#Maybe one or two Christmas ones but that’s if we’re lucky

[cherrysolo]

hey angel!!! I love your work <3 I was wondering if you could do a luigi fanfic where the reader and Luigi visit his family for Christmas and at one point they sneak out for a romantic walk in the snow. Maybe make it based off Taylor’s song lover?! Just thought that was cute, love you always!!💗💗

lover

omfg, I love this idea!!! I love how u guys are even suggesting taylor songs for me to make into mini-fics. it makes me feel so seen <3

you and luigi were in his hometown in maryland for christmas. surrounded by his huge family, it was such a warm welcome that you weren’t used to, coming from a small family. opening presents, watching festive movies, and creating memories that you’ll remember forever.

“Swear to be overdramatic and true to my lover, And you'll save all your dirtiest jokes for me, and at every table, I'll save you a seat, lover”

“over here, lu!” you patted the seat next to you, making sure you saved your boyfriend the seat next to you, at the long table full of family members. christmas eve dinner was a staple in the mangione family, and luigi was so happy you were there to join his family. he sat next to you, patting your thigh,

“are you the grinch? cause you’ve stolen my heart this christmas” he whispers to you, smirking.

“that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” you whisper back, half joking. it was also the cutest thing you’d heard, he had always had an affinity for dirty dad jokes. both of you didn’t care that you were surrounded by family, you guys felt most of the love and warmth just being side by side.

“Can I go where you go? Can we always be this close forever and ever? And ah, take me out, and take me home (forever and ever) You're my, my, my, my Lover”

by the end of dinner, you two snuck away to go for a walk, mostly to get away from the loud chatter in the house. all bundled up in your coats, walking out to brave a cold winter night.

“lu!! it’s snowing!! it’s going to be a white christmas,” you exclaim, basically running out of the house. luigi grabs your hand, intertwining your fingers.

“I hate the cold,”he grumbled as you guys began your walk through the neighbourhood.

“I’ll keep you warm, you just have a cold heart,” you jokingly nudge his elbow. you both continue your walk enjoying each other's company and the beautiful christmas lights that array the street. the snow begins to fall even harder, you look over at luigi realizing how lucky you are, to be here with him, in this moment.

“dance with me,” you said, stopping in your tracks.

“what? here? right now?” luigi looked around,

“yes! the snow is so romantic, its a way to keep each other warm,” you sweetly suggest, and grab luigi’s hand. you both pull each other in for a hug, being as close as possible to share warmth, swaying back and forth.

“we’re not the best dancers babe,” luigi giggles, continuing to sway.

“it’s the thought that counts,” you whisper. he places a kiss on your forehead.

“merry christmas, my sweet girl. I love you,” he whispers, continuing to pepper kisses on your face.

christmas was one for the books this year, the silent night was filled with love and sweet sweet words from your lover.

[lemonmatronics]

y’all are never gonna see me recover from this actually

[nichuuu]

Paper Houses

Cho Miyeon x M reader

(1st instalment of The View Between Villages)

Word Count: 18k+ Special thanks to @defmaybe for helping to draw out the best version of this fic.

(All the details? Really? Oh wow. Okay…)

(I’m gonna dissociate myself from this so… “you” is gonna appear a lot. Don’t sweat it cupcake—you’re not actually the one in this mess. 

It’s just a bad habit of mine, that’s all.)

--

(You’re lucky. You get the sweet start to it all. For what it’s worth: sweetness is a fucking deceiving concept when you have rose-tinted lenses.)

“You know: out of all the men I’ve dated, you cook the best.���

You raise an eyebrow as you flip the grilled cheese in your skillet. Frankly, there’s nothing to be impressed about over grilled cheese and tomato soup. Cheese sandwiched between two evenly buttered slices of bread, grilled till golden brown and served with a side of hot tomato juice in a bowl. Literally everything has been prepared for you and packed neatly into some package in a grocery store. All you did was heat it up and add a few of your own ingredients.

“Is that a compliment or a flex?” you ask, turning your gaze away from your skillet momentarily to look at Miyeon as she replies. Her face isn’t gonna add value to her answer, but you just like looking at her. She is hot after all. 

She scoffs and takes a sip of her coffee. “Jeez… Can’t a woman compliment her boyfriend in peace?”

You’ve had this conversation before, but you like to entertain her.

“This woman can’t,” you tell her, making sure she can see the smirk on your face as you turn back to the sandwich. You wave your spatula in the air as you speak, almost like you’re referring to PowerPoint slides. “She’s too weird about everything. Never take her seriously.”

“Oh, so we’re just gonna call me weird and neglect the fact you keep your butter in that?” she exclaims, pointing at the butter bell on top of your fridge. It was a Christmas gift from your mom last year, and even though you did think it was weird at first, you have not gone back to keeping your butter in blocks. 

“You keep my fucking butter bell out of this,” you warn, and it’s half joking and half serious. 

(No one fucks with your butter bell.)

Miyeon chortles. You don’t need to look at her to know that she’s raising her hands in the air when she says, “jeez man. Didn’t know you guys were tight like that…”

And it’s stupid exchanges like this that make you appreciate her company by bounds. It’s lonely in the apartment when she’s out being famous; really nice to have her around for the holidays, albeit for a short time. It’s been a while since she’s been back. There’s much to catch up on over an 11 am brunch. You don’t know why she’s up so damn early today, cause normally you guys sleep till the late afternoon, then go figure out what to eat for dinner before lazing around in the apartment.

So with cheese falling from the corner of her lip, she gives you the latest developments in her life. Then it’s your turn, and you're glad to say that nothing’s really of interest in either of your updates. That’s usually for the better: sometimes the news you give each other can be a little heart-attack-inducing, so it’s better that your lives are pretty bland.

“You know,” she says as she wipes her mouth. “I might just keep dating you for your food,” she tosses her tissue onto the dining table and lets out a sigh. “Fucking delicious.”

You scoff and sip on your coffee. “Bet you told that to all the guys,” you reply wryly. “Probably gets them real excited, huh?”

She grins. It’s cheeky, mischievous, maybe even a little naughty. “Not telling.”

“You don’t tell me a lot of things,” you chuckle, and you’re low-key unsurprised to hear a little bit of unintended bitterness in your voice. “Not that it matters or anything… I just value communication.”

Oh, you’re petty. So fucking petty that it makes your skin crawl a little.

Miyeon’s unfazed. 

“Don’t get your tits in a tussle, pretty boy,” she muses. She folds her arms and leans into the table. “You’ll know more when I trust you more. For now: I’ll give you information as I please.”

And you kick yourself because you forget she can be a bit of a handful herself.

“Ugh, what will I ever do with this mysterious woman?” you smirk, resting your elbow against the table as you lean in as well. To be perfectly clear: you’re not mad at her. Her secrecy just bugs you out a little, and she knows it. “Such little knowledge on such a hardened beauty… must be tough to really crack her open and figure her out.”

You love her eyes, and you love to make them roll (in multiple contexts). They kinda gleam as she tilts her head. “Fine… I’ll give you something since you’re so damn desperate,” she drums her fingers against her cheek while her chin nestles itself into her palm. “What I’m about to give you is gonna change your life in so many ways. It’ll probably redefine your whole damn existence.”

You express your interest by leaning in a little more. Miyeon checks her six—like she isn’t in the comfort of her own home—before leaning in. She’s all clandestine. You have no idea what for. 

“You ready?” she checks. And you know she isn’t expecting an answer, but you nod nonetheless. She checks her left and right for good measure. You never know: maybe your lamp is listening.

“I’m aching for cock right now.”

And you guys don’t even make it to the couch.

It’s on the floor next to your table where she has your face in her hands, and she’s kissing you aggressively. She’s properly kissing you, and it makes you knock the back of your head against the floor a little, but it’s really not too big of a deal. 

She lifts her lips off yours and smirks. “For the record: it’s your fault that we aren’t fucking on the couch.”

“Yeah, and I actually paid rent early for once,” you shoot back sarcastically. “And would you mind helping me clean the yacht I most definitely own on my luxurious salary? Thanks a bunch, honey.”

She scoffs and rolls her eyes. She knows you’re full of shit, but she’s full of the same shit as you. Form a shit pile or something, maybe even a shit mountain if you feel like it. You could really go on for a while about how you two can talk for hours, but that’s not the main event.

The real deal comes when she has her hand beneath the waistband of your pants, slithering down to the very thing she aches for. She has that smile on her face, the one that kinda says “Oh I’m gonna love this” or “you’re gonna love this” or maybe even both. There are ways to distinguish the messages by looking at her eyes, but you’re a little too lazy to go figure it out right now. And before someone calls you a bum, you can’t help it: she has her hand on your cock and a piercing gaze trained on you. How about you try and focus on discerning implicit messages when there's a hot woman touching you in the right places?

“How are you hard already?” she asks, a hint of a giggle in her tone as she presses your shaft against your body. There’s barely any space down there, yet she makes it work so easily. “I didn’t even, like, do anything yet.”

“Well,” you hum, just as she starts to squeeze your member, appling that toe-curling pressure to your tip and smiling as you strain a little. “I can kinda see your tits through your shirt.”

Miyeon raises her eyebrows. She doesn’t even look at her shirt. “Oh?” and she starts to pump. “I didn’t notice that…”

“Totally,” you grunt. “Like how you don’t notice that your shorts are barely shorts?” you continue, but there’s something more bugging you. “And at least pull my pants down if you’re gonna jack me off, would you?”

Miyeon snorts, but compiles nonetheless. She gets your pants and boxers off with ease. It’s one swift motion (it’s practiced grace really), and she gets back to the task at hand before she was so rudely interrupted. 

“What does seeing my tits have anything to do with you?” Her motions are languid and fluid, steady and flowing like a stream. She doesn’t need to look. She doesn't need to guess. She knows you like the back of her hand. “Does it turn you on? Excite you?”

You have it in you to roll your eyes before they shut. “Stop asking these fucking ridiculous questions.”

“It's a basic inquiry.” She laughs in this aloof tone that you know is paired with the most devious of smiles. “So you won’t let me compliment you and you won’t let me ask questions? Tsk. Chivalry is dead.”

Miyeon goes a little faster, adds a twist of her wrist. This is just her hand, mind you, and it’s already ruining you in a way that only she is capable of. The tender touch of Cho Miyeon is something no woman you’ve met could ever replicate, and it takes you to places that you can only visit with her. Those fingers are magic, that mouth is magic—hell, everything about her is magic. 

“Please,” you manage to quip past the jolts of magic being sent through your system. “We both know that you have the answers to all the questions you just asked.”

She giggles—playfully, you might add. This is all a part of the game you play with her; this is the way Miyeon’s cookie crumbles. “Maybe I do, maybe I don’t. Who cares?”

You care: not a lot, but enough to make this as humorous as you want it to be. You kinda only give two shits because it lets you be kinda petty with her, but not that you externalise it or anything. You just have it pent up in you for the fun of it.

“Anyway,” she muses, halting the strokes of her hand to your cock. “Have I told you about how much I wanted you to fill me while I was filming?”

You take a moment to breathe. “No… But do tell.”

And gets to that, but not before ridding herself of her shirt first. By technicality, it’s your shirt, but it shrunk in the dryer at some point, so it just became hers. She gets into the details, the nitty gritty; tells you exactly what she’s imagining during the filming of her Music Video all while you kind just sit there and ogle at her chest. She takes her time, covers the stuff that you don’t really need to know but it’s kinda hot to know — things like “ugh, I needed you to bend me over the hood of that car and just fuck me at that point…” — because you admittedly get off knowing that she ever thinks about you that way and… God, you’re rambling aren’t you? Still pretty fitting though: it’s the way Miyeon talks when she’s thinking nonsense.

“Ugh. Now I’m wet,” she mutters. She speaks as if it’s your fault that she went on rambling about her fantasies with you. “You know you make me like, really horny right?”

“Oh no… Whatever will I do?” you’re really just rolling with it. Not because you want to, but because you want to get this bit where you tease each other over and done with. It’s kinda like marinating meat in the way it makes the sex a little hotter. Truthfully: you’re aching for her. Really: you want nothing more than to just get her pinned beneath you and writhing on your wooden floor. 

And frankly? You could do all of that right now.

So it’s with a bit of grace (and some dexterity) that you flip the positions: now you’re kneeling over her while she is the one that lies on the floor, if that makes any sense. Miyeon isn’t shocked by your sudden movements, more so delighted by the fact that you finally gave in to your carnal urges and just went for it. She smiles, knowing full well that she’s done something that's gonna give her that fuel she needs for the week. You know: sex that’s the opposite of soft; some shit that fulfills some wild thoughts. 

“Gotta say, you’re quicker than usual,” she has that cocky smirk on her face. You wanna wipe it right off her face, and you know just how. “Normally you’re all talk, no– Oh…”

You like that it really only takes a finger pressed against her panties to shut her up. It’s not much, but it’s enough to make her shut her eyes and shut up for a moment. The spot you press on is damp, soaked in that sweet slick. Gently, you trace the outline of those swollen folds. “You were saying?”

She has it in her to laugh—a breathy chortle. “Fuck you.”

“I’m working on that,” you fire back. Your cock twitches a little when you see her jolt in response to your touch. Your finger pressed down on that one spot that makes her weak, and it really works wonders: an airy gasp slips past those thin, luscious lips. The number of times you’ve kissed those lips swollen is not a number countable with 10 fingers.

Miyeon sighs, and it’s a mix of pleasure and frustration in her breath that humors you. She relaxes into the floorboards, her hips rock, her cunt rubs against your fingers. She's searching for some friction — sweet release in lewd movements. You let her move for a bit, watch her shake like the bough of a willow tree as she pleases herself against your fingers. 

“Enjoying yourself?” you quip. 

“Yeah..” she hums. “Passing time while you’re still not taking these shorts off me.”

Of course… How could you be so forgetful?

You stop for a moment to help her wriggle out of her clothing. It isn’t one of her most graceful moments, but it quickly passes. The shorts join your pants on the floor. Her panties are pink — not that subtle shade of pink or even like a darker version of pink. It’s Barbie fucking Pink.

“So we’re feeling loud today, huh?” you ask, letting your finger trail the lacy parts of the fabric. Miyeon smiles.

“Sana gave them to me,” she explains, not the least bit sheepish that her damp spot is visibly darker than the rest of her underwear. “Hope this doesn’t affect you in your work or anything…”

You feel the corner of your lip turn up. “No, no… Of course not,” you assure her, all while you let your hand slip between the fabric and her skin. You can feel her shudder, then you feel the heat of her cunt at the tip of your fingers. “You caught me on the right day actually… Pink’s in my rotation of favourite colours this fine morning.”

“Right,” her voice has a lilt. It’s shuddering a little too. “I knew that… Definitely had that in mind.”

You laugh. Your index fingers slip between her folds. She moans. 

You lower yourself, capture a swollen, taut nipple in your mouth. The sweet suction you deliver makes her gasp. Her hand finds itself in your head.

It’s all quite rhythmical, almost like a routine for the two of you. The way your bodies react to each other feels so natural that you think it might just be second nature at this point. You know her body: you’ve memorised the dips and curves and tender spots; the hot spots, the warm parts and the best parts. She knows you—the way you think, the way you talk; the way you play with her and the things you want to do with her. It would be safe to say that you guys practically have PhDs in the subject of each other, but that’s not a fair statement because you’re both a little more complicated than you let on. That keeps the sex exciting; it makes you crave each other a little more than last time. 

“One or two?” you whisper, letting your finger dip in and out of her lips and getting it all wet in her slickness. She takes a moment to think, or maybe she’s taking a moment to really soak in the teasing. Either way: she takes some time to reply. 

“Two,” she shifts herself a little lower, her clit pressing into the base of your middle finger. It makes her sigh — a low, kinda sonorous escape of air through her lips. “I hope you trimmed your nails this time.”

“That last time was a minor mishap,” you admit. You kinda want to pull your hands out to double-check, but you’re too mired in the moment to assuage your worries. “Don’t worry. I’ve got it all under control.”

She beams like the damn sun. “Good. I like it when you’ve got the reins.”

And that makes you suck in some air through your teeth. 

(God, does she know how to try you on.)

Your digits push themselves inside of her. They’re wrapped in her tight warmth, snug as a bug in a rug or whatever. You love the way her abs kinda flex as your fingers introduce themselves to her insides. It makes the best parts of her pop. Her chest rises a little more than the last time, her breaths becoming a little longer and more drawn out as your fingers explore her like always. The way she jolts when you get to that one spot at the roof of her pussy tells you that she has been primed and ready for this moment, loaded up like a shotgun and the trigger is really just any part of you that makes her cum. It could be your fingers, your tongue, your dick, your thigh—any part of you that can get her to that sweet high. Of course: you’re more than happy to assist. And so your mouth latches itself back onto her breast, tongue licking and swishing and flicking the swollen nipple atop her small yet generously sized breast. You relish the way it feels in your hand as you cup it—not too firmly and not too gently—and give it a squeeze, enjoying how the flesh spills out a little between your fingers but still fits in the palm of your hand.

“How do you only get better at this?” she hisses through her teeth. “I mean, I just saw you last week but… Oh god…”

You remove her nipple from your mouth. “Art is honed. This is art.”

She laughs, then throws her head back to let out a moan. “Well I’ll be damned,” her eyes close as she speaks, resting themselves for a bit so that she can enjoy the feel of your fingers in the best part of her slick. “Paint me like one of your French girls then.”

And you kinda have to kiss her after that. It’s a good line… and she’s, like, smoking hot right now.

You can’t track the exact moments where she starts to blue screen on you, but you can guess it's somewhere between you pinching her nipple and when you slide a third finger into her. The pressure, the stretching—it’s, like, everything she wants as of right now. She lets out this choked-up cry that you like to hear, the supple curve of her back growing more defined as she arches just a little more. She doesn't hold back, she never does. When you’re making her feel good, you can bet some good money that she’ll let you know. She’ll find her own way to express herself, be it through sound or action or words—sometimes a combination of all three. 

The way she feels around your fingers—delicate squeezing and sweet pressure around your digits as they stretch her to new lengths—is nothing short of enthralling. You can feel her pulse around you, the dull throb of her heartbeat as it beats for the sole purpose of getting all that blood rushing into the right areas. Your hand is kinda messy, fingers coated down to your knuckles in the sweet substance from her heat. Miyeon starts to writhe, squirm. A whine leaves her mouth. It’s followed by another, and another, and another—keeps going till the whiny stream ends with a guttural moan. 

Her legs close around your wrist. Her throat bobs.

“Mmph… baby…” her hand flails a bit as she tries to search for you. She catches your shoulder and her nails dig in. “Your mouth… I want your mouth on me.”

You always loved how forthcoming she is. 

“Miyeon…” you drawl, and this next bit is really just for the fun of it. “What’s the magic word?”

She laughs softly through the pleasure, lets a smile grace your eyes. She doesn’t fight it; she wants it—wants you. She just wants you in any shape or form. Any version of you will do; she’ll take all the different sides of you in a heartbeat. All she needs is you. “Please.”

You’ve never found so much delight in hearing that word. Kinda makes you want to hear it again.

“I can’t hear you,” your thumb presses down onto her clit. Her thighs start to twitch. 

“Please!” she yells that magic word in the form of a shout this time. Your cheeks hurt from how widely you’re beaming.

You retract your fingers. They come up to your mouth so you can taste her off of them. She’s nothing short of delicious, and you can kinda tell that she knows it because she’s smirking as she watches you clean off yourself.

“How are we feeling about the samples?” she has that proud gleam in her eye. “Pineapple’s been in my diet as of late… Just wondering if anything’s different.”

You smack your lips. “Picking up on a little tang here… Can’t be sure though.”

Her hands slide down to her hips, thumbs hooking into the band of her panties and pulling them down her thighs. “No worries. There’s more where it came from.”

The gall of this girl is insane, you’re thinking, smirking as you assist the journey of her underwear down her slim, milky legs. Like all your other clothing, it’s tossed aside. 

Miyeon spreads thighs, bends her knees so that her feet are flat on the floor.  You get in position, let your palms slide down her body with careful consideration: run your hands over the sensitive parts of the stomach, skim that one portion of her inner thigh that makes her shiver. She watches—waiting and anticipating while failing to keep her excitement off her face. 

She is glistening, swollen and plump to your eyes, kinda far ahead considering that you just used your fingers. She’s eager, unashamed and more proud than embarrassed about her arousal. Her legs shift a bit. She looks at you, a fingernail between her teeth as she exhales sharply when your thumb traces the outline of her pussy, careful in its endeavor as you feel the muscles around her slick tense up in response. Oh she’s so damn impatient right now, but she lets you get away with all of this because it gets her off a little harder; the teasing is just part of the show and the climax will probably follow pretty soon, fast and hard

“You’ve been looking forward to this, huh?” you remark, watching as her eyelids flutter when you put a little pressure with the pad of your thumb. 

“Mhm…” she replies. It’s a low hum, one that resonates in her throat rather pleasantly. “You have no idea…”

You laugh. Your eyes roll towards the ceiling then set themselves back on her. “Please… We both know I have some idea,” you stop your thumb on her clit, and you begin to draw small circles around it. “You did tell me” —and you have to pause for a bit to use your other hand to press down on her pelvic area, stopping her from jolting her hips up to get that sweet sensation of your thumb rubbing her swollen nub. She whines a little, a soft plea following suit— “about all the things you wanted to do with me.”

She desperately tries to shift herself, press herself a little more against you. The smooth wooden floor hinders her, the lack of friction failing to aid her. Her brows furrow. She’s frustrated. “Yeah, well, if you know what I want so much, why aren’t you fucking getting to it?”

You wink. “Relax. I’m just letting the meat tenderise.”

“Oh shut it you fucking—  Mmmph!”

And the way you part her with your tongue, it’s like she’s butter and you’re a hot knife slicing her open. You're slow with it, and you don’t stop when Miyeon’s thigh stiffens against your palm, or when she squirms a little and almost got your tongue derailed from its track. You know what makes her tick, what makes her hit the octave and gets her nice and messy for you. If anything gets Miyeon going more than actually fucking—it’s definitely gotta be when you get your tongue on her folds. 

“You’re never gonna let me finish my sentences, are you?” she laughs breathily. You watch her abdomen as it rises and falls together with the quick breaths she takes.

“Dunno…” you nuzzle your face in her folds for a little, giving her time to say whatever she wants for a bit. “You did say that chivalry is dead.”

From your bottom up view of her, you can tell that she just rolled her eyes. “No comment. You won’t let my finish it any— oh my fucking god.”

Now it’s the flat of your tongue against her clit that stops her dead in her tracks. Her juices have begun to lather your tongue in their addictive taste, drawing you into her just a little more with each lap of your tongue. You suck on one of her folds, then your tongue is inside her, and she moans, her hand finding a spot on the back of your head that she can grip on to. She calls you crazy, calls you baby, runs her fingers through your hair. Your tongue dips in, circles, laps; your nose brushes against all the right spots of her skin and it draws out these almost sob-like, quiet sounds from her chest and she’s… Fuck, she’s amazing.

“I might take a while,” she whispers to you. You call malarkey, but play along nonetheless.

“Fuck yes,” your tongue swipes the entirety of her in a long, broad stroke. “Please, by all means princess. Take your time,” you don’t think you could ever sound as enthusiastic as you did right now. She pushes you down a little harder onto her slit, and you delight in how she squirms when you push your tongue a little deeper between her folds.

Her nails start to dig into your scalp a bit, and she starts pushing you down onto her cunt a little more.

“You know,” she speaks with this half-whisper-half-gasp, the type of tone that tells you that she’s fighting to stay in control of her own body. “I— mmph… Sometimes I lock myself in the changing room and just get off to the thought of you eating me.”

