that he bought for you himself.

He whistles, and you roll your eyes at the predictable reaction. Taking one of his hands off you, you guide it in between your thighs, earning an involuntary moan from you because Jungkook’s palm automatically cups your heat when he gets close. 

“Ah…” 

“Fuck…” Jungkook looks down where his hand meets your core. “Goddamn,” He says, then you feel him push your panties to the side, dipping the tip of his finger in your pussy. “Why the fuck are you so wet, baby?”

“Y-yeah…” You whine against his chest, gripping his wrist when he attempts to move again. “Kook, don’t.” 

Jungkook halts. He looks at you. Then, he nods. “Alright. Alright. Stop this here?” 

“Hm.” 

He looks down at you with an arched brow. “You started it, though.” 

“You were being flirty.” You say as Jungkook brings your underwear back in place, but not without squeezing your ass first. You nibble on your bottom lip as he rides down the dress, letting it dangle on your knees back again, smoothing the front for you to get rid of the wrinkles. 

“Not my fault you’re hot,” he snorts. “Fuck.” 

“What?” 

“I’m kinda hard…” He says, and you both look down to the bump on his white slacks. Certainly not his full potential (like… you’d know), but it’s still apparent in the light color of his trouser. 

“Poor baby,” you say, can’t help but pat it a little condescendingly which earns a chuckle from Jungkook, him playfully swatting your hand away. 

“You’re so…” 

“I’m so what.” 

Jungkook’s face is a mixture of frustration and amusement. “You always do this shit.” 

You giggle, knowing exactly what he means. But you act like you have no clue. “What?” 

“Get me horny then leave.” He shakes his head, then pokes your waist. 

Chuckling, you kiss him on the cheek quickly, making a beeline to the door quickly lest he tries to kiss you again (and you’ll have no choice but to make out in your sister’s powder room, during her big Christmas party, mind you) and then give him a wink before you go.

 

The ride on the way home felt like it took sixty five years, and it might just be true especially when you’re horny as hell and you got a husband behind the steering wheel looking effortlessly hot in his element. 

You’ve been hot and bothered for hours, and maybe it’s the champagne – probably has gotten in your brain or whatever – but Jungkook was not even done parking when you made a move to palm him over the console. 

“Fuck,” Jungkook hissed, clearly not expecting it at all. He had that wide-eyed look when he frantically turned off the engine, staring at you while your hand grew heavy on his crotch. “Here?” You bit on your bottom lip as you nodded your head. He looked beyond conflicted. “But baby, we’re just ten floors away from our u–”

“Please?” 

And what was he supposed to say? No? 

Absolutely not. Not when your glassy eyes looked so pleading the way they did.   

He just makes your insides churn, especially when you look at him. And for the past few hours, you couldn’t stop thinking about his dick inside you and most especially his cum. (Translation: You can’t stop thinking about him fucking a baby into you).

But… the thing was, you’ve only ever fucked in a car once.

Jungkook’s way too pesky about stuff like that, and somehow, even though he’s already been made aware of your exhibitionist tendencies (cue unprompted sex in public areas like that one time in the beach, window sex at a Ritz hotel back in London and… admittedly many more…) car sex was just… a least favorite. The first and only time you did it was when you were still fresh into dating; at a drive-thru cinema, but it was kind of a whack in both your opinions because it was too cramped up and you bumped your head and you almost got caught which is way too embarrassing of a memory to ever revisit. 

But now maybe that really doesn't matter anymore.

Not when your husband looks like that.

And bottomline is: you just really, really want him to cum in you. 

Oh god. What is wrong with your head tonight? 

“Baby, fuuuck,” Jungkook hisses as you speed up your rhythm up and down his cock. His boxers and slacks are pushed down to the middle of his thighs while his shirt is all but buttoned. Meanwhile, your dress is bunched up in your mid-section. 

You’re near tears on his lap at this point, already feeling your thighs straining at the force you’re exerting in every bounce – but you couldn’t care less. 

“Oh my god, baby– you feel so good,” you moan, eyes shutting close at the feel of his tip hitting that spot inside you whenever you go down.

For the first few minutes, Jungkook took it upon himself to guide your hips in every movement just like he always does when you ride him like this, pounding into you from underneath, but he eventually let you control the pace, leaning way back to the reclined seat and watches you work instead. He stares at you with hooded eyes as you push yourself up and down on his hardened cock, stiletto heels digging the side of his thighs occasionally.

While you pleasure yourself on him, he slides your dress up further, gets a little frustrated that it’s tight on the waist so he can’t push it past your tits. So he feels for your nape to find the zipper because he knows it’s there – he zipped you up in this dress before you drove to your sister’s place – and he delights when he finds the small, cold material, pulling it down blindly until you noticed and help him get yourself out of it. 

Jungkook sighs when the top comes down, snapping the clip of your sleeveless bra and getting it out of the way before he greedily fondles your now bare breasts in his huge palms. 

“Ohh,” you moan when Jungkook flicks your nipples, getting them even harder. You push yourself back, leaning into one elbow on the steering wheel as you begin to rock against him in a back and forth motion,

“Fuck—” Jungkook lets out a guttural groan, squeezing your tits tighter that makes you keen in want. “So fucking sexy, baby. Shit – damn – l-love you.” 

“I-I love you too,” you say, more like a whine, chasing a high he knows is impending. 

Jungkook looks up at you with hooded eyes. Your hair that was once tidy and neat three hours ago is now all over the place, the high bun loosening and some strands falling off your pretty face. Your lipstick smudged and he’s sure the remnants are on his lips, and with your mouth agaped in that erotic o-shape while you pleasure yourself on his cock, Jungkook feels like exploding. 

“Ah– shit,” he groans, feeling the warm crevice of your wet pussy swallow him whole. When you climbed over his lap a while ago after he fingered you, he was gonna take out a condom from the glove compartment but you insisted to not use it, and the picture of you looking down while he pushed your panties to the side and looked into each other’s eyes as you sank down on him is still playing in his head like a broken record.

God fuck damn, you’re just so unreal. The love of his life. His wife. 

He wipes your tear-stained cheeks, torn because he doesn’t like seeing you cry but he does like it when it’s because you’re so eager to bounce on his cock that even though you know you’re pushing it, you continue to do so.

Jungkook lets his hand travel from a boob to linger on your cheek, and he keens on the way you purr when you lean into his touch, smiling slightly when you open your mouth as his thumb nears it. 

You eagerly suck it as if verbally prompted, opening your eyes just so you can stare at his as you lewdly slobber over his finger while you expertly move against his cock, breasts jiggling up and down right in front of his face – the obscene squelches of your lovemaking filling the air of his cramped up benz. 

“You’re so perfect, baby,” Jungkook whispers. “Perfect girl. You love bouncing on my cock, love? Just couldn’t wait until we get home? Hm?” His tone is a bit condescending and cocky. 

When Jungkook takes out his finger from your mouth, you bite your lip as you nod, resuming your up and down motion again. Slamming down on his dick, your hands come up to grip his shoulders tight. 

“We are home.” 

Jungkook chuckles, a rich and dark sound that sends shivers down your spine. A snarky remark gets buried in your throat when you feel a certain zap of electricity coming from your toes to your spine, the hot coil in your stomach edging to burst.

“I’m cumming– oh my god, Jungkook– baby I’m cumming—” You say, speeding up your pace once again. 

With your breasts bouncing in front of his face like that, he couldn’t help but dive right into it, wrapping his lips around one nipple, nipping and sucking and licking, while he busies one hand with fondling the other. He alternated in between both tits, groaning and grunting when your pussy tightens around him, and one more slam on his cock gets you spiraling as you finally cum. 

Jungkook closes his eyes when he feels you gush around him, and he really wishes that he could lay you down, spread you out, and eat the slick right out of you just like how he likes it.

“That’s it, baby – fuck. Good girl, good girl.” 

A long, drawl-out moan slips past your lips, and Jungkook takes it upon himself to keep you bouncing on his cock when your energy dwindles down, rocking his hips upwards, just as eager to reach his high as well. 

You try to pick up your pace to help him, planting your palms on his bare chest to meet his thrusts. 

“Fuck baby, I’m cumming, I’m cumming,” Jungkook says in a hushed whisper, groaning, squeezing your ass tight that you know will leave marks the next day. 

“I know, baby – cum for me,” You lean down to capture his lips, whimpering when you feel yourself still coming down from your high.

“Ohh fuuck—” Jungkook moans, a tell-tale sign of his orgasm. “Fuck, I’m cumming—” 

It’s almost second nature the way he looks down on your crotch, hand going over to where you meet – and you almost panic when you realize what he’s about to do. 

“Jungkook, no,” you stop his hand, and he looks at you with utter confusion, rightfully so. Biting your lip, you stare into his eyes as you say, “I want you to come inside me.” 

You watch as his eyes widen, then, “You sure?” He says with furrowed brows.

You nod your head frantically. “Please come in me. I want your come in me. Please, please—” 

“Jesus fuck—” Jungkook’s hips stutter, his grip on yours tightening, gaze darkening as he processes your words. “Fuck. Okay, baby. No need to beg, okay? Fuck. I’ll come inside you.” 

You speed up your pace and you can feel yourself getting there for a second time, and maybe it’s the heat of the moment, but your next words fall from your lips without much thought: “Yeah, yeah –give it to me, Kook. Want your– ah– want your babies.” 

“Shit.” Jungkook hisses, taken aback by your words. “Fuuuck…” He looks up at you, grabs your waist and makes you lean closer. “You mean that?” 

You nod your head, jumping on his cock up and down like your life depends on it. “Want your babies. Want you to cum in me.” 

“Shiiitt,” Jungkook sighs, and you feel him getting harder by the second. “Gonna– gonna fuck a baby in you, baby. Fuck. You don’t know what you do to me– shit, I’m cumming.” 

You both moan in unison when Jungkook finally releases inside you the same time you do so, his cock hardening in your walls, throbbing when you settle down on his lap with him still buried inside you. When the seconds pass, you feel the exhaustion wrapping around you, and you let Jungkook trail kisses up your shoulders and neck at the post-coital momentum. 

“Fuck, that was so hot.” He whispers against your lips, kissing your parted mouth. You sigh against it, all sweaty and fucked out. 

“Oh, baby…” You moan when Jungkook lifts you up and you feel yourself dripping from your cum. 

“Fucking hell, so beautiful baby...” Jungkook trails off, squeezing your breasts before pushing you gently to lean back on the steering wheel. You look down as you watch with a gasp when he slides his cock out from your heat, covered in white and slick, moaning lewdly when he pumps it out for more. 

Some of it spurts on your pussy, and you stare in awe when Jungkook inserts the tip once again in your heat, your eyes rolling to the back of your head at the blurred lines between pleasure and overstimulation. 

“Goddammit.” Jungkook sighs, gratified, tapping his cock on your pussy a few times before he grabs your hips again so he can kiss you on the mouth. It almost gives you whiplash when he looks at you with such sincere and genuine eyes as he says, “I love you.” 

“Love you,” you say, closing your eyes when his kisses trail to your jaw and his hands come up to fondle your tits again. His favorite fixation – his words, not yours. “Kook.” 

“Hm.” 

“Sticky.” 

He hums again. You keep your position like that for a few more seconds before Jungkook helps put your panties and dress back in place, picking you up slightly as you climb over the passenger seat. 

You watch as he pulls his boxers and pants back up, buckling his belt around the waist. He hasn’t fixed the unbuttoned state of his shirt yet before he looks at you again with a smile.

“Come here, you,” He says, beckoning you to come closer with his arm around your seat. You grin, crossing the console again to meet the kiss he gives your mouth. Then, Jungkook breaks the contact, caressing your cheek as he speaks. “Babies, huh?” He brings up, eyes so bright; delighted, excited. He has that unshakeable grin. 

And you can’t help but mirror it. 

“Do you want to?” You ask instead. Nibbling on your bottom lip, you nervously wait for his answer that doesn’t really take that long. 

“Fuck, yeah. If you want to, then I want to,” he responds. Then, he adds, “And I really, really want to.”

“Okay…” you say, biting your lip to keep yourself from smiling too much. “But it doesn’t have to be now. Or I don’t know. I know it’s only been a year since we got married and all that—” 

“Baby, stop,” Jungkook says before you can finish your thought. “Doesn’t matter if we were one month into the marriage. As long as you’re ready, then I’m ready. Are you ready?”

A few beats. 

It was your horny-adled brain that got you in this position in the first place – but you think about how life with Jungkook would be like with kids added in the equation in the near future.

It would be so far from bad. 

The past year had been nothing short of bliss since you married him, and as you watched Jungkook, a thought warmed your heart: he’d be an incredible dad. The way he loves you, so deeply and selflessly, leaves no doubt in your mind that he’d go above and beyond for your child—or children. You’re certain he’d love them as much as he loves you, perhaps even more.

A smile spreads across your face, and you nod to his question.

“I want a family with you, Kook.”

Jungkook’s face lights up with a delighted smile, mirroring yours. “So, we’re doing this?”

You nod again, biting your lip to temper your excitement.

“Thank you,” he says softly.

You blink at him in surprise. “Why are you thanking me?”

He shakes his head with a gentle smile and leans in to kiss you again. “Just… thank you.”

You furrow your brows, squinting at him in playful confusion. Before you can say more, he leans forward and nips the tip of your nose.

“Ow!” you exclaim, laughing.

“You’re cute,” Jungkook teases. “But we’ve gotta clean up and head home. Then, we can keep practicing putting my baby in you—on a nice, comfortable bed this time.” He winks, pecking your cheek as he buttons his shirt and unbuckles his seatbelt.

You snort, rolling your eyes as you do the same. “Admit it, you like car sex.”

Jungkook hums nonchalantly, his cheeky grin giving him away. You chuckle, shaking your head at him, love radiating in every moment between you.

[miniwheat77]

Co-Star. (Ghost x Reader.)

!NSFW, Smut, cheating, unprotected p in v sex, oral sex (f receiving), sex coaching, proceed with caution, NO MINORS!

Merry early Christmas, please enjoy this pure filth! Love you guys <3

Unedited*

You smile sympathetically as you push his hips back. “I’m sorry Johnny, it’s not you.” You mumble. “I can keep going, doesn’t matter if I’ve… finished.” He mumbles. “No, it’s okay. I’m too sensitive.” You laugh. “You want me to try anything else?”

“No- no it’s okay.”

That’s usually how it went when the two of you were intimate. It didn’t matter how long Johnny lasted or what he changed, it never seemed to be enough. No matter what he did. He was frustrated with himself for not being able to get you there.

When he arrived home, he saw Ghost sitting on their shared couch. He was watching a show. Johnny knew about his reputation with women. He sighs.

“Something the matter Johnny?”

“No. Well… yeah.” He mumbles. He walks into the room completely and sits down. Ghost pauses the show. “What’s going on?”

“It’s awkward.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… every time Y/N and I-“ he pauses. “Are intimate, I can’t satisfy her.”

“What do you mean?”

“Literally nothing I do will get her there.”

Ghost goes quiet for a second, crossing his leg over the other. “You rub her clit when you fuck her?” He asks, tipping his beer bottle back and taking a swig. “Christ… uh. Yeah. Yeah I’ve tried everything.”

“I mean I can go down the line but it’s not hands on so it won’t stick.” He shrugs.

An idea suddenly comes to Johnny’s mind. “If I ask her and she’s into it… you think you can show me?”

Ghost immediately feels the pit forming in his lower stomach, arousal.

“You mean you want me to fuck her?”

“To show me how to.. make her cum. Yeah I guess so.”

“Nothing weird though, right?” Ghost narrows his eyes. Johnny looks at him. Ghost stands up, stretching. “Obviously. I guess I’ll talk to her. Thank you Ghost.”

“Course Johnny.”

Ghost has to go take a shower and relieve himself. The thought of being inside you after being teased by you multiple times a week is overwhelming him.

A couple days later when Johnny is at your house again, he’s unsure how to bring it up to you. He wants his step brother to fuck you so that he can take notes and then MAYBE he’ll be able to make you cum? It sounds crazy to him even, how he’s supposed to get you to agree is beyond him.

“Johnny, you okay?” You pause the movie. He’s been acting weird all night.

“Uh.. yeah.” He mumbles. “You sure? You’ve been acting funny all night.” You sigh. You sit up on the couch, you’d been laying with your legs draped across him. “I.. I was talking to Ghost about… how I can’t satisfy you.” Your eyes widen. “Johnny!”

“I know I know. It’s not your thing to tell others about our sex life but I just want to be able to make you cum.” He laughs. “But I have a really weird request.” You look at him awkward. “He agreed to help me. Because obviously I’m not going to learn just by what he says.” You furrow your brows. “What do you mean?” You ask.

He chews on his lip nervously. “I mean.. if you’re okay with it. He’s going to show me how to please you. Hands on.”

“What do you mean Johnny? How is he supposed to show you anything hands on without touching m-“ you cut yourself off, eyes going wide. “Woah! Woah. No way. No fucking way Johnny.” You stand up. “Look.. I know it’s a lot to ask. I know.”

“Of course it’s a lot to ask, you’re asking me to have sex with another guy! Your step brother of all people. Christ Johnny.” You sigh. “Look. It’s just once. Just once so that I’ll be able to make you cum every time we have sex. Just once Y/N.” You close your eyes. “One time for the rest of our lives together.” He smiles. “I’ll think about it Johnny.” You mumble. “Okay. Awesome.” He smiles.

So you do. For a few days you think about what he wants you to do.

Have sex with someone else.

Sleeping with Ghost was definitely not on your mind. You liked him of course, you got along well and shared a few of the same hobbies with him. But you were okay just being his sister-in-law someday.

Having sex with Johnny once was enough to convince you. It was so bad and you had no idea why.

So the very next morning you approached him about it.

———

“Are you sure about this?” You ask him. He’s just pulled into the driveway of his shared house with Ghost. He laughs, clearly seeing how nervous you’ve gotten. “Are YOU sure about this?” He smiles. You sigh.

“I guess so.” You mumble. You follow Johnny into the house and see Ghost sitting on the couch. He finishes off his beer and stands up, turning the TV off.

You cross your arms with a sigh as the three of you stand there staring at each other. “This is as awkward as it’s going to get, let’s get this over with.” You turn your back and head into Johnny’s room.

You start tugging your clothes off. Jacket and shoes coming first, Johnny and Ghost watch until you’re in your bra and jeans. “Alright. You two get started I’ll be back in like… 10 minutes to see what you’re doing wrong.” Ghost mumbles, heading into his bedroom just down the hall. The wall is shared and he rests up against it like he has before, listening to you. You sound so pretty.

But you don’t sound nearly as good as you could. He wants to hear you when you cum.

He listens for a while. He finally has enough, going in. Knocking at the door before he just walks right in. “Anything feel different?” He asks. You chew at your lip, shaking your head. Johnny sighs.

“Alright. I didn’t even need to see it to know you’re really bad at this, Johnny.” He snorts. Johnny rolls his eyes. “Move away, I’ll show you.” Johnny stands up, sliding himself back into his jeans. Ghost moves toward you, your nerves are completely shot as he throws the blanket off of you, revealing you to him completely. You’re nervous. He’s very blunt in his movements.

He wipes his lips with his sleeve, trying to distract himself from you. He grasps two pillows, sliding one under your head. “Raise your hips up.” He nods, helping raise your hips as he slides it under you. “It’ll help raise her pelvis so that you can go deeper.” He glances at Johnny. He nods his head. “Got it.. just. Do your thing.” He mumbles.

Ghost reaches for his waistband. You swallow hard, making eye contact with Johnny. You’re clearly very nervous. “S’alright, no need to be nervous. Just try to relax.” Ghost has exposed himself to you. He’s moved himself between your legs. “When people say that bullshit on TV about foreplay it’s true. It’s easier to cum the more turned on you are.” He mumbles, sliding into you. Your eyes widen, clutching at the sheets. He fills you up to the hilt, cock deeper than you’ve ever felt. “Does it feel better?” He asks. You swallow hard, nodding your head. “Y-yeah.” You breathe.

“Alright. Sometimes you have to adjust the way you’re angled-“ he moves a little bit and thrusts a couple of times, trying to get a feel for you. He lowers himself slightly, adjusting just right and thrusting. When he hears you gasp, feeling you tighten around him. “To find that spot.” He takes a deep breath. “Once you find it, don’t move or adjust and keep hitting it.” Ghost is thrusting, not too fast and not too slow. “O-oh god.” You breathe. Feeling yourself tighten around him. He clears his throat, turning to look at Johnny. He’s watching you intensely. Seeing that you’re obviously on the edge, as you’ve never looked like this before. “When she’s close, don’t move and don’t pick up the speed. If you do, you’ll lose your rhythm and overstimulate her without getting her there. I assume that’s what happens regularly.” He breathes. He reaches down between you, thumb pressing into your clit. “Not too hard now..” he breathes. Gentle touches and gentle circles.

Tears gather in your eyes, you’re right there. “Oh fuck!” You hiccup. “Go ahead, cum for me.”

Johnny’s cock is hard, the way you’re reacting is something he hadn’t ever seen before. Your eyes roll back, screwing shut as you reach your peak around Ghost. He thrusts a couple more times to ride your high out completely before pulling out of you.

He stands up. He wants nothing more than to kiss you. To help you come down from your high. But it’s not his place and he knows it. “You get the idea Johnny. Just.. take your time with her.” Ghost needs to hurry, he’s about to lose that high. He excuses himself quickly, hopping right into the shower. He realizes that he’d forgotten a condom completely. He’d just fucked you raw right in front of Johnny and nobody stopped him.

“You alright?” Johnny asks. “Uh.. yeah. Yeah. It’s getting a little late though. I have work tomorrow.” You mumble. You stand up but your legs buckle. Johnny laughs. “He uh.. really knows his stuff huh?” He jokes. You smile nervously. “Yeah, yeah he does.” You mumble. You say goodbye to Johnny, leaving to your apartment.

The way you feel isn’t good. You’re not sure what these feelings are.

———

A few nights later, Johnny comes in. He’s clearly frustrated. “Everything alright Johnny?” Ghost asks. “No, I still can’t make her cum. I do everything you showed me and it just doesn’t work.” He groans, sitting down. “You know what… I’m gonna go out for a drink. You wanna come?” He asks. “No, I’m good. Got drills early tomorrow.” He laughs. “Loosen up Johnny, you’ll learn.” He mumbles. Johnny leaves and right as Ghost is changing, he hears a knock at the door. “Damnit, forgot his fucking keys that fast?” He mumbles under his breath, opening up the door. “Uh.. sorry to bother you.” You mumble. “Y/N? You know you don’t have to knock right?” He asks. “Oh yeah- yeah I know.” You shake your head. “Is Johnny here?” You ask. “Nah he just left, come in.” He moves to the side. He’s shirtless. “He said things didn’t go well.”

You shrug. “He just- acts like he’s in a hurry.” You breathe. “Tonight he just.. got mad and left right in the middle. Said.. it shouldn’t take me that long.” You laugh, cheeks red. He rolls his eyes. “He’ll get it one day.” He mumbles.

Ghost knows that what he’s thinking about is wrong. Pushing you down and spearing you on his cock until you’re sobbing. He hates that he can’t have you.

“Do.. do you think that-“ you pause. “I know it’s wrong but, can you help me?” You look up at him. His blood about freezes at that question, words he never imagined out of your mouth in a million years. “Y/N…” he mumbles. “Johnny would be pissed if he found out.”

You laugh, looking down. “Yeah- yeah you’re right. I know.”

“I just can’t shake the way you made me feel. I’ve never ever felt like that before.” You breathe. “Thanks anyways- sorry for bothering you.” You mumble, turning to walk out the door. He sighs. Reaching out for your wrist. “Wait.” He breathes. “Just once, and we keep it between us alright?” You nod your head. Before you realize the severity of what you’re doing, he’s pulling you into his bedroom.

He’s got a pillow under your hips in just a few seconds and your heart races in your chest. The excitement you feel to cum like this again is near pathetic. “Try to keep up with me, I’m gonna be rough.” He mumbles. You nod your head. He slides into you and gives you a few seconds to adjust. You’re full once again, relishing in the way he feels inside of you. He feels so much different from Johnny, just the slightest bit difference and you’re falling over that edge.

He pins your hips to the bed, starting his bruising thrusts into you. He’d usually warm you up with foreplay but he knows with Johnny out for a while, he doesn’t have that kind of time.

You whine out, hands clutching his bedsheets. He can’t believe this.

He’s inside of you again. And not for another fucking lesson, just because.

Just because you want him.

“Oh fuck!” You gasp. Your moans draw him back down to earth. “Fuck- you’re so fucking tight.” He hisses. Butterflies overload your stomach, you’re already close to your high. He hadn’t even touched your clit and you’re already there. “Simon-“ you mewl his actual name. He didn’t even know that you had known it. It’s unexpected and something he didn’t think he’d ever hear out of you. You cum around him and he doesn’t expect it, the tightening of you around him sends him flying into his own orgasm. Gasping out as he reaches it. He lets out a string of curses and moans as he cums, body tense and shaking. It’s by far the hardest he’s ever cum. “Fuck- fuck. I came inside.” He breathes. He draws back from you. “Shit..” you mumble. “It’s- it’s okay I’ll pick something up for it.” You pant. He nods. “You okay?” He asks. Now, he can comfort you. He can’t kiss you, he knows it. But he can comfort you.

He lets you calm down in his bed until you’re ready to leave, but when you get out to your car, the dread sets in.

The fact that you had just cheated on Johnny with his step brother.

You drive home in shambles.

When Johnny comes home, it’s late. But Ghost hasn’t slept. He can’t.

“Thought you said you had drills?” Johnny asks. “Yeah, can’t fucking sleep.” He mumbles. Breathing out. “I did something stupid.” He breathes. “What? What happened?”

“I fucked another girl.” Simon’s eyes widen. “Johnny.. seriously?”

“Yeah.. I don’t know how I’m gonna tell Y/N.”

Ghost shakes his head. “That’s the end of it yknow?” Johnny swallows hard. “What?”

“Doesn’t seem like the kind of girl to put up with it, that’s the end of your relationship.”

Ghost picks a water up out of the fridge. “That sucks, rather liked Y/N, she’s a good girl.” He sighs. Walking back into his room. Johnny takes a deep breath. He hasn’t thought this through. The end, he hadn’t thought about it.

The next day, when Ghost comes home from work, Johnny isn’t home.

He’s not usually but this time, he wonders what’s going on. If the two of you will come clean or try to work things out. If Johnny will come right home and sock him right in the face, Ghost wouldn’t blame him. He kind’ve deserves it actually.

He hears him pull into the driveway, and he walks in with a box of his stuff. “So.. it didn’t go well?” Ghost mumbles. “Nah- it went alright.” He mumbles. “It did?” He nods. “Yeah. She came clean about something though.” Ghosts hair raises, he just knows he’s gonna have to fight Johnny off.

“She said that after that day- when you fucked her to show me how to make her cum, she caught feelings for you. Told me she forgives me but it wouldn’t have worked out anyways.”

“Wait- what?” Ghost mumbles.

“Yeah. So I gave her your number.” He laughs. “Would you even be okay with that?” Ghost is taken completely off guard. “I like Y/N, don’t get me wrong. I thought I’d be more broken up about it. But the intimacy just wasn’t there. She felt more like.. a sister than a girlfriend. I’m glad it’s going this way. Besides, I’ve seen the way you look at her. I know you like her.” Ghost takes a deep breath. His phone buzzes in his pocket.

‘Hey. Want to meet?’

Ghost doesn’t even need to ask to know who it is.

“Go get her, Riley.” Johnny laughs. “There’s no way you’re okay with this-“

“Ghost. Stop being stubborn. I’ve got a fox waiting for me at the bar, just go.” He laughs. He disappears into his room. Ghost swallows hard, typing back quickly on his phone.

‘On my way.’

He can’t believe this is happening.

He drives way too fast to get to your apartment. Knowing right where to go. He pulls into the parking lot and parks. Throwing the door open and slamming it shut.

He hurries up to your door, knocking a couple times. You open it pretty quick, you’d obviously been waiting. He leans on the frame, smiling.

“Caught feelings, hm?”

You roll your eyes. “So you’ve talked to Johnny, I see.”

He smirks. Stepping into your apartment and closing the door behind him. Locking it. “Yeah, yeah I did. You tell him about last night?” He asks. “I actually left that part out, so keep your mouth shut or else, Riley.” You mumble. “Ah- he’s busy with that girl from the bar. He doesn’t care.”

“Good.” You smirk.

He pushes you backward, lips finally meeting yours. He’s waited forever to feel your lips on his.

“How about I show you how I really do this, hm?” He smiles. He lifts you up by your thighs, walking into your bedroom with you. He lays you down on your bed, helping you get undressed. He takes his time with you. The drastic difference between him and Johnny is confusing.

He kisses you passionately, toying with your clit as he does. He’s working you up.

He kisses down your chest, he’s got you undressed and at his complete mercy. He moves down your body, worshipping you. When you feel his tongue on you, you go tense. Breathing out a jagged breath. “Deep breaths. Relax.” He breathes. You nod your head. He rests his hands on your thighs and you clutch them, moaning out as he starts again. Tonguing your clit. You pant out his name, trying to be as quiet as you can. “Oh fuck Simon-“ you shake. You clench your thighs together slightly, trying not to squish him. He laps at your clit with his tongue. Working you close to an orgasm. He squeezes your thighs with his arms.

His dick is hard and he ruts into the bed. Hearing you moan his name is nearly too much. He knows you’re his now, that he can fuck you and make you cum whenever he wants. He doesn’t have to worry about anyone finding out, or coming home. It’s just you and him together.

You let out a mewl when you cum, something so pretty. He can’t shake the way you make him feel.

He moves up the bed, not giving you much time to come down from your orgasm before he’s sliding into you. You gasp, but he kisses you to muffle it. He works his hips into yours. Grasping your thighs and lifting your hips as he fucks you. Screwing his hips into yours, his bruising pace is brutal. You can barely catch your breath. You clutch his wrist, feeling his muscles clench under your grasp. “Fuck! How are you so good at this?” You cry. He smirks. “Just a natural sweetheart. Focus on cumming for me.” He laughs, it’s taunting.

He slows down, taking in a sharp breath. “Let’s do it my favorite way hm? Can’t let you have all of the fun.” He moves you, forcing you up onto your hands and knees, moving himself behind you. He rests his hand on the middle of your back, pushing down. You arch your back, laying your head into the pillow. Ass up for him. He lines up with you, sliding into you. He lets you adjust, he’s deeper than usual and he doesn’t want to hurt you. It doesn’t take long.

He finds that spot, finding that pace. He’s got you crying into your pillow in just a few minutes. His hands grip your hips hard, sure to leave bruises there. You can’t wait to wake up and see them in the morning. He grasps a handful of your hair and forces you up, hearing you gasp. “How about you be a good girl and cum on my cock, hm?” You shiver at his tone. It’s unexpected. You whine out. He lifts you up until your back is flush with his chest. “Need some help darling?” He laughs. He makes you feel pathetic. He glides his hand down your stomach, moving lower. You whimper at the thought of him touching your clit.

It’ll send you right over the edge.

He brushes his fingertip over it, hearing you mewl. “Please- keep touching it.” You cry. “Ask nice baby.” He grits his teeth. “Please Simon- please keep touching my clit.” You’re nearly sobbing as you ask. He puts more pressure on it, circling it. You cry out his name again. He can feel you clamping down around him. About to cum again. “That’s it… atta girl Y/N. Cum now pretty girl.”

You fall forward but he doesn’t stop, finger still circling your clit and keeping his pace as he finishes you off. Tears escape your eyes this time, and you’d thought he’d made you feel good before, but this time was different. Your eyes widen when you feel him cum, feeling it this time. He cums deep.

You gasp as he takes one last thrust, feeling the warmth fill you.

You’re panting, eyes screwed shut. Your cheeks are flushed and wet from tears.

He laughs at you. How you’re exhausted and completely fucked out.

“Fuck you’re good at that.” You laugh. Sitting up. He turns your head, kissing you deeply. “I hope you know this means you’re mine.” He breathes. “Thank god, I can’t go through this again.” You laugh.

“Were you crying? I didn’t hurt you did I?”

“No- no not at all. You just overwhelmed me that’s all.” You laugh. “Scared me for a second, thought I was too rough.” He snorts. “Not at all.” You breathe. “Let’s get cleaned up. I’ll buy you dinner.” He helps you off of the bed, your knees buckle before you can take a step but he’s quick to catch you.

“Jesus.” He laughs. “Maybe I am really good at this.” He smirks. You roll your eyes. “Very humble of you.”

“Shut up before I make you cry again.” He pushes you forward to your bathroom.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

[spencereidluver]

M is for Merry Christmas

december 22, 2008

summary: It is the annual Christmas party hosted by Penelope at the BAU, you get a little too drunk- and in turn- a little too handsy with your shy boyfriend. He decides it's time to take you home, where he takes care of you as you sober up and deal with your hangover.

word count: 3.3k

warnings: drunk!reader, mentions of vomit and a somewhat descriptive scene of reader doing so, somewhat caregiver!spencer but not really (reader is hungover and he is just very sweet and caring) there is also sort of a brief one sided angst where reader thinks spencer is upset with them

“Watch where you’re flinging them arms sweetheart, I’ve got papers on my desk,” Derek laughs as you very ungracefully kneel to the floor next to his desk chair. Spencer was sat in Derek’s chair, calmly taking in the atmosphere. 

“Well maybe if you did your paperwork faster you wouldn’t have to worry,” you teased, earning a laugh from your team which filled the bullpen of the BAU. 

It was the annual Christmas Party at the BAU headquarters, a tradition that started when Penelope joined the team. The team didn’t often take cases over Christmas, unless they were urgent, and this year was one of those when you had the holiday off. Penelope stocked the party with plenty of goodies, and you’ll be the first to admit, maybe you got a little too carried away with the alcohol that she had provided. But in your defense, you rarely drank. This job didn’t allow for it often. And now that you had the chance, why not take it? 

You were playing with the hem of Spencer’s charcoal gray slacks, the slacks that came up just a little too high on his lanky figure. It wasn’t too obvious when he was standing, but now that he was lounged in a chair, it was blatantly obvious his pants were a good three or four inches too short. 

Emily approaches you, handing you a glass. “Another drink, Y/N?” She asks. You take the drink. 

“Are you purposely trying to get her drunk?” Spencer questions. He reaches down to entangle his fingers in your hair. 

“Babe, ‘m not drunk!” You protest. You’re lying. 

Your words linger around Spencer’s head. Babe. You’d called him pet names before, but never so casual-like, and never had you in front of your coworkers. 

You hide your giggle into Spencer’s leg. Nothing funny happened, but you felt like laughing. You knew you were drunk. But you were having fun. You took a sip from the glass Emily had just given you.

“Y/N, you’re laughing at nothing! You can’t tell me you’re not drunk,” Spencer chuckles at you. He finds humor in your attempts to convince him and a group of profilers you weren’t wasted.

“Hey hey hey, Pretty Boy, she’s having fun, don’t rain on her parade,” Derek says.

“Yeah, Prett’boy, don’t rain on my p’rade,” you say, mocking Derek and Spencer simultaneously. You take another sip from your cup before reaching your arm up and offering it to Spencer. “Drink?”

“No, thanks,” he says, shaking his head. You shrug before chugging the rest of the cup. 

Penelope Emergers from her office, carrying a tray down the stairs. “Guess Whatttt?” She says in a sing-song voice. She rounds the corner and extends the tray out for the team to have access. “I brought shottts!”

You practically jump from your position on the floor, leaving Spencer in Derek’s chair and rushing to Penelope, well, more like the tray of drinks she was holding. 

You, Emily, and Derek surround the shot tray while Hotch and Rossi were sat observing and eating crackers from two other desks in the bullpen. With three taps of his glass on the tray, you Emily and Derek have a mouthful of vodka. There are three remaining glasses of clear liquid remaining. 

