#but where the fuck was this when I needed it last year

[eupheme]

— the season for second third fourth chances

[part v of sugar, sugar] | [masterlist]

wolverine/logan howlett x neighbor!f!reader

rated e - 4.5k

tags: holiday fluff, reader references/celebrates christmas, misunderstandings, light angst, references to canon-typical anxiety, violence, wade's cancer diagnosis, and death, references plot events in DP 1 & 2, sexual innuendos/implied smut, feelings

With the holidays on the horizon, your afternoons are filled with preparations for Wade’s annual holiday party. With baking and cookie decorating, finishing up wrapping presents - and maybe even a little Christmas miracle, when you find yourself running into a familiar face.

"What?"

It slips from you, as your eyebrows shoot up - glancing down at the piece of cardstock. Before you're adding -

"Why?"

Wade huffs, his finger tapping against the text that loops across the top.

"Don't give me that, Sugar. I spent ages picking out the right font, I know the contrast is enough for you to read it clearly."

And he's right. You can definitely read it, even without the coarse coat of glitter making the headline sparkle.

‘Spread Some Christmas Cheer’

The letters arching above a photo of Wade. His suit on, of course, as he lounges across the lap of what appears to be a mall Santa. Dread in the man’s once-twinkling blue eyes, as one of Wade’s legs drapes across the velvet red suit, the other kicked high against the back of the padded red chair.

‘With Wade Wilson's Winter Wonderland’ in script beneath - with dates and time for his party listed below.

"I can definitely read it," You acknowledge, "I was just asking what, as in what made you take this, and maybe even where, because-"

"Oh," He chuckles, "Yeah, I'm absolutely banned from JCPenney, but worth it, right? This is my best-looking card yet."

You can't help the smile, "It's definitely something."

He grins, "So, you'll come? I heard there might be a certain someone there."

"Is that right?" Your tongue pokes against your cheek.

"Mhmm. Pretty sure he sees you when you're sleeping. Definitely know if you've been naughty or nice, and I know for a fact I've seen you in his lap-"

There's a sound of disgust, as your nose wrinkles, "Okay, can you not talk about Logan that way? I don't need a Santa comparison in my head."

"Just thought I'd spice some things up for you. It's nothing to be ashamed of, we've all had a crush on the big man."

"On who?" There's a rough voice behind you - Logan hand fisted around the fleece jacket tugged from the back of the armchair.

"He knows what I'm talking about," Wade points, "I'm just saying, if Santa needs help handling that sack of his, I'm so fucking down."

"Jesus fucking Christ." An arm curls around you, as Logan glances at the invite, "Wait, this is this weekend?"

"Yes, this weekend," Wade sniffs, "We talked about it yesterday."

"Wasn't home yesterday." Logan's eyebrow cocks, "Or the day before."

"Well, I talked about it with somebody." Wade shrugs - another tapped finger at the bottom of the card, "Anyways, blah, blah, blah. It’s all here, proper name, place name, backstory stuff... just be there, because I know where you live-"

"We'll be there." You interrupt, biting back your smile, "Want me to bring anything?"

Wade's look turns pleased, and then thoughtful, "Well, I was going to get some cookies from Yeastie Boys Bakery..."

The words trailing off, as you groan - already so over the new bakery in town, their stupid jingle and 'viral' cupcakes that taste like shit.

"Don't even talk to me about them."

You can feel the way Logan's hands brace on your shoulder. The low, "he's kidding sweetheart-" rumbled in your ear.

"Guilty." Wade's hands spread wide, "Was just trying to rile you up into offering some of your own splendid wares. Al still talks about the ones you brought over last year. If it’s not too much work…"

The sentence trails off, as he bats his brown, pleading, puppy-dog eyes at you.

"Lead with that next time, asshole." Logan sighs.

"It's not." You answer automatically, though you're already mentally running through your schedule.

The presents you still have to wrap. The loose ends of Wade's gift that you still have to weave in. Another trip to the grocery store, for certain - you'll have to bake at home, since it's a favor.

There's a kiss pressed to your temple, as Logan moves around you.

"I know that look. Don't push too hard, honey." He finishes shrugging on his jacket, "I’ll see if Laura and I can help you out tomorrow."

Wade's voice chiming in, “And let it be known I am formally offering to help, but-”

You huff, “Thank you, but you’re still banned from my kitchen, Wade.”

Still not over the surprise of your gingerbread appearing with piped anatomically correct additions, after you had left him unsupervised last year.

The kiss goodbye you share with Logan lingers, a grateful press of your mouth against his. Wondering what you did to deserve such a man, still ready to pinch yourself every day.

A look in his eyes that matches yours, as he steps around Wade, who still lingers.

"Thanks, Sugar." He grins, "And remember - you better be good for goodness sake-"

You groan, as you shove him out the door. Logan's fingers curling around the collar of Wade’s jacket, the other tugging at the handle.

Unable to help adding your usual farewell, “Be careful out there, okay? Come back safe.”

Not that they need it, not with their powers. But it still feels like a charm, tucked carefully into their pockets as they head out together again - off on a new mission.

"I’ll take care of your Sugar Bear.” It's sung out, muffled behind the closed door. “Love you byeee!"

A sigh, as you shake your head.

Guess you have some work to do.

Your pen marks another item off your list, as you inch your cart through the too-busy grocery store.

It’s already half-filled with other last-minute items. Another couple gifts, now that official date of the party looms on the horizon - you can’t leave Peter, Ellie, and Yukio out, after all.

A new decorative Christmas plate for the cookies - you had lost yours in the impromptu disc golf match that Wade hosted at the apartment last year.

Last you heard, it was still on the roof next door.

Molasses, brown sugar, and spices for gingerbread. A fresh box of food coloring, for the sugar cookies - you were out of red, from last year as well.

A pack of powdered sugar drops down into your cart. Reaching for a second, just as another hand bumps against yours.

Twin apologies chime, as your eyes flick to the side.

Instantly recognizing the woman next to you - the sheepish look on your face cooling.

“Oh.” Her eyes widen in recognition, “Hey.”

“Hi, Vanessa.” You offer a half-smile - the last dregs of your annoyance with Wade vanishing, as you rest the second bag on top of the other.

A beat, before you manage, “How are you?”

“Good. Office party,” She wiggles her own bag, before it slips into the basket at her elbow, “You?”

“Um, I’m good, too.” You shrug, “And no, uh… friend’s party.”

Wade seemed mostly over the disaster that happened close to two months ago. More prone to forgiving and forgetting - gracious, in a way that you could be, when you wanted. That you were, most of the time.

After all, it was easier, to let something slide off your back when it came to a personal grudge. You could be an adult and move on, then.

But it was still hard to forget how crushed Wade had been. How you knew that she knew he had been cooking for her the night she stood him up- a drunken confession that he had seen the notification that she had watched the stories he had snapped for his social media stories.

And even if he was over it, you weren’t sure you were.

“Wade’s party?” She guesses, and it makes you blink.

Wondering when and how she had been invited. As far as you knew, her name hadn’t passed his lips in weeks.

“Yeah.” Your eyes search hers - the tightness in them, how she bites the inside of her cheek, “Are… you?”

“Undecided,” Her lips lift. A breath, before she’s asking, “How’s he been lately? Is he…”

You can’t help the small frown, a mark deepening between your brows, “He’s good.”

A half-truth, before you tack a little more on, “Sure he’s appreciating the extra space. Fixed Al up with a Murphy bed, and Logan’s been staying with me a lot lately.”

“Oh. I thought-” Vanessa’s sentence trails off.

She looks lost for a moment. A glance downward, picking at the manicured edge of a nail.

You haven’t seen her like this before. Too used to her confidence, those sharp edges that you lack.

Pity flickers through you.

“I really have to go. If I don’t start these soon, I’ll be up all night.”

It comes out apologetic - and you realize, you actually mean it, “But why don’t you swing by my apartment in a bit? I’m gonna be baking all afternoon, but I make a mean boozy hot chocolate.”

The look she gives you is tinged with relief.

It’s enough to make you wonder what you’re missing.

“Wait, what?” You yelp - for the second time, in forty-eight hours.

There’s a smudge of flour on your sweater. Holiday music pouring through the speaker on your counter. Vanessa carefully inching the gingerbread cutouts an inch apart.

A shoulder lifting, as she repeats herself, “I said I thought he moved on. With you.”

Not knowing, with the way she had come late to the party where you had met Logan. Left early, with her new corporate schedule.

You almost over-pour the ground cinnamon into the second batch. Tipping it back into the jar, as you let the spoon clatter against the counter. Her head tilts, at your expression.

“You haven’t thought about it? I know you’re both close.”

In another world, perhaps.

Another life - one where you hadn’t met Logan when you did. Hadn’t spent months cheering Wade on, those once barely-there flickers of interest fading to something solidly platonic some time ago.

Your head shakes, the words coming slowly, “It’s always been you, Vanessa. Everyone knows that.”

The corner of her lips lift. Fingernails tapping against the aluminum pan.

“I thought so, too.”

You frown, “Is that why didn’t you show? When he asked you over for dinner?”

Vanessa laughs then, rueful.

“The dinner.” Her eyes flick away, going back to a memory - a beat, before the snap to yours, “Yeah. I wanted to go. I uh, just split with Dermot. From work.”

You nod, remembering - overhearing the conversation at Wade’s birthday.

“He wanted me to move in. Said he saw a future with me, but when it came down to taking that step…” Her lips press together, the lift of a shoulder, “I’ve never seen myself with anyone else. Only him.”

Only Wade.

“But… then I saw you with him. The stories he posted. The two of you cooking, dressed up like a date.” It comes in a rush, “I thought, incorrectly, apparently-”

“He was cooking for you.” There’s a furrow in your brow, trying to piece together the way she saw it.

The sundress you wore for Logan. The captions that tipped towards lewd that you had tried to get him to delete - jokes about “getting lucky”, or the chicken not the only thing “being stuffed tonight”.

She nods, “I’m getting that now.”

“I think you still should have gone.” It’s starting to make sense, but you can’t help the reproach in your tone, ”He was devastated.”

The look she shoots you is defensive. Vanessa had always carried an intensity you lacked, and you take the full brunt of it now. Your fingers curl into fists for strength, not letting your gaze drop first. A beat, before she nods.

“I guess it’s just become easier to run.” Vanessa admits, “Defense mechanism. Get out first. Ironic, I know.”

You frown, not knowing, “Has that… has that happened before?”

“Which time?” Her laugh is close to a scoff, as she sighs.

Your eyes drop now, as you go back to your work. Back to measuring, tipping the spices into your mixer. The words coming slowly.

”He hasn’t told me a lot. Just a bit about last time. About…” You search for the words, feeling guilty. “About him not doing enough. That you wanted him to do something meaningful, and then the stuff with the Avengers, and…”

The words die, when you see her face.

Sorrow and anger, with the sharp shake of her head, “I never gave a damn about the Avengers. That was all Wade.”

A sigh, as she collects herself.

“I just wanted him to find his passion again. He changed… a few years ago. Something happened, a really close call. He fixed it, but he wasn’t the same after.”

A breath, before she adding, “He took it hard. Guilt, I think. All I really wanted was for him to talk to me. To let me help him, but he never let me in because he didn’t want me getting hurt again. He shut down, and stopped talking to me.”

The mixer hums. A beep of your timer, as the minutes tick down.

“You know Wade. Always has a joke ready. Never wants to get serious if he can help it. It’s stupid, but we... drifted.” Vanessa’s throat bobs as she swallows, “I was dealing with my own shit, and when he pushed me away, it reminded me of last time.”

She catches your expression again, as the dough tips out of the bowl. The furrow of your brow, as you swap it for a chilled portion in your fridge.

“It’s been a recurring theme,” It comes out blunt.

Her look turning considering, then, when the frown doesn't waver.

“Do you love Logan?”

The rolling pin slips in your grip. Pressing too hard, denting dough.

“I-,” You breathe. The question unexpected, leaving you wholly unprepared, even as your heart beats out the answer.

Her expression softens, “You care about him.”

You nod mutely.

“What would you do, if Logan just - disappeared? No trace of him, just gone in the night?”

Her question hangs. A physical ache in your chest at the mere thought, one that leaves you unable to breathe. Pieces starting to click together - little bits of what you know, forming some sort of photo.

“Is that what Wade did?”

She nods, “It was right after his cancer diagnosis. He was going through a lot, and just - left. For years. I thought… I thought he had died. I mourned him. It crushed me.”

You can’t help but reach across the table - hesitant, in the way you squeeze her arm.

She lets you, a look shot your way. Defending him, unable to help it.

“I get it, though. I get that it was a lot. I’ve forgiven him. But…” Her teeth pinch at her cheek, that guilt coming back, “When he started pulling away, I thought it was happening again. I couldn’t live through that again.”

You finish for her, “So you left first.”

She nods.

Silence lingers. Nails tapping on the countertop, fiddling with the silver rings on her fingers. The heat of the oven curling across your arms, as you swap one tray for another. Setting it aside to cool.

“You should go talk to him.” Your voice cracks through the quiet, when you turn - hands bracing against the counter.

Her eyebrows raise, “And say what?”

”Tell him what you told me. That you were just scared.” Your voice softens, “He invited you to his party because he still *wants* you in his life.”

She blinks, silent.

“I’ll help you,” You coax, “Logan’s already coming over tonight.”

Your eyes flick down to your phone, checking, ”Uh, really soon, actually. I’ll go next door with you, and bring Althea back with me. Give you two some time to catch up.”

Vanessa’s fingers cards through her hair - pushing back the long strands, the words coming slowly, “I don’t know…”

“Wade is crazy about you.” It comes out bluntly, and it’s this that pulls her attention.

You’re already swiping a container off the counter. Filling the bottom with sugar cookies baked this morning - cut into trees and mittens, decorated with buttercream and sprinkles.

The lid snaps on, as you hold it out to her.

“Trust me?”

Her eyes meet yours, and you can see the swirl of emotions across her face.

You smile and finally - she nods.

She follows a step behind, as you leave the apartment. The hallway chilly, the entrance bringing in a dusting of snow across the carpet, with the revolving holiday traffic.

The closing front door downstairs echoes with your own, as you head the next apartment over. Knuckles rapping against the wood, fingers mentally crossed.

A voice ringing out, muffled, “If you’re part of Rudolph and the Red-Hot Reindeers, you’re a day early-”

Opening to reveal Wade, dressed down in a shirt and sweatpants with his Deadpool logo patterned across them.

“Oh, hey Sugar.” He smiles, “What’s up?”

“Well,” You stall for a second, trying to figure out what exactly to say, “Is Althea home? Was wondering if she could help me with something.”

Wade chuckles.

“Fat fucking chance, she’s two episodes into the Golden Bachelor right now and she’s sure as hell not moving-” The words die out as Vanessa moves into view, the container in hand.

He goes silent, for the first time you can remember.

“I have the same streaming apps as you, I’m sure I can convince her.” Your shift - a hand touching at her shoulder, urging her forward, “And maybe you could do me a favor, too. Taste test these for tomorrow?”

For a moment, you think he doesn’t hear you. His eyes lingering on Vanessa, his face bleeding from surprise to confusion to hope, as he takes her in.

“Yeah.” He manages after a long moment - clearing his throat.

“Yeah. I’d love to.”

It doesn’t take much convincing, not with the way Al enjoys a cup of piping hot tea as much as you do - along with the promise she can watch her beloved show in peace. Almost giddy in the way she makes for the door, cane in hand and Dogpool tucked in the crook of her other arm.

The door just shutting behind you before she’s hissing, “What in God’s name was that?”

You shush her, eyes flicking back towards the apartment. Almost jumping out of your skin when it’s followed by another voice, this one pitched low.

“Seconded. Busy afternoon?”

Logan leans against the wall, Laura expression clear with the pull of her brows. Thirded.

“Something like that.” You herd them inside your apartment, before they can be overheard - not that Wade was listening, you’re sure.

The door is barely shut, before they’re rounding on you. Your own hands on your hips - a nod directing them towards the kitchen table, laden with bare gingerbread cookies.

Al tucked in the armchair, spun around the face the bustle of the kitchen, her show long forgotten.

“You’re stalling.” Laura points out bluntly, as you hand her the bag of icing.

Your tongue tucked against your teeth, as you shoot Logan a look. His eyebrows raised in response, eyes sliding over to the brick wall that separates your apartment from Wade.

“I’m not,” The word strings out, “It’s just, like, it’s not a big deal, right?”

She scoffs.

Althea’s cane taps the ground, “Something happened, and you’d better spill.”

“Alright,” Your fingers spread in front of you, “I ran into Vanessa at the store today. And we got to talking, and I invited her back here. I think she regrets what happened between them.”

There’s a snort of derision, and you can feel yourself starting to bristle.

“We all have our opinions, myself included-” You allow, as another noise interrupts you - lower and more gruff this time. You spin, shooting Logan another look.

“But I think she was genuine. I’ve certainly had my fair share of… miscommunications,” His expressions softens at your words, the corner of his lips curling as you shift to face Al.

“And I got some really good advice once from someone. Something about ‘talking about it’, and that’s what I encouraged her to do.”

“Hope you’re right,” Al sighs- but there’s a smile there, hidden in the way her lips press together, “That boy is more sensitive than my left tit in a snowstorm.”

“Jesus.” It’s muttered, at your shoulder. Logan’s head shaking as he joins Laura, the hint of a smirk as she works on piping a set of angry eyebrows.

Your eyes roll, “I am.”

Spinning back to face the table, as you grab your own bag of frosting.

“After all, it’s Christmas,” You can’t help but throw her way, from over your shoulder.

“And isn’t that the best time for a miracle?”

Logan’s arms wrap around you later, as you snap the last lid in place. Finally done with your last-minute idea - decorating each of the gingerbread to look like your friends.

Laura slipping out a few minutes ago, intent on staying until the end. Just as determined as Logan to see things through, even though you tried to get her to leave a few times - worried about the weather, the long drive back to the mansion.

The slight smile as her eyes rolled - with your affection towards her, you forget how impervious she is.

Althea long asleep in the couch, the quilt Logan’s borrowed so many nights before tucked around her. Ambient holiday music still pouring through the speaker, your attempt to drown out the enthusiastic reunion taking place next door.

Can’t bring yourself to mind. More relieved than anything.

And you deserve it, you suppose.

“You did a good thing.” It’s murmured into your hair, as you finally relax into him.

Arms curling beneath his, wrapping around his broad back to embrace him. You hum with contentment as his lips brush your temple.

“Don’t know if I can manage a miracle,” His lips curve when you lean back, eyes flicking up to meet his, “But if there anything else you might want for Christmas?”

Your teeth sink into your lip, as you grin.

The answer is easy, as your face tips towards his.

“Just want more time with you.”

Logan huffs, as his hand dips down. Cupping soft flesh, kneading - as he tugs you the rest of the way. A grin, just before his mouth presses against yours.

“Mm. Hope you don’t mind celebrating a little early, then.”

Red and green have exploded in the apartment next door - the flamingo lights that spill from the kitchen replaced with blinking bulbs. A tree that you’re truly unsure how it fit through the door, much less the narrow hallway, tucked in the corner.

You and Logan had helped decorate it earlier in the month - Wade directing from the couch, as the two of you and Althea arranged the ornaments. A ninja star zip-tied to the top, but with the lights turned low, and the swirl of snow coming down outside - it’s cozy.

It’s familiar - faces you’ve come to know well, known to love, fill the space. The cookies are a hit, sweet exclamations as they find the ones that represent them. Woolen and knitted sweaters, bodies tucked together on a hodgepodge of surfaces.

And perhaps, you do end up on Logan’s lap. His thighs spread wide in an armchair Wade found on the curb, out of place against the brick walls and industrial windows with its floral pattern.

Your eyes meeting Wade’s from across the living room, anticipating the tease.

But he only smiles back.

Something soft - an arm slung around Vanessa’s shoulder. The ‘white elephant in the room’, as he had cheekily alluded to it, addressed with a carefully placed piece of mistletoe.

Side-eyes and stunned silence easing into smiles, when you all saw the way they looked at each other.

And when he corners you to tell you thank you, you know the bone-crushing hug is not just for the handmade red-and-black beanie and scarf that you had gotten up early to finish for him.

The rest of your gifts don’t quite reach the same level, but you’re pleased all the same. Laura’s smile shy as she tries on the Docs you caught her eyeing, ankle twisting as her eyes dip down.

Logan’s arm tightening around your waist when you hand him the wrapped package. His eyes lingering on yours until the paper is loosened, a pleased hum when he sees the lined leather jacket you picked out for him.

“Your first winter with us in New York,” You smile, “Can’t have you catching cold.”

Something to keep in warm, when he tinkers on the bike stashed in the basement. To protect him, when he’s not in his suit. Better than that the faded fleece he’s lifted from Wade’s closet.

And even though you’d been fairly certain he’d given you your gift last night - and again this morning - there’s still a pretty card tucked into your palm. A piece of paper folded inside, next to sentiments that made heat rise to your cheeks.

A photo printed out - a cozy little cabin, the roof lined with snow. Framed with a thick ring of woods and surrounded by wilderness. The reservation dates and details marked out in the text below.

“A vacation?” You can’t remember the last time you’ve been away. Excitement surging at the thought of spending a week tucked away with your boyfriend, “For us?”

“Yeah, sweetheart.” Logan husks, “Found a nice little place up north. Just you and me.”

His fingers flex against your waist, his face tipping up to yours, “Would you like that?”

“I’d love that.” You smile.

You love him.

You’re certain of that - a name for that warm weight in your chest that’s been there for weeks. Since the beginning really, coming to a full flourish with the conversation the day before.

Maybe with the turn of the new year, you’ll pluck up enough courage to tell him.

For now, you beam at him. Pressing yourself close - entwining fingers that squeeze. Hoping he can read the soft look you give him, the words murmured out, in the little bubble you’ve found yourselves in.

“Merry Christmas, Logan.”

His thumb brushes your cheek, before he tugs you down to meet him.

“Merry Christmas, Sugar.”

after part iii, i could not leave our bff wade with a sad ending!!! 💖 for a little bit early on i toyed with the idea of making this series a poly one (before come on and show me) hence a couple little references throughout (and the reason to keep the breakup in the first place) (which I still have beef with in the movie, BUT I did my best). thank you for checking out this series, it might be one of my favorite things I’ve had the pleasure to work on and seeing the love on it has been so amazing 💕

[bunny-jpeg]

secret tattoos (vol. 1)

max verstappen

tags: smut/pwp, tattoos, established relationship, cowgirl position, tattoo worship, dirty talk

a/n: this was inspired by my want (need) for tattoos. but i think my gran would kill me if i came home with a tattoo so for now it'll just have to exist in my silly little fan fics <3

charles edition // lando edition // lewis edition // toto edition

you enjoyed your fair share of baggy t-shirts. your style was a lot more casual. usually an over-sized t-shirt with tighter pants. so max was used

it wasn't until he saw you undress for the first time, stripped away the layers of your clothes where he saw that on your upper bicep, near your shoulder. a tattoo, but not any tattoo.

a small one of nijntje

he stopped in his tracks as he watched you get the t-shirt over your head. he looked at you curiously when you turned to him and looked at him with confusion. you asked, "never seen breasts before, max?" you were in a sports bra.

"i didn't know you had a tattoo." he said as he pointed to it before he approached you. he reached out for your arm and looked at it. you looked down at the tattoo too.

"oh yeah, i got that like a week before we met." you laughed, "the little miffy." you turned your arms a little as you looked at it.

max smiled, "very cute. didn't know you liked nijntje." he looked at you while he still held your arm.

you replied, "i have for years. we used to have the books in the library at the elementary school i want to." your boyfriend of the part few months pulled you in a little closer. you held onto the front of his t-shirt and smiled, "it's how i learned where the netherlands was."

your chest pressed against his as he looked at you with a gentle smile. soon he kissed you on the lips and held you by the waist. there was a certain tenderness to it that made you blush a little harder.

when he pulled away you took him by the face and looked into his eyes, "i'm sorry i didn't tell you. i honestly thought you had already seen it."

"i would've remembered such a cute tattoo on such a cute girl." he chuckled before he kissed you once more. he then asked, "are there any other tattoos i should know about." he groped your ass and it made you moan. he chuckled lightly before he kissed you once more.

his hands got curious as they roamed your body. you moaned into the kiss before he broke it and led you to the bedroom, "i'm very curious about how you look. all of you." his hands were on the waistband of your yoga shorts.

you helped him out of his shirt and kissed the sharp line of his jaw then up his nose. he pulled the shorts down your thighs and you got them fully off. clothes were scattered everywhere by the time you two were nude and eventually you ended up straddling max's waist.

you braced your hands across his chest and rubbed yourself up against him. you were curious how come he hadn't seen the tattoo before, you two had sex.

"how did you not see the tattoo before?" you asked as you wet cunt rubbed against max's hard cock

he replied as he laced his fingers behind his head, "every time you had a shirt on. last time we did it you had my driver's jacket on. i guess i've never seen you without a shirt on."

you couldn't disagree with that, you were both often too wrapped up in lust to really focus on getting everything off. you tensed up and your toes curled as you seated yourself onto his cock. you could feel the shudder of want through your body as you started to move.

max tensed up for a moment as well and laid out under you as you rode him. you felt the heat in your gut as you moved, his cock hit against all the right areas. you felt the thump of pleasure in the drums of your ears as you moved against him.

