#hi i have no idea what fucking season it is

[hurlingdown]

                     DRESS . . . TO IMPRESS ?

synopsis. in celebration of the most wonderful time of the year, the one piece men have prepared extra special gifts for you. zoro, law, luffy, ace.

tags. dom! reader, implied top! reader. christmas fluff, crossdressing, big muscly men in skimpy skirts, law in a nurse outfit, lingerie, heavy petting, dirty talk, kissing, horribly written crack (i inserted my humour into this), mentions of sex, fingering, cock-warming, rimming etc, don’t read this seriously, it gets progressively worse, spending the holiday season with them <3

a/n. this is my christmas gift to the one piece fandom. enjoy lol.

“merry christmas,” zoro grunted, and you felt a little dizzy from the overwhelming endorphin rush that went straight to your head and somewhere else. 

because this… this was something you would have never anticipated for a christmas gift. this was zoro you were talking about. the epitome of stoicism. had he been just… pretending all along? you would’ve expected something like an earring, maybe, to match his three. a love letter was simply out of the question… though a bouquet of poinsettias wouldn’t be over the top, if he had consulted nami in the first place. but this? this was just… breath-stealing. 

you watched as your lover rolled onto his stomach in his scanty outfit to show off the crystal pink plug that he had stuffed into his puffy rim, shooting you a coy glance over his shoulder. “well?” he hummed. “do you like it, babe?” 

“yeah,” you breathed out. “i love it. you look gorgeous. i think… i think i just fell in love with you all over again.”

he coughed, a blush rising to his cheeks, and yeah, this was something you were more familiar with—not the balmy heat shrouding your face, the dry crawl of your throat whenever you so simply looked at him, the hint of sweat building at your temples at the thought of doing nasty, sinful things to him. 

was he even real? were you dreaming? you better not be, because this was a meal you were going to spend your good time ravishing. 

“well, merry christmas to you, too,” you murmured lowly, climbing onto the bed after him, and he bit his lip with a shiver, raising his hips slightly to present you your christmas gift. you wasted no time in laying your hands on him, squeezing at the skin-tight fabric over his luscious thighs, giving his cushiony ass a small slap before smoothing over the warm ache. 

“gonna eat you out until you’re wet and sore, baby,” you told him, “and then i’m going to finger you while we binge watch shitty christmas movies together on the couch.” you licked your lips, pretending to think about what you were going to say next. “actually... might as well have you cockwarm me while we’re at it. and once we’re done with that, i’m gonna put it in your slutty hole and fuck you ‘til you start crying, okay?” 

“and after that too,” zoro mumbled, shifting onto his back and pulling you down for a soft, wet kiss that sent butterflies roaring in your stomach. 

TRAFALGAR LAW

“traf, sweetheart, have you seen my—oh.” 

“get. out.” 

“what are you wearing…?” 

“are you deaf? i said get out!” 

“hold on, okay? it’s not like i haven’t seen you naked before! just… is that a nurse uniform?”

but this was different from being naked. this was far more embarrassing. law looked at you with narrowed eyes, tone sharp with accusation that bordered on hurt. “what? you don’t like it?” he nervously bit his lip, pulling down his skirt and squeezing his legs together as though it would hide the very obviously aroused state of his crotch. 

“i do! how could i not? you haven’t even let me say anything yet!” you swallowed, feeling saliva seep into your mouth at the erotic sight before you. “you look so fucking hot, you have no idea. i love it, traf. i love it so much—” 

“okay, okay, i get it.” he huffed with feigned irritation, a small breath of relief escaping him as he shyly glanced at the floor, hands still clutching at the fabric of his dress. “m-merry christmas.” 

you took a few tentative steps forward until you stopped in front of him, and he frowned and turned away, heat rising to his cheeks. “don’t look at me like that. it wasn’t my idea, just so you know…” he swallowed when you put your hands on his bony hips and squeezed, subtly exploring the rest of his outfit with your eyes, and he sighed, relaxing a little. “hey, say something…” 

“sorry,” you chuckled, meeting his gaze again. “you’re just… beautiful. i love you. i love the fit. it looks so good on you… thank you for the christmas gift, love.” 

“and where’s mine?” he said, attempting to distract you from the deep flush on his cheeks. he slung his arms loosely around your neck, giving you an almost pouty look, to which your heart clenched at. “... don’t tell me you didn’t bring me one.” 

“oh, but i did.”

. . . you swore you tried so hard. but you could feel it creeping up on you, like a silhouette, surreptitiously tugging at the corners of your lips. fuck it. you just couldn’t hold back your smirk. you thought you were just absolutely brilliant, coming up with this idea of a gift. you knew he would love it. you just knew. 

“eyes on me, baby.”

maintaining sensual eye contact with him, you gently laced your fingers with his, pressing each of his knuckles to your lips in tender kisses. then, with a gentle smile, you guided his hand down, slowly, slowly, until it was fully pressed against the front of your trousers, right where the zipper was. you nudged your hips towards the cup of his palm, faking a moan.

“there’s your gift,” you murmured seductively, and watched giddily as his golden eyes widened in shock and arousal before a sharp, splitting pain on the side of your face knocked you out. 

“pervert!”

you laughed victoriously as you went down. like he wasn’t the pot calling the kettle black with that cute little outfit of his.

MONKEY D. LUFFY

“merry christmas!” you heard a deafening guffaw before something crash-tackled you from behind, and you fell onto the floor in a heap of rubbery limbs. 

“luffy!” you choked out a laugh as your lover wrapped himself around your ribs, still unwilling to let go. “baby, i can’t breathe.” 

“oh. sorry!” he retracted his arms and legs, getting off you with a spring. you sat up, and that’s when you saw what he was wearing. a cute christmas skirt and matching leggings, and he looked so ridiculously adorable you had to do a double take. he frowned at your flabbergasted expression, leaning in to inspect your face. “huh? did i break you? i promise, i didn’t mean to hit you that hard! wait, why’re you lookin’ at me like that?” 

he pat your head, as though that would fix things. you squinted at his carefree smile. hold on. what the absolute shit. was that lipstick? 

“luff,” you took a deep breath, trying to steady your heartbeat. “who dressed you up?” 

“nami, duh,” he sung, giving you a little twirl to show off the fit. you already knew the answer—you just had to double confirm. crap. just how much money did you owe her now? a thousand berri? two thousand? to be fair, for this quality of work, you’d pay her a fortune. “nami said you’d like it. well? d’you?” 

“yeah,” you murmured, half in awe, half in devastation, because this was a really bad time to get horny if luffy wasn’t in the mood. “you look really pretty, baby. i love it a lot.” you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to will away the horny. but it was just so hard to stop being horny all of a sudden. every time you closed your eyes, all you could envision was the horny: him in that skimpy christmas skirt, a bright flush on his cheeks, sprawled out on the bed underneath you… 

the soft press of lips against your cheek made your eyes shoot open. “huh?” 

the red colour on his lips was now slightly smudged, and you raised your hand to gently touch your now stained cheek in realisation. “oh…” 

“you looked consti- constipated sittin’ there!” luffy explained, in a much louder voice than usual, a thick blush covering his face. “i had to, y’knoow, help you out… in case you were having a hard time…” 

and well, there goes your horny.

PORTGAS D. ACE

“darling! you’re home!” you watched as your lover clumsily hobbled out of the bathroom, swathed in the most colourful gift-wrapping paper you had ever seen from chest to heel. “merry christmas!” 

you blinked. were you seeing things? “ace, honey,” you started, slowly, with a laugh. “know that i’d love it either way, but… are you supposed to be my gift?” 

“well, yeah, sort of.” he grinned, trying to make his way over to you in awkward steps. he winked, keeping himself just out of arm’s reach when you tried to pull him into a kiss. “just watch. you might even be surprised.” 

he raised a finger mischievously, and you watched as the tip of it caught on fire. he continued smiling his infamous ‘up-to-no-good’ grin, carefully bringing the small flame near his clothed chest. you raised your eyebrows, unsure, because as much as he was immune to fire, the gift-wrapping probably wasn’t... and the furniture in your house definitely wasn’t. 

“watch…” ace stressed with a hush, dramatically pressing his blazing finger onto the wrapping paper, to which it burnt a hole right through, orange flames immediately clinging on to the circular edges, rapidly widening the puncture. soon, his entire so-called ‘outfit’ was on fire, and you were starting to get alarmed when an eye-catching dark red slowly emerged from the burgeoning flames, strapped right across his chest. 

you choked. was that… a bra? 

“ta-da!” he shouted, opening his arms in full display with what could only be described as pure mirth. “fireproof lingerie!” 

what the fuck. you stood there, gaping, unwilling to believe. the rest of the flames gradually died down, revealing a gorgeous pair of red lace lingerie that hugged his crotch and chest in all the perfect areas, showing off his muscled figure, broad in the shoulders but tight in the waist, with thick hips and strong thighs. you could feel yourself salivating post-shock. 

“baby, you look really, really sexy, but…” you began, swallowing down your laughter. “forget it. why am i even surprised at this point?” ace grinned, albeit a little more sheepish than usual, rubbing at the back of his neck as you checked him out unabashedly. “ah, damn it. you look like a whole feast. i’m going to have a hard time keeping my hands off you tonight…” 

“ain’t that the purpose,” ace purred, shooting you a naughty glance through his lashes. “come and get me, hot stuff. and hey, guess what? we won’t have to worry about me accidentally burning my clothes off this time.” 

and needless to say, the both of you had a very merry christmas that night, indeed.

masterlist!

MERRY CHRISTMAS! SORRY IF YOUR BONER DIED 💓🫶

[kendrysaneela]

Genuinely. I really need people to stop saying “It’s only canon if they kiss” because 1. That means we will never get a slowburn queer relationship because no one will ever believe it without a kiss 2. That destroys queercoding. Which is a very important part of queer representation. And queercoding is not queerbaiting please learn the difference. 3. Not to mention how much queer representation we’d lose from history if kissing is a necessity for the representation to exist.

And then here’s a more modern example. So on the Kevin Can Fuck Himself there’s these two women Allison and Patty. This show was made by a queer woman. Allison and Patty are both stuck under the control of these abusive men. Patty stuck under the control her little brother who keeps her under his control out of guilt from their childhood. And Allison who’s stuck with her abusive husband mentally and financially. And also possibly even physically though that’s never explicitly stated the threat of that just lies in the air. And the show is basically Allison and Patty working together to escape the abusive men in their lives. And throughout this process they start to fall in love with each other. This is made so incredibly clear by the show. And Patty eventually becomes a canon lesbian. (She never says the word lesbian but they make that clear) Patty is more obviously in love with Allison most likely because she’s a canon lesbian whereas Allison’s sexuality is more still up in the air and she’s sleeping with a different guy. But it’s there you can see it. And we had it confirmed offscreen by the showrunner that Patty was in love with Allison and we know that because Patty said “Maybe can die alone together” and that was confirmed as an “I love you” by the showrunner. They’re leaning their heads together with their eyes closed when this scene happens. Very romantically coded. Then the show got prematurely cancelled halfway through the second season so they had to rush to wrap everything up in the second half of season 2. So Allison and Patty escape the abusive men in their lives much quicker than originally planned and in a different way than originally planned. Also lots of the original storyline between Allison and Patty had to be cut out because of it leading to a loss of development we otherwise would’ve gotten. But in the end they meet up again and they sit on the steps of Allison’s house and Patty says “Let’s die alone together” and Allison repeats “Let’s die alone together” now it’s already been established by the showrunner that this means “I love you” so you can take from that that they are in love with each other and somewhere down the line they will become a real couple. And that they will be together forever. The showrunner said about that scene “They are romantically alone but always together” or something like that. And SO MANY PEOPLE decided that because they didn’t kiss or say I love you that the entire show was a waste and all their romantic scenes were for naught just because they didn’t kiss or say “I love you” at the end and the QUEER showrunner didn’t explicitly say “That scene means they’re in love” and a big reason I saw people give for being angry at that was that “Straight people won’t know they’re queer they can just deny it if it’s not explicit!” And here’s the thing. Not only should we not be defining queer representation by how straight people view it but also straight people will deny canon queer representation even if they DO kiss!

Like for example on the show Doctor Odyssey there’s a canon slowburn mmf throuple. It’s been confirmed by the actors and showrunners that them being a throuple is going to be being explored this season on the show. All three of the characters Max,Avery and Tristan have all slept together once and they’ve all stated they liked it and the next episode they discussed the idea of polyamory and they showed us a polyamorous couple that was together and happy had all the characters discuss what polyamory is how it works and how it’s valid. The female character Avery very much wants them to be a throuple after their threesome and discusses it with the boys using the words “Throuple” and “Polyamorous” onscreen. the boys are still reluctant at the moment but they’ll get there they just need a second to get used to the idea. It’s basically as canon as canon can get before they actually become fully canon. And lemme repeat. Avery is the character who’s the most onboard for them being a throuple this is canon. They make this very explicit. She initiates the threesome and she spends an entire episode trying to convince the boys to be in a throuple with her. Yet yesterday? I saw an article talking about “Who should Avery choose?” Between the two boys. When the whole storyline of theirs is she isn’t going to choose nor does she want to. But yet there was an article STILL not getting it. Even with the words POLYAMOROUS AND THROUPLE being used in an episode MULTIPLE times and them all having slept together AND CANONICALLY ENJOYING IT. (They say so in words onscreen) And yet there the article was still denying it because it wasn’t fully canon yet. That’s what I’m talking about. Even when it is explicit as explicit as explicit can be straight people are going to deny it. So why are we defining our own queer rep by how straight people view it? It’s ours not theirs. They can come along and enjoy it if they choose they’re completely welcome! The more the merrier! But we shouldn’t define rep for us by how theyll view it. Because some straight people will never accept queer rep as real no matter how explicit it is. So their opinion doesn’t matter.