Derek takes a step away to open the view of the tray up. “Hey, do any of you guys want these?” He shouts. He was on the verge of being drunk, starting to lose control of the volume of his voice. 

“No, I’m not a big vodka drinker,” Spencer says, swiveling gently left and right in Derek’s chair. He’s not drunk, but he may be having the most fun of anyone while he’s playing in the rolly chair. 

Hotch and Rossi share a glance at each other, before Hotch speaks up. “No, you three go ahead, you seem to be enjoying yourself.”

Derek closes in the gap he’d opened, grabbing another shot glass. You and Emily follow his lead, waiting for his three taps. Your mouth burns as the liquor fills it, you’re quick to swallow before taking a sip of water as a chaser. You smack your lips, giving a three-way high-five to Emily and Derek. 

“Those are my girls,” Derek says as he pulls you and Emily into a group ‘bro hug.’

You leave the tupperware party that had formed around Penelope, walking toward Spencer, who was still spinning in the chair. 

“Hey,” you say as you approach him. You grab onto his tie, leaning forward and resting your free hand on his thigh to be face-level with him.

“H-hi, Y/n,” he chokes out, the position you’re in having made him a bit flustered. You lean in to kiss him, but your drunkenness causes you to stumble and miss his lips, leaving a big sloppy kiss on his chin. You let yourself fall into Spencer’s lap, situating yourself on his upper thigh and letting your legs fall over his lap. He wraps one arm around your waist, the other drapes over your shins and his hand holds your calf. He shoots you a worried look. “How much have you drank?”

You giggle, letting one of your hands reach around his back to fluff his hair. “Not that much,” you lie to him. 

“Y/n.” His voice is slightly stern. You begin to fiddle with the buttons on his shirt with your free hand.

“‘m fine, baby, I promise,” you say, leaning into his shoulder. He jumps slightly as the word ‘baby’ falls past your lips. He can’t help but let the smile he’s forming peek through a tiny bit. Still playing with the buttons, you manage to pop the top two open with just your fingers. You let your fingers slip beneath the fabric of his shirt and begin to trace little shapes on his bare chest. He shivers into your touch, but tries his best to hide it. 

His grip tightens a bit on your waist, fingers digging into your ribs slightly, causing you to squirm against his lap. 

“I’ve got one more round of shots for three of my favorite agents!” Penelope says as she returns from her cave once again. You look to Spencer, almost as if asking permission, before standing up and stumbling to Penelope. She was only a few feet away, but your footing was sloppy. 

You, Derek, and Emily grab the shot glasses, doing a “cheers” before pouring the liquid down your throats. Emily brings hers down with a “wooo!” sound. You and Emily sip down your chasers afterwards, but Derek has drank all his. His cup was empty.

“Hey sweetheart,” Derek says, raising his eyebrows at you, “Go grab that waterbottle off my desk, would’ya?” 

You nod at him as you once again stumble over to his desk. This time, you make your way behind the chair Spencer’s sat in, grabbing the plastic waterbottle from the corner of the desk. “Catch,” you say, throwing the bottle directly into Derek’s hand.

“Damn, girl, the NFL should’ve drafted you, not the FBI,” Emily jokes.

You turn around, leaning over the back of Derek’s chair to rest your hands on the shoulders of Spencer. You’re starting to really feel the alcohol now, your head was swirling. Spencer reaches his hand up and grabs yours, running his thumb over the back of it. You let your other hand fall downwards, grazing over his few inches of bare chest that was still exposed from the open buttons. He gently squeezed your hand. You lean down, burying your face in the crook of his neck, planting soft kisses, and letting your hands chase further down his clothed torso.

Spencer clears his throat. “Alright,” he says, standing up and sliding the chair out of the way. “It’s time I get this one home.” He grabs the small of your waist, hoisting you up and throwing you over his shoulder without so much as a grunt. Gasps were heard around the room.

“Reid, you’ve been holding out on us. If I’d have known you could lift people like that so easily I’d be sending you on tacticals instead of Morgan.” Hotch said, half joking, but still with the serious undertone he always has with his jokes. 

“Damn,” Derek gasps. “Look at those muscles.”

“Oh be serious, it’s just Y/n. She’s statistically much smaller than the average unsub.” Spencer states as he adjusts you on his shoulder. You’re face down to the ground, the blood rushing to your head. 

“Yeah, be honest guys, Spencer would get his ass kicked by a majority of those guys,” you jokingly say. 

“Not if I have my gun,” Spencer defends himself, beginning to carry you toward the door.

“Bye, Y/N!” Emily shouts, giving you a big wave that you can’t see. “I love you!”

“Don’t be too tough on her now, big guy,” Derek laughs, poking fun at him. 

“Oh shut up!” Spencer says.

“Don’t let him take me!” You beg as you watch Spencer get closer to the door step by step. “He’s ruining all the fun!”

“Bring her back!” Penelope shouts from the top of the stairs. 

“She’s had her fun, it’s way past our bedtime,” Reid says, turning around to face the team. He lifts one hand to wave goodbye, the other still holding you on his shoulder. “She’ll regret this when she’s throwing up all day tomorrow. Have a Merry Christmas, guys.” He turns and exits the building all while the team bids their farewells.

Spencer carries you the entire way from the BAU office to your car in the parking lot. You’re still slung over his shoulder as he opens the passenger door. He leans into the car and gently lets you fall into the seat. He tucks the loose strands of hair falling in your face behind your ear, then places a delicate kiss on your forehead. He buckles your seatbelt as he ducks out of the car, stopping in his tracks when he locks eyes with you. 

Your eyes have glossed over, having had the time for the alcohol in your system to have begun filtering through, a terrible hangover was building. 

“Are you alright?” He asks, leaning back into the car. You nod in response, resting against the headrest of the passenger seat. “Are you sure? You had a lot of alcohol, Y/N.”

“‘m okay,” you say, reaching a hand out to grab ahold of his forearm that was stabilizing him above the car seat. “Just got a headache.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. Let’s get you home and into bed, m’kay?” He’s gentle with you. Soft. Caring. He runs his thumb over your cheek once before closing the passenger door, making sure not to slam it as he’s sure a headache has begun to form. He was right. 

Spencer jogs quickly around the front of the car, climbing in the driver's seat and turning the key. He turns the volume on the radio down, another thing that could trigger your headache. “I’m gonna take you to my apartment, okay?” He says, placing his hand on the back of the passenger seat and looking over it to reverse out of the BAU parking lot. 

‘Does he know how attractive that is?’ You ask yourself.  

After reversing, he drops his hand down to your mid thigh and gives it a slight squeeze. You begin to doze off, the effects of the alcohol taking its toll much faster than expected.

...

You wake up in Spencer’s bed. He’s asleep beside you, arm wrapped around your waist holding you close. You’re unsure of the time. Come to think of it, you don’t even remember getting into Spencer’s bed. He must’ve carried you. 

Spencer’s apartment is hot, which is strange because he always kept the thermostat at 68, and you could hear the air conditioner running. You gently lift Spencer’s arm from you and place it down next to him, the need to escape from the heat of the blankets outweighing the comfort of his embrace. Saliva begins to coat your throat, the kind that swallowing won’t help. Oh. Oh.

You are going to puke. 

You hurriedly sit up on the bed, not giving yourself enough time for your body to stretch before jumping down and rushing into Spencer’s bathroom. You kneel in front of the toilet just in time before the contents of your stomach have become the contents of the toilet bowl. Tears well in your eyes as you struggle to catch your breath between bouts of vomiting. You’re trying not to gag, trying to be quiet, just wishing it would be over. The sound of your sickness echoes through the wall shared by the bathroom and Spencer’s bedroom, waking him from his sleep-addled mind. Spencer jumps to his feet as if his life depended on it, hurrying to the closed door to the bathroom.

“Y/n?” He called softly while pushing the door open. You’re sat on your knees in front of the toilet, pale and trembling. Once he sees you, there’s no hesitation before Spencer is knelt beside you, gathering your hair in one hand and gently scratching comforting patterns on your back with the other. Another wave of vomit hits you, leaving tears streaming down your face as you recover. 

Spencer shushes you softly, still scratching your back. “It’s okay baby, I’m right here,” he whispers at you as he wipes tears from your eyes. “You’re going to be okay, baby. Do you want me to get you some water?”

You can barely muster a nod in response, feeling a bit neglected when he gets up to go retrieve it for you. Yes, you did want water, but you also wanted Spencer. 

As soon as he leaves the bathroom, you’re hit by another round of vomiting, this time left to deal with on your own. Spencer hears you from the kitchen, causing him to rush. “I’ll be right there, Y/n,” you hear him yell from across the apartment as the bile spills past your mouth, some trickling down onto your shirt. Damn it, this was kind of a nice work shirt, and now it has hangover puke all down the front of it.

Spencer returns to the bathroom, glass of water in hand. He sees you frantically trying to pat away the vomit on your shirt with a few squares of toilet paper. He sits the glass on the edge of the counter, rushing to your aid. “Hey, let's just take this off,” he says, helping you to pull your shirt over your head. Only being left in your bra, the air is cool as it hits your bare back. It feels good. 

Spencer grabs the glass of water off the counter, handing it to you. “Here,” he says, “rinse your mouth out real quick.” You do as he says, swishing the room temperature water around in your mouth and spitting it into the toilet. Spencer fills the bathroom sink about half way full with water, then places your soiled shirt in the basin to soak. After, he returns to you, taking the glass of water from your hand and situating himself back on the floor behind you. 

You lean back against him, your back to his bare chest. You sigh, grateful beyond words for his presence, for the warmth of his touch amidst the cold grip of illness. His steady mind anchored you in the midst of discomfort. You remain there together on the floor of the small apartment bathroom for what felt like an eternity. Spencer offered you quiet words of reassurance and helped you to drink water while you struggled to regain composure. Eventually, the violent spasms of sickness subsided, leaving you exhausted and shaky in Spencer’s arms.

“Can we go back to bed?” You whisper, your voice hoarse and raw from vomiting. 

“Of course, baby, let's brush your teeth though. Vomiting exposes your teeth to the stomach’s highly erosive acids which eat away at the enamel at lightning speeds.” Spencer rambles. You groan in response, not having the energy to hold your arm up for that long. “I can help you, Sweetheart, you just got to stand up for me, ‘mkay?” You nod, struggling to your feet. Spencer picks you up bridal style, carrying you the few steps to the sink and sitting you on the counter facing him. He removes your soaked shirt from the sink and hangs it over the edge of the bathtub to drip dry. 

Spencer situates himself between your legs, takes your toothbrush from the cup and wets it, applying a swipe of toothpaste to the bristles. You part your lips as Spencer brings the toothbrush to your mouth. 

His brushing was gentle and slow, yet thorough. You rest your head against his shoulder as he does so, too weak to hold your own head up for long periods of time. He uses his left hand to cup your cheek so as to keep your head still as the toothbrush makes friction against your teeth. 

“You’re doing great, Y/n,” he says as he moves the toothbrush away from your mouth. “Need to spit?” He directs your head over the sink by your cheek, allowing you to spit the toothpaste into it. He rinses your toothbrush off and returns it to the cup, then hands you the glass of water. You drink the rest of it. 

Spencer plants a heavy kiss on your lips, your cool minty breath causing him to shiver. “Ready to go back to bed?” He asks, locking his arms around your waist and pulling you up to his chest. You nod into his shoulder and wrap your legs around his hips and arms around his neck as he carries you back into his bedroom.

He carefully lies you on the mattress, pulling the covers snug around your cold, bare torso. He joins you on the other side of the bed, climbing under the covers himself and snuggling up against you. 

“I’m sorry,” you murmur weakly as your hands explore his unclothed back. 

“Don’t be,” he replied, brushing a stray strand of hair from your forehead. “I’m glad I could be here for you. It’s my job to take care of you.”

“I shouldn’t have drank that much in the first place,” you say. “I’m sorry you had to see me like that.”

“No. You had fun, and you were in a safe environment. There’s nothing wrong with enjoying a night drinking every now and again. And each time you do, I’ll be here to take care of you afterwards.” 

“Thank you, Spence. And I’m sorry if I embarrassed you.” You’re thinking back to him in Derek’s chair, and how you were being a little too comfortable with him. You knew Spencer was shy about showing off your relationship, not because he wanted to hide you, he was proud of you. He was just new at this, he was still learning how to love you publicly. 

“No, Y/n. Don’t be sorry. It kind of made me realize I want to be able to show love for you in public too. Y/n, I love you so much. I could never be embarrassed to be loved by you.”

“I love you, Spencer. I love you so much.”

“I love you. Now, get some rest, honey. Hopefully you feel better in the morning.”

You smile into his chest, your heart swelling with love and gratitude for this man who held your hair back when you were at your worst. You could spend eternity here. In this raw, vulnerable state that made you feel at home between Spencer Reid’s arms.

_____

next chapter: N is for New Years

other parts: Spencer Reid A-Z Masterlist

view the masterlist in a calendar version! 

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a/n: i wrote this fic way faster than i thought i was going to (three days) however i am pretty confident in it. i'm really enjoying being back! i'm really hoping i am able to stay on this writing kick for a while, i'm always the happiest when i'm writing. i'm hoping to get the next part out within the next week, so stay tuned for that!

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[lazyjellyfish300]

merriment shrine 🎄⛩️

synopsis: you're the newest concubine in Lord Sukuna's household and the object of his unrelenting ruminations (or is it desire?). When Uraume tasks you with being in charge of the Christmas festivities while Sukuna is away, you can only hope you'll deliver. What could go wrong? 🎄 largely inspired by this fic by @/sttoru 💕 words: 7.5k

cw: minors dni, x FEM!READER(Yuri), concubines, smut(p in v, double penetration(not too detailed), monster sex? I guess bc true form!Sukuna sex is not normal sex, oral f and m receiving, titty fucking, degradation, creampie(not too detailed), cum eating), violence, blood, Sukuna is a warning on his own, true form!Sukuna, SUKUNA HAS BEEF WITH BABY JESUS. MOCKING OF RELIGION/BLASPHEMY (PLS DONT READ IF THAT BOTHERS YOU. IT'S SUKUNA FFS) decapitation, bullying, heian era but it's all over the place historically and NOT accurate. angst, fluff, crack

a/n: For the secret Santa fic exchange event by @nanamiscocksleeve written for @heian-era-housewife ! I deeply apologize for the late entry! I was very intimidated writing for him for the first time but I hope you like it. 😩🎅🏽🎄💕 Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!✨

my holiday smut masterlist 🎄

dividers by @/saradika-graphics. pics from pinterest

You mused peacefully as you took in the gentle dance of snowflakes outside your chamber windows, thinking if you squinted hard enough you could make out the intricate shape of each one before they landed silently on the thin dusty layer of those that fell before on the undisturbed gardens.

You hugged your kimono a little tighter around you as you sipped your tea you had laced with some ginger and cinnamon, much to the confusion of the cooks in the kitchen. The distant glare of the fireplace bestowed a soothing warmth that kept you locked in place.

Since you arrived, it quickly became no secret that you, the newest concubine to join the harem under the formidable king of curses, brought with you a peculiarity. Certain quirks that endeared you to the servants and annoyed the other concubines.

You emitted a humble air about you like the shades of aqua and seafoam green you gravitated towards. You often opted for untouched corners of the garden next to the pond and the library where you could read and write in solitude that became mistaken for arrogance by the others.

And for whatever reason or another, you insisted on this...holiday business or whatever the hell you called it, gently humming those insufferable tunes under your breath that carried though the marble hallways and adorning your room in makeshift tinsel and boughs of holly you strung together from stray pieces of greenery you found by the koi pond.

It was a very frustrating type of conundrum Sukuna didn't appreciate that was causing ripples in his vast household, especially now, as he studies you from his neighboring window on the opposite side of the estate, stroking his chin, eyes narrowed.

"My Lord." Uraume bows as their smaller frame appears in his doorway.

"Speak." Sukuna responds, not tearing those eyes of a deep rose away from where you were perched in your window, a pointed black claw gently scratching the sharp ridge of his jaw in deep thought.

"I need to know of your plans for the winter feast preparations."

"What of it?" Sukuna answers coldly.

Uraume doesn't flinch, being all too familiar with Sukuna's temperament. They knew he would rather fork out his eyeballs than waste time with frivolous matters like festive planning. Too reminiscent of the folly those disgusting humans preoccupied themselves with.

But, Uraume also knew the blind fury that would await them should they make arrangements for anything impacting the routine functions of Sukuna's household without his knowledge.

"A proposal, my lord." Uraume continues calmly. "Since we are not expecting your grace's presence until the 24th, perhaps we leave the bulk of the planning to someone else?"

Sukuna scoffed. "And who would that be?"

"One of the concubines."

"Who? He asks, slight incredulity now mixed in his sternness. "Her?"

"She...brings a new set of traditions."

"I am aware, I was not born yesterday."

"...I thought his majesty would appreciate-"

"Appreciate? Uraume, do not speak foolishly." Sukuna scolded, now fully turned to face them, his two upper muscular arms folded across his body.

Uraume merely stayed where they were, silent, undemonstrative of any reaction which they knew Sukuna preferred while he strode about the room, beginning to pace.

Finally, Sukuna came to a stop. "So be it. As long as I am not to be trifled with such matters again until my return, I do not care what the little brat does."

He paused, his expression unmoving as he addresses them one more time. "I have the most trust in your judgement, Uraume. Do not disappoint me."

"Yes, my Lord." Uraume bows again as Sukuna takes his leave, but not before eyeing you one more lingering glance before he departs, a shred of annoyance when he realizes despite the distance, he wouldn't be rid of you from his thoughts anytime soon.

-----

"My lady." Uraume addresses you from your doorway and you stand abruptly, bowing in acknowledgement.

"Uraume, good to see you."

"Thank you." Uraume answers pleasantly, a slight inflection in their tone carrying a fondness at your usual kindness towards them.

Although you were aloof, odd, and provided more than an earful that Uraume had to bear witness to from the other concubines, at least you treated them respectfully, unlike them.

"Lord Sukuna has departed on business with no plans to return until the 24th."

You stood up slowly, quirking a curious brow at the unexpected news.

"It is tradition that his grace hosts a feast for the winter solstice." Uraume explains. "To usher in the cold season and provide festivities. But, due to his absence, we are in need of someone to make arrangements..." Uraume clears their throat, clearly a little nervous at what your response will be, since the success of it was mostly riding on your willingness to participate.

"Would you be willing to lead the preparations, my lady?"

Silence hangs in mid air before you speak. "Me?"

"Of course." Uraume hums. "I don't doubt you'll be more than capable. I, along with many others, have noticed you celebrating this-Christmas? You call it?"

"Yes, that's right." You straighten up a little. "I mean, I'd love throw a celebration for Lord Sukuna. But, why me?"

"Well, my lady. As I said before, you are very capable. I noticed you seem to have an eye for these kinds of details between your drawings, writings, and your.." Their fuschia eyes flicker briefly to the parchment ornaments adorning a potted plant in the corner. "...creations." Their lip curls upward in a meek grin.

"Between you and I, I have never cared much for the traditions, either. Too overwhelming. But, I am curious about yours. You've caused quite a stir among the ladies of the house and, if I may speak openly..." Uraume gulps and looks at the walls nervously as if they had eyes into the conversation before lowering their voice.

"You are the first in a long while whom I have been able to tolerate, and who has treated me kindly unlike so many before you."

You give Uraume a sympathetic glance, now determined to deliver on your promise of a celebration worth waiting for.

"We'll start tomorrow."

----

The shrine slowly transformed day by day. The halls became lined with pine needles accented by soft candles that emitted a heavenly glow. As the snow piled up, you recruited the help of the servants, smiling at their bewildered expressions that turned to pure joy as they touched snow for the first time, constructing an army of snowmen with various hats, scarves, and other accessories they could find around the estate, complete with carrot noses provided by the kitchen.

You, Uraume, and a team of gardeners from the palace ventured into the woods and hand selected multiple spruce trees, and, with their help, chopped them down, strapping them with ropes and dragging them back so the shrine could have its own assortment of Christmas trees, complete with what seemed to be nearly hundreds of crochet and parchment snowflake ornaments.

You had fashioned them with Uraume and some of the other ladies in waiting during craft hours in the evenings. Presents wrapped in scarlet ribbons and offerings to Sukuna began to encircle the bottom of the largest tree in the grand hall.

Across the way, however, the group of other concubines avoided the spreading merriment with disdain and scowls on their faces, not even touching or wandering in the vicinity of the Christmas trappings as though it contained a plague.

You began hosting caroling rehearsals and only you, Uraume, and a few other members of the kitchens staff had joined while your bitter cohorts tried their best to drown out the noise on the far side of the shrine, the leader of the group shooting a fiery glare at one of her minions when she began to blindly hum the catchy tune.

As Christmas Eve drew closer, the warm baked goodies become more innumerable as they popped out of the kitchen and the bakers perfected their abilities to whip up treats worthy of the season. The shrine had adopted a permanent scent of gingerbread, cinnamon, pine and peppermint that followed and clung to your robes.

----

On the 23rd, the day before Christmas Eve, you and Uraume were baking and laughing with flour stained faces,

"To think, we did all this in just a few weeks' time." Uraume mused as they squished the gingerbread dough between their fingers. "Lord Sukuna will be pleased. Yes, very pleased with you indeed."

The sentiment left you with a very healthy dose of fluster as you grinned at the thought of his majesty marveling at all the work you did just for him, possibly rewarding you with something much better than you could imagine as those eyes of deep rose bestowed you subtle admiration that had not graced anyone else.

Unknown to you, an eavesdropping ear belonging to one of the concubines catches wind of this statement and skitters away quickly to spread her message to the others.

----

"Spit it out already!" The cruel eyed leader of the concubines hisses to the messenger.

"I overheard that Lord Sukuna chose her specifically to lead this Christmas tradition and intends to reward her and place her higher above the rest of us, earning his grace's favor so that we might be cast out into the streets!"

Shock, fury, outrage, and blind jealousy erupted among the other concubines.

"What shall we do?" "That goddamn slut, I knew she was no good." "She needs to go!"

"Silence!!" The leader screeched over the others. "She will be dealt with. We must take matters into our own hands so Lord Sukuna is displeased and has no option but to execute her. Listen to me, I have a plan..."

And the other concubines huddled around her eagerly as they plotted your downfall.

----

Everything was ready for the elaborate Christmas Eve homecoming feast for Lord Sukuna.

The finest beast was being roasted on a spit over fiery coals under careful supervision by Uraume. In the kitchen, the chefs were hard at work chopping vegetables they had culled from the winter harvest. Puddings and treats were being whipped up and presented beautifully in festive arrangements on fine platters.

The smell of Christmas cooking overwhelmed you as you stood in the great hall, clad in a new royal jade kimono with golden ornate leaves woven in your hair that never made you appear more elegant than on this Christmas Eve of festivities.

You thought of Sukuna and what he might think when his powerful presence graced these halls again. An odd mixture of fear and admiration you harbored for him that inspired you to want to please him. Feelings about him you couldn't quite place ever since he selected you to live in his shrine even though your head had not yet graced the silk of his bedsheets.

Lord Sukuna's carnal appetites were of no mystery to you. You had heard plenty of rumors about how rough and relentless he could be. His preferences seemed to be both selective, yet apathetic if that even made sense.

You had heard the screams and loud noises of primality from behind his sealed oak doors that echoed into late hours. Though all of his concubines would walk away with their own satisfaction eventually, his copulation apparently came with scars and rough treatment.

Seldom, if ever would his fucking deviate into lovemaking territory, much less tenderness and intimacy. That is where his selectiveness came in. The gentle sighs, gasps of mind melting pleasure, soul binding thrusts, consuming kisses dotted lovingly all along your nape, breasts, and inner thighs while being brought to the pedestals of pleasure you craved to know one day from the touch of a man you were deeply in love with, seemed to be reserved for someone of an unattainable caliber to Sukuna.

Until he met someone worthy, his concubines were nothing more than warm vessels of temporary satisfaction until his thirst returned.

But, here you were daydreaming that you could be the recipient of such love from him despite all odds.

----

"Whore, we're trying to speak to you!"

An indignant voice rips you out of your thoughts and you turn around, jarred at the sight of the head concubine with her supporters close by. You were outnumbered one to many. A piece of meat left to the wolves. Subtle panic slithered in and wrapped around your throat when Uraume was nowhere to be found.

The leader's scowl melted from her face into a honeyed grin, her long nails outstretching and wrapping around a delicate glass reindeer from a gorgeous wintery scene Sukuna's craftspeople had spent countless hours on.

"P-please be careful-" You raise a shaky hand.

The leader hisses at you, stealing the reindeer out of reach, her icy stare renders you speechless again. Her expression then morphs back into a sugary tone, a snake's venomous fangs concealed behind her pretty face.

"Tell me, darling. Does Lord Sukuna know you've been defiling his shrine this entire time he's been gone?" She asks as she turns the reindeer in between her graceful fingers.

"Defiling...?" You choke out, perplexed.

"Yes, defiling. With these, disgusting-"

You jump in alarm as she abruptly hurls the glass deer to the ground, watching it explode into shards as soon as it meets the unforgiving marble.

"filthy-" she reaches this time for a wreath of holly, casting it onto one of the glowing candles, setting it ablaze.

"pathetic-" the others have now joined in, breaking and trashing all your beloved Christmas decorations, hours of hard work and care being ripped, torn, shredded, and cast into the fire one after another.

"Stop, stop, please!!!" You cry and shriek, voice drowned in anguish but when you raise your hand to stop her, she turns on you immediately, the others coming to her aid, ripping and tearing at your gorgeous kimono.

"You think Lord Sukuna gives a shit about you and your stupid little Christmas traditions?" She snarls as her and the others claw the golden leaves out of your hair and they clutter on the floor, your robes now nearly in tatters. "You're just another slut. A weak, useless, ugly-"

You cower and brace for the worst, but your insides turn when you hear a warm squelch as blood splattered against the walls. A shudder runs through you at the unmistakable sound of dismantle and cleave; the King of Curses had returned.

You look up and you see him first, averting your gaze immediately and kneeling for fear of losing your head next. You're not sure how many of the concubines or servants within the vicinity were slain, but you're guessing a lot, if not all, based on the sea of blood on either side of where you were crouched.

"We'll have no more of that." Sukuna tsk'd. Those stern eyes raked over the scene, seething in annoyance at the mess in front of him. His eyes land on you and he squints as he draws closer, sensing the tremble of your frame as you didn't dare move from your spot.

"Breathe, for gods' sakes, human." He commands. "Stand up, now. Don't keep me waiting."

You rise on shaky knees, keeping your gaze downwards until you straighten up completely, looking into the formidable face of your lord and unexpected savior.

"My Lord."

"Tch." Sukuna clicks his teeth, looking over you. "This is what you call a celebration for the King of Curses?"

"I-..." You shake your head, the lump in your throat obstructing both the oxygen and words in your brain. "I can explain..."

"I do not require an answer." He growled, and you shut your lips, gaze averted downward once again in fearful shame. "You are a mess." His eyes appraise you in scrutinizing pity.

He had seen enough to know this fiasco wasn't entirely your fault. But still, the irritation he felt towards you prior for sticking out so prominently in his brain was rearing its ugly head. It was unlike Sukuna to ruminate, to toil in his mind for hours, especially over a human like you, no less.

He will deal with that later. For now, he still expects a proper feast and celebration after his lengthy travels.

"Uraume." His voice reverberates off the stony walls and Uraume is immediately at his side, their pupils dilating slightly at you in alarm at the devastating state of the grand hall that was beautifully adorned and decorated less than an hour before.

"Clean her up immediately and bring her to my chambers. In the meantime, have any available servants scrub up this mess."

"Right away, my Lord."

----

A while later, you walk slowly towards Sukuna who's standing by his window. You're dressed in fresh robes chosen by him specifically of a bleeding garnet like his eyes. You take in the grand sight of him, the way the darkened shadows would bend at his back and wrap around whatever he was facing, nearly suffocating them with his presence that commanded reverence, humility, but most of all, fear. His broad shoulders, back, and booming voice with a majesty likened to the powerful mountain range that surrounded his shrine.

Even now, as he turns to face you with his monstrous appearance in his full glory with those four eyes, his harshness he exudes stirs a suppressed part of you that never desired to be removed from him. A forbidden kind of beauty not obvious to many that brimmed underneath that thick shell you were only barely skimming the surface.

"Better." Sukuna remarks, seemingly pleased with this new ensemble. "Now..."

He took a step towards you and you held your breath, preparing for the moment where you would inevitably be forced to give yourself to him and be at his non-existent mercy for whatever plans he had next. However, he surprises you.

"Are you just going to stand there, or will you join me for dinner?"

"Dinner?"

"I do not intend for my winter feast to go to waste." Sukuna frowns. "Seeing as my entire harem is now dead except for you, I have no choice but to rely on you to remedy this."

You look at him, dumbfounded. That wide gleam in your eyes that was brought out by the light hitting your irises whenever you had to crane your head to look at him(which was every time) almost pulls at him, for a moment. Almost.

"My Lord?"

"You may start from the beginning." Sukuna instructs, the top pair of arms folding seriously across his chest with the second pair on either side of his thick, muscular waist.

"Use this opportunity to prove yourself worthy and show me these ridiculous Christmas traditions you insisted on imposing on me before I change my mind, brat. "

----

"These are called snowmen, my Lord." Your teeth chatter slightly as you two come to a stop in front of the wall of snowmen you, Uraume, and the servants had constructed over several weeks in the courtyard.

Sukuna stares boredly, a rush of annoyance bubbling inside him as he lays eyes on their pebble smiles, goofy hats, and multi colored scarves.

But, his eyes widen ever so slightly when he takes notice of the biggest snowman that stood out towards the back. This one towered over the others with four sticks for arms instead of two, meeting Sukuna directly at his eye level. It had four sets of pebble eyes on its face with carefully carved markings, eerily similar to someone he knew...

"What is this?"

You gulp. "It is you, my Lord."

Sukuna stares, silent. "What is the purpose of this?"

"For visual display." You answer, slowly. "Personal enjoyment. Sculpting them and playing in the snow is half the fun."

"I care little for that." Sukuna waved his hand. He studied his snowman some more. "I suppose I will allow my likeness to be erected into snow. This is supposed to represent myself and my subjects?" His eyebrow raises slightly as his pair of undereyes flicker back to look at the dozens of other, smaller snowmen in front.

You nod, slightly encouraged by this reaction that wasn't all good, but wasn't all bad either. "Yes my Lord, it is."

"Hmph." Sukuna shoots air out of his nostrils in disapproval. Then, without warning he raises his arm. You duck quickly, and simultaneously each head of each snowman besides his own is sliced off and goes flying, shooting in the air and then landing and exploding like mashed pumpkins back onto the ground.

Sukuna looks with pride at his handiwork, his glorious snowman standing tall over his now decapitated army of snowy subjects.

"Now, it is perfect."

He joins his hands behind his back and walks off with a hum back towards the shrine, leaving you both endeared and confounded.

-----

Next tradition.

"Alright, my Lord." You wring your clammy hands nervously as you stand in front of Sukuna, who's opted to take a seat at the head of his banquet table.

He was stuffing his face with the roast beast that was at least spared by Uraume, his stomach mouth's comical tongue wagging in anticipation with drool before he tossed a couple bones for it to gnaw on obnoxiously like a crazed animal.

"I wish to share with you the legend known as Santa Claus. Otherwise known as Father Christmas, Saint Nicholas, Kris Kringle, among others."

Luckily, the feast seemed to make Sukuna more receptive, if that was even possible. Perhaps some of the restlessness (since he couldn't exactly experience hangry-ness that was exclusive to humans) was resolved by the smoked meat, giving his stomach mouth something to preoccupy him besides nagging Sukuna relentlessly.

"If you must." Sukuna rolls his eyes at you and then at the dopey expression his second mouth gives him while it's utterly high off the fresh bones it was chomping on.

"Well, this Christmas Eve night, he is said to fly and deliver presents around the world to all good children, spreading cheer and climbing into chimneys to leave presents under Christmas trees."

Sukuna's eyes narrow. "I will slaughter anyone who dares enter my household without permission." His stomach mouth gave a little belch. "I do not care for this Santa Claus you speak of."

This was true Sukuna fashion. Normally, you'd be mortified at his dramatics but by now, you had to do your best to stifle a giggle. "My Lord, it's merely a legend."

"That does not matter. If this Santa Claus you speak of attempts to enter my home, he will lose his head." Sukuna vows as he takes a hefty sip of wine before turning his glass to his stomach mouth. "Tell me about something else besides this ridiculous Santa Claus legend."

"Well..." You think for a moment then snap your fingers. "His grace might appreciate the legend of Krampus instead?"

Sukuna raises an eyebrow, corners of his mouth still turned downward in displeasure.

You clear your throat, "Krampus is a legend, like Santa Claus except he is a half goat, half demon monster who punishes naughty children. As opposed to Saint Nick whom delivers gifts, Krampus will appear and punish children who misbehave with bundles of branches, or by eating them or taking them to hell... Erm, oh! He looks like this!" You grab a piece of parchment and ink brush, pausing for a moment to make a quick sketch of Krampus.

Sukuna leans back, folding his arms, as he watches you, patiently, expectantly for this new Christmas tradition you spoke of to be better than the dreaded Santa Claus. When you're done painting Krampus, you turn your makeshift masterpiece in Sukuna's direction.

To your delight, a rare, smug expression of satisfaction tugs at the corners of his mouth when he lays eyes on Krampus for the first time.

"This is much better. I will absorb all of this Krampus's cursed energy when he appears tonight. He would be very useful to me, indeed."

You don't have the heart, or bravery to remind Sukuna that Krampus also is just a myth. Sukuna folds his arms, signalling he's done with his dinner.

"This Krampus can stay. Now, on to the rest of your silly traditions, brat."

-----

As the night continues on, you demonstrate more traditions for Sukuna, slowly bringing him into your world of decked out halls and yuletide merriment, albeit with his own, Sukuna-esque spin on things.

Needless to say, he loathed most of them.

"These are what are known as Christmas trees, my Lord." You gestured to the dozens of pines you and Uraume and the servants spent so much time decorating, shortly before Sukuna lit them all on fire.

Your jaw fell open and he stood there proud as the orange flames engulfed the trees in a mini forest fire within the shrine as the glow did a dance in his pupils. Sukuna inhaled, savoring the smoky wood against the releasing smell of the burning spruce.

"A much better way to enjoy the trees." He insisted.

---

Slowly, the Christmas you thought was nearly ruined was salvaged little by little as you entertained the King of Curses.

He spat out all of the overly sweet Christmas goodies immediately. However, his stomach mouth couldn't seem to get enough. Sukuna rolled his eyes as the pair of chompers devoured cookie after cookie that he fed it steadily with his lower pair of hands while his free hands rubbed his temples in defeat.

"I suppose these will do."

---

He liked the Christmas presents and offerings, but not because of the origin story behind it.

"So you see, my Lord, the tradition of gift giving on Christmas came from the nativity story, of the three wise men who delivered presents to the infant Jesus, who was believed to be the son of God."

"Hmph." Sukuna sneered. "How boring. An infant? I would smite him with ease." He looked at the pile of presents. "Tch, we will continue the gift giving tradition, but only for the King of Curses, for I am the most powerful being in this realm, not a newborn baby."

You smile and bow. "Yes, my lord."

----

And when it came to the Christmas carols, he quickly nipped those in the bud.

"Enough!" He groaned, covering his ears when you and Uraume didn't even make it through the first verse of O Holy Night.

"Who is this Savior you speak of in the lyrics?" He glared as he glanced over the sheet music. "Is this about that damn infant again? How pitiful. Change it. I can barely tolerate these insufferable ballads."

Sukuna seemed to come around, but only slightly when the lyrics were more modified to his tastes:

"O holy night! the stars are brightly shining;

It is the night of the mighty Lord Sukuna's return.

Long lay the world in sin and error pining,

Till he appeared and the soul felt its worth.

A thrill of hope- the weary world rejoices,

For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn!

Fall on your knees! O hear the angel voices!