You suck on the other fold that you neglected earlier. “Oh yeah?” and you get a finger inside of her. She cries out, abdomen flexing deliciously as she turns pliant under the pressure of your finger getting a hold of that sweet spot. You can feel the heat—it feels like your skin is gonna melt. “Bet you get off real hard to it, maybe even harder than you will in like, two minutes.”

“Two?” she tries to sound a little defiant, but her voice is cracking and it’s really not working out in her favour. Your finger is barely pushing up by the way, yet it seems like she’s got thousands of pascals of pleasure weighing down on every part of her being. “Don’t put yourself on a fucking pedestal… I am nowhere close.”

You hum in reply, saving your energy to suck on her clit. And it’s almost like she’s spring-loaded in the way her thighs clamp around your ears immediately after. Her fingers eat into your scalp, a light, searing pain growing across your head as you kiss her right fold, then her left. You can tell that there’s liquid burning heat running through her body, spilling all over her. Miyeon tries to hold on, tries to prolong this for a little more by getting her nails deep in your scalp. But she’s falling apart, coming undone with each second.

“Baby.”

“One minute left,” you put your lips back around her clit. Her head thumps against the floorboards.

“I—can’t.”

“Ugh. Hate it when you lie.”

“I’m sorry—”

“Just fucking cum.”

And she ruins herself. She loses sense of the world for a bit—convulsing and twitching on the floor while you continue to lick her. No cry leaves her mouth; a strained, choked up phonic gets caught in her throat and refuses to dislodge. Her back arches, her thighs flex. Her world fades for a bit. 

Give or take: she takes a minute or so. When she gasps for air, you know she’s come back down to earth. You welcome her with a kiss to her abdomen as you rise up. Her cheeks are rubicund—flushed and making her glow as she smiles at you. She softly captures your cheeks in her hands.

“Okay,” she huffs, taking deep breaths as she strokes your face with her thumb. “Out of all the men I’ve dated: you can cook and eat the best.”

“Twenty dollars says that you’ve said that to at least four guys,” you muse. “Maybe five if I’m generous.”

She closes her eyes for a moment. Inhales. Exhales.

“Hand on my heart,” she uses one hand to push some hair out of her face. “I’ve only said this to you.”

Ignorance is bliss. Believing her is a sort of ignorance.

You willfully let yourself be blissful because you can.

--

(Then fast forward a little. Maybe like, three hours? Or however long it takes for you to have a nap and a shower to get ready to go out.)

“Are you seriously going out in that?”

And you have to stop at the door. You know that tone all too well.

“What is it this time?” you grumble, turning around to face the bed so that she can get a full biopsy of your outfit. It isn’t a bad outfit in your honest opinion, and you’re no stranger to horrible (unintentional) attempts at making fashion statements. Colour-blindness is a hereditary curse; it’s not your fault that you can’t tell that this shade of blue doesn’t work with that shade of grey and whatnot. “I swear I wore this a week ago and you said nothing.”

Miyeon slips out from under the covers. In your T-shirt, she saunters with purpose and urgency as she makes her way over. She stops in front of you and takes your tie into her hands. “It’s either you lose this tie or do something else to this already god-forsaken outfit.”

You consider the options for a hot minute. You’re kinda proud of this outfit—it took a lot of time and vetting through Miyeon to get it planned out and everything. The tie was kind of a staple piece—as important as the shirt or trousers. To hear that (in essence) you looked like shit admittedly dealt a blow to your ego, but why be petty when you can be cavalier?

“Whatever,” you reply, making no effort to stop her from trailing a nail up your shirt. “I couldn’t really care less about how this woman perceives me tonight. Not even into her anyway.”

Miyeon chuckles. The finger on your chest wraps itself around the top of your tie. “That’s an option as well,” she adjusts the knot, though it doesn’t look like she’s doing it to make you look better. “But can I give you one more alternative?”

“By all means, princess.”

She tugs on your tie, pulls you close. Your lips are just centimetres away from hers. You get a whiff of her scent. She’s using the shampoo you bought her. 

“Stay home,” she makes sure that her voice is kinda breathy, tickles your face as she lets the phonics dissipate into warm air. “Skip the date. You have a smoking hot girlfriend to fuck anyway.”

Oh and it takes you just about everything to stop you from grabbing her by the face and just kissing her. It's so easy: reach forward, get her face (or waist) in your hands and just smash her lips against yours. You know she’s thinking the same thing; but she’s waiting on you, anticipating what you’re going to do next. It’s a sick little game the two of you play, but it’s fun as hell and really doesn’t get boring in the near future.

“You know what my mom would say…” you begin, and you know she’s gonna stop you.

“Say you're sick”—bingo motherfuckers. She owes you five bucks—“tell her that you got the cold and so you can’t show up.”

“Expended on that one… And the work emergency one too,” you regretfully inform her. “And no: I will not be telling them that we’re actually a thing—“

“Cause you want to protect me and blah blah…” she interjects yet again, her fingers moving up and down, closing against her thumb in mimicry of a mouth moving. It’s petty, kinda frustrating—but it’s Miyeon. She’s a handful to deal with at times, but at least she’s your handful to deal with. “Been running the same jig for a little too long, tiger. I know your game.”

“I know,” you admit. “I’m a one-trick Pony and my carrot is you. What’s new?”

She chortles at that, and you take that moment to really get a good look at her because by god is she beautiful. Head-turner, eye-widener, heart-racer — not to be a bore, but again: it’s Miyeon. There’s a lot more about her that you could synthesize into words, but you won’t (not because you don’t want to or anything; but it’s more about the fact that you probably don’t have enough time to get someone to understand her.)

Cause here’s the thing (about her, you and both of you): she’s just as human as anyone, and that means she’s just about as complicated as anyone. You’ve got a story, she’s got her’s, and the two cross somewhere to form a midpoint before they start running parallel to each other before meeting again and running together and… You get it, don’t you?

No? Fuck. 

Okay. She may or may not be able to hold down a relationship; and you may or may not have been able to secure a relationship. You kinda get drunk with her over this revelation one night and you may or may not have joked over the fact that maybe you should get together. And then you may or may not have had the hottest sex you’ve had in years before you may or may not have realised that she’s the best thing to happen to you. It’s all kinda hypothetical to you cause you’re still processing the fact that this is all real. Still wondering if it’s a fling cause it’s only been about 3 months since this started.

(Calm down cupcake, no one likes a party pooper who prods on details in the midst of a story. It’s just… Ugh. The story behind how the two of you know each other is so boring and complicated—full of unnecessary exposition like this whole bit really. It hurts to retell it, so here’s a summary: she used to date your roommate, roommate moved out after they broke up, she stayed and hanged around you, here you are now. Fuck the details, there’s no room for it really. You can’t have your cake and eat it too.)

“Save the charisma,” she tells you, really putting on some breath behind her words. “I prefer it when you use it in bed.”

And you kinda have to kiss her after that. It’s a good line… and she’s, like, smoking hot right now.

The kiss kinda blurs the line between passionate and sweet (if there even was a line to begin with). It’s quite aggressive, a little tender but also a wee bit emotional. It makes you a little bitter, but don’t get it twisted: you love this girl with all your heart and you’d do anything to stay with her. It’s just that you’d love—more than anything—to lose the shirt and pants you’re wearing to make out with her, and then let things flow as they do. Unfortunately, your parents really want you to meet this girl, and you have to get going or you’ll probably get cut from the will or something.

She tries again. “Stay…”

“Miyeon—”

“I fucking need you… Please.”

It’s just so fucking tempting…. But there are only so many lines you can cross before you find yourself in trouble with border patrol. And if there's anything you hate more than lectures, it’s lectures from your mother.  

Her lips graze yours, hovering just millimeters away. She wants to kiss you—bite your lower lip and pull you into an undoubtedly sloppy lip lock. That will end with your hand somewhere on her body that gets the ball rolling (and we all know where that ball goes). She has it in her to do it; she has the right, the means and the fucking autonomy (and audacity). She’s just waiting on you, seeing what happens when she plants the seed of an idea in your head and waters it a little. 

Unfortunately for her, you’re too damn terrified of your parents to let that seed grow.

“I‘ll see you later,” you whisper, albeit a little reluctantly. “Call me if anything comes up.”

She understands that she’s lost. Doesn’t stop her from giving you that kiss though. “Don’t keep me waiting tonight… I love you.”

Ugh. She’s one hell of a woman, isn’t she?

--

So get this: this woman that your mother found for you is possibly the most boring person you’ll ever meet. She’s beautiful and all, but she has the personality that has just about the same amount of flavour as food in the west before spices.

She spends the meal talking about her job, and you kinda just fix her with a hundred yard stare and tune out. You couldn’t give a shit about computer security really—never was and never will be into that shit. It doesn’t help that your phone is kinda blowing up at the moment. It’s buzzing all over your thigh in your pocket. Pretty trippy, kinda makes you wonder if Miyeon had just slipped one of her vibrators into your pocket.

You excuse yourself to the bathroom at some point. You’re not sure how long she’s been yapping your ear off for, but it kinda doesn’t matter. All you’ve gotten from this meal is really just a handful of nonsense and a migraine. 

Anyway: it’s in the confines of the bathroom store that you check on the ruckus in your pocket. The screen lights up and you find that the spasming of your phone was caused by a combination of posts from a news outlet and from Miyeon. She takes precedence over the news.

Miyeon//8:01 pm: I swear to you I have no idea what’s going on 

Miyeon//8:01 pm: I’m getting this at the same time as you

Miyeon//8:02 pm: I don’t know what’s happening. Please come home.

And the way you open your news app almost instantly makes you feel like you’re all too familiar with this. It’s not a headline, but it might as well be from the way it makes your eyes widen and your breath stop for a second. 

You blink. You blink again. 

The words don’t change. 

Suddenly, you have a valid reason to get out of this dinner.

(How you get home is a little fuzzy, but that’s not really the important part. 

What? The headline? Oh you know it, don’t you cupcake? It was literally the only thing on people’s minds for some reason, as if an idol dating an actor is something unheard of.)

“What the fuck?” you ask when you step through your apartment door.

She sighs as you remove your coat and hang it behind your door. “Look… I’m just as confused as you are—”

“An actor?” you interject. You’ll admit that it’s a little rude, but you’re really just trying to make sense of this as fast as possible. “How long have you known this guy?”

“That’s the thing. I don’t,” she huffs. “I swear to you, hand on my heart and the other on the bible, I am not in love with that man.” She says. “I barely even know the fucker, never talked to him in my life.”

It’s a little hard to look at her right now. You have lots of things to say; lots of feelings and lots of thoughts. If you’re really gonna be honest with yourself: you’re scared, hurt and a little confused. Miyeon’s good at lying—a little too good for your liking. Pair that knowledge with your insecurities, and congrats: you’ve just given birth to multiple insecurities. They’re like little demons running amok in your chest. It’s suddenly hard to breathe.

You can’t do this with her now. Not when all this is all so fresh and new. 

But she catches your arm as you try to walk past her. Her grip is firm, pleading. 

“Please,” she utters, letting her hand slide down your arm to let her fingers wrap around your hand. “Trust me on this.”

You want to. You really want to. And so it hurts you to ask, “Am I just another fling?”

You can see it in her eyes when she realises the motivation behind the question. She doesn’t take long to come to the epiphany—just a little less than a second before her eyes soften and her lips part a little. Her expression scares you. You want to run from this all together and leave it to another day, but God knows that you won’t be getting any sleep with this weight in your head. It’s comical, almost hilarious if it weren’t for the fact that it’s your relationship with her on the line.

You like to think that she can’t express her answer into words, so she kisses you instead. You’ll never know why she chose to kiss you, but it's sweet and so powerful that you can kinda live with that gap in your knowledge. You may or may not have teared a little, and you may or may not have melted into her lips a little too quickly. What you can say for certain: when you find yourself back in those eyes, panting with your face between her hands—the words ‘I love you’ escape your mouth faster than you can think. You don’t say it for the sake of it; you say it cause you mean it. You want her to know that you’ll fight for this relationship, that you’ll fight for her.

And it makes her smile. 

“I’m like, in love with your goofy ass,” she mutters, thumb tracing a path along your cheek. “So don’t you ever think that I’d drop you for some slick-back fuck face.”

That’s more than enough for you. Her smile is contagious as you hold her waist. “Crude. I love you, Miyeon.”

“Yeah. I heard you the first tim—”

Of course: you don’t wait for a finished reply to kiss her. It’s a practice, almost a common tongue at this point.

Miyeon lets her hands fall, gets her arms around your neck while you reacquaint your lips with hers. She’s lovely, fucking divine and maybe even a little addictive—straight up dangerous if you’re to sum it up. You wonder, for a second, if you’re being manipulated, and it’s really only for a second because she’s got her teeth in your bottom lip and she’s dragging them towards her. She wants more—more of you and less of this need to prove her love. She touches your chest, palm flat against your flesh as she deepens the kiss. Ignorance is bliss. Believing her is a sort of ignorance. Kissing her deepens that ignorance, makes you all the more blissful.

“I need you,” you breathe, unashamed by your blatant desire to have her right now. Really: you can’t get enough of her smell right now. “Please Miyeon… Let me be the only one.”

She smiles softly. She runs her fingers through your hair. “Baby, you already are.”

You press your forehead against hers. “I know. But can we just…”

You can’t really verbalise what you want out of this. You want Miyeon, but you don’t just want the idea and concept of her. You long for that connection with her, that union and that closure, not just some fleeting, superficial feelings. This woman is quite literally one of your dreams. It’s selfish to say this, but you want that security—something tangible to know that you’re really hers and she’s really yours, a piece of her that you can hold on to that helps rid your heart of those little demons. You hope she can understand this through your closed eyes.

And something about the way she fixes your hair tells you that she does.

“It’s okay,” she assures you, her other hand finding that one spot on your chest. It feels like it’s touching your heart directly, calming it. “I get it,” her fingers wrap around the knot of your tie, loosening it till it unravels completely. “You’re hurt and scared. Frankly, so am I.”

Miyeon wraps the tie up neatly in her fist. Her hands cross over each other as she reaches down to grab the hems of her shirt. It slips off her, a layer peeled away. Then the tie rolls down from her hand. 

“I want you to know”—she drapes the tie around her shoulders, the thin portion ever so slightly shorter than the broader portion as they hang on either side of those perky mounds—“I will do everything I can to protect you and us.”

She tosses the smaller end across her body, cloth flying over her left shoulder and dangling behind her arm. The broader end is wrapped around her neck—once, twice. 

Miyeon steps closer and takes your hand. The broad end of the tie gets slotted into your palm. 

“And even though I might have to be seen with him,” she coos, and she’s a little clumsy as she reaches for the thin end behind her, but she gets it on her second or third try. “Even though I might have to hold his hand in public,” she slips it between her skin and the loop she’s made, ties it off. “You should know: I am yours.”

She shocks you into silence as always. You know what she’s insinuating. You know that she knows what she’s insinuating. Your eyes search her for consent, and you find that it’s the only thing you can make out behind the veneer of a tender gaze. She checks the makeshift leash she’s made. It’s not coming off anytime soon.

You wrap some of the tie around your hand. Your fingers close around the silky fabric. 

(Just so we’re clear: the tie may look horrible on you, but she looks amazing in it.)

You pull.

And it’s just that. 

Clothes come off, lips meet, sighs fly through the room. Her hands explore you, grab you, pump you; your kisses find the best parts of her, the parts you love the most and the parts she loves attention at. The tie never leaves your hand, and you give it a tug or two when you get your digits in her on the couch. You’ll never forget the way she looks when her head is forced up just after it whips back, the glassy look in her eye as she begs for you, keens for you. Never in your life has anything this debauched been so intimate. You’ve never heard sighs out of you and her so luscious. 

“Princess,” you quite literally growl as you address her. It’s not necessary, but the squelching of your fingers in her slick brings out something in you—a part of you that’s wild and somewhat untamed. “I fucking love the way you moan.”

Miyeon bites down on her lower lip, hard enough to draw blood. “Yeah? She husks, her eyes going half-lidded in pleasure when you get your fingers in the same, soft, tender spot on the roof of her pussy. “It’s all for you. Ngh— A-All yours…”

And you don’t know how you can not believe her at this point.

You pull at the tie. She almost straightens completely. You kiss her. Her moans send pleasant vibrations down your windpipe.

It’s all so perfect. And it somehow gets even more perfect when she cums—waves of heat burning through her system; eyes shut and mouth agape; hands around your neck and your name spilling from her lips in a mix of curses (that mostly contain the word ‘fuck’); body convulsing and twitching in ways that make a low grunt emerge from the depths of your chest as you watch her. She’s beautiful—your beautiful princess.

When it’s over, you let the tie go slack. She crashes against the couch, forcing air back into her lungs with deep breaths. There’s sweat on her face, her body. Your hand finds its place on her tummy as you place small kisses on the corner of her lip, her jaw. Her skin is moist and sticky.

“Have me,” and it’s more so of a demand than a request. “Take me. However you want, wherever you want,” she runs her hands through your hair, “You’re the only one I want.”

You let out a low hum. It lightly vibrates at the base of your throat as you catch her earlobe between your lips. 

“Has anyone told you how fucking beautiful you are?” you can’t help but ask. She searches your face or a minute, then she chortles.

“About half the world,” she replies. “But it means the most coming from you.”

(Oh… That line really means the fucking world to you.)

You kiss her, hard. It’s messy, sloppy, and at some point you guys are scrambling to get on top of each other. She wins at one point, and so she rides you—dropping and rising hard and fast on your cock like a lewd merry-go-round carriage. She’s relentless, letting your cock fill her while she blanks out and just lets herself cry and moan like you don’t have thin walls in your apartment. You let her please herself, throw herself down onto your cock again and again till you decide that it’s your turn to have some fun. The tie is your friend, and you use it to pull her real close to not too kindly hiss your instructions into her ear. 

You’d kill to see the look in her eyes again.

And so you have her against the nearest wall in less than a minute, her back flushed against it and one of her legs bent in the crook of your arm. She reaches between your bodies, grabs your throbbing shaft and rubs your tip against her slit. You feel the heat of her pussy—the desire and depravity that burn in her core. You can’t believe she’s yours.

“I’m gonna put this in me,” she narrates her course of action, all breathy and silky. “It’s gonna fill me, fuck me… Maybe even cum in me.”

“I wouldn’t get ahead of ourselves here,” you whisper, your hand wrapping itself back in the fabric of the tie. “That last part? I dunno… Seems a little optimistic, don’t you think?”

She pushes your head in between her folds—not all the way, but enough to part them. “And why is that?”

You pop your hips, push yourself in a little more. She inhales sharply. 

“I only cum inside good girls.”

The smile that creeps its way onto her face is wicked.

“Trust me,” her hand finds purchase on your shoulder, pads of her fingers digging into the muscle. “I’ll be the best you ever get.”

She puts her weight onto the leg in your arm. You slide into her.

And you both take a moment to enjoy the unity—the feeling of the two of you being joined as one; your out of sync heartbeats that feel like pattering raindrops around your shaft. You want to say something witty, a quip that will get a nice chuckle out of her.

All you can really manage is, “Fuck.”

And in response: “Talk less. Fuck more.”

You draw back, push in. There’s the sopping sound of your shaft going in and out of her, wet pushing into warm flesh. You groan. She sighs. 

Tight, hot, wet, divine.

And it goes without saying: when you pick up the pace, she lets you know that she loves the feeling—the stretching, the filling, the push and pull. It comes to you in the form of pure filth: words that have very little consideration for propriety and no room for decency, something along the lines of “I can’t believe you feel this good. I can’t believe this cock is mine” or “That’s it. Keep filling me. Keep fucking— Oh” or maybe even a mix of both. You can’t be certain, because between you and her, you both know that the undulating of your cock into her tight, creamy heat and the almost torturous pressure around your dick is taking you under by the second. It’s not hard to lose yourself in her when she’s basically a little piece of you. 

Like always, she let her pleasure be known through desperate noises and choked up words. “Keep going, please, fuck—don't stop,” and it sounds like it hurts but you know it’s the other way around. Her pleasure coated tongue makes the lust in her words undeniable, her half-lidded eyes ruining the argument that she’s in any pain whatsoever. You yank on her tie, her body curves closer. You need a better look at that face.

(Trust me, it’s a face you don’t want to forget. 

For lack of a better word: it’s porny as fuck.)

It's a blissful dance – the rhythmic, almost metronomical give of her thighs as you slide yourself home again and again steadily and firmly. The smacking of sweaty and sticky skins colliding is almost evenly paced, sighs and grunts filling the spaces between slaps. She follows your lead, rocks her hips accordingly, angles herself and adjusts so that she can feel you in the deepest parts of her cunt. You lift her leg a little higher, spear yourself a little deeper. You listen to your body, she listens to hers. You give in to your desires.

You don’t mean to blurt it. You don’t mean to make the sex more complicated than it already is. But it happens—it fucking happens and you can’t stop it. 

“I love you,” your voice is nothing more than a rasp. She feels so fucking good around you — squeezing, pulsing and doing every little thing that makes your jaw tighten and you legs tense. “I fucking love you, Miyeon.”

She holds your gaze, then smiles, then nods. She nods vigorously, enthusiastically. “I know… It’s all I’ve ever known.”

Your hand on the tie releases it from your grasp. You catch a bouncing breast in your hand, squeeze the tight and taut nipple with your fingers. The tie shakes violently like a snake writhing, bouncing and swaying with each firm impact against Miyeon’s skin. She mewls, pulls you in, kisses you. She lets herself come undone with her chest flushed against you and your hearts aligned as she lets the cries transfer from your mouth to hers. You pump yourself faster, harder, faster, harder. Your finger digs into the flash near her knee. Your blood is boiling, molten metal spilling over and washing over you—gold rush, acid flux, saturating you in this bliss that numbs you out. You can’t tell where your thrusts start and end. They’re blurred by the heat washing over your eyes. You can’t get enough. The way you fuck her—it feels relentless, merciless, a fire that only burns brighter and can’t be put out, fuelled by the heat of Cho Miyeon flushed against you and the sublime squeeze of her slick heat. Everything about this is hot; everything about her is hot. 

“Don’t you ever let me go,” she hisses. “Fuck— don’t ever leave. This cock is mine. You are mine.”

“Princess, I’d never,” you nuzzle yourself into the crook of her neck, pepper her nicely with kisses. “You. Only you.”

“Yeah,” and her breath is hot on the nape of your neck. “Cause I can’t ever fucking imagine anyone else filling me this fucking good. No one has ever filled me this good.”

And her fricatives feel like acid: Aqua Regia—melting straight through solid gold just to get to you. It makes you burn a little hotter, fuck her a little harder. Your heart burns at the thought of her; your brain melts at the sight of her—glassy-eyed and mouth agape while cock pumps her full of pleasure and want. She finds a spot on your shoulder, whispers her proclamation of love— “I love you I love you I love you— Fuck—”—before she buries her face into your shoulder blade. Her love is an animal call, cutting through the darkness and bouncing off the walls, reaching a soft spot in your heart that you hold for her. Nothing in this world is gonna stop you from turning her into a messy little fucktoy. 

It’s hard to think. It’s hard to breathe. She’s become your world, the only thing you ever want to think about. Anything that isn’t her tight little pussy is irrelevant; what isn’t her thin lips pressed against your shoulder is invalid; no pair of eyes will ever match the glassy, lust-fogged ones that Cho Miyeon possesses. Your pulse is rushing, your head is reeling, your face is flushing. You want her—all of her. You suck hard on the milky skin you’ve caught between your lips, marking her, claiming her. She has no qualms nor worries; she tilts her neck to give you better access to that lovely patch of skin that becomes your canvas. She mewls, presses her forehead harder into your body, grounding herself in the sensation of her skin on yours. 

“I’m gonna fucking fill you, Miyeon,” you drawl. “I’m gonna cum inside this pretty little pussy and make a mess out of you,”

“Yeah, yes,” she’s barely holding it together at this point. “Please. Oh god please.”