Discussions of what "counts" as "canon" queer representation fall apart the second you start talking about media older than about five years or so. If your only metric for "canon queerness" is a character looking directly into the camera and explaining their identity in specific, modern, US-American-English terminology, you're not going to get a good picture of what queer media looks like. If your barometer for what counts as "canon" requires two characters of the same gender to kiss on-screen, you're not going to get a good picture of what queer media looks like.

Dr. Septimus Pretorius (portrayed by Ernest Thesiger in 1935's Bride of Frankenstein) was never going to look directly into the camera and explain his sexuality in 2024 terms, but he remains an icon in queer media history. You cannot look at that character (blatantly queer-coded in the manner of the time, played by a queer man in a film directed by another queer man) and tell me that he isn't a part of queer media history.

To be honest, even when discussing modern queer media, I would argue that the popular idea of what "counts" as "canon" is very narrow and flawed. I've seen multiple posts in the past few days that say the Nimona movie is "implied" trans representation, and I just...no, y'all, it's not "implied," it's an allegory. The entire damn movie is about transgender struggle, and the original comic is deeply tied into N.D. Stevenson's own queer journey. It isn't subtle. You cannot look at that movie and pretend that it isn't about trans struggle. It's blatant, and to say that Nimona "isn't canonically trans" is a take that misses the story's entire message, and the blatant queerphobia that almost kept the movie from happening. (I wrote a five thousand word essay about the topic.)

Queer themes, queer coding, queer exploration, and queer representation can all exist in a piece of media that doesn't seem to have "canon queer characters" on the surface. Most queer characters are never going to be able to explicitly state their specific identity labels, be it due to censorship or just due to the fact that scenes like that don't fit in some narratives. Some stories aren't conducive to a big "so what's your identity?" scene.

Explicit, undeniable, "this is my identity in no uncertain terms" scenes are very important and radical, and I'm not saying they shouldn't ever exist. I am saying that you can't consider those scenes the only way for queerness in a piece of media to be "canon."

[gothcsz]

December | Pornstar!Javier Peña x Fem!Reader | Part 6 of Unscripted Desire | ~16k wc | Series Masterlist | Explicit. Minors DNI.

Summary: Your winter getaway with Javier.

Tags: alternating pov, javi is having an identity crisis, established relationship, fluff (i cringe), romance (still cringing), smut (no longer cringing), jealous!javi, oh no the triple frontier boys are here, oral (m&f), p in v sex, once again: javi is clipped, filming a sex tape, dirty porn talk, hot tub sex, pussy/dick pronouns, javi puts you in a headlock (i've been influenced by all the headlock fics also stream headlock by imogen heap), breath control play, squirting, clit stimulation, no use of y/n, reader has some vague physical descriptions (mid-sized, curvy, hair that can have fingers run through), any typos/grammar mistakes are of my own doing and i apologize in advance, if i missed any other tags pls let me know okay thx.

A/N: happy holidays ❄️ i wanted to do something fun for the season and to thank everyone who has supported this story so far! i love you guys 🩵 as always, thank you @persephone-girl for reading over bits of this and being my emotional support hehe

You’ve barely shut the door when a loud, frustrated “Fuck!” echoes through your apartment, followed by the unmistakable clatter of things hitting the floor. Your brows knit together as you toss your keys into the bowl by the entrance and hang your bag on the back of a kitchen chair.

The sight waiting for you confirms your suspicions: your very hot, very frustrated boyfriend is pacing in the middle of the room, his broad shoulders tight with tension. Scattered across the coffee table and floor around him are puzzle pieces.

“Javi,” you say, crossing your arms as you take in the scene. “What’s going on?”

He stops mid-stride, scowling down at the pieces as though they’ve personally insulted him. “The fucking puzzle is broken,” he gestures angrily toward the mess.

You blink at him, biting back a grin. “Yeah, that’s kind of the point. You have to put it back together.” Your voice lilts with playful teasing, hoping to lighten the mood he is in.

He shoots you a look that’s equal parts annoyed and sheepish. Stepping forward, you place yourself squarely in his path, wrapping your arms around his waist.

He’s got no choice but to halt his pacing, and after a moment, his arms drop heavily around you. You can feel the frustration draining out of him like air from a balloon.

“Estoy volviéndome loco, nena.” His chest rises and falls in a heavy exhale, hands instinctively finding their place on your lower back. 

You look up at him, resting your chin on his chest. It’s hard not to get lost in his good looks—those dark, soulful eyes, the sharp line of his jaw, the way his hair falls perfectly so, no matter how much he’s been raking his fingers through it.

He could be pissed at the entire world, and he’d still be the most handsome man you’ve ever seen.

He told you he was done with porn, and he meant it. It didn’t happen all at once, he stuck to solo work until he lost the passion for it entirely before finally cutting ties with his agent and declaring himself “retired.”

The checks will keep coming, sure, but they aren’t a permanent safety net. That left your boyfriend at a crossroads, staring down the daunting question of what came next.

“Fuck, I don’t know. What else am I even good at?”

Now, Pornstar Javier Peña is just… Javi. Without the glitz and veneer of his former life, he’s a bit of a mess, honestly. A hot mess, sure, but a mess all the same.

He spends most of his days drifting between your apartment and his place, and more often than not, it’s your bed he ends up in. Sometimes he’s sprawled on the couch, lazily surfing through the channels, other times he’s fast asleep, limbs tangled in your sheets, his brow furrowed even while dreaming.

It’s like he’s waiting for the pieces of himself to fall into place but has no idea where to start.

You have, actually, tried helping him find new interests, with mixed results.

Cooking classes? A bust—too many rules and timers for someone who likes to work off instinct. Hiking? Not his thing, and you’d barely made it halfway up the trail before he declared he needed a cold beer and a hot shower. Pottery seemed promising for about five minutes before a poorly shaped bowl sent him muttering a string of Spanish curses under his breath and he quit then and there.

It’s not that he’s… bad at these things, necessarily, but none of them feel true to him.

“Baby, you’re not going to figure out who you are overnight. It takes time,” you murmur, tilting your head up to press a kiss to the tip of his chin, the roughness of his stubble brushing against your lips.

He grumbles. “I’m impatient.”

“I noticed,” you tease, a giggle slipping out as your hands sneak under his shirt. Your fingers trail along his ribs, stroking the warm, solid muscle there. The quiet hum of satisfaction you let out isn’t for his benefit—it’s for you. He feels so damn good under your touch, like he was built to be admired.

Javier shifts slightly, straightening up as if your hands have hit a reset button on his mood. “How was your day?”

You started a new job with the camera crew on an actual film set, and it’s a sweet gig, the opportunity kind of landing in your lap out of nowhere. Someone you knew from college reached out, and the pay was too good to pass up, even if the work itself wasn’t all that different from what you’ve done on porn sets.

Less dicks and tits, but the same technical work. When you’re not on set, you’re still clinging to the comfort of your shifts at Lucky’s. 

You shrug lightly, nuzzling into him. “Same as always. Nothing too exciting. But I’m glad I don’t have to work the bar tonight. Maybe I can help you with that puzzle.” You tease.

“Or…” His tone shifts so quickly it’s almost dizzying—warm and doting one second, low and sinful the next. His hands drift south, firmly gripping your ass and giving it a harsh squeeze

“Or?” you repeat, your arousal flaring.

That’s all the invitation he needs.

In no time, you find yourself naked and sprawled against the coffee table, the surface pressing into your back while scattered puzzle pieces stick to your damp skin. But none of that matters—not when Javier is between your legs, his broad shoulders holding you open like a prize only he gets to claim.

His mouth is buried in your pussy, wet and eager tongue moving with a purpose that has your thighs trembling. He laps at you expertly, each flick and thrust inside your cunt dragging whimpers out of you, your body singing under his touch.

Javier groans, the sound vibrating against your pussy. “You taste so,” kiss, “fucking,” lick, “good,” suck. Your back arches and you sob his name loudly, eyes fluttering close at how good he is at eating you out.

No matter how many times he does it, he somehow manages to surpass the time before. Men like Javier are a rare thing, and you’re annoyed at yourself for not succumbing to him earlier. You just had to prove a fucking point.

He pulls back just enough to lick and bite at your inner thigh, trying to control himself from devouring you whole, before diving back in. His hands keep you pinned to the edge of the table as you shake uncontrollably in his grasp.

Every obscene noise he makes is matched by the wet, filthy sounds of his tongue working you over and you feel the pressure winding tighter and tighter. Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling as you gasp his name, and the pleased growl he gives in response sends you careening over.

He doesn’t stop, not until your body shudders and you’re left panting, your limbs heavy and boneless. When he finally lifts his head, mustache damp and lips glistening, he’s looking at you with that satisfied smirk you’ve grown accustomed to seeing.

“Fuck, I could stay down here for hours.” His voice tapers off into a groan and he doesn’t wait for a reply before pressing soft kisses along your drenched folds, letting his teeth scrape ever so lightly against your sensitive flesh. Then his tongue, broad and sinful, drags a slow, torturous stripe from your entrance to your clit.

“You could… if you wanted to,” you pant, your voice barely above a whisper as your body gears up for even more pleasure. You pull him closer, grinding your hips against his face, feeling the delicious pressure of his nose pressing against your swollen nub.

Javier lets you take what you need, his large hands gripping your thighs to hold you steady while his tongue thrusts back inside, exploring every fluttering inch. His curved nose rubs against your clit with each motion, sending you into a fucking frenzy.

You’re shameless, unabashedly humping his face, chasing the high only he can give you. And he loves it—thrives on it—his tongue relentless as it maps out every curve and crevice of your pussy. The slick, creamy mess makes it easier for you to move, his grunts and your mewling cries swirling together.

“Javi, I want to come on your cock—oh fuck!” The words tumble out before you can stop them, and his answer is a wicked nip of his teeth against your labia, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips.

“You will, nena,” he murmurs, his voice slurred with lust as he adjusts your legs, planting your feet at the edge of the table. He spreads you open obscenely, his dark eyes gleaming as he takes in the sight of your wet pussy laid bare for him. “But first, you’re gonna come all over my tongue again. Puta madre, you’re so fucking hot.”

His tongue flicks over your pearl rapidly and your back arches off the table as euphoria courses through you. You glance down, locking eyes with him, and the pruriency in his gaze sends you tumbling over the edge.

“Javier, oh shit!” You’re left helpless against the onslaught of his mouth, gushing all over his handsome face as he keens in satisfaction.

You collapse back against the table, your body spent and your mind still buzzing. Javier wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning smugly down at you, his girthy cock hanging heavy between you, droplets of precum squirting from the slit and drizzling down the heated shaft.

Pros of dating a pornstar: He can fuck. Cons of dating a pornstar: He can fuck.

It’s like being in a constant state of delicious ruin, where your needs—both romantic and sexual—are met in ways you never thought possible.

But damn, this man knows how to wear you the fuck out.

Sometimes he gets a little too ambitious. Twisting, bending, and pulling you into positions that make you pause and remind him, between panting breaths, that you’re not as flexible as the women he’s been with before.

“Practice makes perfect, baby,” he always says with that infuriatingly charming grin, right before fucking you so thoroughly that you forget how to breathe.

This time is no different. Javier hovers over you with the kind of dominance that makes your pussy clench, his strong hands gripping your body like he owns it.

Somehow, he’s managed to maneuver you on the awkward height of the coffee table, one leg slung over his broad shoulder while keeping your opposite thigh spread wide.

Then, with a sharp thrust, his fat cock splits you open, stretching your pussy in a way that’s so brutally perfect.

The force of it knocks a loud yelp from your lips, your forearms press against the table for balance. You can’t look away from where your bodies meet, watching in filthy fascination as your sticky folds swallow him whole and spit him back out, his cock glistening with the rich evidence of how turned on you are.

“My fucking god,” he growls, words laden with desperation, “you feel better than you fucking taste.” He spits the words out, literally, a thick bead of saliva falling from his lips to land on your cunt.

Without missing a beat, his thumb moves to your clit, pressing down and swirling in tight circles.

The pressure makes your entire body tense, a strained cry of his name tearing from your throat.

Your tits bounce wildly with every rough thrust, and his dark eyes flicker between the hypnotic sway of your breasts and the lewd sight of your pussy stretched tight around his dick.

Your mouth hangs open, brows furrowed as helpless sounds spill out while his cock punches deep into that one spot that has colorful dots blotching your vision. Your toes curl as the overwhelming feeling builds, your body on the verge of complete surrender.

“Right there, baby—oh fuck me, don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop.” You sound wrecked, like you’ve been possessed by the pleasure he’s giving you. Your back falls flat against the table again, your hands reaching up to squeeze your tits, pulling at your nipples as you let him use your cunt however he wants. 

He deserves it.

Loose curls fall over his face, making him look so sexy while he fucks into you with everything he’s got. His tongue pokes out in concentration, his fingertips dimpling the plush skin of your thighs as he holds you steady. The poor coffee table groans beneath the brutal rhythm, creaking with every hard snap of his hips.

It doesn’t take much more—your body seizes up as you come hard, the orgasm crashing through you so violently that you’re certain you’re going to pass out. Your pussy clamps down around his shaft, milking him for everything he’s worth.