O night divine, O night when Lord Sukuna returns!

O night, O holy night, O night divine!"

"An improvement." Sukuna frowns again, scratching his jaw. "But I cannot stand either one of your voices."

In short, Christmas carols didn't make the cut.

----

Many of the servants had retired for the night at Sukuna's request to give you and him some space alone. The fires were nearly extinguished, lingering smoke and pine permeated the air with the faint brush of cinnamon and gingerbread. The embers of the fire are boiling in a low cackle as you stand in front of your king who now sits atop his throne slightly above you.

"This last tradition is called mistletoe..." You tried to disguise your shyness as you reached in the pocket of your robes and showed him the small bundle, wrapped up in a red bow. "The leaves and white berries are actually considered poisonous." You explain, which catches Sukuna's interest immediately.

"And? What is the significance?"

"In a Norse legend, the goddess of love, Frigg, promised to kiss anyone who passed underneath it.

The tradition of kissing under the mistletoe was born shortly after in an ancient festival in Greece."

A faint glint of mischief dances in Sukuna's eyes as he leans forward with a smirk.

"That so?"

His gaze roams over you, this realization of several hours that have passed between you and the mystique surrounding his lack of physical contact with you fuels his intrigue that was beginning to simmer alongside the exhausted flames.

"And what else happens after you humans kiss one another under this tradition?" His voice now drips with honey, a contrast you were not expecting from him.

"Well, I suppose that is up to the participants. Surely, things can become a bit, intimate, I suppose."

"Hm." Sukuna outstretched a large veiny hand, taking the mistletoe from you and hanging it from the ceiling above where he was perched on his throne. He leans a hand on his chin, while one of his lower arms comes to cup you around your waist.

"Demonstrate."

He waits, and your eyes spread slightly in alarm as you were brought closer to him than you have been in the entire time you've known him.

Your lips part hesitantly, laced wetly by your wine ladden tongue. Sukuna does not budge, however his hand pressed against your back a little more urgently, his black nails lightly puncturing the garnet threads of your kimono as though he were requesting not to be kept waiting a moment longer.

Your eyes glance upwards at the arrangement of mistletoe dangling perfectly over your heads, then directly at his supple lips that part in seething wait, before leaning in and pressing yours against them without another word.

Sukuna's mouth is warm and rough, just like every last inch of him you discover shortly after when both of his lower arms bring you in between his enormous thighs, so that you are directly up against pure muscle.

His skin is heated, and practically hot to the touch between all of the formidable strength that lay encased in his looming form. Sukuna wastes no time deepening the kiss. As his mouth opens against yours, you feel as though you are being swallowed directly by rays of sun on a sweltering day, the very opposite of the present chilly night bogged with snow that now covered every inch of the land surrounding the quiet shrine.

The delicious and precise slither of his tongue in between your lips causes you to release the most beautiful gasp into his mouth. Sukuna exhales deeply,

"More."

And his lips move feverishly, low grunts escaping the opening space between them as his tongue slides against yours. Aroused, scorched by this ethereal being as he kissed you as though he were the kindling catching alight and you were the flame instead.

Your hands bravely slide up both sides of his expansive neck, your nails entangling themselves in the unruly locks of orchid. The King of Curses shudders, seemingly offput by a mortal touching him so boldly, but every passionate grind of you against him allows him to ignore it for now, as that insatiable thirst bubbles deep in his belly and begs to be relieved.

"Ahh..." A breathy moan peels softly at first then snaps as he rips the ending from your throat with a harsh gnash of his teeth to your bottom lip, as one his hands immediately snaked into the opening of your robes.

His touch is molten, but his stare is unmoving as he forces your gaze to stay captured underneath his as his hand works quickly to part your thighs, riding the hem of your kimono up your legs, cold air tickling your pussy which he's more than pleased to discover is already bare, shiny with slick underneath.

"Closer, and do not stop looking at me." He mutters. All four of his heavily hooded eyes greedily drink in the way your expression liquefies to silk when you feel that first long, languid, warm stroke between both lips of your sensitive cunt.

"I said, look at me." Sukuna growls, a clawed hand coming up to cup your cheeks, both of them pinched between his thumb on one side and the rest of his fingers on the other. He runs his tongue over his lips, a slow sneer spreading out at your gradual fucked out expression as his tongue from his belly slowly licks, savors, and swirls against your dripping entrance.

High pitched whimpers flood past your lips, the corners of your eyes begin to prick with tears as profound warmth blooms upwards from the epicenter of unrelenting pleasure Sukuna's second mouth is wringing from your swollen clit. The tongue begins to slowly curl inside of you, each groove of its wet, meaty surface gliding against the soaking velvet of your tight walls, while the upper lip encircles and sucks over your soft pearl.

"Good." Sukuna whispers, stifling a groan when he feels you involuntarily pulse around his tongue, leading to a greedy string of juices dribbling down the second throat. "Who's your king? Tell me, pet."

He tauts his abs as he maneuvers you around his stomach slightly, still keeping you locked in an iron grip but allowing you to lightly bob as he guides you to ride his tongue, his other pair of hands coming to knead your breasts, his eyes tearing into your soul.

"You, Sukuna..." You managed to sigh, as you felt the soaking warmth linger over a tried and true spot, before Sukuna promptly removes it, irritated at your unsolicited use of his name.

"Tch." He grins wolfishly at the abrupt whimper that followed when you mourned the loss. "Do not get greedy with me, brat. You will feel only what I allow you to, understood?"

He breathes out as he lowers you back onto his awaiting open mouth on his belly. "And you will only address me as your Lord, woman, understood?"

"Yes, my Lord..."

"Mm."

And you continue to feel his tongue's meticulous exploration of you with your thighs parted on either side of his large waist, however it only became more agonizing as it coaxed and only teased around all the spots that amplified euphoria, dangling that peak of arousal frustratingly out of reach.

"My Lord, p-please, I wish to cum..." your nails dig into the hollows of his chest and he glances down briefly, internally bemused at the needy mess he was turning you into, thin trails of your juices softly dribbling down the soft meat of your inner thighs.

Your eyelids flutter and the intonations of your voice begin to quiver as his second tongue began to wetly prod your sweetest spot.

Sukuna glowered briefly at his second mouth that had a mind of his own, displeased at its less sadistic nature than his and its determination to drive you off the edge whereas he was in the middle of enjoying your desperate state. He cannot place it, but this idiosyncrasy between him and the rest of his body was betraying him.

Perhaps it was due to this question that was slowly being answered in his mind of just how soft you'd be for him in the throes of pleasure, silencing his ruminations of you at long last. As you knew, he cared little about the appearance of the concubines he chose to feed his ravenous sexual appetites.

He had rarely encountered a pretty face, and, for the first time, the King of Curses felt compelled to worship.

"Hmph. Cum for me then, brat." He croons harshly to disguise his waning willpower. "Be a good mistress and cum for your king. Don't you dare hide your eyes from me..."

And the dam quickly burst and you soaked his lap, tears releasing in your eyes as well, your blurry gaze burning as you obeyed Sukuna's command to keep your eyes on him.

The second mouth panted as it worked to clean you up, guzzling your arousal like it was nectar as it stuck to its lips and Sukuna's powerful torso in a shiny sopping coat of sheen.

"Good." Sukuna praised, pulling you off him as he undid the remainder of his robes, the subtle sound of the garment hitting the floor causes you to clench your thighs, even more so as you saw him, completely bare in front of you for the first time.

If you were any other whore, he would not have stopped after you finally came, if he had let you cum at all. Sukuna delighted in denying his partners their utmost release until it was practically unbearable, then would push them well over the threshold of normal stimulation, until he sunk his teeth in their shoulder and fucked them roughly with his dual cocks.

Now, as he tears off his robes, allowing the element of anticipation to linger with the promise of what was to come next, and the heat to smolder lying in wait, he realizes this first time with you would be much, much different. With you, things were unhurried and slow.

His black markings continued below where his dark robes previously concealed, all along his sculpted collarbones, pecs and chest. His muscles were rigid with the tension you were slowly building up in him this entire time. He possessed burly thighs that were covered with small forests of hair, as well as on his arms with sinewy veins and lightly flushed pink skin.

But, what stood out most of all were two staggering, meaty cocks that bloomed red at both tips that flopped against his belly. Veins adorned both sides, running purplish blue, a very large, plump, taut set of balls dangled in a flesh colored sack underneath.

You couldn't help but get on your knees, entranced as you slowly sank to the floor. Your mouth began to salivate as you took in the bulbous tips that had to pass for almost three of your fingers alone, mind fuzzy with both excitement and intimidation as you wondered how you could possibly accommodate both.

"My Lord, m-may I?" You lick your lips, whimpering as the throb of your clit begins to pulse as your warm pussy squeezes around nothing. You were still worked up from your orgasm, however having already been brought to heaven and back, you were eager to please Sukuna. After all, as you were repeatedly coached in your trainings as a concubine, a good one always pleases her Lord.

"Excuse me?" Sukuna frowns, ice in his tone.

"P-please my Lord? I wish you pleasure you, to suck your cocks..." You swallow, the blinders of arousal causing all shame to disappear out the window.

Sukuna scoffs pridefully. "Really? And why would I let you do something like that, brat? You think I require your mouth so badly?"

He taunts, noticing the way your pussy still bore no shortage of wetness. As a matter of fact, it was trickling even more as the thoughts of taking Sukuna's cocks in your mouth only aroused you to nearly primal levels.

"Please, please my Lord..." You breathe slowly as your teeth brushed your bottom lip, his hands coming to undo the knot of your kimono, allowing the garment to slide in a sensual display down your shoulders like seafoam receding over a shoreline, until all of your bareness lay exposed to his hungry eyes.

Sukuna stared at you, wrestling internally at the hazy feelings the sight in front of him was conjuring up. You were so desperate, panting and waiting. The smell from your soaked heat was earthy yet sweet, an aphrodisiac to his nostrils. You were so needy, so eager to allow you a taste of him, the way you tilted your head so sweetly as you begged permission.

"Very well..." Sukuna's jaw slackened just a tad before running his thumb along your glossy bottom lip, the pointed edge of his nail and thumb just barely poking your tongue, which you indulged him and slowly licked it into your mouth.

"Fuck, such a needy little thing, you. God, such a whore..."

He presses his thumb onto the middle of your tongue. "Open..." He pumped one of his shafts with the other, as you gently opened your lovely lips, gradually and steadily feeding you his cock, twinkling eyes peeking through your lashes.

"Fuck..."

The utter groan he lets out is music to your years, and you meet him more than halfway immediately, stuffing his cock quickly into your mouth and almost hitting the back of your throat.

Sukuna grits his teeth as you accept him so greedily. His size was such that the entire thing didn't quite fit, filling up such a pretty mouth and throat until your eyes watered, the stretch eased by how much you ached for him, and how delicious his heated skin tasted in your mouth. So warm and rigid as you feel him pulse with life with the faintest trace of salt from the blooming precum.

Your eyes roll back and you begin to bob your head, squeaking with surprise when Sukuna pushes your head, relishing the glistening coat of drool you leak every time the heavy shaft withdraws from your reddened lips. His hand tangled in your hair, guiding you up and down his cock.

Sukuna panted and grunted, falling backwards on his throne with you at his feet, his hips rippling as he couldn't help but fuck himself into your plush, silky, mouth. His other cock aches for attention as well, and he gets an idea.

"Your breasts..." He rasped. "Touch yourself, present them to me."

Mouth still stuffed with cock, you innocently batted your lashes as both your hands came to grip your tender globes, lifting them slightly as you gently pushed them together, creating the perfect, sinful little valley for Sukuna to slide his second cock.

Using the mixture of slick and spit and sweat from his other cock, he coats the second one with his hand and throws his head back as it meets that slippery canal, squished in between your two yummy tits.

You groan loudly, hugging the velvety length between your breasts as you continued to slobber all over the other. You cooed and whined sweetly, rubbing your thighs together, a practical second orgasm almost inevitable from watching this being, this king, this God, so wanton and so aroused.

"I'm going to cum. Don't stop, don't stop gazing at me like that, my goddess..."

He looked down at you, his lovely little slut, so filthy and carnal. This alluring, sexual siren he awakened that was concealed beneath a pair of glittering shy eyes and quiet exterior this whole time. You were a treasure to be guarded, a goddess of Earth and flesh, worthy of his devotion, of his love, and he finally snaps.

Both cocks ooze generous spurts of silvery white cum. It paints both of your supple tits like jelly. It's warm and thick as it coats the inside of your throat and mouth. Sukuna marvels at this masterpiece he's made out of this celestial canvas of you, slowly drawing out his slick, sticky cock and tracing your puffy lips with the milky gloss.

"My Lord..." You purred.

"Mine." He whispered before he yanked you against his lips again, greedily and messily tasting himself off of you, both hands nearly covering both sides of your face as he drank the breath from your lungs.

-----

Sukuna's bed is warm just like the heat that runs rampant throughout his body. His pillows and linens bend to accept you and embrace you like you have always belonged there despite this being the very first time you did.

A galaxy is born in that moment when both heads of his cock begin to rub and slowly push inside both of your holes, stretching you in a way no other man or being for that matter has ever done before.

"Look at me..." Sukuna commands again. His booming voice is reverent and his gaze is eternal as he bites back more groans that simmer at the back of his throat. You grip the sheets, sweetly calling his name.

"Sukuna..."

And he doesn't correct you this time. His face softens and the callouses of his hands run and squeeze over the expanse of your thighs as he becomes one with you over and over again.

"My queen." He utters at last as your heart sings and blooms within your ribcage.

The world shifted that night as the King of Curses irrevocably bound himself to you.

And when the exhaustion had claimed you, when you could no longer be flooded, filled, and fucked, when the sheets felt like silk and your tired limbs and his wove together like emerald leaves of holly, as his seed gushed inside your womb and buried a mixture of each other so deep and raw and new in a way that could not be conceived again.

The nighttime was quickly forgotten as you fell asleep to the King of Curses' heartbeat, the dawning hours of Christmas morning ushering in a gentle wave of steadfast snow.

[clarkeybabey]

❝ but i'ma be under the mistletoe with you ❞

# prompts; 6: "They kiss under the mistletoe." 7: ^ but A does the, "Oops, I'm holding mistletoe above us, guess we have to kiss." thing.

# playlist; mistletoe - Justin Bieber

# word count; 737

# note; merry christmas to all who celebrate, & Happy Holidays to those who don't<333 i missed writing for arthur so much omg.

The holidays are always a stressful time, however, more than half of your family was abroad for Christmas this year, so you all had chosen to do your family celebrations on New Year instead. Arthur and Lisa were more than happy to have you with them instead.

You spent the morning making and eating a full English, exchanging gifts, and going through their old photo albums much to your boyfriend's protests.

His parents turned in early after a bit of chatter over a few glasses of wine, leaving you lying on the couch stuffed from both dinner and copious amounts of cookies. You tap the arm he has lazily resting on your chest, "'m gonna go get some water," he whines but when you lift his arm he sighs, dramatically letting it fall back against his chest.

"Don't be long," he calls out when you disappear off into the kitchen, his eyes catch a branch of mistletoe on the mantle he presumes his mum set out to add to her decor, giving him an idea.

He listens for you intently, when he finally hears you rummaging through the the freezer for ice, he takes the opportunity to set his plan into motion, he grabs the branch and leans against the door frame, silently watching you.

When you turn, you raise the cup to your lips until you spot him and more importantly the mistletoe he's holding above the door, making you snort, "if you wanted a kiss, you could've just asked," you mumble, shaking your head.

You shuffle toward him agonizingly slow. Arthur reaches out for you, his free hand pulling you into him by the front of your matching, festive pajamas. A confident smirk falls from your face, and a gasp escapes you at the sudden movement.

The feeling of the water swishing in the glass, the only sound now is the ice clinking against it. His voice interrupts the silence, suddenly having dropped an octave compared to earlier, "Oh look at that," his eyes flick up to what's pinched between his fingers, "Guess we might have to kiss, now..."

Setting the glass on the counter next to you, before you hum, "Think you might be right."

He smiles content with the fact that you're going along with things, he shrugs, "I don't make the rules," he pulls you into him impossibly closer, watching how your lips twitch slightly. You're floored and Arthur can simultaneously see and feel it, "May I?"

Smiling once more at how he never fails to make sure you're comfortable, "You may," somehow you've found yourself breathless at his words and demeanor alone. He dips down to catch your mouth with his, facial hair tickles your upper lip when he tilts his head to deepen the kiss.

Arthur's hands, warm and strong, slowly slide under the hoodie you had stolen earlier that morning. As he presses you back against the counter, your bodies locked together, you both freeze at the sound of a voice calling out just behind you, "Arthur, you've got a bedroom for a reason."

Lisa, shit. He steps away from you quickly, running his hands over his face and through his hair, "Sorry, mum," he mutters, he always talks about how comfortable they are with talking about certain things but you find yourself wanting to giggle at how he can't meet her eyes.

"She's a nice girl, she doesn't need to be done on my counter," you can't stifle your laughter now, you watch in your peripheral the way his face twists, "Mum! I understand, please," he pleads, obviously hating this conversation.

Lisa scoffs as she turns on her heels deciding she's said enough to his face, but she continues mumbling about raising him to be a gentleman as she disappears around the corner and shuts her bedroom door loudly.

"That's so embarrassing," he groans, hiding his face in his hands with a sigh. You reach for his wrists, tugging them away gently to reveal his reddening cheeks. "'ts not embarrassing," you reassure him, a small smile on your lips. "It's sweet; she cares."

He shakes his head, letting out a low chuckle as he drops it onto your shoulder. "Such a cockblock," he mutters into your ear. You flick the back of his neck, making him step back, rubbing the spot with a mock frown. "Maybe it's a sign we shouldn't be shagging in your parents' house, hm?"

[kingofbodyrolls]

Perfect Strangers (m) | jhs

*this is a re-upload since I deleted my old account 🫣

When a man as warm as a crackling hearth steps into your cozy bookstore seeking the perfect gift for his friend’s Christmas party, you can’t help but offer him your brightest smile. But when he returns days later, with a spark in his eye and a bold request—to be his pretend girlfriend for this very party—you think, Why not? After all, Christmas is a time for a little magic, a little whimsy. Yet as you step deeper into his world, you discover a heart weighed down by scars from the past, a man more complex than the merry mask he wears. Still, what’s Christmas without a little hope, a touch of wonder, and a heart ready to spread the joy it knows so well?

→ Pairing: hoseok x reader (female) → AUs: bookstore!au, coffee shop!au, christmas!au, holiday!au → Trope: strangers to lovers / fake dating → Genres: fluff / angst / smut / romance → Rating: mature/explicit/R18  (this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Word count: 19.6k → Warnings + triggers: unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, oral (both), fingering, breast play, cum eating, hair pulling, dirty talk, praise kink, Hobi was a huge cock, creampie, aftercare, marking,  → Author’s note: guess who’s back with another Christmas gift? Me! 🎁 And this time, we’re unwrapping a Hoseok story! 🥳 Brace yourselves, because this one’s got ALL. THE. FEELS. Seriously, it’s like a snowstorm of emotions—pretty sad at times, but also as warm and sweet as your favorite cup of cocoa on a chilly night ☕🫂 Because let’s be real, who doesn’t need a good hug this season? I actually wrote this in November, and it gave me all the feels while writing it. I hope you’ll love it just as much as I do—and please, pretty please, shower our sunshine Hobi with all the love and virtual hugs he deserves ☀️💛 → Read on AO3? [link] 

The air bites, sharp and unforgiving, and snow tumbles in silent waves. Hoseok pulls his green parka tighter, hands buried deep in his pockets, bracing against the chill that feels as much within him as without. He hates this season—Christmas and all its garish lights, the forced smiles and saccharine cheer that feel like hollow echoes in his ears. Every year, it pulls him back to a time when something precious slipped away, leaving only empty echoes and a bitter frost in its place.

He trudges through the drifts, his boots crunching with each step as he scuffs at the snow like it’s a living thing to be kicked away. Snow. He despises it—the memories it brings, the losses buried in its whiteness. Sighing, he drags his mind away, trying to escape from the grip of the past as he remembers his unfortunate task: a gift for Namjoon, drawn by fate and the iron-clad rules of Secret Santa. Namjoon, who seems like he’d raise an eyebrow at any attempt to impress him. What do you buy for a man whose tastes are as precise as clockwork? Hoseok’s mind wanders, a book, maybe—a neutral, safe bet. Or a plant? Or some gym gear, though he winces, thinking that might feel too impersonal. The book is safer, he decides, less likely to disappoint.

His friends won’t let him slip out of their gathering this year; the annual Christmas dinner. They’ve grown wise to his excuses, having humored them too many times before. This time, they said, he simply has to come, or they’d drag his sorry ass out of his apartment themselves. So he’d agreed, and before he could stop himself, he’d added a lie—a plus one. A date. Why he’d said it, he didn’t know. A flare of bravado, maybe, or a strange wish that he could bring someone to light the way through the season he loathes. But he hasn’t had anyone in years, and now the promise lingers uncomfortably, as cold as the snow itself.

Just as his thoughts are tangling around the dreaded dinner and the impossible gift, something catches his eye. Through the haze of snow, a flickering glow lights up the street. LEDs twinkle on a small shop sign, casting warm light onto the swirling cold. The words, “Books & Coffee,” curl across the sign in whimsical letters. Through the frosted windows, he catches a glimpse of cozy warmth inside—painted winter scenes, shelves filled with books, and the faint haze of steam rising from mugs. A chance, he thinks. A book for Namjoon, maybe, and a cup of coffee to thaw his mood.

With a shake of his head, he steps toward the shop, hoping the warmth within might push back, if only for a moment, the frost of memory that clings to him so stubbornly.

He pushes the door open, expecting the cramped and dim interior of a hole-in-the-wall shop. But as he steps inside, he pauses, surprised. The space stretches wide and tall, a quiet maze of towering bookshelves reaching toward the ceiling like trees in a literary forest. The air is thick with the scent of aged paper and fresh coffee, as warm and comforting as a blanket against the cold. Each shelf brims with books of every size, color, and genre, neat little labels dividing worlds of romance, mystery, fantasy, and more. And there, at the back of the store, his eyes catch on something unexpected—a grand coffee station, part of the cashier’s desk, decked out with bottles of liquor that glint invitingly beneath the dim lights. He frowns, amused, wondering just what sort of bookstore he’s stumbled into. 

Around him, people sink into overstuffed couches and mismatched armchairs, nestled beside little tables piled high with books and steaming mugs. Some read in hushed solitude, while others murmur in low voices, their laughter rippling like warmth in the cozy air. He laughs to himself, an ironic chuckle at the scene—it’s like he’s wandered into a romantic comedy set. Christmas decorations hang from every possible ledge, string lights wound like ivy around the shelves, falling snow draping down from the ceiling, like something straight out of The Great Hall in Hogwarts. It’s kitschy, as if the store itself is leaning into the absurdity of holiday cheer, its charm so overdone it loops back into endearing. He can’t help but picture it: a flower stand in one corner, and his “perfectly quirky holiday shop” bingo card would be complete.

Not knowing where to start, he begins wandering among the shelves, eyes skimming over the labeled sections—romance (divided by spice levels, he notes with a faint smile), “how-to” books, self-help guides, fantasy, young adult, crime thrillers. He feels lost, in more ways than one, unsure what might interest Namjoon. A philosophy book, maybe? Or poetry—something brooding and introspective, since Namjoon’s always been the type to lean into “the deep stuff.”

Just as he’s contemplating how ridiculous it is that he, of all people, has to pick out a “meaningful” gift, he glances up and spots you at the counter, your lips curved into a soft smile. Your eyes meet his, and for a split second, he feels something unexpected—a flicker, like warmth pressing through the cold. You’re watching him with a light in your eyes, a warmth that, to his surprise, disarms him, even makes him feel almost…seen. Before he can look away, you’re already walking toward him, smile unwavering, and a strange, unfamiliar shiver runs down his spine.

“Do you need any help?” you ask, your voice soft and welcoming, your gaze roaming over him in casual appraisal.

If he had a flirting bone left in his body, he might have found a response, something charming to match the spark in your eyes. He thinks you’re cute, sure, and there’s no mistaking the interest in the way you’re looking at him. But he doesn’t have it in him, not anymore. It’s been too long since he’s let himself flirt, or even felt the desire to.

“Yeah,” he says, scratching the back of his neck with a sheepish smile. “I’m…looking for a book. For a friend. Got stuck with him in Secret Santa this year,” he shrugs, hoping that explains enough. 

You nod, listening with a gentle attentiveness that surprises him, as if every word he says matters. 

“Alright,” you reply, a bright smile lighting up your face as you clap your hands together in delight. “What kind of books does he like?” you ask, leading him further into the store with a spring in your step, your energy contagious, warming the air around you.

For a moment, he finds himself smiling back, the heaviness he carries lifting ever so slightly. Following you, he wonders if maybe, just maybe, this little shop—with all its quirks and kitschy charm—has a kind of magic after all.

A faint, almost reluctant smile tugs at his lips as he watches you move, graceful and light, as if the weight of life has never touched your shoulders. You float through the shop like someone untouched by scars, unshadowed by loss. He envies that ease, that freedom—it stirs something in him he thought he’d locked away. For a moment, he wishes he could go back to that version of himself, the one who moved through life without feeling every step like a burden. He sighs, catching himself and remembering you’d asked him a question.

“Ah—Namjoon’s into poetry,” he says, clearing his throat. “Existential stuff. The deeper, the better.”

Your smile grows, wider and brighter, and he catches sight of your slightly crooked front tooth—a small imperfection that only makes you look cuter as you bounce across the store. “I know just the thing! Follow me,” you sing, your voice lilting with a joy that contrasts starkly with his own. 

As he trails after you, he finds himself standing a little taller, rolling his shoulders back, almost as if he could let the weariness fall away. You lead him to a tall bookcase near the back of the shop, beneath a quaint little sign that reads, “Poems; a penny for your thoughts?” He raises an eyebrow at the cheesiness, but something about it is endearing, and he feels a hint of warmth sneaking in, thawing the corners of his frozen heart.

“So, this whole section is poetry. Anything specific you think he’d like, or should I recommend you something?” you ask, turning to him with eyes that feel soft and inviting, like an open door.

He hesitates. “Honestly, I’m not sure. He’s…well, his taste is kind of serious, and sometimes it’s just boring to me,” he admits, shrugging. A hint of worry lingers, hoping he hasn’t come off as rude—especially if poetry is something dear to you. But your smile doesn’t falter; if anything, it seems to soften, unfazed, still welcoming him in.

“Perfect! Then I know exactly what to recommend to you.” Your eyes light up with a spark of joy that catches him off guard, making his heart stir with an unfamiliar flutter. Reaching for a thick book, you cradle it like something cherished, a small treasure passed down. Your fingers trace the cover, vibrant and abstract, alive with colors that swirl and dance. He peers at the title, upside down but legible: Seasons Change, People Change: Thoughts on Personal Growth Inspired by Mother Nature.

You hold it out to him, gently, and begin with a quiet, thoughtful enthusiasm. “This collection is one of my favorites. Each page is filled with illustrations—paintings and sketches that bring the words to life. It’s divided into four sections, one for each season. It’s beautiful, but it’s also challenging, introspective. I keep it close for those days when I need something grounding, something to remind me to keep growing, even when it’s hard.” Your voice is soft, reverent, and the passion in your words flows freely, making his heart stumble a little, a pulse he thought had quieted.

Without a second thought, he feels himself drawn in, already captivated by your summary and the way you cradle the book like it holds some kind of quiet magic. He feels it—the warmth and lightness in your presence thawing the edges of something inside him. He thought he’d long forgotten this feeling, but as you stand there, glowing, he realizes maybe it isn’t gone after all.

“Do you want to get him this one, or should I find something else?” you ask, your eyes gleaming with a playful spark, the kind of light that could brighten even the dimmest of days.

He lets out a chuckle, low and gravelly, surprising himself. The sound feels foreign, rusty, like laughter hasn’t escaped his throat in a long time. “No,” he starts, and then realizes you’d offered him two options, so he clears his throat and clarifies, “I want this one. Thank you.”

Your smile widens, and there’s that same warmth in your eyes, shimmering with a joy he hasn’t felt in years. “Awesome,” you murmur, a quiet delight in your voice as you turn to lead him back to the counter. He follows, watching the way you move, the easy grace of your steps, the little bounce that seems so at odds with his own heavy tread. He can’t help but notice the care you put into even the smallest details—how your fingers skim over the cover as you scan the book, your voice soft as you tell him the price. He nods absently, hardly hearing you; he’s already decided this book, chosen with such thought, is worth every penny.

“Would you like it gift-wrapped?” you ask suddenly, breaking him out of his thoughts. He chuckles again, awkward this time, and you respond with a light laugh of your own, a sound that melts the air between you. “I’ll wrap it up real quick,” you say, reaching for a roll of delicate paper. “Just a sec.”

He watches, captivated by the way you work. Your hands move smoothly, almost lovingly, as you fold the paper with practiced ease. You add a final touch—a bit of decorative tape, a couple of small stickers, a tiny pocket for a note. There’s a grace in your movements, a tenderness he hadn’t expected to find in something so ordinary. It strikes him that you must do this every day, that you’ve wrapped countless books just like this one, yet you treat each with the same reverence. For a moment, he’s transfixed, caught up in a little world where every gesture, every detail matters.

“Here you go,” you say, handing him the book, now carefully wrapped and nestled in a paper bag.

“Will that be everything for you today?” you ask, smiling softly as if you can sense he’s still lingering, still caught in his own thoughts.

“Oh—actually, no!” he exclaims, a laugh slipping out, and it’s genuine, unexpected. “I’d like a coffee to go, please.”

“Of course,” you reply with a little nod, and he watches as you glide over to the coffee station, your hands moving gracefully as you work the machine, pouring a steady stream of coffee into a simple paper cup. You bring it to him with a quiet smile. “Here you go,” you say, handing him the cup, its warmth seeping through the paper and into his fingers, spreading heat into his bones.

“Thank you,” he says, reminding himself to return your smile. There’s a warmth there, an ease he hasn’t felt in a long time, and he finds himself thinking, just for a second, how pretty you look with that gentle expression, with the easy way you move through the world. If only he weren’t so closed off, so weighed down by his own wounds. You’d be the kind of person he’d love to ask out, if his heart hadn’t already been numbed by the cold.

But no—he’s too far gone for that. So he simply raises a hand in farewell, turns his back, and steps out into the biting wind. Snowflakes swirl around him, cold against his cheeks, but his coffee is warm in his hands, sending up gentle tendrils of steam that vanish into the icy air. He trudges through the snow, his footsteps muffled, his mind unexpectedly lingering on you—your warm laugh, the way your eyes glinted with life, as if joy itself lived inside you. 

Maybe he should let himself try again. Maybe he should take a chance and see what could happen, let someone in, just once more. His friends have told him enough times how much he needs that, how he should stop closing himself off. But then he remembers how content you seemed, untouched by the darkness he carries, and he can’t bear the thought of bringing his storm into your sunlight, of tainting that brightness with his own shadows. It’s better this way, he tells himself, better not to risk another heart—especially not one that shines like yours.

The sun spills across the snow outside, making it glisten like a field of tiny pearls scattered over the earth. Inside your bookstore, the warmth of Christmas lingers in every corner, filling the air with the quiet glow of string lights, the soft hum of holiday music, and the scent of coffee mingling with cinnamon. It’s just the way you love it—cozy and inviting, a small world apart. The fragrance stirs memories of Christmases past, when warmth and wonder felt boundless. It’s nostalgic, yes, and you find yourself wanting to pass that feeling on, to wrap it up like a gift and place it into the hands of every person who steps through the door.

This is why you opened this bookstore with its coffee corner, a place where stories and comfort blend as naturally as words on a page. You’ve always been captivated by the written word, knowing full well how a single story can slip beneath your skin, change your world, and leave you breathless with a sense of wonder. A story can make you pause, whispering, wow, this was amazing, or surprise you with glimpses of yourself in its characters. Some books show you new paths; others mirror the parts of yourself you hadn’t quite understood.

This is the magic you’ve always chased—a quiet enchantment found only in books—and why you can’t help but adore recommending them. You believe in the power of words, that the right book at the right time can light up a reader’s world. And here, among the shelves you’ve lovingly arranged, you get to share that magic every day, welcoming others into a world that feels like home.

Every person who steps into your little winter wonderland is met with a genuine smile, and if they’re looking for a recommendation, you’re ready to sprinkle a bit of joy their way. Life hasn’t been simple for you, and you’ve had to fight for much of what you have now, but it’s made every small thing feel that much more precious. Every creak of the floorboards, every cover softened by countless hands, every whispered exchange about a new favorite book feels like a gift.

It’s midday on a bustling Saturday—one of the busiest days of the week—and today’s book club meets in half an hour. You glance at the clock and start setting everything up, filling the air with extra anticipation. You prepare an assortment of drinks: coffee, of course, but also tea for those who prefer it, poured into festive mugs that add a little extra cheer. You drape fluffy blankets over the cozy couches and scatter them with soft pillows, transforming your reading nook into a haven from the cold outside. Freshly baked muffins and cookies wait on the table, adding a hint of sweetness to the air.

In your hands, you hold today’s book—a thrilling, spicy fantasy where a young woman uncovers a hidden truth about herself, discovering magic and mystery with the help of a tall, dark, brooding stranger. It’s the perfect pick for this crowd, an escape into a world filled with intrigue and impossible love. Your bookstore hosts a range of book clubs, something for every taste, from cozy mysteries to heartfelt memoirs, so everyone who wanders in finds a place to belong.

As you check the time again, the chime of the door opens, and members trickle in, mostly women but with a few men scattered among them. They settle into the chairs, cradling their warm drinks and pulling out their books, eyes bright with anticipation. You begin, reading snippets aloud, leading discussions that bounce from laughter to quiet reflection as everyone shares their favorite lines, passages that moved them, questions that linger. Hours slip by in an instant, and even after the meeting ends, people linger, reluctant to let go of this cozy, book-filled oasis. Some stay to read, sipping slowly at their cups, while you return to the counter, greeting the steady stream of customers that fill your little shop. 

As you move between the bookshelves and help others find their next escape, you feel a quiet pride. This place is yours, filled with stories, laughter, and a touch of magic in every corner—a small universe where people come to feel less alone, warmed by the same words that have guided you all your life.

As you wait, relaxed, watching for anyone who might need help, your mind drifts back to a few days ago, to that stranger who walked in with the quietest of presences, searching for a gift—a book for his friend. Namjoon, that was the friend’s name. You realize now you never caught the stranger’s name. He was handsome in an understated way, but there was a heaviness about him, like a cloud clinging to his shoulders. That sadness had tugged at something inside you, urging you to offer him a touch of the holiday warmth filling your little shop. Despite his guarded nature, you saw those small cracks, those fleeting moments when he softened, letting in a glimmer of the joy you tried to share.

Now, with closing time just around the corner, your thoughts drift back to him and that lingering, frowning gaze. Just then, the bell chimes, pulling you from your thoughts, and to your surprise, in he walks, the same stranger, stepping through the door with a hint of apprehension. For a split second, he looks vulnerable, almost unsure—but as his eyes meet yours, his expression shifts, confidence replacing hesitation. His small smile is radiant, a rare glow that catches you off guard, like a sliver of sunlight breaking through a cloudy sky. It’s barely there, but it’s enough to leave you wondering what storms he’s weathered to dim his light this way.

You greet him with a soft smile of your own as he steps up to the counter, stopping just before you. 

“Hi,” he says with a steady voice. You return the greeting, about to ask if he needs help with anything, but he speaks first, voice a touch uncertain but warm.

“Remember that friend you helped me find a gift for?” he asks, scratching his head, as though he’s slightly unsure of himself. You nod, intrigued, and he clears his throat, glancing away for just a moment.

“Well,” he continues, his voice steadying, “we’re having a Christmas dinner tomorrow, and I thought... Maybe you’d like to come with me?”