"fuck." you panted as you moved against him. you could feel the rush of pleasure through your body as you rutted against him. you used his strong chest as leverage for your heavy thrusts. you could feel it all.

being with max was always pleasurable, he was a very giving lover. the type that some would fantasize about as if they didn't do that about him already. the heat bloomed in your cheeks when you caught max staring at you.

"you look nice with tattoos." he said as he reached for you and took a hold of your hips, "maybe you should get some more." his licked his lips, "something that reminds you of me." he said with heat in his tone.

you raked your nails down his chest and moved your hips, "oh yeah, like what?" you knew people had tattoos about your boyfriend. and you did think about it after you two got together.

"my number... a lion... my last name?"

you giggled, "your last name? i thought that was supposed to be on my passport, not on my skin." he felt him shuddered. you teased him with the idea of eventually getting married.

he groaned, "i'll think of something." his expression changed from the heightened pleasure as you continued to move against him. you took a hold of your shoulders and his grasp tightened on your hips. you two moved against one another and you felt the heated euphoria in your body. max felt the same as he rolled his hips against yours.

the idea of having max pick out a tattoo for you was hot. it was hot in a way that made your stomach jump as you continued to move against him. you felt the fire only grow in your stomach the more you fucked him. the more you near bounced on his cock with a sexual fever that you could deny yourself any further.

you were glad that max found your tattoo hot. that he thought the little stamp shaped tattoo with nijntje inside of it was beyond adorable. you raked his chest with your nails as the two of you moved. soon his chest was littered with marks fro your nails which only made him more aroused.

you two weren't going to last much longer. you felt the rush of pleasure through you as you picked up the pace. everything felt like fireworks in the back of your mind as you pace staggered. you continued to work him up and down until it all became too much. you panted, "i'm cumming." before you finished.

max felt a shudder of pleasure through his core as he held onto you a little tighter. he worked you up and down on his cock. you whined and your toes curled as you felt the heat in your gut grow. he knew he wasn't going to last much longer either. the two of you moved against one another as the pleasure took over him as well.

he gave it a few more thrusts before he spilled inside of you with a heated groan. you made him feel good all over in a way that made every nerve in his body feel alive in the best way possible.

you both slowed to a stop before you rested against max's chest for a moment before he wrapped his strong arms around you. you ended up on your side with max cuddled up against you, his lips against your skin.

"fuck, i want to pick your next tattoo." he said as he kissed you. you moaned into the kiss as he held you closer. with kisses like that you'd end up with a verstappen tattoo soon enough <3

nijntje tattoo

[notquitecanon]

Familiarity & Whiskey // Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader

Summary: Simon and Johnny get in a fight, which is how Simon crosses your path. Thinking your an easy mark for quick comfort and a quick fuck, he's not aware you're in the UK to meet your estranged father. Your circles running tighter with his than he thinks...

(Unedited)

Poor Simon can't catch a fucking break. Let this man nut and smoke a cigarette.

CW: feminine descriptions and pronouns used, alcohol consumption, making out, heavy petting, allusions to oral (male receiving), Simon's lowkey highkey manipulative, absent father!John Price, don't think too hard about age gaps i gave up

Request by: @i-live-in-spite

NSFW 18+ MDNI

"Go to hell, Riley. ‘S where ye fuckin’ belong." 

That had been Johnny’s direct words.

 Which was the first and only time Johnny had addressed by just his last name. Usually it was some irritating nickname, his callsign, or his rank delivered with the Scotsman’s usual bright eyes and mirth that somehow made it less annoying to Simon. And when it was his real name, in serious times, it was his first name, with a sincere look and genuine inflection. Never just ‘Riley’. 

But Johnny had spit his last name like it was a curse. Something that tasted bitter in his mouth, something poisonous. 

Hell, maybe it fucking was. And it had him craving something volatile- destructive. Alcohol, sex, a pack of cigarettes… and if he couldn’t get one of those to self-medicate this poisonous streak, he’d settle for bloodying his fists before the end of the night. 

A shit mission with a shit conclusion. A shit day. Fuck, a shit year.  Culminating in a clash between Lieutenant and Sergeant, Simon’s icy seething clashing Johnny’s explosive rage about a bad call made worse by Simon’s version of coping- cold indifference and colder jokes.  Actions had consequences, isn’t that what Simon always told his sergeant? Maybe that’s why Simon was stewing in the shitty pub close to base crawling with recruits after Gaz and Price had forcibly split up the confrontation right as it was about to get physical. 

Price had all but shoved him off base while Gaz took Soap somewhere to cool off- probably the gym or some equally shitty pub on opposite ends of the city. So there he was, sulking in a corner, nursing the only bourbon this bar offered, stewing over whether or not he needed to apologize.  

The thought of apologizing burned worse than the bottom shelf bourbon he was sipping. He was Ghost. The Ghost. He didn’t apologize. This was one of those times he would’ve actually appreciated Price’s usually unwarranted ’sage’ advice- but he was tied up, still on base and pissed off because he was trying to wrap up mission reports and now was cleaning up Simon’s mess. 

—

"Excuse me? Would it be ok if I sat here? I’m waiting for someone but the guys at the bar won’t leave me alone." You were biting your lip a little, trying your best not to look too awkward as you asked the tall, dark, and you assumed handsome but you couldn’t tell around the mask he was wearing. You felt nervous, but not to be talking to you, you were nervous for a laundry list of other reasons. Including and limited to meeting your father for the first time since you were barely three years old. 

When the pub had been suggested to you, you’d thought the closeness to his base was an advantage- casual, easy, public, nearby- what you hadn’t accounted for was the herds of young soldiers that would also be there.  Trying to buy yourself a drink to calm your nerves while you waited had resulted in four heinous pick up lines, three cocktail napkins with phone numbers scrawled on them, two vulgar gestures, and one marriage proposal. Like the 12 days of Christmas song, but from hell. The only place that wasn’t buzzing with sloshed young soldiers was a dark corner with an absolute behemoth of a masked man, two empties and a half drank tumbler of whiskey.  Despite (or perhaps because of) the nerves, jet lag, and shot of tequila you’d just took because of said nerves, you considered yourself something of a strategist. 

After you asked, narrowed amber eyes flicked up to you appraisingly, pinning you to your spot. Even slightly slouched over his drink, he was huge. Not just tall, but built like a brick house. He wasn’t wearing an actual military uniform, but everything about him just read military. He stared at you for a second, then a minutes, stretching into two. To your credit, you kept your chin high and your eyes level on his. Right as you started to say, "Never mind, sorry to bother-" 

" ’s fine." His voice was deep and kind of gravelly, low enough that his quiet tone was almost lost to the barroom chatter. His accent wasn’t one you’d heard before, a bit sharper and choppier than the accent John had on the phone. He scooted further into the booth, dragging his drink with him. As you turned back and slid into the corner booth, he scrutinized you again, like you were supposed to be familiar to him, "I know you?" 

"Doubt it." You smiled, a tight lipped but warm thing. You knew you didn’t know him considering this was the first time you’d set foot in this country. Not to mention you’d undoubtedly remember a character like this. So instead, you offered him your name and an outstretched hand. He nodded, neither returning the exchange or shaking your hand, just grunting to show he heard you. 

Still, he scanned you again. Simon was sure he’d never met you, but there was something about you that was eerily familiar. It was the feeling of someone’s name being on the tip of his tongue but slipping between thoughts before he could place it, or a song that as soon as he tried to think about it the melody slipped away. It wasn’t your physical features, as pretty of a bird as you were. That little smile, the way you carried yourself, the saunter in your walk, how your shoulder were held, the set of your jaw, you were young in the face but seemed older, the casual confidence so rare for someone your age… These were all things so familiar to him, but he couldn’t connect it to it’s match. Maybe it was the bourbon. 

"Y’not from ‘round here." He stated, and it wasn’t a question. Simon knew it as a fact. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why someone not from here would patronize a piss-poor pub like this, especially a bird like you- pretty and warm and put together. He rose an eyebrow that shifted the brow of his mask, "What brings you?" 

Blunt and to the point. Definitely military.  You leaned back against the booth, your finger tracing the glass rim of the wine glass you’d set down in front of you. White wine from a shit hole like this was one of the many clues that you didn’t belong here. 

"Meeting someone important." You answered vaguely with another one of those warm but tight smiles. Seriously, where did he know that from? "He’s late." 

"A date?" He pressed further with eyes that were somehow intense and disinterested at the same time. You couldn’t decide if his bluntness was a military quirk or social dysfunction, or possibly both. Of course he couldn’t know that this was the furthest thing from a date you could be doing tonight, which made you laugh, loudly and suddenly. The noise took Simon off guard, but not for it’s spontaneity or for how bright and beautiful it was , but because it tugged at that feeling a familiarity, bordering on nostalgia. 

"Oh, god no." You rushed, shaking your head and forming an X over your chest for good measure, still laughing a bit as you took a sip of wine. Still, you weren’t sure how you were supposed to describe John. "Not a date. I’m just meeting…. someone important." 

Simon doesn't know why this pleased him. Something about you being available and talking to him as opposed to the damnably flashy and obnoxious grunts wearing their dress uniforms to the pub on a fuckin’ Tuesday… Simon’s mouth quirked into a subtle smirk as he lifted his mask enough to take a sip of his bourbon, not missing how your too-familiar eyes followed the movement, intrigued and keen, “Who then?" 

"Nope, I’ve already answered, like, three questions. Your turn?" There was that casual confidence again as you turned the question on him with that little grin, legs cross under the table as your nails clicked against the sticky wood table, "What brings you here?" 

Simon’s expression under the mask soured again, eyes fixing on the lipstick stain on your wine glass. Pretty color… He wondered how it’d look smeared along his mouth. Or his cock. He shook that thought out of his head, bringing his eyes back to yours. Maybe it was the bourbon that loosened his tongue, or maybe those eyes of yours, “Got in a fight with a mate o’ mine. It was… suggested that we give each other some space.” 

‘Suggested' was nice was of saying Price manhandled him all the way to the guard station at the gate. Like a scolded dog being put outside. 

“So you’ve put yourself in the corner? Are you in timeout?” You quirked an eyebrow in another frustratingly familiar gesture, something that made him chuckle instead of bristle as you gestured to the dark corner he’d been lurking in. 

“Something like that.” He nodded, swirling the whiskey in his glass. 

“What was the fight about?” You asked casually, taking another sip of your wine. Normally so private, Simon would’ve bitten a stranger’s head off for such a personal question. But coming from you, between his desire to keep your attention on him and the ever present nagging sense of familiarity, he just sighed. 

“Hard week pushed some buttons. We’ve both got tempers. Mine’s worse.” He explanation was simple, both from characteristic standoffishness and the fact the mission that had provoked this fight had taken place in a country the British Military was not supposed to be. Another deep sigh like the confession took something wrenching from him, “He puts up with me usually, but I… said somethings’ I shouldn’t’ve.”

You nodded sagely, taking in the rather vague information with eyes settled on the far wall as if you were doing mental math, quiet deductions. He recognized this look from somewhere, this was the look of someone looking for answers and solutions. Your fingers tapped against the table again before your eyes slid back to him, “So you were both assholes to each other, but you were worse?” 

“Yeah. That’s the gist of it.” Simon scoffed as you boiled down his already barebones explanation even further. You nodded again, looking at him quizzically. 

“Have you thought about just apologizing?” You rose an eyebrow at him, your head cocking a little to the side. The most obvious answer in the world that for some reason he couldn’t wrap his hand around. He opened his mouth to protest, but you were quicker, voice chiding in way he’d heard before- but from where?, “No, let me guess, it’s not that simple, you can’t just apologize.” 

For a moment you dropped your voice a little lower and attmepted a half imitation of his Mancunian accent which would’ve been offensive if it wasn’t exactly what he was about to say. You huffed a quiet lap before returning to your normal tone with a roll of your eyes, “Believe me, yes, it is that simple, and, yes, you can just apologize. And if you truly think it’s not something an apology would fix, let him get one good hit in and get it out of your systems. Problem solved.” 

“Get it out of our systems?” Simon asked a little incredulously, despite the sampling of a sharp wit and the occasional hard glint to your eyes, he hadn’t expected someone as soft looking as you to jump to punching as a serious form of conflict resolution. Hell, you sounded more like his Captain Price than some random pretty thing in a pub, “that’s terrible advice.” 

“You telling me you would’ve seriously taken my apologize and talk it out advice?” Your eyebrows raised again as you leaned forward on your elbows onto the table- another frustratingly familiar look that would’ve distracted him if your now exposed cleavage didn’t distract him further. He swallowed as he stared, feeling the growing need to get something out of his system, and his fight with Johnny was becoming less and less forefront in his mind. 

“Not a chance.” He shook his head, sniper eyes locking in on the drop of wine that escaped your glass and slid between your breasts, quickly disappearing between skin and under your shirt. He could find it with his tongue, bet your skin made the wine sweeter… 

“Yeah,” You laughed again, setting down the empty glass, finding this intriguing masked character to be a wonderful distraction from the anxiety of this upcoming meeting. And if John was running late, you’d take advantage of the distraction, “Figured as much.” 

___

An hour and another glass of wine later, you’d continued to scoot closer to the masked man in the booth with you. He was first to initiate contact, throwing an arm over your shoulders in the pretense of keeping you close enough to hear over the rowdy group cheering on a rugby game, it was you who had leaned into his side. His hand had found your thigh first, but your nails were tracing little shapes and words against his forearm. 

“Who was it you were meetin' 'ere, sweetheart?” Simon asked again, his mask still rolled over his nose again as he took another sip of his bourbon, lips grazing your earring as his breath fanned over your neck. He wondered how you would react if his teeth tugged one of the pretty little earrings you’d picked out. You were distracted noticing how his accent minced certain letters in syllables in a delectable way, “Only a fool’d keep you waitin’ this long.” 

Two glasses of wine and jet lag had done away with your need for vague answers as you leaned into him, shivering as the smell of bourbon, cigarettes, and gunpowder started to overpower your perfume. You swallowed, eyes meeting his with a bit of nervousness he hadn’t been able to pick up on you until just now, “I’m meeting my father. We’ve been estranged most of my life. And he’s an hour and forty five late now.” 

“Shit.” Simon muttered under his breath, not thinking you could’ve said anything that could really surprise him. Meeting your estranged father and yet you’d spent the last two hours coaching and comforting him through a fight with his friend. That level of self sacrifice should’ve clued him into your parentage almost immediately, but he was busy staring at how your wide eyes were staring up at him through your lashes, teeth toying with the seam of your lips that your tongue kept darting out to wet. 

“I’m a little nervous.” You admitted, the nail that was tracing shapes on his forearm dropped down to his massive thigh to brace yourself. If you leaned any closer, you’d be all but in his lap- which wouldn’t be the worse thing, both of you mentally decided. You took a deep breath, sipping some of the water you’d ordered midway through your third glass of wine,  "A lot nervous, actually.” 

One thing about Simon, was that as a sniper, he was opportunistic. When he saw a shot, he took it. And you just lined him up to test his theory on how long it’d take to convince you to slip into the pub bathrooms with him. 

His arm around your shoulder adjusted so he could gently brush some hair behind your ear, thumb purposely grazing your cheekbone before he tilted your face up to meet his, “Well, you know the best way to get over your nerves?” 

The sudden closeness stunned any witty retort to silence as you hummed for him to continue, swallowing thickly in a way that brought those keenly sharp eyes to watch the bob of your throat. He chuckled lowly to himself, so sweet and perfect, he was about to absolutely ruin you. But he wasn’t evil, he’d put you back together again… 

“Gotta… work... it outta your system. Just like you said, sweetheart.”  His other hand was kneading into your thigh through the pretty satin of your skirt, such a good girl, with a skirt below your knees, and he looked forward to shredding those tights underneath with nothing but his teeth and bare hands. But… he wondered if he could make you cum through them before he ruined them, and with the way you tensed and then melted at his touch, he was betting the answer was a firm yes. “Gonna let me help you like you’ve been helping me?”

You thought he sure had a funny way of equating this heavy petting to the teasing and mild comfort you’d offered about his fight with this ‘Soap’ guy, but you nodded anyway. All the pent-up anxiety made it an eager motion as he chuckled, leaning forward and catching your mouth, so possessive and borderline aggressive at your compliance. He was a bit of a bully, using his bulk and his weight so you would bend underneath him like he was testing how hard he had to press for you to break, and when you whined at the feeling of him biting your lip, he only swallowed your sounds and laughed into your mouth. 

Lips smearing your pretty makeup, one hand tangling your hair into his finger and the other fisting your skirt so it started hiking up your legs, and one of his boots nudging your ankles out of their polite cross so he could start prying your thighs apart.  God, you were making out (bordering on hooking up) with a nameless, masked man with anger issues while you waited to meet your estranged father for basically the first time… What had your life come to? 

Actually, the absent father bit explained the masked stranger bit if you thought about it for more than three seconds. 

“Fuckin’ hell, you’ve gotta be taking the absolute piss, Simon.” A sudden and angry voice, familiar to both of you sounded from the front of your secluded little booth. You jumped back away from your paramour. Simon, apparently was his name, while he only turned in frustrated confusion at his captain interrupted him blowing off steam, just as he’d been instructed when Price all but kicked him off base for the night. 

Your eyes went wide in absolute mortification, like you’d melt under the table and just die there. Standing there, watching you sloppily make out with someone he apparently knew, was your father. John Price. Who hadn’t seen you since you were three years old and compulsively carried around a Kermit the frog stuffie everywhere you went… He looked older compared to your hazy memories of him and the singular picture your mother hadn’t burned, and the interesting facial hair only made him look older. You suspected he was capable of looking warm and kind, your mother always said you got his soft eyes and smile, but right now he looked pissed.

“Price?” Simon questioned, yanking his mask back over his mouth to hide the smears of his lipstick, wondering if this temper had something to do with the mission or with his fight with the sergeant and if so, why it was urgent enough to interrupt him right now. He’d noted how you went rigid underneath him, batting his hand out of the balmy soft canyon between your spread thighs before they clamped shut again. Shit, that door was rapidly closing...

You spoke at the same time as Simon, your voice somewhere between hesitant questioning and caught teenager, “Dad?” 

“Dad?” Simon immediately parroted, his respect for his Captain superseding the whiskey and lust as he peeled himself off of you quickly doing mental math Olympics to figure out genetics and age gaps, “Bloody Hell, John-“ 

You shrieked, as Simon didn’t get a chance to justify himself or even ask, how was I supposed to know the bird I was trying to fuck was your kid you’ve never told anyone about? Because your father’s face went red instantly, jumping across the booth and landing a scarily hard punch across Simon’s face, spilling wine and whiskey all over you in the process. 

So it was going to be a bloody knuckles kind of night, after all. 

____

Sorry I kinda changed up your request a little bit, I started writing and it kinda got away from me. I'm a slave to the little worm in my brain.

[saythenametotheworld]

is it new year's yet? | l.mk (18+)

Synopsis: Coming home for Christmas is your least favorite part of the year. But this time, you're up for a pleasant surprise when you get introduced to your cousin's friend from uni, Mark Lee.

Genre: holiday fling, smut

Pairing: Mark Lee x afab!Reader

Warnings: mature themes, explicit content (18+)

Notes: 9.7k words. Listening to is it new year's yet by Sabrina Carpenter. A little late holiday treat for you all! I miss writing for Mark sm. I'm on vacation so I've been MIA and will be MIA for a few more days. ALSO if you see a different version of this fic on a different account for a different idol, it's me. I have decided to open a different blog for other groups. xoxo, cal.

ENJOY!

Holidays are for family reunions and coming home to bond with your loved ones. Bullshit. You’d rather be anywhere but here.

Here being your family home, bright and cheerful with Christmas decors and merry chatter from relatives and family friends. The sweet smell of cinnamon and gingerbread permeated the halls and the Christmas songs playing from the speakers your mother had strategically placed around the house were grating on your nerves, making you dizzier than the champagne you were drinking. 

You didn’t hate your family—far from it. You loved them with every fiber of your being. But that didn’t make the family tradition of hosting a horde of relatives and family friends for Christmas any less unbearable.

Home. Familiar, warm, and somehow... suffocating.

You should be used to it by now, considering how your mother had always made it her mission to be the ultimate hostess. What might have seemed magical when you were a kid now felt so unnecessary. As you grew older, it became harder to tolerate the endless stream of insufferable relatives and their even more insufferable commentary.

“Did you lose weight?” a distant aunt asked, her eyes raking over you like you were a mannequin in a store window. “You need to eat more. You’re so skinny.”

Just call me fat, why don’t you? you thought to yourself, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. “I know. I did it on purpose,” you replied curtly before tossing back the last of your champagne. You didn’t wait for her reaction. You simply walked away, the bubbles fizzing in your throat as you searched for somewhere to hide.

You wove your way through the crowd, dodging overly familiar pats on the shoulder and sidelong glances that screamed When are you graduating? or Where’s your boyfriend?

The living room was packed with people swapping stories you’d heard a hundred times before. The scent of pine from the overdecorated tree blended with the warm spice of wine and sugary sweetness from the dessert table. The whole atmosphere was so perfect and festive that it made it a little hard to breathe. 

You needed air. Or another drink. Although, both are fine too.

In the kitchen, you poured yourself another glass of champagne and leaned against the counter, fishing out your phone to scroll mindlessly. A part of you considered texting Yeonjun—the guy you couldn’t stop thinking about. He was probably back in the city, having the time of his life at some glittering party—champagne in hand, gorgeous people all around, someone to kiss at midnight.

“Fuck this,” you muttered under your breath, stuffing your phone back in your pocket as you walked out of the kitchen.

Rounding the corner too fast, you slammed into someone—a steady grip caught your arm before the champagne could spill. 

“Easy there,” he said, his voice low and warm. You glanced up and found a stranger: jet-black hair with an undercut, sharp jawline, and an easy smile that contrasted with the chaos around you. He looked your age, maybe a bit older.

“Thanks,” you muttered, eyeing him curiously. You could not remember seeing him anywhere before, so naturally, your immediate assumption was that he was a guest’s plus one. He could be a cousin’s boyfriend or something and you were just about to ask him that when your cousin Hendery appeared beside him.

“Oooh, look who showed up!” Hendery said, tilting his head with that playful glint you always found irritating.

You rolled your eyes. “I always show up.”

“Of course you do.” Hendery leaned against the wall, arms crossed and grinning. “You hate it here, don’t you?”

You tilted your head at him, pretending to think. “What gave it away? My overflowing enthusiasm?”

“Come on, it’s not that bad,” Hendery teased. “A little family bonding with your favorite aunts would be nice. Aren’t you supposed to pack them a gift each?”

You drained the last of your champagne, letting the fizz linger as you looked at your cousin. “I’d rather die.”

Hendery laughed, nudging Mark with his elbow. “This is my cousin. She’s the resident Grinch. But don’t worry; she’s fun when she wants to be.”

“I can hear you,” you gloated.

“I know,” he said, his grin widening. “So? Are you going to spend the whole night sipping champagne like a miserable bore?”

You gave him a flat look. “Oh my god. You can read minds?” you deadpanned.

“Well, perfect! You’re already dressed for the occasion,” he quipped, gesturing vaguely at your casual attire. He laughed but stopped when you didn’t even crack a smile. “Tell you what, Mark and I are heading out. You’re welcome to join us if you want to.”

“No.”

“Come on. It’s gonna be fun.” Before you could refuse again, Hendery slung an arm around your shoulder and turned to Mark. “She’ll come. She just likes to play hard to get.”

“I really won’t,” you retorted, trying to shrug him off. “I don’t feel like tailing you two all night.”

“What else are you gonna do—sit in a corner and glare at people?”

You rolled your eyes, but the answer was obvious. Staying inside meant more questions, more relatives, more everything you were trying to avoid.

“Fine,” you muttered. “But if you drag me into something ridiculous—”

“You’ll have fun. Promise,” Hendery interrupted and then turned to Mark. “She’s coming.”

Mark’s smile was easy, almost reassuring. “No pressure. It’ll be chill.”

You smirked. “You clearly don’t know Hendery.”

With that, Hendery led the way, practically bouncing out the door. You followed, stuffing your hands into your coat pockets as Mark fell into step beside you.

The winter air hit you like a slap, crisp and biting, slicing through the lingering scents of cinnamon and pine. It was a relief, though, clearing your head from the stifling warmth of the house. You walked down the quiet streets with Hendery, Mark, and a few friends you used to hang out with growing up. They led the way, cracking jokes and tossing playful banter back and forth, while you stuck closer to the back with Mark.

“I can’t believe they’re still dating,” you muttered, eyeing a pair in front of you.

“Who? Them?” Mark asked, making you glance briefly at them.

You nodded. “They started dating when we were sophomores in high school. And they’re still together.”

Mark hummed. “They must really like each other then.”

You grimaced, eyeing the lovey-dovey couple in front. “I don’t know. They used to break up and make up. It was exhausting. Everyone thought they’d break up for good after graduation. But, well… here we are.”

“Guess they like running in circles,” Mark said lightly, shoving his hands in his pockets. He glanced sideways at you. “What about you? Do you think people like that can actually work out?”

You raised an eyebrow at him, unsure if the question was casual or probing. “I think it depends on how much drama you can stomach. Personally, I’d rather avoid it altogether.”