“Fuck, take it,” he groans, his pace faltering as he spills inside you, thick ropes of cum filling your pussy until you swear you can feel it gurgling in your throat. The vicious, overwhelming sensation makes you shudder, your body twitching as his weight settles against you, his cock still buried deep inside your quivering walls.

You feel pulverized, your body humming in content, but all you can think is: God, this man could fuck me to death, and I’d die happy.

Immediately, your calf seizes, the muscle knotting painfully as a piercing cry slices through your throat. Your body jerks involuntarily, hands pressing against Javier’s chest to push him off you.

“Shit, stop— cramp!” you gasp.

Javier freezes, his face instantly morphing from focused lust to deep concern. He pulls out of you carefully, hissing at the feeling, his touch tender as he lowers your trembling leg from his shoulder. “Where? Here?” He’s already massaging the rigid knot in your calf with his strong, calloused hands.

“Yeah—fuck, ow! Right there.” Another pang shoots through you, and you wince, clutching at the edge of the coffee table for stability. “I keep telling you I’m not fit for—ahh, ow!—your crazy-ass positions.”

He huffs a little laugh, though his hands never stop their steady kneading. “It wasn’t that crazy,” he mutters defensively, but one warning glare from you is enough to shut him up.

Once the cramp begins to ease, your body relaxes against the table with a long sigh. Javier’s touch softens, his thumbs now sweeping soothing circles over your calf. He leans down and presses a kiss to the tender muscle, murmuring, “Sorry, nena. Didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Your heart swells at his care, and you can’t help but grin as he kisses his way up your body. His lips trace a slow, reverent path—your pelvis, the softness of your belly, the suppleness of each breast, the hollow of your throat. By the time his mouth meets yours, your annoyance is completely forgotten, replaced by a lazy, bubbling affection.

This is the first real kiss he’s given you since you got home, and it’s the kind that melts you from the inside out. You hum against his lips, your tongue tracing the curve of his mouth, savoring the way he tastes like sex and something inherently Javi.

When the kiss finally breaks, you both sit there for a moment, naked and tangled together, his cum still slick between your thighs and smearing against the surface of the table.

“I’ll try to be more considerate next time,” he says, almost teasingly, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face.

You smirk, dragging your nails lightly down his chest. “You better, or I’ll start vetoing these gymnastic stunts of yours.”

He chuckles, his eyes dropping briefly to where his cum is trickling from you. A rueful grin spreads across his face as he reaches for the shirt he’d discarded earlier and uses it to clean the mess between your legs.

The simple domesticity of the act makes your chest ache in the best way.

As he finishes, you stretch your arms over your head, your muscles still warm and loose despite the cramp. “I need a shower, some real food... and maybe another round later.”

“Only maybe?” He raises an eyebrow, his dimpled, teasing smile returning.

You hum thoughtfully, your gaze tracing the defined line of his jaw as your finger follows. “If you think sex is gonna be a distraction from the mess in your head, think again.”

“It’s the best distraction,” he mutters. “Would rather make my girl feel good than deal with everything else.”

“And while I’m flattered, baby, it’s not the healthiest thing you can do.”

His expression falters, the cockiness slipping away like a mask being gently peeled back. “I’m fuckin’ terrible at this. Always have been,” he mutters, his hands roaming your body as if touching you might patch together all that’s unraveling inside him.

His palms are warm and firm, one cupping your breast in a gentle squeeze, the other sliding down to rest at your hip.

He kneads and caresses you, almost like you’re the one who needs the comfort instead of him. “I’ve spent so much time doing what I thought people wanted from me. Now I don’t even know what I want.”

“There’s no rush to figure it out, you know. No one’s expecting you to and I promise you’re not the only person that feels this way.”

“Feels like I’ve got nothin’ to show for myself, though. Just a pile of bullshit and a broken puzzle.”

You sit up, drawing his focus to you as your hands grip his toned biceps to steady yourself. “Hey.” Your voice is soft but insistent. “You’ve got more than you think. And I happen to like this version of you—even if he’s a grump.”

A faint smirk breaks through the inner struggle that clouds in his eyes. “Yeah? Even when I’m bein’ a lazy ass?”

“Even then,” you tease, grinning back at him.

His gaze lingers, drinking you in with an intensity that makes your stomach flutter. Slowly, he leans in, his lips brushing against yours. You’re weightless, floating in the way only Javi can make you feel when he kisses you like this.

“I don’t deserve you, you know that?” he murmurs against your lips, his forehead resting against yours.

“It’s always nice to be reminded.”

He rolls his eyes playfully, his teeth catching your lower lip in a gentle bite before he finally lets you go. He stands, offering you his hand to pull you to your feet.

As you wobbly get up, a few puzzle pieces that had clung to your skin fall to the floor, catching both your attention. Javi chuckles, a little more relaxed than before. “Should’ve cleaned those up before spreading you open like that.”

“I feel like there’s a metaphor in there somewhere.”

He turns you gently so he can pluck off the remaining pieces, his hand lingering to deliver a playful slap to your ass which makes you giggle.

“You know,” you say after a beat, glancing at him, “this puzzle thing could be good for you. Builds patience.”

He arches a brow, skepticism written all over his face. “Once again, that isn’t exactly my strong suit, cariño.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” Your grin is infectious as you nudge him lightly with your shoulder. “But maybe that’s what you need right now. Something slow. Something that’s just for you. And something that isn’t…” You trail off, eyes darting to the box abandoned on the couch. “A hideous horse puzzle. God, Javi, what even is this? I’d be pissed trying to put it together too.”

A scoff escapes him, sharp and playful, his brown eyes narrowing as he straightens. “First of all, it’s vintage,” he says, the mock defense in his tone making you laugh.

“Vintage? That’s not an excuse.” You’re already stepping back when you see the shift in his stance, the way his hand twitches toward you. “Don’t even think about it.”

But it’s too late. His fingers dart out in an attempt to pinch your side, and you squeal, darting out of reach. The sound of your laughter fills the room, loud and unrestrained as you scramble to keep distance between the two of you. He’s, unsurprisingly, quicker, his footsteps closing behind as he chases you down the hallway.

Just as you reach the bathroom door, his arm snakes around your waist, pulling you flush against his naked body. You’re both breathless, his warm breath fanning against your ear as he holds you close. “Gotcha.”

Your heart pounds, your laughter subsiding into soft, breathy chuckles as you twist to face him. The sparkle in his eyes is undeniable and you let him walk you backwards into the bathroom with the intention of piping you down again before finally letting you shower.

The late afternoon light filters through the half-closed blinds, casting warm, golden stripes across Javier’s bedroom. You’re sprawled on his bed, your legs stretched out, absently flipping through a magazine. 

The quiet creak of the bedroom door catches your attention, and your eyes lift to meet his.

He leans against the doorway, his broad shoulders filling the frame, arms crossed over his chest. His white t-shirt clings to his torso in a way that makes your thighs rub together, the fabric stretched taut over his solid build. There’s a small grin on his lips as he watches you.

“Hey,” he drawls, finally pushing off the door and crossing the room.

“Hi.”

Without hesitation, he climbs onto the bed, his weight shifting the mattress beneath you. He crawls toward you, settling his head on your lap and nuzzling against your stomach. You can’t help but laugh softly, moving the magazine out of his way and onto the bedside table.

“You’re comfortable,” you tease, your fingers threading through his thick hair, twisting a few strands absently around your finger.

His eyes flutter shut at your touch, a satisfied hum rumbling from his chest. “Can’t help it. I’ve got the best pillow.”

You roll your eyes, biting back a smile. “Can I help you?”

He opens one eye, peering up at you with a smirk. “I have a gift for you.”

Your brows lift, curious. “A gift?”

“Mm-hmm,” he mutters against your skin, peppering your jawline with lazy, affectionate kisses. The bristle of his mustache has goosebumps curling over your skin. “Tis the season.” He punctuates the sentiment with a playful nip at your neck, making you squeal softly before he pulls away.

“Come on,” he tugs gently at your hand and coaxes you off the bed.

You let him guide you into the kitchen, your bare feet padding against the cool floor. He pulls out a barstool, gesturing for you to sit as he reaches for something on the counter. With a small flourish, he places a travel magazine in front of you, flipping it open to a glossy spread.

Your eyes land on the page, and your breath catches. The images are of a stunning ski resort, nestled in snow-dusted mountains with cozy lodge interiors and breathtaking views of the slopes.

“You didn’t…” you whisper, your voice caught between disbelief and excitement.

His lips tug into a wolfish smile, a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes as he watches the realization dawn on your face.

“You didn’t!” you exclaim, jumping up from the stool and throwing your arms around his neck.

Your momentum nearly topples him, but he steadies the both of you with a low chuckle.

You’d mentioned it what feels like ages ago—a casual, offhand story about that ill-fated trip to the mountains with your college friends.

Everything about it had gone wrong. The busted gear, the unexpected blizzard—but through all the chaos, you’d confessed how badly you still wanted to cross skiing off your bucket list.

And Javier remembered. Not just the story, but the way your eyes had lit up despite the unfortunate circumstances. Now here he is, ready to give you that second chance—the best do-over of all time, with him.

“I had to,” he murmurs by your ear. “Spending a week on a winter retreat with you seems a lot more fun than going home this year.”

You don’t press about his family, knowing it’s a tricky subject. Instead, you let the moment settle, your heart swelling with gratitude for his thoughtfulness.

“You’re the best,” you say between a flurry of kisses, peppering his face until his deep chuckle vibrates against your palms. His eyes crinkle at the corners, happiness radiating from him as he gazes down at you.

“The best for you,” he replies softly. “You deserve this, nena. Workin’ so hard all the time… I just wanted to give you somethin’ special.”

You shake your head, grinning so hard it hurts your cheeks. “Do you know how impossible it’s going to be to top this?”

He laughs, the sound rich and warm. “I wasn’t expecting anything in return.”

“What kind of girlfriend would I be if I didn’t get my man a gift?” You’re already racking your brain for ideas. It has to be something meaningful—something that feels right for him, not just a wallet or some cologne.

He pulls you onto his lap when he sits on the barstool, going over the details. 

Everything’s covered, he explains—all you have to do is pack and show your pretty ass up. Your excitement bubbles over at the thought, visions of cozy lodge nights and snowy adventures filling your mind.

“Guess I need to go shopping,” you say, already making mental plans to call Connie for help picking out the perfect wardrobe.

Javi chuckles, leaning in to kiss your temple. “Just don’t forget to pack a swimsuit.”

“A swimsuit? For a ski trip?”

He grins, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “Hot tubs, nena. Trust me, I plan on having a lot of fun with you while we’re away.”

The resort feels like a dream you don’t want to wake up from. It’s only been a few days, and you’re already dreading your departure.

Javier really hadn’t held back, booking a private cabin with sweeping views of the snow-kissed mountain horizon.

A real Christmas tree stands proudly in the corner of the living room, next to the fireplace, its lights twinkling softly against the glassy expanse of the giant windows that line the walls.

Despite the openness, the space feels warm and intimate, like it was made just for the two of you.

And then there’s the hot tub. Nestled in the patio area overlooking the gorgeous scenery, it practically beckons you to defile it, steam curling up against the chilled glass. 

You’ve been biding your time, waiting for the right moment to unveil the gift you have for him. It’s actually kind of genius and the perfect way to help pull him out of his post-porn funk. 

For now, though, you’re content to let the days unfold naturally, filled with skiing lessons, childish snowball fights outside your cabin, and lots of great sex.

The lift sways gently as it carries you and Javier up the mountain, the cool air biting at your cheeks, though you barely notice.

Your attention drifts to him, as it often does—his profile sharp and striking against the backdrop of the rising sun. The golden light casts a glow over the snowy peaks, painting the scene in colors too beautiful to let slip away.

You shift closer to him, the insulated fabric of your jacket brushing against his as you tilt your head to rest on his shoulder. His arm instinctively drapes across your lap, steadying you, his gloved hand giving your thigh a light squeeze.

“Take a picture with me,” your voice is eager, breaking the quiet hum of the lift.

Javier turns his head, a brow quirked beneath the edge of his snow goggles. “Now? On this thing?”

“Yes, now.” You’re already moving to pull the small camera out of your pocket. “The view is perfect, and I want to remember this.”

He chuckles, leaning back slightly to give you space to situate the camera. “Alright, but if you drop it, don’t start bitching at me.”

You roll your eyes, holding the camera up and adjusting the angle to capture the two of you against the sprawling mountains bathed in warm hues, making the snow sparkle. 

You make sure to move both of your goggles so they’re resting atop of your head, your faces on full display.

Javier tilts his head closer to yours, his hand slipping to your waist to pull you snug against him.

“Smile,” you say, though you know it’s unnecessary—he’s already grinning, that playful smirk you’ve come to adore on his pouty pink lips.

The camera clicks as you take a few photos. Smiling, him kissing your cheek, and you quickly check the screen once you’re finished, heart warming at the sight of the two of you.

“See? Perfect.” You declare, showing him the pictures.

He glances at them, mirroring the same doting expression you’d just made. “You make ‘em look perfect, nenita.”

As the lift continues to ascend, you find yourself watching him more than the scenery. 

It’s hard not to marvel at the layers to this man who had once driven you up the wall. You think back to when you first met him—how easily you’d pegged him as cocky and self-centered, someone who wore his charm like a defense mechanism.

It feels surreal now, knowing how wrong you were. Javier wasn’t just the confident pornstar that could command a room with just a look or a smile. He was thoughtful, protective, and deeply giving in ways that made your heart stutter. You can’t fathom how someone like his ex would ever think about cheating on him.

Lost in thought, you don’t realize you’ve gone quiet until he glances down at you, brows knitting slightly.