You blink, taken by surprise, and a laugh escapes as you say, “I don’t even know your name,” your tone light, not saying no, but letting him know you’re curious, open to this unexpected invitation.

“Ah, right—my bad,” he says, stretching his hand toward you with a shy smile. “I’m Hoseok. And you?”

You take his hand, his warmth surprising you, and you giggle, “It’s Y/N,” you reply, your voice soft, the sound of your name feeling different in the warmth of his gaze.

“Y/N,” he repeats, a gentle smile tugging at his lips. “Pretty name,” he murmurs, and you can’t help but feel the faintest hint of flirtation woven in his words, though there’s still a nervousness in his eyes.

Then he takes a small breath and adds, “Just to clarify,” he hesitates, his voice wavering with a hint of uncertainty, “you’d be going as my girlfriend. Well, my fake girlfriend.” He chuckles nervously, almost wincing at his own words. “I mean—if you’re good with that?”

The words hang in the air between you, unexpected and just a bit surreal. Fake girlfriend? You blink, caught off guard, studying his face as he scratches the back of his neck, stammering slightly, realizing, perhaps, the absurdity of it all. “I told my friends I’d be bringing my girlfriend,” he explains, his cheeks coloring, “but, well… I don’t actually have one.”

There’s something so earnest, so endearingly awkward about him that you can’t help but smile. And before you know it, you hear yourself saying, “Yeah, sure. I’d love to be your fake girlfriend.” The words come easily, and even though you’ve only seen him once in your bookstore, something in his gaze feels steady, genuine. Maybe it’s a leap, but you’ve always trusted your instincts, and right now they’re telling you he’s worth it. If this brings him a little joy in the midst of whatever shadows he’s facing, you’re happy to oblige.

Hoseok looks stunned, his mouth opening slightly in disbelief, and then a broad smile lights up his face. “Thank you,” he breathes, his voice filled with relief and a soft gratitude. He tells you he’ll pick you up tomorrow, and you exchange numbers and addresses, the simple gestures somehow feeling significant.

As he heads out into the frosty night, his figure disappearing into the snow-dusted street, you’re left smiling to yourself, the weight of the unexpected encounter settling over you. You lock up the bookstore, half-wondering at the mystery of it all, but feeling strangely certain this is exactly the kind of magic the season brings—unexpected, a little reckless, and wrapped in the glow of winter lights.

You clasp your hands together, fingers intertwining tightly, nerves fluttering in your chest as you wait for Hoseok to pick you up. You agreed to join him at his friends’ Christmas dinner as his pretend girlfriend, but now, in the quiet of your apartment, doubt creeps in. You’ve only met him twice in your bookstore, barely know him beyond fleeting glances and brief exchanges. The thought of walking into a room full of strangers prickles at your confidence. But you remind yourself that it’s just like meeting new faces at the shop. Slowly, your shoulders loosen, and your breathing steadies.

Glancing at your wristwatch, you see it’s nearly time. You grab your keys, lock the door, and head down the stairs, feeling the soft knit of the Christmas sweater dress Hoseok insisted you wear, an odd sense of comfort in its silly design. Apparently, you’re “matching his ugly sweater,” as he’d said with a laugh. Wrapped in your winter coat and boots, you step into the night, the cold air crisp and bracing as delicate snowflakes drift through the air, illuminated by the warm amber glow of the streetlamps.

Headlights sweep up the road, and Hoseok’s car slows to a stop in front of you. He’s waiting, the dim light from the dashboard casting a soft glow across his face. You open the door, sliding into the passenger seat, where warmth radiates from the heater and a familiar cinnamon scent lingers in the air. Hoseok greets you with a quiet smile, though his eyes hold a hint of his own nerves.

“Hi, Y/N,” he says softly, watching you as you fasten your seatbelt. He shifts into gear, guiding the car down the snowy road. His fingers clench the steering wheel, and after a moment, he glances your way. “So…you remember our backstory from last night?”

You nod, giving him a reassuring smile. “Yeah, I remember the texts,” you say, warmth lacing your voice. “We’re childhood friends from kindergarten who recently reconnected when you moved back into town.” 

He hums approvingly, tapping his fingers lightly on the wheel as he stops at a red light. “Perfect. My friends are probably going to ask a million questions—I hope you’re ready for that.”

You shrug with a playful confidence, grinning as you glance over at him. “I think I can handle it.”

The two of you share a small, knowing smile, though the absurdity of the situation isn’t lost on you. Here you are, headed toward a stranger’s holiday dinner, to pretend to be his girlfriend. You don’t gain anything from this beyond the joy of helping someone out, but still…there’s a little thrill in the adventure.

The city lights gradually fade as he drives out toward the quieter suburbs, snow dusting the dark roads until he finally turns into the driveway of a quaint little house, string lights twinkling around the doorframe like stars. Hoseok cuts the engine, the two of you sitting in the hushed stillness for a moment, watching as the snowflakes swirl gently outside the windshield.

“We’re here,” Hoseok murmurs, and you catch his smile, warm as the headlights reflecting off the falling snow. “This is actually my friend Namjoon’s place,” he says, reaching for a carefully wrapped gift on the seat. Watching him, you suddenly wonder aloud, “Should I have brought something, too?”

He waves his hands between you, shaking his head. “Nah, don’t worry—you didn’t draw a name for Secret Santa, so you’re all set.”

Relieved, you step out into the brisk night, following him along the snow-dusted path. As you approach the door, he reaches for your hand, his grip both grounding and electrifying as he gives a gentle pull, guiding you to the doorstep. You bite your lip nervously, a bundle of nerves and excitement building, when the door swings open. Standing there, smiling with dimples that carve deep into his cheeks, is a man who strikes an oddly familiar chord.

“Hi, Hobi,” he greets, his voice rich and welcoming, before glancing at you with a knowing twinkle. “And this must be your girlfriend?”

Hoseok’s hand presses lightly against the small of your back. “Yes, this is Y/N,” he introduces you with a soft squeeze that sends a rush of warmth through you.

You follow them inside, feeling the sudden coziness of the house—a subtle warmth, holiday lights casting a glow over walls adorned with paintings and art pieces. When you step into the dining room, you stop, eyes widening at the grand bookcase stretching along the wall. It reminds you of your own bookstore, and you can’t help the delighted laugh that escapes you.

You’re greeted by Hoseok’s friends, easy smiles and lighthearted jokes melting away your nerves. There’s a surprising ease to slipping into this role, to letting Hoseok’s arm find its way around your shoulder, his touch landing at the small of your back, drawing you in for a gentle hug every so often. His casual touches feel natural, and you find yourself leaning into him as if you’ve known each other for far longer than two brief meetings.

As the evening unfolds, though, you notice something. While you’re chatting and laughing with his friends, Hoseok seems quieter, reserved, watching more than talking, an unexpected contrast to the warm person who’s held you close all evening.

Soon, everyone settles at the table, and you find yourself between Hoseok and Namjoon, whose familiarity still niggles at your mind. Drinks are poured, laughter fills the air, and a delicious meal is shared. The room falls into a comfortable quiet as everyone eats, voices softened as plates empty and contentment settles in.

“So, how did you meet our Hobi?” a tattooed guy—Jungkook, you think—asks with a curious smile.

You recount the story Hoseok gave you, weaving it with a smile. Jungkook nods, seemingly convinced, and around the table, friends accept your tale with knowing grins—except for Namjoon. You catch the soft scoff he tries to hide, though the others brush it off. When you finally turn fully to face him, catching his eyes, recognition strikes.

Of course—he’s a regular at your bookstore. You’ve seen him countless times, tucked into a corner with a book in hand, quietly immersed, though he’s never spoken to you and always leaves without buying anything. You wonder if he remembers you too, if he feels the same familiar spark, or if it’s just you, standing in the company of strangers who somehow feel just a bit like home.

A pang of doubt twists in your chest. If Namjoon has indeed pieced together that you’re not Hoseok’s real girlfriend, then the secret you’re helping carry feels a little heavier. You remember Hoseok mentioning their long history, and you wonder how well Namjoon can see through this little charade. But as dinner goes on, he stays silent, leaving you in an unsettling limbo of half-glances and unsaid words.

The night drifts on, and laughter fills the room as everyone exchanges Secret Santa gifts. You can’t help but smile as each friend unwraps their present, the spark of surprise and joy lighting up each face. When it’s Namjoon’s turn, he opens Hoseok’s gift—a book—and he pauses, his gaze slipping to you in a flash of recognition. You avert your eyes, warmth creeping into your cheeks, uncertain of what he sees or thinks.

When the last of the presents has been exchanged, Hoseok turns to you, a small, wrapped package in his hands. “For you,” he murmurs, his smile soft, almost bashful. Surprised, you unwrap it, revealing a tiny sun plushie with a wide, beaming grin. Its warmth brings an involuntary smile to your lips, and you clutch it close. “Thank you, dear,” you say, leaning in to plant a light kiss on his cheek. Hoseok’s friends exchange giggles and knowing looks, and Hoseok whispers softly to you, “It’s for being my partner in crime tonight.”

As the evening winds down, you join in clearing the table. Hoseok has drifted to the couch, his figure outlined by the window, eyes distant and fixed on the winter night. A weight lingers in his expression, a deep-seated sadness that seems miles away from the warmth of the room. You’re about to go to him, to ask if he’s alright, when you feel a strong hand at your wrist, guiding you into the hallway.

It’s Namjoon. His presence is grounded and steady, like an oak tree catching you in the autumn wind. His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, you see both questions and answers swirling there, like he’s holding onto a truth he’s not sure he’s ready to speak.

“So, should I be thanking you for the book?” Namjoon chuckles, his smile gentle yet curious, as though he’s only half-convinced of your innocence in the matter.

“Not really,” you reply, grinning as you deflect his gaze with a little shrug. “I just helped him choose because he’s hopeless with books—unless they’re comics.” You laugh, hoping your nonchalance hides the truth beneath the surface.

He laughs, nodding. “Yeah, sounds like him. Comics are about as close as he gets to literature.” His eyes flicker with warmth as he continues, “So, what’s your kind of book? What authors and genres do you get lost in?”

Before you know it, the two of you are deep in conversation, voices lowered in the hallway like you’re sharing secrets. Time becomes a vague notion, and the room around you seems to fade, leaving only the vibrant world of books—their characters, settings, and journeys—alive between you. Talking about stories, you feel a rare lightness, as if Namjoon is the first person in ages who shares the same deep love for them.

“You should drop by the bookstore sometime,” you say with a smile that feels wider, warmer. “We have a book club, too. It’s not as fancy as this,” you laugh, glancing toward the festive room, “but it’s a cozy crowd.”

Namjoon hesitates, then rubs the back of his neck, a flicker of shyness breaking through his cool exterior. “I might just take you up on that.” He pauses, as if summoning courage. “Actually… could I get your number? There’s that book you mentioned earlier—I’d love to hear more about it sometime, but…” He glances at the room filling with laughter and goodbyes. “Looks like this night’s wrapping up.”

For a brief second, you wonder at the request, but something in his gaze, earnest and unguarded, assures you. With a soft smile, you hand him your phone, and as you exchange numbers, a quiet sense of possibility lingers in the space between you.

He must know, right? That you’re only pretending to be Hoseok’s girlfriend? 

And yet, Namjoon has said nothing, given no sign that he’s in on the secret. With a fleeting glance over your shoulder, you find Hoseok across the room, engaged in conversation with Seokjin. You drift over and settle next to him, and he instinctively wraps an arm around you, his fingers lacing with yours in a way that feels almost natural, if not a bit intoxicating. It’s easy to lean into his warmth, to fall into step with this rhythm of borrowed closeness, though your heart betrays you with a quiet flutter. Hoseok is both charming and soft-spoken—the kind of person you might fall for. But as he laughs and smiles, you sense a faint veil behind his joy, as if he’s holding something back, a quiet sadness simmering beneath his surface.

Your curiosity pulls you closer, like you’re skimming a page of a novel you’re not yet allowed to read, catching only glimpses of the sorrow he hides. You wonder what story lies beneath his charming front but stop yourself; after all, tonight you’re nothing more than strangers playing at love.

Later, as he drives you home through streets blanketed in snow, a mellow Christmas tune hums softly from the radio. He’s quieter now, eyes focused on the road, his features thoughtful, even solemn under the glow of passing streetlights. You wonder what’s shifted within him, what’s brought on this sudden retreat. You want to reach out, to ask if something’s wrong, but the words linger on your tongue, uncertain. Instead, you fall silent as the car slows, then stops outside your building. A strange reluctance holds you there, as if the air itself has thickened, laced with words neither of you are quite willing to say.

After a pause, Hoseok turns to you, clearing his throat, his hand resting on your thigh—a gesture that’s both tender and strangely formal. His voice is low, soft as he murmurs, “Thank you for being my fake girlfriend tonight. You… really made it feel real.”

He says it softly, his voice carrying a hint of sadness that catches you off guard, a weight that settles around your heart like mist on a winter night. His words linger, unspoken emotions woven into the silence that stretches between you, and you find yourself wondering—what happens now, with this fragile connection suspended in the cold, quiet air?

“It was nothing. Really—you’re welcome,” you say, a gentle reply you hope sounds reassuring, though it feels distant, safer. Perhaps the middle of the night isn’t the time to unearth things better left unsaid. Yet the thought crosses your mind: will you see him after this? Wasn’t this just a single act, a temporary arrangement?

“Will I… see you again?” you hear yourself ask, your voice soft, almost hesitant, as if it too fears rejection.

Hoseok’s hand retreats, and he glances down, a subtle sadness clouding his eyes. “I… I don’t think so.” His words feel heavier than they should, an unexpected blow that leaves you feeling emptier than you thought possible. You hardly know him, yet there’s something unspoken etched across his face—something hurt, guarded, and you ache to reach out, to tell him that whatever he’s holding back, he doesn’t have to carry alone. But he’s closed himself off, walls too high for a stranger’s comfort to reach.

You sigh, swallowing the pang of regret, clenching your hands to steady yourself. “Oh… okay,” you say, masking the ache with a soft, hollow smile. Your fingers twitch, wanting to bridge the gap between you, to offer some small comfort—but his posture tells you he isn’t ready to accept it. He looks away, his expression distant, already far ahead on a road you’re not part of, his face cast in shadow.

With a deep breath, you open the car door and step out, lingering just a moment longer before whispering a soft “Goodbye.” He barely meets your gaze as you close the door, and before you know it, his car is fading into the darkness, leaving you alone on the sidewalk, wrapped in silence and the unsettling ache of missed chances.

You stare after him, shivering under the streetlights, wondering if you should’ve pressed, if you should’ve dared to ask what weighed him down. But the night stretches on, and you’re left there with only your thoughts and the haunting feeling that you missed something rare and beautiful that might never return.

Hoseok feels hollow, a sinking weight that hasn’t lifted since he saw that crestfallen look on your face when he left you at your door. He’s not blind; he knows he messed up. But there’s something about this season, the way it reaches into his chest and pulls him under, leaving him fighting against a tide that he’s been trying to ignore for years. And now Christmas Eve is almost here—an anniversary of grief he hates most of all—and the closer it gets, the more his mood tangles, turning dark and unmanageable.

Why does he always ruin things? You were so sweet, so bright, your hand fitting perfectly into his like it was meant to be there. It’s been so long since he’s felt even a spark of warmth like that. Having you beside him at the dinner helped, too, lifted the weight for just a moment. But now, he’s gone and left you with nothing but silence. He knows he’s worried you, knows he’s made you question yourself. And yet, his heart twists at the thought of texting back, at unearthing the reason for his darkness.

The worst part is he’s seen every message you’ve sent, each one left unanswered, and with every passing day, they’ve dwindled until now… there’s nothing. He can’t blame you for giving up—he’d have done the same. And still, something in him aches at the absence, at knowing he’s pushed you away when he’s wanted to tell you the truth. Wanted to let you in. But the truth feels as vast and heavy as the winter sky, and he doesn’t know how to share it. He doesn’t know if he ever could.

His friends have noticed, too, hounding him with questions that scrape against his guilt, asking him how he kept you hidden for so long. Namjoon even laughed and asked how he’d managed to keep such a “childhood friend” so secret all these years. Hoseok’s stomach tightens with the weight of his lie, the flimsy story unraveling before him like a thin thread he can’t control.

He scrubs a hand through his hair, frustration thick in his throat. How could he possibly tell you what’s really going on when he knows it would change how you see him? How could he bare himself to you, darkness and all, without fearing he’d lose the brief light you’ve brought into his life? The thought circles in his mind, relentless, as he wonders if he’s ever been brave enough for the truth—or if, this time, he’s finally lost the chance.

The doorbell cuts through the heavy silence of Hoseok’s apartment, and when he swings open the door, there stands Namjoon—tall and composed, bundled in a long coat, a beanie tugged low, thick glasses catching the faint winter light. He’s holding a houseplant, its green vibrant against the muted backdrop of the street.

“Mind if I come in?” Namjoon asks, but before Hoseok can even respond, his friend steps over the threshold like he’s been here a hundred times. Hoseok stands, caught off guard, words barely forming in his throat.

“Uh, sure,” he finally stammers, wondering what could have brought Namjoon here at this hour, unannounced and unreadable.

Namjoon places the plant—small, resilient-looking—onto the dining table, then slips off his coat and drapes it over the chair, pulling it out with a quiet determination. Hoseok follows and sits across from him, still dazed, feeling like he’s been summoned to some private tribunal.

Namjoon clears his throat, fixing Hoseok with a steady, discerning gaze. “You and Y/N,” he begins, words deliberate, “have you told her why you can’t stand Christmas?”

Hoseok’s breath catches; his throat tightens. He forces himself to shake his head. “No, I haven’t,” he manages, the words heavy.

Namjoon leans forward, his posture stern yet somehow protective. “So you’re not serious about her?” he presses, voice low but insistent, as though each syllable is meant to peel back the layers of Hoseok’s tangled emotions.

“No...I mean—” Hoseok hesitates, feeling the urge to confess he’s cut things off, ended this entire charade before it grew more complicated. But Namjoon speaks again, his voice shifting, a rare gentleness threading through.

“I stopped by her bookstore,” he says, and Hoseok holds his breath, tension prickling beneath his skin as he waits, unsure of where this is heading.

Namjoon’s eyes soften, and a small, genuine smile flickers across his face. “She’s really sweet, you know. Bright. Kind. I think she’s exactly what you need—if only it were real.”

The words pierce through Hoseok, his heart stumbling. He feels his pulse race, the subtle grip of panic and dread mixing with something that feels painfully like hope. He knew this moment would come, knew someone would finally see past the lie, and yet there’s relief in the admission. He can’t hide, doesn’t want to.

“So...you figured out it’s fake,” he mutters, defeated, bracing himself for whatever comes next.

Namjoon nods, arms crossed, his expression shifting to something sterner, more disappointed than Hoseok could have anticipated. “What I don’t understand,” he says, voice firm but low, “is why you’d hurt her feelings like this.”

Hoseok flinches, each word like a heavy stone sinking into his chest. Hurt you? The idea stings, unearthing a guilt he hadn’t let himself feel fully until now. He’d thought this arrangement would protect him, keep everyone at a safe distance. But hearing it said aloud—that he’s hurt you—tightens the knot in his chest, makes him realize just how much he’s let his own grief pull him down, dragging someone else along with him.

He searches Namjoon’s face, but his friend’s gaze doesn’t waver, holding him accountable with a simple, unrelenting question. And for the first time in a long time, Hoseok wonders if maybe, just maybe, he’s been too afraid to let himself feel something real again.

Hoseok’s gaze meets his friend’s, a trace of confusion flickering there, but then, with a pang, he remembers the look on your face when you’d asked if you’d see each other again. He can still see it—how your expression fell at his answer, the sadness that slipped across your features.

Namjoon leans forward, his tone gentler but resolute. “You know... I think she actually cares about you,” he says, stretching his arms out and shaking his head in amused disbelief. “I don’t know how you manage to pull that off while acting like the Grinch himself,” he scoffs, “but somehow, this girl’s worried about you. You really should go talk to her, at least apologize for being a complete ass.”

Hoseok feels his chest tighten, leaving him mute, almost stunned. He knows Namjoon is right; he knows it all too well. But saying what he feels, peeling back that scarred armor—especially around Christmas—is something he’s almost incapable of doing.

“I don’t know if I can, Joon…,” he murmurs, the words coming out more fragile than he intended. “I just think telling her everything will only make her sad,” he says, his gaze dropping to the table, his hands clasped tight as though they could somehow keep his emotions contained.

Namjoon doesn’t let him off that easily. “And what do you think she is now?” he retorts softly, but with enough weight that the words feel like they land with an impact. Hoseok’s eyes widen, struck by the truth that he’d been dodging all along.

He’d thought, maybe, you’d be angry at him—mad, frustrated, but surely you’d move on quickly, brushing him off as just another mistake. After all, you were nothing more than strangers bound by a silly pretense. But hearing Namjoon say it so plainly, he realizes just how deeply he’s been fooling himself. And underneath the weight of his resentment for this season and the pain tied to that distant, bitter December night, he can’t deny the truth—he finds you kind, thoughtful, even hopeful in ways that he barely remembers feeling himself. 

If things were different—if his grief hadn’t swallowed him whole, if he could loosen the grasp of the past—he could almost imagine himself with someone like you. But here he is, still tethered to that haunting memory, letting Christmas slip by year after year in the shadow of that loss. 

Namjoon watches him in silence for a moment, then speaks, his voice quieter but unyielding. “Hoseok, we’ve all tried to tell you. The past can’t be a place to live, no matter how much it calls you back.” 

And Hoseok feels the truth of it—a weight and a choice lingering like the chill of winter air, urging him, perhaps for the first time, to break free.

It’s nearly Christmas Eve, and you’re setting up for the last book club gathering before the holidays—a special, spicy session in the fading afternoon light, centered around a tale of witches, dragons, and the tangle of morals. While you lay out the books, aligning them carefully on the tables, your mind drifts to Hoseok, stirring with thoughts you can’t quite suppress. Namjoon’s words echo in your memory, nudging you to give his friend a chance. But the emptiness of your unanswered texts lingers; despite the messages you’d sent with tentative care, Hoseok has remained silent. A part of you aches to reach out just once more, yet the other half insists on self-respect—if he doesn’t want the comfort you offered, the space to unburden himself, you tell yourself that’s fine. Still, beneath that quiet resolve, a sliver of frustration seethes, and it slips into your work, reflected in the books you place down a bit too roughly, each one landing with a defiant thud.

Tonight’s book club promises to be a lively one, with more attendees than ever before. You’ve even roped in a few friends to help rearrange the store, setting up extra couches and stools to welcome the crowd, and handling the front counter while you join the readers. Despite everything, the prospect of the gathering fills you with a kind of joy that’s untouched by disappointment. Here, surrounded by stories and souls eager to explore them, you feel anchored, reminded of the warmth and kinship that words can forge even on the coldest nights.

Everything is ready, and as people start trickling in, the space soon brims with warmth and laughter. Every seat is filled, and latecomers, wrapped in thick blankets, settle on the floor, adding to the cozy, intimate atmosphere. Soft candlelight dances across the room, casting a gentle glow over festive mugs brimming with coffee and tea, and you smile, savoring the joy that settles over your little bookstore. You begin speaking about the new indie author whose book you’re exploring tonight, diving into themes of morality, which quickly spark a spirited debate among the readers. 

But then your phone vibrates, faintly insistent in your pocket. At first, you ignore it, but when it continues, you excuse yourself with a sheepish smile and slip away to the counter. A string of messages from Namjoon lights up your screen.

[19:23] Namjoon: Hi 😀  

[19:23] Namjoon: Sorry to bother you again, but  

[19:24] Namjoon: TY for letting me visit your bookstore 📚  

[19:24] You: You’re welcome anytime! 😊  

[19:24] Namjoon: and finding that book for me  

[19:24] You: np at all 😀  

[19:25] Namjoon: I know that your relationship with Hobi is fake, but I really wanted to say that I think you’ll be good for him ☀️  

[19:25] You: Really? 🥹  

[19:25] Namjoon: I hope you’ll want to get to know him. He’s a really great guy 👍  

[19:25] You: I do! Yeah. I had a feeling there’s a nice guy under all that sadness 🥹  

[19:26] Namjoon: Ahh, yeah. He actually used to be the happiest and brightest person, but…  

[19:26] Namjoon: Ahh, sorry 🙇  

[19:26] Namjoon: It’s not my place to tell you.  

[19:26] Namjoon: You should talk to him 🙂  

[19:26] You: DW! I didn’t want to pry. I’ll ask him himself 🥰  

[19:27] You: TY for looking out for him. You’re a good friend 🫂  

[19:27] Namjoon: Always. He’s one of my oldest friends and I just want to see him happy again 🥹  

[19:27] You: I’ll try talking to him. I hope he finally responds 🙏  

[19:29] Namjoon: Please do, otherwise I’ll kick his ass!

You smile at Namjoon’s last message, the warmth of his words lingering as you slip your phone back into your pocket. But a tangle of thoughts and emotions stirs within you. Namjoon seems genuinely hopeful for you and Hoseok, nudging you toward him with a gentle insistence that Hoseok might just need someone to reach out. You’d promised to try, but doubt lingers at the edges—what if it’s all in your head, an illusion woven by the quiet moments you shared and the loneliness he wore like a mask?  

Yet, the image of Hoseok as the “brightest person,” as Namjoon described, sits heavy in your mind. What could have dimmed that light? And as you glance out at the book club gathering, a part of you wonders if, somehow, there’s still a chance to bring a bit of that warmth back to him.

Hoseok finds himself aching for your smile, the warmth you seemed to pour out effortlessly, and the sharp, clever humor that softened his edges in ways he didn’t expect. Namjoon’s words echo in his mind, words that have been unraveling him slowly, urging him toward the chance to make things right. With his hands tucked into his coat pockets, his feet carry him almost unconsciously toward your bookstore. He knows you’re working tonight, but he doesn’t care about timing or convenience; he only knows he needs to see you, to finally apologize and hope you’ll give him even a moment of your time. He’s prepared to accept whatever you’re willing to offer—even if it’s a closed door.

As he steps inside, the familiar warmth and scent of cinnamon and worn paper embrace him, comforting and bittersweet. You glance up from the counter, and the softness of your smile catches him off guard; relief flickers in his chest—you haven’t yet written him off. He makes his way over to you, offering a tentative, apologetic smile.

“Hi, Y/N,” he says, noticing the subtle spark in your eyes, something between surprise and hope. “I came to order a coffee…and give you a proper apology,” he adds, his voice warm, almost pleading.

You let out a small chuckle, the sound light but genuine, and turn to make his coffee. “Is this one to go?” you ask, an amused smile tugging at your lips.

“No,” he replies, a hint of a grin breaking through his seriousness. “Actually, I was hoping for one of those festive mugs, and maybe to borrow a book and stay for a while—if that’s okay.”

A warmth lights up your eyes, and he feels his heart lift, his nerves unraveling just a little. “I think that’s a great idea,” you say, and reach for a whimsical reindeer mug, the kind with a scarf winding into the handle, speckled with snowflakes. You fill it with steaming coffee, setting it before him with a soft, inviting smile.

Hoseok’s gaze drops to the mug as he gathers his thoughts, then he looks up, meeting your eyes as he speaks. “I owe you an apology,” he begins, his voice low and earnest. “For everything. I know there’s no excuse, but Christmas has always been…well, it’s not exactly my season,” he trails off, catching himself rambling, and gives a nervous chuckle. “But I didn’t mean to take that out on you. I just wanted to say I’m sorry, truly, and I’ll try to be better.”

The smile you give him is small but warm, like a flicker of forgiveness, and for the first time in a long while, he feels a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, he can start letting go of his past.

You hand him the reindeer mug, warm and brimming with rich coffee, smiling as you pass it to him. “I’m glad to hear it, Hoseok. You were acting like an ass there for a bit,” you say with a playful glint in your eyes, “but that’s in the past now—you’ve apologized.” Gently, you slide the mug across the counter toward him. “Here’s your coffee. Pick out whatever book catches your eye,” you add softly, your voice warm.

He nods, pausing for a moment as he clears his throat. “Actually,” he begins, a bit hesitant, “that poetry book you recommended for Namjoon…do you have another copy?”

“I do,” you say with a quick smile, nodding toward the poetry section. “It’s right over there.”

“Thanks,” he murmurs, wrapping his hands around the mug and savoring its warmth. “Figured I could use a little introspective magic.” With that, he takes a long sip, the comfort of the mug slowly thawing his cold fingers.

He makes his way to the poetry shelves, pulls down the book, and settles into one of the plush armchairs in the corner. For a long time, he reads quietly, the pages offering him solace in ways he hadn’t expected. While his usual reads lean more toward comics, he feels something settle inside him as he lets himself sink into the rhythmic flow of the verses. Every so often, he looks up to see you moving gracefully through the shop, helping customers, laughing softly with a warmth that feels magnetic. He realizes, almost with a pang, that this warmth is something he used to feel too, before the shadows crept in. Maybe that’s part of the draw he feels toward you—you radiate the kind of light he’s been missing.

From the corner of his eye, he notices you glancing over at him, and when he catches your gaze, a soft blush creeps up your cheeks. You offer a shy smile, and he returns it with a gentle wave, feeling lighter than he has in a long time.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been there, nestled into that armchair, his coffee long finished and now sipping tea. Hours seem to slip by, but he doesn’t mind. As he flips through the poems, he’s surprised by how deeply they resonate with him. Some verses are quiet and sad, others comforting, and some seem to reach into the bruised places he’d long tried to ignore. He closes the book, his heart feeling just a little less heavy, and places it back on the shelf.

Finally, he walks to the counter, holding the empty mug in his hands. A grateful smile lingers on his lips as he approaches you, words forming in his mind like the first sparks of something new.

“It’s getting late, so I should head home,” he says softly, a smile spreading across his face. “Thank you for the coffee and…the poetry. Your store feels like a warm hug, honestly—cozy and comforting.”

You smile, touched by his words. “That’s exactly the atmosphere I was hoping for,” you reply, taking the mug from his hands and placing it on the tray to be cleaned later. 

He lingers, shifting slightly, his eyes dancing around the room as he gathers the courage for what he wants to say next. “I, uh…” he clears his throat, glancing up at you, “I’d like to come back sometime soon. Maybe we could actually hang out?” His voice wavers just a little, and you catch the flicker of nerves in his expression.

A playful grin tugs at your lips as you raise an eyebrow. “Are you asking me out on a date?” you tease, letting a hint of mischief dance in your gaze.

A blush creeps into his cheeks, but he nods, smiling shyly. “Yeah, actually… I’d like to take you out. Not here in your store. How about a movie or something?” he mumbles, trying to hide his hopefulness.

“A movie sounds nice,” you say softly, warmth blooming in your own chest.

“How about the day after tomorrow?” he asks, his eyes brightening with relief and anticipation.

You nod, giving him a gentle smile. “Sure.”

His blush deepens, and his grin widens as he waves goodbye, stepping out into the night air. As he heads home, he feels lighter, like a weight has lifted, the warmth of your smile lingering with him, warming him even as the winter wind swirls around.

Hoseok insisted on watching one of those cheerful Christmas movies, the kind that swells with improbable reunions and holiday cheer, even though you’d told him he didn’t have to—any genre would’ve been fine. But he’d insisted, almost stubbornly, saying that it’s what he wanted. Yet, even as the lights dim and you settle in, you can feel the irony of it: this bright, glittering warmth on screen, and something distant in his gaze that it doesn’t quite reach. 

You’ve got a tub of buttery popcorn between you and sodas on the floor by your feet, but your attention isn’t really on the movie. Something about a girl rediscovering her family…you’ve seen it before, enough times to know every twist and turn by heart. Instead, you focus on the space between you, the openness of your hand resting on the armrest, waiting for him to close the gap. When he does, intertwining his fingers with yours, a soft thrill of warmth lights up your chest. 

He hums contentedly, gently squeezing your fingers, and after a while, his head leans softly against your shoulder, his breathing falling into a slow, steady rhythm. When you glance down, you realize he’s drifted off, and a small smile tugs at your lips. He must be exhausted, though you don’t even know what he does for work, what fills his days with the kind of weight that would make him fall asleep so quickly.

You let him rest, his warmth comforting against your shoulder, and time slips away until the credits roll and the lights blink back on. As he stirs, blinking sleepily and straightening up, a hint of embarrassment flickers across his face, but you brush it off with a reassuring smile, finding that you liked the feeling of him resting against you.

“Want to come back to my bookstore?” you ask as you both step out into the cold night, snowflakes swirling gently around you. Your fingers find his again, as natural as breathing. “We could have a drink. It’s closed for the holidays, so it’d be just the two of us,” you add with a smile, looking up at him.

He yawns, nodding. “I’d really like that.”

You walk together through the snow-dusted streets, laughter mingling with your steps, until you reach the bookstore, keys jingling in your hands as you unlock the door. Inside, the quiet space welcomes you both, the ceiling lit with floating snowflakes casting a soft glow over the shelves and cozy reading nooks. You both shrug off your coats, and you lead him into the back of the store, where the barista machine hums quietly in the corner.

“How about hot cocoa?” you ask, glancing over your shoulder. “It’s a little late for coffee.”

He nods, a soft smile touching his lips as he settles into one of the armchairs. You start grinding cocoa beans, the rich aroma filling the air, and set two festive mugs beneath the machine, watching as it pours thick, velvety cocoa. The air is warm, and somehow you feel more at home in this quiet moment than you have all season, the world outside reduced to the gentle hush of falling snow.

With the cocoa steaming in your hands, you settle into one of the oversized, cloud-soft couches, and he sits across from you, mirroring your small, hesitant smile. The bookstore feels like a world away from the outside, a sanctuary where the soft hum of holiday lights flickers gently, and the scent of chocolate mingles with the faint, comforting smell of old books.

You take a slow sip, letting the warmth fill you. “So,” you ask, voice gentle but direct, “do you want to tell me why you hate Christmas so much?”

He pauses, caught off guard, nearly choking on his own cocoa, and you watch his face flush, caught somewhere between embarrassment and hesitation. Realizing you’ve gone right to the heart of it, you quickly add, “You don’t have to, of course. I’m just…curious. But it’s okay if you’re not ready.”

For a moment, he seems to shrink inward, his face turning soft with a sadness that feels ancient, like a weight he’s carried for too long. He takes a breath that’s almost a shudder, expanding his chest as if even breathing through it hurts.

“It’s not that I don’t want to tell you,” he says finally, his voice so low it’s barely a whisper. “It’s that I’m scared you’ll look at me differently, that I’ll just…bring you down.” His words are vulnerable, stripped bare, trembling with the unspoken.

Reaching out a little, you reassure him, “I won’t. I promise. But really, there’s no pressure. You only have to share what feels right.”

He nods, but there’s something in his gaze that shifts—like he’s waging a silent battle, torn between hiding and the need to unburden himself. He fidgets with his fingers, then places his mug carefully on the table, as though any movement could shatter the quiet around you.

“It’s just…” He hesitates, casting his gaze downward, then continues, “I want to tell you, because…well, only my closest friends know. And I think you deserve to know too, since I’ve been such an ass to you…” he trails off with a nervous laugh, tinged with sadness.

Taking a deep breath, he begins. “It happened when I was seventeen,” he says, voice low and brittle. You set your own mug down, instinctively leaning forward, drawn to the rawness of his words.

“It was Christmas Eve,” he says softly, staring past you, somewhere into the painful fog of memory. “There was a storm—snow swirling thick, icy roads. And…” He pauses, his voice trembling, his words hitching, thick with emotion.

Instinctively, you move over to sit beside him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders as he struggles for composure, his breath shaky. Leaning into your touch, he swallows hard, gathering the words from somewhere deep, each one a fragile release.

“My parents and my sister…” he chokes out, his voice shattering into tears, and you draw him closer, feeling him tremble against you. One of his hands finds yours, his grip tight, holding onto you as though he fears the memory might pull him under.