Mark tilted his head thoughtfully. “No drama, huh? That’s a pretty high bar for relationships.”

You smirked, knowing how ironic it was for you to say this despite having a relationship drama. “Tell me about it,” you mumbled.

It was easy to figure out Mark’s intentions. The whole time, he didn’t try to hide it, nor did he try to send mixed signals. It was pretty clear with how close he was standing beside you, how his shoulder almost brushed yours. The way Mark’s eyes lingered on you when you spoke, the way he tilted his head when you laughed, like he was committing the sound to memory. How, even when you weren’t talking, he stayed within arm’s reach, his gaze flickering to you every now and then. How his focus remained on you.

And then there was the way he leaned in just slightly when he made a comment, his voice low, his words meant only for you.

He was attentive in a way that surprised you, even in the most casual moments. As you explained how you and your friends used to kill time in this sleepy town—late-night drives to the lookout point, sneaking snacks into the single-screen movie theater, racing bikes down the old dirt trail—Mark listened with genuine curiosity, his eyes lighting up with every story.

“So, let me get this straight,” he said when you were alone at the swings. You sat comfortably on the swing while he pushed you gently. “Not only did you race down a hill that sounds like a death trap, but you’re telling me you were the reigning champion?”

You tilted your head, feigning offense. “Why do you sound so skeptical?”

“Oh, I believe you,” he said, his smirk widening. “I’m just wondering how many people you bribed to throw the race.”

You gasped playfully. “Excuse me, I won fair and square.”

“Sure you did.” His laughter was low, warm, the kind that made you feel comfortable with him.

You smirked. “Why else would I bring it up? Go ask them.”

He chuckled, nodding his head. “You seem really confident… I believe you.”

You were quiet for a while, with only the creaking sound of swing filling the silence. The tip of your shoes dragged lightly with every swing, carving the damp ground underneath.

Mark asked after the silence stretched out. “So, is that all you did for fun around here?”

“Pretty much,” you said with a shrug. “Lame, huh?”

“Not at all. It’s simple but it has its charm,” he said softly, pausing as he held the swing tight to stop it. “It says a lot about you though.”

You raised an eyebrow, glancing at him with a playful smirk tugging at your lips. “Are you calling me charming?”

“Maybe,” he said, his voice light but his gaze unwavering. “What would you do if I was?”

You tilted your head, pretending to think. “Depends. Is this small-town charm talking, or do you actually mean it?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Trust me, I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.”

“Well, aren’t you a smooth talker?” you teased, though your voice had softened, your usual sharpness dulled by the way Mark was looking at you.

He grinned, leaning just a little closer, his voice dropping lower. “Only with the right company.”

You held his gaze. “Right company, huh?” you murmured, your heart thudding as you tilted your head, meeting his eyes.

He smiled faintly, his voice dipping lower. “You know I mean it.”

His gaze lingered on you, his head tilting ever so slightly as he leaned closer. You barely noticed the chill in the air anymore, not when the space between you seemed to shrink. His hand brushed the chain of the swing, his fingers close enough to graze yours. His breath mixed with yours, the faint scent of his cologne and the crisp night air filling the gap. Slowly, as if testing the waters, he leaned in, his focus entirely on you.

Your fingers twitched on the swing’s chain, almost brushing his. His lips hovered near yours now, and for a moment, everything else faded away—

“Yo, there you are!” Hendery’s voice broke through the stillness, loud and completely unbothered.

You flinched, the spell breaking as you turned toward the sound of footsteps crunching against the gravel. Hendery and the others were strolling toward you, their laughter cutting through the quiet.

Mark straightened quickly, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips as he ran a hand through his hair. “Ah, that’s too bad,” he murmured, his voice low enough just for you. “I thought we’d finally lost them.”

A quiet laugh escaped you, even as warmth lingered on your cheeks. “I didn’t know we were doing that.”

He shrugged, a glint of mischief in his eyes, so you swatted his chest lightly, the playfulness easing the tension.

Hendery raised an eyebrow as he approached, his gaze flicking between you and Mark. “What, were you two having a moment or something?”

“Not even close,” you shot back, sharper than you intended. “What do you want?”

“Lori was asking if your mom baked a fruitcake this year,” he said, pointing toward your friend Lori.

You glanced at her, catching her expectant grin. “You know what,” you said, rising to your feet, “she did. You should grab some before it’s gone.”

Lori and the others cheered. Though your mom’s fruitcake wasn’t your favorite—too sweet for your taste—you still felt a swell of pride knowing it was the highlight of every Christmas. It was this pride that made you wanna bring them over, so with Hendery leading your group, you headed back to your house, noisy and in high spirits.

Like opposite sides of magnets, you and Mark found each other again and fell behind the rest of the group. He leaned into your ear as he asked, “Are we gonna pick up where we left off?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Depends on how charming you are for the rest of the night.”

He held your gaze, his smile softening. “Challenge accepted.”

You felt your cheeks heat up under his gaze, but you didn’t look away. Instead, you let the confidence he’d drawn out of you take hold. “You’ve been following me all night. You like me, don’t you?”

Mark didn’t even bother denying it. His smile widened, his voice steady as he replied, “Can you blame me?”

You chuckled. “Don’t fall for me, though. I’d hate to break your heart once the holidays are over,” you told him, grinning playfully before walking faster to rejoin your friends.

Mark stayed back for a moment, watching you. Too late, he thought. You really should’ve warned him sooner.

“If this was a uni party, someone would’ve spiked the eggnog already,” you mumbled, your eyes scanning the room filled with family, friends, and all the usual holiday chaos.

Mark’s voice was low beside you, cutting through the noise. “Really?”

You nodded, not looking at him. “Oh yeah. If you want to survive the night here, you have to make your own fun.” You shot him a side glance, half-smiling. “Otherwise, it’s just... this.”

For a brief moment, Mark said nothing, but you could feel him shifting beside you. Then, in a voice laced with amusement and mischief, he said, “I’ll be right back.”

Your heart skipped a beat. Alarmed, you grabbed his arm and yanked him back before he could get too far. “No, Mark!”

He turned toward you, his grin dangerous. “What?”

“No, seriously,” you whispered urgently, trying to keep your voice down. You scanned the room quickly, then pointed across it with dramatic flair. “Old people.”

Mark’s brow furrowed, clearly confused, so you leaned in just a little closer. “That’s my great-uncle,” you said, nodding toward an elderly man in a faded cardigan who was snoozing away in the rocking chair. “He’s 84 and can’t have alcohol. But he’s obsessed with eggnog. Let’s not ruin this for him.”

Mark raised an eyebrow, fighting back a laugh. “That’s not so Grinch of you.”

“I make exceptions for people I like,” you said, your voice dropping to a playful whisper.

His smile deepened, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Is that so?” he asked, teasing but warm. “What exceptions have you made for me so far?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop your smile from widening. “I’m not answering that.”

“So there is something, then?”  He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your cheek, as if the answer were hidden in your response.

“I’m not answering that either.” You chuckled, taking a step back with an exaggerated sigh. You started heading toward the patio, but Mark’s long strides quickly caught up, his footsteps just behind you.

The cold night air hit your skin as you stepped onto the patio, but the firepit’s warmth immediately enveloped you. Your friends and cousins gathered around, roasting marshmallows and swapping stories. You sat on the same bench as Mark, his presence adding warmth and comfort. You joined the conversations with the others, while occasionally having your own little talks with Mark.

The more you talked, the closer he leaned toward you, his eyes never quite leaving your face as if he were soaking in everything you said. You could feel the heat radiating from him, the heat of both the fire and his proximity. 

As the night wore on, the laughter around the firepit thinned out, your companions dispersing one by one to retire for the night. Soon, it was just you, Mark, and Hendery—both guys occupied with something on Hendery’s phone.Left to your own devices, you scrolled aimlessly through social media, eventually landing on a friend’s Instagram story.

Yeonjun appeared in the group photo, looking happy and festive at what seemed like a rowdy party. You checked your inbox, hoping for a message, but he hadn’t even read the last one you’d sent. A sigh slipped from your lips louder than you intended, and Mark glanced up at you.

“You okay?” he asked quietly as you quickly turned your screen off. His cheeks were flushed, likely from the cold and the alcohol, and his eyes looked a little sleepy from the late hour. The sight of him brought a comforting warmth to your chest.

“I’m fine,” you mouthed, holding his hand that rested on your arm.

Suddenly, Hendery shot up from his seat with a sharp exhale. “Let’s get out of here. I’m about to lose it with this Mariah Carey song they’ve got on repeat.”

“You go ahead. I’m gonna stick around for a bit,” Mark replied, squeezing your arm before rubbing his thumb against your jacket.

Hendery noticed your joined hands and narrowed his eyes at the two of you. “You guys are getting cozy.”

“Are we?” you teased, glancing at Mark and shrugging. You leaned against his chest playfully and added, “I hardly noticed.”

Mark played along, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and pulling you closer. Hendery shook his head, letting out an exaggerated sigh. “If you’re gonna have sex, don’t do it in our room.”

The comment made you roll your eyes. “This is my house, Hendery. We can do it in my bedroom!”

Hendery didn’t respond, only raised a middle finger at you two before walking away. You laughed, watching him disappear into the house. But beside you, Mark had stopped grinning, his expression shifting to something more serious, his eyes wide with shock.

You raised an eyebrow. “What? I was just joking.”

Mark blinked a few times, looking away as he cleared his throat. “Yeah, I know.” His voice was a little more strained, and you noticed a blush creeping up his neck.

You couldn’t resist teasing him further. “Did you think I was serious?” you asked, leaning in just a little closer.

Mark turned his head slightly, his eyes flickering toward you for a brief moment before he fixed his gaze on the fire. “Not at all,” he replied quickly.

“Oh? So you’re not interested?” you pressed, enjoying the sight of him flustered.

“I didn’t say that,” he responded too eagerly, too quickly.

The sudden shift in his tone caught you off guard. You hesitated for a moment, watching him carefully before you let out a soft laugh. “Okay,” you said, wanting to ease the tension. “I was just messing with you. Relax.”

Mark didn’t answer immediately, but you saw his posture stiffen, his hand slipping from your shoulder as he cleared his throat again. The air between you two felt thicker now, charged with something neither of you wanted to bring up.

You let the silence hang there for a few moments before turning to look at the house, your smile a little softer. “Anyway,” you muttered, standing up, “let’s get back inside.”

Mark didn’t say anything as he followed you, the air between you was thick with tension, but neither of you said much as you both walked toward the staircase leading up to the upper floors. It was past midnight. You had intended to hang out with him a bit more, but the night suddenly started to catch up with you after that awkward exchange with Mark.

It shouldn’t be a surprise. He clearly wanted you, at least based on how he’d been flirting with you all night and how you almost kissed at the playground earlier. And to be honest, you were entertaining the idea of a holiday fling with Mark. He was very attractive and he’d done nothing to raise any red flags so far. So why did the sudden sexual tension seem to make things awkward between you?

As you reached the hallway, you turned to him with a small smile. “Well, guess it’s time for me to call it a night,” you said, your voice a little quieter than usual.

Mark nodded, but there was something in his expression that suggested he wasn’t ready to say goodnight just yet. “Yeah… sure,” he replied, his eyes focused on you.

You both stopped in front of your door and there was a silence that stretched longer than either of you anticipated. When you reached for the doorknob, Mark didn’t say anything, though you could see the dejected look in his eyes that he failed to mask with the smile he was wearing.

“See you in the morning?” you suggested, offering him something to look forward to despite the seemingly disappointing end to the night. “That is, if you’re still here by then,” you added, a low key attempt at asking what his plans were for tomorrow.

Mark smiled warmly. “I might have volunteered to be tomorrow’s Santa Claus, so I think I’d still be here.”

You chuckled, the tension easing just a little. “Are you serious?”

“No,” he chimed with a playful grin, reaching for your hand and brushing his fingers lightly across your skin.

The touch was so small, yet it felt electric. Your heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. His eyes locked with yours, holding a silent intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. You found yourself leaning in, just a little bit closer, your breath shallow.

“Mark, I—” you began, only to cut yourself off because you didn’t really know what you were gonna say. Or if you should even say anything at all.

But then you both understood without words. Your nerves seemed to settle, and without another sound, Mark leaned in, his lips pressing gently against yours.

It was soft, almost questioning at first, but the moment it happened, everything else seemed to fade into the background. The lingering discomfort from the teasing, the unsaid words—everything disappeared. For that one exhilarating moment, there was nothing but the warmth of him against you.

When the kiss broke, you both stood there, breathless, eyes wide. You let out a nervous laugh, still trying to gather your thoughts. “That didn’t just happen,” you chuckled.

Mark’s gaze softened, his lips curling up into a small, almost sheepish smile. “Was that too fast?” he questioned playfully.

You exhaled a laugh, shaking your head. “Not really, but… let’s just pretend it didn’t happen,” you said, trying to play it cool, but your heart was still racing.

He nodded quickly. “Yeah. Good idea.”

You stood there for a whole minute, staring at each other in the quiet, with only the faint sound of Christmas carol from the living room filling the silence. “Good idea,” you echoed quietly, but your eyes were fixed on his lips, plump and inviting.

Before you knew it, you were kissing again, this time, the kiss was slower, more deliberate, the kind that made your knees a little weak. His hands settled gently on your waist, making you hyper aware of the way your bodies are pressed against each other. For a moment, you let yourself forget about everything else—the holiday chaos, your family, Yeonjun.

When he pulled back slightly, his gaze was intense, searching yours. “You good?” he rasped, his breath warm against your face.

“Totally,” you replied, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him back in for another kiss.

You kicked your bedroom door open, tugging him inside without breaking the kiss. In no time, you found your back pressed against the wall right by the door, Mark’s lips ravaging yours with a kiss that made you go feral.

When his hand slipped under your shirt, you held it tightly, debating whether to let him go there—caught between wanting to retreat and wanting to give in. As your hesitation stretched, Mark took it as his cue to pull away—not completely, just enough to press his forehead against yours and cup your cheeks

“Is that a ‘no’?” he whispered, his voice laced with playful warmth.

You chuckled, still a little drunk on his lips—on him. “Are you hurt?” you asked playfully, though your concern was sincere. “Your ego, I mean.”

“Hmm, not really,” he replied, shivering under your touch when your hand ran from his arm to his neck. “I’m more hurt somewhere else.”

That made you laugh and hit his chest playfully. Mark caught your hand, keeping it on his chest as he closed his eyes—forehead still pressed against, his breathing steady but deep, his lips lifted slightly in a faint smile.

You planted a soft kiss on his lips and took a small step back. “Aren’t you leaving?”

Mark clutched his chest, feigning a pained look. “Ouch. I’m getting kicked out too? This is torture.”

The sound of Christmas carols from the living room filtered through the door, a reminder of the world just outside, but neither of you seemed in a rush to leave. Mark looked around your dimly lit bedroom, studying the space as if familiarizing himself.

“I don’t want to push my luck,” he said, his voice low as he glanced back at you. “But this is much cozier than the guest room I’m sharing with Hendery.”

You smirked, catching the insinuation in his statement. “It’s a no, Mark.”

Mark winced visibly. “Is that final?” he asked, making you chuckle.

“We only just met.”

He shrugged, nodding thoughtfully. “That’s fair. It was worth a shot, though.”

You had to admit, you considered it. Just the idea of being in Mark’s arms stirred something inside you. A feeling that, if you were being honest, you weren’t expecting to feel at all when you boarded the train home for the holidays. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe the loneliness of the night creeping in, but right now, you felt more alive than you had in weeks.

Mark tilted your chin, pressing a chaste kiss on your lips once more. “Good night?”

“Good night,” you chimed, holding his hand against your cheek.

But he made no move to leave, he just stood there, staring at you as if it would physically pain him to look away. Then he leaned in for another kiss, and you were more than happy to oblige.

“You’re trouble, you know that?” he teased, forehead pressing against yours.

“You’re one to talk,” you retorted, rolling your eyes playfully, though your smile was soft, just a little more sincere now.

The next morning, breakfast unfolded in a much quieter manner than last night’s festivities with everyone still half-asleep and quietly eating. Across the table, Mark seemed perfectly at ease, though you couldn’t ignore the occasional glance he sent your way—or how your gaze sometimes lingered on him longer than it should.

Your mom’s attention was on him, which was understandable since he was the only new face around the dining table. Your mom said she didn’t get the chance to properly get to know him because yesterday was hectic. Mark didn’t seem to mind, he was polite and spoke with courteousness and a charming demeanor. 

You got to know a few things about him from their conversation. He’s a Music major at the same university as Hendery, he’s Korean but was raised in Canada. And he came with Hendery because he couldn’t fly back home for Christmas.

“So, Mark,” your mom began to add as she reached for another piece of toast, her tone light but curious. “How do you know Hendery?”

You smirked, glancing at your cousin. “Yeah. You seem too cool to be hanging out with this dork.”

Mark glanced at Hendery, who was already grinning as if he knew what story Mark was going to tell. “We met during our first year,” Mark said, chuckling. “I was waiting for a class to start, and out of nowhere, he sat down next to me and just… started talking.”

“Talking about what?” your mom asked.

Mark hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh… pigeons.”

“Pigeons?”

“Yeah,” Mark replied, his laugh a little sheepish. “He was convinced that pigeons were government drones or something, and he just kept going on about it. For like, twenty minutes. I thought he was messing with me, but he was dead serious.”

Hendery piped up from further down the table. “They are drones, by the way.”

The table burst into laughter, while you shot Hendery an incredulous look. “You don’t actually believe that, do you?”

Hendery looked unbothered. “Oh, I do. As a matter of fact—”

“Nevermind,” you interrupted, cutting him off. “Forget I asked.”

Mark was grinning. “Honestly, I didn’t know what to think at first, but it was kind of refreshing. Everyone else was so uptight, and here’s this guy just dropping pigeon conspiracies out of nowhere.”

Your mom laughed again, shaking her head. “Well, that’s one way to make a friend.”

“And now you’re stuck with him,” you teased, looking at Mark.

“Pretty much,” Mark agreed, his gaze flicking to you with a warm smile. “But hey, life’s never boring with Hendery around.”

You smirked. “You’re too kind. Just say he’s an idiot. He doesn’t mind.”

Hendery waved his fork in the air, scoffing at you. “Joke’s on you. Mark would never say something so mean.”

Mark shrugged. “Well, he’s kind of… an idiot.”

Hendery gasped dramatically. “What have you done to my friend?” he accused dramatically.

The conversation soon shifted from playful banter to lighter topics as the meal wound down. You mostly stayed quiet, stealing occasional glances at Mark, who somehow managed to charm your family without even trying. When breakfast ended, your mom handed you a towel. “You’re on dish duty today,” she said with a kind smile.

Mark stood without hesitation. “I’ll help.”

“Very gallant of you,” your mom quipped, her tone amused as she watched you carry the dishes away.

When your family was out of earshot, Mark leaned in close, his voice dropping to a playful whisper. “Figured I’d earn some points.”

You chuckled, shaking your head but not protesting as he followed you into the kitchen. He rolled up his sleeves with ease, taking the stack of plates from your hands and grinning like this was second nature to him. The two of you fell into a quiet rhythm at the sink, you rinsing while he dried.

“So,” he began after a moment, breaking the silence with his usual casual tone. “Your mom’s cool. Super curious, though.”

You snorted. “That’s her way of being welcoming. Consider yourself officially part of the family.”

“Is that so?” he asked, his tone teasing. “Guess that means I have to stick around,” he added, bumping his elbow against your arm.

You rolled your eyes, recognizing the playful hint. “Only as Dery’s friend, though.”

“What do you know? She might upgrade me to Son-in-Law once she sees my dish-drying technique,” he quipped, his shoulder brushing yours as he reached for a dish and started wiping with exaggerated flourishes.

“Son-in-Law is a pretty big leap from Nephew’s College Friend.”

He grinned with mock confidence. “I’m Mark Lee. Anything’s possible.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Alright, Golden Boy.”

“You’ve got a pretty lively family,” Mark said after a pause, his tone softening. “They remind me of mine.”

“Oh, yeah?” You glanced at him, curious. “Big Christmas crowd?”

“Not as big as yours, but yeah. We do the whole chaos thing. My mom insists on playing charades after dinner, even though none of us can act to save our lives.”

You chuckled at the image, your hand brushing his as you passed him a plate. The touch lingered for half a second too long, enough to make your heart skip a beat. When you looked at him, Mark was already watching you, his voice dropping to something quieter as he leaned closer to whisper in your ear.

“By the way, you look lovely this morning.”

The compliment hit harder than it should’ve, leaving you momentarily flustered. You managed to play it off with a teasing smile. “Trying to earn more points?”

“Maybe,” he replied with a grin, leaning just a fraction closer.

You rolled your eyes, nudging him with your elbow. “Just dry the dishes.”

Mark grinned, leaning slightly closer. “Maybe.”

You rolled your eyes, nudging him with your elbow. “Just dry the dishes.”

His soft laughter warmed the kitchen, the hum of last night’s lingering tension sparking again between you. By the time you handed him the final dish, there were no more “accidental” brushes—Mark took your hand outright, pulling you gently forward to steal a quick, mischievous kiss.

You gasped, heat rushing to your face as you slapped his arm. “You sneaky little—”

Before you could finish, he leaned in again, catching you in another kiss, quick and light, as if testing the waters. Then he turned back to the towel like nothing had happened, leaving you standing there, your thoughts a flustered jumble.

Exhaling a mock exasperated sigh, you gave up on playing it cool. Closing the small gap between you, you slipped your arms around his waist, letting your cheek rest briefly against his shoulder as he put the last plate away.

“This is nice,” he murmured, discarding the towel and turning to face you. His arms wrapped around you naturally, pulling you close. “Makes us look like boyfriend and girlfriend, doesn’t it?”

You scoffed, stepping back slightly. “Don’t push your luck.”

But when you turned to leave, Mark caught your wrist, pulling you back into a tight embrace. “Where are you going? Stay.”

You hesitated for half a second, then melted into his hold, your hands settling lightly on his waist. “What are we even doing?” you asked, chuckling lowly.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, resting his chin lightly against your hair. “But it’s nice.”

“Yeah,” you murmured, a small smile tugging at your lips. “It kinda is.”

The moment was broken by the faint sound of singing from the direction of the main door. Mark’s brows rose as he glanced toward the sound. “Carolers?”

“Yeah,” you replied, pulling away and jogging toward the door. Outside, a small group of children and teenagers stood assembled like a festive choir, their voices harmonizing in cheerful Christmas melodies. Your family was already out there, listening with smiles on their faces.

Hendery noticed you standing beside him and leaned in. “Tell me why I can’t punch the carolers.”

You snorted. “Because it’s not their fault you didn’t pass the auditions.”

“Right,” he mumbled, rolling his eyes.

“Dude, what? You auditioned for this?” Mark asked, his expression bewildered.

Hendery smirked, unbothered by the attention. “I’m a man of many talents, my friend. They fumbled real bad when they decided to reject me.”

“Oh my god,” you groaned, exasperated. “You’re insufferable.”

“You love me for it.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at your lips. Christmas morning chaos, as always.

The rest of the day unfolded in a series of warm, chaotic moments. After the carolers left, your family gathered in the living room, eager to keep the festive spirit alive.

Someone—probably Hendery—suggested a game of charades. It started out as a reluctant group activity but quickly spiraled into uncontrollable laughter as your aunt wildly flailed her arms trying to mimic Jaws, and your dad confused everyone by acting out Titanic with interpretive dance.

Mark fit right in, his easy humor making him an absolute hit. He was surprisingly good at charades, though you suspected he was just adept at playing to the crowd. When it was your turn to act, he leaned over to Hendery and whispered something that had both of them laughing under their breath—probably a jab at your complete lack of acting skills. You shot them a mock glare, but it only made Mark grin wider.

When the game wound down, your mom announced it was time for gifts. You handed your parents the small, thoughtful presents you’d prepared—a new mug for your dad’s coffee addiction, and a designer brand scarf you’d picked up for your mom.

“You shouldn’t have,” your mom said with a soft smile, wrapping the scarf around her neck immediately.

Others exchanged gifts, too, and to your surprise, a few came your way: a box of chocolates from your aunt, fuzzy socks from Hendery, and a cute notebook from a younger cousin. You hadn’t expected anything from anyone other than your parents, so it warmed you more than you cared to admit.

Mark, meanwhile, didn’t seem fazed by the lack of a gift exchange between the two of you. Instead, as the wrapping paper chaos settled, he nudged your arm.

“Guess we forgot to plan this part, huh?” he said, his tone light but his eyes searching yours.

“Yeah, well,” you replied, shrugging, “we didn’t exactly have time for shopping.”

Mark leaned back against the couch, thoughtful. Then his face lit up with an idea. “How about we exchange something else?”

“Like what?” you asked, curious.

He reached for his phone, pulling up a playlist. “Music,” he said simply. “I’ll share a song I love, and you do the same. It’s like a tiny window into who we are.”

You hesitated for a moment but nodded. “Okay. You first.”

He scrolled through his playlist before handing you one of his airpods. The track was a mellow, soulful tune with heartfelt lyrics, and as it played, you found yourself surprised at how much it suited him—genuine, unpretentious, and quietly warm.

“I like it,” you admitted, handing the phone back.