Your hips move on their own now, taking liberties without signals from your fried brain as you pump yourself into Miyeon with the sole goal of piping her full of your hot seed. For long, wordless minutes, you're thrusting into her in a mindless, fervent fashion, giving in to your desires and your depravity and fucking her like she’s a doll. You relish the feel of her skin in your palms; the feel of her hands pressed against your chest; the sheer, strained phonetic atrocities that rise from the depths of her throat. Your shaft glistens in the light of the room, slick with her sweet juices as it slips in and out of her hot cunt, spearing into her with depth, making her legs weaker by the second. Miyeon cups your cheek, moans your name. You bury your nose deep in those silky locks of jet black hair. You need every last part of her to be close to you.

She's whimpering, eyes squeezed shut, toes clenching; she’s a coiled up spring, a bundle of nerves waiting to be released. Her bottom lip is between her teeth, her throat bobs. She's coming undone, breaking a little more with each thrust of your cock. You know that she’s cumming before she announces it, and when you fuck her over the point of no return, it’s bliss.

Miyeon melts, head whips back and thumps against the wall, positively combusts on the spot and ceases to hold on to the last bits of herself. She lets herself fall through the pleasure, orgasm almost ripping through her system as she shakes in your grasp. She’s such a precious thing, yet she can look like lust itself when she’s busy cumming all over your cock and whining like her life depends on it. She’s tighter, wetter, even better to fuck. 

She really is the best you’ll ever have.

“Miyeon–”

“Just fucking cum.”

Your line; same effect. You fill her, make a creamy mess of her cunt because you can. You fuck her through it, push your load deeper with each thrust. Your cock pulses, spasms, shoots load after load after load into her pussy till you can’t take it anymore and jitter to a halt, and there’s nothing left but a filthy mess flowing out at the base of your cock where her lips are splayed the widest. It’s a sight for sure. 

(And there really isn’t a word for the moment that the two of you share in that wrinkle in time, that moment where it’s just all warm and fuzzy and you have your forehead pressed against hers.)

You cradle her in your arms, kiss her chest, her jaw, her lips. It’s tender, it’s gentle.

“We’ll figure this out,” she pants through closed eyes. “I promise you: you and me, we’re gonna figure this all out.”

Somehow, you don’t doubt it.

--

(Still here? Great. We’re getting to the good part. Get your special sock out or something.)

So the newest rage of the K-pop scene is the photo of Miyeon kissing him in a car.

It's a publicity stunt—the whole damn relationship. They are supposed to appear in love according to Miyeon, and it was his idea to kiss her. She never consented and he just did it. It’s a pretty lewd photo: up close and personal and all. You can see his lips on hers, his hand on her breast and they’re like, clearly getting it on in three. Pretty steamy if you do say so yourself,

(...)

Oh fucking hell. Who are you kidding describing this photo like you’re just viewing an artwork. It makes your blood boil, and speaking to her after seeing this photo feels like dancing to alarm bells when you feign ignorance and just talk with her like it’s a normal Wednesday. You’re gonna hurt yourself at this rate, but she really means too much.  

She told you that he forced his lips on hers, you believe her to the best of your ability. You kiss her, tell her it’s okay, that she’s doing what she has to do to protect the two of you. She says she’s sorry, that she feels like she’s failed you. You kiss her again—albeit a little half-hearted—and assure her once more that it’s okay. You want to nurse her pain, but you also have your own problems to deal with.

And as if this fucking actor hasn’t interfered enough with your relationship, he has the audacity to call during the make up sex.

Her phone starts to ring when she’s on her hands and knees on your bed, and you’re fucking her into the mattress like she’s some pliant plaything. There's a rage inside you that hasn’t been quenched, and you don’t realise that it’s bringing out that dark side of you till you spank her ass a little harder than you intended to. It doesn’t help that you kinda twitch when you hear her yelp, and it really doesn’t help when she tightens after the second spank. The phone only continues to vibrate next to her head.

“Baby,” she rasps. “My phone…”

“Pick it up,” you hiss. “Pick it up and let whoever the fuck it is hear how you’re being fucked like a slut.”

Degradation has never really been a kink of yours, but you know she’s kinda into it. Even so, you’re not calling her a slut because you consciously want to. You feel like an asshole for being angry, kinda hate yourself a little for not being able to accept that she’s doing what she needs to do. And then you kinda hate her for making you hate yourself and— Ugh. It just gets more complicated the more you try and rationalise it. You can’t stop the hot blood from coursing through your system, fuelling your firm strokes into her tight heat like you’re trying to inject all the hate in your body into her. 

Her hand that was once clawing at the sheets now reaches for her phone. You keep thrusting as she flips it over, keep thrusting as she shows you the caller ID, keep thrusting as she looks back at you with a gaze that says “are you sure?”. You hope she isn’t met by that dark look you often see when you look at yourself in the mirror after a new headline about them hits your screen. It’s funny how one person can flip the idea of make-up sex on its head—turn it from something so tender and beautiful to a spite-fuelled fuck fest that’s gonna make things more complicated. She hasn’t even picked up the fucking phone, but you can hear his sick voice in your head as you drive yourself deeper into her cunt, fuck her harder and faster than you knew you could. She’s in no state to answer the phone, yet her finger taps on the ‘accept call’ button. 

(She would’ve rejected it if she could, but she got into some deep shit the last time that happened. Must’ve been threatened or something for her to pick up the phone while she’s getting fucked.)

“Hello?” she does her best to steady her voice, and she’s doing pretty well considering how loud the smacking of skin against skin is. She presses the phone a little tighter against her left ear. You don’t intend on stopping. Let him hear her being owned by you for all you care. “T-This is a bad… a bad time.”

Damn straight it is. 

Your hand caresses the curve of her ass. You spank her again, making sure that it’s loud and it leaves a red patch on her smooth, creamy skin. She contacts around you, gasps a little as you bend down and pin her down with your weight on her back.

“W-What?”—and it feels like she’s talking to both of you. You hiss into her other ear. “I’m going to fuck you like this,” your voice is actually a snarl, a dark one. Your body is energized by the promise of taking and ravaging the helpless, prone woman beneath you, your words dripping with loathing and your thrusts brimming with spite. “I’m going to fuck you hard and rough, and you’re gonna keep him on the fucking line so he can hear it.”—“No I’m… Jogging.”

She’s terrible at lying. You let her know through each thrust—hard and deep, uncaring for her pleasure or her comfort or anything other than your need to bury yourself again and again inside her body. There’s the need to dominate her, the need to make her yours. You hope this guy can act like he doesn’t care that his supposed girlfriend is being prone-boned by another guy, act like he isn’t totally aware of the fact that Cho Miyeon’s body is never gonna belong to him at any point as long as you’re alive. 

(Keep this between us: but with the way you're going down on her, it feels like the message is being transferred to her and not him.)

You hear indistinct chatter. Miyeon bites down on her lower lip, undoubtedly holding back the stream of cries and sighs and lyrical monstrosities that threaten to burst forth. With her eyes she begs, challenges you to do more. You could be reading her wrong by like, a hundred percent. Doesn't matter, not when you can take every liberty with her body because you couldn’t give more of a shit. There’s more indistinct chatter on the other end of the phone; Miyeon says something along the lines of “no. Don’t buy the choker for me”. You give her a choker—raise yourself up and reach around her to wrap your fingers around her throat. Her whole body tenses when you apply pressure around her windpipe. In no universe does this guy not know what’s going on right now.

Cause she’s there—right there, all choked up and struggling to breathe while the fucker keeps yap-yap-yapping away like he’s some fucking guard dog. It irritates the hell out of you. At some point, he kinda has to hear a squelch or smack or two, maybe even a moan or a cry as well. But he stays on the phone, and not once does Miyeon ever have to address the question of whether she’s being fucked on the other end of the call or not. You thought you were ignorant, but this guy is a whole new fucking level of blissfully ignorant. It feels like his sole purpose is to drive a wedge between the two of you, to make you hate her because you hate him. Again: it’s kinda complicated to say exactly what it feels like to be in this situation. 

And you can imagine the moans she wants to let out. They’ll tumble out of her lips like water down a waterfall, and they’ll mix with the sound of your lips smacking against her skin as you lean back down to kiss her neck, stopping at one spot that you know will be good to mark her and sucking hard. It feels like getting back at her—doing all the things you want to do while she can't speak her mind freely (and you know how tortuous it is for her when she can’t moan while she’s being railed like this). You’re not sure why you would ever need to get back at her when she’s done nothing wrong, but I guess it helps to synthesise and dumb down the emotions you’re feeling at the moment.

“Tonight?” she asks. Then she buries her head into the sheets because she can’t hold back this moan that almost explodes from her chest. You’re not squeezing really hard around her throat, mind you—only enough to make her a little uncomfortable, like a tie has been wrapped around her neck. She's getting off on it though: her walls squeeze you a little tighter; her breaths become more ragged and short. Honestly, she's taking your cock so well, and you communicate this to her with a growl. It makes her shudder a hell lot. 

Her other hand clutches the sheets, spasms. She’s pliant, she always is, but it feels like you can wrack her tiny body with so much more pleasure as you keep a hand around her throat and keep your dick pumping in and out of her. You wish you had a mirror to see that pretty face warping under the heat of her lust. You kinda forget that she’s still calling him when she speaks again, cause she follows up with, “I can’t— I can’t believe…”

And if that damn phone call wasn’t happening, she’d be saying something along the lines of “I can’t believe that you’re fucking me this good”.

“Sorry. I got cut off,” she pants. “Yeah… It’s harder to hear me when I’m running.”

Now she's talking to you. The reply is to him, but she’s addressing you. You take her up on it, and the slapping and squelching start to ricochet off the walls and ceiling. What you’re doing should be considered as a whole sin in itself. Technically, it’s adultery, but you’re not too sure if you can even classify this as something that simple. This is jealousy, hate and love mashed into one—a mix of things that kinda shouldn’t go together when you have a woman who’s quite literally like putty beneath you. It doesn’t help that she's this hot, this tight, this wet. She’s straining her moans, and it’s so cute that you want to choke her a little harder. You don’t do it (just clarifying some doubts here), but you almost do. 

“R-Really?”—you’re almost certain that what comes next is gonna be addressed to you. You can imagine her signing your name off on it—”wow… That must be so fucking good.”

Bingo. Gotta say: she’s kinda smooth with it.

“I’m fine. Out… Out of breath” you don’t know how she manages to keep her voice steady. “Y-yeah… I’m gonna come… Don’t worry.”

You hope that she can hold on.

You don’t know how long more you fuck her for while she’s on the phone. It’s a blur; you kinda only see red and you’re still choking her out even after she hangs up. It’s only when she goes, “Oh, fuck, daddy—!” with this breathless, perverse, pleading tone and a voice that’s so loud; her body unable to do anything other than gasp and moan and urge you to really give it to her, and when she says “fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!” like you’re not doing just that (and only that) at the moment that she’s hung up on him. Now she has every facility available to focus on the rock hard meat she’s receiving. You feel filthy, like you’re doing something wrong.

But hey: the sex is hot and Miyeon’s kinda into it, so you keep going. You keep fucking her into the bed—the same way you would if you were fucking her against the wall or in the shower or against any flat surface, really. It’s twisted, it’s dark, it’s hot; the angle her body is at lets you drive yourself deeper and faster and harder into her wet, tight and hot pussy like you never have before. You’re experiencing a novelty, a new chapter.

(Caveat: is it kinda messed up that you call her a cocksleeve? Not really? Huh.)

“God Miyeon…” you feel like the voice that comes from your throat is not your own. “You’re such a good fucking cocksleeve for me,” and you may or may not be tightening the grip around her throat as you speak. “So tight and wet for me. You’re such a good fuck.”

“Oh daddy, fuck you’re so big and deep in me,” she gasps. She has lots to say, even though air is like a fucking luxury for her. She rarely calls you Daddy, yet she’s using her precious air to do so now. “Fuck, fuck me as hard as you can, daddy! Do whatever you want with me! Own me! Take me!”

You barely recognise the woman she’s become: depraved, sordid and one hell of a hot mess. You love it. It’s fantastic. Fucking fantastic.

And she falls apart under you not long after, writhing and moaning and twitching as this beautiful mess of a woman you’ve made out of her. You want to cum in her, really own her; but your thoughts are fueled too much by the hate in your heart that they're wilder than anything she can ever imagine. 

You pull out of Miyeon, your shaft glistening in the dim light. You get off the bed, pull her away with you. Her mouth opens to say something. You kiss her—shut her up. She moans into your mouth, and you swallow it, bite her lower lip, and it's not rough, but enough to get her attention.

“You’ve gotten enough loads inside your pussy,” you husk. “Get on your knees. I want your mouth.”

She nods, and you relish the disappointment in her eyes. You push down firmly on her shoulders. She goes with the motion, and you're not sure if you can ever get over the image of Miyeon on her knees with her pretty little princess face staring at you with anticipation. You think about fucking her face, letting your cock thrust into the back of her throat over and over and over till you paint her face in a messy spray of cum. 

And you know what? You’ll do just that.

Of course, Miyeon perfectly understands what has to be done. You step up to her. She parts her lips and takes your cock right into her mouth, grasping the base of your cock and pumping it with one hand while she gently cups and squeezes your balls with the other. The pace she launches into is hard and fast; blurring her chocolate hair and your vision—taking the top half of your cock in and out of her wet mouth with rapid urgency while her fingers work your shaft in a corkscrew motion. The suction of her mouth is almost lethal, the seal sublime; and the audacity she has to look up at you while she takes your cock in and out of her mouth is so exhilarating that it makes you weak in the knees. She’s gorgeous, even more so when she’s got cock in her mouth.

Your hand finds a clump of her black, sweaty hair, and you close your fingers around it, holding them in your fist. You push her head down onto your cock, pop your hips and start thrusting with firm, slow strokes. She exceeds every expectation you ever had, adapting to you, changing to please you. Your eyes shut involuntarily. Your brain blocks out all sensations that aren’t the wet, hot cavern of Miyeon’s mouth sealed tightly around your shaft. With the first entry into her mouth her wet tongue is pressed tightly against the underside of your shaft, lathering it with her spit. The backstroke is somehow even better, that pretty little mouth endeavoring to suck you right back in when you draw yourself back out. It feels like time stands still, but Miyeon’s still in motion, and she’s the one making you feel like all the natural laws in the world are being defied.

A small part of you knows that you have to see it happening in order to truly believe it’s all real, so you force your eyes open to watch the spectacle unfolding between your legs. Smoky eyes glazed with pure lust staring right up at you, watering, projecting perverse pleasure with a gaze; hollow cheeks and a seemingly unhinged jaw to accommodate your length; spit leaking from the corners of her mouth, dribbling down her chin.

“Fuck I—” is all you manage to say (or maybe ‘grunt’ is a better word) before your orgasm takes the reins to your body. It overwhelms your senses, but you force your eyes open to watch as you pull Miyeon off your dick just in time. Thick, glistening cum erupts from your tip to land on Miyeon’s face, on her cheeks and nose, painting her smoky features with pearlescent, warm ropes. You paint her face with your hot white seed, and it’s far from an elegant piece of art. She doesn’t look anything like one of the French girls she wanted to be painted like, but the look of utter lust on her needy features is still breathtaking—mouth open, tongue out, eyes closed in delight and bliss.

Ugh, she's one hell of a woman, isn’t she?

And when it’s all over, she takes your cock in her hand and licks off the drops that she’d been deprived of. 

“If you ever do that again.” you love the raspy touch to her voice. The lilt in it is doing wonders too. “I’m gonna make sure that you’ll be calling your mom the next time I blow you.”

You roll your eyes and sigh. “Whatever you say, princess…”

The hate seems to fade. Your heartbeat slows.

Maybe this relationship is salvageable. Maybe you guys can last.

You talk to her about it afterwards and apologise sincerely. She says that she didn’t think much of it when it was happening. Then you guys are at peace again.

(What do you think? How long does the honeymoon last? A month more? 

Two?

Generous.

Try one. Fucking. Week.)

--

“Okay. Hands down: this is the best Jjamppong I’ve eaten.”

The growing pile of clam shells beside her bowl tells you that you did something right. It’s the first time you've made this dish, and there’s always that lingering worry that you fucked up somewhere along the way when you eat it for the first time. The soup seasoning is a little off in some places (you don’t know where exactly), but it’s nothing a dash of fish sauce and some chilli flakes can’t fix.

“I mean,” Miyeon continues, speaking between small yet generous mouthfuls of noodles. “You only get better and better at cooking. I don't know how you do it.”

You give a half-hearted smile. Your noodles have kinda gone cold by now: you’ve been stirring them around with your chopsticks for the past five minutes or so. Appetite has become a luxury for you these days, and it’s one of those days where a new article about him and her comes out, one of those days where you both agreed to put a pin on it and just enjoy life. “Well… It’s a lot of love and care, I guess.”

“You can say that again,” she smiles. “Thank you for making dinner. No one cooks like you.”

“Thank you for cutting scallions,” you say. “No one cuts them like you do.”

She laughs and waves it off, then takes another slurp of her noodles. “I honestly don’t know if I like your tomato soup over this.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. My tomato soups have always been the peak of my cooking prowess.”

“I really don’t know!” she tells you, grabbing another clam from the centre of the table. “This stuff is all smoky and tasty… It just feels like home and I—”

You drop your chopsticks into your bowl. Soup splashes onto the table.

“How do I keep living like this, Miyeon?” you ask. There are only so many pins in your possession and you feel like you’ve used all of them. “I’d love to sit here and talk to you about how I made this meal like everything’s okay, and this is just Thursday and maybe we’ll get ice cream later… But it’s not like that right now.”

Miyeon takes your hand in hers. 

“I can’t pretend like things are the same when everything’s… different,” you close your eyes, take a breath. “I love you, Miyeon. You’re like, the best thing that’s ever happened to me and… I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you.”

You can hear her take a breath to start speaking. You really want to let her, but there’s too much on your chest. 

“I know you’re doing what you have to, for me, for us,” you want—oh so badly––to just bury your face in your hands right now. But once you do that, the tears will inevitably come and your ability to speak your mind will disappear faster than you can regain yourself. “But it hurts. It hurts to see you holding his hand, walking around and… and kissing him.”

Your heart stings when you see the tears welling in her eyes when you find it in you to look at her. The last thing you want is to see her in pain. This next bit hurts you even more to say, but you know that it’s better to tell her how you feel.

“I feel like I’m an open wound… and you're just pouring salt on me,” and you start to choke up a little. “I’m sorry to put it that way but—”

“No,” she interjects. “No. I get it… I-I understand.”

And for a moment, it feels like everything's okay for a bit.

Then she comes around the table to kiss you, and hell’s bells start ringing all over again. It hurts to kiss her, but it feels so right.

Miyeon leans into you. She kisses you. She pulls you close. She lets you run your hands across her body, down her back. You stand. Your tongue pokes into her mouth. One of you says I need you and you don’t know who it is.

And like when things were okay: you guys don’t make it to the couch.

You get naked. She gets naked. The sex isn’t about pleasure or thrill. It’s the aching within the both of you that drives your shaft into her cunt, rocks her hips as you fuck her. You quite literally make love with her, your strokes passionate and fervent; her cries are earnest and wanton, full of longing. For long moments when her chest is against yours, your hearts are aligned. You wish that you could fuse them together, take away the pain by making the two of you one singular person there on the floor. It feels possible when your dick is throbbing inside of her, pumping her slick with rock hard meat again and again and again.

But the thing that sucks the most is that you can’t do that. You’re two separate people with two separate problems that kinda overlap at the same point.

You have her bent over the counter, propped up on the kitchen sink—anywhere you could reach was a surface for you and her. And normally you’d be a bit of a party pooper about fucking on these surfaces, but today you really can’t give more of a shit. You want to feel like everything’s okay again, like you’re not fighting for your life to hold on to this relationship that’s being torn apart day by day, night by night.

And you may have pieces of each other deep within your souls, but they don’t seem to fit anymore.

When it’s all over and you’re panting against the dishwasher, reality hasn’t changed and you’re still torn. You have a wound that only you can heal through acceptance, yet you can’t find it in you to accept that this is the life you have to lead. You want to love her. You want it so bad. But you can’t find the will in you to love her when there’s another man in the picture, albeit that her love for him isn’t even minimally a concept. You can’t nurse her injuries either, and it hurts to know that as her delicate hands cradle your cheeks. Her touch is perfect, her breaths are soft on your skin. The two of you have tried so hard to make it work, yet you’ve only come so far. The solution to this problem is like thousands of hot fire pokers stabbing you simultaneously, and it only hurts because it’s the only way forward for the both of you. 

“Miyeon,” you can’t quite believe what you’re about to say. The tears streaming down your  cheeks aren’t making anything easier. “Let’s break up.”

(And this isn’t for pity: but you cry yourself to sleep after she leaves that night. Ain’t it fun being heartbroken? You would know how it feels, right cupcake?)

--

Three months, two weeks and one day (about 105 days if you really want to be fully accurate. Go write that down somewhere) pass uneventfully—and by that you mean, you never picked up any of the 138 calls that came from Miyeon. It would have been 140 calls if you hadn’t picked up two of them when you were drunk. But hey, she was drunk too. So it kinda cancels out… at least you like to think that it does. It does, doesn't it? Two negatives make a positive? 

(No?)

Ah well. Anyway,

(Okay, caveat, again: you’re thankful that she hadn’t showed up to the apartment once throughout this period. You’ve been stuck between your anger and a blame that you can’t face because you don’t know if you blame yourself or her or him. Drinking doesn’t help to lighten the ache in your chest, so you tried exercising: running, swimming, even pilates; you tried to pick up music—bought a guitar and everything. Your fingers still hurt when you play chords, and you’re considering giving up at some point; you tried to learn how to make those pain in the ass French desserts, and now you have a fire extinguisher permanently installed in your kitchen because you somehow managed to set fire to macarons; and you tried to write. That didn’t go well. 5 Wattpad users politely asked you to kill yourself. Not fun.

One way or another, your thoughts would end up drifting back to Miyeon, and you’d have to sit in place and kinda stare into the distance for a little. And yes, you did question your choice to end things with her many times if anyone is asking. You kinda hate yourself a little for not trying to make things work, and you also kinda hate her for not insisting on staying to make things work. 

It took two of the three months for you to realise that you were both kinda in the wrong. But it’s already too late by then.

You couldn’t get a grip of yourself and fight off your internal demons; she couldn’t stop doing what she thought was right to protect the two of you. Net-net: it’s a loss for the both of you in the business of love. Now you have to look for a way forward through this grey-area mess that you’ve made, learn to live with the fact that maybe you guys just weren't meant to be in the grand scheme of things.

The updates on Miyeon’s relationship with that damned actor kept coming, but it stopped as of late. But for a while, they were all the rage for gossip blogs. Every now and then, a shitty title like “Cho Miyeon stuns with her visuals on her date” would pop up, and you have to swipe away quickly before you accidentally tap on the notification and see her holding hands with him. You’ll admit that you opened some of the articles just to get a look at her face, then smile to yourself for a bit before you fight the urge to punch the spot next to her where Squid Game wannabe is smiling. You’ve succeeded so far.

You kept away from Jjampong and tomato soup with grilled cheese too. It’s hard to take your butter bell down from the fridge without tearing a little, and the fish sauce and chilli flake panacea for food doesn't apply to a broken heart by the way (it’s just really salty and spicy. You don’t know what you were thinking. Probably drunk. 0/10, please, please, please do not try). The two dishes are too homely; their tastes remind you of her.

Okay. Let’s ‘anyway’ for real this time.)