“What’s on your mind, cariño?”

“You really surprise me, you know that?”

His expression shifts, the teasing edge softening into something more earnest. “Surprise you how?”

“I thought I had you all figured out when we first met.”

His mustache twitches as he bites back a knowing grin. “In your defense, I didn’t let you see more than that.” 

“Yeah, I know...” You laugh lightly, shaking your head. “But I couldn’t have been more wrong. You’re… so much more than I gave you credit for.”

He’s quiet for a second, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. “Guess I should thank you for giving me a chance to prove you wrong.”

You lean in, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, nose scrunching as the hairs of his mustache tickle you. “You’ve done more than just prove me wrong, Javi.”

The lift jerks slightly as it approaches the landing, but neither of you move right away. The world feels quieter here, suspended between earth and sky, just the two of you and the golden light.

“You’re going to make me fall for you talkin’ like that.”

You feel warmth spreading in your chest at his words, wondering if it’s too soon to start catching feelings like this.

You smile against his mouth, not saying anything yet not needing to, before pulling back to move your face covering up and adjust your goggles back over your eyes in preparation to go down the snowy hill.

Your shoulders ache slightly from today’s falls, but it’s the kind of soreness that feels good—earned, but nevertheless annoying. Like now, as you pick yourself up from yet another fall, calling it quits.

“You held out a lot longer than I expected.” Javier teases, his voice muffled by his face covering but still carrying that low, raspy timbre that makes your stomach flutter.

“Shut up,” you grumble, and you’re glad he can’t see the smile tugging at your lips.

You take him in—bundled up in his blue snow suit, goggles perched perfectly in place, his broad shoulders and confident stance somehow still exuding that effortless magnetism he carries everywhere.

Even out here, in the freezing cold, with his face obscured, he manages to look unfairly sexy.

Something about him always pulls you in. Maybe it’s the way his energy feels like gravity, anchoring you to every little thing he does. Or maybe it’s how even the simplest acts—like standing on a snowy hillside—become more vivid, more fun, more everything with him.

Your boots crunch through the snow, the skis clumsy but manageable. He’s watching you, his stance casual, hands resting on his poles as if he’s been doing this his whole life.

He had picked up on this activity much quicker than you. The instructor even called him a natural—but you’re certain she was only saying that because she was attracted to him… which, honestly, fair.

“This is your thing,” he says as you approach. “You’re the one who wanted to cross this off your little list. I’m just here for moral support... and to check you out in that suit.”

You burst out laughing, nearly stumbling again as you try to grab the poles you’d dropped when you fell over. “You can barely see anything in this suit,” you shoot back, gesturing to the thick layers of waterproof fabric that make you feel more like a marshmallow than a person.

“Baby,” he drawls, stepping closer, “I could make out those tits and that ass under anything.”

You shake your head, warmth blooming across your cheeks. “You’re such a fucking flirt,” you say, though your voice softens as his gloved hand reaches out to pull you to him.

“And yet, here you are,” he murmurs, leaning just close enough that you catch the mischievous glint in his eyes through the reflective goggles.

“Here I am.”

You’re back at the general area where you’d first gotten your ski gear, adjusting your snow boots while Javier deals with returning your equipment. 

The air is warm inside the lodge, a stark contrast to the crisp chill outside, and the hum of other skiers and snowboarders unwinding after their runs fills the space.

You’re so focused on fastening a particularly stubborn buckle that the sound of your name catches you off guard.

Your head snaps up, brows furrowing, and there he is. Frankie.

He’s making his way toward you, his strides familiar, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, and that lazy, warm smile plastered on his face like it hasn’t been forever since you last saw him.

Your surprise must show because his grin widens slightly as he stops in front of the bench you’re sitting on.

“Frankie, wow, hey.” Your voice is polite, if a little flat.

He wastes no time, dropping down onto the bench beside you like it’s the most natural thing in the world. The sudden weight makes it creak, and though you subtly shift a little away, he either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.

“Small world.” He’s looking at you with an easy kind of interest, eyes warm and familiar. You have a type. “Didn’t know you were into skiing, hermosa. How have you been?”

Your stomach does a little flip at the damn nickname but you keep your expression neutral, returning your focus to lacing your second boot. “Great, actually. I’m trying it for the first time. Been taking lessons since we got here.”

His brow lifts, amused. “And how’s that going for you?”

You laugh lightly, shaking your head as you tug off your gloves. “I’ve wiped out more times than I’d care to admit.”

He chuckles, stripping off his own gloves, clearly in no rush.

“So what brings you here?” The question feels innocent enough.

“Trip with the guys,” he answers, nodding his head in the direction of a group near a counter. You glance over and sure enough, you see the familiar faces from his circle, all caught up in their own conversation.

“Sounds fun,” you offer, “How’s Elliana? Not too happy her daddy’s missing Christmas, I’m sure.” You smile teasingly, meaning no harm, but the flicker of something on his face makes you pause. His jaw tenses ever so slightly, and the way he drops his gaze feels telling.

“She’s great. Actually, on a trip of her own with her mom and her... uh, new boyfriend.”

You catch the faint cringe he tries to hide as the explanation comes tumbling out. Your chest tightens in an uncomfortable way, not out of sympathy for him, exactly, but more at the reminder of why you two had split up to begin with.

Looks like his effort to “work things out” hadn’t exactly panned out.

“Good for her,” you reply softly, though the exchange feels a little awkward now, like neither of you knows quite where to steer the conversation.

Frankie opens his mouth to say something else, maybe an apology for oversharing or another attempt at small talk, but before he can, you catch a glimpse of Javier weaving through the crowd.

Your heart lifts instantly, as if the room somehow brightens at the sight of him. His tall frame stands out, eyes scanning the lodge, clearly searching for you.

You don’t give Frankie the chance to drag things out any further.

You quickly gather your things, standing as casually as you can. “I have to get going,” you announce, shouldering your bag. “Enjoy the rest of your stay, Frankie.”

He hesitates before he gives you a small nod. “For sure. You too, hermosa. See you around.”

You give him a brief wave before turning and making your way to Javier, your boots thudding lightly against the floor.

His face lights up when he spots you, his gloved hand resting gently on your lower back once he pulls you to him.

“You all set?” he asks, leaning down to kiss the top of your head. The simple affection melts away whatever oddness you felt lingering from your run-in with Frankie.

“Yeah,” you reply, glancing up at him. He looks so effortlessly attractive, his cheeks pink from the cold and brown hair tousled from being under his hat. “I’m ready to get all cozy by the fire.” You purr the words a little, blinking up at him, and it works like a charm.

That sweet smile of his shifts into something sultry, and you don’t miss the way his fingers curl slightly against your back.

“Sounds like a plan to me.” His voice slipping into that seductive, honeyed tone that makes you wish you could fuck a voice. “Lead the way, nena.”

The cocktail table feels like your personal island amidst the ebb and flow of the crowd, the muted hum of holiday music weaving through the air. Warmth blooms across your cheeks from the drinks you’ve nursed through the night, and the haze only amplifies the rich sound of Javier’s laughter.

His hand rests on your lower back, fingertips brushing over the smooth, exposed skin where your dress dips low. The heat of his touch sears into you, enticing enough to have you arching into him.

You giggle as he leans in closer, his breath grazing your ear as he whispers something puckishly suggestive. “You keep lookin’ at me like that and we’re not makin’ it back to the cabin without me pulling this dress off you.”

Your thighs press together instinctively and you bite down on your lip, tilting your head to look up at him, your eyes swimming with the shared heat between you. “Don’t tempt me into letting you do it,” your words are a bit slurred from the alcohol, saturated with desire.

“Oh, I’m not looking to tempt you,” he murmurs, his hand sliding an inch lower. “I’m promising you.”

Your stomach flips, and the idea of staying out any longer feels suddenly impossible, the phantom touch of his hands and lips on you eclipsing all reason.

If there wasn’t an audience, you know you’d already be on your knees with four inches in your mouth, trying to fit the other four like the needy little thing he reduces you to when he gets you all horny.

“Sit tight, nena,” he says, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of your lips. “Gotta hit the restroom. When I’m back, we’ll settle up and get out of here.”

You nod, though your brain barely processes the words as your eyes follow him weaving through the throng of people, his presence polarizing even in his absence. 

As you sip the last of your drink, your gaze shifts to the large windows lining the restaurant. 

Even at night, the resort resembles something out of a postcard. The twinkling holiday lights outside illuminating the snow in festive tones. You let yourself sink into the magic of it all, your fingers absentmindedly tracing the rim of your glass, a serene moment settling over you—until it’s promptly shattered.

“Look who it is,” a voice cuts through the ambient noise, pulling your attention.

Your head turns, and there’s Frankie, his easy grin and brown eyes locked on you. He’s not alone, three more figures flank him—Santi, Benny, and Will, each wearing varying degrees of amusement on their faces. The sight of them, clearly under the influence and rowdy, throws you a little.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” Frankie quips, his voice carrying that raspy drawl you once found charming.

Your eyes narrow, your posture stiffening. “You keep finding me, wouldn’t necessarily call that meeting,” you acknowledge curtly, trying to keep your voice neutral.

“Once he told us you were here, we couldn’t pass up the chance to say hello,” Benny adds, his grin wolfish as he scans you from head to toe, and you can practically feel his gaze lingering on the dip of your dress. “We miss having you around.”

You know these men. You spent enough time with them while dating Frankie to be able to place them all.

Santi, the smooth-talking charmer who always seems a little too pleased with himself. Benny, the loud, lovable wildcard who you’re sure has never taken anything seriously in his life. And Will, the quiet one with a piercing gaze that could unnerve anyone who wasn’t used to it.

They’re a reminder of why you usually avoid military men. Sure, they’re hot as hell, their confidence and strength undeniably attractive. But beneath that lies a mess of issues—trauma, control, and a certain recklessness that always seems to spill over into their romantic lives.

Frankie had been no different, but he’d wormed his way past your better judgment with that soft charm and rough-around-the-edges allure. And it didn’t hurt that he was real fucking good at eating pussy.

Not as good as Javier, though.

You take a step back, your hand reflexively resting on the edge of the table as though to steady yourself. Their presence feels suffocating, a sharp contrast to the cozy, all consuming warmth you’d just shared with Javi.

“That’s nice of you, but my boyfriend should be back any minute now...”

There’s a beat of silence as your words hang in the air, they exchange looks and you watch Frankie’s expression flicker—something almost smug crossing his features before it’s masked by a crooked smile. “Boyfriend, huh?”

Benny lets out a low whistle, leaning his forearms against the table top. “Didn’t think anyone could tame Fish’s girl.”

“Tame?” You shoot him a glare. “I’m not a fucking animal and certainly not his girl. Not for a while now. So you can all fuck off.”

They laugh at you and that only fires you up even more. Frankie slaps his hand on Benny’s shoulder, shaking him slightly. “Ease up man, she doesn’t take any shit.”

Benny cocks his head, his eyes gleaming with drunken amusement. “Which I think is hot. Definitely wouldn’t have fumbled you like this asshole did. And you do porn?” Another low whistle and you swear your eye twitches.

Before you can respond, Santi jumps in, his smirk as infuriating as ever. “No, no,” he says, shaking his head with mock seriousness. “Camera woman. Not actually a pornstar. Though,” he adds, now his turn to fuck you with his eyes, “I think you’d be a lot better in front of the camera, hermosa.”

“Don’t call me that,” you snap, your patience wearing thin. You can’t stay in this conversation any longer. 

Santi raises his hands in false defense, his grin never faltering. Meanwhile, Will leans over to whisper something into his brother’s ear, and you catch the shift in Benny’s expression as he gives you a once-over, his gaze laced with something that makes your skin crawl.

You grip the glass in your hand tighter, seriously contemplating how much damage it could do.

“Things serious with your new man?” Frankie replaces Will across from you and you roll your eyes.

The audacity. “Yes,” you say through gritted teeth. “Very.” You lean forward slightly, your voice dropping into a cutting tone. “If I were you, I’d leave before he gets back… or before I shove the stem of this glass down your throat.”

Their laughter rises again, whistling and being overly obnoxious about your reply, but you ignore it, your focus razor-sharp on your ex.

“We had our time together, Frankie, and you decided to cut it short by going back to the mother of your child. Whatever, fine, shit happens, but now you’re acting like a real jerk. All of you are and I have no interest in continuing whatever the fuck this is, so, leave.”

You can tell your words hit their mark. Frankie has always respected your no-nonsense attitude, but being on the receiving end clearly doesn’t sit well with him. 

Just as you turn to remove yourself from this stifling mess altogether, Javier reappears.

Javier doesn’t expect to come back and find four men crowding you, their broad shoulders and cocky stances cutting into your space like they own it. The sight stops him cold, but only for a second. Then his back straightens, his jaw locking tight as something territorial flares in his chest.

One of them catches his eye immediately—the scruffy, stray-dog-looking motherfucker he’d recognize anywhere.

That damn Malibu shoot, the tipping point for all the change that came after. The memory of Frankie all over you, the obnoxious flirting, how you had played into it.

Then you left Robbie’s crew and he made his move, securing you as his girlfriend, getting exactly what he wanted.

Javier had no right to feel possessive when it happened, even though every fiber of his being had screamed at him to do something about it. Sure, you shared moments that left him restless and aching for more, but it wasn’t enough to stake a claim, no matter how badly he wanted to, and you were so adamant about not wanting anything to do with him.

So, he’d done the only thing he could—told himself to get over it and buried the jealousy under layers of maintained indifference.