“Your turn,” he said, leaning closer as if to make sure he wouldn’t miss a beat.

You picked something a little more upbeat but with a nostalgic edge. The second it started, Mark grinned, nodding along to the rhythm. “Good choice. I can see why you like it.”

For the rest of the evening, the two of you exchanged little pieces of yourselves—stories, favorite movies, quirks. It wasn’t the traditional gift exchange, but it felt like something better, something that fit the budding connection between you.

Later, as the family settled down for a Christmas movie, Mark ended up beside you on the couch. The warmth of him sitting close felt comforting, and somewhere in the middle of Love Actually, his hand found yours under the blanket draped over your laps. It wasn’t showy or obvious; no one else noticed.

As the movie played on, you felt your phone buzzing on your lap. You picked it up in a heartbeat, a force of habit that made you feel a little pathetic. Letting out a sigh, you tucked your phone away, refusing to check what the notification was about—or who it was from.

Mark leaned closer, his voice low but curious. “Who is he?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“The guy,” he clarified. “The one who keeps making you wait for him.”

You chuckled nervously. “There is no guy.”

Mark raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. You sighed. “Fine. There is—was, actually. I think I’m done waiting for him.”

“Why is that?”

You tilted your head slightly, taking a very good look at the beautiful man before you. A smile crept across your lips. Why, he asked? It was because you met him—Mark Lee, who wanted you and made it clear. Mark Lee, who gave you signals and acted on them. Mark Lee, who not only spoke honestly about how much he liked you but also went out of his way to show it. Mark Lee, who gave you more in two days than Yeonjun had in three months.

“You staring at me like that is making me wanna kiss you right now,” Mark said softly, cutting through your reverie.

You grinned. “Do it then.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. His lips brushed yours, warm and soft, and for a moment, it felt like the world had narrowed down to just the two of you.

Across from you, Hendery grimaced, letting out an exaggerated groan. “Guys. Just get a room already.”

You pulled back, laughing, your cheeks warm with embarrassment. Mark didn’t seem fazed, his smirk playful as he leaned closer, lacing his fingers with yours.

“Ignore him,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing.

You giggled, the giddiness bubbling up despite yourself. “He’s right, though,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “We should probably get a room.”

Mark’s grin widened, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Okay,” he said, as if it was the easiest decision in the world. “I’d never say no to that.”

Hendery let out another theatrical groan from across the room, muttering something about needing bleach for his eyes. But neither of you paid him any attention as you shared a knowing glance, the warmth between you now impossible to ignore.

Laughter spilled from your lips as you and Mark slipped out of the living room to the quiet halls upstairs. The muffled sounds of the movie still playing below faded with every step. Mark stayed close, his hand brushing yours until he tugged you gently back, spinning you to face him.

“Come here,” he murmured, stealing another kiss, his lips warm against yours.

You giggled, pulling away just enough to tease him. “Have some restraint, will you?”

He grinned, leaning in to whisper in your ear, his voice low and mischievous. “That’s too much to ask of me, you know?”

Your laughter filled the empty corridor as you took a step back, only for Mark to chase after you. His hands found your waist, pulling you close before kissing you again, slower this time, his lips lingering like he had all the time in the world.

By the time you reached your bedroom door, your cheeks ached from smiling, and your heart was racing. You kissed him there, leaning against the doorframe, your fingers tangling in his hair as his hands rested firmly on your hips. The kiss deepened, heat building between you as your breath hitched.

The sound of someone clearing their throat made you both freeze. You pulled apart to see your old uncle shuffling past, raising an eyebrow but saying nothing as he continued down the hall.

Mark pressed his forehead against yours, biting back a laugh. “Think he’ll tell your mom?”

You snorted, pushing him lightly. “Does it matter? Bet everyone knows there’s something between us by now.”

“Touche.”

With a shared grin, you twisted the doorknob and pulled him inside. The door clicked shut behind you as you stumbled into the room, your lips finding his again in the quiet.

With a shared grin, you twisted the doorknob and pulled him inside. The door clicked shut behind you as you stumbled into the room, your lips finding his again in the quiet.

His kiss was unhurried, deliberate—gentle hands cradling your face as his lips moved against yours. When he pulled back, his eyes met yours, the intensity of his gaze making your breath hitch. His touch trailed to your chin, guiding your head slightly as his lips pressed softly along your jaw.

You tilted your head instinctively, granting him access, and he didn’t waste the opportunity. His kisses wandered down to your neck—soft brushes, playful nips, and teasingly light touches. Each one sent sparks skittering across your skin, your pulse quickening under his attention.

When his tongue flicked against the sensitive spot beneath your ear, you giggled, stepping back slightly. The sound was as much a reaction to the ticklish sensation as it was to the heat pooling low in your belly.

“Sorry,” he said, his warm laugh brushing against your skin. “I thought you’d like it.”

“Oh, I like it,” you admitted, brushing your hair aside to bare your neck again. “I just wasn’t expecting it.”

His fingers lightly traced the column of your neck. “Why not?”

“I’m… ticklish,” you said shyly, rolling your eyes to downplay your embarrassment.

Mark chuckled, the sound rich and low, sending butterflies racing in your stomach. His smile softened as he leaned in, teasing, “Noted.”

You sighed dramatically, unable to keep the playful glint out of your eyes. “Did we come up here just so you could tease me like this, or…?”

His eyes narrowed, his expression turning mock-exasperated. “Dude, why are you ruining the moment?” he asked, pulling you by the nape of your neck for another kiss. A deep one—heated, fervent, intoxicating, leaving you heady and utterly captivated.

Carefully, he lowered you down the bed, his lips not leaving yours. With one swift motion, he pulled your shirt off and tossed it aside. Then he paused, his gaze sweeping over you with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

Desire burned in his eyes—raw and unmistakable—leaving no doubt about how much he wanted you.

“Well? Don’t just stand there and stare,” you whined cutely, feeling your cheeks burn with embarrassment but trying to keep your composure.

Mark exhaled sharply, crawling on the bed to kiss you again. “Can’t help it.”

His lips traveled the length of your neck and collarbone, nipping and sucking, sending waves of pleasure throughout your body. With his mouth, he traced the line between your breasts, down to your stomach, until he reached your navel. Mark didn’t stop there. He undid your jeans and tugged it down before pressing his nose on your sex and taking a long sniff.

“Mark,” you whispered, the pressure from his nose making your body burn with anticipation. 

He knew exactly what he was doing, pushing your underwear aside and licking a stripe at the pooling wetness between your legs. He continued with expertise, making you writhe and moan in ecstasy. You tried to close your legs when the stimulation became too much, but Mark’s grasp of your thighs were tight, prying your legs open so he could continue what he came to do. All you could do was whimper and grab a handful of his hair. 

Your mind was screaming for him to stop, but your mouth could only utter his name as your hips bucked forward, eager for more.

Then he suddenly stopped, leaving you momentarily confused. He came back up, hovering over you with a proud smile on his face. You thought he was done but before you could utter a word, two of his fingers slipped into your cunt, making you gasp.

Mark didn’t say anything, he just grinned wider, seemingly proud of how good he was making you feel. His fingers slid in and out in a steady pace, growing more rapid and urgent the more he saw your face contorting with pleasure and euphoria. 

“Yes!” you exclaimed, your back arching as you felt the familiar knot in your belly. “Don’t stop!”

And then came a euphoric wave engulfing your entire being. You froze for a moment, your mouth gaping open as you relished the momentary high that washed over you. Mark’s fingers were still inside you as he kissed your forehead.

“That’s it. Good girl,” he lilted before capturing your lips in a fervent kiss.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as you met his kiss with a hunger that bordered on desperation.  Everything else faded, and before you knew it, the two of you were naked on the bed, moving together like it was the only thing that mattered.

The air was thick with the sounds of your shared passion—your breathless moans, his deep groans, and the unmistakable sound of skin slamming against skin. Mark was a perfect fit, his every thrust reaching a depth that had spiraling into an irrational desire for more. More, as though he hadn’t already completely consumed you.

Your fingers dug into his back, your grip tightening with every surge of pleasure. When he pinned your wrists above your head, your body arched instinctively, your hands grasping at the sheets as you gasped for him to keep going.  When his teeth nipped at the sensitive curve of your neck, your entire body lit up, every nerve alive with overwhelming pleasure. And when he murmured your name, his voice rough and breathless, it was enough to push you closer to the edge, leaving you lost in a desperate, dizzying need for him.

Mark was a vice. He unraveled you, body and mind, until nothing existed but the maddening ache of him and the desperate, spiraling desire to never let this moment end.

“Oh, Mark.”

“What do you want, baby?” he asked in a low, deep and raspy voice sending pleasant shivers down your spine.

“Harder, Mark. Please.” you cried out, not even caring to hide how needy you were.

“Fuck,” he grunted, spurred on by the need in your voice. “You’re so...” 

He didn’t finish his sentence, instead, he kissed your lips and picked up his pace. Rocking with more force and intensity. Drilling deeper with every thrust. Fucking you senseless until you were crying out his name and begging him not to stop.

The knot in your core coiled tighter with every thrust, your body trembling beneath him as you clung to the last shreds of control. His movements grew more frantic, each one sending shockwaves through you that built higher and higher.

“Mark,” you gasped, your nails dragging down his back as the heat between you burned hotter. He groaned in response, low and guttural, the sound sending you further into overdrive.

When his mouth trailed down, teeth grazing your nipple just right, your world seemed to have shattered. A wave of pleasure crashed over you, your body arching into his as you cried out, completely undone. He followed moments later, a broken sound leaving his lips as he buried himself deeper, his own release spilling into you.

For a moment, neither of you moved, both catching your breaths with your foreheads pressed together. The world slowly shifted into focus, the haze of what had happened between you lingered in the air as you found yourself coming back down from what had felt like an incomparable high. Soon though, the weight of his body pressing against yours made breathing slightly harder. 

You gave him a gentle nudge, your voice soft. “Mark, you’re heavy.”

He grinned, rolling onto the bed beside you with a contented sigh. “Better?” 

You nodded, meeting his gaze as he brushed a few stray hairs from your face. “You okay?” he asked, his tone quiet but sure.

“Yeah,” you replied, your voice coming out quieter than intended. “You?”

Mark’s smile widened. “Never better.”

Before you could think of something clever to say, he leaned in, his lips grazing yours in a way that made your heart flutter all over again. The two of you stayed like that for a while, stealing quiet, intimate moments in the privacy of your bedroom. Eventually, you both knew you couldn’t hide away forever.

When you finally slipped back into the hallway, your cheeks were still warm, and you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. Mark stayed close, his shoulder brushing against yours as you rejoined your family in the living room.

For the rest of the day, his presence was a constant. Whether he was cracking jokes with Hendery or leaning in to share a private comment that made you laugh, it felt like he’d completely settled into your orbit—and you didn’t mind.

It didn’t take long for everyone else in the house to notice your growing closeness with Mark. Your cousins teased you relentlessly, joking that Mark was the Christmas Miracle who made you shed your Grinch fur. Even your parents joined in.

“Had I known all it would take for you to stop grimacing every year on Christmas was a boyfriend,” your dad quipped, “I would’ve asked your mom to set you up on blind dates ages ago.”

“Ew, Dad. That’s so lame,” you replied with a grimace, though a pang of guilt flickered in your chest. For years, they’d put up with your reluctance to embrace the holiday spirit, and it hadn’t been fair to them.

Later, while Mark was off chatting with your cousins, your mom quietly pulled you aside. “I like him,” she said with a knowing smile. “He seems like a really sweet guy.”

“He is,” you admitted softly, hesitating. “But we don’t know much about each other. This is probably just… some temporary holiday fling.”

“Is that what you think?” she asked, tilting her head thoughtfully. “Well, sometimes those ‘temporary’ things surprise you. It’s just nice to see you happy.”

Her words replayed in your head, even as the evening unfolded into more teasing, laughter, and the occasional stolen glances between you and Mark. It felt effortless, the way he was seamlessly pulled into your family’s fold—laughing with your cousins, charming your parents, and somehow always finding his way back to your side.

At one point, as you leaned against the porch railing, your gaze wandering to the clear night sky, Mark appeared at your side. His hand brushed yours before his fingers slipped between them, the motion casual but deliberate.

“Wanna get out of here?” he murmured, his lips brushing your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

“And go where?” you asked, your voice just above a whisper.

“Anywhere,” he said with a crooked smile, hazy with the warmth of the evening—or maybe just you. “I just wanna be alone with you.”

You didn’t even have time to answer before Hendery, lounging on the couch nearby, cut in with exaggerated indignation. “I didn’t mean for this to happen,” he sighed.

“But now that it is happening, I guess all I can say is fuck you guys and please get out of my sight,” Hendery added, rolling his eyes. “You have no respect for the single loners hanging out with you, did you know that?”

You snickered. “This is why you bring your girlfriend home for the holidays, not a hot friend.”

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” Hendery retorted, crossing his arms.

“And whose fault is that?” you teased with a grin.

Hendery shot you a pointed look. “Don’t act so smug. You’ve been a Christmas Grinch for years. I’m not taking any advice from you.”

“Fair,” you admitted with a shrug, wanting so much to keep taunting him but deciding against it because he was right.

Your cousin cut in from across the room. “Dery, when did you say you were leaving again?”

“Tomorrow morning,” he replied.

“Already?” you asked, surprised.

“Yeah,” he continued, his tone dripping with self-satisfaction. “We have a New Year event at uni. Mark’s needed for some important technical stuff. And me? Well, they need me for my invaluable presence.”

The chatter around you faded into the background as Mark tugged you closer. “You should come see it,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with intention.

You tilted your head, curious. “Is it fun?”

“I hope so,” he said with a small, crooked smile. “If it’s not, I’ll make it up to you somehow.”

You giggled when he kissed the side of your head. “How are you gonna do that?”

“Well, for starters…” He paused, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered in a voice full of promise, “I’ll take you somewhere private and show you a really good time.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Lame,” you quipped, pushing his face away.

Mark threw his head back laughing. “Okay. I’ll try to come up with something better.”

And just like that, the night became a blur of moments—each one filled with laughter, teasing, and kisses that were never fully explained, only given and received with a kind of sweetness that felt both comforting and thrilling.

It happened again. And again. The gentle pull of his lips on yours, the warmth of his touch, the way he always found a way to stand just a little too close. By the time the night had fully settled into the quiet of the late hours, the two of you were tangled up in your bedroom again, tipsy, comfortable, and perhaps a little too far gone to really care about the next morning.

The train ride back to the city was as mundane as ever, but there was a sense of excitement buzzing in the air this time around. You sat back comfortable, looking out the window at the snowy landscape that blurred past. The past few days felt like a dream, a Christmas full of laughter, teasing, and beautiful moments with Mark. 

Your phone buzzed in your hand, pulling you from your thoughts.

Mark: See you Wednesday?

You smiled to yourself, the memories of the past few days flooding back—his easy laughter, the way he looked at you like you were the only person in the room, and the way his touch always seemed to leave a mark on your skin. It had all gone by so quickly, but in the best way possible. Everything had felt easy, comfortable, and natural in a way you hadn’t expected.

The holiday season had come to an end, but what you’d shared with Mark was just starting to unfold. There was something about it that felt like fate, or maybe just the simple truth that it was time for you to stop waiting for something that had no guarantee would ever happen.

You quickly typed your reply, your fingers moving almost instinctively.

You: Can’t wait.

When you hit send, you leaned back into the seat, letting the train’s rhythm settle the buzz in your busy mind. The thought of seeing him again made your chest tighten in the most pleasant way.

You couldn’t wait for Wednesday. For fuck’s sake, you couldn’t wait for the New Year.

[fin]

[archangeldyke-all]

Roach verse idea:

So Sevika needed a raise. Silco needed a Santa for The Last Drop and Jinx.

The solution was obvious.

Now she’s in a hot ass suit, Roach is watching her from the bar whilst Jinx is just side-eyeing her all like ‘I KNOW ITS YOU’ like. Then with a lot of convincing, Jinx tells Santavika what she wants for Christmas.

Now Silco has his list of items and Sevika gets a raise to spoil her wonderful, lovely, beautiful girlfriend. All is well.

fucking hilarious

men and minors dni

all she fucking wanted was a winter bonus.

ever since you came around, the last drop has been getting increasingly festive with each holiday that passes. it's just the kind of person you are, everywhere you go you make people happy. this year, you even managed to convince silco to have a christmas party-- shutting the bar down and decorating it for the evening; a gift exchange planned and cookies baked for the gang.

sevika adores you for it, and for a million other reasons. and she wants to spoil you endlessly. but silco pays like shit, and jinx is always stealing sevika's pocket change before she can stash it in her change jar.

so, she asked for a bonus to close out the year.

she'd say she deserves it. this year alone, she put three competing shimmer operations out of business, managed to rig two piltover elections, and she killed like eight people for silco. or was it nine...?

either fucking way-- sevika's determined to get her money.

unfortunately for her, silco's in his own holiday predicament.

jinx, almost eleven now, has become increasingly suspicious of santa claus. it's not that the girl ever really believed-- but now that she's a sweaty, hormonal tween, she no longer feels comfortable sitting on some old man's lap and whispering all her secret wants in his ear. so, she refused to go to the promenade with silco this year to see santa.

so silco has no idea what to get his daughter for the holiday-- and he's desperate for a clue.

which is how sevika finds herself here, in an itchy white beard and a red suit, glaring at the gang as they laugh at her from her perch in her 'santa seat.'

she's gonna fucking kill silco. after he pays her, too.

"where's that jolly smile, mr. claus?" lock asks, approaching sevika with a grin. she glares up at him.

"i'm not letting you sit in my fuckin' lap."

"relax." lock laughs. he reveals a glass of whiskey from behind his back. sevika sighs in relief, taking the drink from lock. "where's your mrs. claus?"

"upstairs with jinx. the kid's dressing as a christmas tree, or something."

lock cackles.

you and jinx join the party eventually, jinx covered in green tinsel, ornaments braided into her hair. you burst into laughter at the sight of sevika, and she sighs.

"look at you, baby!" you laugh.

sevika grunts. "come sit on my lap before i die of humiliation."

you giggle, happily skipping over to her to wrap your arms around her shoulders. "how'd silco talk you into this?"

"i'm getting a winter bonus." she says. you scoff.

"what the fuck? where's my winter bonus?"

sevika chuckles. "baby, i'm spending the bonus on you."

"well what am i gonna spend on you?!"

sevika darts forward to kiss you, forgetting the beard she's wearing. you both groan and sputter, spitting white hairs out of your mouths.

"alright, santa baby. you stay here. i'll go get us some drinks and send jinx over."

sevika rolls her eyes. "this whole thing is fucking ridiculous. you have to know what she wants, why don't you just tell silco?"

"'course i do, but i also think this whole thing is the funniest thing that's happened this year and it's tradition."

sevika tries her best to act annoyed, but she can't keep from smiling when you shoot her a wink and blow her a kiss as you walk away.

jinx is glaring at sevika the entire time she's in her lap.

"this is fucking stupid." she mumbles. sevika chuckles.

"you're not the one wearing the fake beard. just hurry up and make your old man happy so we can get this night over with."

"fine. this year i want an updated encyclopedia set, a new microscope, and i wanna be able to say 'fuck' around silco." she lists off.

sevika cackles. "alright. i'll see what i can do, kid."

jinx chuckles and tugs on sevika's beard. "thanks old man." she mutters. "aren't you gonna 'ho ho ho?'"

sevika glares at jinx and the girl cackles, scrambling out of her lap before she can grab her.

just as she's about to get up and take off this ridiclious fucking costume, you plop back down in her lap, wearing a new outfit.

sevika's heart soars.

you're wearing a matching santa hat and a little red apron with fuzzy white lining. you're the perfect mrs. clause, and you've brought her whiskey.

"please help me get this beard off so i can kiss you." she whines. you laugh, reaching up to pull the fake beard off her chin. sevika sighs in relief, itching her face before reaching forward and downing her whiskey.

"better?" you ask.

sevika just smiles at you, putting her glass to the side so she can pull you in for a kiss with both hands.

you groan against her lips, flinging your arms around her shoulders and moving to straddle her legs.

across the bar, silco shrieks; scandalized. "you're supposed to sit in santa's lap, not grind on it!"

ran, lock, and deckard erput into cheers at the sight of you two.

jinx ducks behind the bar to grab a glass of ice water to toss on the pair of you.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@kissyslut @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@lavenderbabu @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @my-taintedheart

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette

@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp

@iamastar @sevikitty @mascdom @nhaaauyen @annesunshiner

@mirconreadzztuff22 @veoomvroom @lushh-s3vik4s @katyawooga @lesbodietcoke

@strawberrykidneystone @sevikasfan @fict1onallyobsessed @dvrkhcld @sweetybuzz25

@sluttysierraaa @snake-in-a-flower-crown @ruiwonderz @littlemisszaunite @biblicalcrybaby

@blackgaladriel

[vaspider]

I am finding it ... let's call it amusing... that I assumed for like 45 years of my life that everybody knew who John Calvin was, and I wasn't some raised-extremely-religious weirdo for knowing all the church history shit that I do, and that everybody knew this. And then my perspective changed bc I was confronted with a bunch of people who had never heard of him, never had to study anything about the Protestant Reformation at school, nothing. No clue. I spend a couple of years running into the need to explain who John Calvin is and why I hate him over and over, which I wasn't doing before that because I had just assumed that we all knew who John Calvin was and we all fucking hate him so we didn't need to talk about it just like how we don't spend a lot of time talking about why we breathe air. In that stretch of time, it quickly becomes apparent to me that unless a random American was raised like I was, bc most of the Catholics I talk to don't know him either, they probably didn't encounter Calvin in their standard K12 education, so I no longer expect random Tumblr Americans to know who he is...

... and then a bunch of people start bitching when I say I don't expect people to know unless they're raised religious! Like! Where were y'all the last 2 years? XD

I will say that like... I had no idea how religious my family was until I went to college, basically. I thought my family was a very normal amount of religious. I did not realize that most people don't have cousins named after French Reformation philosophers and didn't have to defend their decision to attend Quaker meetings by explaining why I found George Fox's philosophies more compelling than John Wesley's (and then my mom was just like, well, at least you're not getting up early on Sunday and going to hide in the woods so you can't be forced to go to church). In retrospect, it's kinda like the comic with Calvin's dad and "the crazy hedonism of the weekends," but I thought that everyone thought their parents were that kind of weird. Obviously. That's why Watterson wrote the comic, right?

Ah well.

[moonriizing]

is it new year’s yet? | l.hs (18+)

Coming home for Christmas is your least favorite part of the year. But this time, you're up for a pleasant surprise when you get introduced to your cousin's friend from uni, Lee Heeseung.

Genre: holiday fling, smut Pairing: Lee Heeseung x afab!Reader Warnings: mature themes, explicit sexual content (18+) Notes: 9.7k words. Listening to is it new year's yet by Sabrina Carpenter. First post on this blog and first enha fic! Do let me know what you think about this. Thank you! Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know them personally, nor do I claim they would ever behave in real life like they were portrayed in this story. ALSO, if you see a similar story from a different blog for a different idol (nct mark), that is me. xoxo, cal.

Holidays are for family reunions and coming home to bond with your loved ones. Bullshit. You’d rather be anywhere but here.

Here being your family home, bright and cheerful with Christmas decors and merry chatter from relatives and family friends. The sweet smell of cinnamon and gingerbread permeated the halls and the Christmas songs playing from the speakers your mother had strategically placed around the house were grating on your nerves, making you dizzier than the champagne you were drinking. 

Home. Familiar, warm, and somehow... suffocating.

You didn’t hate your family—far from it. You loved them with every fiber of your being. But that didn’t make the family tradition of hosting a horde of relatives and family friends for Christmas any less unbearable.

You should be used to it by now, considering how your mother had always made it her mission to be the ultimate hostess. What might have seemed magical when you were a kid now felt so unnecessary. As you grew older, it became harder to tolerate the endless stream of insufferable relatives and their even more insufferable commentary.

“Did you lose weight?” a distant aunt asked, her eyes raking over you like you were a mannequin in a store window. “You need to eat more. You’re so skinny.”

Just call me fat, why don’t you? you thought to yourself, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. “I know. I did it on purpose,” you replied curtly before tossing back the last of your champagne. You didn’t wait for her reaction. You simply walked away, the bubbles fizzing in your throat as you searched for somewhere to hide.

You wove your way through the crowd, dodging overly familiar pats on the shoulder and sidelong glances that screamed When are you graduating? or Where’s your boyfriend?

The living room was packed with people swapping stories you’d heard a hundred times before. The scent of pine from the overdecorated tree blended with the warm spice of wine and sugary sweetness from the dessert table. The whole atmosphere was so perfect and festive that it made it a little hard to breathe. 

You needed air. Or another drink. Although, both are fine too.

In the kitchen, you poured yourself another glass of champagne and leaned against the counter, fishing out your phone to scroll mindlessly. A part of you considered texting Yeonjun—the guy you couldn’t stop thinking about. He was probably back in the city, having the time of his life at some glittering party—champagne in hand, gorgeous people all around, someone to kiss at midnight.

“Fuck this,” you muttered under your breath, stuffing your phone back in your pocket as you walked out of the kitchen.

Rounding the corner too fast, you slammed into someone—a steady grip caught your arm before the champagne could spill. 