“They died,” he whispers, and the words break free like a dam bursting. His shoulders shake as the full force of his grief surfaces, raw and unrestrained. He buries his face in his hands, and you gently place a hand on his back, offering the quiet comfort of your presence as he unburdens himself.

He leans into you, surrendering to the weight of years of sorrow. “And it’s all my fault,” he sobs, the words barely discernible through his heaving breaths.

Softly, you murmur, “How do you figure that?” Your voice is low, gentle, as though you’re trying to hold him steady with your words.

“Because…” He trails off, swallowing hard. “I asked them to go out that day. The star on the tree was broken, and I’d wanted everything to be perfect, so they went out just to get a new one. And they never came back.”

His confession lingers in the air, heavy, each word carving deeper into the silence. You pull him close, holding him as he cries, his sobs echoing softly through the quiet bookstore. 

You pull him closer, letting your warmth envelop him like a soft blanket, as if you could shield him from the pain he’s held onto for so long. “But it wasn’t your fault,” you whisper, gently, your words like a balm, “How could it be? They were adults, Hoseok. If they hadn’t wanted to go, they wouldn’t have. You didn’t force them, didn’t ask for a storm. It’s horrible and tragic, yes, and I’m so sorry you’ve had to carry this, but…it’s not your fault.”

A sob breaks from him, raw and filled with years of bottled sorrow. “But it is,” he cries, his voice catching, “If I hadn’t been so insistent about that damn star, if I hadn’t wanted everything to be fucking perfect…”

Tenderly, you tighten your embrace, gently rubbing his back. “But you can’t know that, Hoseok. No one could know.” Your words are soft but sure, reassuring, each one carrying a warmth you hope he can feel. “Sometimes…things just happen, things we can’t control.”

“It’s been over a decade,” he says, his voice a fragile echo. “But every Christmas—every snowstorm, every time I see the lights, I’m right back there. All I see is them, and I hate it.” His voice trembles with anger, grief, and resentment. “I hate the snow, I hate the holidays. That storm, those roads…it’s all ruined for me.” He breaks again, the words torn from him, and you hold him through his tears, letting him release everything he’s held in, feeling each tremor as he cries.

For a while, you just stay there, giving him the space to let the sorrow pour out, letting him lean into you fully. You say nothing, just hold him, until the sobs subside to quiet sniffles. His voice barely a whisper, he murmurs, “I just want them to come back…” and the raw ache in his words tugs at your heart.

Your chest tightens with empathy, the pain he’s carried so vividly there before you. The weight of it all is almost unbearable, and now you see why he’s buried his light under layers of grief for so long. But there’s something else there, too—a longing to break free, if he only knew how.

Finally, you find the words, speaking softly. “Look, Hoseok…I can’t even imagine what you’ve gone through. And it’s unfair, all of it. But you’ve carried this for so long, like a stone around your neck, dragging you down. It’s part of you, yes, but maybe…maybe it doesn’t have to define every part of you forever. What if you could let a little of it go?”

He’s quiet, thinking, eyes still glistening. “I don’t think I can,” he says softly, looking at you as though searching for permission to forgive himself. “Maybe I don’t deserve to be happy…”

You reach for his hand, guiding his gaze to meet yours. “Hoseok,” you say, voice steady but warm, “we all deserve to be happy. We’ve all faced loss and scars that linger, but we don’t have to carry them like this. I’m not saying you need to forget, but…maybe you can let the pain be something else now, something softer, something that blooms instead of weighs you down.”

He looks at you, brow furrowed, as though he’s trying to understand. “Like turning it into something beautiful?” he asks, his voice so low, so vulnerable.

“Yes,” you nod, a small smile breaking through. “Like tending to it, like planting seeds where the pain was, and seeing what beautiful things might grow. Hold onto that pain, but let it bloom into something beautiful rather than letting it scar. Nurture it like a garden, tend to it with care, so that the memories don’t define you, but become parts of you that you can cherish, like petals of a rose you keep alive. New memories, maybe. Or something to honor what you loved about them.”

He looks up, eyes glistening with tears, and yet you can’t help but think he looks so heartbreakingly beautiful like this—vulnerable, raw, his heart laid bare.

He stares into the distance, thinking, his fingers still laced with yours. For the first time, you catch a glimmer of hope in his eyes, fragile but alive. The weight is still there, but something else is there now, too—a softness, a beginning.

“Namjoon told me you used to be like the sun itself, and I think it’s time to let your light shine again. I can see glimpses of that warmth, those pieces of who you were. You deserve happiness, Hoseok. Don’t you think?” Your hand gently cradles his cheek, thumb brushing softly against his skin.

His breath shudders, voice rough and tremulous. “I… I’m not sure.”

You squeeze his hands, a comforting weight. “I’m not saying it will happen overnight. But you deserve the world, and maybe…maybe it’s time to let yourself imagine that.” You search his face, noticing the exhaustion in the redness of his eyes, the weariness clinging to him like a shadow. He’s been carrying his world alone, and it’s wearing him down, thread by thread.

“Listen,” you whisper, “we don’t have to talk about it anymore tonight. You look so tired. How about this—I’ll find some blankets, and we can sleep on the couch, together?” Your arms hold him close, an offer of sanctuary, one he so clearly needs.

He nods, and you rise to gather the blankets, arranging them softly around him before settling beside him. You help him lie down, his head resting on your lap as your fingers drift tenderly through his soft brown hair, tracing gentle circles. Your fingertips graze the shell of his ear, and you feel a delicate shiver ripple through him. Slowly, his breathing steadies, the tension in his face unwinding as you touch his cheek softly. His eyes flutter shut, though a few quiet tears slip free, trailing down the bridge of his nose to rest, shimmering, on your thigh.

“I’m so sorry you lost them,” you murmur, voice almost a breath against the quiet. “I’m so, so sorry. But I’m sure your parents and sister would want to see you smile again, to see you living freely.”

He hums faintly, a soft sound that melts into the stillness, leaning unconsciously into the warmth of your hand. With a tender impulse, you lean down, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek, your lips meeting his skin like a promise. “You’re a beautiful sunflower, Hobi,” you whisper, the words a soft caress.

A small, fragile smile tugs at the corner of his lips, his breaths deepening as he drifts, his body finally surrendering to sleep. Your heart aches for this gentle soul, and yet you feel strength in the quiet resolve settling over you. Though you’ve barely begun to know him, you feel an undeniable pull—to protect, to nurture, to help him find his way back to the light. You want to see him reclaim the happiness he’s buried, for you feel, deep down, that he deserves it more than anyone.

As you press your hand softly against his shoulder, you settle beside him, closing your own eyes, and together, under the soft weight of blankets, you both drift into the quiet peace of sleep.

His chest feels strangely lighter, as if the weight he’s carried so long has finally loosened its hold. The scent of old paper mingles with a trace of last night’s cocoa, stirring softly around him, and he opens his eyes to find two forgotten mugs, their contents now cold, sitting on the table. Morning light streams through the bookstore’s large windows, casting delicate beams across the room, where tiny particles of dust dance and swirl like winter snowflakes caught in a golden glow.

And then it hits him—he’s in your bookstore. He fell asleep here, his heart laid bare, resting in your gentle embrace. Last night, he poured out his grief, his regrets, his guilt, and you’d held him in the quiet safety of your lap, soothing him with words that linger in the air, as soft as the dawn light now filtering in. He feels a warmth settle in his chest, something lighter and more hopeful taking root, gently nudging the darkness aside.

He turns, catching sight of you still asleep beside him, your lashes fluttering against your cheek in the gentlest rhythm, like the delicate wings of a butterfly resting between flights. You look so serene, so quietly beautiful, and in this moment, he feels his heart expand, filled with a quiet gratitude and a strange, new kind of peace. He isn’t fully healed—not yet—but he feels the faintest beginnings of something brighter, a light beginning to shift within him.

You were right, he realizes. He doesn’t have to carry his grief alone, doesn’t have to let it take root so deeply. His friends had tried to tell him before, but somehow, he’d resisted. With you, though, it felt different. Maybe it’s the way you looked past the jagged edges of his sorrow and saw the flicker of light he thought he’d lost. Maybe it’s the way you listened, without pity, without judgment, your compassion flowing freely, like a balm to his worn-out soul. He feels a rush of quiet reverence—for your kindness, for the safe harbor you offered, for the hope you unknowingly planted in him. And he knows, somehow, he’ll carry this moment with him forever.

You stir softly beneath him, your body stretching as you wake. Your eyes meet his, soft and warm, and in that gentle gaze he feels understood in a way he hadn’t thought possible. You smile, a tender smile that feels like the start of something new.

“I loved our talk yesterday,” you murmur, voice laced with warmth and care. “How are you feeling?”

He hums softly, the morning light catching the hint of a smile on his lips, “I feel… lighter, actually.”

“That’s good. I’m so glad,” you whisper, fingers tracing gently along his cheek, your touch soft and warm. A shiver rolls through him, and he feels goosebumps rise, like your kindness has left its own quiet mark on his skin.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, voice tender and full. “Thank you for listening, for everything… truly.”

You smile, brushing a strand of his hair back with a quiet laugh. “I didn’t do anything—you did that,” you say, your voice a soft tease. 

He chuckles, feeling his heart swell as he sinks a little deeper into your lap, his gaze locked on yours. “You’re good with words,” he replies, leaning into your touch, feeling a warmth he hasn’t felt in so long.

“I read a lot,” you chuckle, fingers weaving gently through his hair, each stroke grounding him more fully into this quiet moment.

He clears his throat, his eyes lifting to meet yours with an unexpected tenderness, “What are you doing tomorrow? On Christmas Eve.”

You pause, a flicker of surprise lighting your eyes before you break into a gentle smile. “Nothing, why?”

A smile spreads across his face, slow and earnest. “I’d really like it if you’d come to my place. I want to make dinner for you, to thank you. For all of this.”

Your eyes soften, glistening with a look he can’t quite decipher, something warm and unspoken that makes his heart beat a little faster. And then, leaning closer, you brush a kiss against his cheek, your lips feather-light and warm.

“I’d love to,” you whisper, and your words, simple as they are, feel like the beginning of something he hadn’t dared hope for.

It’s Christmas Eve, and the quiet streets are bathed in the soft, amber glow of street lamps, their light dancing on the fresh blanket of snow as you wait for the bus that will carry you to Hoseok’s place. A warmth bubbles up inside you as you think back to yesterday—when you finally glimpsed the beautiful light that has always flickered behind his eyes. That warmth wrapped around you, like a blanket on a cold winter night, and filled your heart with a joy you can’t quite put into words. 

Seated now in the gentle hum of the bus, you press your forehead against the cool glass of the window, watching the world blur past in a whirl of twinkling lights and shadows. Your mind keeps drifting back to Hoseok, that ray of sunshine who’s somehow already become a quiet storm in your chest. You’ve never felt like this for anyone—never this quickly, never this intensely. You know you like him deeply, but there’s so much more to discover. This dinner, you think, could be the start of that journey. 

As the soft strains of Christmas music fill your ears, you imagine what his home might look like—wondering if it would feel as warm and comforting as his presence. The bus slows, and you press the stop button when you realize the next stop is just a heartbeat away from Hoseok’s apartment. The doors open, and you step out into the crisp, dark afternoon, your breath puffing out in delicate clouds as you trudge through the snow, boots crunching with each step toward his building. Finally, you find it. You shake the snow off your boots before making your way up the stairs, your heart fluttering as you ascend to the right floor. You reach his door and knock gently, anticipation coursing through your veins. It’s only moments before the door swings open, and you’re met with an embrace of warmth—both from the cozy glow spilling out from inside and from the inviting scent of something delicious drifting in the air.

Hoseok stands before you, wearing a red Christmas apron, with a pocket embroidered with Santa and snowflakes at the edges. The sight catches you off guard, and you can’t help but smile, your heart swelling in your chest. “Wow,” you begin, taken by surprise, but he grins back, the same joyful light in his eyes. “—Handsome, right?” he finishes your thought with a laugh, and you join in, smiling even brighter. “Yeah,” you laugh, nodding, “That’s exactly what I was going to say.” You slip off your coat and shoes, feeling the warmth of his home wrap around you like a soft embrace.

You look down at your dress, a silky golden thing that rests just above your knees, with the barest hint of your collarbone exposed. Beneath the apron, you catch the outline of his dress shirt, festively adorned with Christmas prints, and the way his dress pants fit him perfectly. Without thinking, you reach out, gently grasping his bicep, surprised by how solid and strong it feels beneath your touch. You open your mouth to speak, to tell him something—anything—but for a moment, the words slip away, leaving you with only the quiet flutter of your heartbeat.

“I used to go all out at Christmas,” Hoseok says, his voice soft, catching your gaze as he notices you watching him. “When my family was still alice… it was kinda our tradition. And,” he pauses, the weight of the memories hanging between you both, “I thought maybe I should replace those dark memories with new ones. Water the flowers, like you suggested.” 

The sincerity in his voice pulls at your heart, and you feel a warmth spread inside you. He really took your rambling words to heart, didn’t he? It’s almost too much, the way he’s reaching for healing, for light. You blink quickly, trying to stop the tears from spilling over—because God, if he keeps this up, you’re not sure how much longer you can hold it together. 

He smiles softly at you, a smile that carries both gratitude and something more, before gently guiding you into his home with a hand resting at the small of your back. “Come in,” he murmurs, as if he’s sharing more than just his space, as if he’s offering you a piece of himself. 

You step inside, and the atmosphere is instantly warm, comforting—like stepping into a dream where all the colors and memories belong exactly where they are. His personal items are scattered thoughtfully around the room, each object, each piece of art, telling a story of the man himself. The walls are adorned with splashes of color, vibrant yet intimate, as if the house breathes with the same life that hums in his veins. It’s the kind of home that makes you smile involuntarily, grounded and cozy, much like him. 

You follow him into the kitchen, small but inviting, its walls holding the scent of simmering food and something more—something like hope. Your stomach rumbles with anticipation as you watch him finish off the last details of the meal, every movement graceful and purposeful. It’s like watching an artist at work, and your senses are overwhelmed by the delicious aroma that fills the air.

He rolls the sleeves of his shirt up with an easy, practiced motion, revealing arms veined and strong—muscles flexing as his hand moves to stir the pan. Your mind drifts for a moment, caught between admiration and the soft, flickering thoughts that begin to dance behind your eyes. His presence feels like the warmth of the sun—comforting, yet powerful.

“Do you want wine?” he asks, his gaze meeting yours as he reaches for a heat-resistant mat to place the pan on. 

“Yeah, but just one glass,” you answer, your voice steady. You don’t want to cloud the clarity you feel in this moment—not today. Not with this quiet intimacy swirling between you two, a pull that feels magnetic, like you’re drawn in by the gravity of his kindness and the warmth of the space he’s shared with you. 

When you step into the dining room, the sight before you takes your breath away. The table is set perfectly—candles flicker gently, casting a soft glow across the room, while a delicate Christmas playlist hums in the background. The ambiance feels like something pulled from a dream, and your heart flutters as you take it all in. 

“You didn’t have to do all this,” you say, your voice quiet with awe, still unable to fully comprehend the effort he’s put into making this evening so special.

Hoseok chuckles softly, a smile curling at the corners of his lips as he drags a stool out for you to sit. “Actually,” he says, placing the food carefully on the table, his eyes warm and earnest, “I had to. It’s the least I can do.” He pours wine into your glass, his fingers brushing the stem gently, and as he looks up at you, something shifts between you both—something that feels like the beginning of a new story.

You blush and smile, warmth blooming inside you, feeling a kind of happiness that only his presence seems to create. It’s a glow that wraps around you like a soft, sunlit blanket, a feeling you know he brings to others when he’s not weighed down by his sorrow. But tonight, Hoseok is different—lighter, freer. He’s like a person emerging from the dark, letting the painful past be nothing more than distant echoes, fading into the background of his life. There’s a spark in his eyes, a lightness to his spirit that wasn’t there yesterday. You know the sadness still lingers in him, but damn, seeing him fight to reclaim joy is nothing short of beautiful.

His movements are more confident now, flowing with a grace that seems to echo his shifting mood. The pain didn’t vanish overnight, but he’s making a conscious choice to let go, to change, and that’s the most powerful thing. It feels like watching someone wake up, piece by piece, from a long and heavy slumber.

You take a sip of your wine, and the quiet hum of contentment fills the space between you. As you begin to eat, the flavors on your tongue are nothing short of heavenly, and you realize—he’s not just kind, not just tender, but he’s an incredible cook too. Your heart swells, and you glance at him, finding his smile—soft, genuine, a reflection of the warmth that’s spilling out from inside him. He’s smiling with his eyes, and it makes you feel elated, like everything in the world has aligned just perfectly. 

Then, you feel something nudge against your foot, warm and gentle, and your gaze drops to see his foot brushing against yours. You can’t help but giggle, a little burst of joy that seems to bubble up from your chest. You drink a little more, letting the wine relax your senses as you continue eating, savoring every bite until you’re almost too full to move.

“This was so delicious, Hobi,” you say, your voice soft, full of admiration, as your hand stretches across the table, finding its way to gently caress his. 

He smiles, his lips curling into a playful smirk as he meets your eyes. “Mh. Thank you,” he murmurs, the words wrapped in warmth.

“But you’re the one who deserves all the thanks and praises,” he adds, his voice thick with sincerity, his gaze never leaving yours. You blink, surprised by the depth of his words, and feel your heart stir with a tenderness you can’t quite explain.

“Me?” you laugh, a little incredulous, the sound light and playful, like you’re both caught in this beautiful moment of connection.

“Yeah,” he nods, his voice low and filled with gratitude, “if it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have had the strength to face my pain, to let the old me—the me I thought was lost—come back to life.” 

His words settle in your chest, heavy with truth, and it stirs something deep inside you. 

“Instead of sitting here with you today,” he continues, his voice raw and real, “I’d probably be lying in bed, bitter, angry at the world and everyone in it. But here I am, actually enjoying Christmas. Actually enjoying life again.” 

The rawness of his honesty catches you off guard, and your heart aches with the beauty of it. A few tears well in your eyes, not from sadness, but from the overwhelming sweetness of his words. His gratitude, so pure and so deeply felt, moves you in ways you didn’t expect.

He caresses your hand back, the warmth of his touch sending a ripple of warmth through your chest. “Thank you for guiding me back towards the light,” he whispers, his voice soft yet resolute, the sincerity in it making your heart swell. 

Your eyes flutter, feeling a mixture of gratitude and happiness for him. This is the light you saw the moment you met him—the flicker of hope beneath the surface of his pain—and now, with gentle patience, he’s found his way back to it. To see him embrace it, to see him live in it again, is nothing short of breathtaking. And in that moment, you realize just how incredibly sexy that is—this strength, this vulnerability wrapped in his quiet confidence. 

Without thinking, driven by the pull of something deeper, you lean in across the table, closing the distance between you, and your lips meet his in a kiss so tender it almost feels like the world stops. 

For a fleeting second, there’s hesitation in him—surprise, perhaps—but then his hands cradle your cheeks, his fingers slipping into your hair, and he moans into the kiss, pulling you closer, deepening it. 

Your heart races, the connection between you sparking like wildfire. You think, with a flash of clarity, that it was only ever a matter of time before this moment arrived, before your lips touched in the way they were always meant to. 

When you pull apart, his brown eyes are dark, pupils blown wide with desire, as are yours, and you feel the heat between you intensify, every nerve in your body alive with the electricity of the moment. 

He leans in again, lips brushing against yours as his breath quickens, and you feel something stir within you, something deep and primal, fluttering in your chest. 

He pulls back again, and his voice is laced with desire, hushed but intense. “Do you want to see my bed? It’s nice and soft,” he asks, his gaze still smoldering.

You blush, the heat rising to your cheeks, but you can’t help but laugh—a breathy sound, teasing and full of playful mischief. “Yes, but I’m more into the harder beds.”

He raises an eyebrow, his gaze sharpening into something more dangerous, more magnetic. “You are, are you? So you like it hard?” His voice is low, a dangerous edge to it now, and it makes your breath catch in your throat. 

“Maybe,” you tease, batting your lashes as your heart begins to race. You rise from the stool, the air between you thick with unspoken promises.

“Which way to your bedroom?” you ask, your voice barely more than a whisper, the heat between you palpable, electric. You can already feel the pull of him, the temptation of what’s to come.

He stands up, his hand reaching out for yours, and you feel the warmth of his touch ignite something inside of you. “This way,” he murmurs, his fingers threading through yours as he leads you through the tiny hallway.

Every step feels heavier than the last, the anticipation building like a slow crescendo, your pulse quickening with every heartbeat. The air feels thick with tension, charged, like a storm ready to break. As you step into his bedroom, the world outside seems to disappear, and all that exists is him—his presence, his touch, the way he’s looking at you with that fire in his eyes.

Before you can take another breath, he pulls you into his arms, one hand sliding behind your neck, the other settling on the small of your back. His lips crash into yours, deep and smoldering, igniting the very air between you. You melt into him, your heart pounding in your chest, your body aching for the closeness, for everything that’s about to unfold.

His tongue dances with yours, a teasing, intoxicating rhythm that sends shivers through your bones, a soft, helpless moan slipping past your lips and into his. The air between you is electric, alive with a pulse that pulls you both closer until clothes become mere shadows cast aside, and your chests rise and fall in time, breaths mingling as one. He guides you down onto the bed, and you gasp, bouncing softly against the mattress, a laugh escaping you—only to dissolve as he hovers above, his gaze dark and consuming, savoring every curve, every inch as though you were his finest vintage.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice thick, reverent, as his hands trace along your body, leaving trails of fire in their wake. You shiver, the warmth of his touch awakening every inch, every nerve, until your skin hums under his fingertips. His lips descend, his breath warm against your skin as he moves lower, his gaze holding yours in a promise, a delicious anticipation that pools and aches within you.

“Can I touch you, make you come on my tongue?” he whispers, his voice low, pleased. You nod, breath hitching, and when you gasp a desperate ‘yes,’ he presses deeper, spreading you open, his lips finding your pussy, soft and warm, as a shudder rushes through you like a wave.

He doesn't hesitate, diving in, his tongue moving in slow, devastating circles that steal your breath, exploring you with the kind of hunger that unravels you. You gasp, hands tangling in his hair as he wraps his arms around your thighs, holding you steady, his own groans vibrating against your skin as his mouth moves against you, relentless, devoted. The wet sounds echo, shamelessly intimate, drawing you closer to that edge, your pulse quickening as his nose brushes your clit, a shockwave of pleasure sparking up your spine.

Your fingers knot into his hair, tugging, a fevered plea spilling from your lips as he drives you higher. A skilled flick, a press, and your hips roll forward, chasing the pleasure he's offering, breath coming fast and shallow. “Hobi,” you gasp, feeling the tidal pull of release, the wave cresting just at the brink. “I’m so close, I—”

He pulls back only briefly, his voice a husky command. “Come for me, sweetheart. Let me taste it.”

The endearment sends a dizzying rush through you, a warmth that winds tight in your core, pushing you over the edge. With a final swirl of his tongue, you fall, your muscles clenching around him as his name shatters from your lips, your body arching, pulsing with every wave that rolls through you. He doesn't let up, holding you through every tremor, his mouth and fingers steady, pulling every last bit of pleasure from you.

When your breath finally slows, he trails kisses up your body, lingering over the swell of your hips, your stomach, each touch a worship. His mouth finds the hollow of your throat, then your jaw, his face gleaming with your warmth as he murmurs, “Absolutely breathtaking.”

“That tickles,” you giggle as his lips trail across your cheek, finally capturing your mouth in a tender, lingering kiss. There’s a faint taste of yourself on him, but it’s lost in the intoxicating warmth of his presence; you’re drunk on him, submerged in the depth of his touch, his scent, the pull of his breath against yours. It’s astonishing how deeply you feel for him already—as if you've known the quiet rhythm of his soul and the dance of his heart for years, not days that turned to weeks.

“Was it good?” he murmurs, his eyes bright and searching, holding a playful tenderness that only he seems to bring out in you.

“It was incredible,” you pant, your body slowly easing down from the dizzying high, a blissful afterglow humming through every inch of you.

“Then let me give you another,” he says with a teasing glint, the promise glistening in his voice as he leans closer.

You blink, surprised, a trace of doubt slipping through your words. “Are you sure?” It’s not that you question his skill—he’s just shown you what he’s capable of—but you’ve never been able to reach that edge twice in such quick succession.

His expression softens, his eyes tracing over your face with quiet understanding. “You’ve never orgasmed twice in a row, have you?” He asks, his voice gentle, knowing. You bite your lip, nodding, your cheeks warm.

“Then lean back, relax,” he whispers, a warmth threading through his voice that feels like a promise waiting to unfold. “Let me do all the work.”

He guides you to sit up, leaning comfortably against the headboard, and settles in beside you, close enough that his heat seems to melt into your own. With a soft, lingering kiss, his lips capture yours again, while his fingers trail a path down your body, finding the sensitive peak of your breast and teasing your nipple with a gentle, rhythmic squeeze that draws a moan from deep within you. His hand moves skillfully, squeezing, massaging, until your skin tingles beneath his touch, each sensation like a spark flickering into life.

When his hand finally moves lower, tracing the curve of your thigh, you’re already quivering with anticipation. His fingers find that sensitive spot between your legs, his touch feather-light but insistent as he circles your clit, the glide slick and warm, a sensation that sends tremors through your body. A soft moan escapes your lips, melting into his as his finger slips inside you, a slow, steady rhythm building as he moves in and out, each motion drawing you closer to that simmering heat just waiting to burst.

His lips never leave yours, each kiss drawing you deeper into the haze of his touch, your body moving in sync with his, rolling against him as his hand works its magic. You’re already beginning to unravel, each touch, each whisper against your skin making you feel like you’re on the verge of combustion. Not quite over the edge yet, but right there, teetering, every nerve alive, every inch of you utterly and completely his.

“Mmmhh,” he breathes against your lips, his teeth grazing your bottom lip before pulling away to meet your gaze. His eyes lock onto yours, dark and inviting, filled with a warmth that makes your pulse quicken.

“Ah, Hobi,” you pant, your hips instinctively moving in sync with his hand, matching each subtle movement with a desperate rhythm.

“You like that, huh?” he teases, his voice soft but laced with a confidence that sends a shiver through you.

“I do,” you moan, breathy and unguarded. “You can… add another.”

He obliges, slipping a second finger beside the first, the added stretch sending a spark of pleasure rippling through you, and you can’t help the delighted mewl that escapes your lips. He moves with a steady, knowing rhythm, his fingers curling, finding just the right spots, each motion igniting something deeper, pulling you toward that familiar crest of pleasure. For the first time, you believe—maybe you could actually come again.

Your head falls back, resting against the headboard, and he seizes the moment, his mouth tracing along the exposed curve of your neck. His lips, warm and firm, press kisses to your skin, each one sending a wave of electricity through you, and as his teeth graze just beneath your ear, you giggle softly, your body instinctively clenching around his fingers.

“You’re so tight,” he whispers, his breath hot in your ear, each word brushing against your skin like velvet, sending delightful shivers coursing through you. “Think you can handle a third finger?”

Your breath hitches, a soft moan escaping as you murmur, “Maybe… Are you getting me ready for that monster cock of yours?” you tease, voice wavering with laughter and heat.

He laughs, the sound low and deep, and slides a third finger inside, his mouth brushing your ear as he murmurs, “I’ve got to make sure your sweet, tiny pussy can take me.”

The words strike something in you, a spark that seems to light you from within. Your body welcomes the stretch, feeling fuller, each movement of his fingers heightening the tension building inside you, every push and curl driving you closer to the edge. You’re lost, breathless, a soundless cry caught in your throat as his thumb grazes your clit, sending you spiraling, stars dancing in your vision as pleasure wells up from within.

“Are you close again, sweetheart?” he whispers, voice thick with desire, his fingers moving faster, his thumb circling in a way that’s both messy and perfect, igniting every nerve.

“Yes,” you gasp, the word more a breath than a sound, your hips rolling in time with his hand as he dips his head to your neck, then your cheek, each touch gentle, yet searing. He catches a stray tear of ecstasy on his lips, and then he finds your mouth, kissing you deeply, his body pressing against yours, chest against your breasts, the closeness amplifying every sensation. The world fades around you, narrowing to just the two of you, to his fingers, his lips, his warmth, everything feeling achingly right.

Before you know it, you’re tumbling over the edge, your body pulsing around his fingers as he moves within you, steady, guiding you through every wave of your release. You’re left breathless, panting, as the pleasure washes over you, his fingers still moving, coaxing every last tremor from you, until you’re spent, lost in the warmth of his embrace.

“See?” he grins, his eyes glinting with satisfaction. “I told you I could make you come again.” He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek as he slowly withdraws his fingers, leaving you feeling empty, your body still pulsing in the delicious aftershocks of his touch. He holds his slick fingers in front of you, and for a moment, you think he’ll ask you to taste yourself. But instead, he surprises you, lifting his fingers to his own mouth, his lips parting as he sucks them clean, his gaze locked onto yours. The sight sends a rush of heat through you, and your body responds instinctively, clenching at the image of his self-indulgent pleasure.

“That was… incredibly hot,” you murmur, still breathless, your hand finding his chest as you push him gently back against the headboard. He gives a soft, surprised laugh but lets you take the lead, his body relaxed, trusting. His legs part under your touch, his cock heavy and hard between them, and you feel a rush of excitement knowing he’s been waiting, building up desire, just for you.

“Oh, okay,” he breathes, his voice breaking into a pant as you lean in. You spit into your hand, wrapping it firmly around his dick, feeling the warmth of him under your palm, the slight pulse of anticipation. His eyes close, his head tilting back, a moan slipping from his lips as you begin, your hand gliding over his length, making sure every inch is slick and ready for you.

Without hesitation, you bring your mouth down to him, taking him in fully, your lips stretching around him as you ease down. He gasps, his body jerking slightly, unprepared for the sudden depth, and you stay there, breathing steadily, relaxing as you let him fill you completely. Above you, he murmurs something unintelligible, a string of curses and soft sighs that only drive you further.

You pull back, letting him slip from your lips with a soft, wet sound, the cool air hitting his skin as he opens his mouth, stunned. “Damn, Y/N, I—”

But before he can finish, you take him in again, his words dissolving into a low groan as you move, finding a rhythm, hollowing your cheeks around him as you hum, feeling him pulse with each sound. The slight salt of his precum lingers on your tongue, a taste that feels both intimate and thrilling. His hands find your head, fingers threading into your hair, and you feel him tense above you, fighting for control. But then his grip tightens, and he pushes you down gently, deeper, a raw, breathless whisper escaping him.

“Fuck,” he pants, his voice breaking as you take him all the way in again, your eyes watering slightly, the warmth of him filling you completely. He presses his palms to your cheeks, drawing you up, meeting you with a hungry kiss, his mouth capturing yours in a fervor that leaves you both breathless, your bodies pressed close as if to savor every last taste, every last touch.

“You’re incredible,” he whispers, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips, his eyes meeting yours, deep pools of desire and awe, the kind of look that sends warmth pooling low in your belly.

You giggle, shifting down the bed and tugging at his legs, playfully coaxing him to lie flat beneath you. As he settles back, you crawl over him, gazing down, feeling the heat between you like a magnetic pull. Slowly, you lean down, capturing his lips, letting the kiss deepen until it feels like you’re both tumbling into something endless.

When you pull back, your voice soft, you ask, “Are you okay with doing it raw?” His face flushes, his eyes darting to the side for a moment, vulnerable, unguarded. “If you have condoms, that’s fine too… I’m clean, and—”

He interrupts, his words stumbling. “It’s fine. I—It’s been a long time for me, but… it’s not like I haven’t… I mean, I’m not a virgin… it’s just been a while since—”

You press a finger to his lips, silencing him with a soft smile, your other hand resting on the warmth of his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat. “I don’t care,” you murmur, eyes half-lidded with desire. “I just want you. Right here, right now.”

He inhales deeply, his chest expanding under your hand before he breathes out, a quiet “Mkay.”

That’s all you need. With a slow, deliberate motion, you swing your leg over his hips, settling yourself above him, your hand finding him, guiding his dick to you. Gently, you press yourself against him, letting the head of his cock tease you, a tantalizing friction that makes his face tighten with a mixture of pleasure and impatience.

“Don’t tease,” he pants, his voice a husky whisper.

“Says the master of teasing,” you quip back with a grin, and finally, you begin to lower yourself onto him, savoring each exquisite inch as he fills you, stretching you with an overwhelming, delicious pressure. Every nerve ignites as you sink down, hands splayed on his chest, his skin hot and firm beneath your palms. His eyes stay locked on yours, dark and hungry, and as you begin to roll your hips, a soft moan escapes you—he feels so perfect.

“God, you’re so big,” you murmur, voice wavering as you ride him, your movements picking up a steady rhythm, each glide smooth and effortless, your body still sensitive and wet from the pleasure he’s already given you.

“You look so beautiful on top of me,” he breathes, his voice thick with awe as he watches you, his gaze tracing the way your body moves, the rise and fall of your breasts as you ride him. His words make your pulse race, and your body clenches around him in response, your hips picking up speed, moving faster, deeper, chasing that place inside you where everything blurs into pure sensation.

Leaning forward, you press your lips to his neck, leaving a trail of kisses, your mouth finding a spot just below his jaw where you suck softly, marking him as yours. He groans, his hands gripping your hips tighter, fingers digging into your skin, pulling you closer as if he can’t get enough, his need written in every small movement.

When your lips return to his, he kisses you fiercely, and you slow your hips, grinding against him with deep, rolling movements that leave you both breathless, the friction between you a heady, delicious ache. His hands hold you with a greed that makes your skin tingle, his grip firm and possessive, as though he’s trying to savor every second, every feeling. 

He begins to thrust up into you, his movements sudden yet electrifying, each stroke catching you off guard in the most thrilling way. A gasp escapes your lips, raw and breathless.

“Ah, fuck,” you pant against his ear, your voice a broken whisper.

“Good?” he murmurs, his tone low, teasing.

“Mhm, yes,” you moan, your voice trembling as his hands pull you down, anchoring you to him, while his hips drive up to meet yours with an intensity that leaves you breathless. Each thrust sends a delicious shock through you, his cock filling you so deeply that you feel entirely claimed, entirely his.

“Let me flip you over,” he pants, and with a strength that feels effortless, he shifts you onto your back without ever leaving your body. Your legs wrap instinctively around him, locking him in place as he plunges deeper, each thrust building a rhythm that’s quick, relentless. Your hands fall back, palms open beside your head as he holds you there, his hips moving in an unyielding rhythm that sends you spiraling, your vision blurring with pleasure.

Above you, he’s sweating, his chest heaving as he breathes out, “Think you can come again?”

“I don’t know,” you whisper, voice barely a breath, each word trembling with the anticipation building low in your belly.

“Let’s find out,” he replies, his voice thick with determination. He leans down, capturing one of your nipples in his mouth, his teeth grazing the sensitive peak as he sucks, sending a fresh wave of heat through you. His thrusts remain deep, unyielding, each movement pressing against your most sensitive spot, and you feel yourself unraveling, piece by piece, as his scent surrounds you, grounding you in him.

He moves to the other nipple, and as his lips close around it, your hands find his hair, fingers threading through the soft strands, pulling him closer, feeling the delicious pull of another climax gathering, stronger, more overwhelming.

“I think… I think I’m gonna come again,” you gasp, every nerve alive with the approaching edge, feeling yourself build higher and higher, almost unbearably.

He hums against your breast, the vibration rippling through you, and when his teeth graze your sensitive skin, your body seizes, your pussy clenching around him—hard, locking him deep as your vision whites out in a blinding rush of sensation. The world blurs to nothing, a soft ringing filling your ears as your chest heaves. You dimly register his eyes on you, his gaze intense, enthralled, as you let go completely, surrendering to the pleasure.

The orgasm rolls through you in waves, endless, consuming, as he continues to thrust, drawing every last bit of sensation from you. It feels like it will never stop, his body perfectly attuned to yours, his movements relentless, and you’re left breathless, utterly taken by him, lost in the exquisite pull of his touch.