But now? Now you’re his girl. The first real, healthy relationship he’s had since Lorraine, and there’s no way in hell he’s holding back about anything when it comes to you. Especially not when Frankie and his action-movie crew are standing there, eyeing you like you’re some trophy to win.

“What’s goin’ on?” His voice cuts through the noise of their conversation, sharp and unyielding as he closes the distance.

He’s met with four pairs of eyes—two amused, one indifferent, and Frankie’s, which narrow slightly in recognition. Javier keeps his focus steady, his gaze hard as he takes them in.

His confidence has grown over the years, forged by his experiences and the praise from the industry. Yet, there’s still that lingering thread of insecurity that twists in his gut as he watches Frankie make his indifference clear.

“We were just catching up. Saying hello,” Frankie answers almost too casually, but his eyes gleam with something else—a challenge.

Javier doesn’t flinch. Instead, he steps closer to you, his hand finding your waist. “Looks like you’ve said it. Time to move on.”

Beside Frankie, one of the men grins as if he’s enjoying the show. “Easy, man,” he says, his tone teasing. “We’re just being friendly.”

Javier’s jaw ticks, a muscle in his cheek jumping as his grip on you tightens slightly. “Friendly looks more like crowding someone who doesn’t want to talk to you.”

While you’ve never gone into detail about what you had with Frankie, the updates Javier had gotten from Steve are enough to stir doubts. Words like satisfied are currently resurfacing to make him question things he knows aren’t true.

These men are something he isn’t. And even though you’re together now, there’s a small, irrational part of him that wonders if one day you’ll realize he isn’t what you want.

It’s not that he doesn’t trust you—he does, with everything he’s got. But being cheated on leaves wounds that never fully close, scars that ache at the worst times. And seeing Frankie standing there, beaming like he still has a chance, stirs something primal in Javier.

“No need to get territorial, Peña. We were just having a little fun. Besides…” He trails off, his gaze flicking briefly to you before returning to Javier. “She can handle herself.”

Javier’s blood boils, his free hand twitching at his side. It would take so little—a single punch to wipe that smug look off his face. But then your hand is on his chest, soft and grounding.

“It’s fine. I was just telling them to leave.” 

Frankie’s gaze lingers on you in a look he recognizes all too well because he looks at you in the same goddamn way, and that has his vision tunneling.

“No harm done,” He steps back with exaggerated nonchalance. But then he throws one last barb over at you. “We’ll catch up some other time, hermosa.”

Javier doesn’t think, words slipping out before he can stop them. “No, the fuck you won’t. In fact, if I see any of you bother her again, I won’t hesitate to kick your ass.”

“Yeah? I’d like to see you try.”

For a moment it looks like things might escalate. But one of the other men—blonde, with a calmer air about him—steps in.

“Alright, boys,” he says, reaching out to pull his friend back. “Let’s not make a scene.”

Frankie hesitates, his jaw tightening, but he relents with a roll of his eyes. “Whatever.”

Javier watches them retreat, his heart still pounding, until they’re out of sight. Only then does he let his shoulders drop slightly.

“Hey,” you say gently, tilting your head to catch his gaze. “You okay?”

“I didn’t like that one fucking bit,” he mutters, his voice rough.

Your smile is gentle, reassuring, and you lean up to press a kiss to his cheek which melts him immediately. “They don’t matter,” you whisper, your lips brushing his skin. “You’re the only one I care about.”

The words ease the last of the tension, and Javier lets out a breath, pulling you close. “Damn right,” his tone softens as he presses a kiss to your temple.

“Let’s get out of here,” you suggest, a small mischievous smile on your face, “Your gift is waiting for you back at the cabin.”

It’s as if the entire confrontation is forgotten at your words and he becomes intrigued immediately. “Oh yeah? Then what the fuck are we doin’ still standing here. Let’s go.”

“Are your eyes closed?”

Javier leans against the armrest of the couch, his lips curving into a small smile as your voice carries from the bedroom.

“Yeah,” he replies, shifting slightly, his eyes obediently shut.

“You’re not lying to me?”

“No.” He chuckles, the deep, easy sound rumbling from his chest.

There’s the faint shuffle of movement, and then he feels you—the subtle electricity that always seems to spark when you’re near.

His hands are cupped in front of him as instructed, his curiosity piqued. He has no idea what you’ve planned, no inkling of what’s coming.

Honestly, he can’t believe you actually got him anything. The trip itself has been more than enough—a week of unfiltered joy, amazing sex, and waking up to you in his arms. If that isn’t a gift in itself, then what is?

Then you’re standing in front of him, placing something in his hands. He feels the cool weight of it, the texture of smooth plastic beneath his fingertips.

“Okay, you can open them now.”

Javier’s eyes flutter open, immediately drawn to the object cradled in his palms. It’s a handheld camcorder, a glossy red ribbon tied around it like the finishing touch on a present. His brows knit together in brief confusion, but before he can ask, you fill in the blanks.

“I want us to make a tape together, Javi.”

Your words hit him like a freight train. No, they hit his cock like a freight train, and the damn thing stirs to life before his brain even fully registers the meaning.

“You naughty little thing,” he murmurs, his voice dropping into that gravelly tone that always gets a rise out of you.

You bite your lip, a playful giggle escaping. “I figured it’d be something fun for us,” you say, stepping closer until he can smell the faint traces of your perfume. “Plus… I really like how you fuck on camera. Not that it’s any different from what we do, but…”

You trail off with a small, breathy moan that makes Javier’s restraint snap. He sets the camera carefully on the couch before pulling you closer, his hands gripping the hem of your dress and bunching the fabric in his fists as he pulls you between his knees.

“But…?” he prompts, his lips finding the curve of your neck. He kisses, nips, and licks, each touch of his mouth drawing little gasps from you. You taste divine, every inch of you always does.

“But it’s different,” you breathe, your fingers digging into his biceps as his teeth graze your skin. “I want to experience what all those other stars do when shooting a scene with you.”

His lips crash against yours, the kiss heated and possessive. He can taste the remnants of the cocktails you had at dinner, but more than that, he tastes you.

The memory of those old sets pales in comparison to the thought of filming with you.

“I’m all yours, nena,” he growls against your lips, his hands slipping lower to slap your ass then gripping onto the flesh. “This is a brilliant fucking idea. I’ve been telling you how hot you’d look on camera. How do you want to do this?”

Your smile is roguish, your confidence intoxicating. “I want us to take turns filming... directing… Wanna get some good shots of me sucking your cock.”

Your hand trails down his arm, skimming over the muscles there, then lower to pinch his hip before you palm his erection through his pants, his hips jerking involuntarily as he grunts.

“And I definitely need footage of that tongue of yours working my pussy,” you add, your tone sultry. “We’ll figure the rest out as we go. I want to start in the hot tub.”

Javier swears under his breath, his head tilting back slightly as your touch sends a fresh wave of desire through him. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he mutters, voice thick with need.

You smile, giving him one last squeeze before pulling away, leaving him half-dazed and completely aroused. “Get changed and take the camera outside. I’ll join you once I put on my costume.”

“Costume?” His brows arch in curiosity as his eyes track your retreating form.

“Costume might be pushing it. It’s something to set the tone for the amateur vibe I want this to have. Even if we know what we’re doing.”

“Whatever you want,” he’s so desperate to take you, “I’m going to tear you the fuck up.”

You blow him a kiss, your giddiness as palpable as his. 

Javier watches you disappear into the bedroom, letting out a long breath as he stands and moves to his bag which you had purposefully, he realizes, brought out before leaving for dinner.

He pulls out his swim trunks, quickly changing and grabbing the camera again. He can’t help the simper pulling at his lips as he removes the ribbon and flits through the settings, familiarizing himself with it.

Javier slides open the patio door, the soft scrape of the glass breaking the stillness of the night. A cool breeze rushes in, sharp against his skin, but it’s a refreshing contrast to the heat coursing through his veins.

The glow of the string lights overhead reflects off the rippling water of the hot tub. They frame the scene perfectly, tiny stars encircling what already feels like a secluded slice of paradise.

He steps out onto the wooden deck, the chill biting at his bare chest and legs. A small shiver runs through him, but it’s chased away the moment he dips into the steaming water. The heat rises to meet him, coiling around him like an inviting embrace.

Javier lowers himself deeper into the tub, the warmth spreading instantly, soothing muscles. The jets hum to life with the press of a button, sending gentle ripples across the surface. Another tap, and the colorful lights beneath the water bloom, shifting from deep blue to vivid green, then a lurid red.

He leans back against the edge, one arm stretched casually along the rim, the other cradling the camcorder.

The setting is perfect—intimate, cozy, and alive with the kind of cinematic allure that’s been a part of his life for so long. Only this time, it’s personal. This time, it’s with you.

“Alright, I’m coming out,” your voice calls from inside, and Javier’s pulse spikes as if his body already knows it’s about to be wrecked. 

He shifts in the water, the tent in his briefs straining beneath the surface. His fingers move automatically, adjusting his grip on the camcorder, raising it to eye level, his thumb brushing over the small record button.

“Ready whenever you are,” he says, his voice a little lower, raspier.  

Through the steamy glass, he tracks your shadowy movements, catching fleeting glimpses of red that tease him to the point of madness.

The condensation and reflections blur the details, but it only adds to the attraction. He can feel his heart thudding against his ribs, a primal drumbeat that matches the ache in his cock.  

And then you step out, framed by the sliding door like a vision he couldn’t conjure even in his wildest fantasies.  

“Fuck me.”

The red bikini bottoms sit high on your hips, the delicate ties framing your curves like artwork. That vivid, sinful shade of red makes your skin seem to glow, the contrast leaving him weak.

In one hand is a bottle of champagne, the other holding two flutes, and his tongue pokes against his cheek at how festive you’re being.

He zooms in with the camera, starting at your legs then capturing every dip and swell of your thighs, the plushness he knows so well.

The lens follows up, slowly drinking in the soft curve of your stomach, lingering over the way your tits press against the satin ribbon wrapped around them like a present he’s dying to open. The bow tied between your cleavage looks precarious, like it might unravel at the slightest tug.

The silky fabric is no match for the chill in the air, your hardened nipples poking through in a way that makes his tongue twitch in his mouth at the thought of flitting it over the stiffened peaks. 

But then his gaze—and the lens—finds your face, and it’s game over. Your lips are parted, plump and glistening as you lick them, the slight haze in your eyes a telltale sign of the alcohol still swimming in your veins. Your lashes frame your eyes perfectly, their sparkle teasing him as if daring him to lose control.  

His mind is already racing ahead, imagining the way those lips will part as you take his cock into his mouth, the way your head will tilt back when he suckles at your clit, or how your eyes will roll into your skull when he’s buried deep inside your tight cunt.

“You look so fucking good. Shit,” he breathes, his voice shaky. The camcorder threatens to tremble in his hand as he refocuses on you, watching you strike playful poses against the doorframe, snowflakes getting caught in your hair.

Each one is more tantalizing than the last, and when you bend over to show him your sweet ass, he zooms in on how the red fabric outlines your pussy.

“Thank you,” you purr, your voice smooth and syrupy as you turn and saunter toward the tub, setting the drink and glasses aside. You exaggerate the sway of your hips, fully aware of the effect you have on him, and it’s almost too much.

He’s never had a woman make him feel this way.

Javier keeps the camera trained on you, his years of expertise blending seamlessly with his overwhelming desire to immortalize this moment.

The way the light dances off your skin, the ripple against your flesh as you move sensually, your smile—it’s all so perfectly you.

For a moment, he forgets the camera is even there. Every inch of you seems made for him, like a custom design he never dreamed he’d be lucky enough to have.

When you finally join him, stepping into the steaming water, his restraint frays to a thread. He’s gripping the camcorder like it’s the only thing keeping him from lunging at you.

“You’re teasing me, baby,” he rasps as he films you lowering yourself into the tub.  

“I know,” you reply with a flirty smile. “But don’t you love it?”  

“Too much,” he shifts his legs to relieve some of the pressure at his crotch, though it’s futile. He’s already undone, and the night’s only just begun. 

“Keep posing, like you did by the door,” Javier instructs while his dark eyes remain fixed on you, not the viewfinder. Capturing this for later is one thing, but experiencing it now is something he wants seared into his memory for the rest of his life.

“Flirt with the camera using those beautiful eyes, nena.”

You bite your lip, your lashes lowering as you tilt your head, blinking slowly at the lens. You know exactly what to do, and he guesses this comes from watching the other stars do it on set.

The result is undeniably erotic. Knowing that you’ve never done it before like this, yet exude such natural talent, makes the moment infinitely hotter.

The water kisses your skin, glistening under the string lights and making every curve gleam like a jewel. You shift your weight, cocking your hip, arching your back—it’s fluid, seductive. Droplets of water run over your tits and how badly does he want to reach out and lick at them.

He will, he just wants to get enough footage of just you being so damn sexy.

You move with languid grace, tilting your head just so, and then giggling as you reach for the champagne. The sound is rousing, making his cock twitch.

You curl your finger, beckoning him closer, and he obeys without hesitation, the camera steady in his hands as he floats toward you. 

You pour the golden liquid into your glass, bringing it to your lips with a playful flick of your tongue along the rim, a teasing preview of what’s to come.

When you tilt your head back, letting the bubbly glide past your lips, your throat moves with every swallow and he makes sure to let the shot linger there, fixated.

“Mmm,” the sound is a decadent hum that has his teeth sinking into his lower lip. “Tastes so good.”

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty, baby,” he growls, his large hand reaching up to cradle your jaw. His thumb brushes over your cheek, warm and damp under his touch, before sinking his fingers into the soft skin. “Look at how gorgeous my girl is.”