“Easy there,” he said, his voice low and warm. You glanced up and found a stranger: messy hair, sharp jawline, and an easy smile that contrasted with the chaos around you. He looked your age, maybe a bit older.

“Thanks,” you muttered, eyeing him curiously. You could not remember seeing him anywhere before, so naturally, your immediate assumption was that he was a guest’s plus one. He could be a cousin’s boyfriend or something and you were just about to ask him that when your cousin Jake appeared beside him.

“Oooh, look who showed up!” Jake said, tilting his head with that playful glint you always found irritating.

You rolled your eyes. “I always show up.”

“Of course you do.” Jake leaned against the wall, arms crossed and grinning. “You hate it here, don’t you?”

You tilted your head at him, pretending to think. “What gave it away? My overflowing enthusiasm?”

“Come on, it’s not that bad,” Jake teased. “A little family bonding with your favorite aunts would be nice. Aren’t you supposed to pack them a gift each?”

You drained the last of your champagne, letting the fizz linger as you looked at your cousin. “I’d rather die.”

Jake laughed, nudging Heeseung with his elbow. “This is my cousin. She’s the resident Grinch. But don’t worry; she’s fun when she wants to be.”

“I can hear you,” you gloated.

“I know,” he said, his grin widening. “So? Are you going to spend the whole night sipping champagne like a miserable bore?”

You gave him a flat look. “Oh my god. You can read minds?” you deadpanned.

“Well, perfect! You’re already dressed for the occasion,” he quipped, gesturing vaguely at your casual attire. He laughed but stopped when you didn’t even crack a smile. “Tell you what, Heeseung and I are heading out. You’re welcome to join us if you want to.”

“No.”

“Come on. It’s gonna be fun.” Before you could refuse again, Jake slung an arm around your shoulder and turned to Heeseung. “She’ll come. She just likes to play hard to get.”

“I really won’t,” you retorted, trying to shrug him off. “I don’t feel like tailing you two all night.”

“What else are you gonna do—sit in a corner and glare at people?”

You rolled your eyes, but the answer was obvious. Staying inside meant more questions, more relatives, more everything you were trying to avoid.

“Fine,” you muttered. “But if you drag me into something ridiculous—”

“You’ll have fun. Promise,” Jake interrupted and then turned to Heeseung. “She’s coming.”

Heeseung’s smile was easy, almost reassuring. “No pressure. It’ll be chill.”

You smirked. “You clearly don’t know Jake.”

With that, Jake led the way, practically bouncing out the door. You followed, stuffing your hands into your coat pockets as Heeseung fell into step beside you.

The winter air hit you like a slap, crisp and biting, slicing through the lingering scents of cinnamon and pine. It was a relief, though, clearing your head from the stifling warmth of the house. You walked down the quiet streets with Jake, Heeseung, and a few friends you used to hang out with growing up. They led the way, cracking jokes and tossing playful banter back and forth, while you stuck closer to the back with Heeseung.

“I can’t believe they’re still dating,” you muttered, eyeing a pair in front of you.

“Who? Them?” Heeseung asked, making you glance briefly at them.

You nodded. “They started dating when we were sophomores in high school. And they’re still together.”

Heeseung hummed. “They must really like each other then.”

You grimaced, eyeing the lovey-dovey couple in front. “I don’t know. They used to break up and make up. It was exhausting. Everyone thought they’d break up for good after graduation. But, well… here we are.”

“Guess they like running in circles,” Heeseung said lightly, shoving his hands in his pockets. He glanced sideways at you. “What about you? Do you think people like that can actually work out?”

You raised an eyebrow at him, unsure if the question was casual or probing. “I think it depends on how much drama you can stomach. Personally, I’d rather avoid it altogether.”

Heeseung tilted his head thoughtfully. “No drama, huh? That’s a pretty high bar for relationships.”

You smirked, knowing how ironic it was for you to say this despite having a relationship drama. “Tell me about it,” you mumbled.

It was easy to figure out Heeseung’s intentions. The whole time, he didn’t try to hide it, nor did he try to send mixed signals. It was pretty clear with how close he was standing beside you, how his shoulder almost brushed yours. The way Heeseung’s eyes lingered on you when you spoke, the way he tilted his head when you laughed, like he was committing the sound to memory. How, even when you weren’t talking, he stayed within arm’s reach, his gaze flickering to you every now and then. How his focus remained on you.

And then there was the way he leaned in just slightly when he made a comment, his voice low, his words meant only for you.

He was attentive in a way that surprised you, even in the most casual moments. As you explained how you and your friends used to kill time in this sleepy town—late-night drives to the lookout point, sneaking snacks into the single-screen movie theater, racing bikes down the old dirt trail—Heeseung listened with genuine curiosity, his eyes lighting up with every story.

“So, let me get this straight,” he said when you were alone at the swings. You sat comfortably on the swing while he pushed you gently. “Not only did you race down a hill that sounds like a death trap, but you’re telling me you were the reigning champion?”

You tilted your head, feigning offense. “Why do you sound so skeptical?”

“Oh, I believe you,” he said, his smirk widening. “I’m just wondering how many people you bribed to throw the race.”

You gasped playfully. “Excuse me, I won fair and square.”

“Sure you did.” His laughter was low, warm, the kind that made you feel comfortable with him.

You smirked. “Why else would I bring it up? Go ask them.”

He chuckled, nodding his head. “You seem really confident… I believe you.”

You were quiet for a while, with only the creaking sound of swing filling the silence. The tip of your shoes dragged lightly with every swing, carving the damp ground underneath.

Heeseung asked after the silence stretched out. “So, is that all you did for fun around here?”

“Pretty much,” you said with a shrug. “Lame, huh?”

“Not at all. It’s simple but it has its charm,” he said softly, pausing as he held the swing tight to stop it. “It says a lot about you though.”

You raised an eyebrow, glancing at him with a playful smirk tugging at your lips. “Are you calling me charming?”

“Maybe,” he said, his voice light but his gaze unwavering. “What would you do if I was?”

You tilted your head, pretending to think. “Depends. Is this small-town charm talking, or do you actually mean it?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Trust me, I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.”

“Well, aren’t you a smooth talker?” you teased, though your voice had softened, your usual sharpness dulled by the way Heeseung was looking at you.

He grinned, leaning just a little closer, his voice dropping lower. “Only with the right company.”

You held his gaze. “Right company, huh?” you murmured, your heart thudding as you tilted your head, meeting his eyes.

He smiled faintly, his voice dipping lower. “You know I mean it.”

His gaze lingered on you, his head tilting ever so slightly as he leaned closer. You barely noticed the chill in the air anymore, not when the space between you seemed to shrink. His hand brushed the chain of the swing, his fingers close enough to graze yours. His breath mixed with yours, the faint scent of his cologne and the crisp night air filling the gap. Slowly, as if testing the waters, he leaned in, his focus entirely on you.

Your fingers twitched on the swing’s chain, almost brushing his. His lips hovered near yours now, and for a moment, everything else faded away—

“Yo, there you are!” Jake’s voice broke through the stillness, loud and completely unbothered.

You flinched, the spell breaking as you turned toward the sound of footsteps crunching against the gravel. Jake and the others were strolling toward you, their laughter cutting through the quiet.

Heeseung straightened quickly, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips as he ran a hand through his hair. “Ah, that’s too bad,” he murmured, his voice low enough just for you. “I thought we’d finally lost them.”

A quiet laugh escaped you, even as warmth lingered on your cheeks. “I didn’t know we were doing that.”

He shrugged, a glint of mischief in his eyes, so you swatted his chest lightly, the playfulness easing the tension.

Jake raised an eyebrow as he approached, his gaze flicking between you and Heeseung. “What, were you two having a moment or something?”

“Not even close,” you shot back, sharper than you intended. “What do you want?”

“Lori was asking if your mom baked a fruitcake this year,” he said, pointing toward your friend Lori.

You glanced at her, catching her expectant grin. “You know what,” you said, rising to your feet, “she did. You should grab some before it’s gone.”

Lori and the others cheered. Though your mom’s fruitcake wasn’t your favorite—too sweet for your taste—you still felt a swell of pride knowing it was the highlight of every Christmas. It was this pride that made you wanna bring them over, so with Jake leading your group, you headed back to your house, noisy and in high spirits.

Like opposite sides of magnets, you and Heeseung found each other again and fell behind the rest of the group. He leaned into your ear as he asked, “Are we gonna pick up where we left off?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Depends on how charming you are for the rest of the night.”

He held your gaze, his smile softening. “Challenge accepted.”

You felt your cheeks heat up under his gaze, but you didn’t look away. Instead, you let the confidence he’d drawn out of you take hold. “You’ve been following me all night. You like me, don’t you?”

Heeseung didn’t even bother denying it. His smile widened, his voice steady as he replied, “Can you blame me?”

You chuckled. “Don’t fall for me, though. I’d hate to break your heart once the holidays are over,” you told him, grinning playfully before walking faster to rejoin your friends.

Heeseung stayed back for a moment, watching you. Too late, he thought. You really should’ve warned him sooner.

“If this was a uni party, someone would’ve spiked the eggnog already,” you mumbled, your eyes scanning the room filled with family, friends, and all the usual holiday chaos.

Heeseung’s voice was low beside you, cutting through the noise. “Really?”

You nodded, not looking at him. “Oh yeah. If you want to survive the night here, you have to make your own fun.” You shot him a side glance, half-smiling. “Otherwise, it’s just... this.”

For a brief moment, Heeseung said nothing, but you could feel him shifting beside you. Then, in a voice laced with amusement and mischief, he said, “I’ll be right back.”

Your heart skipped a beat. Alarmed, you grabbed his arm and yanked him back before he could get too far. “No, Heeseung!”

He turned toward you, his grin dangerous. “What?”

“No, seriously,” you whispered urgently, trying to keep your voice down. You scanned the room quickly, then pointed across it with dramatic flair. “Old people.”

Heeseung’s brow furrowed, clearly confused, so you leaned in just a little closer. “That’s my great-uncle,” you said, nodding toward an elderly man in a faded cardigan who was snoozing away in the rocking chair. “He’s 84 and can’t have alcohol. But he’s obsessed with eggnog. Let’s not ruin this for him.”

Heeseung raised an eyebrow, fighting back a laugh. “That’s not so Grinch of you.”

“I make exceptions for people I like,” you said, your voice dropping to a playful whisper.

His smile deepened, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Is that so?” he asked, teasing but warm. “What exceptions have you made for me so far?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop your smile from widening. “I’m not answering that.”

“So there is something, then?”  He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your cheek, as if the answer were hidden in your response.

“I’m not answering that either.” You chuckled, taking a step back with an exaggerated sigh. You started heading toward the patio, but Heeseung’s long strides quickly caught up, his footsteps just behind you.

The cold night air hit your skin as you stepped onto the patio, but the firepit’s warmth immediately enveloped you. Your friends and cousins gathered around, roasting marshmallows and swapping stories. You sat on the same bench as Heeseung, his presence adding warmth and comfort. You joined the conversations with the others, while occasionally having your own little talks with Heeseung.

The more you talked, the closer he leaned toward you, his eyes never quite leaving your face as if he were soaking in everything you said. You could feel the heat radiating from him, the heat of both the fire and his proximity. 

As the night wore on, the laughter around the firepit thinned out, your companions dispersing one by one to retire for the night. Soon, it was just you, Heeseung, and Jake—both guys occupied with something on Jake’s phone. Left to your own devices, you scrolled aimlessly through social media, eventually landing on a friend’s Instagram story.

Yeonjun appeared in the group photo, looking happy and festive at what seemed like a rowdy party. You checked your inbox, hoping for a message, but he hadn’t even read the last one you’d sent. A sigh slipped from your lips louder than you intended, and Heeseung glanced up at you.

“You okay?” he asked quietly as you quickly turned your screen off. His cheeks were flushed, likely from the cold and the alcohol, and his eyes looked a little sleepy from the late hour. The sight of him brought a comforting warmth to your chest.

“I’m fine,” you mouthed, holding his hand that rested on your arm.

Suddenly, Jake shot up from his seat with a sharp exhale. “Let’s get out of here. I’m about to lose it with this Mariah Carey song they’ve got on repeat.”

“You go ahead. I’m gonna stick around for a bit,” Heeseung replied, squeezing your arm before rubbing his thumb against your jacket.

Jake noticed your joined hands and narrowed his eyes at the two of you. “You guys are getting cozy.”

“Are we?” you teased, glancing at Heeseung and shrugging. You leaned against his chest playfully and added, “I hardly noticed.”

Heeseung played along, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and pulling you closer. Jake shook his head, letting out an exaggerated sigh. “If you’re gonna have sex, don’t do it in our room.”

The comment made you roll your eyes. “This is my house, Jake. We can do it in my bedroom!”

Jake didn’t respond, only raised a middle finger at you two before walking away. You laughed, watching him disappear into the house. But beside you, Heeseung had stopped grinning, his expression shifting to something more serious, his eyes wide with shock.

You raised an eyebrow. “What? I was just joking.”

Heeseung blinked a few times, looking away as he cleared his throat. “Yeah, I know.” His voice was a little more strained, and you noticed a blush creeping up his neck.

You couldn’t resist teasing him further. “Did you think I was serious?” you asked, leaning in just a little closer.

Heeseung turned his head slightly, his eyes flickering toward you for a brief moment before he fixed his gaze on the fire. “Not at all,” he replied quickly.

“Oh? So you’re not interested?” you pressed, enjoying the sight of him flustered.

“I didn’t say that,” he responded too eagerly, too quickly.

The sudden shift in his tone caught you off guard. You hesitated for a moment, watching him carefully before you let out a soft laugh. “Okay,” you said, wanting to ease the tension. “I was just messing with you. Relax.”

Heeseung didn’t answer immediately, but you saw his posture stiffen, his hand slipping from your shoulder as he cleared his throat again. The air between you two felt thicker now, charged with something neither of you wanted to bring up.

You let the silence hang there for a few moments before turning to look at the house, your smile a little softer. “Anyway,” you muttered, standing up, “let’s get back inside.”

Heeseung didn’t say anything as he followed you, the air between you was thick with tension, but neither of you said much as you both walked toward the staircase leading up to the upper floors. It was past midnight. You had intended to hang out with him a bit more, but the night suddenly started to catch up with you after that awkward exchange with Heeseung.

It shouldn’t be a surprise. He clearly wanted you, at least based on how he’d been flirting with you all night and how you almost kissed at the playground earlier. And to be honest, you were entertaining the idea of a holiday fling with Heeseung. He was very attractive and he’d done nothing to raise any red flags so far. So why did the sudden sexual tension seem to make things awkward between you?

As you reached the hallway, you turned to him with a small smile. “Well, guess it’s time for me to call it a night,” you said, your voice a little quieter than usual.

Heeseung nodded, but there was something in his expression that suggested he wasn’t ready to say goodnight just yet. “Yeah… sure,” he replied, his eyes focused on you.

You both stopped in front of your door and there was a silence that stretched longer than either of you anticipated. When you reached for the doorknob, Heeseung didn’t say anything, though you could see the dejected look in his eyes that he failed to mask with the smile he was wearing.

“See you in the morning?” you suggested, offering him something to look forward to despite the seemingly disappointing end to the night. “That is, if you’re still here by then,” you added, a low key attempt at asking what his plans were for tomorrow.

Heeseung smiled warmly. “I might have volunteered to be tomorrow’s Santa Claus, so I think I’d still be here.”

You chuckled, the tension easing just a little. “Are you serious?”

“No,” he chimed with a playful grin, reaching for your hand and brushing his fingers lightly across your skin.

The touch was so small, yet it felt electric. Your heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. His eyes locked with yours, holding a silent intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. You found yourself leaning in, just a little bit closer, your breath shallow.

“Heeseung, I—” you began, only to cut yourself off because you didn’t really know what you were gonna say. Or if you should even say anything at all.

But then you both understood without words. Your nerves seemed to settle, and without another sound, Heeseung leaned in, his lips pressing gently against yours.

It was soft, almost questioning at first, but the moment it happened, everything else seemed to fade into the background. The lingering discomfort from the teasing, the unsaid words—everything disappeared. For that one exhilarating moment, there was nothing but the warmth of him against you.

When the kiss broke, you both stood there, breathless, eyes wide. You let out a nervous laugh, still trying to gather your thoughts. “That didn’t just happen,” you chuckled.

Heeseung’s gaze softened, his lips curling up into a small, almost sheepish smile. “Was that too fast?” he questioned playfully.

You exhaled a laugh, shaking your head. “Not really, but… let’s just pretend it didn’t happen,” you said, trying to play it cool, but your heart was still racing.

He nodded quickly. “Yeah. Good idea.”

You stood there for a whole minute, staring at each other in the quiet, with only the faint sound of Christmas carol from the living room filling the silence. “Good idea,” you echoed quietly, but your eyes were fixed on his lips, plump and inviting.

Before you knew it, you were kissing again, this time, the kiss was slower, more deliberate, the kind that made your knees a little weak. His hands settled gently on your waist, making you hyper aware of the way your bodies are pressed against each other. For a moment, you let yourself forget about everything else—the holiday chaos, your family, Yeonjun.

When he pulled back slightly, his gaze was intense, searching yours. “You good?” he rasped, his breath warm against your face.

“Totally,” you replied, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him back in for another kiss.

You kicked your bedroom door open, tugging him inside without breaking the kiss. In no time, you found your back pressed against the wall right by the door, Heeseung’s lips ravaging yours with a kiss that made you go feral.

When his hand slipped under your shirt, you held it tightly, debating whether to let him go there—caught between wanting to retreat and wanting to give in. As your hesitation stretched, Heeseung took it as his cue to pull away—not completely, just enough to press his forehead against yours and cup your cheeks

“Is that a ‘no’?” he whispered, his voice laced with playful warmth.

You chuckled, still a little drunk on his lips—on him. “Are you hurt?” you asked playfully, though your concern was sincere. “Your ego, I mean.”

“Hmm, not really,” he replied, shivering under your touch when your hand ran from his arm to his neck. “I’m more hurt somewhere else.”

That made you laugh and hit his chest playfully. Heeseung caught your hand, keeping it on his chest as he closed his eyes—forehead still pressed against, his breathing steady but deep, his lips lifted slightly in a faint smile.

You planted a soft kiss on his lips and took a small step back. “Aren’t you leaving?”

Heeseung clutched his chest, feigning a pained look. “Ouch. I’m getting kicked out too? This is torture.”

The sound of Christmas carols from the living room filtered through the door, a reminder of the world just outside, but neither of you seemed in a rush to leave. Heeseung looked around your dimly lit bedroom, studying the space as if familiarizing himself.

“I don’t want to push my luck,” he said, his voice low as he glanced back at you. “But this is much cozier than the guest room I’m sharing with Jake.”

You smirked, catching the insinuation in his statement. “It’s a no, Heeseung.”

Heeseung winced visibly. “Is that final?” he asked, making you chuckle.

“We only just met.”

He shrugged, nodding thoughtfully. “That’s fair. It was worth a shot, though.”

You had to admit, you considered it. Just the idea of being in Heeseung’s arms stirred something inside you. A feeling that, if you were being honest, you weren’t expecting to feel at all when you boarded the train home for the holidays. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe the loneliness of the night creeping in, but right now, you felt more alive than you had in weeks.

Heeseung tilted your chin, pressing a chaste kiss on your lips once more. “Good night?”

“Good night,” you chimed, holding his hand against your cheek.

But he made no move to leave, he just stood there, staring at you as if it would physically pain him to look away. Then he leaned in for another kiss, and you were more than happy to oblige.

“You’re trouble, you know that?” he teased, forehead pressing against yours.

“You’re one to talk,” you retorted, rolling your eyes playfully, though your smile was soft, just a little more sincere now.

The next morning, breakfast unfolded in a much quieter manner than last night’s festivities with everyone still half-asleep and quietly eating. Across the table, Heeseung seemed perfectly at ease, though you couldn’t ignore the occasional glance he sent your way—or how your gaze sometimes lingered on him longer than it should.

Your mom’s attention was on him, which was understandable since he was the only new face around the dining table. Your mom said she didn’t get the chance to properly get to know him because yesterday was hectic. Heeseung didn’t seem to mind, he was polite and spoke with courteousness and a charming demeanor. 

“So, Heeseung,” your mom began to add as she reached for another piece of toast, her tone light but curious. “How do you know Jake?”

You smirked, glancing at your cousin. “Yeah. You seem too cool to be hanging out with this dork.”

Heeseung glanced at Jake, who was already sighing as if he knew what story Heeseung was going to tell. “We met during our first year,” Heeseung said, chuckling. “It was a… uh. Freshman prank.”

“Freshman prank?” your dad asked.

Heeseung hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s a long story, but basically we fell victim to a freshman prank and ended up getting scolded by the college dean.”

“Oh my god! Jake said he was scolded by the dean for dancing around the school grounds in a bear costume. Was that it?” one of your cousins asked.

“Yeah,” Heeseung replied, his laugh a little sheepish. “It was actually the school mascot suit. They asked us to wear them at a freshman event for extra credit. Then we found out in the end that it was a faculty briefing, not a freshman event.”

Jake exhaled, exasperated by the memory. “ We even danced without knowing our mascot heads were switched. I was a lion with a bear head.”

Your mom laughed again, shaking her head. “Well, that’s one way to make a friend.”

“And now you’re stuck with him,” you teased, looking at Heeseung.

“Pretty much,” Heeseung agreed, his gaze flicking to you with a warm smile. “But hey, life’s never boring with Jake around.”

You smirked. “You’re too kind. Just say he’s an idiot. He doesn’t mind.”

Jake waved his fork in the air, scoffing at you. “Joke’s on you. Heeseung would never say that about me.”

Heeseung shrugged. “Well, he’s kind of… an idiot.”

Jake gasped. “What have you done to my friend?” he accused dramatically, pointing a finger at you.

The conversation soon shifted from playful banter to lighter topics as the meal wound down. You mostly stayed quiet, stealing occasional glances at Heeseung, who somehow managed to charm your family without even trying. When breakfast ended, your mom handed you a towel. “You’re on dish duty today,” she said with a kind smile.

Heeseung stood without hesitation. “I’ll help.”

“Very gallant of you,” your mom quipped, her tone amused as she watched you carry the dishes away.

When your family was out of earshot, Heeseung leaned in close, his voice dropping to a playful whisper. “Figured I’d earn some points.”

You chuckled, shaking your head but not protesting as he followed you into the kitchen. He rolled up his sleeves with ease, taking the stack of plates from your hands and grinning like this was second nature to him. The two of you fell into a quiet rhythm at the sink, you rinsing while he dried.

“So,” he began after a moment, breaking the silence with his usual casual tone. “Your mom’s cool. Super curious, though.”

You snorted. “That’s her way of being welcoming. Consider yourself officially part of the family.”

“Is that so?” he asked, his tone teasing. “Guess that means I have to stick around,” he added, bumping his elbow against your arm.

You rolled your eyes, recognizing the playful hint. “Only as Jake’s friend, though.”

“What do you know? She might upgrade me to Son-in-Law once she sees my dish-drying technique,” he quipped, his shoulder brushing yours as he reached for a dish and started wiping with exaggerated flourishes.

“Son-in-Law is a pretty big leap from Nephew’s College Friend.”

He grinned with mock confidence. “I’m Lee Heeseung. Anything’s possible.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Alright, Golden Boy.”

“You’ve got a pretty lively family,” Heeseung said after a pause, his tone softening. “They remind me of mine.”

“Oh, yeah?” You glanced at him, curious. “Big Christmas crowd?”

“Not as big as yours, but yeah. We do the whole chaos thing. My mom insists on playing charades after dinner, even though none of us can act to save our lives.”

You chuckled at the image, your hand brushing his as you passed him a plate. The touch lingered for half a second too long, enough to make your heart skip a beat. When you looked at him, Heeseung was already watching you, his voice dropping to something quieter as he leaned closer to whisper in your ear.

“By the way, you look lovely this morning.”

The compliment hit harder than it should’ve, leaving you momentarily flustered. You managed to play it off with a teasing smile. “Trying to earn more points?”

“Maybe,” he replied with a grin, leaning just a fraction closer.

You rolled your eyes, nudging him with your elbow. “Just dry the dishes.”

Heeseung grinned, leaning slightly closer. “Maybe.”

You rolled your eyes, nudging him with your elbow. “Just dry the dishes.”

His soft laughter warmed the kitchen, the hum of last night’s lingering tension sparking again between you. By the time you handed him the final dish, there were no more “accidental” brushes—Heeseung took your hand outright, pulling you gently forward to steal a quick, mischievous kiss.

You gasped, heat rushing to your face as you slapped his arm. “You sneaky little—”

Before you could finish, he leaned in again, catching you in another kiss, quick and light, as if testing the waters. Then he turned back to the towel like nothing had happened, leaving you standing there, your thoughts a flustered jumble.

Exhaling a mock exasperated sigh, you gave up on playing it cool. Closing the small gap between you, you slipped your arms around his waist, letting your cheek rest briefly against his shoulder as he put the last plate away.

“This is nice,” he murmured, discarding the towel and turning to face you. His arms wrapped around you naturally, pulling you close. “Makes us look like boyfriend and girlfriend, doesn’t it?”

You scoffed, stepping back slightly. “Don’t push your luck.”