Yeah, so uh, remember how you said that sometimes the news you give each other can be a little heart-attack-inducing, so it’s better that your loves are pretty bland? Yep… Sad to say that the same confirmed hypothesis still stands, even when you guys are on day 106 of your break up.

This time the news comes in another headline—and you mean like front page, breaking news headline—on Tuesday night. Wonderwall isn’t treating you too well. You’re pretty sure that your finger tips might be turning purple. Your phone buzzes next to you like crazy, just like it did that night, and it’s like having an iPhone seizure. You don’t think too much when you put down the guitar and pick up your device. 

And you only read the first six words to give yourself a valid reason to reset your miscall streak with Miyeon.

Idol Cho Miyeon Slapped In Public…

(The title was a lot longer than that. You should know it since you’re here in the first place.)

It’s in moments like this when you kinda wish that speed dial was still a thing. (I mean there's siri and all, but do you really have time for that right now?) In a blur of great clumsiness, you open your contacts and experience no difficulty in locating her number again. She’s on the top of your miscall list, so it really takes no wizard to figure this out.

You hate that she’s letting it ring for so long. Every brr brr makes you tremble a little more in your seat. If your mum could see you now, you’d probably get an earful for your bad habit of biting your nails.

She finally picks up the phone. It’s good to hear her voice. “Hey…”

Your mouth opens, closes, opens again. Now you realise that in your hurry to check on her, you’ve yet to rehearse what to say to her. The debate between your head and gut almost tears you in two. 

“You okay?” you finally manage to blurt after some struggle. “I saw the news… Just wanted to check if, you know, you’re still up and kicking…”

You hear that familiar scoff from the other side of the phone. “Please. You know that it takes more than that to take me down.”

If your ears don't deceive you, you can hear a bit of a strain in her voice. She hates it when you jump to conclusions though, so you leave it as it is for now. “That’s… That’s great.”

And it’s silent again. If you were in the business of losing her interest, you’d be making crazy profits right now. Okay, better end this fast.

“Well uh,” you begin, stopping for a second to swallow some saliva to soothe your semi parched throat. “I guess—”

“Can I come over?” 

Like she always does, she shocks you into silence. Your throat dries up. Your mouth is the Sahara. 

“I… I miss you… if my miss-calls weren't clear enough about that,” she chuckles. You swear you hear a sniffle. “I’d like to see you again,” and you can hear your heartbeat in your ears, “for closure of course… and maybe tomato soup?”

Your heart joins the debate between your head and gut. It wins.

Minutes later, your butter bell is open, a knife scraping out the last bits of creamy butter out of it so that it can be used to evenly butter the other side of your bread. You’re moving on instinct, with glee and excitement. You’re not sure why you’re happy. You’re just happy—happy that you’re gonna see her; happy that you can prepare this dish again without the knowledge that you’re not gonna see her when you turn. It isn’t till the doorbell rings that the joy fades, and in its place comes that familiar tension of a two tonne weight wrapped around your chest. 

You aren’t sure why she rings the door when you haven’t changed the passcode to the lock. If she’s trying to be polite? You appreciate it. If she just forgot the pin? Well… you wouldn’t put that past her either, really. Your gut, head and heart agree you that it’s most likely the latter, and you kinda have to remind yourself as you open the door that she's just as forgetful as anyone else.

“Hi,” you catch yourself staring at her. You don’t mean to look at her dress first, but it’s the first thing your eyes are drawn to; it's been a while since you’ve seen her in anything other than a t-shirt and shorts. The white dress she’s wearing is bedazzled out, the light that’s reflected off of it catching you and making you a deer in headlights for a bit. Then you snap out of it. Your gaze travels up to her face and… “You look… Fucking terrible.”

You love her eyes and you love to watch them roll. “Thanks. You look not bad yourself. Gained some weight?”

You try not to stare. You fail—horribly you might add. 

But in your defence, it’s hard not to look at the purple spot on her milky skin. 

Miyeon covers her cheek. She looks down at your feet like there's something really interesting about them. “Are you, you know, letting me in? Or are we just gonna keep standing here?”

You blink. “R-Right.”

And soon she’s settled into her usual seat, nibbling on some grilled cheese while you ladle out her tomato soup into a bowl. It feels like nothing has changed, but you know that’s not true. Both of you know that everything’s different, that you can’t just give her tomato soup and peck her on the cheek.

“So you play guitar now?” she catches you off guard as the bowl makes a small thunk against the table. It’s in the same spot she always places it, and you know because a woodring has formed in that area. You follow her gaze and see that she’s spotted your Fender on the couch. 

“Sort of?” you reply, a little uncertain in how to rate your abilities. “Just basic stuff, you know?”

She smirks and picks up her spoon, starts chipping away at her soup “So you’re finally digging up the singer-songwriter in you… Good on you, man.”

Again, you find yourself staring at the bruise. It’s a deep shade of purple, splotchy and a sight for sore eyes. From the looks of it, he hit her hard. There’s a burning in your chest—a mix of grief, pity and anger as you watch her eat her food. You wish that you could’ve been there to stop it. You wished that you could’ve just dated her under different circumstances so that maybe, just maybe, you could’ve gotten that ending you wanted. You don’t know how she’s ever gonna cover that up when—

“If you’re gonna get something for this thing, go do it,” she mutters. “Chivalry hasn’t died completely, right?”

You nod and scuttle off. It’s easy to lose track of how long you’ve been staring when you’re lost in your thoughts. Is it scary how this feels like just another conversation between you two? 

The ice pack from when she bought that ice cream cake was still in the freezer, and it’s chilly in your hands as you grab it and return to the table. She has finished her soup—not a single scrap left inside the bowl. She must be starving.

Her grilled cheese is half eaten in her hand; she stares into the distance as she chews. 

(And she’s as beautiful as she can ever be, by the way. A lot of people haven’t seen her the way you see her, and you’re kinda glad that you get to witness that tender part of her that she rarely shows to cameras. It’s… It’s hard to describe what it means to know that someone like her finds it this easy to be herself around you, but you know it’s an honour and a blessing.

But when you're looking at her with your rose-tinted lenses stripped away from you, the notions you hold towards vulnerability become contradictory, because on one hand you know that she’ll never hurt you the way she did, but on the other you know that she’s not the same person when she’s not around you. So at the end of the day, you’re just kinda left figuring out which side of her is the real her. Do you believe what the Cho Miyeon you know tells you? Or do you believe what the Cho Miyeon the world knows? It gets confusing, makes you wonder why she ever has to put up two fronts in the first place. 

Then again, it’s not exactly her fault: she does what she has to so she can stay afloat. No industry is free from dirt. Some are just filthier than others.

I guess what I’m getting at is that… she’s this contradiction in my mind. I want to believe her, but I can’t, yet I still love her like she’s just a regular human and our lives are just a little messy. I know there's this whole argument about the fact that idols are humans too and all, but I guess it’s kinda… undermined? Yeah—undermined by the fact that they can’t exactly lead ‘normal’ lives once they’re famous. Look at me, using these big words.

So I guess… I guess dating her was like the worst of all blessings and the best of all curses. Does that make sense?

…

Ugh. I’m blabbering. 

Sorry cupcake, I’ll get back to it.)

And maybe you forget that she isn’t your girlfriend anymore, or maybe you just kinda blank out in the moment, or maybe you just wanted to do it. For whatever reason: you call her name, and when she turns, the ice pack in your hand is gently applied against her face. You don’t think much of it for like, three or four seconds. But when her wide eyes finally register in your head, there’s a moment where your breath is caught in your throat. 

This is important, so you should know: the silence is fucking deafening. 

She swallows the bit of sandwich in her mouth. “I refused to sleep with him, and he hit me like a girl. Fucking embarrassing on his part,” and there’s that smile on her face as she speaks, the same one that she loves to flash your way when she told you that she loved you. “Barely felt it. Light work.”

You can’t resist—your other hand cradles her unblemished cheek. “Miyeon…”

She closes her eyes. She knows that tone you’re using, the one that’s like ‘don’t lie to me’ or ‘it’s okay, you can tell me’. “Look: when the man that loved you the way no one else loved you breaks up with you, nothing can be more painful than that,” she whispers. Her throat bobs a little. She furrows her brows as her eyes squeezed themselves shut themselves a little tighter. “And that man is you by the way…” her voice cracks, her eyes open, “don’t know if I was clear enough.”

And you kinda have to kiss her after that. It’s a good line… and she’s, like, smoking hot right now. She always is.

The familiarity of her lips against yours almost makes you melt. The ice pack drops from your hand, your palm taking its place on her face. You kiss her like you used to. You kiss her like you want nothing else but her. You kiss her like you want nothing else but her because you want nothing else but her. She’s home – Jjamppong and Grilled Cheese with Tomato soup — and you don’t ever want her to leave again.

“I’m sorry,” she croaks, and you wipe the tear trailing down her cheek. “I should have never… We should have never—”

You shush her with your lips. She lets herself melt into you, her hands running through your hair the way she would sometimes when she called you crazy or baby. You don’t realise how much you’ve missed her touch till now.

“We were both wrong,” you tell her once you break away (rather reluctantly). “So how about we just call it a truce?”

She nods, and she does it enthusiastically. “If it’s cool with you…”

You scoff. “Why would it not be?” and your thumb gently caresses her bruise gently. You want to kill him, but you’ll save that for another time. “I’m the one who suggested it… Guess Chivalry is not all dead, huh?”

And it’s good to hear her laugh again.

“Come here you big idiot,” she giggles, and she kisses you again. 

Then you dive down to her collarbone when you can’t take it anymore. And the rest is history repeating itself.

You know: it feels like you’ve been picked up from the ground. Miyeon has come to get you… she's come to get you.

Maybe everything’s okay after all.

--

(And uh… The media covers the rest. What was it? Like, two weeks later? 

Ah whatever. You know what happens, don’t you? It’s pretty crazy, made headlines and all.

CUBE has some really good lawyers… And liars. Almost the same thing.)

--

“So that’s the story?” 

Nursing your third bottle of cider, you chuckle. You’d thought by fleshing out whole smuts in verbal form would have chased her away by now, yet here she is. Then again: she is an old friend of yours, so you guessed that she’d be rather adjusted to your bullshit. “Are you sure you’re an investigative journalist?” you question her, “I thought you’d ask something more along the lines of ‘what happens after?’.”

From across the booth seat, Chou Tzuyu shoots you a smirk. 

“The news covered it. Why should I pour salt into old wounds?” she admits. Her glass of wine swirls, manipulated expertly by her delicate fingers. “Anyway, I think I got… The main gist of it. Unless you have more information regarding the restraining order filed against you by CUBE, I have no further questions.”

You roll your eyes. No, you do not have any new information about why CUBE decided that you were a danger to Cho Miyeon, and you’ll never know if Miyeon knows either. She was out of town when it happened, and all she knows is what the news reported: you’re allegedly a stalker and hence a threat. You only know that she called and texted you frantically after, but…

You know what? Maybe you’ll think about this another time.

“You do know that, like, you're kinda bad at this right?” and you set your cider bottle aside, letting it join the almost empty whiskey bottle you bought yourself. You fold your hands and lean into the table. The world spins a little. “I don’t know why you’re prying, but I’m guessing that you heard something from the grapevine that you were itching to hear more about. Either that or you’re just… Could it be that you’re desperate to get something fresh, Miss Chou?”

She sips on her wine, leaves the question hanging in the air for a little as she swallows. 

“Keep this between us: I can’t trust Shuhua sometimes,” she muses. “If I’m gonna write about this, I’m gonna have to make sure that all the information I’ve gotten from her can be corroborated,” she pushes a wisp of hair behind her ear. “And for the record: I am not bad. I do my research as thoroughly as anyone else would—enough to know that you are someone who tells the truth.”

“So you’re saying that you trust me as a source?” you can’t help but scoff. “Me, the very guy that got fucked over by CUBE? I could be bigoted and biased for all you know. Or even worse: I’m lying.”

She smiles knowingly. “Respectfully, you have too much… personal voice in this recount that I might as well write an autobiography on your behalf.”

And she stuns you into silence. It occurs to you that you're a little drunk, and you’re pretty sure that you called this woman ‘cupcake’ multiple times. You’re not too sure; you don’t even have half a mind to know what you’re doing or saying.

Tzuyu gulps down the rest of her wine before she rises from her seat. 

“I best be going,” she opens her purse and fishes something out of it. She hands you a card, an address and a phone number handwritten onto it in what looks like a felt pen. “If you want your story to be heard, give me a call… Or a text. Whatever strikes your fancy. I’ll need a version of this that doesn’t include all the fucking and your drunk blabbering,” she shoulders her purse and smiles. “Can’t promise that I’ll buy you a drink to make you talk again, but I can treat you to some really good Chinese dumplings. Maybe we can catch up a little too. It’s been a while.”

You stare at the card, tracing the hooks and curves that form numbers and letters. Your eyes fix back on her. “Why are you doing this?”

She shrugs, and it’s not a “I dunno” type of shrug, but more like a “the proof’s in the pudding, open your fucking eyes” type of shrug. 

“I want to report the truth, and I know you well enough to know that you want that too.”

That's right. Another series. I know I'm doing everything but finishing up Beats Me, and you can go cry a river in my asks if you want. Just kidding, I love all of you, but I want to write what I want to write. Let me have my fun, would you? Also, for the record: I did not finish this 5 days after Beats Me 7. Beats Me 7 was finished before I vanished from tumblr for a bit. This has been brewing since December. You can thank long drives and Noah Kahnan for this.

Anyway, another big thank you to @defmaybe for being such a great sport and reading through the 39 page document that showed up in their discord DMs one fine day. This fic would have been full of typos and horrible grammatical errors if it weren't for them.

Stay safe, Nichu

[cheriecoke]

˚₊‧꒰ა ONCE BITTEN, TWICE SHY — levi ackerman

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎. your car breaks down before you can make it home for christmas. it leaves you with no choice but to call your ex-boyfriend.

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓈. fluff, sfw, gn!reader, exes, christmas, light angst, second chance romance, soft!levi, modern au — 3.3k words

𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒𝓈. dropping the annual levi christmas fic. happy birthday to my beloved, he is such a special character to me and has gotten me thru some rough times :( forever grateful u exist levi ackerman. this was going to go in a completely different direction in my head but... alas the words lead me and i must follow. hope you enjoy!

Of all the things to happen on Christmas Eve, car trouble ranked among the worst. Which, naturally, meant that’s exactly what happened to you. 

Something not too far from a blizzard had come in overnight, coating the roads in a thick, hazardous blanket. It looked beautiful, sure, but you were two hours away from where you needed to be on Christmas, and you figured — how bad could it be?

The answer was bad.

You’d skidded, blown out a tire (they were old, due for a change), and found your hood popped open with an odd smoke, stranded only 30 minutes south of where you’d come from. Your family was expecting you home by the evening, there to see everyone for Christmas Eve dinner. 

At this rate, you’d be lucky if you made it for Christmas at all.

After cursing yourself profusely for not just taking an extra day off and leaving yesterday, you started scrolling through your phone, looking for assistance.

The towing company answered the line in a sharp tone, already dismissive of your worries. It was idiots like you that kept them working Christmas Eve, and their annoyance was evident.

“What can I do for you?” a man, testy and older, answered. 

You explained the situation, and received a less than understanding response. 

“Sorry, miss, but we’ll be two hours out. There’s been a few other incidents, and we’re short-staffed. We can give you another call when we free up.”

“But I need to be somewhere tonight. There must be something you can do?”

“Sorry,” he said again, but it was clear he wasn’t very sorry at all. “If I were you, I’d start making calls… See if there’s anyone brave enough to come pick you up in this weather.”

He hung up on you.

You groaned, throwing your hands up in the air. It was unlikely that anyone would want to be your savior tonight. Your family was still 70 miles away, and everyone else you knew had other plans for Christmas Eve. 

But. 

You knew this stretch of road well, were more familiar with it than most streets along here. It was a country highway that wrapped around the smaller town before leading you onto the interstate, one direction to your hometown, the other to the city you lived in. 

Of course, it was here that your car had decided to break down, just ten minutes away from your ex-boyfriend’s house — a man you knew would be home, and certainly wouldn’t be afraid of the weather. 

In fact, he was the only one that wasn’t a tedious drive away, that could save you from the unfortunate situation you’d found yourself in.

You squeezed your eyes tight, trying not to cry. 

Calling Levi seemed your only choice — as pathetic of a choice as that was. You weren’t even sure he’d still have your number, or if he’d answer. But, your hands were becoming numb, the temperatures were dropping with the sun, and you weren’t sure how long you could stay out here without getting frostbite.

Still, on the second ring, you faltered, licking your lips. 

Maybe this was a bad idea. It’d been three years, after all. For all you knew, he could’ve had a new partner, could’ve been engaged. He could’ve moved across the country without any warning — you had no idea. 

Your hand started to fall away from your cheek, phone dropping with it. But the familiar tone stopped you, interrupting the third ring.

“Hello?” 

You exhaled, unprepared for the wave of emotions that washed over you from that simple word. Levi sounded exactly like you’d remembered, his voice even, almost monotone, nothing in it betraying his emotions. 

Still, it made your stomach twist. You couldn’t help but recall a time when that word had held a hint of affection in it.

“Levi,” you said, pushing away that line of thought to keep your voice steady. “You answered.” 

He was, apparently, just as surprised as you were. There was a long pause on the other end, before he resumed talking.

“I almost didn’t,” Levi admitted, releasing a breath of air that had to have come through his nose. “I didn’t want to. But, I couldn’t think of a good reason you’d call me on Christmas Eve unless—”

“I’m so sorry,” you cut him off, apologizing. You pinched the bridge of your nose, shivering in the cold. “I wouldn’t be calling if I weren’t desperate. but my car broke down — I was driving back to my parents’ house, and the tow company can’t come yet…” you rushed through the story, sparing too many details. “But it’s freezing, and you were the closest person I could think to call.”

He went silent once again. 

That was when you started to realize how crazy you’d been to call him. The last conversation you’d had was around this time of year, both of you stiffly walking through all the reasons you were worse for each other than you were better. 

This was a horrible idea. 

“I’m sorry,” you said again, shaking your head. Tears of embarrassment flooded your waterline. You weren’t sure they’d ever stopped. “This was stupid. Fuck. Forget it. I’ll—” 

“Where are you?” 

“What?” 

“Where are you?” Levi repeated, insistent. “I only answered because I figured it was an emergency. Looks like I was right. So where are you?” 

Your heart flipped at the notion that, even if it was a small part of him, he still cared. 

After fifteen more minutes of shivering in your freezing car, you ended up back at Levi’s house. The same house he’d lived in for ten years, and probably would live in until he died.

Levi wasn’t a homebody — in fact, he liked to spend more time outside of the house than he probably spent in it. He traveled a lot, sometimes for work, sometimes for fun. But it was a home that had belonged to his mother, until she passed away when he was freshly eighteen. 

Even if he hated living in this suburban town, you didn’t think he could stomach to part with the home he’d been raised in. One of the only things he had left of his mom.

It was almost heartbreaking, that you knew such intimate details about a person that had faded out of your life.

Levi’s house looked about the same, but Levi… Well, he looked incredible. As far as breakups went, he must have gotten the better end of it.  

His black hair was lightly dusted with snow when he helped you out of his car, red cheeks a bright contrast against his pale skin. Time may have dulled your memory of him, but you could have sworn his eyes had gotten even more blue in the time you’d been apart.

God, he was gorgeous. How had you ever been with someone like him?

“Would you like any tea?” Levi asked, taking you to the kitchen. Not like you’d forgotten how to get there. You’d spent enough time in his house to know the layout, right down to the foundation.

“Sure,” you said, still shivering, even with the heat blasting in the house. “Thank you, Levi. Not just for the tea, but for helping me. I won’t stay long, I promise.”

Levi was rummaging through his cabinet, and looked over his shoulder, back at you. Something rest on the edge of his tongue, but he said nothing, busying himself once more. 

The kitchen was the same as you’d remembered. None of the furniture had changed, but he’d added new appliances, changed out some of the cookware. Poinsettias were in the middle of the table, the only festive thing in the room.

You stared at them, and frowned, the tension between the two of you palpable. While you’d met each other once again like you’d never been parted, there still an underlying current of mistrust and uncertainty. A feeling that was expected to linger.

The break-up between you hadn’t been nasty, but you hadn’t parted on the best of terms, either. You and Levi had always argued… a lot. Half the time, it didn’t mean anything, but you couldn’t stop yourself from spitting something mean when you got angry.

It was your similarities that drove you apart, not your differences. You were both so neat, you fought over where things were meant to go. You were both independent, you grew frustrated with sharing space and compromises.

You were both stubborn, and never admitted to being wrong, even when it caused a rift between you and split you apart for good.

Of course, the worst issue was your tendency to bottle up your feelings, rather than talk through them. A problem that Levi shared — meaning that every little thing between you was brushed under the rug, only to trip you up later.

Levi brought the steaming mug over, pushing it to you across the table. You took a small sip of it, blinking at him over the edge of ceramic. 

“My favorite tea?” you asked, recognizing the taste of it immediately. “You remembered.” 

“I wasn’t sure if you still liked it, but I’ve kept it around anyway,” Levi said, and, as if realizing what he’d admitted, continued, “It grew on me. I drink it now.” 

You smiled. It was small and sad, mourning all the things you’d lost, but the sentiment warmed you all the same. You remembered Levi loved earl grey in the mornings, and chamomile before bed. In the fall, he preferred rooibos, the color and flavor reminded him of the autumn leaves. 

Or maybe he didn’t. Maybe he didn’t like any of those things, anymore. 

“I’m glad you like it now,” you said, humming. “You never did, before.” 

It sounded like a jab, even if you didn’t mean it as one. Levi stiffened, only slightly, before he released the tension and snorted, tightening his grip around the mug. 

You glanced at his hands, slender and pale, veins purple under his skin. Hands that had once roamed all over your body, slipped inside you, pulling you apart from the seams. 

That wasn’t a path you wanted to go down. You blinked, pushing away that line of thought as your stomach flipped, and prayed he hadn’t noticed your staring. 

“Anyway,” Levi coughed, clearing his throat. 

You nearly shrunk from embarrassment, certain that he had discerned your thoughts, but Levi wasn’t looking at you at all. His eyes were fixed on the clock across the room, watching the hand rotate around the frame. 

“You were visiting your family. How have they been?” 

Safe conversation, easy conversation. The kind that you could have had with any stranger, even if Levi knew all your family by name, knew your Christmas traditions. You repeated old history anyway, like you were meeting him for the first time, sharing weekend plans with an acquaintance before going your separate ways. 

The two of you chatted for a while, sipping on your teas, all the while, avoiding the topic of his holiday plans — if only to sidestep the discomfort that came with hearing he had none. Not that that was shameful, of course. Plenty of people did nothing for the holidays, didn’t want to. 

But, Levi had always come home with you for Christmas, for five years. Everyone loved him. Although you’d been nervous, at first, Levi fit right in, made himself comfortable with those that you cherished. He was polite, even though his sarcasm often bled through. But, that only made him funnier, in the eyes of everyone you held dear. They’d always given him two sets of gifts — for Christmas and his birthday — excited to watch him open them. 

Levi had always been so stoic when he responded with a stiff thank you, but you could see how touched he was, how pleased to be integrating himself so easily into your life. 

He’d made your holidays better than they’d ever been.

Now, he spent them alone. 

You couldn’t help but feel like your breakup had taken something special away from him, something he should’ve gotten to keep, even whilst you were separated. Maybe you could invite him home with you, just so your cousins could play one more round of cards with him and lose.

Melancholia flowered in your chest, and you, then, yearned for those moments, the ones you’d kept so dear. 

How had everything gone so wrong?

Your conversation stalled. You looked at each other, unsure what to say next. 