“Oh my—fuck,” he rasps, his voice catching as he stills, releasing himself into you with a shuddering breath. His chest heaves, spent and utterly captivated, and as he catches his breath, he murmurs, “Shit, I didn’t ask if I could come inside you.”

You tilt your head, feeling a tired, blissful warmth spread through you. “It’s okay,” you reply, your voice soft and slurred, still drifting in the hazy warmth of pleasure. Despite your exhaustion, your body continues to pulse around him, a lingering hold, like it’s reluctant to let him go.

He chuckles, a low, rumbling sound that vibrates through both of you. “You’re still squeezing me,” he says, giving a few gentle, lingering thrusts to help you both ride out the aftershocks, savoring every last sensation.

“This… has never happened before,” you murmur, a soft giggle escaping as the warmth fades and your body begins to relax. Finally, the last traces of tension melt away, leaving you both drowsy and satisfied.

“I hope it was good for you,” he says, letting his weight rest against you, his chest pressed to yours as his breathing steadies.

You smile, running your fingers through his hair. “It was incredible,” you whisper, a tenderness in your voice that makes him chuckle softly. He nestles his face against your collarbone, eyes closed, sinking fully into the afterglow.

“I’m glad,” he murmurs, his voice a low, warm rumble against your skin. “It was incredible for me too.” For a moment, the two of you lie there, basking in the quiet peace between breaths, in the warmth of skin on skin. He shifts slightly, resting his head on your chest, and you feel his arms wrap tighter around you.

“I could lie here forever,” he breathes, his voice soft and content.

You giggle, brushing a thumb over his shoulder. “Sounds nice, but you’re just a little bit heavy,” you tease, your voice trailing off with a sleepy laugh. “But… Can I stay? I’m so tired, and I really don’t want to go outside in the cold snow.”

He draws you closer, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple, his lips brushing over your skin. “I don’t want you to leave, either. Stay. Sleep. And in the morning… I’ll make sure to fuck you real good all over again.” He tilts your chin up, sealing his promise with a warm, lingering kiss that leaves you feeling lightheaded, even now.

“That,” you sigh, smiling as you close your eyes, “sounds perfect.”

Slowly, he slips out of you, and though you feel the absence, he’s back almost immediately with a warm cloth. His hands are gentle, his touch soft as he lifts your legs to clean you with careful attention, leaving a trail of warmth where he touches. You hum, your body responding to his tenderness, and he smiles, brushing a kiss to your knee as he finishes.

“Do you want to sleep in a shirt?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper as he watches you start to drift off.

You shake your head, smiling sleepily. “No, I’m too tired to move… just come and spoon me,” you murmur, your voice already fading as you feel yourself slipping into sleep.

“Naked?” he teases, eyebrows raised with a hint of mischief.

You smirk, stretching out your words, “Yeah… unless that makes you uncomfortable?”

“Not in the least,” he replies, flashing a cheeky grin before slipping into bed beside you. He slides in behind you, pulling the covers up over both of you as if sealing you in a cocoon of warmth and comfort. His body, warm and steady against yours, is like an anchor, and within moments, the world fades away, and you’re sound asleep, cradled in his embrace.

Morning comes gently, with the soft tickle of Hoseok’s breath grazing your neck, sending a delicious shiver down your spine as you begin to stir. You shift slightly, and he wakes, nuzzling close to you, his lips pressing a sleepy kiss to your shoulder.

“Good morning,” he murmurs, voice rich and low.

You chuckle, turning your head slightly to face him. “Good morning… and Merry Christmas.”

He yawns, then his face lights up with a lazy, warm smile. “Merry Christmas,” he says, voice filled with a happiness that feels both new and deeply familiar, like something cherished but long forgotten. The two of you laugh softly, as if sharing a secret, wrapped in the fullness of each other.

You wonder if he’s ever spent Christmas with anyone since his family passed, but something tells you not to ask—not when everything feels so gentle and good. His hand drifts down your body, his fingers finding the curve of your hip, settling on you possessively, and giving you a playful squeeze.

“Can you turn around?” he whispers, a subtle seriousness beneath his tone. “I want to ask you something.”

You shift to face him, and it’s like the morning light itself is gazing back at you—he’s radiant, his smile warm and glowing, spilling over with something tender and unspoken. For a heartbeat, you’re breathless, marveling at how a man could look this luminous, this achingly beautiful, as though he’s sunlight made flesh.

“What do you want to ask me?” you murmur, your own voice soft, a smile tugging at your lips as you reach to gently brush a strand of hair from his forehead.

He takes a slow, deep breath, his gaze twinkling with a mix of happiness and something bolder. “Would you… be my not fake girlfriend?” he asks, eyes dancing with playful mischief, though you can tell he’s holding his breath.

You can’t help but laugh, fingers threading through his hair. “So… you mean, a regular girlfriend?” you tease, tapping your chin and pretending to ponder it, though your heart already knows the answer.

He nods, grinning but waiting, his eyes fixed on yours, full of hope.

Without another word, you lean in, your lips finding his in a kiss that’s both deep and tender, lingering as if to say all the things words can’t quite hold. When you finally pull back, his eyes are wide, gaze soft as though he’s still catching his breath.

“Yes,” you whisper, a smile lighting up your face, “I want to be your not fake girlfriend.”

→ Permanent taglist: @nora12379 @jeonsbabygirlsworld @fancypeacepersona @ktownshizzle @pjmxxjm @ajoonniice @kookiewithluv @mikrokookiex @rapmonjoon94 @parkitrighthere

→ requested taglist: @nora12379 @back2bluesidex @joonsmagicshop @hobi-love @bangtan-tee-86 @itsmina29 @vintageroses10 @hoseoksluna @knjjjk @ktownshizzle @angellekookie @miksancheese

→ Author’s endnote: so… how are we feeling after riding this emotional rollercoaster of all the feels™? Are we okay? Did it wreck you just a little? Or were you like, “meh, this sucks”? Be honest—I can take it (I think) 😅 I may or may not have poured way too much of myself into Hobi, and then used OC as a therapy session to bandage my own emotional wounds 😂 Why do I do this? Every. Single. Time. But hey, at least we’re all healing together, right? 💜 Anyway, I really, really hope you enjoyed this one. Tell me all your thoughts, feelings, and maybe even your favorite moment—it means the world to me! 🫂

© @/kingofbodyrolls 2024 // Please don’t copy or repost! You are more than welcome to reblog it, leave a comment or ask me anything about the story 🥰

[shuenkio]

Wishing on You | 니키 — 엔.하.이.픈 🎄

• Paring: Ni-Ki X M!reader | Genre: Soft fluff.

Synopsis: Dating M/N as a joke, using the relationship to escape his own painful memories. However, karma strikes when Ni-ki unexpectedly falls deeply in love with M/N for real.

Cw: bad language, none.

Non proof read | English is not my 1st.

This is a work of fanfiction, do not throw unnecessary tantrums on this nsfw/sfw blog. ©Shuenkio

A☃️N: A Christmas gift for all lol, I cannot can't be in this holiday 😜 can't exactly say I'm back but it's 5050. Anyway advance happy Merry Christmas.

"I'm sorry about this m/n, look I'm sorry ok? You know I never apologize to someone but you. I know I was wrong in this for toying you, and I know you won't forgive for what I've done for... Can we pretend like this was never a joke ? Like we're for real together now?" Ni-ki expressed how guilty he was, he never said the word sorry before which made this situation even worse and somehow made you feel special? Or was it a lie again?

Snow continues falls softly, blanketing the world in quiet. Each flake drifts lazily, melting on warm skin of both, turning the air crisp and still.

The icy weather does help you to get from boiling hot at some point however, deep down in your ocean of thought, it feels like he meant what he was saying. The bad guy who got destroyed by many girls, the one who got cheated on, the one who got hurt the most in the end. Then why would he toy with you, when he knows so well about this feeling, being betrayed on?

That's not the case right now, for what you're thinking. Kinda toxic that you wanted to get back with him too but why not? He can change, you can change him don't you? The one that never says sorry or thank you typa guy but for you, it was a different scenario? Ni-ki is regretful for what he did, well his nose is kinda red right now wait is he tearing, gosh.

Stressing, Hands tucked into coat pockets, m/n exhaled, warm breath curling into the frosty air. You made up your mind, either staying with him or ending this relationship for real.

Tears streamed down his face, silent and unbroken, Ni-ki's chest still as if even grief refused to shatter the quiet. He looks down to the snow covered ground, avoids being looking at, while he is on his weakness.

Close the distance between you and him, as you lift up his chin.

"Are you sure you'll never do it again?" You asked. He drew a shaky breath, forcing himself to steady, his voice trembling but clear as he spoke through the tears, determined something.

"i swear to Santa, if I'd toy, cheated, playing with your feelings again on you, I'd let you shave my head bold" what?

"sigh shut up"

"can I...hug you?" M/n rolled his eyes, exhaling sharply as Ni-ki, still wiping away tears, hesitantly asked for a hug.

"fine I guess..," You said nonchalantly, the voice is flat, as you shrugged slightly, offering no more than a careless glance. Despite the dismissive tone, you didn’t pull away when Ni-ki stepped closer.

Ni-ki wrapped his arms around you, pulling them close, resting his chin on your shoulder despite the height difference. There was a warmth in the embrace, a sense of quiet comfort that filled the space between them.

Under the flake storming, You could feel the weight of Ni-ki sigh against your neck, the way his body seemed to melt, just for a moment, into the calm of being held. It was a strange mixture of vulnerability and safety, and though You'd remained still, that both of you couldn’t ignore the faint tug in their chest.

"I'll be good for you... Really"

"..."

"바보같이 사랑해..."

"Okay... Well um... Merry Christmas?"

© to all the rightfully owners of pics and dividers.

[aventurineswife]

Under the mistletoe with all the obey me brothers? 🤭

Love, Laughter, and Mistletoe

Tags: Lucifer x Reader, Mammon x Reader, Leviathan x Reader, Satan x Reader, Asmodeus x Reader, Beelzebub x Reader, Belphegor x Reader, Obey Me Brothers x Reader (seperately), Mistletoe Moment, Holiday Special, Early Christmas Fluff, Romantic Moments, Surprise Kisses, Soft Side.

A/N: WHY AM I SUDDENLY GETTING OBEY ME REQUESTS OUT OF NOWHERE?! NOT COMPLAINING BUT JUST CURIOUS!! 😭😭

Lucifer

The atmosphere in the room was warm and festive, the smell of cinnamon and pine filling the air. The sound of cheerful laughter and soft music played in the background. As you looked up, your eyes caught the faint glow of mistletoe hanging above you and Lucifer.

His sharp eyes noticed the same thing at the same time, his posture straightening as he crossed his arms with a smirk.

"Well," Lucifer began, his tone cool but with a hint of amusement, "it seems the situation requires a formality, doesn’t it?"

You blinked, surprised. "What do you mean?"

"Just this once," he murmured, stepping forward, closing the small distance between you. His lips brushed your cheek for a brief, almost imperceptible moment, and his voice lowered. "Consider it a necessary gesture of goodwill. Don’t get used to it."

As quickly as he had come, he was gone, leaving you with a fluttering heart and a faint blush. It was rare for him to break his stern demeanor, but somehow, under the mistletoe, he had made an exception.

Mammon

"Wait, wait, hold up!" Mammon's voice echoed through the room as he stared up at the mistletoe with wide eyes. "You mean... we both have to stand under it?"

You were barely able to stifle a laugh as Mammon's usual confidence seemed to waver for a moment. "Yeah," you teased, stepping forward. "It’s tradition."

"I—well, then—uh..." Mammon stammered, his cheeks turning pink. "Guess it can’t be helped... M-Merry Christmas, human!" Without another word, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a quick, clumsy kiss on the cheek. "That’s what you wanted, right?"

You grinned. "It was perfect."

He puffed out his chest, trying to recover. "Of course it was! I’m the Great Mammon, after all! You’re lucky to get a kiss from me!"

Leviathan

You nearly bumped into Leviathan as you walked under the mistletoe, both of you pausing for a beat as your eyes met. The air seemed to freeze for a second, and then Levi's face flushed bright red.

"U-uh, well," he stammered, his fingers gripping his controller tighter. "I-it’s just like in those anime, right? A moment like this... should we... should we...?"

Before you could respond, he suddenly leaned forward, kissing your forehead in a shy, quick gesture. "T-That’s what they do, right? O-Only in the good romance arcs...!" He immediately hid behind his game console, muttering to himself in embarrassment.

Satan

The mistletoe hung above the two of you, and Satan's lips quirked into a knowing smile. "This seems like a situation that calls for some... poetic justice." he said, his eyes twinkling mischievously.

"Poetic justice?" you repeated.

He tilted his head thoughtfully. "Yes. A kiss beneath the mistletoe could be an elegant display of mutual respect."

Before you could react, he leaned in, his lips brushing yours in a gentle, deliberate kiss. "There," he said softly, stepping back with a smirk. "Perfect."

You blinked, slightly stunned, but he only smiled more. "I always appreciate the beauty in things, especially when they’re as well-placed as this."

Asmodeus

The second you walked into the room, Asmodeus spotted the mistletoe above you both. His eyes lit up with delight. "Oh! What a wonderful excuse for a kiss, darling!" He practically purred.

You didn't even have time to respond before he was pulling you close, hands sliding to your waist, his lips capturing yours in a deep, lingering kiss. "Mwah! What do you think? Was it enough to melt your heart?" he teased, pulling away with a wink and a dramatic flip of his hair.

You were still in a daze, but he simply gave you an exaggerated pout. "Ah, don’t worry. I’ll be sure to leave a bigger impression next time."

Beelzebub

Beel noticed the mistletoe overhead just as you walked past, and he blinked, confused. "Is this... some kind of tradition?"

You smiled, shrugging. "Looks like it. It’s a Christmas thing."

Without much hesitation, Beel smiled and leaned down, placing a soft kiss on your cheek. "It’s not a big deal. I’m just happy to spend the holiday with you." His warm hands rested gently on your shoulders, and you could feel the sincerity in his words.

"Thanks, Beel," you said, your heart swelling with affection. "This is perfect."

Belphegor

As you looked up at the mistletoe, you couldn't help but feel a little nervous. Belphegor, on the other hand, had already noticed and was lounging on the couch, eyes half-lidded.

"Ugh, another one of those holiday customs..." he sighed dramatically, not bothering to move from his comfy spot.

You rolled your eyes. "Well, come on, it's tradition. You have to—"

Before you could finish, Belphegor lazily reached out, pulling you down beside him. "Fine, fine," he muttered, catching you off guard as he kissed you, his lips soft and unhurried. "Merry Christmas, MC."

You couldn't help but chuckle as he lay back down, closing his eyes again. "I’ll do it... because it’s Christmas." he mumbled, his tone still sleepy, though there was a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

This is my second time writing it again because Tumblr didn't save it the first time 😋 sorry if the characters are bit ooc, i honestly need to study their characters more

[qwimblenorrisstan]

Perspective | Ghost x Reader

Day 1: Body Worship w/ Simon “Ghost” Riley

Summary: Simon Riley has always thought of himself as broken and undeserving of you, but you’re always there to quiet his intrusive thoughts.

Word Count: ~2k

Warnings: A little bit of angst, scars, mentions of death and fighting, smut, oral (m receiving), fluffy smut??, sub!simon, not too bad

Minors, do not interact!

A/N: im so impatient like I can’t wait for october to start, so merry christmas and a happy new year you’re getting this one early lol. anyways, I’m a sucker for ghost fluff and it shows, not too sure about how this one turned out, but hope you enjoy<3

Requests are open!

Masterlist

Simon Riley had thick skin.

It was obvious, really. You’d noticed it before in the little things while living in your home together. How the doors remained locked, everything stayed organized in the way he liked it, even how he was still getting used to being able to relax and let down his guard during the night.

But the wounds that lay deeper, engraved into the flesh beneath his skin, into his very heart, were ones he hadn’t let you see yet. Not until tonight, when you fumbled with the key to open the front door, knowing the loud knocking you would’ve usually done would probably disturb him.

The key decided to relent, letting you turn it and open the door as you walked into your home, the living room greeting you as the coat you were wearing was slipped off and placed onto the jacket rack to your left.

Simon wasn’t at the door to greet you like usual.

Strange.

Lips pressing into a thin line of mild worry, you mentally debated about it for a moment before calling out, trying to keep a bit of softness to your voice to not alarm him.

“Si?”

You began walking towards your shared bedroom’s bathroom when you heard a little clatter, the sound of something plastic hitting the floor, and low grumbling as you approached the door.

Your hand closed around the doorknob, the metal cold against your hand as you opened the door, peeking in, only to find Simon shirtless, sitting on the edge of the tub, with a tub of what looked to be some sort of lotion fallen over onto the floor.

You saw his Adam’s Apple bob as he swallowed, glancing from the lotion to you, eyes slightly wide and vulnerable like a child who’d been caught doing something they shouldn’t have.

“Hey,”

You said, trying to figure out what was going on as you crouched down, picking up the tub of lotion and reading the label on the front.

‘Scar Therapy’

“Hey.”

He said, voice thick with something you couldn’t figure out as he stared down at you, watched as your eyes softened, soft hand coming to cup his cheek, your thumb rubbing against his scar-covered skin.

Your head tilted to the side a bit, and Simon knew that look. You had probably already guessed what was happening here, but you wanted his version of it.

It was almost funny how nervous he suddenly felt. He was a Lieutenant, he’d killed men with nothing more than shrapnel, taken out entire military bases, and taken down powerful people, but it didn’t compare to this. Because he had to let his walls crumble even more than they already had with you, and it was terrifying, to let anyone in.

“I was just—my scars, they were…”

He mumbled, the old habit creeping back in. A momentary pause as his eyes met yours for a moment, and he forgot to breathe for a few seconds before getting the rest of his sentence out.

“Hurting. They were hurtin’.”

You moved subtly closer to him, your right hand dipping into the tub of lotion, the same hand approaching a nasty mark across his chest. You looked up at him, waiting for his approval, and he gave a small nod, watching with bated breath as your fingers began pressing the lotion onto the scar, gently massaging it in with small circles.

It was almost like you’d pressed a button in him, with how he seemed to almost deflate at that, heaving a deep breath out as he went pliant in your arms, only barely holding himself up.

Your fingers moved from his chest and torso to his biceps, and finally to his back, where one of the thicker scars near his spine was.

You could’ve sworn he almost whimpered, eyes squeezing shut and lips parting.

“Gentle,”

He breathed, and you let up a bit with your fingers, only giving featherlight strokes now, his breathing growing almost ragged as the both of you remained there for a long moment, that was until the lotion had been fully rubbed into his skin, and you reached to put the lid back on the container.

The silence seemed nearly impenetrable as he cracked his eyes open, following your every move, from the quiet screwing sound of the lid being put back on, to you placing it into the small cabinet area under the sink and closing it with a dull thud.

“Let’s go to bed.”

You spoke softly as if talking to a wounded animal, while slipping your hand into his significantly larger one, giving a small tug. He rose obediently, following behind you, deathly silent, feet rolling to not make any noise as he slipped into the bed beside you.

Both of you simply lay there for a while, him staring at the ceiling before he turned on his side to face you.

”Why do ya put up with me?”

He asked, a heartbreakingly vulnerable softness to his tone as if he was whispering something secret, something he didn’t want anyone else to know. Your brows furrowed as you turned on your side to face him, opening your mouth to speak, but he cut you off before you could get it out.

”I’m not..easy to deal with, ‘m fucked up, broken, so why do you keep lettin’ me come back—come home—to you?”

You didn’t have to look at his big, brown eyes to know that tears were welling in them, though you did anyway. You could only hope that he could see the sincerity in your gaze, that for once, he could finally believe you when you told him what he was.

”You’re not broken, Si.”

Your tone was soft, a gentle caress, but also carried a bit of firmness to it. That was that. No negotiation. Or at least, that’s how it should’ve been, but Simon Riley was more stubborn than you gave him credit for.

He huffed, though it mildly resembled a sniffle.

”You’ve seen my scars, I’m fuckin’ ruined, I don’ know what you see in me.”

He was trying to sound firm and stubborn, but you could still hear that vulnerability from earlier that was now hidden behind walls he’d built up. Walls he always put up when he was afraid.

”You want to know what I see in you?”

You asked, the idea already weaving together in your mind. It might not work, he might just reject your thoughts and praise, but it was worth a try. It was worth it for him.

Your right hand slowly began trailing onto his waist, and you saw his gaze snap down to it as he watched you rub little circles onto his hips. You could practically see the gears turning in his head, the calculating in his eyes, trying to figure out what you were doing, but this wasn’t a battlefield, and he was out of his element.

”Well, what I see,”

You began, voice a low murmur as your hand slowly trailed upwards onto his chest. His body became almost wholly still, stiff and tense, but he didn’t push you off, didn’t tell you to stop. Your hand slowly slid his shirt up, leaving his torso and chest bare to your view. You leaned in closer, your left hand going to slide his shirt further up, then right over his head, disheveling his short blond hair, before the shirt was tossed onto the floor.

”I see a man who’s gone through hell and back, and lived to tell the tale.”

You murmured, hot breath fanning against his skin as you began slow, light kisses against the scar on his breath, your hand now moving to gently caress the skin you weren’t peppering with kisses. His breath hitched in his throat.

You moved up, now at his collarbone as you began the trail of kisses again, from the sharp angles of his collarbone to the broadness of his shoulders, down to his biceps and forearms with the thick muscle adorning them, all the way down to his hands, where you kissed each calloused, rough fingerpad, stopping to look him in the eyes as you did it.

”I see a man who’s been treated so harshly his entire life, he doesn’t know how to handle love.”

He stared back at you, eyes wide, lips slightly trembling. His hands began shaking.

You moved down, hands fumbling with the metal of his belt for a moment, until his large, warm palm enveloped your hand, moving it away momentarily, only to unbuckle it himself, muscle memory kicking in as he unzipped his fly, slowly kicking his pants off, eyes meeting yours as the kisses began from his naval to his muscular thighs, and his ankles, before pulling away momentarily.

“I see a man who’s always been selfless and brave for other people, and never taken a thing for himself.”

You almost whispered, one finger slipping under his boxers, pausing, then continuing when he didn’t object, sliding the cloth down, down, down, till it was at his ankles, and it, too, got to join the pile of clothes on the floor. His hands were shaking worse now. You gingerly let your hand approach his cock, half-hard, and slowly wrapped your fingers around it, thumb rubbing against the tip as he gasped lowly, breath shuddering as his hips tried to jolt.

You didn’t stop him. That was a rule between you two, one that had been discussed before, no holding down or forcing, consent, and safe-words. He had a history, one he hadn’t shared yet, but you’d be patient and let him open up when he wanted to.

”Please,”

He breathed, head thrown back as you began gently rubbing, leaning down to slide the tip in between your lips, giving small licks as his body bucked up. You weren’t one to deny him, not when he was so relaxed now, taut muscles turning to putty beneath your fingers and mouth as you took him deeper, licking under his shaft, before sliding more in as he let out a low groan that sounded like a whimper, almost.

He was mumbling something under his breath, mouth agape as his hand snuck into your hair, trying not to be rough when he buried his fingers into it. He might’ve been begging, you couldn’t make much out of it, though.

Willing your throat to relax, you slid your throat down on him, further and further until your nose met the happy trail between his legs, and you saw the muscles of his thighs tense, flickering and jolting slightly, a sign of his impending climax as you lowly bobbed your head up and down. His hips jolted to life, though you could see the conscious effort he made to not harm you at all. With the shallow thrusts he made, it wasn’t long before he was moaning something incoherent, words slurring with a thick British accent he could usually keep under wraps.

Gingerly pulling off of him, you took a deep breath, softly panting as you grabbed the water bottle on the nightstand and took a swig, the liquid washing down whatever was left behind in your throat. You moved up on the bed, hand slipping under Simon’s head and carefully lifting, placing a pillow behind it, and bringing the bottle to his lips.

He would need the fluid after that, probably.

His throat bobbed as he drank it, nearly emptying the entire bottle, before you drew it back and screwed the lid back on, placing it onto the nightstand. Slipping out of bed momentarily, you opened Simon’s underwear drawer, grabbing the softest pair of boxers you could find, before returning to him and carefully maneuvering his legs through the holes, pulling up, and managing to get them decently onto his large frame as he grunted, one large hand tugging at your arm to pull you down to him.

You hummed in acknowledgment of his little tug, laying down beside him and grabbing the blanket, pulling it over the both of you and settling into the arms he wrapped around you, face settling in the nook of your neck.

”Thank you.”

He whispered, eyes wet against the warmth of your skin. You weren’t sure which thing he was thanking you for, exactly, but you replied anyway, to the man who’d given and given and given and never asked for anything.

”Anytime, Simon.”

[belokhvostikova]

𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐔𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐜𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 | After five months of no reconciliation with the man whose lifestyle became too much for you to manage, you're met with your ex-boyfriend, the rockstar, after an accident leaves you in the hospital, and you face the realization that Eddie Munson is still your emergency contact.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Swearing, crying, mentions of alcohol consumption, hard drug use, insecurities, minor jealousy, fighting, breakup, brief mention of infidelity (no cheating, though), hospital setting, head injury, concussion, mentions of stitches, mentions of blood, and mentions of seizures.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | Y'all, I'm 19! So, as a gift to you (whatever logic that is) here's a fic that takes place around Christmas, so I guess, also a belated Christmas gift. Happy birthday and Merry Christmas! Also, the extent of my knowledge on injuries is purely based on the fact that I took both Health Science I and II in high school, and, well, that's it. So, if anything is inaccurate, NO IT'S NOT (because I said so).

“Will you-” so vividly, you heard his boisterous laughter dense the air sweetly, his face glowing with the ever peaking sunlight that glimmered the sparkling snow outside each time you peered up to his extended height. “It’s like you’re trying to make me fall!” His dramatic accusations were merely met with your fits of giggles, something he so gladly wished to always be met with, as the graze of your cold fingers buzzed his skin with the excitement of what used to be your touch. “Seriously, baby, I can’t finish this if you’re attacking me.” 

But you made no effort to stop, continuing your precise placement of delicate ornaments upon the belt loops of his jeans, the links of his chain, the pockets of his backside, perhaps even one snuggly secured in the threaded rips of his pants. With your boyfriend at your mercy—stuck a couple feet higher atop the fifth step of the ladder to fulfill your dreams of draping green garland to surround your high rise windows—you couldn’t help the ebullient urge to decorate him as you pleased, bringing some loving festivities to the black denim ensemble he regularly sported. 

Effervescent balls of sparkling reds and yellows accompanied the hanging bandana of his back pocket. “You’re like my very own personal Christmas tree!” You beamed upwards, watching a smile that was personal to himself, as he lavished in the innocence this holiday expelled from you. “C’mon,” a fatuous whine that had him chuckling with strings of fake green leaving his hand to secure around the window frame, “have a little spirit!”

And perhaps, that’s all you were trying to have now: spirit.

Because in the blink of an eye, the purity of crystalline, white snow had turned into sludges of watery dirt to meet the once twinkling hues to stringing lights that now simply became the bane of your existence. Because to you, everything embellished itself as a mockery to the happily ever after you now no longer had. 

But it never hurt to try, and yet, trying became the very literal thing that hurt you. 

“…What occurred in the midst of their fourth track, Corroded Coffin’s notable ‘Goliath’s Wrath,’ left fans in a frenzy, when frontma…” Your eyes blurred with exhaustion, attempting to fight back the heaviness of your eyelids that left your vision impaired by spotty shades of blacks and whites. Various pitches of ringing clashing with static voices began provoking that throbbing ache in your head that pounded your brain to mush. “…Information falls scarcely upon accuracy, though there were mentions of a family emergency as to the reaso…” One harsh breath for your dense chest left your nose to be invaded by the artificial, bitterness of antiseptic. All more of a reason for your eyes to screw shut in a brutal endeavor to appease the gnawing of your head. “…Demanding refunds for a set that had to go on without the leading m-”

“You’re up!” Your eyes shot open. His aging skin told stories of his life, crinkling into an abundance of creases that welcomed your startled awakening. “I know things may seem a little scary and confusing here, kid.” Heaving became an understatement when your eyes accepted the burning tiles of white around the room, and suddenly, whatever news outlet that was recounting the upheaval of 90s Hollywood from the tiny television that served its purpose of passing time was becoming drowned out by the abrasive beeping of monitors that clung to your body with tubes. “But just bare with me, alright, everything’s going to be okay.”

Okay? Your body felt cold under the roughness of hospital linen. “I-I…” A reckless try at sitting up left your mouth soaring with an agonizing groan from the pain, your sore body all too weak for the heavy lifting at your head, that suddenly felt the density of a dozen bricks that smashed together. 

“Take it easy, alright.” The older gentleman smiled, urging you to lay back against the flat pillow with his simple gestures. “I know things are a little hazy here, but my name is Dr. Rosenthal, would you be able to tell me yours?” Your brows scowled at the disparaging child-talk the man thirty years your senior was showcasing you. 

With a roll to your eyes—something instantly regretted because of the pain in your head—you dryly croaked. “Y-Y/N.” It was all too bright. God, what would it give to flip off the overhead lights? You never really were a fan of overhead lights, but his excuse of, “we have money now, these lights can stay on,” had a knack for making you giggle. It’d been five months since those overhead lights were ever turned on again. You wondered how often Ed-

“That’s great!” Dr. Rosenthal smiled, and you accepted the scraping scribble of his pen against his papered clipboard to satiate the buzz of your brain. “Tell me, Y/N can you remember anything about how you may have gotten here? Any recollections you may-”

“Where is- is she here?!” You fought the throb of your head to snap into the direction of the door, where Dr. Rosenthal mimicked your concern. In truth, the smell hadn’t been all too great; beads of perspiration coated his body in part with the concoction of spiced cologne and the bitter bourbon he regularly downed before coming face-to-face with thousands in a packed arena. “Y/N- she’s- what, what happe- oh, shit!” Cindy Jaurick had been a renowned makeup artist in Hollywood, but with the dryness of his skin, even she couldn’t conceal the bruising of his sleep-deprived eyes; splotches of alabaster cream became patchy upon his bags that smeared with the waxiness of black liner. 

Eddie Munson, all leather and chains that clashed with his truest self of denims and tees. A facade so greatly curated by the hands of top executives that in a span of three years, millions were acquired to his name. Such a stupid name, you now thought. 

A heavy step forward left his booted foot clanking against the white tiles, a movement too abrasive for your liking, as his incoming hand has you pushing back from his reaching touch. “Excuse me, sir, you need to step back and calm down.” Dr. Rosenthal proclaimed, a man of loyalty to his position, clearly perturbed by any bothersome that came to his patients. 

“I just- what the hell happened, are you okay?!” His jewelry—the real kind, far from the fake silver he once adorned that periodically fused his fingers green, but loved them more than anything—jingled to the admission of his distress, hands harshly raking through the chunks of sweaty hair over the sight of your damaged self. 

An audible clap came with the hit of Dr. Rosenthal’s clipboard to Eddie’s exposed chest, where the buttons of his designer brand had been deliberate to showcase the permanent markings of his tattooed skin. “Sir, unless you are a relative or partner of-”

“Yes! Yes, I’m her boyfriend-”

Your memory hadn’t served you right for the occasions that brought you to the hospital, but you knew enough that Eddie Munson no longer brandished the title of such, given the circumstances that occurred five months ago. “N-No, he’s, um, not… anymore.”

“Then, sir, I’m gonna have to ask you to leave-”

“No, I- do you even know who I am?” Eddie watched your face scrunch with disgust at his language to the doctor, but whatever damage control he attempted fell short on your solidified opinion of a distasteful eye roll against him. “Shit, no- like, I mean you called me. I-I’m her emergency contact! I swear it, I’m Eddie!” 

And you slumped back against your bed. Clear as day, you remembered the cursive handwriting that marked the page with the name and number of your ex-boyfriend. When a year ago, months apart finally came to a halt as Eddie’s touring schedule cleared for the coming holidays. It would suffice to say the bedroom of your quaint Indianapolis townhouse saw little abandonment, with silk sheets becoming imprinted with the weight of your bodies that refused to leave the warmth of each other’s depraved company. In doing so, your judgment became clouded from the usual routine of bathroom care that came after a heated rendezvous. But could you be blamed? Believe it or not, there actually was a time when Eddie’s embrace brought you comfort and peace. What eventually transpired into a run-of-mill UTI had actually worsened quicker than expected. Over-the-counter medication did little to relieve you from the infection, and when your back suddenly began to ache, you knew a trip to St. George's Hospital was in need. With a close call, your kidneys were able to stay intact to your body, and the use of dialysis was spared from your future. And yet, who knew the most haunting occasion of that experience would come with the boyish smile of Eddie Munson, as he watched with lovesick eyes as you entrusted him as the man you’d want in the case of an emergency.

My god, how times have changed… 

“Um, yeah, yeah, he is.” You swallowed the dryness of your throat, hoping the commotion of everything would finally settle to alleviate the stress of your head. 

“Well, Ms. Y/L/N, it’s up to you if you’d like him here.” Dr. Rosenthal sighed, a harsh click to his pen that surely cemented his dislike for the gaudy man upon him. “Your neighbor has already left, but I can assure you that the nurses will make frequent routines to keep you in care.”

Neighbor? “I- um, Trevor?” Your head spun with the lack thereof details that painfully tried to piece themselves together. 

Eddie's hair flew with the snap of his head to your doctor, as his scowl silently demanded the explanation you both were desperate to hear. Dr. Rosenthal cleared his throat. “Ms. Y/L/N, you took quite the fall off a ladder in your home. After a while, your neighbor had found you, and did the deed of bringing you over. He mentioned you had borrowed his ladder to put up-”

“Christmas decorations.” What a wonderful feeling it was to have the epiphany that was as simple as regained memory. Where you no longer had a boyfriend to gladly bear the brunt work of Christmas decorations for your sole enjoyment, you now had to dish out yourself. Unloading dusty boxes had usually accompanied a teasing compliment to the muscles that bulged from his arms, though now, your back felt the strain of heavy lifting, because you refused to properly use your legs. “Um, y-yeah, I remember- well, I don’t remember falling, but, uh, I used Trevor’s ladder for the, um, y’know, what do you call them? The green, leaf stringy-”

“Garlands?” Dr. Rosenthal and Eddie spoke simultaneously.

And you perked up as best as your body would allow. “Yeah, garlands!” Your voice excitedly croaked. “You, uh, y-you remember?” For once, in five months, you actually acknowledged him. Eddie. “I-I like those garlands around our- my windows.”

He remembered. Your giggles ringing in his ears like magical sleigh bells. Your touch warming his skin against the burning cold. Your eyes twinkling over the simplicity of green garlands… something he couldn’t even provide you with now.

“That’s good.” Dr. Rosenthal smiled. “You’re recalling events and… history,” he pursed his lips against Eddie’s cold demeanor, “wonderfully. It’s a good sign of minimal memory loss, which falls quite commonly against those in situations as yours. When you fell, Ms. Y/L/N, your neighbor had informed us of a seizure-”

“Seizure?!” Eddie spat.

“Yes, seizure; fifteen seconds.” He clarified. “And with that, an immediate grade II concussion. We ran a necessary EEG and CT scan prior to your waking, as such classification can offer some findings. Fortunately, all we saw was the inevitable stretching of your neurons which caused a burst of electrical impulses in your brain explaining the seizure. Checking for any fracturing of the skull, or swelling, and bleeding, and you were quite lucky. Completely cleared.” His smile broke through his wrinkled face. “Though, you were brought in with quite the gash on the left side of your head, right between the parietal and occipital bone. Nothing too extreme on the severity scale, but in order to stop the bleeding we did have to repair the tissue damage with stitching.” A vapid explanation of the overly tight gauze that somehow felt like a ton of bricks around your cranium. “But other than that, your vitals are excellent.” Check, check, check off his clipboard. “It’s very likely you’ll continue experiencing a headache, perhaps some nausea, or dizziness. I do recommend an overnight stay to ensure secondary swelling doesn’t occur, and to guarantee your memory continues to function properly. But a morning discharge should be fine.”