But when you turned to leave, Heeseung caught your wrist, pulling you back into a tight embrace. “Where are you going? Stay.”

You hesitated for half a second, then melted into his hold, your hands settling lightly on his waist. “What are we even doing?” you asked, your voice quieter now.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, resting his chin lightly against your hair. “But it’s nice.”

“Yeah,” you murmured, a small smile tugging at your lips. “It kinda is.”

The moment was broken by the faint sound of singing from the direction of the main door. Heeseung’s brows rose as he glanced toward the sound. “Carolers?”

“Yeah,” you replied, pulling away and jogging toward the door. Outside, a small group of children and teenagers stood assembled like a festive choir, their voices harmonizing in cheerful Christmas melodies. Your family was already out there, listening with smiles on their faces.

Jake noticed you standing beside him and leaned in. “Tell me why I can’t punch the carolers.”

You snorted. “Because it’s not their fault you didn’t pass the auditions.”

“Right,” he mumbled, rolling his eyes.

“Wait, what? You auditioned for this?” Heeseung asked, his expression bewildered.

Jake smirked, unbothered by the attention. “I’m a man of many talents, my friend. They fumbled real bad when they decided to reject me.”

“Oh my god,” you groaned, exasperated. “You’re insufferable.”

“You love me for it.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at your lips. Christmas morning chaos, as always.

The rest of the day unfolded in a series of warm, chaotic moments. After the carolers left, your family gathered in the living room, eager to keep the festive spirit alive.

Someone—probably Jake—suggested a game of charades. It started out as a reluctant group activity but quickly spiraled into uncontrollable laughter as your aunt wildly flailed her arms trying to mimic Jaws, and your dad confused everyone by acting out Titanic with interpretive dance.

Heeseung fit right in, his easy humor making him an absolute hit. He was surprisingly good at charades, though you suspected he was just adept at playing to the crowd. When it was your turn to act, he leaned over to Jake and whispered something that had both of them laughing under their breath—probably a jab at your complete lack of acting skills. You shot them a mock glare, but it only made Heeseung grin wider.

When the game wound down, your mom announced it was time for gifts. You handed your parents the small, thoughtful presents you’d prepared—a new mug for your dad’s coffee addiction, and a scarf you’d crocheted for your mom.

“You shouldn’t have,” your mom said with a soft smile, wrapping the scarf around her neck immediately.

Others exchanged gifts, too, and to your surprise, a few came your way: a box of chocolates from your aunt, fuzzy socks from Jake, and a cute notebook from a younger cousin. You hadn’t expected anything from anyone other than your parents, so it warmed you more than you cared to admit.

Heeseung, meanwhile, didn’t seem fazed by the lack of a gift exchange between the two of you. Instead, as the wrapping paper chaos settled, he nudged your arm.

“Guess we forgot to plan this part, huh?” he said, his tone light but his eyes searching yours.

“Yeah, well,” you replied, shrugging, “we didn’t exactly have time for shopping.”

Heeseung leaned back against the couch, thoughtful. Then his face lit up with an idea. “How about we exchange something else?”

“Like what?” you asked, curious.

He reached for his phone, pulling up a playlist. “Music,” he said simply. “I’ll share a song I love, and you do the same. It’s like a tiny window into who we are.”

You hesitated for a moment but nodded. “Okay. You first.”

He scrolled through his playlist before handing you one of his airpods. The track was a mellow, soulful tune with heartfelt lyrics, and as it played, you found yourself surprised at how much it suited him—genuine, unpretentious, and quietly warm.

“I like it,” you admitted, handing the phone back.

“Your turn,” he said, leaning closer as if to make sure he wouldn’t miss a beat.

You picked something a little more upbeat but with a nostalgic edge. The second it started, Heeseung grinned, nodding along to the rhythm. “Good choice. I can see why you like it.”

For the rest of the evening, the two of you exchanged little pieces of yourselves—stories, favorite movies, quirks. It wasn’t the traditional gift exchange, but it felt like something better, something that fit the budding connection between you.

Later, as the family settled down for a Christmas movie, Heeseung ended up beside you on the couch. The warmth of him sitting close felt comforting, and somewhere in the middle of Love Actually, his hand found yours under the blanket draped over your laps. It wasn’t showy or obvious; no one else noticed.

As the movie played on, you felt your phone buzzing on your lap. You picked it up in a heartbeat, a force of habit that made you feel a little pathetic. Letting out a sigh, you tucked your phone away, refusing to check what the notification was about—or who it was from.

Heeseung leaned closer, his voice low but curious. “Who is he?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“The guy,” he clarified. “The one who keeps making you wait for him.”

You chuckled nervously. “There is no guy.”

Heeseung raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. You sighed. “Fine. There is—was, actually. I think I’m done waiting for him.”

“Why is that?”

You tilted your head slightly, taking a very good look at the beautiful man before you. A smile crept across your lips. Why, he asked? It was because you met him—Lee Heeseung, who wanted you and made it clear. Heeseung, who gave you signals and acted on them. Heeseung, who not only spoke honestly about how much he liked you but also went out of his way to show it. Heeseung, who gave you more in two days than Yeonjun had in three months.

“You staring at me like that is making me wanna kiss you right now,” Heeseung said softly, cutting through your reverie.

You grinned. “Do it then.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. His lips brushed yours, warm and soft, and for a moment, it felt like the world had narrowed down to just the two of you.

Across from you, Jake grimaced, letting out an exaggerated groan. “Guys. Just get a room already.”

You pulled back, laughing, your cheeks warm with embarrassment. Heeseung didn’t seem fazed, his smirk playful as he leaned closer, lacing his fingers with yours.

“Ignore him,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing.

You giggled, the giddiness bubbling up despite yourself. “He’s right, though,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “We should probably get a room.”

Heeseung’s grin widened, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Okay,” he said, as if it was the easiest decision in the world. “I’d never say no to that.”

Jake let out another theatrical groan from across the room, muttering something about needing bleach for his eyes. But neither of you paid him any attention as you shared a knowing glance, the warmth between you now impossible to ignore.

Laughter spilled from your lips as you and Heeseung slipped out of the living room to the quiet halls upstairs. The muffled sounds of the movie still playing below faded with every step. Heeseung stayed close, his hand brushing yours until he tugged you gently back, spinning you to face him.

“Come here,” he murmured, stealing another kiss, his lips warm against yours.

You giggled, pulling away just enough to tease him. “Have some restraint, will you?”

He grinned, leaning in to whisper in your ear, his voice low and mischievous. “That’s too much to ask of me, you know?”

Your laughter filled the empty corridor as you took a step back, only for Heeseung to chase after you. His hands found your waist, pulling you close before kissing you again, slower this time, his lips lingering like he had all the time in the world.

By the time you reached your bedroom door, your cheeks ached from smiling, and your heart was racing. You kissed him there, leaning against the doorframe, your fingers tangling in his hair as his hands rested firmly on your hips. The kiss deepened, heat building between you as your breath hitched.

The sound of someone clearing their throat made you both freeze. You pulled apart to see your old uncle shuffling past, raising an eyebrow but saying nothing as he continued down the hall.

Heeseung pressed his forehead against yours, biting back a laugh. “Think he’ll tell your mom?”

You snorted, pushing him lightly. “Does it matter? Bet everyone knows there’s something between us by now.”

“Touche.”

With a shared grin, you twisted the doorknob and pulled him inside. The door clicked shut behind you as you stumbled into the room, your lips finding his again in the quiet.

With a shared grin, you twisted the doorknob and pulled him inside. The door clicked shut behind you as you stumbled into the room, your lips finding his again in the quiet.

His kiss was unhurried, deliberate—gentle hands cradling your face as his lips moved against yours. When he pulled back, his eyes met yours, the intensity of his gaze making your breath hitch. His touch trailed to your chin, guiding your head slightly as his lips pressed softly along your jaw.

You tilted your head instinctively, granting him access, and he didn’t waste the opportunity. His kisses wandered down to your neck—soft brushes, playful nips, and teasingly light touches. Each one sent sparks skittering across your skin, your pulse quickening under his attention.

When his tongue flicked against the sensitive spot beneath your ear, you giggled, stepping back slightly. The sound was as much a reaction to the ticklish sensation as it was to the heat pooling low in your belly.

“Sorry,” he said, his warm laugh brushing against your skin. “I thought you’d like it.”

“Oh, I like it,” you admitted, brushing your hair aside to bare your neck again. “I just wasn’t expecting it.”

His fingers lightly traced the column of your neck. “Why not?”

“I’m… ticklish,” you said shyly, rolling your eyes to downplay your embarrassment.

Heeseung chuckled, the sound rich and low, sending butterflies racing in your stomach. His smile softened as he leaned in, teasing, “Noted.”

You sighed dramatically, unable to keep the playful glint out of your eyes. “Did we come up here just so you could tease me like this, or…?”

His eyes narrowed, his expression turning mock-exasperated. “Dude, why are you ruining the moment?” he asked, pulling you by the nape of your neck for another kiss. A deep one—heated, fervent, intoxicating, leaving you heady and utterly captivated.

Carefully, he lowered you down the bed, his lips not leaving yours. With one swift motion, he pulled your shirt off and tossed it aside, pausing to marvel at your body. You could see the desire in his eyes—clear and unadulterated.

“Well? Don’t just stand there and stare,” you whined cutely, feeling your cheeks burn with embarrassment but trying to keep your composure.

Heeseung exhaled sharply, crawling on the bed to kiss you again. “Can’t help it.”

His lips traveled the length of your neck and collarbone, nipping and sucking, sending waves of pleasure throughout your body. With his mouth, he traced the line between your breasts, down to your stomach, until he reached your navel. Heeseung didn’t stop there. He undid your jeans and tugged it down before pressing his nose on your sex and taking a long sniff.

“Heeseung,” you whispered, the pressure from his nose making your body burn with anticipation. 

He knew exactly what he was doing, pushing your underwear aside and licking a stripe at the pooling wetness between your legs. He continued with expertise, making you writhe and moan in ecstasy. You tried to close your legs when the stimulation became too much, but Heeseung’s grasp of your thighs were tight, prying your legs open so he could continue what he came to do. All you could do was whimper and grab a handful of his hair. 

Your mind was screaming for him to stop, but your mouth could only utter his name as your hips bucked forward, eager for more.

Then he suddenly stopped, leaving you momentarily confused. He came back up, hovering over you with a proud smile on his face. You thought he was done but before you could utter a word, two of his fingers slipped into your cunt, making you gasp.

Heeseung didn’t say anything, he just grinned wider, seemingly proud of how good he was making you feel. His fingers slid in and out in a steady pace, growing more rapid and urgent the more he saw your face contorting with pleasure and euphoria. 

“Yes!” you exclaimed, your back arching as you felt the familiar knot in your belly. “Don’t stop!”

And then came a euphoric wave engulfing your entire being. You froze for a moment, your mouth gaping open as you relished the momentary high that washed over you. Heeseung’s fingers were still inside you as he kissed your forehead.

“That’s it. Good girl,” he lilted before capturing your lips in a fervent kiss.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as you met his kiss with a hunger that bordered on desperation.  Everything else faded, and before you knew it, the two of you were naked on the bed, moving together like it was the only thing that mattered.

The air was thick with the sounds of your shared passion—your breathless moans, his deep groans, and the unmistakable sound of skin slamming against skin. Heeseung was a perfect fit, his every thrust reaching a depth that had spiraling into an irrational desire for more. More, as though he hadn’t already completely consumed you.

Your fingers dug into his back, your grip tightening with every surge of pleasure. When he pinned your wrists above your head, your body arched instinctively, your hands grasping at the sheets as you gasped for him to keep going.  When his teeth grazed the sensitive curve of your neck, your entire body lit up, every nerve alive with overwhelming pleasure. And when he murmured your name, his voice rough and breathless, it was enough to push you closer to the edge, leaving you lost in a desperate, dizzying need for him.

Heeseung was a vice. He unraveled you, body and mind, until nothing existed but the maddening ache of him and the desperate, spiraling desire to never let this moment end.

“Oh, Heeseung.”

“What do you want, baby?” he asked in a low, deep and raspy voice sending pleasant shivers down your spine.

“Harder, Hee. Please.” you cried out, not even caring to hide how needy you were.

“Shit,” he grunted, spurred on by the need in your voice. “You’re so...” 

He didn’t finish his sentence, instead, he kissed your lips and picked up his pace. Rocking with more force and intensity. Drilling deeper with every thrust. Fucking you senseless until you were crying out his name and begging him not to stop.

The knot in your core coiled tighter with every thrust, your body trembling beneath him as you clung to the last shreds of control. His movements grew more frantic, each one sending shockwaves through you that built higher and higher.

“Heeseung,” you gasped, your nails dragging down his back as the heat between you burned hotter. He groaned in response, low and guttural, the sound sending you further into overdrive.

When his mouth trailed down, teeth grazing your nipple just right, your world seemed to have shattered. A wave of pleasure crashed over you, your body arching into his as you cried out, completely undone. He followed moments later, a broken sound leaving his lips as he buried himself deeper, his own release spilling into you.

For a moment, neither of you moved, both catching your breaths with your foreheads pressed together. The world slowly shifted into focus, the haze of what had happened between you lingered in the air as you found yourself coming back down from what had felt like an incomparable high. Soon though, the weight of his body pressing against yours made breathing slightly harder. 

You gave him a gentle nudge, your voice soft. “Heeseung, you’re heavy.”

He grinned, rolling onto the bed beside you with a contented sigh. “Better?” 

You nodded, meeting his gaze as he brushed a few stray hairs from your face. “You okay?” he asked, his tone quiet but sure.

“Yeah,” you replied, your voice coming out quieter than intended. “You?”

Heeseung’s smile widened. “Never better.”

Before you could think of something clever to say, he leaned in, his lips grazing yours in a way that made your heart flutter all over again. The two of you stayed like that for a while, stealing quiet, intimate moments in the privacy of your bedroom. Eventually, you both knew you couldn’t hide away forever.

When you finally slipped back into the hallway, your cheeks were still warm, and you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. Heeseung stayed close, his shoulder brushing against yours as you rejoined your family in the living room.

For the rest of the day, his presence was a constant. Whether he was cracking jokes with Jake or leaning in to share a private comment that made you laugh, it felt like he’d completely settled into your orbit—and you didn’t mind.

It didn’t take long for everyone else in the house to notice your growing closeness with Heeseung. Your cousins teased you relentlessly, joking that Heeseung was the Christmas Miracle who made you shed your Grinch fur. Even your parents joined in.

“Had I known all it would take for you to stop grimacing every year on Christmas was a boyfriend,” your dad quipped, “I would’ve asked your mom to set you up on blind dates ages ago.”

“Ew, Dad. That’s so lame,” you replied with a grimace, though a pang of guilt flickered in your chest. For years, they’d put up with your reluctance to embrace the holiday spirit, and it hadn’t been fair to them.

Later, while Heeseung was off chatting with your cousins, your mom quietly pulled you aside. “I like him,” she said with a knowing smile. “He seems like a really sweet guy.”

“He is,” you admitted softly, hesitating. “But we don’t know much about each other. This is probably just… some temporary holiday fling.”

“Is that what you think?” she asked, tilting her head thoughtfully. “Well, sometimes those ‘temporary’ things surprise you. It’s just nice to see you happy.”

Her words replayed in your head, even as the evening unfolded into more teasing, laughter, and the occasional stolen glances between you and Heeseung. It felt effortless, the way he was seamlessly pulled into your family’s fold—laughing with your cousins, charming your parents, and somehow always finding his way back to your side.

At one point, as you leaned against the porch railing, your gaze wandering to the clear night sky, Heeseung appeared at your side. His hand brushed yours before his fingers slipped between them, the motion casual but deliberate.

“Wanna get out of here?” he murmured, his lips brushing your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

“And go where?” you asked, your voice just above a whisper.

“Anywhere,” he said with a crooked smile, hazy with the warmth of the evening—or maybe just you. “I just wanna be alone with you.”

You didn’t even have time to answer before Jake, lounging on the couch nearby, cut in with exaggerated indignation. “I didn’t mean for this to happen,” he sighed.

“But now that it is happening, I guess all I can say is fuck you guys and please get out of my sight,” Jake added, rolling his eyes. “You have no respect for the single loners hanging out with you, did you know that?”

You snickered. “This is why you bring your girlfriend home for the holidays, not a hot friend.”

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” Jake retorted, crossing his arms.

“And whose fault is that?” you teased with a grin.

Jake shot you a pointed look. “Don’t act so smug. You’ve been a Christmas Grinch for years. I’m not taking any advice from you.”

“Fair,” you admitted with a shrug, wanting so much to keep taunting him but deciding against it because he was right.

Your cousin cut in from across the room. “Jake, when did you say you were leaving again?”

“Tomorrow morning,” he replied.

“Already?” you asked, surprised.

“Yeah,” he continued, his tone dripping with self-satisfaction. “We have a New Year event at uni. Heeseung’s needed for some important technical stuff. And me? Well, they need me for my invaluable presence.”

The chatter around you faded into the background as Heeseung tugged you closer. “You should come see it,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with intention.

You tilted your head, curious. “Is it fun?”

“I hope so,” he said with a small, crooked smile. “If it’s not, I’ll make it up to you somehow.”

You giggled when he kissed the side of your head. “How are you gonna do that?”

“Well, for starters…” He paused, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered in a voice full of promise, “I’ll take you somewhere private and show you a really good time.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Lame,” you quipped, pushing his face away.

Heeseung threw his head back laughing. “Okay. I’ll try to come up with something better.”

And just like that, the night became a blur of moments—each one filled with laughter, teasing, and kisses that were never fully explained, only given and received with a kind of sweetness that felt both comforting and thrilling.

It happened again. And again. The gentle pull of his lips on yours, the warmth of his touch, the way he always found a way to stand just a little too close. By the time the night had fully settled into the quiet of the late hours, the two of you were tangled up in your bedroom again, tipsy, comfortable, and perhaps a little too far gone to really care about the next morning.

The train ride back to the city was as mundane as ever, but there was a sense of excitement buzzing in the air this time around. You sat back comfortable, looking out the window at the snowy landscape that blurred past. The past few days felt like a dream, a Christmas full of laughter, teasing, and beautiful moments with Heeseung. 

Your phone buzzed in your hand, pulling you from your thoughts.

Heeseung: See you Wednesday?

You smiled to yourself, the memories of the past few days flooding back—his easy laughter, the way he looked at you like you were the only person in the room, and the way his touch always seemed to leave a mark on your skin. It had all gone by so quickly, but in the best way possible. Everything had felt easy, comfortable, and natural in a way you hadn’t expected.

The holiday season had come to an end, but what you’d shared with Heeseung was just starting to unfold. There was something about it that felt like fate, or maybe just the simple truth that it was time for you to stop waiting for something that had no guarantee would ever happen.

You quickly typed your reply, your fingers moving almost instinctively.

You: Can’t wait.

When you hit send, you leaned back into the seat, letting the train’s rhythm settle the buzz in your busy mind. The thought of seeing him again made your chest tighten in the most pleasant way.

You couldn’t wait for Wednesday. For fuck’s sake, you couldn’t wait for the New Year.

[fin]

[plaidos]

I have no particular dog in this fight as I'm not a GF superfan or anything, but I would like to question a bit of your analysis.

I think you're right that the version of GF where Dipper is transmasc makes Mabel's canonical actions transphobic.

I would like to question the insinuation that those same actions would've been "normal sibling rivalry" (?!) were Dipper closeted transfem or even cismasc, as opposed to "worst sister ever" (!?) behavior. Especially if we're going with transfem Dipper, those incidents of bullying remind me much more of patterns of bullying against transfeminine people, and intersex people CAMAB (such as myself) that I've personally witnessed/experienced.

Also, to the idea that Mabel being transphobic fundamentally changes her character in some way. Like, sometimes characters we're supposed to like hold a bigoted attitude which they will unlearn over the course of the story. Sokka from Avatar and Weiss from RWBY come to mind. Mabel being one of those characters doesn't fundamentally change her storyline or arc.

you’re right, Mabel’s actions and teasings are still mean with a transphobic undercurrent — even if Dipper is a dyadic cis boy, to be honest. but she’s also a twelve year old born in 1999. i too have received the kind of bullying associated with the way Mabel acts towards Dipper about his gender, but i’ve also had similarly “jokes” from loved ones who didn’t realise how shitty they were being because they didn’t have the political framework to analyse what is fucked up about it.

but if we’re reading Dipper as transmasc, it’s like… everybody he knows is accepting enough of his identity to gender him correctly, but they’re still totally willing to say things to him that you would categorically know are bigoted even at that age. like a twelve year old cisgender girl who knows about trans people and respects their existence might not realise how needlessly callous she is being when she teases her (seemingly) cisgender brother for having “girly” interests, but that same cisgender girl would probably be able to identify that her openly transgender brother wouldn’t want to wear makeup and that it would be incredibly fucked up to make him. i’m not saying it’s “right” but Mabel needs to actively Be A Transphobe (rather than just having some twelve year old cis girl ideas about gender & masculinity) to treat Dipper the way she treats him if he is openly transmasculine, but I feel like there’s more of a plausible deniability. i feel like the Mabel we see in the show is a couple years away from being like “wow, that was spectacularly mean of me, i hope that didn’t have an effect on Dipper’s self worth”

i feel like if (in the crazy alternate universe where this is possible) there were an episode where Dipper came out as transfem after feeling hurt by Mabel’s jokes she would be really torn up about it. she’d say something like “i’m really sorry, i didn’t know you felt so strongly about gender… i thought we were just joking around but i should be paying more attention to how you feel, Dipper…. wait, maybe you don’t want to be called Dipper any more. Oh no I AM a bigot!!!” and then Soos would come in and be like “heheh. total hatecrime dude” and then we’d cut to Bill being like “i don’t care what gender you are pine tree… i’m gonna get that GIRL if it’s the last thing I do” except girl would be obviously ADR’d over in Alex Hirsch’s normal voice with his live action mouth over Bill’s animated mouth

also transfeminine Dipper has just always made more sense. the big argument was that he uses a nickname instead of his birth name which he keeps a secret. and that would make sense if Dipper had a girl’s name, but Dipper’s birth name is “Mason”. so he actually is choosing to not use a male name and instead use something gender neutral, even though he really loves matching with his twin sister & having matching names is a family tradition — so he probably has a pretty big reason to not use it, considering he still doesn’t even with all the reasons he has to.

[two-white-butterflies]

gave you all my best me's (ii)

Description: Aemond tries to figure out if his feelings are real. A revelation sends this house of cards crumbling down.

Pairing: (past! jacaerys velaryon/reader), aemond targaryen/reader

PART ONE ||

Aemond takes a nervous bite of his mini-Oreos. It's been a week since he introduced you to his family, and all his relatives have been sending him kind messages. However, his father has refused to return all of his calls. Nothing new, he muses.

"Are you okay, hun?" You sit beside him, and the sofa slightly shifts to accommodate your shared weight. "Yeah," he responds reluctantly. He doesn't exactly know how to feel. He sometimes looks at you and thinks about turning this relationship into a real thing, but then, he remembers your conversation with Jacaerys on the balcony...

Everything has been so blurry and difficult lately.

What if Jacaerys suddenly calls, and you pick up, and everything returns to where you left it off?

"It's just been a tough couple of weeks," he reasons.

But he knows that the feelings that thump inside of his ribcage are far too complex to explain. "Do you want to talk about it?" You asked, and he shakes his head.

.

.

.

nameofficial posted to her story!

caption: with mr lover lover 😎 song: Boombastic by Shaggy

.

.

.

YOU are you aight you been pushing me away lately :((

AEMOND TARGARYEN I'm a little busy with work We're releasing a new phone this month

YOU does this have something to do with the jacaerys thing?

AEMOND TARGARYEN Ofc not xx I respect you It's not like we have a 'real' relationship

seen.

.

.

.

Your eyebrows merged together in fury.

It's not like we have a 'real' relationship.

You continued to stare at his message. Actually, you were glaring at your phone - until it suddenly fell on your face.

"Shit," you cursed. "Fuck," you continued.

The fact that Aemond wasn't entirely lying pierced your heart. Your feelings for him have blossomed these past few months, you didn't need a verbal reminder that this was all contractual. That he only chose to be pretend married to you because it meant inheriting his father's fortune. You are not important to him.

Thanks for the reminder, Aemond.

.

.

.

You were pleasantly surprised when Alicent invited you for a cup of tea. Aemond told you that his mother kept to herself, she only talked to people inside her small circle. You remember that the only thing that she acknowledged you with were small smiles and nods, but it's good that she's finally warming up to you.

I mean...you are going to be her pretend daughter-in-law.

"I am sure that you are not unfamiliar with the way our family conducts our business," Alicent begins the conversation, taking a leisurely sip of her tea. "- it's a new age, but some of our members are still stuck in the past." She gives you a thin-lipped smile.

What was she going to say next? She voted for Hillary Clinton in the last election. "- especially my husband. He is a traditional man. Before we got married, I was in my third year of medical school. I wanted to be a pediatrician, but he gave me an ultimatum, told me it was either him or being a pedia, and I chose him." She speaks with regret.