Shifting anxiously in your seat, you stood, as if for the first time realizing that you were in Levi Ackerman’s house, and you shouldn’t have been. That you were having cordial conversation with a man you swore to never speak to again, and it was like falling back into a routine, it was normal. 

And that was the worst thing about it — you knew why’d you’d broken up, but right now, you could hardly recall a good reason.

“I’m sorry,” you said for the millionth time that evening, eyes flashing towards the clock. It had only been thirty minutes, but the snow was getting worse and your tea was cold. “I should call my parents and let them know I won’t be home tonight. Hopefully the roads will be—”

“Wait.” Levi reached out, grabbing your hand before you could stand and make your exit. 

Your eyes flashed down to where you touched, at the same time his did, before you uncomfortably broke away. Levi blinked, then chewed the inside of his cheek, his mouth still drawn into that unexpressive, thin line. 

“What?” you asked, after too many seconds of silence. 

Levi inhaled, then dropped his head, jaw working as he looked away. “I’ve done a lot of thinking, over the past two years.”

Your breath caught in your chest. “About?” 

You already knew the answer.

“When we—” He licked his lips, eyes narrowing at the microwave, before they met your own. “Decided to end it.” 

Decided to end it. What a harsh way of putting it, but you supposed it was true. A final round in the passionate romance you’d had. A break-up seemed too simple for what you’d been, when it had ripped your heart out of your chest. 

“Oh,” you said, swallowing. 

“I know you might not want to have this conversation,” he said, nodding to himself. “But I need to say what I should’ve a long time ago. That I’m sorry.” Levi’s eyes were on you then, a more intense shade than you’d ever seen before. You froze, feeling unable to move, locked in the storminess of his gaze. “So many things were my fault. All the times I was dismissive, the times I was angry. All the times I didn’t communicate when I should’ve.” He released a breath, and despite his bravado, you realized he was just as nervous as you were. “I didn’t know how to love you like you wanted, and I’m sorry that I did such a bad job of it.” 

You blinked, watching him shift in his chair. “Levi…” you said slowly, softly, the word agonizing as it left his lips. 

“I know that doesn’t make it right, but I need you to know. I am sorry. You deserved better.” 

That, alone, brought you close to tears, that he seemed to be taking the blame for all the things that went wrong. Putting it on himself, when it was both of you, incapable of working together. “Levi, I’m sorry too,” you blinked back your tears, setting aside your pride. You’d already lost enough dignity, what was a little more? “You loved me just fine. Maybe I just couldn’t appreciate what I had. I never tried hard enough to make it work.” 

“That isn’t true.” 

“Yes, it is.” 

“No,” Levi huffed, “it’s—” But then he stopped, gathering himself, catching the fall, right back into the same old routine. You looked down at your hands, embarrassed. “We weren’t bad for each other. Nothing we ever did was bad for each other.” It sounded like a question, even if it wasn’t.

“It must have been,” you said, in a small voice. “Otherwise…” 

Otherwise, you’d still be together. 

Levi smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. His hands clenched and unclenched on the table. “I should’ve called you, when you left. I shouldn’t have let you walk away.” 

“But you did.” 

“I did,” he breathed. “And I regret it every day of my life.” 

You looked up at him, eyes shining at the realization. He still wanted you, maybe even still loved you. 

And as much as you cared for him, as much as your heart still bloomed in your chest at the sight of him, you weren’t sure how you felt about that.

“Levi—” you began, hoping to dispel the conversation. But he didn’t let it get that far, voice cracking at the start of his sentence.

“I mean it. I think about it all the time. About you. You were my friend as much as you were my partner, and I wanted you forever. I miss you. I—” Levi cut himself off, there, at the growing look of fear on your face, the knowledge that he was going to let something slip he shouldn’t. 

It tugged at your heartstrings all the same, and you looked away, wrapping yourself up in your arms. 

Silence fell across the room, the only sound the howling wind outside, a flurry of snow crashing against the window. Levi waited, patiently, for you to be the one to break the silence — and you summoned up all your courage, all your honesty, for a response.

“I would be lying, if I said I didn’t think about it too… What it would be like to try again.” 

Levi looked up, blue eyes narrow, but sharp with anticipation. “You—”

“I miss you too, Levi.” It felt like carving your heart out of your chest and handing it to him on a platter. “But it couldn’t be like it was before. Where we talked to each other about everything except for what really mattered. We can’t.” you swallowed, shaking your head. “I can’t do that again.” 

“I know.” Levi licked his lips. “Is that something… You would want?” 

Was it? Was Levi truly what you wanted, or were you not thinking clearly, only remembering the good times amongst all the bad. Were you just yearning for an idealization of love, a feeling that you’d been missing since splitting with Levi? Was it him you really wanted, or just someone to call your own?

But you knew the answer. It was obvious.

“Yes,” you answered, so quiet you weren’t sure he could hear it. “I would… I do want that. Maybe that’s why I didn’t hesitate to call you tonight.” 

Levi didn’t smile, but his eyes brightened, the storminess fading away so they looked like the sky. The cloud of grey above him melted away, and he seemed even younger than he had before, caught in the promises of adoration, akin to a boy in a schoolyard. 

“You can spend Christmas with me. Your birthday,” you said, hesitantly, not knowing if you’d even make it home, if you’d be stuck here. If that kind of invitation was not yours to give. “If that’s something you’d want.” 

“It is,” Levi answered softly, without questioning it, gripping your hand across the table. “I would’t want to spend it any other way.”

You smiled at each other, then, caught up in the glow of Christmas lights and the snow outside, a shaky vow holding between you. Maybe things wouldn’t change — maybe they would go back to how it’d been before, neither of you ever saying what you really meant. Maybe you’d hurt each other worse than you ever had before. 

But you loved him — you loved each other. And that could be enough.

thank you for reading! ❤︎ reblogs and comments are appreciated!!! i might write a pt 2 if there is enough interest, but i wanted to finish this before christmas ◡̈

[bekolxeram]

Everyone decides to be sad about Tommy spending the holidays alone today. I just want to say, I hate you all. Especially @mmso-notlikethat with this post. As payback for making me cry my way into insomnia, I wrote this on my phone instead of sleeping.

By the time he knocks on the door, Tommy still has no idea what to expect. “Wear something nice, we’re celebrating tonight,” that’s the only instruction he’s received from Evan, his boyfriend once again. Tommy can’t help but smile at the mere thought of finally allowing himself to say that name.

He has a burgundy dress shirt on with a pair of light grey slim fit pants. Simple, but elegant, hopefully properly dressed for this undisclosed commemoration. March is not known for its holidays, so what’s the occasion that calls for such festivity? They did meet last March at the cruise ship rescue, maybe that was it? Or perhaps Evan is having some sort of career advancement? They’ve been back together for just a few weeks, there’s simply not enough time for Tommy to catch up on Evan’s ever so eventful life. To that, Tommy silently mourn the time they’ve lost, due to his own cowardice.

“Hey — Hey,” Evan takes a step outside of the door to greet Tommy with a quick peck on the lips. Tommy lets the younger man drag him into the loft without much reaction, because he’s still confused by the sight in front of him: Evan in his usual navy blue button up, dark jeans and… a Christmas hat?

Inside the loft is a jumble of sparkly festive decorations. To his left, he sees “Happy Birthday Tommy”; to his right, “Merry Christmas”; and deeper into the living space, “Happy New Year”.

“Jee and Mara helped setting these up,” Evan says while taking half of a roast turkey out of the oven. “This one is from Bobby. He said half a bird is enough for the two of us, if we don’t want to suffer through leftover for the next 7 days.” He then sets the tray next to some roasted vegetables and a casserole. “The casserole is from Chimney, but I’m pretty sure it’s Maddie’s recipe. Hen got you a cake. I think she said something about being sure you would like it. We can have it for dessert. Oh, and the champagne is from…”

“Eddie, because he can’t cook.” Tommy cuts in.

“Exactly!”

“Evan, what’s going on here?”

Evan steps closer, taking both of Tommy’s hands into his own, “You told me the other day that you spent your 40th birthday alone… I only realized later that you were probably on your own for the entire holiday season, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year, Valentine’s Day. I know it doesn’t come close to the real thing, but I was thinking maybe we could make up for a few key moments that we missed.” He dims the lights in the loft with a remote control and fiddles with something on the dining table. Suddenly, the whole room is lit up with colorful patterns and twinkling stars. “I couldn’t get any firework around here, so I borrowed this star projector from Christopher.”

“Oh… Evan,” Tommy sighs, eyes already hazy with tears.

“I’m not asking you to move in with me or to make major commitments. I’m not asking for anything in return at all. This is… a promise, from me to you. No matter what happens, what becomes of us in the future, I’ll be there when you need me, we all will.”

Evan says earnestly, with utmost conviction in his tone. The clarity in his eyes reminds Tommy of that day at the café terrace, almost a year ago. “I just want you to know, Tommy, you’re no longer alone.”

A few drops of tears escape Tommy’s eyes, but before he can respond, Evan pulls out a mistletoe from his pocket and dangles it over their heads.

“You have to kiss me now.” Evan says with a cheeky grin. Tommy waits no time to capture those smiling lips with his own, kissing him with all the love and gratitude in his heart.

“I love you, Evan. I’m so lucky to have you.” Tommy pulls him into a warm embrace.

“I love you too.” Now it’s Evan’s turn to tear up.

Tommy pulls back a little and asks, “hey, would you mind if we celebrate Valentine’s Day first?”

“Oh, you mean you’re interested in the Valentine’s Night activity?”

“Depends on what you have in mind.”

“Come upstairs. I’ll show you.”

[ur-local-wizard]

A Lucky Christmas

A seemingly innocent and thoughtful gift turns out to have an unexpected surprise.

heheh more fluff! (Can you tell its my fav to write?), love triangle, lots of impulsivity, slight(?) drugging, mattheo and theo being absolutely whipped, mattheo riddle x fem!reader, theo nott x fem!reder

w/c: 1k

masterlist

a/n: so sorry this took forever to post! got sick and barely got time to sleep between puking sessions, much less write.... ANYWAY, shout out to @leona-hawthorne for proof reading for me!

Mattheo didn’t know how he got himself into this situation. He knew he and Y/n were staying at Hogwarts for Christmas. He stayed at school simply to avoid his father, but she refused to give her reason why she decided to stay. The whole thing was weird, especially because she usually looked forward to going home and spending time with her family. 

A few days into break, Y/n wanted to help the house elves decorate the Great Hall, and somehow she and her irresistible smile got him to come with her. So imagine his surprise when Theo, of all people, walks into the hall, ready to help her out too. Mattheo didn’t even know that the Italian was staying as well. Did she ask him to help too?

This girl just has the two of them wrapped around her little finger, and she’s so oblivious to that fact that it’s almost infuriating. 

So now, the three are scurrying around the huge room, hanging tinsel and putting ornaments on the huge tree. Y/n is occupied with draping garland made of popcorn and cranberries across the evergreen’s branches, with the help of some house elves. Mattheo and Theo got stuck with the job of sorting through old ornaments, with the instructions to throw away any broken baubles they might find. However, a wooden one caught Mattheo’s eye. It was engraved with y/n’s favorite flower, and it was just the perfect gift to give to the girl. 

“Psst, Theo,” the brunette hissed, looking around to make sure no one else was within ear shot. Theo turned around, an eyebrow raised. He hummed inquisitively. “You think we can give this to Y/n? She would like this, right?” Mattheo asked, passing the trinket. “You’re better at all the sentimental stuff than me.”

Theo inspected the ornament, nodding. “I think she would. Good find.” He nudged the brunette’s shoulder before waving a house elf over. 

The elf assured the two boys that they never use the ornament anyways, and so Theo shoved it in his pocket. “I’ll go put this in our dorm. We’re almost done here anyway, so you guys shouldn’t miss me much. If Y/n asks, just tell her that I’ll see her at dinner, yeah?” 

Mattheo noded, and the rest of the time spent decorating flew by. He ended up regretting his decision to help, solely because he didn’t get many chances to be with Y/n. He figured the elves must’ve loved torturing him.

By the time Mattheo got back to his dorm, Theo was pacing around. The Italian had the wooden trinket in his hand, holding it in a vice-like grip. 

“You good?” Mattheo asked him, to which Theo responded, “Yeah. Fine. Just jittery. Where's Y/n?”

The brunette gave him a questioning look, but responded nonetheless. “Don’t know for sure, but I would assume her dorm. She said she was tired when we left.” Theo nodded in response, and set the ornament he was holding down, quickly racing out of the shared space. He looked jittery and oddly excited, uncharacteristic of the Italian. 

However, Mattheo decided to shrug it off. He picked up the trinket, turning it over in his hands to examine it. This compulsive curiosity began to morph into a full-blown exploration, his mind focused on the girl this gift was meant for. Suddenly, an abrupt wave of confidence washed over him, making him feel unusually warm and tingly. 

He set the bauble down, eyes flitting toward the door. Maybe he would go and talk to Y/n too, just to have a little chat. Or better yet, he could admit how he feels. He’s had a thing for her for forever, his mind never failing to wander to more romantic places when in her presence. 

His feet moved on his own, carrying him through the castle and to her dorm; and before he knew it, his fist was knocking on her door. It swung open, and he was greeted by a fond smile spreading on her lips when she saw him. He stepped inside, and wasn’t surprised when he saw Theo standing in the room as well.

“Are you here for what I think you are?” Mattheo asked the other boy, to which Theo nodded. “Mhm. I just told her I love her.” 

The other boy’s bluntness surprised Mattheo a bit, since indelicate and direct comments were usually the brunette’s forte. It must just be an odd day. 

“Well,” Mattheo gently took Y/n’s hand, getting her attention, “I feel the same way about you that Theo does. I love you, darling. You’ve been such a bright light in my life.”

Her eyes went wide with surprise, and she went still. Mouth floundering a bit, the girl struggled to form a response. The boys noticed and chuckled, Theo reassuring her. “I'm not sure about Mattheo, but I know I’m not going to make you choose. I just want a chance.” 

Mattheo nodded in agreement. “God no, I wouldn’t dream of putting you through that stress.” Y/n relaxed a bit at that comment, but she was still a bit weary, due to their odd and overly impulsive behavior. 

“You guys are always a bit reckless, Mattheo especially.” She gives him a little nudge. “But what’s up with you two?” 

They both shrug. “Dunno. Just got you this present, which made me think about you a ton. I guess thinking about you so much made me want to tell you?” Theo guesses. “I felt the same way. Hey- did you get that weird rush when you held it too?” Mattheo queried, now invested. 

“Weird rush? What, was it laced with liquid luck?” Y/n asks with a laugh, albeit a slightly apprehensive one. Her comment earned shocked looks from the boys, quickly followed by laughter. 

“That’s it! I didn’t think much of the weird giddiness, though I should have,” Theo said between laughs.

“Nor of the sudden rush of confidence,” Mattheo agrees, his shoulders shaking with amusement. “We should get her a new gift, huh?” 

Theo nodded in agreement, and the group laughed about it for a while. The boys certainly didn’t hear the end of their accidental potion mishap for quite some time, Y/n teasing them about it relentlessly.

Thank you all for your patience while I've been sick! I'm not too happy with this, but I needed to get it out lollll <3

tag list: @ilovejamespottersomuch @mattyriddlesbitch @valenftcrush @sturniolover13 @paankhaleyaaar @thereeallink

©ur-local-wizard translating, republishing, copying, or claiming my work as yours is not permitted. all my work belongs to me and me only. thank you!

[sargeantposting]

A Logan Sargeant Primer: Part I (2000 - 2015)

Logan grows up in a ritzy suburb of Fort Lauderdale called Lighthouse Point with his parents and his older brother, Dalton.

The Sargeants don't have a deep motorsport history. Dalton and Logan get their first go-karts for Christmas in 2006, a gift from their father after their mother refuses to let her children ride dirt bikes anymore. Logan tells the NYT that:

“No one in the family was really even that much into racing. We just picked it up as a hobby, something to do on the weekend.”

The two brothers get more serious as the years go by-- within a few years, they're racing competitively. They both do well. Logan finishes in third place in only his first year of racing, and wins two titles in his second. 

Unfortunately, they figure out fairly quickly that there isn’t much more room to advance in American karting:

My older brother, Dalton, and I had been racing for a few years, and it had gotten to the point where we were asking around about where the next best level of competition was, and everybody was saying the same thing…. It was always Europe, Europe, Europe, Europe. To the point where my parents really started to think about it. At first it was just this idea, like Maybe we’ll move to Europe, who knows. I was just a kid overhearing stuff, so I didn’t know how serious the conversation must have been until this day I’ll never forget.

The conversation gets serious in 2012, when Logan’s dad, Daniel, asks the two if they want to move to Switzerland:

It was summer, and we were out to lunch. It was me, my dad, and Dalton. [...] So we’re at this restaurant, right? Chowing down on burgers (my favorite), and my dad gets to asking us about racing. Finally, he’s like, “What do you guys think? Do you really want to race in Europe? Are you 100% sure about this?” Me being 11 and naive, I was like, “Yeah sure.”  Looking back on it, I think I was lucky I was that young and that I didn’t really know what I was signing up for. All the different ways it could change my life, the level of sacrifice it would require from my whole family. Because if I had known, I don’t know if I would’ve made the same decision so easily. It all happened fast, like in the movies. One minute, it’s Christmas, I’m six, and me and Dalton are yelling at the top of our lungs, excited about the two karts sitting in the driveway, pointed diagonally at each other like in a magazine. Next minute, I’m 11 and Dalton’s 14. We’re sitting at the table eating lunch with my dad, and it’s decided — our family’s moving to Europe.

When Logan tells the same story in GQ in 2023, he says:

I was always just going with the flow. For me it was just: sure.

The Sergeant family leaves for Switzerland just as Logan finishes up fifth grade. While Logan always talks about the family move to Switzerland in the context of his parents making sacrifices for his career, it's a little more complicated than that.

 GQ’s profile steps around the subject, briefly mentioning that “in addition to the racing opportunities, [Logan’s] Dad had business there.” Unfortunately, business would be an understatement. 

At the time, Logan’s dad, Daniel, worked for the family business– an asphalt trading and shipping company named Sergeant Marine. One of the driving forces behind Sergeant Marine’s success would be Daniel’s older brother, Harry. 

When Logan’s detractors mention his family’s connections to Trump, they’re usually referencing Harry. The NYT describes his billionaire uncle as “a former [Top Gun] fighter pilot and onetime finance chair of Florida’s Republican Party who has been sued by the brother-in-law of King Abdullah II of Jordan and whose name turned up, tangentially, in the 2020 impeachment of former President Donald J. Trump. (Harry was not accused of any wrongdoing.)” 

Harry would leave the company around the time Daniel moved his family to Switzerland. According to The Florida Phoenix, “The entire family was embroiled in a long-running bitter series of lawsuits that ended with a 2015 bankruptcy settlement. Harry III walked away with a cool $56-million. In return he gave up any claim to ownership of Sargeant Marine and other family companies. There were 14 different lawsuits in several states in addition to the bankruptcy. The lawsuits produced salacious testimony that could only arise in a vicious dispute between millionaires. Harry III accused his brother Daniel of spending millions on his sons’ pursuits of race car driving and other ventures. Meanwhile, Daniel accused Sargeant III of being a spendthrift on things such as a $7.5-million mansion, private jets and exotic cars.”

Logan with his dad.

It would, somehow, get worse:

Oil and asphalt mogul Harry Sargeant III claims that industrial design plans along with recordings of "private consensual relations" were purloined from his private email account and traded off to a corporate intelligence agent as part of a years-long smear campaign against him spearheaded by his brother. Reigniting a long-running saga of brother-against-brother litigation, Harry Sargeant III claims that hundreds of pages of business records, personal discussions and "extremely sensitive videos and photographs" were illegally obtained from his email account. The material was used as currency for information-bartering between his brother Daniel Sargeant and a corporate intelligence chief at the nonparty legal service firm Burford, the lawsuit alleges. Harry is demanding damages for alleged invasion of privacy on the part of Daniel. The brothers had in years past worked together on managing the Sargeant family's global oil and asphalt empire, before intra-family disputes began to tear them apart. [...] The lawsuit claims the Burford investigator, a former corporate attorney, knows Harry well. According to the court documents, the investigator for years worked as an enforcement agent on a $28 million judgment secured against Harry by the king of Jordan's brother-in-law Mohammad Al-Saleh, who accused Harry of cutting him out of a deal to distribute oil to troops in the Iraq War. [...] Harry claims brother Daniel gave the corporate intelligence agent the treasure trove of Harry's emails  in exchange for inside information that would help the Sargeant family's asphalt company Latin American Investments in a separate multimillion-dollar legal dispute. Harry's underlying email account ran on a server of the family company Sargeant Marine. When he was ousted from the Sargeant empire, Harry had been told that the account was cut off at the root and all information in it had been destroyed, the lawsuit says. The lifted emails were instead provided to an "untold number of people" inside and outside of the family businesses in 2016, the lawsuit claims.

The information that Daniel traded his brother’s sex tape for would end up being useless. Daniel is currently out a $5 million bond and awaiting sentencing for the foreign bribery and money laundering charges he pled guilty to back in 2019. After bribing officials in three South American countries to secure asphalt contracts, the Department of Justice ended up making an example of the company– and Daniel– for violating the Foreign Corrupt Practices Act. 

While Logan cites his career as a big reason for the family move, it appears that Sargeant Marine had conveniently made shell companies in Switzerland to aid in their illegal business dealings that same year.

Logan, blissfully unaware of any drama, tries to make the most of the big move. They move to Lugano, Switzerland– Dalton and Logan go to the American School on weekdays and race on the weekends in the European junior circuit, bouncing them between Italy, Switzerland and Britain. In GQ, Logan says:

“I definitely felt like school was a lot more challenging than in Florida,” he recalled. “And we were missing a lot of school, for sure, but that’s part of it with racing. It is what it is.”

Logan loves Switzerland. In his Players’ Tribune article, he says:

We moved into a three-bedroom apartment. It was me, my parents, Dalton, and our dog Roxy, the world traveler. Big difference from Florida. We had a whole new life. I loved Switzerland. I had a lot of good friends at my school there. I can’t explain it, but I just felt more a part of things. Me and my friends were big Chelsea fans, and we’d be hanging out, playing soccer all the time. We played Call of Duty like every other kid in the world.

However… Logan is the only one. Daniel is out doing shady asphalt deals around the world and suing his brother. Dalton moves back to Florida after a year-and-a-half. Their mother follows soon after that. Logan ends up living alone at the school: 

Dalton was my older brother, so for as far back as I can remember, I was chasing him. Man, we fought all the time. Every race, we were up against all these other kids, but he was always the one I was really trying to beat. But the thing is, when you’re a kid you miss things. You just can’t see everything so clearly. Like, for instance, being a bit older than me, I think he felt the shift more strongly when we moved, but I didn’t know it. He stayed in Switzerland for a year and a half, did some European karting, and started testing Formula cars. Then one day he just decided he wanted to go home and race in America. I won’t lie, that was a shock at the time. But I get it more now. Making that big life change was hard on my mom, too. Just think, you’re living in this brand new place, don’t have many friends. Me and Dalton were at school all day. My dad was traveling all over the place with work, so he was hardly there. The reality is, she was on her own a lot. So she ended up going back to Florida, too. For about a year and a half after that, it was just me. I was living at the school during that time.

When talking about how his mom moved back to Florida while Logan was living alone in Europe as a teenager, he told the Players’ Tribune that:

Looking back on everything, I just see all the sacrifices they made, and it means so much. No matter what they were going through, my family always pushed me to keep going. I feel like that was probably the hardest for my mom, especially. She means the world to me. She’s a bit of a worrier too, and overthinks. I think I get that from her. She’s always been the person I could go to when I was doubting myself. So I can’t imagine how hard it must have been for her to encourage me to keep going, when I know she probably wanted our family to be together. I’m really grateful, not only that they believed in me that much, to move our entire family, but that they took my passion for driving seriously enough not to let me give it all up.