He angles your face toward the camera, showing you off like a precious work of art. You go pliant under his touch, your eyes locking on the lens as you bring the glass to your lips again, deliberately spilling the champagne, letting it cascade over your jaw and his waiting fingers, trickling down his wrist in a sticky, sparkling trail.

“Oops,” you say, your tone dripping with false innocence. Lowering your head, your tongue darts out, tracing the line of champagne from his pulse point up to his fingers.

You take the tip of his finger into your mouth, sucking lightly, swirling your tongue around the pad before releasing it with a wet, lingering kiss.

“Dios mío,” Javier groans, his hips shifting as his swollen cock brushes against your thigh. The soft gasp that escapes you only feeds his need. “Pretty and dirty. A real fuckin’ star.”

His hand trails lower, abandoning your face to cup your breast, his thumb brushing over the damp fabric before tugging at it, unraveling it completely. 

The cool air kisses your skin just before his touch follows, warm and possessive. He doesn’t ask—Javier never does when it comes to adoring you; he just takes, knowing how much you love it.

Especially when he plays with your tits.

You shake them playfully, the soft, bouncing motion making him snarl, the sound rumbling low in his chest.

“Fuck,” he hisses, his hand kneading your flesh, his thumb brushing over your nipple before he pinches it just hard enough to draw a sharp gasp from your lips.

His eyes flicker to the viewfinder, ensuring the camera catches every detail as he lavishes attention on you, pinching and rolling your puckered tips between his fingers until you’re squirming against him.

“Give me the camera,” you breathe through soft whimpers, reaching for it. He hands it over without a second thought, his hands lingering on yours as he relinquishes the device. 

The power shifts, and you waste no time, pointing the lens at him. “Suck on my tits, Javi,” you coo, each word laced with seduction, and his reaction is immediate.

He pulls you against him, your bodies slick with the heat and bubbles of the water, his hard cock pressing insistently between your thighs. His mouth finds your nipple, his tongue flicking over the sensitive peak before he sucks it into his mouth, his teeth grazing it just enough to make you whine.

Your free hand tangles in his damp hair, guiding his head and angling his face for the camera as he lavishes attention on you. The viewfinder captures everything: the way his lips move, how his tongue circles your areola, the glistening trail of water droplets and his spit on your skin.

His mouth moves to your other breast to do the same, sucking harder this time.

“So good, baby,” your voice trembles with pleasure. “You’re so good to me.”

He chuckles low against your chest, relishing in your praise and how he’s able to make you react.

His large hands slide up, cupping your breasts as he pushes them together, burying his face between them and motorboating you. The deep, playful groan he lets out makes you laugh breathlessly behind the camera.

“Pass me the champagne,” Javi murmurs, his lips brushing your collarbone.

You loosen your hold on his hair, reaching for the bottle. The moment it’s in his hands, he tilts it back for a quick swig, the liquid catching the light as it drips from the corner of his mouth.

He pours a generous stream over your chest, the cool champagne trickling down the valley of your breasts. His tongue is quick to chase it, licking and sucking every drop, his movements rougher now, hungrier.

You adjust the camera, your arm stretched out to capture the way his mouth trails up to your neck, nipping and kissing as if he can’t get enough.

The wet, desperate sounds of your kisses fill the air, drowning out the gentle hum of the hot tub jets.

It’s messy, all tongue and teeth, as if he’s trying to consume you entirely.

Javier takes the camera back without breaking the kiss, adjusting the angle to film the way your lips move against his. His free hand grips your waist, guiding the both of you backward until his body presses against the tub’s edge. 

Snowflakes drift in on the breeze, clinging to your hair and his, melting instantly against your heated skin.

“You gonna be a good girl and show the camera how much you love my cock? How good you are at taking him down your throat?” he asks, his voice thick with lust, his lips brushing against your ear.

He zooms in on how your mouth parts in an eager smile.

“Yes,” you breathe, nodding with unrestrained excitement.

Javier lifts himself onto the tub’s edge, the chill in the air biting at his skin, but he doesn't care, not with the way his excitement overrides any of his discomfort. His legs remain submerged, spreading wide to give you space.

You move between them, the warm water lapping at your waist as your hands trail up his legs, your fingers kneading the firm muscle.

“I’ll make it extra good for you today, baby,” you promise, and he knows you mean every word.

He lifts his hips up to help you pull down his trunks, his erection bobbing free from its constraints. Javier hisses as the cool air hits him, but it’s quickly soothed when you wrap your fingers around his shaft and he groans, your softer touch feeling like fucking heaven.

You stroke him a few times, and the visual of you jerking his cock while the bubbles from the jets flutter around your bod has him tightening his grip on the camera.

As he watches you, he knows—he wouldn’t change a single thing about what got you here.

Not the fights, not the doubts, not the messy way you two stumbled into this, because every moment led to this one.

You hum, looking up at him through your lashes, giving the camera a flirty wink before your tongue darts out to kitten lick at his weeping tip, his skin flushed a devious red.

You start slowly, teasing the sensitive skin of his spongy head, swirling around it and tasting the saltiness of the precum that beads at the slit. He sucks in a sharp breath, his free hand tangling in your hair to guide you closer.

“So fucking perfect.”

Your eyes twinkle at the praise, taking him deeper, your lips stretching around his girth. The camera captures every second—his cock disappearing into your mouth, the way your cheeks hollow as you suck, the slick sounds of your efforts filling the air.

Javier’s hips jerk, unable to hold still as you bob your head, your tongue working him over. Drool slips from the corners of your lips, mixing with the water from the tub as you take him as deep as you can, gagging, the messy display making him curse under his breath.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, his voice breaking. “You’re so goddamn good at this.”

You moan around him, the vibration making his grip in your hair tighten. You pull back to catch your breath, your hand stroking him while your tongue laves attention along the underside of his shaft, tracing every pulsating vein.

“Messy little thing,” he murmurs, the camera focusing on the spit shining his cock, dripping from your chin as you smile wickedly up at him.

“I like it messy,” you reply, your voice a foxy, hoarse purr before you take him back into your mouth, sucking harder, faster, the wet, obscene sounds driving him closer to finishing.

The camera feels heavier in his hand as he adjusts the focus, trying to capture every detail of this moment, but his heart beats faster when he realizes the truth: no recording, no photo, nothing tangible could ever truly do justice to what he feels right now. It’s more than physical. It’s more than lust.

It’s her. She’s it. She’s everything.

As if reading his mind, your gaze flicks up to meet his, and you fucking smile with his cock in your mouth.

He exhales a shaky breath, barely holding on to his composure when you release him with an audible pop and trail your tongue down his length. The hand pumping him doesn’t slow, but your mouth finds his inner thigh then his balls, licking and biting just enough to make his leg tense under you.

“Where do you want to come, Javi?” Your voice is a soft, breathy rasp, and his whole body reacts to the sound of it. Your hand moves faster, and he’s unable to form an answer before you stop abruptly, making him curse under his breath.

“In my hand?” Your grip tightens around his cock.

“Goddammit,” his frustration turns to a low, guttural noise when you lower your mouth and tap the tip of his cock against your tongue.

“Or on my tongue?” The slick glide of your lips as you tease him is pure torture, but you’re not done. You push your chest forward, letting his dick slap against the humps of your tits.

“Maybe all over these?” Your voice is sweet, almost playful, but your intentions are anything but. The sight of his cock glistening against your skin, the jiggle of your flesh under his weight, makes his vision blur for a second.

“Or are you going to hold it in and fill my pussy?”

The way you say it, so casually filthy, sends a jolt of arousal through him. He bites down hard on his lip, every muscle in his body tightening. You’ve always had a mouth on you, but this—this is something else entirely.

Your confidence, the way you’ve grown into yourself since being with him, sends a surge of pride through his chest. 

“Baby, I’m going to fuck you so full of my cum you’ll be tasting it for fucking weeks.”

Your breathless giggle is music to his ears, and when you lean in to kiss his cock, licking over the tip, his control shatters.

“C’mere,” he sneers, pulling you up into a heated kiss. His mouth is desperate, his teeth scraping against your lips. He adjusts, submerging himself back into the water, being mindful of the device, and pulling your back flush against his chest.

He angles the lens to capture the way your bodies press together, the steam from the water curling around you both. The viewfinder is flipped and shows your damp hair sticking to your face, his lips dragging over the curve of your neck.

“Look at how good we look,” he murmurs, his voice a low rasp against your ear as his hand palms your breast, squeezing roughly.

A smile splits your face, drunk on the taste of his cock and the alcohol. Slowly, you shift on your toes, bending forward just enough to tease him with the curve of your ass, playfully wiggling it as you rub his cock between your cheeks.

“Come fuck me, Javi.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he breathes, bringing the camera lower to capture the way the bubbles skim over the curve of your body. He smacks each cheek, the sound sharp against the steady hum of the jets, and you huff, arching even more.

When he pulls at the strings of your bikini bottoms, letting the fabric fall away, he curses under his breath. “Mierda,” he hisses, his hand kneading your supple flesh before gripping the base of his cock and slapping it against your skin. 

He can’t help but grin as he shows off for the camera.

When he slides himself along your slick folds, he groans, feeling how wet you are for him. “Damn, suckin’ me off gets you this turned on, nena?” he asks, breathless.

You let out a needy whimper, nodding as your hips push back against him.

He doesn’t make you wait, sinking into you with a grunt that’s half your name and half prayer. The way your walls clench around him, pulling him deeper, makes him swear under his breath as he sets a rhythm that sends water spilling over the edge of the tub.

“Oh, Javi, oh fuck!” Your voice is loud, shameless, and he loves every filthy syllable of it.

“You like that, huh?” he growls, slowing his thrusts to drag his cock out of you torturously slow, the tight suction of your pussy making him grit his teeth.

“Gorgeous fucking pussy doesn’t want to let me go,” he mutters, angling the camera to capture the way your body takes him so perfectly, the wet sounds of him sliding in and out of you echoing around you.

He licks his lips, the phantom taste of your tangy sweetness haunting them, and the thought of you spread out while he loses himself in eating you out burns through him like fire.

The way you whimper in protest when he pulls out is enough to make him consider sinking back into your tight, sopping heat, but he reins himself in. Instead, his hand comes down on your ass, the sharp crack echoing in the chilled night air.

“None of that. Let’s move this party inside. I need to taste you.”

You bite your lip, shivering from the combination of his words and the cold air biting at your damp skin. 

Both of you are dripping water as you climb out of the hot tub, the biting chill of the night air wraps around you, sending goosebumps racing across your skin.

Javier notices, of course he does, and he drags his hands over your arms, a fleeting attempt at warming you before snagging the nearest towel.

“C’mere, nena,” he mutters, pulling you close. The towel is large, but his hands are clumsy as he rubs it over your body. The motion is both tender and hurried, his fingers lingering on the curves of your hips, your nice tits, and the slick heat between your thighs. “Can’t have you catching a cold now, can we?”

You giggle, your teeth chattering as you take the camera from him as he brings you inside. You stumble over the threshold, recording every imperfect second.

The contrast between the icy air outside and the inviting heat of the cabin is immediate, the crackling fireplace casting a golden glow across the room.

Javier wastes no time, pulling you toward the plush rug in front of the flames. You lay on your back, taking a moment to admire your boyfriend.

He’s a masterpiece carved by desire, every part of him sculpted to make you ache.

You handle the camera in your hands, the viewfinder framing Javier like the sex god that he is. You’re practically purring as the lens lingers on his thighs and how they flex subtly when he shifts his weight.

The camera pans higher and you feel that insistent heartbeat at your pussy.

His cock stands heavy and proud, the firelight casting shadows along his delicious length and girth. He’s gorgeous—thick veins trailing up velvety skin, the head angry and eager to punch into your cunt, his balls heavy with the load he’s already promised to fill you full of.

Continuing your digital ascent, you capture the sharp planes of his torso, his golden-brown skin glowing in the warmth of the flames. His chest rises and falls with slow, steady breaths.

Finally, you settle the shot on his lips, looking plush under that sexy ass mustache. They have ruined you time and time again with words, kisses, and the way they dote on every part of you.

“He’s so fucking good at using those.” You whisper to the camera.

“You done admiring?” He asks with playful arrogance, as if he hadn’t been absolutely eating up every reaction you had given to the body he’s sculpted into a living, breathing fantasy

“Never.”

He leans down to kiss you, sticky precum brushing against your lower stomach. Slyly, he takes the device from your hands, now his turn to marvel at you.

His lips part slightly as he looks at you, the flames illuminating every curve and dip of your body, painting you in shades of gold and amber.

“Most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

You bite your lip, your cheeks heated under his gaze. Javier adjusts the angle, zooming in on the way your thighs press together, craving him again.

“Spread your legs for me, nena.”

You hesitate, suddenly shy under the intensity of his gaze, but he makes it impossible to deny him when he looks at you like this.

Slowly, you part your legs, exposing yourself to him fully.

“Goddamn,” Javier growls, his free hand sliding up the inside of your thigh, his calloused fingers trailing to where you’re still sticky with arousal from how he’d taken you outside. He uses his thumb to spread open one of your pussy lips, revealing your pretty cunt to the camera, his thumb pressing down on your clit, smearing your juices around.

“You know how perfect you are?” he asks, his voice low as he sets the camera down at the perfect angle to capture what he’s about to do next. “Every fucking inch of you drives me crazy.”

Javier leans over you, his lips trailing down your neck to the hollow between your breasts. His hands spread you open further, his breath hot against your skin as he settles himself between your thighs.