"Pardon?" You raised an eyebrow, unaware of where this conversation was leading. "My husband knows there are charges against you by the Spanish Government, which is easy to fix, but there is a stain on your reputation. You are not the kind of woman that he finds worthy of being a member of our family. He will not allow your wedding to pull through, and if it happens, Aemond stands to inherit nothing." Alicent explains with a deep breath.

You wanted to tell her that you were no longer here for the money, but Aemond would want the inheritance, right?

Alicent reaches for her handbag, dropping an envelope of cash to cover the bill for this tea party. She reaches for your hand, holding it with both of hers. "Please stay away from my son," she begs. "- you can find another husband, but I cannot find another him." Alicent pleads, not wanting her son to fall in his ranks in society.

Reputation means everything to people like them.

"Yes, of course." You forced yourself to agree.

It's what Aemond wants.

"Please don't mention this to him. I love him, but he doesn't love me enough to abandon you." You took a deep breath. She reaches for her handbag again, writing you a check for millions of dollars but you shake your head.

"- he'll have kids in the future with a woman that isn't me, but someone that you think is proper enough for him. You won't even remember my name by then. I don't need money, Mrs. Targaryen. I'm happy to have been here." You removed your engagement ring, placing it on the table.

"Thank you," she looks up with a sad smile.

"Thank you too," you answered, leaving without looking back.

.

.

.

AEMOND TARGARYEN Where are you? I bought some pad thai

.

.

.

AEMOND TARGARYEN Are you still there?

.

.

.

AEMOND TARGARYEN My mom told me I'm sorry Let's talk

.

.

.

YOU MISSED A CALL FROM AEMOND TARGARYEN. (39)

.

.

.

(ONE YEAR LATER)

WHY DID Y/N L/N DISAPPEAR?

It has been one year since singer Y/N L/N was last seen wandering around New York City. Thirteen months ago, MTV announced that her engagement with tech-CEO Aemond Targaryen had broken off. A close friend alleges that their breakup was amicable, and the couple were just heading towards different paths in life.

A year ago, Y/N L/N deactivated her social media accounts.

Six months ago, all charges by the Spanish government against her were dropped, citing that it was a third-party accounting firm that caused the mismanagement of funds. L/N was let go with a minor fine. It has been radio silence for quite some time now, but according to a few insiders, the singer is seen roaming NYC once more...

Why did she disappear? And why is she back?

.

.

.

nameofficial: i stayed there.... THANK YOU FOR INVITING ME AND @luciechurchill!! @taylorswift. i love you so much ❤️

liked by 2,128,321 others

>comments

taylorswift: I'm so glad you enjoyed the era's tour 💙💙💙💙💙 - nameofficial: twas absolute cinema 🤯

Y/NSUPPORT: SHE'S BACK !!! and she's paid her taxes 🇪🇸

BigBlueEyes6: Y/N stays the queen of the revolution 🇪🇸 bella ciao bella ciao bella ciao ciao ciao 👺

.

.

.

replies:

sexybaliye: I HAVE BEEF WITH HIM BECAUSE HE TOOK HER THIRD ALBUM AWAY FROM US 😭 MY ASS WILL FOREVER MOURN LOVER - applepie59: BYE...Karma by TS is Lover in a diff font - sexybaliye: Albums that will never be released LOL

hauntedasshome8: I'm not heartbroken....also me: Y/N L/N

.

.

.

nameofficial: I love the crowd in Nashville. I'm so happy to be opening the ERA'S TOUR by @taylorswift. ❤️

liked by 1,329,921 others

>comments

comments have been restricted.

.

.

.

"How long are you going to keep attending the concerts?" Aegon sits on one of the ottomans. He gives his brother a lazy smile before callously lighting his cigarette - knowing that he wouldn't get into trouble because his grandfather owned the hotel. "Why are you so curious about it?" Aemond rolls his eyes.

"I find it kind of weird that you leave after the opener," Aegon comments. "- don't you want to talk to her?" Aegon inquires.

"She looks fine," Aemond breathes. He doesn't want to ruin your quit life just because he dreams of being in your arms again. If you've moved on, then he has no choice but to follow in your footsteps.

"I've been analyzing her note changes," Aegon puffs.

"You pay attention to that?" Aemond raises an eyebrow.

Aegon chuckles annoyingly, as if he was your biggest fan. "When she says lay on the horn, there's a slight change in her voice, which probably means that it haunts her." He quotes your lyrics. "- in one of the surprise songs, she looked really sad when singing about the snow globe spinning round and round." Aegon continues his analysis.

He looks at Aemond again, who is looking at him with a strange stare. "Men are so stupid," Aegon stands up - he rolls his eyes before leaving the room and slamming the door loudly.

.

.

.

Aemond continues to watch you from the front row, he's already memorized your routine by now. He takes a sip of the beer that Aegon smuggled inside, and everyone cheers around him - seeing your faint figure begin to march towards the front stage.

"This song is going to be a part of my third studio album, I figured that I should share it with all of you first." You smile, strumming your guitar. "The apartment we won't share. I wonder what sad wife lives there." You begin your song. "Have the windows deciphered her stares? Do the bricks in the walls know to hide the affairs?" You walked around.

Freezing once you see him.

Aemond Targaryen in the flesh.

"The dog we won't have is now one I would not choose. The daughter we won't raise still waits for you." You walked past him. You could attend a million interviews after this and swear to god that you're not over him, but you'd be lying. Because you still love him. You still love all the ways that he'd massage your scalp.

"The girl I won't be is the one that's yours. I hope you shortly find what you long for." You glanced at him again. Seeing him feels like getting electrocuted. It makes you happy but at the same time really, really sad because you know that he doesn't feel the same way. "A year and some change. Isn't it strange?" You looked at him.

One word and you'll come running back to him.

"I'm sure she's beautiful and sweet." You continued strumming your guitar. "But you're the only thing I need," you change the lyrics, your voice beginning to fade in the background.

.

.

.

Aemond nervously bounces his legs, and a few security guards escort him backstage - and now he's waiting for you to finish your last song. He fidgets with the engagement ring inside his palms. It's a family heirloom, a ring that Alicent gave him that came from his grandmother, Alerie.

"Aemond," you say with a reluctant voice. "Y/N," He breathes, wrapping you in a warm embrace.

"What are you doing here?" You questioned, taking in the sight of him. "Let's get back together, please," he begged, offering you the ring that was inside of his palms. "What are you talking about? I thought that wasn't part of the deal, your dad won't leave you anything." You stared deep into his eyes.

"I love you," he confesses.

"The day that you left, I wanted to tell you." He adds.

"I only left because I thought that you didn't feel the same way," your frown deepened.

A chuckle escapes your mouth, truly in disbelief at how the tides shifted in your favor.

He drops on one knee.

"Marry me," he says.

"Of course," you agree.

Meeting his lips with fiery passion.

.

.

.

nameofficial: I take this magnetic force of a man to be my LOVER.

liked by 3,812,923 others

>comments

bananalols: ok what happened to hello, how are you?

helaenatargaryen: Congratulations sis and bro!! 🧡

Nour192: UMM THIS IS SO UNEXPECTED...

.

.

.

aemondtargaryensapphires: Happy wedding.

liked by 123,182 others

>comments

comments have been disabled.

.

.

.

nameofficial: I'm so happy to make it with you ❤️

liked by 3,239,192 others

>comments

imthatbitch2: Congrats, we didn't even know that u were engaged lols

HundredBoys82: What ever makes u happy...boo?

ColossalTitan: MRS LOVER LOVER

@glame @xcinnamonmalfoyx @winxchesters @yentroucnagol @mxxny-lupin @mxtantrights @urmomsgirlfriend1 @kravitzwhore @sweethoneyblossom1 @introverbatim @flrboyd @sumsumcooluser @rebstrg @bladestark @ninihrtss @julczimozart @narahwolfqueen16

REQUESTS FOR THE BONUS FLUFF PARTS ARE AVAILABLE just send them on my inbox!!

[cod-dump]

Just the idea of Captain MacMillan casually turning up on Price’s base wanting to check up on Price, because that man will forever be a child in his eyes, and instead running into every other possible person.

And every single one of them snitches on Price about something reckless or dangerous he has done since Mac came around the last time. All of them have something different to report on too.

Safe to say, Price received an hour long lecture on his behaviour.

The air was off the moment he arrived on base.

The hair on his arms pricked up and several times there was a shiver that made him shake. He had eyes on him as he walked to his office and by the time he got there he was on edge. Something was screaming at him when he stood in front of his door.

"Oh fuck this," he growled to himself before he opened the door.

"There's the bastard. Welcome back!"

Price froze, eyes widening as he saw fucking Mac sitting in his chair. He stood there at the door long enough for the man to scoff.

"Waiting for permission to enter your office?"

Price cleared his throat and stepped inside, "What are you doing here?"

"Visiting my old stomping grounds. Glad that you have yet to burn it down."

Price fake laughs, dropping his work bag on his desk, "Thought something was off, felt a shift in the air."

It was Mac's turn to laugh, but it was genuine. Retirement had a way of mellowing a bastard like MacMillan. He was already married by the time he made the decision to retire, had two sons. But, as he had joked plenty of times before, he always had to have an eye on the eldest.

"Been here three days."

Price felt his blood run cold, "You've what?"

"Kate has really grown into that boldness quite well. Though she knows now how to hold her tongue."

Of course she's involved. Price could see it in Mac's eyes that he had plenty to say to him. Three days on base while Price was still on leave? He was scared to know what all the boys had said to their "grand-captain".

"First off: An American? Really?"

Price immediately turned on his heel to run out the door. He managed to open the door and step out the office before he ran into a familiar chest. Nik had his mouth open, ready to say something, then he saw Mac. Needless to say he was equally horrified to see the man.

"I still haven't gotten to liking this one!"

Price didn't need to say anything for Nik to agree to retreat with him.

---

"I was expecting a more... immediate response."

"Old man probably locked him in the office and is giving him a ear full."

Soap laughed as Ghost kept his binoculars trained on the building where Price was no doubtedly reliving his younger, more mischievous years. The shades were down but Ghost still watched in hopes of getting a glimpse of something.

Gaz had returned with snacks and Ghost was considering giving it a rest to enjoy some crisps when the front door of the building flung open. Price and Nik running full speed out was everything.

"Get the camera- GET THE FUCKING CAMERA-"

Laswell had a delightful video to watch later, after she had the most hysterical phonecall that she's had with Price in years.

[foggieststars]

sex pollen + overstim and/or denial for landoscar queen?

"Jesus fuck," Lando says, and Oscar glares at him with baleful eyes. Lando takes affront to that. If anything, Lando reckons he's sort of underreacting to the whole, finding his teammate slumped nearly-unconscious outside the door of his flat, thing.

"Are you - I mean. Y'alright?" Lando asks, heartbeat loud in his ears. Oscar's got sweat pouring off him, like he's just finished 62 laps of Singapore. His hair's clumped together with sweat, stringy and

"Of course I'm not alright," Oscar snaps, and - that’s new. 

Lando blinks, unsure what to make of Oscar like this. It’s the most tense Lando’s ever seen him - the most genuinely irritated. Even after Carlos took him out of the race in Spa last year, the most emotion Oscar had shown was the tightly clenched fists in his lap during the debrief. Seeing Oscar like this… it’s an uncomfortable display of vulnerability. 

“What’s happened to you?” Lando asks, reaching out to offer Oscar a hand. “Why are you–?” here, he doesn’t say. Figures it’d be rude. Make Oscar think he’s like, unwelcome or something. 

“I dunno,” Oscar says, breathing heavily. “I was opening some fucking - oh, fuck,” he says, doubling over. Lando fumbles in his pocket for his keys, unlocks the door with clumsy, trembling hands. “I was opening some fanmail, for some stupid fucking video, and one of them had all this powder in it, and it got all over my hands, and I started feeling - like this.” 

“Oh, christ,” Lando says, mind whirring. Can people send, like, drugs in the post? Drugs that only need to touch your skin to activate? Lando tries not to panic too obviously, wants to stay calm for Oscar. Who’s crawled here, for some reason. 

“Fuck, Osc,” Lando gnaws on his lip, shutting the door behind them. When he reaches out to steady Oscar, swaying on the spot, his skin is searingly hot to the touch. “I reckon you need to go to the hospital, mate.” 

“Dunno where it is, do I?” Oscar snaps. “And besides. I don’t think… I don’t think I need a hospital. Not for this.” 

Lando nearly shrieks, panic turning his hands clammy. “Oscar, you just told me that you - that you’ve touched some random fucking powder, and now you’re here, sweating buckets on my doorstep. Of course you need to go to the hospital!” 

Oscar lurches dangerously to the side as Lando’s speaking, and Lando reaches out to grab him. One hand finds Oscar’s forearm, pulls him in close to his body. The other hand lands on Oscar’s waist, trailing around to his stomach. 

“Oh,” Oscar moans, swaying into Lando this time. 

“What hurts? Your stomach?” Lando babbles, scrabbling with the hem of Oscar’s top. “It might be your appendix or something, you know?” 

When he gets Oscar’s top up, exposing the smooth expanse of his stomach, Lando presses his hand to it. He doesn’t know what the fuck he thinks he’s looking for - like he’ll be able to feel Oscar’s appendix about to rupture - and then Oscar makes another noise. It’s low and sharp and unmistakably aroused. 

“Osc?” Lando probes, and then Oscar’s doubling over, moaning louder, and his hips - well, oh Jesus, he’s fucking forward into the air, like he’s got his cock in someone. 

The movement continues for what feels like forever, but is probably no longer than ten seconds, and then Oscar slumps over, like a marionette with its strings cut. 

“Oh my god,” Lando says, hating the way his voice has gone all high-pitched. “Did you just–?” 

Oscar groans, still bent double at the waist. “‘M sorry,” he grits out, voice hoarse. His cheeks are stained pink. “Fuck, Lando. I’m so sorry.” 

“When you said - when you said you didn’t need a hospital…”

Oscar looks at him, eyes shining. He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth and nods. “Ever since I touched that stuff - I don’t know. I just - I can’t stop.” 

Lando’s brain goes offline at the mental image of Oscar, alone in his flat, jerking himself off frantically, again and again and again. 

“And - so. You came here?” Lando queries, voice tremulous. 

Oscar looks at him with a pained expression. “I want. Will you - help?” 

Lando feels like he’s teetering on the precipice of something massive. There’s been tension between them since Oscar arrived. Lando never acted on it. He’d sworn to himself - this would be the teammate he doesn’t let fuck him. Oscar’s always respected that unspoken decision; never pushed too hard, never made so much as the tiniest of moves. Even though Lando knows he feels it just as urgently - the intangible thing shimmering between them. Seems like Oscar’s finally reached his breaking point. 

Lando steadies himself with a deep breath. “Alright, Oscar. I’ll help.” 

*

Five minutes later find them in Lando’s unmade bed, shirts off, Lando fiddling with the drawstring of Oscar’s shorts. Shorts - in December. Lando barely resists the urge to tease him about it, thinks it might be just too much for Oscar right now. 

When he finally gets them down around Oscar’s ankles, Lando doesn’t feel much like joking any longer. 

“Fuck, Osc,” Lando says, looking down at the mess. “You came so much.” 

His cock is an angry shade of red, so hard it’s resting against his stomach. There’s a mess of drying come in Oscar’s boxers, a testament to how many times he’d gotten himself off before coming to seek out Lando’s help. It must hurt. Lando’s never come this many times in one session - not even when he was a horny teenager with no refractory period. 

Oscar pants, arm thrown across his eyes, nods. Didn’t even bother to clean himself up. Needed it that badly. 

“How many times did you–?” 

Oscar makes a quiet noise, like he’s embarrassed to admit to it. “I - Lando,” he rasps, hips hitching as Lando takes his hot cock in hand. It’s pulsing gently, weeping pre-come when Lando thumbs over the tip.

“Come on,” Lando pushes, unsure why he can’t resist the urge to tease. Why he never can. “I won’t tell anyone. Swear.” 

Who’s Lando gunna tell, exactly? Max wouldn’t even believe him. 

“F-four,” Oscar says, moaning when Lando twists his wrist. “Lando, fuck, I’m - so close.” 

“Already?” Lando asks, laughing despite himself. “I’m not even - oh.” 

That’s all it takes to have Oscar spilling all over Lando’s hand, hips kicking into the air. It’s scorchingly hot. 

“Jesus,” Lando says, and Oscar throws his other arm across his face too. Like if he buries himself deep enough, this will all go away. “I barely even touched you!” 

“I know,” Oscar says, seemingly more lucid immediately post-orgasm. “It - the powder shit. It doesn’t take much to - y’know. Makes everything feel… louder.” 

Alright, maybe not so lucid after all. 

“Does it hurt?” Lando asks, and Oscar nods. Doesn’t seem to stop his cock filling up again, straining with desperation. Oscar finally brings his arms down from his face, more flushed than ever. 

He’s so - vulnerable, like this. Like Lando could do anything to him, anything at all, and he’d just lie there and shudder through it, small, bitten-off moans spilling from his mouth. It’s a thought that shouldn’t turn Lando on as much as it does. 

Lando gets Oscar off again with his hands, once with his mouth. Oscar starts fully crying when Lando sucks on the head of his cock, and Lando’s never really been one to get, like, turned on by tears, but - well. It’s Oscar, so. 

“You okay?” Lando asks, sitting up, wiping off his chin. “I don’t wanna like, hurt you or nothing.” 

“It’s just - it’s a lot,” Oscar hiccups, chest heaving. “Feels so - I dunno how to explain. I’m all… tingly.” 

Lando finishes him off, sits back on his heels to give Oscar a short break. He leans forward, rests the back of his palm on Oscar’s forehead. It feels absurdly domestic - weirdly maternal, actually - but he’s even hotter than before, if anything. 

“I don’t know if this is helping,” Lando says, watching Oscar ball his fists into Lando’s duvet, trying not to hump the air. “You’re like, properly burning up. Should I call someone?” he hesitates. “Mark?” 

“No!” Oscar practically shouts, hands flying up to grip Lando’s wrists, like he’s in any fit state to physically wrestle a phone out of Lando’s grasp. Like Lando would even have Mark’s number saved. He’d have to call Jenson probably, and then that would be a whole thing. “Not Mark. Not - okay.” Oscar blows out air, ruffles his fringe. “I think. I think you’re gonna have to…” 

Lando raises his eyebrows, not following Oscar’s deluded train of thought. 

Oscar groans, half-twists his body to bury his face in the pillows. He takes a couple of deep breaths, and Lando watches the muscles in his back twitch and flex. 

When Oscar rolls back, he’s calmer. More measured. And then, as if it’s normal, as if this is something teammates do with each other all the time, he plants his feet into the mattress, and spreads his legs.  

“Oh,” Lando says. His cock, already half-hard, jumps to attention so quickly Lando feels briefly dizzy. “Oh, right. Fucking hell.” 

“Only if you want to,” Oscar says, voice trembling. “I know it’s - I’m sorry. I know this is fucking insane.” 

“If I want to,” Lando echoes, feeling vaguely hysterical. Maybe he’s the drugged one. Maybe Max thought it would be funny to slip something into his drink last night, and all this is just one long, horny fever-dream. 

“Yeah,” Oscar says, in a voice that betrays his barely-suppressed panic. “Lando? Can you - oh, god. Say something, please?” 

“Are you - fuck, Oscar. I mean. Are you sure?” 

Oscar nods desperately, the movement ruffling his hair. “Please, Lando. I came to you for - for a reason,” he gulps. And then, softly, almost begging – “Please.” 

It’s so hot Lando almost sees stars. “Alright,” he says after a moment of indecision. “Alright, Osc. I’ve got you.” 

The relief on Oscar’s face is almost enough to make Lando feel guilty, that Oscar thinks Lando’s the one doing him a favour. Like he hasn’t been gagging to stick his dick in Oscar since that first day in the MTC. 

Lando fumbles for his hand, threads their fingers together, gives Oscar’s hand a tight squeeze. “‘M gonna make it go away, Osc, I swear.” 

Oscar gasps at the sensation, banal and sexless as a squeeze of the hand is. He needs it. He’s sore from overstimulation, gasping whenever Lando so much as brushes his cock, and yet he’s still begging for it, desperate to be touched. 

Oscar smiles at him, so sweet and polite. “Thank you,” he says, and Lando loses his grasp on reality. 

[davidlikebowie-noturaccountant]

okay this is fully rushed and just the first part because i’m sleepy tired but

i wasn’t TOTALLY sure if the au was meant to be like neil still tries and fails or what but that was how i read it and so the following also tw for references to suicide (canon compliant)

anyway there will probs be a part two… tomorrow? idk but i hope u like it op (i may have accidentally made it less of a silly goofy au and more of too much internal serious reflection whoopsies)

When Neil comes to, it’s in a sterile room. Bleak, white light filters in from the open door, and he is…… completely alone. It’s silent, save for the intermittent beeping of the machines, and everything hurts. For a moment, a blessed, easy moment, he can’t remember where he is, or why he’s there. And then it all comes crashing back, a 12-foot wave of pain, guilt, and regret. Then the heavy sadness. It didn’t work. He’s trapped. God fucking damn it, can he do anything right?

In the drawing-room, Tom and Eleanor are sitting by the phone, quiet. Grief had washed away the anger that stood staunch in that room only days before, and uncertainty continued to pool in them. And then they got the phone call. It felt like a miracle. Eleanor had fallen into Tom, crying, once again, but for the first time in ages, the tears were those of relief. Their family was going to be okay. They could heal from this.

The months that followed were hard. The hardest they’d ever had to reckon with. Neil, somehow, blessedly, escaped without lasting damage to his brain. When he was left alone for any longer than a moment, it weighed on him. When he had gone into the study that night, he had felt… steady. Sure. More sure than he’d been in a while. Resolute. And– in the wake of that– to find out he’d been foiled by a shaky hand, it felt like a cruel slap to the face. As time wore on, he tried hard to find the lust for life he’d briefly gotten his hands on, but his parents had deliberated, they’d decided to send him away, and they only told the school he’d- nothing after. And send him away they did, somewhere where he couldn’t make long-distance calls, and any calls he would have tried to make were long-distance. He was completely cut off from the person he used to be, and the people who had made him that person. Total isolation. He barely heard from his parents, save the occasional letter reminding him of the expectations they had. Forget lust for life, he hardly had it in him to resist. He was back to square one.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

At 32, Neil felt as if he stopped needing to adjust to things, or maybe he only just realised it. Suburban New Jersey was both exactly like Vermont and a far, far cry from it. He rarely let himself think about Vermont, though. The person he was before he went to military school in Scotland. Before what he only lets himself refer to as “The Incident.”

He’s a far cry from that person now. Dwelling on it only serves to make him sad. So, he settles into his new routine, and for a while, he forces himself, pointedly, not to think about how close he is to Vermont. Then, as time continues to pass, that becomes routine too. Suppressed without him having to think about it. He finds, in time, that he likes the bustle of the hospital. There’s no time for him to think past his cases. Saves him from himself some days.

The pager on his belt beeps, and he sees the code on the little screen. The one which means he has a new patient. And he steps back into the routine, going to the emergency room to do his job. One foot in front of the other. He has to remind himself sometimes not to mourn. He did his time, he felt his grief. Even 16 years later, it tries to get on top of him. But, his job keeps it at bay. Occupies his mind. Most days, he can hardly remember he used to be a different person. Some days he feels it brewing, just under the surface of his attention. It doesn’t get on top of him though. Never.

So, when he pulls the curtain back, clipboard in hand, his mind is blessedly empty, his gait is sure, and he doesn’t think twice about only skimming the chart he was handed for symptoms. Usually, he just takes the patient history himself. So, he walks in, as secure as he can be, doing the job he knows he’s good at.

He knows the EMTs had to resuscitate. From the beeping, he can tell that the pulse is still thready. But there. He knows the basics from his perfunctory skim of the chart. Overdose, patient’s pulse was lost for 3 seconds while unresponsive. This seems fairly easy, comparatively. He knows what to do. He’s well trained. He’s secure in his knowledge. Resolute.

And then he looks up from his clipboard.

It’s amazing how much 16 years can change a person. Features age, the angles of youth soften. But there are some things about a person that don’t change. A laugh, a smile.

Big blue eyes.

There are some things about a person you can never forget. He glances down at his chart. And there it is, the thing he didn’t read, in the same swoopy handwriting he remembered from- then.

Todd Anderson.

Fuck.

after seeing clips from tape and house I can only think of an anderperry au where Neil doesn’t die, but gets sent away and becomes a doctor. The next time he and Todd meet? Todd overdosed. You just have to hear me out for this one:

“Neil! We all thought you died!”

“Well I didn’t. You though? You did. Legally. For three whole seconds. Todd what the fuck?”

[merryslilhobbit]

Dando. The 2024 Edition.

Note: I was going to wait until New Year's Eve to post this but I think some people might appreciate it now.

Well this year definitely didn't turn out how I expected. But the Dando love held strong throughout. This is just a little reminder of some of their fabulous moments from this year.

January

Yes, Lando really went "I didn't like where I was holidaying, so I randomly rocked up at Daniel's farm that no one else has ever been to. We had a great time. I'm gonna talk about it at every opportunity. But it wasn't romantic."

February

Whatever the hell this was. Definitely not padel.

March

Ricciardo t-shirt in Lando's video. Because even when they're not together, they're thinking of each other.

May

The Win. The Hug. The utter softness and love right there. They have such a soft spot for each other. Seriously though, the contrast between his hugs with other drivers that day and this one??? Killing me here boys!