While Logan’s personal life may be troubled, his karting career is doing exceptionally well. In 2014, he wins the prestigious SuperNats18 in Vegas:

Infinity Sports Management, Facebook - SARGEANT DOMINATES IN LAS VEGAS. Logan Sargeant produced a stunning display last weekend in the TAG Junior category at the Supernationals race in Las Vegas. After finishing runner up in the race in 2013 Logan was eager to go one better this year and bring home the winners trophy. Although Logan got pipped in qualifying he still managed to win every heat ensuring he would start from pole position for the final on Sunday. From there he kept the lead and came home 5.6 seconds clear of the second driver. With this win in TAG Junior Logan become the first driver ever to win the TAG Cadet and TAG Junior categories at the Supernationals race.

2015 manages to be even more exceptional. Logan starts the season by being the first North American driver to win a WSK event by winning the WSK Champions Cup in La Conca, Italy.

Logan with his mother after winning the WSK Champions Cup.

The season reaches its peak with Logan becomes the first American to win an FIA Karting World Championship, the top junior series, since Lake Speed in 1978.

He gets to go to the FIA Awards:

Logan: And I couldn’t thank my mechanic enough. And also my parents, uh, they really helped me to be able to win the world championship and it’s just an amazing feeling. Interviewer: I mean, did you, did you, what did you do when you found out you won? Did you call your friends at home? Did you phone your grandpa? What did you get up to? Logan: Uh, no, I just gave my mom and dad a really big hug. Interviewer: Is it still sinking in now? Logan: Yeah, it’s, it’s a really emotional thing. [...] Interviewer: Tell me about when you were a little bit younger than you are now. You’re only 14 now. But why racing, why, why is this so important to you? Logan: Um, well, my dad bought me a, a racing kart when I was five years old and we started from there. We thought it would just be like a little hobby and, uh, it ended up becoming like a professional thing we did. So. Interviewer: So, so was there a moment when you, when you or your dad just thought ‘Wow, I’m quick. I can do this’? Logan: Um, well, not really. We just kept progressing and then, um, when we, when we decided to come to Europe to race, um, we moved to Switzerland and from then on we were just, uh, going to school, I started going to school in Switzerland. And, yeah, and then we just kept going and then ended up like this. Interviewer: Do you have any other hobbies? Can you fit anything else in? Logan: Um, well, other than school it’s really hard. But when I get my breaks and I go back to Florida for, um, I like to go fishing a lot and, yeah, that’s what I do. Mostly. 

When interviewed after his win, Logan tells kart360 that:

Moving away from home is a very hard thing in your own personal life. You lose all of your best friends. You don’t have your "home" and you have to adapt to a different culture. It is hard to move to a country that speaks a different language than what you know, but racing is so important to me that I stuck through it and kept on going.

Logan clearly struggles on a personal level. He discusses his feelings in his Players’ Tribune article, saying: 

Coming up racing as a kid isn’t easy. That’s the most honest way I can put it. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve said to myself, I’m done. I’m ready to come home. I’m glad I didn’t, but there were plenty of times when I wanted to. I remember one big time was the summer right after Dalton went back. We took this trip to the Bahamas with some of our extended family and friends. We were on the water, and everything was feeling like old times. And I think I just had this pit in the bottom of my stomach, like dreading going back. There was a night when I went to my mom, and I was like, “I’m just ready to come home.” I remember her asking me more questions about what I was feeling. I don’t even remember what I said, to be honest. I just remember that she didn’t tell me what to do. She left it completely up to me. My dad used to always say, “If you put in the work now, it’ll pay off eventually — it’ll be worth it.” And he kind of reminded me of that on that trip too. It’ll be worth it. Those four little words … that’s what kept me going. After that I sucked it up, went back to Switzerland, put my head down, and I went for it."

When Logan makes the jump to single seaters the next year, his parents rent him an apartment to live in by himself in London. The only time he’ll spend more than a few weeks in the US since he was a 12-year old would be during COVID.

But Logan’s time in single seaters will be for the next installment.

Logan through the years.

[pastafossa]

Pastafossa's Daredevil Masterlist

To stop my massive Matt Murdock x Reader fic, The Red Thread, from devouring my Daredevil masterlist, it now has its own masterlist, which can be found here! For organization’s sake, I’m still leaving the fic link and summary here. All of the romance in the fics below are Matt Murdock x Reader, save for those fics where there is no romance mentioned.

🔥 = Smut // 🌧️ = Angst // 🌻= fluff // ⚡= Reader Favorite // 🐧 = Set in The Red Thread fic universe, though not always required reading

Full Fics

✞ “The Red Thread” [AO3] (F!Reader)🔥🌧️🌻⚡

It's said that every soul is connected to another by a red thread, and that these two souls are destined to meet. The thread, though it may tangle or stretch, will never break. That's not your experience, lucky or unlucky enough as you are to see the strings that bind people together. A red thread is developed and grown, not born, and you've worked hard to weed out any semblance of crimson that might cling to you. You pay your bills, you keep your head down, and you find whatever lost people or items you're hired to sniff out. Then the Devil of Hell's Kitchen tags along on a job, and your plan falls apart. 

✞ "Moan For Me" [AO3] [Tumblr] (GN!reader)🔥⚡

You wanted every last bit of him, whether his body wanted to give it or not, and he’s just as eager to share.

✞ "Ode to a Coat” [AO3] [Tumblr] (F!Reader)🔥

Inspired by Born Again set shots. Matt wears his new coat to Josie’s and your thoughts turn to pure sin.

✞ "Do I Need to Beg?” [AO3] [Tumblr] (F!Reader)🔥

Inspired by Born Again's leaked trailer showing Matt with a beard. After a long trip away, you come home to Matt sporting a new beard. Fortunately, he's been missing you, too...

✞ “This is a Code-F” [AO3] [Tumblr] (GN!Reader)🌻⚡

Matt gets the flu, and it’s up to you to look after him. How hard could it be?

✞ “It’s Really... Yellow?” [Tumblr] (F!Reader)🌻🐧

Foggy needs you to help him convince Matt the new red and yellow suit is terrible. Unfortunately for Foggy, you find Matt just as attractive in red and yellow.

✞ “A Brief Existential Crisis” [Tumblr] (F!Reader)🌻🐧

After the events of She-Hulk, Matt requires a little pep talk... and maybe some head scratches while you’re at it.

✞ “I’m Sending A Raven” [AO3] (F!Reader)🌧️🐧

After you're kidnapped by The Man in the White Coat, Matt and his allies are in a race against time to save you. But will he make it before all hope is lost? (Now with fanart. Click with caution, it's dark)

✞ “Hubris” [AO3] [Tumblr] (Vague MM x F!Reader)🌻

Bucky Barnes and Matt Murdock are human disasters without a lick of sense. At least Sam and you are there to keep things under control.

✞ “I’ll Be Better, I Promise” [Tumblr] (GN!Reader)🌧️⚡

You get insecure and think Matt deserves better, so you try to leave him.

✞ “Appreciation” [AO3] [Tumblr] (F!Reader)🌻⚡

You show your appreciation for Matt’s chest by planting your face in it while he teases you about it.

✞ “Poor Thing”  [Tumblr] (F!Reader)🔥

Based on the prompt 'Somnophilia' for Tuna-Tober 2024's prompt challenge.

✞ “Sharing is Caring”  [Tumblr] (F!Reader)🔥

Based on the prompt 'Are you blushing?' and '69' for Tuna-Tober 2024's prompt challenge.

✞ "Memory” [Tumblr] (F!Reader) 🌧️🐧

Amnesia angst in which The Red Thread’s Reader loses her memories of her romance with Matt just before she comes back from her 3 months away.

✞ “Haunted” [Tumblr] (F!Reader)🌧️🐧

A sequel to the above. You give yourself one month to see if your memories return, but Matt finds himself in a depressive spiral over the loss of what he had with you.

✞ "We’re Not Keeping Him” [Tumblr] (F!Reader)🌻🐧

You bring home a kitten and Matt is resistant... at first.

✞ “What Was That?” [Tumblr] (F!Reader)🌻🐧

Matt and you have to stop into a haunted house and things get spooky, at least until Matt’s catholicism saves the day.

✞ “The Biggest Tree In All The Kitchen” [AO3] [Tumblr] ( F!Reader)🌻🐧

Matt figures out you want a big Christmas tree, and the two of you attempt to drag an 18-footer into your apartment. It goes as well as expected.

✞ “And The Holly Cookies, Too” [AO3] [Tumblr] (F!Reader)🌻🐧

Matt is determined to be your Christmas cookie taste tester, even if it kills him.

Ficlets and Drabbles

✞ What If: Matt presents you with a courtship rock in front of the penguin’s zoo exhibit, and Foggy loses it. (F!Reader)🌻🐧⚡

✞ What If: You and Matt develop a tradition of hiding the rock for each other to find when either of you has a bad day. (F!Reader)🌻🐧

✞ What If: Matt is marrying you and gets a penguin cake topper (F!Reader)🌻🐧

✞ How on earth did Matt get his new red and gold Daredevil suit through airport security? (F!Reader)🌻

✞ Matt is basically a big cat, which means you have to cup, smoosh, and kiss his face at least once. (GN!Reader)🌻⚡

✞ A peaceful start to Valentines for you and Matt (F!Reader)🌻🐧

✞ Art-inspired drabble of you topping Matt (art included) (F!Reader)🔥

✞ To contrast above: Devil!Matt topping and biting you (F!Reader)🔥⚡

✞ Matt Murdock and his sensitive thighs (F!Reader)🔥

✞ Melting Matt Murdock with some head scratches (F!Reader)🌻🐧⚡

✞ Matt Murdock hearing you sing under your breath in Josie’s (F!Reader)🌻⚡

✞ Ask response drabble: “What would Jane and Matt get each other for Christmas?” (F!Reader)🌻🐧

✞ Tuna-Tober 2024 prompt: flower crowns (F!Reader)🌻

✞ Headcanon drabble: Crying (GN!Reader)🌧️

✞ Headcanon drabble: Hands 

✞ Headcanon drabble: Romance (GN!Reader)🌻 

✞ Headcanon drabble: Affection (GN!Reader)🌻

✞ Headcanon drabble: Scars (F!Reader)🌻

✞ Headcanon drabble: Sex  (F!Reader)🔥

✞ “Do you think Matt’s skin is more or less sensitive when he’s drunk?” (GN!Reader)🌻🔥⚡

Flufftober '21 Ficlets and Drabbles

✞ Flufftober '21 drabble: Winning A Teddy For The Other (F!reader)🌻

✞ Flufftober '21 drabble: Lazy Sunday (GN!reader)🌻⚡

✞ Flufftober '21 drabble: Pillow Fight (GN!reader)🌻

✞ Flufftober '21 drabble: Love Notes (GN!reader)🌻

✞ Flufftober '21 drabble: Sleepy Kiss (GN!reader)🌻⚡

✞ Flufftober '21 drabble: Silly Traditions (F!reader)🌻

✞ Flufftober '21 drabble: Costumes (F!reader)🌻

✞ Flufftober '21 drabble: Flirting At Work (F!reader)🌻⚡

✞ Flufftober '21 drabble: Caught In The Rain (F!reader)🌻

✞ Flufftober '21 drabble: Cuddling and Snuggling (F!reader)🌻

✞ Flufftober '21 drabble: Up Against The Wall Kiss (F!reader)🌻⚡

✞ Flufftober '21 drabble: Fall Asleep In My Lap (GN!reader)🌻⚡

✞ Flufftober '21 drabble: Holiday Traditions (F!reader)🌻🐧

For other characters and prompts, see my Flufftober '21 list!

Kinktober '21 Ficlets and Drabbles

✞ Kinktober '21 drabble: Telepathic Sex (F!reader)🔥🐧

✞ Kinktober '21 drabble: Sensory Deprivation (F!reader)🔥

✞ Kinktober '21 drabble: Temperature Play (F!reader)🔥

✞ Kinktober '21 drabble: Praise Kink (F!reader)🔥

✞ Kinktober '21 drabble: Biting (F!reader)🔥

✞ Kinktober '21 drabble: Bondage (F!reader)🔥

✞ Kinktober '21 drabble: In Public/Stealth (F!reader)🔥

✞ Kinktober '21 drabble: Edging (F!reader)🔥

✞ Kinktober '21 drabble: Masturbation (F!reader)🔥⚡

✞ Kinktober '21 drabble: Gags (F!reader)🔥

For other characters and prompts, see my Kinktober 2021 list!

Headcanons

✞ Headcanon: Four random headcanons for Matt Murdock and You🌻

✞ Headcanon: Matt is a great cook, he’s just a little unconventional about it.🌻⚡

✞ Headcanon: Does Matt Murdock like getting pegged? 🔥

✞ Headcanon: How Matt hugs you🌻

✞ Ask: “Thoughts on Dominant Reader with Matt?” AKA: Why Matt Murdock is a switch. 🔥

✞ Ask: “What kinks do you think Matt has?” AKA: answer followed by a fic-list of ten of Matt Murdock’s kinks with you. 🔥  

✞ Ask: “What are some other pet names Matt might use for F!Reader?”🌻

Find more Matt Murdock on my Flufftober 2021 and Kinktober 2021/2022 lists!

[heeliopheelia]

MERRY CHRISTMAS – christmas clichés with enhypen

𝘪 𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘮𝘺 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘮𝘺 𝘨𝘰𝘥, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘤𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘮𝘢𝘴

event masterlist

LEE HEESEUNG

As you’ve stubbornly decided on having a real christmas tree this time, the both of you have found yourself on this huge christmas tree farm only three hours away from your home. 

Heeseung was kind enough to agree to your ridiculous idea and drove you here with little to no objections after you bargained with an evening full of cuddles and kisses.

“No, I want a taller one!” You fuss as you cross your arms over your chest. 

“Hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but it won't fit into our living room,” Heeseung sends you a mocking smile, rolling his eyes at you half heartedly. “Go get the wider one and let's go. I think I'll need to get my toes amputated if we stay here five minutes longer.”

“Well, sucks to be you but you still have to drive us back,” you say pointedly as you walk past him and further into another alley full of pines. “And I'm not getting the wider tree you’re so stupidly obsessed with – we're not leaving until I find the right one.”

Heeseung scoffs with amusement at your stubbornness but follows after you immediately. Not even two minutes later, the two of you are bickering over your purchase again. 

“It's thin and ugly, Heeseung, how can you even suggest buying that crap? You’ve got no taste,” You look at the tree with distaste, then side eye your boyfriend. 

“It's not ugly,” he protests, flicking your nose. “And my taste is very refined compared to yours, thank you.”

“You know what, you’re right. You’re dating me after all,” you say, scrunching your nose up. 

The two of you turn another corner and stop frozen in your tracks, gaping with held breaths at the most perfect christmas tree you’ve ever laid your eyes upon.

“Are you seeing this?” Heeseung breathes out as a grin displays on his face.

“We’re getting this one!” The both of you shout simultaneously, excitement filling your voices.

You jog over to the tree giddily, dragging Heeseung along with you. When you stop in front of it, you turn around and raise on your toes to press a kiss to his cold lips.

“C’mon!” Then you giggle playfully. “I'm a good girlfriend so maybe I’ll even let you pay…” 

“Aren’t I just so lucky?” He teases and presses a kiss to your cheek to hide the smile that’s blossomed on his lips after hearing your giggle.

PARK JAY

With a silent nudge to your side, Jay lifts the spoon with soup to your lips. You instantly open your mouth and let him feed you. 

Your eyebrows rise as you smile at him while nodding your head. “That’s really good!” 

You and Jay are cooking dinner as his parents are supposed to come today. You can't say that you're not nervous – you've only met them three times before, so this pressure keeps resting on your chest ever since the morning.

You are a chaotic mess at this point, so if not for Jay's composure to balance it out, you'd probably end up burning the house down twice today. 

And so it's no surprise when the knife you're cutting the vegetables with slips a little and cuts into the skin on your finger. You jerk your hand away quickly, a pained hiss leaving your mouth. 

Jay walks up to you with furrowed eyebrows, wordlessly taking your slightly trembling hand in his and lifting it up to look at the cut. 

“It's nothing, I just wasn't paying enough attention,” you say as you try to pull your hand away but he only gently leads you to the sink and pours cold water on your wound. 

“You need to be more careful,” he says quietly, stroking your palm with his thumb under the cool stream. 

“I know, I just… I don't know what's wrong with me today,” you mumble out, averting your eyes from him. 

But Jay knows you better than anyone else, so he only lets out a small hum before wiping your hand dry with a paper towel, then carefully patches your finger up with a band aid. 

“Stop worrying so much, sweetheart,” he finally says, voice soothing as he lifts your hand up and presses a gentle kiss against it. “Everything's gonna be fine.”

And you let him pull you into his arms, wrapping your own around his waist. 

“I know, I can't really help it,” you mumble into his shirt. “I just don't want to let anybody down today.”

“You won't,” he assures you firmly before leaning down and kissing your forehead. “Especially not me. I love you. There's not much you could do to disappoint me, trust me.”

You begin to smile again, feeling the tension slightly leaving your system. “I love you too. Thank you.”

“It's nothing. Now let's go finish this dinner, hm?”

SIM JAKE

“Oh god, babe, look at that.” Jake stumbles backwards with laughter as he takes the hanger off the rack and shows you probably the most hideous Christmas sweater existing. 

“Where the hell did you find it?” You giggle, scrunching your nose as you look at the obnoxious Santa’s favorite ho sewn with red thread right in the center of the sweater. “It’s so ugly!”

Once his cackles cease slightly, he walks over to you and shows you the item from up close.

“Please, please, please,” he begs with wide eyes, pressing a peck after peck to your lips. “You have to try this on for me.” 

And how were you supposed to refuse his sparkling eyes? Now you’re cursing yourself for being so whipped for your boyfriend as you stare at your reflection, torso wrapped up in the green itchy clothing. 

It takes all of your might not to run and hide as Jake slides the curtain of the dressing room to the side before quickly slipping inside the tight space too. He looks you up and down before a low whistle leaves his mouth.

“Damn, would you look at that?” He says with a toothy smile, spinning you around as you roll your eyes. “See? I knew you could make it work. You’re just different type of fine.” 

You scoff at his words and raise your eyebrow. He steps even closer to you, refusing to let you go no matter how hard you try. Of course he would get all excited now out of all times. Now that you don’t have more than half an hour before the mall closes and you still have two more presents to buy for your families. 

“Is it bad that I kinda wanna buy it for you now?” He grins, placing his hands on both of your hips before pulling you close to his chest and kissing your jawline a little too sultrily for this stuffy dressing room.

You push on his chest with a giggle, trying to get away from him. “You need to be stopped.”

“Well, I know for a fact you’re my favorite ho-”

“Jake!” 

PARK SUNGHOON

Loud laughter booms from behind you as you tumble to the icy ground again, your skates absolutely refusing to cooperate with you today. Within couple seconds, you feel a pair of strong hands wrapping under your arms from behind and you’re being pulled up again. As you try to balance yourself again, you find yourself slipping again and crashing backwards into your boyfriend’s chest.

“If I knew you were such a clutz, I wouldn’t even have tried to bring you here,” Sunghoon teases, sneaking his arms around your waist and keeping you close. 

Your eyes roam around the crowd, praying that this fall wasn’t as spectacular as your previous one and didn’t capture the attention of half of the ice rink. You sigh in relief when you notice no one is looking this time before tapping Sunghoon’s palm.

“Turn me around, please,” you ask him and he obliges with a chuckle, spinning you around until you’re facing his grin. 

“Already giving up?” He raises his eyebrow, squeezing your waist gently. 

You sigh. “I don’t know.” Leaning forward, you rest your head on his sweater cladded chest. “You never told me it was this hard.”

Sunghoon pats your back as he coos at you but you can still hear the way he’s biting his smile back. 

“Stop laughing at me!” 

You smack his arm, pulling away only to be greeted by a soft kiss placed on your nose. 

“C’mon, I’ll help you,” he says, reaching his gloved hand for you to take. When you look at him suspiciously, he rolls his eyes and grabs your hand himself. “I’m being for real this time.”

And since you’re unable to say no to him, you end up nodding your head and let him skate over to your side to wrap his arm around your waist firmly, guiding you slowly. 

And this time, he’s made it his personal mission to never let you fall again, doing everything in his might to not let you grow discouraged towards the sport he loves nearly as much as you.

KIM SUNOO

"You’ve put way too much butter in there," Sunoo points out, watching with a raised eyebrow as you form another greasy cookie and place it on the edge of the tray.

"I don’t remember asking for your opinion," you smile at him with an attitude, yet knowing well he's right as you glance at the glistening mixture of flour and butter with the corner of your eye.

"Oh my god, they look so greasy! They’re gonna merge into one big cookie in the oven," he laughs and points at the runny balls of dough already blending into each other. "Stop being so stubborn and listen to me for once. Well, actually if you did listen to me in the first place, you wouldn’t be having this problem at all."

You roll your eyes and bump your hip against his as you scrunch your nose at the butter covering your hands. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. Can you please put them in the oven? My hands are too slippery."

Sunoo groans but still puts on the oven mittens and fulfills your wish. A sigh wells up in his chest, knowing well that no matter how disgusting or inedible those cookies are gonna turn out to be, he’ll still be the one eating them all because after all it’s you who made them.

And he tries his best not to fall to the ground dramatically when the next words he hears from you are the ever so cheerful, “Okay, so chocolate chip next!”

Love will truly be the death of him. 

YANG JUNGWON

Jungwon casts you a concerned look when another cough leaves your already roughed up throat. It’s only your type of luck to get sick at Christmas – you shouldn’t even be surprised at this point. 

“Drink your tea, angel,” he prompts you gently, pointing his head at the steaming cup of tea laying on the coffee table.

You lean the back of your head onto his shoulder, snuggling backwards into his chest as he cuddles you closely on the worn out couch in your living room. That’s already the third christmas movie you’re watching aimlessly, wrapped up in blankets and Jungwon’s arms ever since the afternoon.

He presses a kiss to your hair, gingerly nudging you back forward to grab your tea. You oblige with a quiet whine, the effort of leaning forward becoming really burdening with your weakened body. Going back to your previous position, you sigh and take a sip of the tea that Jungwon’s prepared for you with so much love.

“Why do I always have to catch some shit before things I look forward to for months?” You huff, mind going back to when you were dying of fever on your last birthday or the time you lost your voice on your first anniversary with Jungwon. So, like you’ve said before, it was a given at this point. 

His smooth hands slip underneath the christmas sweater you’ve stubbornly refused to take off, and caress your warm skin softly, soothing you. He leans forward and kisses the tip of your ear – movements careful not to cause you to spill your drink. 

“Don’t get upset,” he says, pinching your sides. “It could always be worse.”

“Yeah? Like what?” You turn to him with a pout on your heated up face and he giggles. 

“At least I’m here with you, right?” His precious smile makes you feel warmer. “I mean, you could get stuck with Riki. How fun would that be.”

His words make you smile as well and you lean your cheek into his palm as he checks your temperature. 

Riki, as lovely of a friend he was, was not the one to know how to handle sickness. You instantly remind yourself of the time his throat was sore, so he concluded that slurping down a hot package of instant noodles on one go would warm up him up enough to heal his sickness. It's safe to say he couldn't swallow anything for the next two days without spasming from pain.

“Yeah, you’re right, I guess. That would be the worst.” 

NISHIMURA RIKI

"YN, stop, you're gonna hurt yourself!"

You roll your eyes as you balance yourself at the highest step of the small ladder. "I'm gonna be fine, don't worry!" 