You shudder as his lips press against your inner thigh, sinewy fingers keeping you spread open so the camera gets a good view of his tongue doing what it does best between your legs.

The fire crackles beside you, but it’s nothing compared to the heat of his mouth as he begins to devour you, his tongue and lips coaxing soft moans and gasps from your lips.

He doesn’t rush. He takes his time, savoring every sound you make, every tremble of your body. He pulls back briefly, some of your slick clinging to his lips, just long enough to grab the camera again, angling it to capture your flushed face and the way your body arches toward him before handing it over to you.

You almost drop it from how fucking lightheaded he’s left you, but manage to hold onto it, doing your best to record this handsome man going down on you.

“No one else gets to see you like this. Just me.”

The possessiveness in Javier’s voice is laced with an edge of jealousy, a dark fire stoked by earlier moments that now claw their way back into his mind. Flashes of other men crowding you, eyeing what’s his, swirl in his thoughts, blending with images of you and Frankie tangled in your sheets. 

The thought ignites a growl deep in his chest. His fingers grip your thigh harder, nails biting into your skin as he buries his face between your legs with renewed intensity. 

His tongue swirls and flicks over your clit, his lips sealing around the swollen nub with a pressure that makes your toes curl.

He’s punishing those images, driving them out by proving how thoroughly you belong to him.

“Just you, Javi, no one else,” you gasp, your back arching off the plush rug. With one hand on the device, your other lets its fingers twist into his thick brown hair, tugging hard enough to make him grunt against your slick heat.

The vibrations ripple through you, sending you closer to the edge, your walls fluttering with anticipation.

You’re close—he feels it in the way your thighs shake, the way your breath stutters. Determined to pull you over the edge, he buries his face deeper, his nose nudging your clit as he shakes his head back and forth.

The scratch of his mustache against your tender flesh only intensifies your pleasure, and when his lips seal around your swollen clit and he sucks harshly, it shatters you.

“Oh my God, Javier!” you scream, your body convulsing as waves of pleasure crash through you, the camera shaking violently in your hand. The heat of the nearby flames amplifies your euphoria, sweat beading on your skin.

“Pussy tastes so fuckin’ delicious,” his voice is muffled but heavy with want. Javier has always loved going down on women, but there’s something about you—your taste, your scent, the way your body responds to him—that drives him wild. 

His cock thrums painfully, desperate for relief. He’s grinding against the rug without even realizing it, his need to claim you consuming every thought.

Even as your thighs twitch in the aftermath of your orgasm, he laps up every drop, greedy for more, his tongue sweeping over your oversensitive flesh until you’re gasping and squirming beneath him. Only then does he pull away, his lips and chin glistening with your essence.

Taking the camera again, he points it at you, capturing the sight of you sprawled across the rug, utterly spent. Your chest rises and falls, your eyes half-lidded with bliss.

“¿Todo bien, nena?” he asks, gingerly yet smugly satisfied.

“Mhm,” you hum, stretching languidly under his touch. “Just need a minute.”

He strokes your face, his thumb brushing over your kiss-swollen lips and you kiss the rough pad softly. 

Wordlessly, he adjusts the lens, zooming in on your face, capturing the blissed-out expression that is all his doing. It makes him want to kiss you, so he does, bending down, his lips brushing yours in a smoldering liplock.

“Such a good kisser, Javi.” You chase after his mouth when he pulls away, bringing your hands up to cradle his face to keep your lips on his. He lets you, lost in the feeling in the same way you are, that poor camera idly recording the blur of your moving heads.

When he does finally pull back, he moves with purpose, setting up the camera on the coffee table, his fingers steady despite the heat thrumming through his veins.

He flips the viewfinder to showcase the two of you, positioning it to capture the perfect scene: the crackling fireplace, the twinkling lights on the Christmas tree, the snow-kissed mountains visible through the frosted window, bathed in the silver moonlight.

The setup is a masterpiece, the kind of shot you’d call pure art. You’ve teased him about this before—how his talent for making things look so effortlessly beautiful extends even to his most smutty creations.

When Javier returns to you, his breath hitches. You’re stretched out on the rug, naked as the day you were born, your skin kissed by the soft illumination of the Christmas lights. You look up at him with a cheeky grin that makes his chest tighten and his cock throb.

“Hey, baby,” you say, your voice teasing yet soft, inviting him closer.

“Hi,” he murmurs back, his own lips shifting into a smile that mirrors yours.

He lowers himself to you again, cradling your jaw as if you’re the most delicate, precious thing he’s ever touched. “You havin’ fun?”

“So much,” you reply with a laugh that’s pure music to his ears. Your teeth catch his lower lip playfully, and your hand sneaks down between you, wrapping around his pulsating cock. The sound he lets out vibrates against your lips, and the look in his eyes is molten.

“Now fuck me full, Javi,” you whisper, your words bold and needy, a demand he’s more than eager to fulfill.

His hands are on you in an instant, pulling you up and shifting your body until you’re perfectly centered in the shot.

You look like a vision, his personal angel.

Javier kneels behind you, his strong hands gripping your hips, the pads of his fingers pressing into your skin just hard enough to leave marks he’ll admire later.

His cock teases your entrance, the slick head gliding over your swollen clit, and you mewl, your body quivering with anticipation. He watches, mesmerized, as you arch your back for him, offering yourself up completely.

Slowly, he sinks into you, savoring the way your walls envelop him, the tightness making him hiss through his teeth.

His grip tightens as he thrusts deeper, the stretch and fullness making you sob. The sound shoots straight to his cock, and he growls low in his throat, his hips snapping forward, burying himself to the hilt.

Your cries rise in pitch as he sets a brutal rhythm, each powerful thrust sending your tits bouncing uncontrollably. 

Javier leans back slightly, angling his body just so, ensuring the camera captures every detail—the way your pussy clenches and drips around his cock and how obscene the sounds of your bodies joining echo in the cabin.

His nose skims the side of your neck, his breath hot against your damp skin. He bites down gently, soothing the sting with his tongue, before whispering filthy promises into your ear, each word making you tighten around him.

“You were made for me,” he declares, “This tight pussy, fuck, no one else gets to feel how perfect she is. Just me. All mine.”

Something about being inside you triggers this untamed passion in him, an insatiable desire that no amount of good fucking can quench.

He’s relentless, taking and taking, chasing the pleasure that only you can give him. The thought of you creaming all over his cock, screaming his name, and begging for more while teetering on the edge of oblivion has him thrusting harder, deeper.

No one else has ever felt like this—like home and sin wrapped into one. Fucking you is better than anything he’s ever known.

It doesn’t even have to be elaborate or kinky—though he certainly doesn’t mind. He loves it all, from nights like this to the slow, sleepy mornings when he wakes you by sliding his cock into your warm, welcoming body, loving the way you melt against him with soft sighs.

Now, though, it’s anything but slow. His hips piston up into you, his balls slapping against your clit with every thrust, and you’re crying out his name like a prayer.

“Do you trust me?” he asks, his voice rough in your ear as his pace falters momentarily.

You’re too lost in the haze of bliss to respond right away, your whimpers spilling from your lips in broken waves. Javier slows, grinding into you, letting the friction bring you back to him.

“I said, do you trust me?” he repeats, his tone firmer.

“Y-Yes,” you stammer, your voice a breathy plea as your pussy clenches around him.

A dark, satisfied smirk spreads across his face. “I’m gonna put you in a headlock, baby. Keep you right where I want you while I tear this pretty pussy up like I promised.”

You mewl, the sound making his cock twitch inside you. He nips at your ear, his breath fanning against your skin. 

“If it’s too much, tap me three times, okay?” His voice softens slightly, a thread of tenderness weaving through the raw desire.

You nod eagerly, your voice trembling as you beg, “Please, Javi.”

When you turn your head to look at him, the vulnerability and trust in your eyes make his heart clench. Fuck, I love her.

Without another word, he surges forward to kiss you messily, his lips claiming yours as he loops a strong arm around your neck. The position pulls you flush against his chest, your back arching as he adjusts his knees, locking you into place.

“I’ll start slow, get that pussy purring,” he teases, his breath hot against your ear.

His cock drags against your walls, unhurried, and you shiver as he finds that spot inside you that makes your toes curl.

“Right there,” you gasp, your voice hitching as your body tightens around him.

“Yeah, you like that, don’t you?” he groans, his arm tightening just enough to make your head swim in the most delicious way.

With a growl, he picks up his pace, pounding into you with enough force to get your body jolting against his. The rug beneath you rubs raw at your knees, each wet slap of his cock driving into your soaked pussy sending ripples of heat through your core.

Javier watches the way your body reacts to him from the viewfinder across the way. “That’s it, nena,” he clenches his teeth, his own release building as he claims you over and over again. His large fingers move from your hips down to toy with your clit. “Take it all. Take every. Fucking. Inch.”

Your hands shoot up to grip Javier’s arm, manicured nails biting into his flesh and leaving streaks of angry red lines down the muscled curve. The sting only fuels him, a feral satisfaction curling in his chest as you claw desperately for purchase.

Drool slips from the corner of your lips, pooling in the crease of his elbow, and he can’t help but smile smugly at the camera, his ego swelling alongside his cock. He’s unraveling you, making you fall apart so completely that you’re losing control—going stupid for his cock.

The slick sound of your bodies meeting fills the room, drowning out the crackling fire. You’re soaking him, your pussy so wet that the coarse hairs at the base of his cock are drenched, shining with your mixed juices.

He tightens his grip around your throat, your voice reduced to breathy, incoherent gasps. The pressure is perfect, the lack of air sending your senses spiraling as he pounds into you with reckless abandon, fingers relentless against your puffy clit.

It’s enough to coax your submission further, and he feels your slick walls start to quake around him. Your pussy flutters, gripping him so tightly it takes everything in him not to lose control right then.

“I—” You try to speak, but your words dissolve into an unintelligible cry as your orgasm slaps you right in the face.

“I’ve got you, baby,” Javier growls, his voice low and rough. He drives into you harder, faster, the head of his cock hitting that devastatingly deep spot that only he has been able to touch. Your eyes roll back, your cunt clenching him like a vice.

Your body trembles on the edge of euphoria and exhaustion. You lift your hand to tap out, but before you can, his own climax barrels through him like an angry bull.

His hips snap wildly as he spills into you. Hot spurts of cum fill you, thick and endless, his curses mixing with your cries as your body trembles uncontrollably.

The second he loosens his hold on your throat, air rushes back into your lungs, and with it comes a blinding, second wave of pleasure.

“Ah—fuck me!” you yelp, your body spasming as an intense pressure bursts inside you. Liquid heat sprays out of your pussy, soaking his lap and the carpet beneath you.

You fall forward, about to collapse, but Javier catches you, holding you close for a moment, his own body shaking as he fights to catch his breath.

The sticky warmth of your release and his cum pooling between your thighs has him grinning like a devil. “Fuckin’ hell, baby,” he pants, pulling out slowly, hissing at the tight drag of your walls around him.

Gently, he lowers you forward, your cheek pressing against the soft carpet. He goes to caress you, but your body twitches, still caught in the aftershocks, and you let out a weak, incoherent whimper.

“Too much. Don’t touch me. Don’t even look at me.”

He laughs, a low, heady sound, still lightheaded from his own climax. “Whatever you say,” he mutters, reaching for the camera. He adjusts the viewfinder, pointing it at your wrecked body bent over in front of the fireplace.

“C’mon, nena,” he coaxes. “Roll over for me. Gotta get a good shot of my cum dripping out of this perfect pussy.”

His vulgar words make your clit tingle but you know you can’t go for another round right now. Or any time soon, really.

With a soft huff, you roll onto your back, spreading your legs wide despite the exhaustion weighing down your limbs. Tears of pleasure still cloud your vision as you gaze up at him, your chest rising and falling with ragged breaths.

The camera captures everything—your swollen, glistening folds, the obscene trail of his cum trickling from your hole, evidence of how thoroughly he’s claimed you.

A lewd gurgling sound fills the air as the thick, creamy fluid bubbles out of you, sliding down to smear across your puckered entrance.

Javier is transfixed, his cock twitching despite his exhaustion. The urge to stuff his spend back into you with his fingers is almost overwhelming, but he reels it in. You’ve tapped out, and he respects your limits.

“So fucking hot,” he murmurs, his voice reverent as he watches. “Blow a kiss to the camera, baby.”

You smile weakly, giggling through your exhaustion. Licking your lips slowly, you pucker up and blow a kiss toward the lens, finishing with a playful, fucked-out wink.

The action is pure lust and sweetness combined, and he lets out a satisfied hum before finally stopping the recording.

“My girl, you did so well,” Javier murmurs, his voice soft and full of admiration. His praise seeps into your skin like balm, soothing you with the warmth of his presence.

He reaches for the couch pillows and the throw blanket, crafting a cozy nest right there on the floor by the fire. 

He doesn’t care that you’re both sticky with sweat and the remnants of your passion— all he cares about is making you comfortable.

Feeling the fog of pleasure begin to lift, you roll onto your side, your body aching in the best way possible, reaching for him instinctively.

Javi doesn’t hesitate; he scoops you up with ease, settling you on his chest. Your head rests between his pecs, rising and falling with his steady breaths. His calloused fingers trail up and down your naked back, a calming rhythm that lulls you into serenity.

“I can’t believe I squirted,” you admit, your voice muffled against his chest. “Isn’t that…you know…piss? Shouldn’t we be in the shower right now?”