A deep breath allowed your head to nod along. “Yeah, um, thank you… really.” You earnestly smiled.

But where you could muster a staid beam of politeness, Eddie Munson gleamed a smile so faux, even Dr. Rosenthal piqued him with a scowl—though miniscule for his professional aptitude. The heavy click of the door closing behind Dr. Rosenthal granted the heaviest breath to escape from Eddie before his attention scrutinized you. 

“What the hell were you thinkin’?!” He ambushed. Seriously, he knew you for seven years. Seven years of his fucking life, and not once had you ever dared to lift a finger for manual labor. Okay, call him old fashioned, but that’s exactly what he liked about you; you know, the whole damsel in distress that needed him whenever something fell loose or broken. That’s it, just the need for him. The need to want him around. “I-I mean, seriously, you- why couldn’t you just call me- or, or, like, Steve, or someone, so you wouldn’t get hurt?” Okay, so maybe calling him wouldn’t have been your first option. If the fact of being no contact for five months wasn’t enough, surely living across the country would have ruled him out. You stopped keeping up with his whereabouts weeks ago. But that wouldn’t stop him. It was you, for Christ sake! You wanted your garlands, Eddie would have given you your garlands. No matter the lack of communication. No matter the distance.

Eddie Munson would have given you everything. 

You dryly blinked. Twice. If only he felt like that when you both were still together. “Get out.” 

“Okay, no- wait, I’m not trying to blame you-”

“Really? Because that’s exactly what you’re doing. Get out!” Your tired voice tried to muster. 

“No, sweetheart, c’mon, I-I know- I just worded it wrong, okay? Please, I just- I don’t know why you would try to do something that would get you hurt like that. You could have, I don’t know, asked for help, like called me up, I promise I would have answered to help you-”

Your eyes rolled against his sentiment. “What, so I’m just too dimwitted to use a couple of tools?!”

“Well, you did fall.” By your stare, Eddie Munson had two seconds to live. “N-No, I didn’t say that- I, look, I just wish you would have called or someth-”

“And I wish you would just get out!” But your rash endeavor to sit up and shove him away legitimized the pitiless reality of your gnawing head hazing your vision and dismantling your balance, forcing Eddie to rush to your assistance. 

“I- okay, I’ll shut up, just lay back, relax, please, sweetheart. I don’t want you hurting yourself more.” 

“I’m fine.” You gritted. 

“There’s a chunk of your head missing.” Eddie retaliated with a deadpan so infuriating mocking.

A huff of disbelief rippled from your dry lips. “Dr. Rosenthal just said it was no big deal.”

“Like I care what that old fuck has to say.” Your scolding eyes ripped him a new one. “Okay, geez, didn’t know you two were such close friends.”

With no energy to fight back, you permitted his touch to push you back against stiff pillows, where his ink-engraved hands worked swiftly to cover your frail body from the harsh chills of the hospital air conditioning. “I’ll be quiet, promise.” He whispered, adhering to his words, as he silently watched you close your eyes away from him, now that his presence has garnered a throbbing headache. 

By the seventh beep, you no longer found interest in counting the indications of your working monitors. But where your mind lost the simple activity, you also gained attention to the whirring voices of the television. Sat by your side on the hardened chair, Eddie’s tapping toes forced your eyes to tear back-in-forth from his stance to the static colors of live footage coverage. 

“Man, all I hope is for a refund!” Drunk out of his mind, as the lights of cameras began emphasizing the drugged redness of the young man’s eyes. “Like, seriously, we’re all here for The Freak, and for him to just run off like that, dude, we paid for a Corroded Coffin show, and we’re gonna get it, or else we want our money back!”

A pan to the well-dressed reporter stocked drastically to the metalheads on scene. “Well, you heard it here first, folks. As we wait for more updates on the events that occurred that left Eddie Munson running off stage to what would have been his biggest performance in his home state, fans are pressuring for a refu-”

“Shouldn’t you be somewhere right now?” Eddie's head pulled itself from his intense stare that followed the grout of the tiled floors. 

“Huh?” His gaze followed yours which briefly led to the boxed television that delivered MTV’s insistent need to showcase a replay of Eddie “The Freak” Munson, lead guitarist and singer of Corroded Coffin, running off stage in the midst of their newest single, ‘Goliath’s Wrath.’ “Oh, um,” his hand waved you off, “my team will rip me a new one later, it’s fine.” 

You sighed. “And just for the record, I am self aware, so I did have someone there to help me.” You muttered, leaving his brows to furrow. “Trevor?” 

“Oh.” Eddie’s lips maneuvered awkwardly. “Trevor, right.” Knee bouncing, fingers tapping, Eddie knew he should have kept his mouth shut, but the question burned his mind for too long not to suddenly blurt out. “So what, are you seeing him or something?” And perhaps he should have kept his mouth shut, given the death glare you killed him with that had him reeling back his words. “I- sorry.” 

“Trevor has a girlfriend. And a ladder.” You scoffed. “And you of all people cannot be talking.”

Three weeks post the headlines that announced the separation between rockstar, Eddie Munson, and his longtime girlfriend, new reports were eager to air Hollywood’s newest romance between the amoral and Playboy’s finest, Lindsey Sawyer. To say you cried for weeks was quite the understatement, when your body physically impaired you from leaving the shielding comfort of your bed. While you rotted, Eddie danced on the grave of your love with his new girlfriend, whose six inch stilettos pierced your bludgeoned heart. Granted, it lasted nothing but a couple days, though it didn’t stop from the new pattern of recurrence in which Eddie found Hollywood’s new recycled “it” girl to accompany the image of a rager rockstar. Gisele Camarella, Pam Densely, Yvonne Huntsford; a new name, face, and body to compare yourself to. 

“I-” his shame flooded his cheeks crimsen, “those were never real- not, like- not like you, not you and me real. Just what management thought looked best.” Though, his quiet admission did nothing to soothe over painful memories. “I’m sorry.” Three scrapes of wooden legs scratching against white tiles was all it took to have Eddie Munson sitting by your side. “How do you feel?” His eyes fervently raked your face. “Honestly.”

“My head hurts.”

“About seeing me?” He clarified. 

Silence crept up in a suffocating manner, as Eddie watched your stoic lines revise his being. “I don’t like seeing your face anymore, Eddie.” How were you able to speak those words so calmly? Eddie’s throat choked him with unbearable bitterness that burned his insides. “You look stupid. You used to never look stupid.” 

Eddie Munson had a haunting past of failures; D’s and F’s marked such a bloody red over white papers, tainting any scribble of hard work he, at least, attempted at times. And what followed failed tests and quizzes only came with the taunting laughter of jocks and cheerleaders, jeering their distaste for his “kind” that branded his leather and denim as the epitome of all things they deemed nauseating. For a while, Eddie Munson believed himself to be nothing but stupid. The grades and reputation being all the evidence needed to solidify his self worth to him. Every compliment to your intelligence he gave you knew came with an underlying insecurity within him. Because you were smart, so smart. What was a smart girl like you doing with a stupid guy like him? 

So, yeah, your words hurt. As they intended to. 

Eddie’s eyes dropped with shame, his Adam’s apple following suit with a thick bobbing gulp of guilt. His eyes casted upon his tight leather jeans that felt insufferable under a building layer of sweat; too much eyeliner, at times clouding his vision from the very fans he loved seeing; sheer shirts waving in a draft of uncomfortableness, forcing him to long for prized t-shirts that gave him the movement to be him on stage; and a god awful personality detailed so preciously by management to make his name a headliner’s favorite. 

Yeah, Eddie Munson looked so fucking stupid. 

“I-I don’t like ‘em.” He stammered. 

“You used to.” 

-

July once brought Los Angeles, California a blistering heat. You hate heat.

Five months ago. 

“No, no, no, he’s full of shit, I was the one who came up with ‘Goliath’s Wrath!’” The cigar browning of Gareth Emerson’s scotch dribbled his lips wet with his drunken blubber, as men surrounding—all big money and titles alike—huffed out laughter worth millions to the men that provided them such wealth. 

Eddie’s nose burned with the ecstasy of white powder, dusting his beautiful features with the hedonism of all glory and power… for once, right in his hands. “Oh, fuck off, you were passed out drunk laying in your own piss when we wrote that god awful fucking song!” He laughed, joining in on the obnoxious cacophony of guffaws that held no sense of reality. 

A shoulder knocked into his. Greased slicked hair, gold rings, and a suit worth your car payment; Iverson Green. And Eddie had no fucking clue what he did. “You really don’t like the upcoming song?” He whispered.

And Eddie would never know. Information as such mattered little, as long as the man helped pay his check. “These braindeads approve of all this rock shit for the image.” Eddie bit back. “If I had it my way, I’d show ‘em real metal.” He smiled. 

A blood red stiletto acrylic stabbed at his shoulder before a cloud of Chanel °5 invaded his itching nose. “Got you booked.” She spoke, her breath tickling his ear over the sheer closeness needed over the vibrating base of stereos. 

Eddie turned his head to see her, a smiling Judy Carawan that had him beaming right back. “For what this time? I’m not doing some late night news bullshit again.” After the way Larry Parsons of Hollywood’s Friday Nights called out his delinquent behavior, executives were buzzing for another clash between Eddie “The Freak” Munson and talk show hosts to get the papers running. 

“Hilfiger.” Judy leaned in, a smirk of confidence for her work truly accomplished. “A fitting, then you wear one of his suits to the VMA’s, and that’s cash in your pockets. And mine.” 

Eddie’s face glowered with disgust, as he attempted to move away, her smell becoming too strong for his liking. “Save me a line.” He instructed to the man breaking rows of snow on the mahogany table. “Fuck no, I’m not wearing some posh-y model shit in front of the fucking cameras.”

“It’ll be one time, and a check worth a lifetime.” She rolled her eyes, a habitual stance against the troubles that came with personally assisting Eddie Munson. “Also, see.” Her slender finger pointed to the lengthy body of Cierra Kalahi, perched against the marbling chimney of your Hollywood Hills home. “Miss America’s Next Top Model will be wearing Hilfiger, too. You and some Shalom Harlow wannabe wearing the same designer is just enough to spark some attraction to your name.”

Eddie knew the venomous implications of her suggestion. “I’m not playin’ into your bullshit dating rumors.” A vicious cycle you two had to go through; you hurting more than the other, though. 

“Okay, fine, then we get your pretty, little girlfriend to wear a matching dress… that is if she’ll stop being a bummer.” 

“Don’t fucking do that, alright?” Eddie huffed, dragging his sweaty hands down the heat of his cheeks. His eyes felt like they were going to crack out of his skull from the dryness of being opened for the past forty-three hours. But the umpteenth swig of Old Fashioned was fueling him alongside the unstoppable fuel of crystalline cocaine. “She just- I- look, I’m not putting her out there where she doesn’t want to go. S-She’s too good- she’s too good for the cameras.” 

“She’s not good for your career.” Eddie felt her words echo into a repeated ringtone that irritated his ears. His vision grew blurred with his impulsive movements against her face. 

His hot, alcoholic breath fanned her bangs with each huff of his chest. “Remember who pays your fucking bills!” Nothing but the voices of Mötley Crüe tormented the background, as everyone but the music quieted to bask in the events of another Eddie Munson meltdown. “You say one more fucking word about her, and I’ll leave you to the fucking street.”

Judy Carawan cinched her eyes against his lost ones. Whatever bad boy facade he drugged himself into every night never scared her. Hell, she fed into it. “Eddie, I’m going to be quite frank with you, since no one else will be. You and your goody girlfriend will never last. If she truly cared for you like she says she does, she would do anything to keep your name in the spotlight. And if you truly cared for her like you say you do, you wouldn’t be snorting snow on your fucking anniversary.” Eddie's hardened muscles fell from realization. And Judy smiled such a sick smile. “And FYI, I was someone before you.” Eight years of work with Hollywood’s hottest clientele. “Can you say the same?”

Your lip wobbled under the harsh bite of your teeth to suppress the stinging tears from an embarrassing downpour. Despite his promises of a private evening, you braced your arms over your chest, where it became exposed from the strapless dress you uncomfortably endured, after too many magazine headlines criticized your lack of “looks” for the hottest rockstar in town. You’d never admit it, always brushing him off whenever he became concerned for your well being because of the tabloids, but he always noticed the subtle changes you made to look like the women in the city that felt like another plant from olde Indiana. 

And now, unwarranted flashes of cameras settled outside the Michelin Star restaurant that burrowed burdening humiliation into your skin, as a cautious peer around the setting allowed you to notice the pitying and gossip of the goers around you. 

Every minute that passed, you gave him the benefit of the doubt. But an hour and fifteen minutes just prevailed you to be a doormat. But could you be blamed? Seven years ago today, you ran into the man, himself, who turned the dreaded day of Hawkin’s High open house into a new adventure. Where you had the excuse of an actively involved mother, who became adamant on touring the unknown environment of the orange and green halls after your father’s relocation to the rural town, Eddie had an intransigent uncle who refused to watch his nephew lose another year of his life to failing high school, and imposed the young man to abide by the staff’s fake smiles, as they greeted parents and students for the coming school year. 

It’s funny how one sullen face can find another in a crowd of PTA parents and their goody-two-shoe children alike. Meeting eyes and a devilish smirk on his face was all it took for two strangers to find trust in one another, and sneak away in the depths of bushy, green woods. In retrospect, asking Eddie Munson to be your boyfriend after only three hours of knowing him was quite rash—he, himself, was quite taken aback, as well—but the worst that could happen was it didn’t work out. I mean, what high school relationship ever does? But his informative trek across lush grass, a shared cigarette, and talks that had your stomach cramping from fits of giggles was enough to solidify your decision at heart. And who was Eddie Munson to ever say no to a pretty face and soul like yours. 

And it worked out… surprisingly. 

It was quite the experience learning the ins and outs of someone you already called your boyfriend, but the pureness of it all bloomed into the most innocent love of two people navigating the world and finding themselves together. 

But suddenly, the world had a place in your relationship. The people had a say. In what you wore, what you looked like, who you had to be. And he allowed it. Allowed everyone to measle their way in. After the first promise to you that nothing would change, every single one to follow became a lie. 

Because he changed. 

You mustered the will to sniffle away any tears. He no longer became worth it to you. And it broke your heart. Your heels clicked their way out of the restaurant, where your being was blurred under the paralyzing flashes of people who invaded your life, capturing and exploiting your lowest moment for a check, and branding you the girl that held the greatest rockstar back.

Eddie stumbled back on wobbly feet, his mind too disorientated to care about the bodies he shoved that consequently left glasses of cocktails to shatter against the polished flooring of his home. Though, nothing mattered as long as he got to the door. But your crying self had beat him to it from the other side, swinging the grand doors that were always too heavy for your liking, and entering your home that was invaded by strangers and their substances, and Eddie… your Eddie standing in the middle of it all. 

His red, beclouded eyes had disallowed him the privilege of blinking your beauty straight, but through the haze of blear lines, he saw your face so clearly fall from disappointment.

From pure defeat. 

“W-Wait!” Eddie fought the incoordination of his legs to follow you outside, leaving his guest to watch in awe. “Baby, I- fuck! I-I’m sorry- ugh, I just- I forgot!”

Los Angeles’ humidity suffocated his airways that were already constricting from his sobbing chokes. His insides burned from the concoction of drugs and sweltering heat that only fueled at the sight of your broken face. “You forgot?!” You cried, swinging your body around to face the man you no longer recognized. “For the past seven years you’ve never forgotten, but now you do! What, is it no longer important for you?!”

Spit blubbered with his words, as his lips moved a mile a minute to keep your love preserved. “N-No, I mean- yes, of course, it’s i-important-” 

“Then why weren’t you there?!” Mascara stained the softness of your cheeks, now too darkened for Eddie to ever kiss the pain away. “Why aren’t you ever there?! For me!”

“I-It wasn’t my fault.” He heaved. “J-Jude, she-she said this s-stupid thing was scheduled, and-and she said it’d be quick-”

“Of course, it’s never your fault!” You bit back with the deflation of your arms. “It’s always the alcohol, or the drugs, or Judy, but it can never be your fault, can it, Eddie?!” His fist balled into his eyes, as snot caved down his nose. 

“N-No, it is my fault! I’m sorry, Y/N- I’ll fix it! I’ll do anything, I’ll make it up to you, I swear!”

“Don’t you get it?!” You marched up to his wrecked body. “Your promises mean nothing to me anymore!”

“Don’t, please!” Eddie sobbed. Shameful embarrassment ate him alive in the middle of your Hollywood Hills driveway. “I-I’ll stop all this, th-the drugs,” his arm smeared away the remnants of snot and cocaine against his nose, “the drinking, partying, everything, I mean it!” Because something deep within Eddie Munson knew this was the last straw.

You were done.

“Stop lying to me!” Your eyes stung with tears. “Why are you so comfortable lying to me, and h-hurting me?!” His head adamantly refused your words with a harsh shake to his head, but the history of abandonment that brought you to your wits end weighed more than his inebriated actions. “You touch me and it feels like a lie. You k-kiss me and it feels like a lie. E-Everything you do has become bullshit, Eddie! I don’t trust you. I-I just worry. Worried that anytime you’re not next to me you’ve drugged yourself dead, or-or knocked out somewhere, or… with women-”

“Don’t fucking say that! I’d never do something like that to you!”

“The Eddie I knew would never leave me to snort coke with strangers, but here we are!” You bawled in retaliation, forcing his mouth quiet in disbelief. “You’re not Eddie anymore! So, don’t stand here and tell me you wouldn’t do these things, when everything you do leads me to believe you are capable of doing something like that… something to hurt me! Because you do, Eddie! You hurt me.”

“I’m so fucking sorry! Please, Y/N, baby, I fucking love you, everything’s just been too much, a-and I forget things, I’ll be better!” You scoffed at his utter patheticism that grossed you out, turning your heel, but his large hand caught a tightening grip to your wrist. “No, I’m serious, sweetheart, I’ll change! I-I’m still Eddie!”

“Get off.” You quietly pleaded, exhausted from the sobs that wrecked your body. 

“Y-You can’t leave me, Y/N, no, I-I need you.” He choked. “I love you. So much. With everything in me. Please. We don’t do this to each other!”

“Then why do you keep doing this to me?!”

“Darling, Ms. Y/L/N?” Yours and Eddie’s head parted to the soft voice of Debby Weiser. Nearly a year ago, your elderly neighbor—who came into stardom in the 50s for her acts that revolutionized the spreading use of colored television—welcomed you into the gated neighborhood with a gluten-free muffin basket that had tasted like pure shit. But the kindness of her effort garnered a budding friendship with the mature woman who offered her wisdom on enduring Hollywood’s notoriety. “You alright there, sweetie?” Her southern accent never had assimilated to the Valley. 

“Yeah, I’m okay.” You turned to his eyes, staring down the saddened roundness that no longer held the precious life they once used to. “I was just leaving.”

That night, you left to your shared Indianapolis townhouse that became your starter home when Eddie’s career was first taking off. You were so happy then. 

And he hadn’t seen you since. 

Until now.

-

Eddie Munson had fallen quiet. 

Everything had, in fact.

The constant beeping of your medical instruments drove him to madness, but he figured the insanity was substantial punishment for the hurt he caused you. He’d been suffering for five months already, what’s a couple more minutes? If anything, he’d be suffering for the rest of his life should it continue without you. 

But it didn’t have to. 

Eddie knew he had no right to gain your love once more, and the vulnerability of your state worsened the situation tenfold, but there was a reason Eddie received that call. A reason why his heart sank amidst a phone call that identified your beautiful name in an emergency, that left him dropping everything in front of thousands that cheered his name. Whatever cynicism that tainted his heart had long left upon your sweet arrival; a ‘thank you’ filled with such gratitude towards his uncle, when Eddie busted into the trailer with a smile too large to be because of Hawkins High’s yearly open house. Wayne Munson had never asked, mostly due to the fact that his nephew locked himself in his bedroom, where the nineteen-year-old worked endlessly for his new upcoming Dungeons and Dragons campaign that followed the grounds of fate and destiny. 

In the mere three hours of your presence, you gave Eddie Munson hope.

He’d be damned not to devote his eternal life to you. 

“Y/N, I…” his eyes laid low, examining the threads of linen that covered you, as his fingers twiddled with his rings to appease the constant bounce of his anxious knee. “I need you to know how terribly sorry I am for everything I did. All the times I hurt you.” He sighed, as his teeth sunk into his bottom lip. “I- uh, I just really need you to understand that everything that happened to us was not your fault. At all. You-” his breath shook with a tremble, “You really were so fucking perfect during everything. So patience, so communicative, and I-I never listened to you the way you deserved, I just- I don’t know, I thought maybe-maybe if I gave it my all to this career, I could finally give you everything you deserve.”

His eyes attempted to blink away searing tears, but his emotions were getting the better of him. “A-And I know how fucking selfish that is, I had- fuck, I had no right to assume what you wanted from me, and-and put you in a position where you had to go through all my bullshit, all because I thought that in the end it would make you happy… without even speaking to you about it.” Eddie's voice cracked with a harsh sniffle to gather his strength. 

“I-I’m getting clean, um, it’s been really fucking hard, but I-I got the boys s-setting me straight everyday. Especially after I practically tortured them with my cries after you left.” His pity laughter softly broke through. “B-But yeah, sweetheart, I-I’m doing pretty good for myself- well, tryin’ to, at least. Still kinda always, constantly, forever feel like shit,” Eddie chuckled, “but I’m managing. T-The drugs n’ everything flushed n’ all, n-now just trying to hold off the booze, y’know? But fuckin’ hell does a beer get me through it.”

A smile began etching upon his face, where the history of all the laughter you provided him with creased his face with the lines of joy that only truly showcased in your presence. “Talked to our manager, he sure as hell was pissed when I insisted on getting rid of Jude. And she sure as hell went out with a bang, and smeared by name to the tabloids, but, uh, you probably already read about that- or not, I don’t, like, expect you to keep up with me or anything, honestly I kinda hope you didn’t, because, well, those first couple of weeks after everything real-really, uh… brought the worst out.” A deep breath escaped his mouth, as his fingers dug into the temples of his head to alleviate the dull pain. 

“I-I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m really… trying.” Eddie swallowed thickly. “F-For my fans, the boys, myself, a-and you, Y/N. And I c-can’t even begin to tell you how sorry I am for taking, y’know, taking this long t-to get better, and for not trying better before, for having to h-hurt you just to learn, I’m so fucking sorry, Y/N. A-And I’m not askin’ for a second chance- well, I know I don’t deserve one, not now or-or ever if you feel like it, I just need you to know I’m Eddie, somewhere inside- I’m working really hard on just being me- oh, but, of course, I do want to be with you. T-That wasn’t me saying I didn’t. I do, I-I always wanna be with you, I just- I, okay, I’ll shut up now.”

The deliberation was excruciating. 

The process of his words that rambled on for an eternity was too much to process, especially with a head injury, and he understood that to the fullest, but the quietness was becoming deafening, as he waited for your words… your rejection… your reciprocation. 

Anything.

And he couldn’t dare look you in the eyes, the ones that pierced his soul so deeply, and he desperately urged you to say something. Anything!

“Y/N?” Beep. Beep. Beep. “Sweetheart…?” His eyes fluttered forward. “Jesus H. Christ, Y/N!” Your peaceful sleep had garnered a frightful reaction from Eddie, as he jumped to his feet to urgently caress your face awake. Of course, when doing so, your eyes tiredly awoke to his face all too close for your liking, and a frown broke your face, as you attempted to move from him. 

“Christ, Eddie.” You debilitatingly rasped. “What are you doing?”

“Me?! What are you doing? Are you okay? You shouldn’t be going to sleep, you have a concussion! I-Isn’t that, like, something you shouldn’t do?!” He cupped your face straight to the blinding ceiling light, that had you mewling with annoyance. 

“Eddie, I can remember Reagan’s speech, and the fall of the Berlin Wall.” You dragged, prying his concerned hands off your face. “I think I’ll be just fine going to sleep. God, did you just expect me to stay up all night?”

A shuddering breath left his strangling throat, as his hands flexed at the electricity of the touch of your skin. His body tensed, as his round eyes worriedly followed the contours of features. “You didn’t- did you hear me, like, anything that I just said? B-Before you- I woke you up?” 

Your brows concave with a furrow of confusion, as you peered up at him through wispy lashes. “What’d you say?”

A deep sigh left his dry lips, as he flashed you a small smile filled with sincerity. “Don’t worry about it, okay? It was nothing.” His hands gently worked to cover your body further with blankets to keep you warm, as your suspicious stare hesitantly nodded in acceptance to his words. “Y-You hungry, or-or need more blankets? Painkillers, anything?”

You delicately rejected his help with a shake of your head. “Just tired.” You softly answered. “And you should probably leave, too. Get some sleep.”

Despite his mind refusing your proposal, he knew your rest was vital for recovery, and he watched you slowly turn your back to him, as his slow steps marked his way to the door. So lonely, he gazed at your tired body curl up into itself like it once did when his presence was actually yearned by you; all safety once found in his embrace, as he promised to never let go. And though he never did, his actions forced you to let go, as he now had to bear witness to seeing you become content with yourself. Something he could never imagine doing so. 

His finger flipped the switch. You never were a fan of the overhead lights. And once so, a peaceful sigh buried its way from your parted lips, as your mind rested in tranquil darkness. 

Eddie’s hand wrapped around the doorknob that allowed the hallway light to bleed in. But his eyes couldn’t dare leave you once more. Five months of deprivation killed him every passing day, and one glimpse of your beaten self made him feel like an addict breaking their withdrawal. There was once a time in which he was beckoned with the devastating occurrence of you leaving him no choice but to watch you walk away. Now, he had an opportunity. A chance. To walk away. Or stay. Leaving you alone, hurting, in a cold, empty hospital room was too heartbreaking of an option to ever endure, and he was vowing to his words of never hurting you again. 

He gently closed the door with no intent to deceive you, but rather care for you. Right now, what you didn’t know wouldn’t hurt you. And his mind felt at peace knowing he could watch over you; his heart dissipating to the rhythm of calmness only you could bring him to. His quiet steps guided him back to the stiff chair that numbed his bottom and stabbed at his back. But it all became worth it, finally seeing you at peace, after the last weeks he ever got to see you your face had been permanently etched in distress, because of him. 

Despite being awake for nearly twenty-two hours now, Eddie Munson spared a couple more just to look at you.

The morning to follow, Dr. Rosenthal had commented greatly on the normalcy of your brain. And Eddie felt envious. You could take thirty more blows to the head, and your brain would still function far better than his ever could. You, unfortunately, had no chance to question his lingering presence, since your body had been awakened by the prodding of a nurse who kindly checked if your vitals were up to par. You figured you’d save her the awkwardness of interrogating your ex-boyfriend, the rockstar.

“If necessary, just some acetaminophen of your choice once every four to six hours depending on the instructions. But if your pain seems to not be improving, I’ll surely write you a prescription for a triptan, whichever one we can work out best for you.” You nodded along, subtly watching Eddie in the corner of your eye, who was listening too intently for someone who was bound to leave in a couple minutes. “And for your stitches, twice a day, remove the old coverage, clean off, and apply a new gauze. After a while, you should be okay with doing it once, and by the two, two and half week mark, I’ll have a referral to remove them when the time comes.” You sighed, taking a minute to let your head process the instructions of the older gentleman before you. “Alrighty, any questions?”

“No, really, you’ve been so helpful with everything-”

“She can’t drive, right?” Eddie butted in. 

Dr. Rosenthal took a long second to peer at him, before clearing his throat. “Wouldn’t recommend it under your symptoms. Nausea and dizziness can impair your ability, so we can call someone, arrange transp-”

“I already got that covered.” Eddie spat a smirk back in retaliation. 

“As long as it’s okay with you.” Dr. Rosenthal sympathetically smiled at you.

You drew out a defeated sigh, and watched Eddie react like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Fine.” You begrudged. 

“Alright then, you go ahead and take the time needed to gather your things, and you can check out at the front desk.” Your trusted doctor assured you. “Call me if you have any questions or concerns, and I’ll gladly help. You have a Merry Christmas, Ms. Y/L/N.” Eddie was spared from a polite holiday goodbye. 

You gently smiled. “Thank you, have a Merry Christmas, as well.” 

With a click of the door behind him, Eddie was quick to let out a breath of relief, as though Dr. Rosenthal lifted a burden off his shoulders. His hasty movements brought your bag of clothes from beneath your hospital bed to plop against your legs. “These yours?” He pried the drawstrings open. 

“No, they’re the lady’s who gave birth before this became my room.” Eddie deadpanned, continuing to rummage through your belongings.

He snorted. “Psh, no pregnant lady would wear an Anthrax tee.” Something that very much still belonged to him, as he threw your t-shirt to your chest. 

“Did you stay here after I told you not to?” Your eyes glared in a deadly squint that challenged his snarkiness. 

“N-No.” A big, fat lie. His gaze was avoidant of yours, as his hands worked hurriedly to empty the bag of your pants… a brown flannel… your right Reebok… then the left, of course… an earring that stabbed him… the other that didn’t, because he learned his lesson… and some pretty, pretty pink panti-

“Stop looking at those!” You snatched the lacy material from his hands, as he threw his arms up in defense. “And if you didn’t stay, why are you still wearing the same clothes?” You prodded further. 

“Oh, my god, I didn’t stay.” He huffed. And you hated the portion of your heart that allowed his words to hurt you, because how come he didn’t stay? “Just headed back to the hotel, took a nap, and came back here early.”

You allowed your hurt to bite back. “That’s gross, you smell.” But he’ll permit your chastising insults if it meant you wouldn’t be angry at him for going against your wishes. 

“Can you just hurry up and change, so I can take you home.” He rolled his eyes. “I arranged a car to have us picked up, and take you home.” 

“I hope you know how pretentious that sounds.” And Eddie Munson stared and stared, as you balled your clothes into the sanctity of your lap. “Well, don’t look, turn around.”

Eddie’s mouth gaped, laughing in disbelief. “Please, sweetheart, I’ve been staring at you naked for the past seven years of my life.”

“You know what? Just for that, you can go to the bathroom and wait, until I say so.” You smiled, so pleased to watch Eddie scoff incredulously. 

Eddie turned on his heels with an exhale of exasperation to match, as he strutted his way into the tiny bathroom. “Can just close my eyes, and picture you naked.” Luckily with his back turned, he wouldn’t dare notice the small smile that cracked your face. 

Eddie’s mind had been buzzing with thoughts for the entire forty-five minutes it took for the chauffeur to pull up and parallel park in front of your townhouse. Like clockwork, your brow arched upon seeing the movements that followed yours: Eddie clicking his seatbelt. “Look, don’t give me that look, I already know what you’re about to say, but please, just let me come in, and help you.” You huffed, letting your eyes bounce from the window to his face that was hardened with determination. “C’mon, let me make it up to you this one time.”

Another defeated ‘fine’ was murmured under your breath, as Eddie made the quick trip to help you out of the car. “Just head back, man, I’ll call you when I need to.” Numerous bills were discreetly slid into the hands of the driver, before he took his cue to leave the neighborhood. 

“Hey, Y/N!” The blizzarding winter left the precisely planted trees along the sidewalk to lose their green shrubbery; your one shield from the sun that still blazed its light down the Demember wind. But through the glares, you matched that voice to the friendly neighbor who lent you his ladder… and subsequently took you to the hospital once you fell off. 

“Oh, hi, Trevor!” You waved to him from atop of his stairs, as you caught sight of the reusable bags of groceries in his hand. 

“Hm, Trevor.” Eddie hummed quietly beside you. 

Despite the cold, he took the needed steps down to speak to you at a volume that didn’t require yelling. “Hey, I’m sorry for leaving you at the hospital so suddenly, Andreas’ car broke down when she tried to leave from work, and I had to go help her-”

“Oh, please, don’t worry about it, it’s okay!” You reassured him from any guilt. “Seriously, I was out for most of my time there, and you already helped so much with bringing me there.”

“Yeah, and I was going to head back to check on you, but they told me your partner-”

“Yeah, me! Y’know…” Eddie interjected with a wave, as you suppressed the roll from your eye, watching him proudly identify himself as such with an eager point of his finger. 

“Yeah, hey, Eddie, been a long time since I’ve seen ya, man-”

“Oh, Y/N! Trevor told me all about you!” Andreas' voice echoed from the front door, as her robe clung closely to her body in an effort to house any warmth she could. “How are you feeling? Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, nothing to worry about, just a couple stitches and a concussion.” As polite as they were, your flannel was only doing so much to shield you from the cold, which was already in hand causing that throb to return from the sharp blinding of the sun. Why wouldn’t they shut up?

Eddie watched the twitch of your eye succumb to your expression. If anything from the last seven years taught him anything, it was that you were two sentences away from a fully engraved scowl chiseling your face; always so unaware of how blatant your emotions showcased. “Speaking of which, I should probably go get her to lay down, and rest!” Eddie smiled, as he took your hand up the stairs to your front door. 

“Of course, no problem.” Trevor kindly smiled. “And, hey, keep my ladder as long as you need, don’t worry about it.” 

An exchange of ‘thank you’s’ finally allowed your neighbor to leave you be, as the key slid into the lock of your door. “That was Andrea, his girlfriend. Are you gonna be jealous if I speak to her, too?”

His laughter warmed the chilled air that smoked his breath. “Fuck off, sweetheart.”

Your house had been all but welcoming upon the first steps. A puddle of blood had stained your wooden floor with the injuries of your head, as fallen garlands messily draped down your walls from your lack of skills with a hammer and nail. You’d never admit to him in a lifetime, but Eddie Munson was surely right that you, personally, were too dimwitted to use tools with no guidance. Turns out a leveler and stud sensor were actually quite useful in keeping your house from being hammered with the countless holes that now decorated your walls. You watched Eddie take in the amateur scenery, his will working overtime to stifle the chuckle that quivered his lips thin. “You make any comments, and I’ll kick you out.”

His hands flew up in defense. “I wasn’t going to say anything- although, how gnarly would a photo of your blood be as our next album cover?”

Giggles of shock coming from you rang in his ear like a catchy melody. “Listen, you came here to help, so please do. I want to shower, and sleep-”

“And eat. That hospital food was shit.” He prioritized. “Go shower, I’ll make you some breakfast,” his watch proved otherwise, “or lunch, I guess, and you can eat before you sleep- oh! And take your medicine, as well. I’ll switch out your bandages when you’re done showering. Don’t worry about anything here, okay? Just relax for me.”

And you did just so, following the words of his advice brought you to the warmth of your shower, where your limbs fell slack from destressing. You worked around the stitching of your head that stung under hot water, as you maneuvered your hair through the rainfall of the showerhead. But too much steam was beginning to blur your vision, and your shower was cut unfortunately short after you swiftly rid your body of any lingering antiseptic smell that clung to you. 

“Ow, Eddie!” Your hand squeezed his, as your forehead became cushioned by the tone of his torso, where he stood before you. 

As you sat on the toilet, he looked down, and caressed your head gently. “Sorry, sweetheart, just gotta get it clean, ‘s all.” A new square of gauze concealed your wound, before a long strip of bandage secured itself around your forehead. Your head lifted from the comfort of his belly, and he bent at the waist to examine your face. A smile grew so naturally. “There… beautiful as always.” There was no denying the lunge in your heart that soared at his words, but your stubbornness withheld the swoon that would have usually followed with a new inure look to your face. Eddie guffawed at your pertinaciousness. “Fine, I hope you know you have a bald spot on the back of your head.”

And he devilishly smiled at your sudden movements to feel around your hair. “It’s only because of the stitches.” You gruffed in protest. “Plus, what the back of my head looks like is none of my business.”

“Still, you’re balding before me.”

And you wanted so desperately to wipe that smirk off his face. “Push back your bangs right now.”

Touche. “You should really eat your food before I spit in it.”