"You should’ve let me do that," he scoffs and you poke your tongue out at him, reaching your hands up to hook the golden star at the top of your Christmas tree. "I'm not catching you if your clumsy ass slips and falls down! You’re gonna break my arms."

It's your time to scoff at your boyfriend as you know that he would never let any harm happen to you. "Oh, for sure you won’t,” you nod your head at him mockingly with a giggle.

As if to prove your point, you yelp loudly as you pretend to actually lose your footing and lean backwards. Just as you expected, Riki shoots up quickly to help you keep your balance. He places his big hands on the small of your back and gently pushes you forward.

"Have you actually lost your mind?" He asks as you burst out in a fit of giggles. You wiggle your eyebrows at him knowingly, clearly satisfied with your prediction. "Don't scare me like that again."

You pat his cheek lovingly before leaning down and kissing the same spot. "See, I'm always right."

Riki scoffs for the nth time this evening and turns around to go to the box and pass you some more ornaments. Just as he takes a step forward, you turn around to look at him and in result end up actually slipping and shrieking as you leap forward. Riki, without missing a beat, swiftly moves closer to you and catches you in his arms as you fall down. You breathe out in relief as you feel your heart jumping up to your throat.

You look up sheepishly as you’re met with the scolding look on his face, eyebrow raised up as he waits for you to speak up. Instead, you bury your face in the crook of his neck and throw your arms around his neck.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. What would I be without you?"

Riki rolls his eyes at your suddenly humbled state, then adjusts you in his arms and flicks your forehead. "Most likely resting in a cemetery by now."

"Hey!"

author's note: to make it up for my absence, i've written the final fic for this event and i'm gonna do the rest next year (hopefully)!! thanks for being patient with me, lovely and merry christmas!! ❤️

taglist: @beomgyusonlywife @bucketofhiros @jesterstrange @seongclb @wannatinyus @guroyeu @jngwnlvs @milisabunny @ariadores

permanent taglist: @bambisgirl @arizejkt19 @luvmura @milisabunny @cathy-1997 @satoruskitchenrag @ramenoil @jenjnk @jaylaxies @yoongspi @nichoswag @s00buwu @dazzlingligth @seungiesluv @i4kt @heehoonsnemo @seongslutt

[paladin--strait]

12, 16 and 17 in the Christmas prompts with Jack Hughes, please [ maybe frenemies to lovers ooor brothers best friend?]

snowstorm - jack hughes

-

it was supposed to be a lowkey christmas weekend at luke’s family cabin in the mountains. just me, luke, his brothers jack and quinn, and no parents. honestly, i wasn’t all that excited. luke was my best friend, and quinn was cool, but jack? he was always the annoying middle brother. cocky, a bit of a know-it-all, and always ready to push my buttons. we didn’t exactly get along, and i wasn’t thrilled about being stuck in a cabin with him for a whole weekend.

“you sure about this?” luke had asked when i was packing. “jack can be a pain, but it’ll be fun. i swear, he’ll behave.”

“jack? behave?” i raised an eyebrow. “we’ll see.”

the first night wasn’t horrible, but it wasn’t great either. we played cards, ate too much junk food, and made small talk. but jack kept making comments and teasing me for no reason, and i just couldn’t let it slide. quinn kept things light, trying to defuse the tension, but i could feel the electricity between me and jack. it was like there was this invisible line between us, and we both spent the whole night trying to see who could cross it first.

by the time we went to bed, the storm had really picked up. snow was coming down hard, and the wind sounded like it was going to blow the cabin away. i pulled the blanket over my head, trying to ignore the fact that i was stuck here for who knows how long and also trying to drown out the sound of jacks snoring.

the next morning, i woke up to the sound of the wind still howling outside along with the sound of jack and his own howling. i threw on a sweatshirt and grabbed a blanket, deciding to hang out by the fire. anything to avoid being trapped in a room with jack for too long. i didn’t want to deal with him today.

but of course, he had other plans.

“you’re up already?” jack’s voice cut through the quiet as he walked into the room. he was in a hoodie and sweatpants, looking way too comfortable for someone who’d just rolled out of bed.

“couldn’t sleep,” i muttered, not looking at him.

he flopped down next to me on the couch without asking. “yeah, well, we’re snowed in, so you’re stuck with us now.”

“lucky me,” i said dryly, pulling the blanket tighter around my shoulders.

“oh, come on,” he said, sounding amused. “don’t be like that. it’s christmas.”

i just shrugged. “yeah, it’s great.”

he looked over at me, smirking. “so, what’s your deal? you and me have known each other for years, but we still can’t talk without bickering. what’s up with that?”

i froze for a second. i wasn’t expecting him to actually ask. “we just don’t get along. that’s how it is.”

jack gave me a side-eye. “so you’re just gonna act like we’re not basically the same person? both of us are stubborn as hell.”

i narrowed my eyes at him. “i’m nothing like you.”

“oh really?” he shot back, his grin widening. “you sure about that?”

“yeah,” i said, crossing my arms, “i don’t go around making everyone else’s life harder for fun.”

jack raised an eyebrow. “you sure? because you’re doing a pretty good job of making my life harder.”

i didn’t have a good comeback to that, so i just looked away, staring out at the snow piling up outside. there was this weird quiet between us, a kind of unspoken thing that hung in the air. jack wasn’t pushing me anymore, but the tension was still there. it was always there.

after a while, quinn came in, presumably woken up by the sound of us arguing. he grins as he looked between us. “hey, don’t you two get enough of this when you’re home?”

“he started it,” i muttered, but quinn was already shaking his head.

“sure, sure,” quinn said, laughing. “you two should at least try to have one nice moment while we’re stuck here.”

jack leaned back against the couch, stretching out like he owned the place. “fine. i’ll be nice.” he gave me an exaggerated grin. “but don’t expect me to go easy on you.”

i rolled my eyes but didn’t argue. we sat there, the fire crackling, the storm still raging outside. it was awkward, but the silence felt… different now. it wasn’t tense in the same way. i found myself glancing at jack more than once, but every time i did, he was looking at the fire, almost like he was waiting for me to speak.

the storm finally slowed down later in the afternoon, and the snow seemed to settle, leaving everything outside completely still. jack stood up, stretching his arms.

“snow angels,” he said, a mischievous look in his eyes.

“what?” i ask, looking at him confused.

“snow angels,” jack repeated. “you know, the thing you do when there’s a ton of snow and you’ve got nothing else to do.”

“really?” i said, raising an eyebrow as i stand up. “that’s what you’ve got?”

“yep,” he said, grinning. “come on, it’ll be fun. or are you too cool for it?” he pushes my shoulder softly, not in a mean way, but a playful way.

i roll my eyes, stumbling a little. “i’m not too cool for it. i just think it’s kind of dumb.”

“you’re scared,” he teases, a challenge in his voice.

“I’m not scared,” i shot back, walking up to him with my arms crossed. “but i am going to make the best angel out there.”

jack smirked. “we’ll see about that.”

we went outside after putting on our jackets, the cold still biting at our skin. but the world around us was gorgeous. everything was covered in snow, untouched and perfect. i could feel the quiet all around us, almost like the world had paused for a moment.

jack dropped to the ground first, sprawling out dramatically to make his snow angel. i couldn’t help but laugh at how over-the-top he was being. he looked at me, eyes shining with amusement. “you sure you can beat this?”

i dropped to the ground beside him, spreading my arms and legs out to make my own snow angel. the snow was soft, and it felt oddly peaceful lying there. i could hear jack laughing beside me, but for once, it wasn’t that annoying, teasing laugh. it was genuine.

when we finally sat up, both of us covered in snow, jack gave me a surprised look. “huh. you actually made a good one.”

“thanks,” i said, brushing snow off my arms. “yours is okay too, i guess.”

we walked back to the cabin together, still a little cold, but something had changed. the tension between us had cracked a little. maybe it was the snow, or maybe it was just finally getting out of that stupid cycle of arguing. either way, i didn’t mind it as much.

as we walk closer to the cabin, jack nudged me with his shoulder as we stepped inside. “so, next time, snowball fight?” he smiles, this time it's genuine and makes my heart do a little flip.

i laugh, shaking my head. “we’ll see about that.”

and for the first time in a long time, i meant it. something had shifted between us, and i wasn’t exactly sure what it was yet. but i knew one thing, maybe, just maybe, jack wasn’t as annoying as i thought he was.

[togrowoldinv]

Hot Chocolate

Natasha Romanoff x Female Reader

The family plus Yelena spends time decorating for the holidays

Note: Very soft stuff here y’all. Enjoy it!

Natasha Masterlist 1, Natasha Masterlist 2, Natasha Masterlist 3, Main Masterlist

Soft music fills the room as Natasha watches the scene before her.

You’re at the coffee table putting toppings on everyone’s hot chocolate. Belle is right by your side, telling you how many marshmallows she wants.

Ali and Ivan are standing by the tree, arguing about what tree topper will look best. Taylor and Jack sit by the fireplace in their cozy winter clothes.

Yelena and Fanny are on the couch chilling. She only offers her input to poke fun at Natasha or if one of the kids sweettalk her into helping with the tree. Belle’s sweet words and eyes usually do the trick.

Later on, the team will be over for a late Thanksgiving and early holiday celebration.

Natasha has no idea how she ended up this lucky. She catches your eye, and you share a soft smile with her.

“Belle, can you ask Mama how many marshmallows she wants?” You ask the little girl.

She stands from beside you and waltzes over to Natasha, undoubtedly her favorite mom. Belle reaches her arms up and Nat lifts her up to settle on her hips.

“Hi printsessa,” Natasha greets her.

“Hi Mama,” Belle replies. “How many mallows do you want?”

“Hm,” Natasha pretends to think hard. “What about 100?”

“100?!” Belle asks, her mouth dropping. She turns her head to you. “Mommy, do we have enough room for 100?”

“No, we do not,” you say, a chuckle following her reaction. “Ask Mama to give you a reasonable number please.”

“You’re no fun,” Natasha pouts.

“It’s okay, Mama. I’ll get you as many as I can,” Belle says before squirming out of Nat’s arms.

Natasha grins and walks around the couch. She places a soft hand on Ali and Ivan’s shoulders as she makes her way around the room. Taylor reaches for her, and she easily brings the girl into her arms. She drops a kiss to Jack’s head before she walks to sit next to Yelena.

“What no motherly hug or kiss for me?” Yelena jokes.

“Oh, my bad,” Natasha says. She grins mischievously.

Yelena gets up from the couch quickly and Natasha follows her, leaving Taylor on the couch. The two women chase each other with no regard for the furniture or the tree.

“Hey! Both of you stop right now,” you turn on your mom voice. All of the kids’ ears perk up. Natasha halts immediately. She looks at you to see a serious face. “No horseplay in the house.”

“Sorry, detka,” Natasha says. She nudges Yelena’s shoulder.

“Oh, yes. Sorry, y/n,” Yelena says.

“It’s okay,” you say. “It’s hot chocolate time.”

“Yay!” Taylor cheers from the couch. Yelena reaches over and lifts the girl up, throwing her in the air and catching her a few times until Taylor is giggling too much to continue.

Natasha makes her way to help you pass out the drinks. She then settles next to you on the recliner. You’re practically sitting in her lap, but she isn’t complaining.

“What does everyone want to make sure we do this year for the holidays?” Natasha asks.

The kids think while Yelena speaks up first.

“Can we have a big holiday party?” Yelena asks.

“We’re literally doing that in two hours,” Nat replies.

“What? I’m not dressed!” Yelena panics. She runs upstairs and you all laugh at her.

Natasha keeps the conversation going, “Al, what about you?”

“A Christmas movie marathon,” Ali says.

“Great answer,” you reply. “Ivan?”

“A cookie decorating contest,” he says.

“Everything is a contest for you,” Ali says, huffing with annoyance.

“That’s because I’m talented as hell,” Ivan says.

“Language!” Natasha scolds him.

You can’t help but laugh as she realizes she’s turning into Steve. Belle raises her hand like she’s in school. Nat calls on her.

“I want to read Christmas bedtime stories every night,” Belle says.

“Now that’s an idea,” you say.

“Yeah, we can do that baby,” Natasha agrees. Belle grins from ear to ear. “Jack attack, what about you?”

“Um, I don’t know. Maybe go see some lights,” Jack says.

“There’s some displays in town. We could definitely go,” you say. “And that leaves Miss Taylor.”

“Yeah, what do you want to do for Christmas, Taylor?” Jack asks. The little girl shrugs.

“What about making gingerbread houses?” Ali pitches.

“Okay,” Taylor says simply. “I’ll need help.”

“We’ll do it together as a team,” Natasha says.

You kiss her cheek and listen in as the kids talk to each other about anything and everything. You need to get up and cook for the party, but being here with your family is more fun.

Natasha feels the same way. She holds you close and thinks about her wonderful family. It will be a happy holiday season, and she can’t wait.

[harry-on-broadway]

On Holiday

Word Count: 1.5K || Series Masterlist || Rating: M

***

Christmas looked a little different this year. The smell of cinnamon and pine had been swapped for coconut and salt, and the chill of London was replaced by a warm sea breeze. Any other year, the season would have been crammed with visits to family and friends, tasty food, and Christmas carols, making for long, albeit fulfilling days.  

But after a year at home, Harry had suggested something different. 

“How’d you feel about a tropical Christmas, love,” he’d whispered against Quinn’s hair one night, so softly, she almost didn’t hear him.

The holidays had always been the only time he’d been allowed to slow down and see the people he loved most, soaking in as much as he could in the couple weeks he had. But with his self-imposed break, he’d had plenty of family time this year, he’d argued, which made him feel comfortable skipping out on some of the festivities.  

And that’s how Quinn found herself in the Caribbean on Christmas, making use of the swimsuits she’d purchased during an end of season sale. Harry had taken care of planning every detail, even the smallest most mundane ones. Quinn had obviously fought him on it, never wanting to cede too much control, but she had to admit it was nice to just sit back and enjoy while someone else did the work. 

She’d headed out the beach after breakfast and had quickly dozed off, the crash of the waves and the rustle of the trees lulling her into a peaceful sleep. As she slept, she dreamed that something was tickling her. She twisted trying to move away, but she couldn’t get comfortable and the sensation quickly returned. She sleepily swatted at her skin, only for the sensation to return with a vengeance. Finally, she opened her eyes and saw Harry standing over her, palm leaf in hand, hanging just above the exposed skin of her stomach. 

“Hi,” he said with a mischievous grin. 

“Seriously?”

“What?” he said, feigning innocence. “I missed you.”

“You’ve spent every minute of this trip with me, H,” she laughed. “How can you miss me?” Harry just shrugged. “You’re interrupting my beauty sleep,” Quinn added. 

“You’re always beautiful. Don’t need sleep or anything,” Harry said, motioning for Quinn to scoot over on the plush lounger. She moved to the side, giving Harry enough room to sit down beside her before cuddling in beside him, linking their legs together. 

“You’re just saying that because you want attention. Or sex,” Quinn muttered against his bare chest. He smelled like sunscreen and salt and it was quickly becoming her favorite scent. 

“I mean, I won’t say no to either of those things,” Harry said with a chuckle. “But who’s to say I want anything? Maybe I just want to pay my wife a compliment.” 

His wife. It had been almost two weeks and Quinn didn’t think she’d ever get tired of hearing those words from her husband. “Well, I’m lucky to have such a wonderful husband,” she replied, craning her neck to place a gentle kiss along Harry’s jaw. She never thought she’d be one of those newlyweds, but she had clearly misjudged herself.

They’d started wedding planning soon after Harry proposed, and while they’d initially assumed they’d have a large wedding (perhaps in Italy?), the more they looked into the actual mechanics of pulling it off, the less enthusiastic they became. 

“I didn’t realize this would be so…involved,” Harry said over dinner one night after they’d spent the day researching venues. “It’s like planning the biggest party of our lives. But less fun. Am I allowed to say it’s not fun?” 

“I know,” Quinn said, slightly relieved she wasn’t the only one who felt overwhelmed. “It’s like we need to have an idea about the guest list to see what venue would work, but then we kind of need to know where we’re going to have it so that we know who would be able to come. And there are so many decisions. Why are linens such a big deal? And then there’s trying to keep everything private. It’s just…” she trailed off. 

“Yeah.”

“Yeah,” she said in agreement. 

The next morning, Harry had presented his new plan over coffee. “How would you feel about eloping?”

So that’s what they did. 

They enjoyed the spring and summer and fall soaking up time with family, exploring the city, and enjoying mundane everyday details that aren’t so mundane when you’re on the road for most of the year. They enjoyed being with each other and their families, all while keeping the biggest secret of their lives. And when work started to wind down for Quinn in early December, she cashed in all of her leave, ready for what came next. 

On a rainy Saturday, they texted a couple of their friends and had them meet them at a venue that would not be making The Knot’s list of ideal wedding locations: a nondescript government building. Quinn wore a white jumpsuit she’d purchased earlier in the week, and Harry wore the simplest suit in his closet. An hour later, the papers were signed, and they were officially a married couple. They celebrated their nuptials with pizza and early bedtime, before catching a flight the next morning.  

“So,” Harry said, moving to take Quinn’s hand in his own, bringing her back to the present. “When are we going to tell them?” He stroked the diamond band that now rested on her finger alongside the engagement ring he’d given her just a little over a year ago. She reached for his own wedding band in return, twirling it around his finger, smiling when she caught a glimpse of the small tan line that already formed. 

“Would make for a great New Year’s surprise.”

“It would,” Harry said, smiling softly. “Mum’s going to lose it.” 

“I just hope she’s not mad,” Quinn said. It was the fear that had been nagging at her since they’d made their decision. That by keeping this moment for themselves, they were somehow depriving their family and friends from sharing the memory with them, even though they’d agreed to have a celebration when they’d returned. 

“None of that now,” Harry scolded. “She’s going to be thrilled that we finally made it official. Got my act together and made an honest woman of you.” Quinn shot him a look and he laughed. “You know what I mean. I think everyone’s just going to be so happy. That we did what worked for us. And if they aren’t, well they’re off the guest list for the celebratory dinner.”  

“I’m really glad we did this, Harry,” Quinn said after a moment. “I think it’s everything I wanted.” 

“Signing papers in a water-stained room while a government employee watched?”

“It would have been nice if there was some mold to complete the vision but I’ll take what I can get.” Harry laughed and Quinn waited until he calmed down before continuing. “No, I always wanted it to be you and me. I didn’t need a crowd of people or a dress or a fancy destination, I just needed you there with me. And you were. It was perfect.” 

Harry was silent but Quinn could feel him take a shuddering breath. She knew what those words meant to him. That she wanted him. Not the glitz and the glamour and the money and the attention and all of the other things that came along with being Harry Styles. She just wanted him. Harry. The guy who always ended up on her side of the bed because his side was too far away. The guy that had coffee waiting for her every morning. The guy who would never admit it publicly but loved nothing more than reading the bios of the cats up for adoption at the local cat cafe, always saying he was just looking for one his mother would like. And now he was hers, forever and ever. Even when she had to share him with millions of others. 

“You want another one of those rum things?” Harry asked, sniffling.

“Sure. Are you getting one?”

“Might as well. It’s our honeymoon after all. We only get one of those.” He waggled his eyebrows. ‘It’s our honeymoon’ had become his favorite way to justify anything and everything on the trip. He stood up and Quinn moved to follow him. “No, no,” he chided. “Stay here. I didn’t mean for you to get up.”

“I want to go,” Quinn said, reaching for his hand and leaning into his touch as he pulled her up. “I always want to be with you.” 

“And now you’re stuck with me.” 

“Forever.” 

Harry smiled widely, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Come on.” He gently tugged Quinn along. “I need to get my wife a drink.” 

***

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[luvely-stories]

Expecting

꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬ ꒷꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬ ꒷꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬꒷꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬ ꒷꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬ ꒷꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬ ꒷꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬ ꒷꒦

Nanami huffs annoyed as he shuffles through his closet, looking for a particular tie that he feels like is hiding from him. He grumbles before finding it and existing the closet.

“You finally found it?”

You ask, facing the full body mirror as you try to fix your necklace.

“Mhm, took more time then I’d like to admit though.”

You both chuckle as he walks over to the mirror beside you, grabbing his suit jacket and putting it on. He was off to a “party” at his office building for Christmas. If you asked him they should’ve just wished them well and left them alone, but alas.

At least you were going to come with him though. You always had a way of making things a little lighter. He smiled as he glanced at you in your beautiful deep red dress that matched his tie, you’d be so excited to have a reason to wear it.

Just as Nanami was about to leave to put his shoes on, he heard you let out a soft sigh as you continued to stare at yourself.

“What’s wrong dear?”

Nanami asks, putting a soft hand on your shoulder. You look down at your stomach, your hands gently resting on it as you turn in front of the mirror.

“I look pregnant.”

You sigh as you look at yourself deeply in the mirror. Nanamis eyes widen softly as he holds you close.

“Now what makes you think that?

You shrug as you look down. Nanami frowns before kissing your head gently.

“Even if you were pregnant youd look radiant, I know that for a fact.”

He smiles against you skin as you let out a giggle. Grabbing your purse, you shuffle through it like you’re looking for something.

“Maybe this would explain it.”

Nanami’s brows furrow as he gives you space before being handed something.

A test.

A pregnancy test.

A pregnancy test that said it was positive.

Nanami’s eyes shoot between you and the test, eyes wide as he brings it closer to his face to examine. When he takes another look at you face, he sees your bright smile and glimmering eyes and it finally registered in his head.

“I’m going to be a dad.”

He mutters out before a giant smile breaks onto his face and he placed a hand on your face.

“I’m going to be a dad!”

“You are!”

You laugh as you wrap your arms tightly around his neck. He clings onto by your waist as he buries his face in the crook of you neck, smiling so much his cheeks hurt. He couldn’t believe it. He was going to start a family with the woman he adored more than anything in the world.

Nanami lifts his head up only to cover your face in soft kisses as you giggled.

“I’m so lucky to start a family with you.”

He beams as he looks at you like you hung the stars.

“I’m the lucky one here Ken.”

As you two stare at each other with enough warmth to start a forest fire, your eyes latch onto the clock and gasp.

“Shit! Kento we’re going to be late.”

You say as you try to move, only for Nanami to grab you and keep you safe in his arms.

“It’s fine, it’s not like we have to go anyways.”

“But-”

“Besides,”

He starts as he rests his hand gently on your stomach and starts rubbing it as he stares into your eyes.

“I’d rather spend tonight with my lovely wife and child.”

[morgana-larkin]

Alright! Here it is, part smut, I meant two, part two, lol. It took longer than expected as I hit a creative block and was working a lot, as I did 26 hours on set in 2 days. Anyway, I would like to thank @esposadejoyhuerta for helping me by giving me angst free, I repeat, angst free, ideas and helped through my block. Not edited in the slightest and I hope you like it!

On another note: I’m getting through Worth It as I got an idea on how to continue it as I have 3000 words for it right now. So expect it hopefully tomorrow.

Part 1

Calling 911 - Part 2

Warnings: Smut, lots of fluff

Words: 2k

*one week later*

Melissa: do I need to bring anything?

You: just yourself

You…with clothes that are easily removed ;)

Melissa: how subtle

You: I never said I was subtle

Melissa: fair

“Texting y/n again?” Barb says and Melissa looks up at her from her phone.

“Maybe.” Is all Melissa says and Barb rolls her eyes.

“You guys have been messaging each other all week. When are you going out on a date?” Barb asks her and Melissa freezes.

“Well we’re going out tomorrow night.” Melissa says and Barb joins her on the couch.

Melissa’s family never celebrates Christmas on Christmas Day. Everyone always has different parties and events to go too. So instead, they always celebrate it on the 27th and Barb and Gerald joined in this time.

“Oh how fun. Where are you going on a date?” Barb asks her and Melissa blushes.

“I um, I don’t know. She won’t tell me, wants it to be a surprise.” Melissa says, not wanting to get into specifics with Barb about the date.