Credit 1st 2: Mark Thompson

Bonus Monaco shot where they're inseparable. Again.

June

Behaving like children on the fan stage at Barcelona. Return of the gossip bus (though does it count as a return when they're always together on it?).

Plus Daniel having to touch Lando whenever in reach.

July

Hat signing pre-British gp. Dando fandom winning again. This was honestly so precious to me. I bet Lando still has that hat.

Credit: Peter Fox

August

"It was actually a really shit lap yesterday" at the Dutch GP. See that smile? That's Lando's special Daniel smile.

Plus some post-win congratulations in the Netherlands. And there it is again, that smile.

September

Baku. The One Where Lando Couldn't Resist.

Lando really felt the need to remind Daniel/everyone of how much he loves him by following up with this resurrection of the .jpg account a couple of days later. Team Daniel. Yes, yes he is.

I wasn't going to include this, because sad times, but ❤️

October

Daniel's first post-departure social media post. Of course he'd include Lando.

Lando arriving at COTA in what could only be a tribute to Daniel (you can't convince me otherwise) ❤️

Daniel's jpg account giving us the ♥️💔♥️, taken after his last race in Singapore.

December

Gone but not forgotten, Lando taking the opportunity to mention his man whenever possible. I confess that while this video did the rounds a few weeks ago, I'm not sure of its origin/date. So on that basis, and as I hadn't seen it before, I'm including it here.

In summary, love never dies.

And what the fuck happened on that farm?!

[ihfmseatsoch]

ok ok ok so if i may be so bold as to request something, ive been enamored wiht the idea of an older, controlling, borderline abuse boyfriend jimmy, like he and reader live together on earth, and reader goes to college, while jimmy works physical jobs trying to support them both. he's a SHITTY person though, so hes jealous of any man the reader talks to, reads through their phone, makes sinde comments about their weight and appearance, and (im totally not projecting here) eventually pressures them into dropping out, for like his perfect little live in partner/gf fantasy sjdhasd feel free to do whatever with this, but this specific scenario has not left my head for days

WHEEE this was fun to write ^w^ i rushed this a bit but i just didnt want you to have to wait any longer... :p

—

Jimmy Zare x fem!reader

reader uses fem terms (girl, girlfriend)

genre: how do i categorize this.... fic that makes you feel bad or horny depending on how you handle verbal abuse lol

word count: 1.8k

warnings/content: age gap, domestic abuse, manipulation, arguing, fat shaming, several references to the readers body/appearance, jimmy being the biggest asshole oh my god i hate him (i want him so bad it makes me look stupid)

(is it bad that writing about jimmy yelling at me turns me on... WOAHHH who said that .....😰 also dont kill me for the weight shaming part IM A FAT GIRL !!!!!! i like when evil men are mean to me !!!!!! RAAAH)

—

"He's a good guy, he can actually be really sweet!"

That's a sentence you find yourself saying out of complete muscle memory at this point whenever someone questions why your boyfriend–... well, they question an awful lot about your boyfriend.

For example, why he's over twenty years your senior whilst you're still going to class on the weekdays. Why he doesn't allow you to see your friends, wear certain clothes, leave your apartment without him, and why he takes up so much space in your brain, completely distracting you from your own life and goals.

You've missed at least four assignments this semester alone. It's stupid, really. You thought you'd be done with obsessing and crying over boys after you graduated highschool. It's completely immature for a so-called adult like yourself, but then again, you're hardly into adulthood at all.

Jimmy, on the other hand, has a lot more life experience, many of those experiences negative. That might be why you've taken some form of pity on him, going so far as to move into his apartment so you can take care of him when you're not busy. He needs someone to make sure he doesn't fall off the deep end.

The thing is, it's become hard to fit him in your schedule, but whenever you're unable to make time for him after he comes home from work, that familiar scowl on his face indicating it was another shitty day, he throws a fit.

He'll accuse you of everything under the sun; Infidelity being the primary thing.

"You don't love me. There's someone else, isn't there? It's that one kid that asked you to help him 'study' last week, isn't it? No? Give me your fucking phone, then."

This is what you come home to everyday, so it's nothing new. In fact, you're pretty used to it by now. Though today, Jimmy seems particularly pissed.

"Where have you been?" He crosses his arms and leans against the wall, eyeing you up and down like he always does when he's about to grill you on something.

"Sorry..." You mutter, way too tired to deal with one of his moods again. "Traffic." You answer simply, not having enough energy to overexplain yourself like you normally do.

"Uh huh. Traffic." He mimics you in a way that already tells you he's not buying it. Great.

"...It's the truth." You shrink into yourself at the way he's looking at you. Contemptuous as always. You're in for another argument, it seems. A million, desperate pleas run through your mind;

'Please don't give me another lecture about how you're my only financial support, and how grateful I should be. Please don't ask to see my phone. Please don't tell me to drop out.'

But, of course, you can't actually change the outcome of this. You're gonna get yelled at. Belittled. Degraded.

"You're two hours late, and you're gonna tell me you were just stuck in traffic?" He pushes himself off the wall and walks towards you.

"You're never home when you're supposed to be, and when you are home, you're all tired and upset.” He pokes a finger into your shoulder, hard. "What do you think that looks like from my point of view?"

"I'm sorry." You rub your face, exasperated. God, you wish he would shut up sometimes. Sure, he can be amicable, but lately... he's been a raging dick. Yet, you can't help but cling to the memory of his good moments. "I'll try to make it back on time tomorrow."

"Yeah? And how many times have I heard that before?" He sneers, "You're hiding something from me, aren't you?"

The way he accuses you so confidently, so sure of himself... it's insulting. Does he really think that little of you? "College has been kicking my ass, Jim. You know that. I'm not hiding anything from you, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, college this, college that. Always complaining about fuckin' college," He scoffs, his eyes stay narrowed, still glaring. "How about what I'm going through? You think I'm having a great time every day at work, hm?"

"No, I–" You stammer, hating the way he's turning this around to make himself the victim. Oh, woe is him, having to provide for himself and his girlfriend. How tortured he is. "I know, alright? I'm sorry. I just– what else do you expect me to do?"

"Be here. Like you're supposed to be. And I expect you to stop acting like I'm the bad guy for asking you to be a decent girlfriend."

Jimmy's voice raises slightly as he takes a step closer, towering over your sheepish figure. He nudges your shoulder again, even rougher this time.

"I'm busting my ass every day to put food on the table, and you can't even have the decency to show up on time, let alone look happy to see me?"

"I– I am happy to see you! I am, I'm just– you don't get it. I want to be here, but... I'm not even halfway through this semester, and–" You stumble over your words as you attempt, in vain, to defend yourself. It's not like he'll ever feel sympathy for you. It's always about what he wants. What makes him happy.

Jimmy rolls his eyes at your attempt to reason with him. It's as if he doesn't even register a word you say. "But what? What's more important to you, huh? Some stupid classes, or the guy who keeps a fuckin' roof over your head and feeds you? Be grateful, goddamn it." He snaps, grabbing your arms and giving them a forceful shake.

You flinch from being handled like you're not even a human being, much less one with feelings. "Stop, please, I'm– I am grateful, I really am..." You're not lying, either. To be honest, his guilt tripping works wonders on you. Are you really acting unappreciative? He wouldn't be this upset if you were in the right...

He seems unfazed by your frightened demeanor and continues to hold a firm grip on your arms. He looks you up and down, not even having to say anything for you to know he's judging you, as a girlfriend and person in general.

"Oh, you're grateful? Then maybe you should act like it for once." Jimmy gives your arms another firm shake, a harsh reminder of who's in charge here.

"I'm not asking much of you. I just want you to be here, and you can't even do that. Do you think I'm just gonna sit back and accept that bullshit?"

"No..." You shake your head, looking down at the ground in shame. Were you really that awful? You didn't want to be a bad partner, it's the last thing you ever wanted. If you could make eye contact without feeling guilty, you'd see Jimmy's face light up with satisfaction as he finally notices you're not even bothering to put up a fight anymore.

There's a condescending lilt to his tone as he speaks, "No one will ever love you like I do. You know that?"

You nod, knowing there has to be some truth to his claim. He takes care of you, doesn't he? He keeps a roof over your head, gives you money for groceries, and he's not always that unpleasant to be around...

He's a good boyfriend. You're the problem. You always are.

"Exactly."

The grip on your arms eases, moving them to place a hand on each of your shoulders, contrastingly gentle compared to his behavior only moments ago.

"You oughta thank your lucky stars you have a man like me who puts up with all your bullshit. You get that, right? How lucky you are to be with me?"

You know he's right. You were blessed with someone who still loves you, despite your many shortcomings. You're too fat, the acne on your face and body is repulsive, the way you do your makeup is weird... all of this being things Jimmy has told you directly. At least you have an honest boyfriend, isn't that what every girl wants?

He gives your shoulder a pat, like he's treating you like a small, petulant child. "You realize I could have literally any girl I want, right? Pretty, skinny, smart ones, even. But I chose you. Because I care about you."

He pauses, letting that sink in.

"But it would help if you'd actually put the effort in to look decent." He adds as an afterthought.

You've internalized every single snide remark he's thrown your way, reminded of them every single time you look in the mirror. Yet he still loves someone like you. Someone so difficult and embarrassing to be with.

"Jim, I don't... I don't know how I'm even gonna be able to free my schedule at all with school and stuff..." You mumble guiltily. You know he wants you to drop out, he's suggested it more times than you can count.

"That right there, that's why I'm frustrated, goddamn it," He says with an exacerbated sigh. He moves one hand from your shoulder to pinch the bridge of his nose in annoyance. "Why don't you get it? Dropping out isn't the end of the world. Just quit and stay home. Done. Easy."

"It's not that easy... I want to get a good job and help out too, you know..."

It's true that you want to pull your weight around your shared home. With your combined income, it'd make everything easier. But... with how shitty college makes you feel, leaving you beaten down and tired by the end of the day...

You find yourself listening to Jimmy on this for once.

He can tell you're seriously contemplating it this time, which makes him feel... more in control. He's got you thinking and believing exactly what he wants you to. Soon, he'll be able to get you to obey him without another word from you.

The thought of having you as his subservient, stay at home girlfriend is more than appealing. It's his goal to mold you into what he wants you to be.

"Yeah, yeah, I get that, I know. But you're stressing yourself half to death, and for what? Some stupid degree? Listen to me, I'm not gonna ask you again. You're just creating problems that don't need to exist. Just quit. You'll have plenty of free time that you can spend with me."

You can't deny how tempting the idea is. Hesitantly, after several moments of pondering the hypotheticals and what-ifs, you speak up,

"...I guess... dropping out wouldn't hurt too much."

He perks up at that, barely being able to contain a delighted grin. You're actually putting him and his wants first, and acknowledging that he's right. You're doing as he says, without any of the usual arguing or excuses. He'll finally have his dream complaisant, docile girlfriend to come home to every night.

It only took a month or two to finally get you to cave. You'll be easier to control from now on. Hell, maybe you'll lose some weight with some free time on your hands, stop wearing that shitty makeup...

"Good girl," He says in a patronizing tone, like he's addressing a child, "That's what wanna hear."

God, you really hope this isn't a bad idea. Jimmy looks pleased for once, so...

This decision can't possibly ruin your future too badly, right?

—

[jazeswhbhaven]

Hello! I love your works, so I wanted to try sending in a request myself! Since I lost all of my progress on the game, I enjoy reading through your blog and seeing you go through the events. It helps me keep up with what's happening! Thank you so much!

If this hasn't been done yet, I wanted to request an MC who after a while of being with the kings and all their wild kinks, their body has basically gone through the wringer. So for the first time in like, forever, they just want to have vanilla sex. Like they enjoy all the rough stuff and all, but they need a break, just hold them and kiss them.

They don't know how to explain what they want though, especially to kings like Satan, Leviathan, Beelzebub, and Asmodeus, but they don't think their body can handle any more rough nights in bed, at least until they get some time to heal and get the feeling back in their lower half.

I'm feeling very fluffy today! But the horny has not faded away! It is a curse I tell ya, A CURSE!

Thank you for all that you do! :)

Thank you so much for waiting and sending this in, anon! I hope you're still enjoying everything my blog has to offer and there's only more where that came for instore for next year (rip to your progress i know how that feels to have that happen 😭)

Let's get to your request now, since it will be really nice to write about. Because phew, our devils be putting MC through the ringer each time they get some intimacy~

Satan: This is the one king of Hell where rough sex is...well his thing. He bruises easily, he likes to spank MC, biting, choking, being feral? That's how he's always done it. And he loved seeing the marks left behind on both him and MC. However, tonight he could sense something was off about his lover...and he had to force it out of them to explain what the trouble was. MC was wanting something more tender with tonight's intimacy. Perhaps, rough wasn't the way to go, maybe something more relaxing like cuddling and kissing while touching each other, or body worshipping? Even if it was just a simple cockwarming session, MC just wanted something tame and low energy. Satan does agree that a change in pace is nice...and he's more than capable of providing that. Because what kind of lover would he be if he didn't consider it? He opts for caressing and holding MC all night while softly grinding against them. This newfound soft intimacy works just as well as the rough fucking, and Satan enjoys it quite a lot.

Mammon: He understands right away from the last report he got from the Ai health bots that fly around his palace about MC's latest condition since their last romp fest. They needed time to rest and heal from having their insides rearranged and he knew just the thing to help with that. A relaxing spa day, a gentle massage, all from him. At the end of the day, MC is cuddling in his large arms, receiving kisses and gentle grabs on their backside. They settle for mutual masturbation while making eye contact, and they continue to rest and cuddle for the remainder of the night. Mammon doesn't always have to go all out when he has his intimate moments with MC, and this was a great example of how much control and maturity he had about it. Plus, MC always suspected Mammon to be that of the romantic type.

Beelzebub: Trying to explain the words "vanilla" and "sex" in the same sentence to Beel was like telling him to stop breathing. It just simply didn't register at first when MC brought it up, and it honestly took Bael bringing up the fact that there were still bruises from last time and they need to be treated more gentle. Beel then starts to get it, though vanilla isn't his style when it comes to sex, he's willing to try it out and help MC take a break from their normal routine (as if they had one to begin with) Surprisingly, this king is very good at toning down his kinks, boiling it down to soft kisses, and giving MC a good head session. He always likes making a meal out of them anyway, but he only stops there. No penetration for tonight. He's just going to have to be reminded constantly that they're still taking a break from rough sex until further notice.

Leviathan: He's instantly bored of the idea of "vanilla" sex. He can barely get off on the rough sex they have now. It's a true struggle with having Levi figure out what exactly is soft and toned down for his liking. For now, MC compromises with dry humping, and soft kisses all while hearing Levi complain and grumble about it. But even if he doesn't come from it, he still likes spending intimate time with MC, and will even try harder to see if he can continue having these moments with them. That at least still gives MC a break, and still gives them time to spend with Leviathan in the bedroom.

Lucifer: The king of care and knowing what MC needs for healing? You didn't have to ask him twice about that. Salves, ice packs, and healing remedies provided from Buer combined from soft words of affirmation and physical touch from Luci is just enough to get things started. Plus, it seems our fallen seraphim is really good with his hands, getting MC off with his soft touch alone. The cries of pleasure though quiet and not as loud and expressive as when they go at it for hours roughly, works for Lucifer and he appreciates it all the same. He's even fine with MC being in his embrace and them kissing here and there as they rest and listen to something in the background.

Belphegor: Vanilla sex? At first he was teasing and making fun of MC for even suggesting something like that until he realized it meant a lot less work for him to do in order to get off during sex. When he found out he didn't even have to penetrate or take off his clothes? He was sold. It turns out Belphie's really big on making out while dry humping. Even though uh with the way he's dressed most of the time, you couldn't really call it completely dry. But at least he's fine with doing this, in fact he may want to only have vanilla sex from this day onward. The less work to please you and him? The better. Plus the long sleeping sessions together was his favorite part.

Asmodeus: MC figured he'd be the most difficult to explain this too. By now they had tried almost every position Asmo could think of, almost every kink and hours of banging each other combined. But when MC brings up wanting something more vanilla, this is no issue for the usual unhinged King. He's setting up candles, aromatherapy, massaging MC's shoulders and being really gentle with them. Who knew that he could take something like thighfucking and make it absolutely romantic and intimate? He even shortens the amount of time that he's making love to MC, giving them even more of a recovery time. This is a new side to Asmo that MC likes and while they know it's temporary, at least they are enjoying it as much as possible.

[april-december]

Comments in the main reblog today, because I have a lot to say and I want to say it right.

If you don’t want to listen to trauma regarding grief and death, feel free not to read. I think I just need to get this down for my own catharsis.

Because you see, grief is a terrible thing. It’s the aching absence of the thing you love. What you love is gone; but the love remains and you no longer have that person or thing to give it to.

And then there’s anticipatory grief. This is when you know you’re going to lose that thing, and you are already grieving that loss, before it happens. But the thing is, that person you love is still with you! You want to enjoy the time you have! But you can’t, because everything, every joy and every sadness is tainted by the fact that you know: this isn’t going to last. They will be gone.

I am speaking from experience here. My Mum died in February this year. Her name was Brenda and she was 63. She died of Multiple Sclerosis, a disease so insidious that I can only think of one worse fate, and that is motor neurone disease. Sometimes MS isn’t fatal; you get episodes of it, and then it retreats into the background. Sometimes it is fatal; it progresses, relentlessly over years, stripping away every working function of the body as nerves and pathways are destroyed.

My mum was diagnosed when I was five. I was 37 when she died.

That is 32 years of knowing my mum was sick.

At five years old I was too old to understand much, just that she was ill, and the fact that some day, being mortal, my mum would die.

It wasn’t always apparent that it was going to kill her; at 17, she reassured me that she had the type that didn’t kill. A few years later it became obvious that she *did* have the type that killed.

My sisters left for uni. My dad got scared and ran away, vastly unhappy with his life. I became my mum’s Carer. We lived together from my birth until her death.

All this to say, I understand, intimately, how much it can fuck you up to know that the person you love most is going to die. And not to know when it’s going to happen, just that it will, just that they will die too soon, no matter what you do to try to help.

Because you can’t fight death. You just can’t.

And Agatha knew Nicky was going to die. She must have noticed him getting sicker. And that is terrifying, knowing that the thing you fear most is hurtling towards you, coming right at you, and you can’t stop it. It fucks you up. It fucked Agatha up for the next 270 years. And I bet you that in that montage up there where she’s teaching Nicky about magic, and singing and playing with him - it’s beautiful, but I bet that at every moment, there was some small part of her twisting in sadness because she knew it wouldn’t last.

And not knowing *when* it’s going to happen. Oh, that is the worst thing of all. Will it be today? Tomorrow? A year from now? Do I have a decade to enjoy? (Of course, it’s impossible to tell, and so it’s impossible to fully enjoy it without that fear that it’s going to be taken away).

Rio thought she was giving Agatha a gift: time with her son.

And we see it in the scene where Nicky is born. Agatha desperately asks ‘How much time?’. Because isn’t that the most natural question? You find out someone will die, the first thing you want to know is how much precious time you have with them. As if knowing will help to prepare you.

But Rio is gone already, giving no answer, leaving Agatha with this terrifying black hole of a question she /cannot/ divine the answer to. Agatha loves to /know/. Her crime against her coven was stealing knowledge she wasn’t supposed to have! She’s in her 70s in these scenes and she’s still shown with books, learning, and passing that knowledge on to Nicky. And there is this one burning, terrifying question she doesn’t know the answer to. That she has no way of divining. I think she might hold that against Rio almost as much as Nicky’s death itself; she never told her /when/, and then she took him in his sleep, when Agatha’s guard was down, when she couldn’t do anything to stop her.

And it eats at her, before Nicky is even gone. She does her best, or what she thinks is best. It’s fucked up, obviously, to keep a sickly child alone in the woods and make him help you kill. That’s why Agatha can’t face him in the afterlife. She can commune with the dead and she has never tried to contact her son because she’s too scared! But she is trying here, while he’s alive. She’s a survivor of parental abuse herself, and she is trying to show Nicky how much she loves him, even if her own trauma keeps her from seeking a community that could help them.

As they say, the love is there. It doesn’t change anything; Nicky died and Agatha made mistakes, huge ones. But the love was there.

I have to admit, I am so grateful that this show came out when it did; it’s helped me through my own grief immensely. Fiction is a safe lens through which we can examine our own pain. But even then, it has to be at the right time.

So I am weirdly grateful to Jac Shaeffer, to Kathryn Hahn, and everyone who worked on this show, for helping me safely examine my own grief, exactly when I needed it. I’m also grateful for these deep dives, because they’re helping me examine it further, in a format I find very comforting, like a good discussion about the class-taught books in High School English Literature class that I loved so much. So a huge thank you to rootspiral, who has dedicated so many hours to them.

So yeah. I’m not saying my experience is special. I’m not saying I understand this show on some special level that no one else comprehends; I know everyone is touched by grief in some way, shape or form. And that’s why it’s important, isn’t it? That’s why Jac Shaeffer has told this story twice now, and why it’s worked and been so good both times. Grief is universal. We are all mortal. It’s important to think about it, and talk about it. And it’s so important to have what Agatha didn’t: some kind of community or support system to help you through it when the time comes.

If she’d had that system, the grief wouldn’t have been any less. But someone might have been there to hold her through it, to help her. Maybe she would have felt safe enough to examine and deal with her grief, rather than burying it and desecrating it with 270 years of killing sprees and an absolute refusal to confront what was eating away at her.

And that’s what she finally got a little taste of with her Witches’ Road coven, wasn’t it? And that’s a tragedy all of its own as well, because she lost them, too.

God, this show is so good.

Agatha All Along deep dive: episode 9 part 3

(Wandavision entries: [1][2][3])

(AAA entries: ep1 [1][2][3][4] ep2 [1][2][3][4] ep3 [1][2][3] ep4 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][+1] ep5 [1][2][3][4][5] ep6 [1][2][3] ep7 [1][2][3][4][5][6] ep8 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9] ep9 [1][2][3])

the river flowing. mushrooms and lichens growing from a fallen tree. nicky's other mom is always with them.

agatha clearly loves teaching nicky all she knows about magic, because she is a teacher at heart! and he's literally the first person she gets to pass her knowledge on to, she's relishing every minute of it.

meanwhile poor nicky is just hungry. because the fucker makes him live in the woods.

and I guess she finds it easier to be honest when it's about explaining how magic works.

oh no the way they're whispering is so cute??? and she'll keep calling it her purple long after nicky's death.

and this has been pointed out many times, but when nicky smiles you're sure reminded of how they went out of their way to find a kid who looked like aubrey plaza too

another thing that has been pointed out ad nauseam and it will be repeated again, because it's so good: I cannot heal you, like jen would. I cannot protect you, like alice would. and I cannot divine, like lilia would.

could a real coven have healed nicky, protected him, saved him from his fate? did she kill him sooner than necessary by keeping him cold and starving in the woods? agatha will never know, because despite all her love, she put her own fear over his safety. maybe nicky would have died anyway, but it's still cruel and unfair that he had to spend the little time he had on earth in such a lonely way.

agatha, despite all the mind tricks she plays on herself and on others, is simply too smart to not see that what she's doing is selfish, harmful to nicky, and ultimately futile. this is why she'd rather blame rio, and it's why she can't go to nicky in the afterlife: she can't face her own guilt.

(also, she's afraid she'll find a version of him that can now understand what she did and will hate her for it.) (and I imagine that a grown up nicholas would have had a hard time coming to terms with his childhood too.)

and still. and still. this whole mess of a person doing a terrible job at raising her son? she's also the daughter of an abusive mother who is trying to be better, she is trying to give him what she never had - love, support, knowledge. her selfish choices don't negate all the love and joy she gave him too.

and on top of everything else, nicky is about to freaking die! in modern times we'd say he has a terminal illness, she doesn't know how much time she has left with him. that is an impossible lot to navigate, especially for a person alone and carrying with her so much baggage and trauma and unhealthy coping mechanisms. keeping nicky so isolated is the only way she feels like she has an illusion of control over the inevitable.

agatha is not only denying nicky a coven, she's denying herself a community that would have helped her carry this burden, that would have taught and encouraged her to do better, that would have ultimately shared her pain in mourning. isn't that another tragedy within the tragedy? knowing what could have been?

agatha teaches him magic, even though he doesn't have any. maybe he was still too young, maybe he really was just a regular kid. still, she teaches him.

NOT THE DANDELION. i'm about to bite my screen in anguish

sure, sure, the time has come to go. I'm fine, I'm totally fine.

aaaaaand some more scamming!!!

agatha the ham is one of my favorite agathas. but wait, I'll make you sad again now! they're doing this shit because they don't have any money to eat. and nicky is clearly sick, and agatha is still making him do it. because they don't have any money to eat.

meanwhile witches everywhere are getting curious about the Ballad. (doesn't she look a bit like sadie sink?)

for the THIRD TIME a witch notices nicky coughing / how sick he is and offers her coven's help.

nicky looks agatha straight in the eyes and refuses to lure witches to their deaths. he stands up for himself. he disobeys.

and yes, the obvious double meaning: my other mother needs me home.

agatha forgets all her scheming and runs after him in a panic. she is losing control over him. she is losing him.

go to episode 9 part 4