You had the liberty of delving into Eddie Munson’s personally made lukewarm tomato soup, and a sandwich so untimely perfect, the burnt bread did little to match the cheese that surely did not melt. And yet, it did everything to fill that little hole in your heart, as one bite brought you back to the cozy trailer, where endless nights were spent concocting meals from ingredients that scientifically went together, but for some reason refused to work when Eddie touched them. 

He left you alone in the comfort of your bedroom that was once shared with him, as you quietly endured enjoyed your meal, and sat with the events that came about. Seeing Eddie had tumultuously screwed with your already bruised head, and set you back a mile on the path to peace. Where you blamed yourself over the rise of bubbling feelings, you also gave yourself the grace of remembering this man had been the love of your life for seven years. Facing him would be anything but peaceful, and yet, his stupid, round face managed to conjure that settling tranquility of deep contentment within your heart that only ever built under his hands of love and care. But he also managed to tear it, and that was something beyond the repairs of five months apart. No matter how brutal. Your pillow still stained with the tears of endless cries over the insecurities of no longer being good enough for him. But if you sniffed deep enough, his burrowed cologne would fume into your nose at night that allowed you to gain a safe sleep during the dark hours. 

How polarizing he could be was beyond the study of any scientist. 

Between the last slurp of your soup, your eyes succumbed to the heaviness of your eyelids, as what was intended to be a half an hour nap prolonged into a five hour doze, until the sun decided to rest for the evening, bleeding its red into a darkening sky. As advised by your doctor, a couple pills were to be popped to alleviate that ache that would haunt you for days to come, so with a march to the kitchen ahead, you called for the man you needed most. “Eddie!” Drowned by your tiredness, your voice did little to amplify his name from the second floor. “Eddie!” But a second call of his name proved to be useless when nothing followed in return.

Dr. Rosenthal surely hadn’t been lying about the aftermath of dizziness, as the simple event of walking down your staircase had turned into an olympic sport that nearly caused another blow to your head if it hadn’t been for the obscene tightness of your grip on the railing that descended. “Eddie, seriously! I’ve been calling you, can’t you hear?!”

The quietness of your home answered back, as you approached the bottom steps of the stairs, where suddenly soft lights straightened the blurred lines of your eyes to the clarity of a beautiful glow. Warm lanterns and sticks of candles kindled your chimney and center table, where red bows of various sizes decorated themselves along your living room to match the ribbon of your Christmas tree that had not been put up prior to your waking. Sweet scents of cinnamon and pines worked magically to calm the agitated nerves of your head, and your eyes dragged in awe to the breathtaking display of green garlands that dressed your home to the Christmas perfection you always dreamed of. 

Your eyes watered, and though you knew he wouldn’t answer, you still quietly spoke. “Eddie?”

So simple, yet so fulfilling, your heart soared at the work of his hands that ached for your happiness. While it did not amount to the pain he once dragged you through, a meaningful smile that hadn’t been flashed in months finally etched its place onto your face where it perfectly belonged.

And much to your dismay, but simultaneously your biggest hope… it was because of him. 

While it broke your spirit for his efforts to take so long to return, you smiled through your hurting cries, as you finally gained the wish for your Eddie—once lost, now running through the wooded path to be found—to return. And with it, a note to keep your heart content with the soundness of peace. Whether it be with Eddie. Whether it not be with Eddie. 

At the very least, you got your Christmas spirit. 

Management wants to bitch me out, I’m sorry I had to leave you :( but I’m gonna convince ‘em to let me stay in Indy for a while. Kinda hard to say no to a face like mine, you know? You know. Call me to make sure you’re okay, sweetheart, or I’ll break into your house! - Love, Eddie

P.S, gave Trevor his ladder back, so don’t speak to him :)

[misshoneyimhome]

What’s up, festive buttercups! 🎄✨

We’re back with another chapter of Sexy Christmas, and this one is for all my Matthew Tkachuk fans. 🖤 Who doesn’t love a little teasing, a little heat, and a whole lot of “naughty list” energy? Matthew had an absolute blast starring in this cheeky, steamy tale, and I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it.

As always, thank you for all the love and feedback—it keeps this holiday magic alive! Let me know what you think of this naughty little treat, and don’t forget to tell me if Matthew’s making your naughty list this year 🎁🔥

Merry reading, my lovelies!

xo ❤️

➼｡ﾟ

Santa’s Naughty List - Matthew Tkachuk

The hockey player teases OC about being on Santa’s naughty list, but by the end of the night, it’s clear they’re both interested in exploring who’s been the naughtiest this Christmas.

Tropes & warnings: 18+ smut, Matthew Tkachuk x reader, oral sex (m and f receiving), unprotected sex (p in v), sexual intercourse with guests in the house

Word count: 2.7K

The annual team Christmas party at the captain’s residence was in full swing, a mix of laughter, holiday music, and the clinking of glasses filling the room. Matthew Tkachuk had been his usual self all evening—charming, quick with a joke, and somehow always finding his way back to you no matter where you moved in the room.

It wasn’t unusual for the two of you to exchange playful banter, but tonight, there was something else in his tone, something that sent shivers down your spine whenever his gaze lingered a little too long.

You were standing by the bar, sipping a glass of wine, when he approached again, a mischievous grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Careful there,” he teased, nodding to your glass. “Too much of that and Santa might just keep you on the naughty list.”

You raised an eyebrow, matching his playful tone. “Oh? And what makes you so sure I’m on the naughty list?”

Matthew stepped closer, his towering frame casting a shadow over you in the dim light. His voice dropped slightly, the teasing edge still there but laced with something deeper. “I’ve got my reasons,” he said, his eyes trailing over you briefly before locking onto yours. “But I guess we’ll just have to find out how naughty you’ve been, won’t we?”

Your cheeks warmed, though you refused to let him see you falter. “Bold of you to assume I’m the naughty one. What about you?”

He leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. “Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, his tone low and inviting. “I’ve made peace with being on that list a long time ago.”

The heat in his voice, combined with the way his eyes sparkled with mischief, sent a thrill through you. You weren’t sure if it was the wine, the festive atmosphere, or just the way Matthew seemed to have your full attention tonight, but your heart was racing.

“Prove it,” you said, surprising even yourself with the challenge in your voice.

Matthew’s grin widened, and for a moment, you could see the flicker of surprise before he leaned even closer, his hand brushing lightly against your arm. “Careful what you wish for,” he warned, his voice a husky whisper.

The party continued around you, but it felt as if the two of you were in your own little bubble. When Matthew reached for your hand, his touch lingering just a moment longer than necessary, you followed him without question as he guided you away from the noise and into a quieter corner of the house.

The room, seemingly a mix of a home office and lounge area, he led you to was warm and softly lit, the faint glow of Christmas lights from outside spilling through the window. He closed the door behind you, the sound of the lock clicking into place making your breath hitch.

Matthew turned to face you, his eyes dark and filled with an intensity that made your pulse race. “Now,” he said, his voice steady, his hands finding your hips as he stepped closer, “let’s see who’s really been naughty.”

You tilted your head, your hands finding their way to his chest, your fingers grazing over the hard lines of muscle beneath his shirt. “I think we both know the answer to that.”

He smirked, his hands sliding up your sides as he pulled you flush against him. “Then it’s only fair we settle this,” he murmured, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that started soft but quickly deepened, the tension between you igniting like a spark catching fire.

Your hands moved to his neck, tangling in his curly hair as his grip on your waist tightened. His lips were insistent, his movements deliberate, as if he’d been holding back for far too long.

“Matts,” you breathed, his name falling from your lips as he kissed along your jawline, his hands exploring with a mix of confidence and reverence.

“Just tell me to stop,” he murmured against your skin, though his actions made it clear he hoped you wouldn’t.

“Don’t stop,” you whispered, your voice trembling with need.

Matthew’s lips claimed yours with a playful urgency, his hands gripping your hips as he pulled you against him, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest when your breath hitched. The chaise pressed against the back of your legs, and with a teasing nudge, he guided you down onto the soft cushions, his body following close behind.

“Well, well,” he murmured, his voice thick with amusement as he hovered over you, his dark eyes gleaming in the firelight. “Who would’ve thought Santa’s naughtiest little elf would look this good under me?”

You rolled your eyes, though your grin gave you away. “Says the guy who’s been on the naughty list for years.”

“Touché,” he replied, dipping his head to press a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your neck. His teeth grazed your skin, making you shiver as his hands slid beneath your blouse, fingers splaying across your bare waist. “But tonight… I think I’m about to outdo myself.”

“Oh, really?” you teased, your fingers finding their way to the hem of his shirt, tugging it up and over his head. Your breath caught slightly as his broad, toned chest came into view. “Show me what you’ve got, Tkachuk.”

“I told you: careful what you wish for,” he shot back with a wink, his lips curving into a wicked grin before capturing yours again. The kiss deepened, his tongue teasing yours as his hands moved higher, pulling your blouse off and tossing it aside.

His eyes roamed over you, lingering just long enough to make you squirm. “Fuck,” he muttered, his voice dropping an octave. “If this is what being on the naughty list gets me, I’m staying there forever.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, though it quickly turned into a gasp as his lips trailed lower, tracing the curve of your collarbone before descending to the swell of your chest. His hands made quick work of your bra, and when it joined the growing pile of discarded clothing, he leaned back just enough to take in the sight of you again.

“Absolutely perfect,” he murmured, his hands sliding to your waist as his lips followed the path of his gaze. His kisses grew bolder, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that made your back arch beneath him.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging lightly as he worked his way lower, leaving a trail of heat in his wake. “Matts,” you said, your voice trembling but laced with a teasing edge. “Are you just going to admire me all night, or…?”

He grinned against your skin, his hands hooking into the waistband of your trousers. “Patience, babe,” he drawled, his voice dripping with mischief. “Santa’s got a whole list to check off.”

You laughed, but again, it quickly turned into a gasp as he tugged your trousers down, his hands sliding over your bare thighs with deliberate slowness. “Mat- Mmm…” you began, but the words died on your lips as he pressed a kiss to the sensitive skin just above your hip.

“Don’t worry,” he said, his lips curving into a smirk as he looked up at you. “I’ll make sure you get exactly what you deserve.”

Matthew’s hands gripped your thighs firmly, his thumbs brushing over your skin in slow, teasing circles. The firelight flickered, casting shadows that danced across the room, but all you could focus on was him—his smirk, his dark eyes that seemed to burn with unspoken promises, and the way he made your breath hitch with every deliberate touch.

He trailed kisses along your inner thigh, his lips warm and lingering, each one building the tension that was already crackling between you. “You’ve been good at hiding just how bad you want this,” he murmured, his voice low and laced with amusement, his hands slipping higher.

“Matt…” you breathed, your voice catching as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your underwear, tugging them down with agonising slowness. The cool air hit your skin for only a moment before his warm hands replaced it, his touch confident but maddeningly slow.

“I said patience, babe,” he teased, his lips hovering just above the sensitive spot that had you arching into him. “I’m enjoying this way too much to rush.”

Your fingers curled into the chaise beneath you as his lips finally found your core, his touch gentle at first, exploring and deliberate, like he was savouring every moment. The heat of his mouth and the firm pressure of his tongue sent a jolt of pleasure through you, your hips bucking slightly against him as a soft moan escaped your lips.

“God, you’re so needy,” he murmured, his voice a mix of awe and hunger as he glanced up at you. His hands slid to your hips, holding you steady as he pressed deeper, his movements growing bolder, more purposeful. Each stroke, each swirl of his tongue was designed to drive you closer to the edge, and the way he watched your every reaction only added to the intensity.

You gasped his name, your hands finding their way to his hair, tugging lightly as he continued his slow, deliberate assault on your senses. “Matthew… I—”

“Mmm yes, that's it,” he murmured against your skin, his voice vibrating through you as he worked you closer to your climax. “Be a good girl and come for me.”

The heat built steadily, his touch never faltering, his hands and lips working in perfect harmony until the tension inside you snapped. Your release crashed over you, leaving you trembling in his hands, his name spilling from your lips in a broken moan.

Matthew didn’t pull away immediately, his movements gentle as he eased you through the aftershocks, his hands stroking your thighs soothingly. When he finally looked up at you, his lips glistening and his eyes heavy with satisfaction, he grinned. “That’s one thing checked off the naughty list.”

You let out a breathless laugh, your cheeks flushed as you tugged him up to meet you. “Your turn,” you murmured, your hands already working at the button of his jeans. The firelight painted his skin in golden hues as you helped him out of the last of his clothing, your breath catching at the sight of him.

His smirk returned as he settled over you, his body pressing against yours as he leaned down to capture your lips in a heated kiss. “Think you can handle me?” he asked, his tone teasing but his gaze dark with desire.

“Try me,” you shot back, your eyes staring at his length with hunger, your tongue sensually licking your lips. “Maybe I’ll just have a bit of a taste first.” 

And Mattew would most definitely not say no to that. 

His smirk deepened, his eyes narrowing with a mix of challenge and anticipation as he watched you. “A taste, huh?” he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, gravelly hum. “Go on, then. Show me what you’ve got.”

Matthew shifted, standing back slightly to give you room, his muscular frame still towering over you. His hands moved to your hair, his fingers threading through it gently as he watched you with a heated gaze, his breath hitching as your lips brushed over his skin, teasing.

Kneeling on the chaise, your eyes stayed locked on his as you leaned forward, your tongue flicking out to trace a slow, deliberate line along his length. The groan that escaped his lips was deep and guttural, his head falling back briefly before his dark eyes found yours again. “Fuck, baby,” he muttered, his grip in your hair tightening slightly as you took him deeper, your tongue swirling as you set a steady, purposeful rhythm using your hand as well.

You could feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles tensed under your touch, his thighs flexing as he fought to hold himself together. His breathing grew heavier, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he let out a string of curses, his hands tightening in your hair to guide you just a little more firmly.

“You’re… unreal,” he managed, his voice breaking as his hips bucked slightly against you. “So fucking good.”

The power you held over him was intoxicating, the way he reacted to every flick of your tongue, every shift of your lips making you feel bolder. You hollowed your cheeks, taking him as deeply as you could, and the groan that tore from his throat was almost a growl.

“Shit,” Matthew rasped, his hands gripping your hair tighter as he pulled you back gently, his breathing uneven. His eyes were wild, his lips parted as he stared down at you, his voice low and thick with desire. “If you keep that up, I’m not gonna last.”

You smirked, your lips brushing over him one last time before you sat back, your hands sliding up his thighs. “Guess we’ll have to finish this another way, then,” you teased, your voice sultry as you pulled him back toward you.

Matthew didn’t hesitate. His hands found your waist, shifting you effortlessly as he hovered over you again, his lips crashing onto yours in a kiss that was all heat and desperation. His body pressed against yours, his hands exploring every inch of your skin as he settled between your thighs, his cock hard and insistent against your core.

“You’re trouble,” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough as he lined himself up with your entrance, his gaze locking onto yours. “The best kind of trouble.”

You gasped as he pushed into you slowly, the stretch and heat of him sending a wave of pleasure coursing through you. Matthew groaned, his head falling to your shoulder as he filled you completely, one hand gripping the small sofa as though anchoring himself, while the other held you hip steady.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice strained as he began to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate at first, each one calculated to drive you insane. The friction, the pressure, the way his body fit perfectly with yours—it was almost too much.

Your hands found his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as you arched into him, meeting his rhythm with your own. “Matt,” you gasped, his name spilling from your lips like a mantra as the heat between you built to a fever pitch.

“God, you feel so good,” he groaned, his movements growing faster, more desperate as his restraint began to slip. His lips found yours again, his kiss messy and unrelenting, his hand guiding your hip to meet each thrust as the tension between you coiled tighter and tighter.

“Don’t stop,” you begged, your voice trembling as you felt the wave of pleasure building inside you, your body clinging to his as he drove you closer to the edge.

“Not planning to. I’ve got you, baby,” Matthew murmured, his voice rough and full of promise as his hand slid between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit. The added sensation sent you spiraling, your release crashing over you in waves as you cried out his name, your body trembling beneath him.

Matthew followed just moments later, his thrusts growing erratic as he let go, his groan of release muffled against your neck as he shuddered above you. For a long moment, the two of you stayed tangled together, your bodies pressed close as you caught your breath.

When he finally pulled back, his lips brushing over your jawline in a series of soft, lingering kisses, he grinned down at you, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Guess I’m definitely staying on the naughty list this year,” he teased, his voice low and warm.

You laughed softly, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his back. “Definitely. If that’s what being naughty feels like, I’m never getting off it.”

Matthew smirked, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple. “Then we’ll stay there together,” he murmured, his voice warm and low as he nuzzled into your neck. “Merry Christmas.”

You smiled, your heart full as you tilted your head to meet his gaze, brushing a soft kiss to his lips. “Merry Christmas, Matts.”

[daddydixonscrossbow]

All of my fics contain TWD themes - zombies, gore/horror, etc., and some ome of my fics contain adult content which is 18+, please read with caution.

I have another account on here which is now @writtenbyan-aries (it was previously SamandColbyOwnMe) I reblogged three that I wrote on that blog and I will put them in this masterlist. Enjoy! 💋

D A R Y L • D I X O N

✫ F I C S ↴

Days Since Then

Not Without a Fight

Swimmin’ in your Thoughts

Crossing a Line

Stand By Me

✫ B L U R B S ↴

What Did You Just Call Me?

I Could Have Killed Ya

Guess so

C’mon Twinkle Toes

Can’t you just say I Love You?

You Have No Idea

Sit Your Ass Down

Daryl Don’t

Hands on Me

You Don’t Like Anything, Daryl

She’s Fine

Don’t Worry ‘Bout It

You Help Me. I Help You

Hair Down

What are y’doin’ here?

Worth Missin’ a Flight

I just saved your life

I’ll Fuckin’ Kill You

I Didn’t Wake Ya Did I?

Merry Christmas, Daryl Dixon

Yes, Mr. Dixon, we Have a Deal.

Six Days is Far Too Long

Don’t Ever Tell Me There Ain’t Shit We Can’t Do

Jeans into Shorts

Are we clear?

I Need Your Help

Look How That Turned Out

A Little Bit Safer

Have You Taken A Shower Yet?

I’ll be Here

Jealous Daryl

Find You a Crossbow

Happy Birthday, Daryl Dixon.

Close Call

✫ H E A D C A N O N S ↴

Things Daryl Would Do

R I C K • G R I M E S

✫ F I C S ↴

Believe It

More Than You Think

✫ B L U R B S ↴

I’ll Have Three to Worry About

Staring Won’t Get You Anywhere

G L E N N • R H E E

✫ F I C S ↴

No Other Option

✫ B L U R B S ↴

C. Soon

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

Does It Feel Like Christmas Now?

Pairing: Javi Gutiérrez x Female Reader Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Summary: Javi's not feeling too festive this year, his best friend Nic can't make his annual Christmas party... guess it's up to you to cheer up the handsome party host. Warnings: smut, fingering, 69, oral (m & f receiving), javi eats ass, cum eating, weed use, alcohol, muppet christmas carol, i just really want to touch javi's stomach, like this is just a bit of plot and story so that javi g can get his dick sucked. 🤷🏼‍♀️ Words: 3,600

Written for the lovely @beefrobeefcal Disaster Control challenge. Merry Christmas Beefy! I've LOVED getting to know you and partake in the unhinged with you. 💕🥩

Masterlist

🐻🐻🐻

Javi stands at the balcony lit in twinkling lights overlooking the ocean. Normally, this time of year fills him with joy, his mind dancing with the singing of the street corner choir, going home and getting warm by the fire. Because he knows it’s true wherever you find love it feels like Christmas. 

But this December, a melancholy has settled over. His sweet reunion with his friend this year will not be happening. 

He sighs and turns back to survey the scene of his staff setting up everything for his annual Christmas party. The ballroom of his mansion has been transformed into a winter wonderland. Enormous fir trees with their branches laden with shimmering ornaments and lights stand in each corner. Silver and gold tinsel drapes from the vaulted ceiling. Garlands of holly and ivy wind their way along the walls. Crystal chandeliers hang adorned with red velvet bows and clusters of mistletoe. Red and green spotlights dance along the marble dance floor. Well, at least all of his friends will have fun tonight.

How could he possibly enjoy his legendary Christmas soiree without Nic? For the past few years, Nicolas Cage has been the life of Javi’s annual yuletide bash. And now, with Nic all the way back home in Hollywood filming the newest installment of Cage Chronicles there was just no way he could make his way to Majorca.

It doesn’t feel like Christmas. 

—-

“What in the world?” you ask, mouth agape at the sight ahead of you. A palatial estate lays ahead of you as your friend Clara navigates the winding driveway. “How the hell did you work this invite out?”

Clara flashes a mischievous grin as she pulls the tiny Fiat up to the valet. “Let’s just say I have connections in high places,” she says with a wink.

“So, that guy you’ve been seeing?” you ask as the valet in a crisp red uniform opens your door.

“Yep,” she responds, punctuating the p. “It’s his cousin Javi’s party. Come on now, let’s get fucked up.”

Soft strains of “White Christmas” drift from inside as you approach the grand entrance. The massive oak doors swing open, revealing a scene that looks straight out of a Christmas movie. Your eyes widen as you take in everything before you. A waiter approaches with a tray of champagne flutes. You take one, the bubbles tickling your nose as you sip the crisp and obviously expensive champagne.

"Holy shit," you whisper to Clara. "This is insane.”

Clara tugs at your arm, pulling you towards a room where the music grows louder. As you enter the ballroom, your jaw drops at the spectacle ahead of you. Beautiful people all clad in beautiful outfits and jewels talk, laugh, and dance as a live band plays.

You scan the room, trying to take it all in. Your eyes landing on a man standing alone near one of the enormous Christmas trees. He’s impeccably dressed with a charming smile on his face, but there’s something melancholic that lines his features. He’s the most handsome man you’ve ever seen.

His dark hair is slicked back, his broad body clad under a tailored suit, his deep brown eyes survey the room—until they settle on you.

With a slight nod of his head, he raises his champagne glass in a greeting before taking a sip. His gaze intensifies as it travels up your body. And just as you feel the heat of his gaze land on your eyes, Clara pulls you away.

“Come on, Alejandro’s outside,” she shouts over the band.

You follow her reluctantly, feeling the handsome stranger’s eyes on you as you move to the breath-taking veranda.

Clara squeals with delight as she spots Alejandro, she thrusts her drink in your hand before rushing over to plant a kiss on his cheek. You stay behind, feeling slightly out of place.

You take a deep breath, inhaling the scent of pine and salty sea air as Clara and Alejandro chat animatedly. You love Clara, she’s your closest friend in your college’s abroad program, but she’s much more of a social butterfly than you are… especially when it comes to men. 

You can already tell it’s going to be another night of you standing alone in a pretty dress while Clara has all of the fun. You guzzle down the rest of your champagne before starting on Clara’s flute.

The breeze chills your skin… someone really should have warned you about the chill that blows off the Mediterranean Sea in December. The velvet of your short, red dress does nothing to warm you. At least the party inside looks warm. 

"I’m going to get a refill,” you announce to the two lovebirds enamored with each other. swallowing down the rest of your champagne.

“Have fun!” Clara giggles as Alejandro nuzzles against her neck.

Weaving through all of the sequins and tuxedos, you spot a waiter and snag another flute of champagne, downing half of it in one gulp.

It’s too hectic in this fancy ballroom, Clara really got you with the promise of free booze. This mansion looks more like a castle… you wonder just how many rooms are in this place. Curiosity gets the best of you as you sneak off past the ballroom doors, your heels clicking against the polished marble floor of a long, dimly lit hallway. At the end of the hall, a door sits slightly ajar with a familiar song floating out of it. 

A cup of kindness that we share with anotherA sweet reunion with a friend or a brotherIn all the places you find love, it feels like Christmas

The familiar lyrics of “It Feels Like Christmas” beckons you toward the dark room.

You peek inside, of course this mega mansion has a home theatre. A lone person silhouetted by the screen sits on a plush couch at the front.

The person turns at the sound of your heels, your eyes adjust to the darkness, before realizing it’s the handsome man from earlier. His eyes widen slightly in recognition.

“I’m sorry, “ you stammer, suddenly feeling quite foolish. “I didn’t mean to intrude. I—the party was just a lot.”

He smiles warmly, the sadness in his eyes lifting slightly. “No—no need to apologize. Please, join if you’d like, I could use the company,” he says, his voice deep and accented. Of course his accent would be just as beautiful as him.

You make your way down the aisle before settling on the seat next to him. He sits up straighter, his jacket discarded and his tie loosened.

“A classic,” you quietly say.

He nods, his eyes fixed on the screen. “It’s mine and Nic’s favorite. We’d watch it every year after the party.” “Nic?” you ask, your curiosity piqued.

He chuckles softly. “Nicolas Cage. He’s usually the life of this party, but this year he couldn't make it," he explains with a wistful tone in his voice.

Your eyes widen in surprise. "Nicolas Cage? As in, the actor? Like—as in Spider-Noir or ‘NOT THE BEEEEES!‘ Nic Cage?”

He nods, a fond smile playing on his lips. “Yes. He is one of my closest friends. This party just doesn’t feel the same without him.”

You’re stunned into silence, processing the surprise revelation. “He’s my favorite actor.”

“He’s mine too,” he says, turning to you, his eyes glistening with a wide smile across his face, you notice a deep dimple on his cheek. You can’t stop thinking about what it would feel like to dip your tongue in the divot of it. “I’m Javi,” he says, extending his hand towards you.

You give him your name, shaking his hand. His large hand engulfs yours with a firm, warm grip.

“You certainly know how to throw a great party out there Javi.”

He nods with a hum of agreement.

“Did you want a drink?” he asks.

You nod, grateful for the offer. “That sounds lovely, thank you.” Javi stands, moving to a small bar tucked in the corner and pours two lowball glasses with amber liquid.

“I hope whiskey is alright,” he says, handing you one of the glasses.

You take a sip, the smoky flavor warming you from the inside out. "It's perfect," you reply, settling back into the plush seat.

As the movie plays on, you find yourself relaxing, the whiskey and Javi's presence melting away the awkwardness you felt earlier. Javi lights up a joint, and offers it to you, which you gratefully accept and take a hit.

Of course it’s good weed, so good, you have a bit of a coughing fit after your first inhale. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, his hand coming up to rest on your back, running soothing lines up and down it. “Your dress is so soft.” 

His touch both heats and soothes your body, even more than the whiskey and weed.

His hand stays on your back, still running slightly up and down your dress as the two of you laugh at the antics of Gonzo and Rizzo, recite lines along with the Muppets, and hum softly to the familiar songs.

Javi seems to cheer up, his earlier melancholy fading as he laughs along with you and shares stories about watching it with Nic.

Rizzo and Gonzo disguise themselves as busts. 

“This is my favorite part,” you smile. 

You feel Javi’s eyes on you instead of the screen, his gaze intense, filled with something you can’t quite sense. You feel heat creep up your neck as you look at him.

"You have a beautiful smile,” he says softly.

You lean closer, he smells of sandalwood and citrus.

“I like your smile too,” you say, earning an adoring smile from him.

He moves his hand, wrapping his arm around you and pulling you closer, shocking you as you try to calm your now racing heart.

You steal glances of Javi throughout the movie, the soft glow from the screen lighting his profile. You follow the strong line of his jaw and the curve of his plush lips up to his sharp nose. 

Scrooge begins his transformation from miser to charitable hero, but you find it increasingly difficult to focus on the story. Javi’s fingers trace lazy circles on the bare skin of your arm, before they move to the nape of your neck, massaging the sensitive skin there.

You shift slightly in your seat, pressing closer to Javi and letting out a soft moan as his thumb brushes against your collarbone.

The liquor, his touch, and his handsome face drives you wild.

The credits roll, your heart drops as he pulls his arm away. He turns to you, his eyes dark. “This has been fun, thanks for keeping me company.”

His voice is deep, his big, brown eyes roam your face. Your mouth opens, your tongue darting out to lick your lips, trying to figure out what to say to keep him here with you. He leans in closer, his eyes flickering to your lips. His warm breath hits your skin, smelling of whiskey, weed, and mint.

His hand comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb gently stroking your skin. You lean into his touch, your eyes fluttering closed as his lips meet yours.

His lips are soft, his kiss is sweet. He pulls you closer as his tongue traces the seam of your lips. You part your lips with a soft gasp, tasting the whiskey and peppermint that lingers on his tongue. His hand slides down your back, gripping your ass and scooting you into his lap. You eagerly climb atop him and moan into his mouth, your fingers curling around the fabric of his shirt. 

He nips at your bottom lip before soothing it with his tongue, you return the favor earning a low growl from Javi that vibrates against your lips.

You part for air, both of you breathing heavily.

Javi rests his forehead against yours, his eyes dark as they meet yours. “Would you like to continue this evening—maybe somewhere more private?”

Your breath catches in your throat as you nod, unable to find the words. Javi stands, offering his hand to help you up. He leads you out of the theatre and through winding corridors, the sounds of the party grows fainter.

You ascend a grand staircase, your fingers intertwined with his. Ornate oil paintings and gilded mirrors line the walls. You can’t believe you’re doing this, but when a man who looks like Javi offers you a more private place to take you to, you say yes.

He stops before an intricately carved mahogany door, fishing a key from his pocket. The lock clicks open, and Javi ushers you inside with a gentle hand on the small of your back.

You gasp as you enter. The room is enormous, easily the size of your entire apartment. A massive four-poster bed dominates one wall, draped in rich fabric. Floor-to-ceiling windows offer a breathtaking view of the moonlit ocean.

“Oh my god, Javi, this is gorgeous.”

He smiles warmly at you.

"You know, I wasn't sure I'd enjoy tonight at all. But you've made this evening so much brighter. Thank you for that." He steps closer, his hand cupping your cheek. "I'd like to show my appreciation, if you'll let me."

He leans in, his lips barely brushing yours. “How would you like to do that?” you whisper.

His brown eyes darken. "I want to taste you," he growls, his accent thicker with arousal.

You nod, unable to speak.

Javi starts to guide you towards the bed, but then pauses. "Oh, one moment," he says, moving to his dresser.

You watch, puzzled, as he gently turns around a stuffed Paddington Bear plush perched there. "Wouldn't want him to see," Javi explains with a playful wink.

You giggle as Javi’s hands slide to your waist. “Now where were we?” he asks, his hands sliding to your hips and pulling you flush against his body. His kiss makes you melt into him, your arms wrapping around his neck.

His hands find the zipper of your dress and slowly lowers it, the cool breeze from the windows hits your skin as the fabric pools at your feet. His warm palms slide up to trace the lace edge of your bra.

He guides you backwards until your legs hit the bed, he eases you down onto the silky sheets, your skin sliding easily as you scoot back, resting your head on the mountain of pillows as he crawls over you.

His lips trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck. You arch into him as he lavishes attention on your collarbone, nipping and sucking. His stubble scratches deliciously against your sensitive skin.

He makes quick work of your bra clasp before he slowly peels the lace away, revealing your breasts to his hungry gaze.

A needy whimper escapes you as he takes one hardened peak into his mouth. His tongue swirls around your nipple as his hand kneads your other breast.

Carding your fingers through his soft, thick hair, you moan his name as he switches his attention to your other breast, worshipping it with the same dedication.

His lips continue their journey down your body, pressing feather-light kisses across your ribcage and stomach. Your hips buck involuntarily as he nips at the sensitive skin below your navel.

Javi hooks his fingers in the waistband of your panties, looking up at you with a silent question in his eyes. You nod eagerly, lifting your hips to help him slide the lace down your legs.

He settles between your thighs, his hot breath fanning over your pussy already wet for him. You tremble as he places a tender kiss on your inner thigh.

"Relax, mi amor," Javi murmurs. "Let me take care of you."

Your head hits the pillow, a long groan escaping your lips when he first tastes you. He laps at you with long, broad strokes before sealing his mouth over your clit. Your fingers tangle in the silky sheets as he sucks and flicks his tongue in maddening patterns.

A thick finger slips inside you, his tongue on your clit and his finger pumping in and out already has your legs trembling.

Your back arches off the bed as Javi works you. His free hand grips your thigh, holding you steady as you begin to shake.

"Javi," you gasp, your voice breathy and desperate. "I'm so close."

He hums against you, before pulling away, his handsome face slick with your wet. He smiles his devilish smile.

“I love doing this, you taste so good.”

He stretches you with another finger and curls both up, as he slowly fucks you, slow and deliberate, dragging in and out, driving you crazy. 

With a long, deep swirl of his tongue, you cry out Javi's name. Your fingers and toes curl while your heart shatters against your chest. Your orgasm pulses through you, your body feels like it’s floating above the obviously expensive silk sheets. Javi gently swirls and laps his tongue all over your pulsing pussy until you become too sensitive.

“S-s-stop, t-too much, oh my god,” you stutter, your body quaking from his attention.

Javi chuckles against you before pressing soft kisses to your inner thighs as you come down from your high. He moves back up your body, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, imparting your taste against your lips.

His still-clothed body covers your naked body on his bed. Your fingers move clumsily, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, eager to feel his bare skin against yours.

He breaks the kiss, chuckling softly. “Patience, mi amor,” he whispers, sitting back on his haunches and unbuttoning the rest of his shirt. You watch, mesmerized, as he reveals his tanned, toned chest and plush belly. He tosses his shirt aside, your hands immediately run over his smooth skin, reveling in the way he twitches under your touch. Your hands run down to the waistband of his dress pants.

“Off,” you say, tugging at his belt. He chuckles, quickly unbuckling and removing his pants and boxers.

He’s gorgeous, your eyes widen as you take in the sight of him. His thick cock lays hard against his stomach, already leaking for you. Wrapping your hand around him and stroking him lightly, a groan escapes his lips, his hips bucking into your touch.

You want him in your mouth, you want to know what he tastes like. You sit up, pushing him onto his back. “I want to taste you too.”

He groans. “Yes, mi amor. Come here,” he says, pulling you to straddle his face in reverse.

Leaning forward and bracing yourself on his thick thighs, you lower your mouth to his cock and lick a long stripe up his wide shaft. He moans, the vibrations tickling against your folds as he begins to devour you.

He’s velvety smooth in your mouth, hard and musky. His hips twitching as you suck against his head before taking him down your throat.

Javi licks and sucks against your clit, his fingers sliding in and out of your pussy, earning moans around his cock. You relax your throat, taking him even deeper as his fingers pump faster inside you.

He grips your ass, kneading the flesh as he devours you. Your orgasm shows itself again, your core and body coiling tighter with each swirl of his tongue.

Javi’s cock twitches in your mouth as you bob your head faster, hollowing your cheeks to suck him harder. His hips moving in shallow thrusts as he fucks your mouth.

“Close,” he grits as you cry around his cock, he slips his fingers out of you. His strong hands knead and spread your ass cheeks, exposing you fully to his hungry mouth. You gasp around his cock as his tongue draws a path from your pussy to your ass. His tongue circles your puckered hole before dipping inside. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before—and you’re doing it with a gorgeous man who you just met at his lavish Christmas party.

Javi groans, the vibrations traveling through you as he works you with his mouth. His tongue darts from your clit to your entrance to your ass in an unpredictable pattern that leaves you dizzy. You're trembling, teetering on the edge of bliss.

"Javi," you whimper against his cock.

He groans, his grip tightens on your ass as his tongue delves deeper, pushing you over the precipice. You cry out around his cock, your body shaking as your second orgasm crashes over you. You suck him harder, taking him all the way down to your throat, choking on his length.

The sensation proves too much for him. With a deep groan, he pulses and spills into your mouth. You swallow around him, savoring his taste as he rides out his climax.

Spent and sated, you roll off of him, collapsing onto the plush mattress. Javi gathers you in his arms, pressing tender kisses to your forehead as you both catch your breath.

“So, does it feel like Christmas now?” you ask, snuggling closer to him, relishing the heat of his bare skin against yours. The distant sounds of the party drift in through the windows.

“Mm, it does,” Javi rumbles, capturing your wandering hand and bringing it to his lips to place a kiss across your knuckles.