The next day Melissa is getting ready for the date, she decides to go for a green shirt, leggings and her black heeled boots. She curls her hair and does her makeup and then makes her way to the fire station.

When she gets there, she notices that there’s only one fire truck there and she goes and puts her hand on it, smiles and stares.

“You really do like fire trucks.” You tell her and she turns and looks at you, and her breath catches in her throat. There you are in full firefighter gear, complete with the helmet and you look stunning.

“Wow.” She says and you smile.

“Thought you might like the outfit.” You tell her and walk towards her. “I kicked everyone out for the night, they’re hanging out somewhere with 2 fire trucks.” You tell her and she tilts her head.

“You’re able to do that?”

“Well, being the chief has some advantages.” You say and she widens her eyes.

“Why are you a stripper if you’re a chief?” She asks and you smile.

“I started out as one to pay the bills while starting out as a firefighter. I do like it, I mean, I don’t have to take off all my clothes, just most of them.” You tell her and she strokes your hair. “So, want that tour now?” You ask her and she nods enthusiastically.

You give her a tour of the station and just as you expected, she’s beaming like a child at a candy store the whole time.

When you’re on the second floor, you see the fire pole and you look at Melissa. “Do you want to slide down the pole?” You ask her and she grins and nods.

“Of course I do, what kind of question is that?” She says and practically bounces over to the pole.

“Wait, you might need this, to have the real experience.” You tell her and take off your helmet. You see her smile get wider while you place the helmet on her.

She goes and slides down the pole and she looks back up at you with a big smile when she lands. “You coming down too hon?” She asks you and you nod.

“Yep!” You tell her and slide down the pole. Melissa watches you slide down and she can’t help but feel how lucky she is. She’s attracted to you, and not just because you’re a firefighter.

Once you slide down, you then get an idea. You pull your phone out, and you set it down on a table nearby and hit play on a song. The song fills the room and you start dancing with the pole and you watch as Melissa just stares at you like she did during the private dance.

You had your back on the pole, with your right hand holding it from behind and slid down the pole while looking at her. You see something in her eyes change and she starts walking towards you and puts her hands on your waist.

“Can I help you?” You ask her with a smile.

“You are wearing far too many clothes for my liking.” She tells you and reaches for the zipper of your jacket. She looks at you and you nod. She then slowly unzips and realises you’re not wearing a shirt underneath and smirks. “I see you dressed for the occasion, or should I say, not dressed.” She tells you as she takes the jacket off of you.

She sees you standing there with the pants, suspenders and a fire red bra on and she smiles. “See something you like?” You ask her and she nods. You then lean forward and kiss her for the first time, and definitely not the last time.

You both pull apart and look at each other and then go back to kissing each other. You put your hands on the back of her head and she moves hers to your back. You pull her closer to you and she ends up gasping into the kiss and you slip your tongue in her mouth.

Melissa moves her hands and slips your suspenders off your shoulders and then unzips your pants and they fall to the ground. You step out of them and Melissa pulls apart to look at your body and she smiles. She sees you standing there in matching fire red lingerie.

“The boots really bring the outfit together.” She teases you and you roll your eyes and smile. You then flip each other so she’s against the pole and you take your boots off.

You then push her up against the pole, put your hand on the pole above her head and lean in close to her face. “Now, what am I gonna do with you?” You ask her in a lower voice and she unconsciously rubs her legs together and you smile.

You go to the hem of her shirt and you look at her and she nods. You pull the shirt off of her and see her in a black lace bra and she looks spectacular.

“Wow.” You say breathy. “How did I get so lucky?” You tell her and she puts a hand on your cheek and you look at her eyes.

“I was thinking the same thing.” She tells you and you lean into her touch. You then take her leggings and heeled boots off and you see she wore matching underwear.

“Want to do it in the back of the fire truck?” You ask her and she nods immediately. You take your clothes to offer padding for the floor of the truck and you walk up to it and open it up for her.

She gets in first and you climb in after her and put the clothes down. You kiss her against the wall of the fire truck and hoist her up and she wraps her legs and arms around you. You kiss each other full of passion and desire and the need for each other right then and there. She unclips your bra and throws it somewhere and you do the same to her. She pulls back and looks at you, full of lust filled eyes and swollen lips.

“Hmm, I’m calling 911 about a fire inside of me that needs to be taken care of.” She tells you and you laugh at her joke and then nod.

“Yes miss.” You tell her. You set her gently on the clothes and climb on top of her and kiss her chest. You put a nipple in your mouth and she gasps and grabs your hair at the back of your head. You swirl your tongue around her nipple and suck on it and you pull the most amazing noises out of her. You move to the other and pull more noises out of her that you absolutely love. You know you can spend hours just pleasing her chest but she’s really turned on right now and you know she wants you inside her right now. You take her underwear after getting confirmation from her and you look at her completely bare beneath you and she looks stunning. You smile and then go back to kissing her lips. You place your hand between her legs and rub her clit. She gasp and moans beneath you and you smile into the kiss. You then pull back and kiss and suck her neck. You slip two fingers in her entrance and you pull the most amazing moan from her.

You pump in and out of her while you continue to kiss and suck her neck. “Omg y/n! Yes! Please, don’t stop!” She yells out and you place your thumb on her clit and she bucks her hips. You place your body more on her to stop her from bucking her hips so much and then pump faster inside her. You have her coming in seconds after rubbing her clit and she comes with a gasp. You don’t stop and her second orgasm is fast approaching. “Y/n! Please, it’s too much!” She yells, very breathy.

“It’s ok, just let go, I got you, take your time.” You tell her and then she comes again. You pull out of her and kiss her lips while she comes down from her high.

When she stopped shaking, she moved her hands to your underwear and slipped them off. She then quickly slipped her fingers in you and you gasped into the kiss. She quickly pumped in and out of you and she moved her other hand to your clit and began to rub it. You were gasping and moaning into the kiss until you come with a moan. She pulls out of you and you both take a minute to catch your breath.

“Wow, that was amazing.” You say through heavy breathes.

“Ya, it was.” She says, agreeing with you.

“So, did I tame your fire?” You ask her and wiggle your eyebrows and she giggles.

“You did, but I might need you on speed dial in case it needs to be taken care of again.” She tells you and you smile.

“Well in exchange, I would like to take you out on a date.” You say to her and she nods her head.

“I like the sound of that, I would love to go out on a date with you.” She says and gives you a kiss. You get up off of her and you both get dressed.

“How does in an hour sound? That’s when my shift ends.” You tell her and she smiles.

“Sounds perfect.” She tells you as you both exit the fire truck.

In an hour, your co workers return along with the 2 fire trucks and they introduce themselves to Melissa. Melissa blushes a bit at all the attention she’s getting from all the firefighters and you wrap your arm around her waist to support her and she smiles at you.

On the date, she asks you something that makes you laugh. “Maybe we should make fire burning our song? Considering it was playing when we first met.”

“We didn’t officially meet until the private dance, but I do like that song.” You tell her and she smiles at you.

Later that night, you go to her place and you push her up against a wall as you both kiss each other. You pull back and you’re both breaking heavily. “Somebody better call 9-1-1, shawty fire burning on the dance floor, woah.” You sing and she giggles.

“Hm, I’m calling 911 right now, I have a fire down below.” She jokes with you. You lift her up and she wraps her arms and legs around you. You make the fire truck noises and she laughs. You spin around to go to the bedroom as she giggles. “Woah.” She says as she wasn’t expecting you to turn around. She then kisses you with a smile as you make it to the bedroom.

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[tklpilled]

atlantis

merry christmas, @stopiteatpopcorn ! i was your squealing santa this year! enjoy <3

—

“fight me,” says tartaglia, slamming a hand down on wriothesley’s desk, the other resting on his hip.

wriothesley cocks an eyebrow at him. “sorry?”

“fight me,” tartaglia repeats, staring straight into wriothesley’s eyes. “you’re strong, yeah? come on.”

“no,” wriothesley says simply, leaning back in his seat.

“wha—why not?!”

“you’re a prisoner here.” there’s something like a smile on wriothesley’s face. “i don’t fight prisoners.”

so, yeah, tartaglia is a prisoner. it’s really annoying; he knows he’s innocent, and he knows that damn iudex knows it too. but here he is, stuck underwater with nothing but endless tasks and shitty meals.

at least there’s the pankration ring.

he becomes something of a god to them, the group that hangs around down there. he wins every fight he’s in, no sweat. maybe some sweat, actually, because he’ll admit a few of his opponents are tough, but they’re still not enough to match a harbinger.

his whole fascination with the duke sparked the moment they met. he had just been brought to his room when he was visited by a tall, muscular man, heavily scarred but not much older than tartaglia himself. he looked strong.

“a fatui harbinger in my fortress?” wriothesley had said, wearing an irritatingly lazy smirk. “this must be my lucky day.”

tartaglia knew, at that very moment, he would not be able to rest until he kicked this guy’s ass.

the main issue is that getting the chance to fight him is harder than he’d thought. and, hey, he loves an opponent that’s hard to get! it makes the victory all the more satisfying! but wriothesley is really starting to piss him off. tartaglia thinks he wouldn’t be so annoyed if wriothesley didn’t fight him at all.

because he does fight, sort of. they spar in the pankration ring sometimes, but every time, it’s so obvious that he’s not putting in his full effort. it’s not satisfying tartaglia’s itch to fight at all!

he complains to the fortress’s nurse one time while she’s patching him up.

“your duke. why won’t he fight me?”

sigewinne’s small hands press an ice pack to his side. “why do you want to fight him so badly?”

tartaglia opens and closes his fist, staring at it. “does he not think i’m strong enough? he’s not that full of himself, is he?”

“please stop moving,” she tells him. “i know you don’t want me to, but it’s my job to tend to all the inmates.”

tartaglia doesn’t listen. “how do i fight him?”

sigewinne hands him a cup full of some…concoction. “he doesn’t fight inmates,” she says, confirming the man’s own words.

it hits tartaglia, then, that there’s an easy solution.

escape.

his golden opportunity comes just days later, when he spots a few new heads in the fortress while on his way to work. he recognises them as the knave’s (favourite) kids; he’s never met them personally, but from what he’s heard, the twins are pretty popular in fontaine. tartaglia doesn’t know who the smaller one is, but he’s sticking to the other two, so they must be close.

arlecchino isn’t particularly fond of him, but he doubts she’d just leave him here if he asked for help. she knows this nation better than he does, anyway. she’s the best chance he has at getting out of here.

but, of course, it’s too good to be true.

the eldest of the trio, lyney, scratches the back of his head sheepishly. “we don’t have any way of contacting father,” he says, as tartaglia’s shoulders slump in defeat. “we’re prisoners here too, you see.”

tartaglia is too disappointed to question why.

when the entire thing is over, when he’s slept enough to last the rest of his life and his wounds are mostly healed, he returns to fontaine. there are a few reasons; the traveler is still there, and he’d like to talk to them before they disappear into archons know where. he supposes they’re not called the traveler for nothing, but they don’t have to be so difficult to get in contact with.

the second reason is fatui duties, or more specifically, arlecchino. he has to discuss business with her—the gnosis, the prophecy, how to continue after everything. fontaine doesn’t have an archon anymore, and that might cause some problems for the tsaritsa. he eventually finds the knave by the water, looking as though she’d just lost someone important. he asks her about it. she doesn’t give him an answer.

the final reason is for his own self-indulgence. he still hasn’t battled with those champion duelists, and he’s practically bursting with excitement at the idea. natlan is the nation of war, but it seems like he has many more sparring opportunities in fontaine.

and, of course, fucking wriothesley.

he visits the duke’s office, slamming both hands on the desk similarly to how he’d done a couple weeks before.

“fight me,” tartaglia demands. his chances are infinitely better this time; he’s officially a free man, and he’d been single-handedly fighting off the primordial narwhal for the sake of their nation. the least anyone can do is give him a good battle.

wriothesley stares at him for a moment before he laughs, standing from his chair and walking around the desk. “you’re stubborn. alright, i suppose i can grant you this one thing, as thanks.”

tartaglia’s eyes widen, lighting up with excitement for all of two seconds before wriothesley’s hand meets his stomach.

he should be feeling pain. it should hurt, should make him stumble back in shock and agony.

it should not tickle like this.

tartaglia barks out a laugh, stepping backwards but being met with nowhere to go. wriothesley’s grip on him is strong, and while normally tartaglia wouldn’t have a problem breaking out, he’s not exactly in the best state to do so.

“h-hehey, wahahait!” he protests, voice almost a whine. “thihis—yohohou—!”

wriothesley grins, squeezing at his sides and stomach with experienced fingers, like he was born with the knowledge of how to tickle tartaglia to pieces. “you didn’t specify what kind of fight, comrade,” he teases. the bastard. “are you already giving up? disappointing. i expected more from you.”

tartaglia lets out embarrassing peals of laughter as wriothesley tickles up to his ribs. curse him for finding this loophole. curse him for everything, actually. and while he’s at it, curse that little melusine sigewinne, because she’s definitely the one who told wriothesley that he’s ticklish in the first place. she kept poking around his sides, okay, he couldn’t help it!

“y-yohou bastard!” tartaglia squeaks out (squeaks! he doesn’t squeak!). he tries to reach for wriothesley, but the man dodges him expertly while still not letting up on his assault.

wriothesley’s smug smile is evident in his tone. “hey, come on. it’s not every day i get this chance.”

as tartaglia’s laughter echoes in the chamber, he decides that if this doesn’t end soon, he’s going to be charged for homicide again.

[bcacstuff]

It’s the end of an era: Sophie Skelton has starred as Brianna in Starz’s Scottish historical fantasy drama, Outlander, for 10 years. How does she feel about it all coming to an end? Mixed emotions, from the five stages of grief to feeling positive about ending on a high. For us viewers at home, however, there’s still plenty of time to say goodbye: the season 7B finale will air on 17 January 2025, while season 8 is slated to air in the second half of 2025. We sat down with Sophie to hear all about it – plus what the actress will star in next.

Interview: Sophie Skelton

Hi Sophie, how’s life going at the moment?

Good, thank you. I’m still processing 10 years of the end of an era! Caitríona [Balfe] and I have been talking about it for a while, because you go through the five stages of grief a little bit when you finish something like this. It’s such a rare occurrence for TV to go that long, and there’s no manual of how to deal with the end, so I think it was quite a roller coaster of, well, the grief process. But we’re both feeling quite at peace now. I for one feel like I’m in a good place – just winding down for Christmas so I can hit the ground running in 2025!

It’s the end of an era! How did it feel when you kind of got the news that Outlander season eight would be the end?

I think originally season 7 was going to be the end, and I’m just speculating here, but maybe part of the reason they split it into two is because they knew that season 8 was going to come. Maybe they were trying to bridge a gap with the strikes… I don’t know! But I feel like Brianna is in a really good place. I feel like I’ve done everything I can do with that character. She has been through more than most people would go through in multiple lifetimes. 

I think it’s always good to tap out while you’re ahead and not to milk something, so hopefully we’re ending on a high. Season 7B is great, but season 8 is honestly the best season – so I think it’s good to leave it there.

Are you all wrapped on season 8, too, then?

Officially, yeah. We were holding on by an emotional thread for a while, because we were sort of finishing, and then there was a second unit going, and then we had press, and then we had reshoots. But we are officially done. I think we’ve all had three wrap days, but the last one was really sweet. Caitríona wrapped and then she came in for my final scene, and then she hugged me, and that made me break down crying. Then she and I went to the next stage over for Sam [Heughan]’s final scene, which was the last one. Then we had a little hug, the three of us, so it was a really nice way to close it off. It felt very peaceful in the end. 

How would you describe Outlander season 7b?

For Brianna, honestly, quite lonely. It was an interesting season for me. We shot it about two years ago, so thinking back, I spent a large amount of the time with the kids. As they say, acting with animals and children are the two most challenging bits, and on Outlander we have a plethora of that going on! In terms of storyline, it’s one of the sides of Brianna that I really admire. She’s really come into herself as a mother, and seeing her click into action mode and the lengths she’ll go to to save her children is really admirable. Sometimes when she has to defend herself, she’s not as brazen, but as soon as it’s for someone else, especially her children, we see a side of Brianna that we haven’t seen before.

Rosa Morris (“Mandy”) and Sophie Skelton (“Brianna Fraser MacKenzie”) in Outlander season 7. (Starz)

You’ve played Brianna for a decade now. Is there anything special you do to get into character?

One thing we’re lucky with on Outlander is that the sets are so magnificent and vast. Whether we’re on location or they’ve built a fake village, as soon as you’re on set, you feel halfway into it. It’s the same with me having an American accent and the wig and the clothing – you’re halfway in already, so that does a bit of your prep for you. I know Brianna inside out now, so honestly, it’s quite easy to just stream into set. But to stop myself from coasting, I do research. And there were a lot of things I felt I could channel from my own life into Bri this season, so that helped.

Is there anything in season 7B you’re really excited for people to see?

I really enjoyed the scenes with Chris [Fulton], who plays Rob Cameron. That was a really fun dynamic. And as I say, because I spent a large amount of the second part with the kids, it was nice to have some adult energy. I really like his way of working. He’s quite similar to me in that you just don’t know what you’re going to get, and every take could be completely different. We really bounced off each other, and it kind of felt like being in a play, especially because some of our scenes were quite physical. There are a few more modern day action sequences from Brianna, too, which was a different form of stunts than we’ve done before. So I’m sure people will enjoy a little injection of 80s fight scenes.

Is there anything you can tease about Outlander season 8?

As ever with Outlander, there will be some reunions. There are probably going to be some deaths. The heartstrings are going to be a little bit torn… One of the most exciting things about it is that you’ve got so many old and new faces back. It just feels like a really big ensemble, and I think that that’s such a magnificent way to go out. It’s like a big bang.

Any standout moments from rehearsals or filming?

It’s quite rare that a lot of us get to do scenes together, so the dinner scenes where we have a large amount of the principal cast together are really fun. It always feels quite sentimental because they’re rare, and we never know if that’s going to be the last one. That wasn’t necessarily different, but season 8 had the extra layer of upcoming loss. But they’re always just lovely because Outlander is heavy, you know! We work in really tough weather conditions. We do long hours, we do long weeks, and we’re pretty much just in the dark, wind and rain of Scotland all the time. So when we get these indoor scenes where it’s really intimate, there’s candles, it’s all of us together, they’re really fond moments. It feels like you can really just relax and enjoy the day a little bit more, as opposed to battling all the elements constantly.

Are there any locations from filming that have stood out as a favorite, or anything that you would go back to in your own time?

The Clava Cairns are so beautiful. When you go there, honestly, it sounds quite corny, but you can feel the weight of the land. The air is dense. Not in a heavy way, but you can almost feel the energy of the history there. And the land is just so quiet. There’s always a beautiful moon or a beautiful sunrise. We actually had one scene there where the moon looked too fake. The real moon looked too fake! They had to blot it out and put a fake moon in, because they were like, ‘no one will believe this is real’. It’s always windy and icy cold and it’s brutal, but it’s absolutely stunning. Especially when we do night shoots there, the calm and the quiet and the stars… It’s just surreal.

Outlander is coming to an end, but the universe is going to continue in a different series. Are you excited to watch it? How did you feel about that when you heard the news?

It’s a funny thing with the prequel coming out, because we were on our final season when they filmed, so it was very different energies, having the two side by side. They’re all coming in fresh, whereas we’ve done 10 years of this. We want to make sure that we see it through and do it justice. We really wanted to make sure that our attention wasn’t split, so I don’t know too much about the prequel. 

I know that there are rumors of some other spin off series, too, and I know Diana might have written some other spin off books. It’s one of the biggest shows in the world, so I’m sure that those series will do super well. It’ll be exciting to see if there are any mini Briannas that spin off. It would be very interesting to see who takes her over at some point. 

Sophie Skelton (“Brianna Fraser MacKenzie”) in Outlander season 7. (Starz)

Looking at future projects, are there any genres you’re craving?

It’s not necessarily about genre for me; I think it’s more that I’m looking for completely different characters. A different accent, a completely different time period for a while, let’s get rid of the corset for a bit! But honestly, loads of different things. I started in musical theater on stage, so to do something in that realm would be amazing. I also love really gritty dramas – psychological stuff. Something like Black Swan would be the perfect merge of everything.

Have any of your other projects stood out to you as a career highlight?

I just finished quite a tricky shoot during the strike, a small independent movie called Row. It’s about the first team crossing the Atlantic Ocean, and semi based on a true story before it goes a lot more thriller-y. I’m playing this blonde hippie-ish girl from Surrey and filming was going to be in Malta, so I was like, ‘Yeah, cool, this is different to Outlander. Different accent, I’m on a boat in the middle of nowhere, but it’s Malta, great!’ There’s one scene where she’s in a bikini on the boat. Sounds fantastic! Then a couple of weeks before shooting, they said, ‘because of the strikes and everything else, we’re actually going to film it in John o’ Groats’ – which is pretty much the most northerly part of the UK. We had super bad weather – 100 mile per hour winds – so we had to stop shooting a lot and we got behind. We were just on a rowing boat in the middle of a water tank right next to the ocean on a cliff. It was intense. But honestly, I think the film is going to be beautiful. It looks really gritty. It’s so fun to play something different. I’m excited to see it.

Who has been your favourite actor to work with in the past?

I worked with Nick Cage ages ago, which was great. He was so lovely to me; that was a good shoot. On Outlander, working with Tobias Menzies was amazing. It was great to work with quite a lot of seasoned actors like Maria Doyle Kennedy, too.

Which co-star did you learn the most from?

Caitríona is amazing. She knows how to fight for her cast and crew, she will make sure that everyone’s looked after. There’s often a lot of hierarchy in TV and film. She’s number one, and she could easily stomp that around, but she doesn’t. She puts everybody on a level playing field and treats everyone the same. I really respect that.

Do you have a dream role?

I love biopics. I love going down a rabbit hole of research and having to perfect little tics that the real person has. I was thinking about La Vie en Rose the other day, the Edith Black one with Marion Cotillard. Something along that route would be really cool. And hey, if there’s ever an Audrey Hepburn biopic, I would love to do that.

Who is a writer or director you’d love to work with?

Jesse Armstong and the Duffer Brothers. I think their writing is just so smart. It flows beautifully, and it’s just so gritty.

How do you find balance in your personal and work lives?

Not sure if I’ve mastered that yet! I’ve always been a very hard worker. Even as a kid, I’d be in ballet every day, and 1000 hobbies. I’ve always managed to fit more in a day than most people. I’m not very good if I’m not busy, so I am trying to manage the shut off between the two now by writing music, doing art and playing piano.

How can we all live a little bit better?

Do small acts of self care for yourself all the time. Someone said it to me recently, and I hadn’t really realised it was a thing. They were like, ‘you’re very good at doing little things that set you up for success for your future self’. It sounds so silly, but it’s the smallest things, like putting stuff away the night before so you don’t wake up to a dirty kitchen in the morning, or just biting the bullet sometimes because you know that it’s going to matter more to your future self than it might do now. Small acts of kindness to yourself. Career wise, it’s so easy now to look on Instagram, for example, compare yourself and just feel shit, frankly. I just have this daily reminder: put on your blinkers and win your own race.

Sophie Skelton Recommends…

I’m currently watching… Shrinking

What I’m reading… The Best Minds by Jonathan Rosen

The last thing I watched (and loved) was… Poor Things

What I’m most looking forward to seeing… Gladiator II and Conclave

Favourite film of all time… Good Will Hunting and Uptown Girls

Band/singer I always have on repeat… Taylor Swift

My ultimate cultural recommendation… Talking to different cultures about how they celebrate the festive season.

Cultural guilty pleasure… Going to the pub for a roast every Sunday – the bottle of red with it is the guilty part!