The question pulls a laugh from deep within him, a sound so rich and full that it vibrates through his chest and onto your cheek. “Eh,” he says, shrugging lazily. “Doesn’t really matter. What I do know is that I’m so damn proud of you, baby. I know the tape is goin’ to be fuckin’ gold.” His tone drips with adoration, each word laced with pride.

“But if it makes you feel better, we can always get back in the tub.”

You hum in response, nuzzling into the curve of his chest and letting your lips wander, pressing soft kisses over his golden skin. “That sounds really good, actually,” you murmur, your voice still laced with a dreamy haze. “But I don’t think I can walk.”

He lets out another laugh, his arms tightening around you. “I can carry you,” he offers, ever the gentleman, even now.

“Or,” you counter with a playful grin, trailing kisses up to his collarbone and then his jaw, “we could stay here, take a quick power nap by the fire, and then…” You pause, your lips brushing his as you whisper, “I can ride you.”

Javier groans, the sound low and full of mock exasperation. “You’re definitely trying to kill me.”

Your laughter mingles with his as you capture his lips in a kiss, slow and unhurried. The world outside fades away, leaving only the two of you entwined by the warmth of the fire. His hands cradle your face as yours slide into his hair, fingers weaving through the dark strands.

The kiss deepens, turning languid and exploratory, a perfect blend of tenderness and desire.

With you in his arms, he feels whole, like every piece of you was made to fit into his. Time seems to stretch and stop, the crackling fire and the soft hum of your breaths the only soundtrack to your moment.

Here, in his embrace, you’re not just his lover; you’re his everything.

i have a tag list for my works here, so if you're interested— pls check it out 🖤

🏷️ : @almostempty . @thundermartini . @auteurdelabre . @pepperstories . @greenwitchfromthewoods . @pedrohoe04 . @natalieispunk . @thewisesalmon . @bitchesuntitled . @puddles221b . @swankyorange . @bbyanarchist . @thottiewinemom . @heyhihello-4771 . @danaehldy . @sunflowerfive . @libre-sol . @harriedandharassed . @untamedheart81 . @moel-jiller . @honeyedmiller . @alexxavicry . @oldenoughtoknowbettersstuff . @almodovarispunk . @southernbe . @readingiskeepingmegoing . @pedrito-is-punk7 . @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal . @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 . @lover-of-books-and-tea . @mysterious-moonstruck-musings . @yourmommycallsmemommy . @larascorneroftheworld . @letsmeetintheafterglow . @lunatiquess . @myownwholewildworld . @pasc4lfuzz . @sjc7542 . @almostfoxglove . @shy-taylorsversion . @theredvelvetbitch . @xxbadchoicexx . @lumpatto . @haylee-e . @guelyury . @doblasftcisco . @ashhlsstuff . @kluvspedro . @goodvibesonly421 .

[misctf]

What do you think about that idea?

A homophonic nerd who hates christmas. Get a present of the local frats and turns into a new member of the frats and celebrating Christmas by getting fucked by his new bros or/and fuck them.

Jeremy groans as he hears aggressive knocking at his door. Maybe if he ignores them, they'll leave. But after a few more minutes, the aggressive knocking returns. He looks up from his chemistry textbook and sighs.

“Its finals season, don't people have better stuff to do? He grumbles as he walks and opens the door, “This better be good.” He mumbles, but as he opens the door, his eyes narrow.

Jeremy glares at the burly fraternity brothers standing on his doorstep- half naked despite the cold. Their obnoxious Christmas caroling grating on his nerves. 

“Can't you see I'm trying to study?” he snaps, crossing his arms over his thin chest.

The frat boys' smirks falter momentarily at Jeremy's harsh tone. They shift uncomfortably, seemingly surprised by the reaction. One of them, clearly the ringleader, steps forward.

“Hey, chill out man! We were just trying to spread some holiday cheer.” he says, attempting a grin.

His biceps flex as he crosses his arms, mirroring Jeremy's posture. The others snicker behind him, their eyes roving over Jeremy's slender frame. 

“Yeah, you could use a little 'cheer' yourself, nerd.” another one sneers.

“Fuck off 'bros'.” Jeremy mocks, “Don't you have anything better to do? Maybe get drunk and give each other bro-jobs?” He smirks, clearly proud of his taunting.

The frat boys exchange angry glances, but their leader holds up a hand, silencing them. He turns back to Jeremy, a smirk playing on his lips. 

“Alright, alright, let's not escalate things here.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out something small, holding it out to Jeremy, “Here, consider this a peace offering.” It's a gingerbread man, intricately decorated to resemble a buff, muscular figure, “I hope you appreciate the effort we put into this.” the frat boy says, chuckling, “We figured since you're so into...books and shit, maybe a little holiday baking would brighten your day.”

The others snicker, but there's an undercurrent of tension still lingering in the air. Jeremy narrows his eyes suspiciously at the gingerbread man, but takes it. After an awkward and begrudging thank you, he slams the door in their face. Jeremy slams the door shut, annoyed at the interruption. He sets the gingerbread man down on his desk, eyeing it skeptically. It's ridiculous how detailed the decoration is, almost like a caricature of muscle-bound masculinity.

“What a joke.” He mutters.

Jeremy picks up the gingerbread man, examining it closer. Despite himself, he feels a pang of hunger. He breaks off a leg and pops it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. There's a sweetness to it, but also a savory depth that's surprisingly satisfying.

“Huh, not bad. Maybe those assholes actually know how to bake.” He chuckles at the thought of burly frat bros baking together.

Jeremy barely notices the subtle tingling sensation starting in his legs. At first, it's almost imperceptible - a slight heaviness, a tightening of the skin. He absentmindedly rubs his thigh. As he continues munching on the gingerbread man’s legs, the sensations intensify in his lower extremities. Muscles begin to swell and thicken beneath the surface of his skin, straining against the fabric of his jeans. The denim stretches taut, creaking softly as it struggles to contain the rapid growth. His calves bulge outward, transforming from a lean, wiry shape into a thick, corded mass. Veins pulse visibly along its length, prominent and throbbing. Higher up, Jeremy's thighs begin to balloon, expanding into a formidable pillars of raw power. His quadriceps and hamstrings hypertrophy at an alarming rate, bunching and rippling beneath his skin.

“Fuck.” He mumbles, shifting uncomfortably on his new pillowy bubble butt, “I should move around a bit.”

He stands up to stretch and takes a bite out of the gingerbread man’s torso. As he does, he feels a surge of energy course through his body. His stomach rumbles hungrily, craving more of the sweet, spicy flesh. He devours the rest of the torso in greedy mouthfuls, savoring every morsel. With each bite, Jeremy's transformation accelerates. His midsection expands, the once-skinny waistline now a chiseled expanse of defined abs. Each ripple and groove is etched into his skin like the finest marble sculpture. His chest broadens, pectoral muscles growing dense and powerful. His nipples harden into pert, masculine buds, standing proudly atop newly formed pecs. Shoulders widen, trapezius muscles bulging with strength.

Still unaware, Jeremy's hands tremble slightly as he brings the gingerbread man's arm to his mouth. He bites into the soft dough, feeling the texture melt between his teeth. The flavor explodes across his tongue, a perfect blend of spices and sweetness. As he chews, Jeremy's arms undergo a dramatic metamorphosis. Biceps and triceps swell, growing massive and imposing. Forearms thicken, veins popping out in stark relief. Wrists broaden, tendons standing out prominently as they anchor the gigantic muscles above. With each swallow, Jeremy's sense of balance and coordination deteriorate further. He stumbles backwards, dropping the gingerbread man's head onto the floor with a soft clatter. 

“Oh fuck!” He falls backwards and lands on his ass with a loud thump.

At that moment, his clothes rip from the strain of his muscles, falling away from his chiseled frame. Jeremy gasps when he sees his new figure. He surveys his new physique, hands reflexively reaching out to touch the ridged planes of his chest. His fingers trace the defined edges of his pectorals, marveling at the sheer size and hardness of the muscle beneath. Beneath the gaze of his own awestruck reflection, Jeremy becomes acutely aware of the substantial bulge straining against his underwear. He shifts uncomfortably, feeling the fabric dig into the newfound mass. With a sharp tug, the elastic waistband gives way, allowing the underwear to slip down his thighs and pool around his ankles.

“Holy shit... what did that gingerbread man do to me?” Jeremy gasps as he stares at his growing erection and he instinctively wraps a meaty hand around his cock.

A shiver runs down his spine as he realizes the full extent of his transformation - not just physical, but also primal and instinctual. His mind reels, struggling to comprehend the sudden shift in his desires and needs. Jeremy's gaze drifts to the remnants of the gingerbread man lying on the floor. The head, still intact, beckons to him with an unsettling allure. A part of his mind screams at him to resist, warning of unknown consequences, but the allure of the sweet, spicy treat proves too strong to ignore. With a sense of trepidation, Jeremy plucks up the gingerbread head. He brings it to his lips, hesitating for a moment before taking a tentative bite and then devouring it. The flavors explode across his taste buds, a potent cocktail of sugar, spice, and something darker, more primal.

“Oh fuck...” He grunts as he feels a pressure in his skull.

His features begin to shift, contorting into a more brutish, angular visage. His nose flattens, becoming wider and more prominent. Cheekbones sharpen, giving his face a harder, more chiseled appearance. His eyes, once a mirror into his sharp mind, become dull, gleaming with confidence and arrogance. A cocky smirk spreads across his lips, drawing attention to a set of perfectly straight, pearly white teeth.

“Oh yeah, I'm fucking beast mode now!” Jeremy boasts to no one in particular, admiring his reflection in the mirror, “Look at these guns!”

He flexes his massive biceps, watching in awe as the muscles ripple beneath his skin. He gives them each a kiss. His ego inflates with each passing second, replacing any semblance of humility or empathy.

“You know what? Fuck school. Who needs books when you've got a body like this?” Jeremy scoffs, kicking aside his textbooks and notes. “Time to live life to the fuckin’ fullest.”

A knock at the door pulls Jeremy away from his self-indulgence. He quickly grabs a pair of his old red briefs, which strain against his ass and cock, and strides over to the door. The frat boys who had earlier disrupted his study session stare wide-eyed at the towering, musclebound behemoth now standing before them. But their silence quickly turns into snickers and low whistles as they take in Jeremy's exaggerated physique and the prominent bulge straining against his skimpy underwear.

“Well, well, well, looks like that’s the way the cookie crumbled.” one of them jokes, elbowing his buddies and grinning wickedly. 

The others chuckle and high-five each other, clearly amused by their friend's successful prank. The ringleader steps forward, patting Jeremy's shoulder roughly.

“Welcome to the team, big guy! Now that you've got the right look, why don't you join us for some holiday cheer?”

Jeremy’s dull mind processes the request, and he grins as they hand him a Santa hat. And despite the cold, he joins his new brothers in their caroling. Belting out the words to various songs. Enjoying the looks of pure lust as he shows off his masculinity. As they walk back to the frat house, Jeremy felt a firm hand on his ass and feels the lustful eyes of his new frat bros on him.

“I think it might be time to frost our gingerbread man.” One of his bros snickers, adjusting his bulge, “You ready Jer?”

Jeremy's grin widens, his dull mind now consumed by a single-minded desire to please and impress his new fraternity brothers. He nods eagerly, a spark of excitement igniting in his chest at the prospect. He licks is lips, imaging their cocks in it- his ass pulsing with need. Yeah, he was going to give them a Christmas they’d never forget.

[cinnaleaf]

「 Holidate | A Very Merry Footballer Ficmas 」

summary: you agree to fake date trent to save his image during the holiday season, but the lines on the contract start to blur | MDNI 18+

warnings: fake dating trope, teasing, fingering, unprotected sex, praise kink, dirty talk, alcohol consumption, language, smau, lighthearted angst, banter, kinda chaotic, **extended fam briefly mentioned are fictional 🎅🏾: sleigh got stuck in traffic so i’m late, forgive me | finale of my ficmas series wc: ~13.8k

You were halfway through your second cup of coffee, scrolling through emails like you usually did in the morning, when a peculiar email popped up.

From: Tyler Alexander-Arnold

Subject: Collaboration Proposal

You squinted at the name, thinking it sounded vaguely familiar but you weren’t sure why until it clicked. Trent Alexander-Arnold’s older brother. The footballer. You groaned, already feeling like there was going to be utter nonsense attached to the message. Athletes in your DMs and emails were nothing new, but they usually wanted shoutouts or some ‘collab’ that was a thinly veiled way of sliding into your messages for a hookup. You weren’t about to entertain a guy who thought sending his club’s match tickets was romantic.

But curiosity got the best of you:

Hi Y/N, I hope this email finds you well. My name is Tyler and I manage my brother, Trent Alexander-Arnold. PLG has followed your work for a while and we’re impressed by your authentic and engaging brand. I wanted to reach out with a unique proposal that I believe could be mutually beneficial. Trent is looking to shift his public image after recent media challenges, and we believe a collaborative effort with someone like you could help him accomplish this. The idea involves a short term arrangement posing as Trent’s girlfriend during the holidays with the possibility of extending the partnership into next year. We understand your time and reputation are valuable and will ensure all aspects of this arrangement align with your standards. Compensation and details are attached for your review. I look forward to hearing from you. Best regards, Tyler Alexander-Arnold

You stared at the screen, mouth slightly open. You had your fair share of wild pitch ideas before, but this was...new. A footballer fake boyfriend? For what? And why you?? You weren’t even the type – at least not for the girlfriend aesthetic they usually went for.

You scrolled down to the attached terms and your jaw dropped at the six figure amount of total compensation, and that wasn’t even including the performance bonus. The number was so pretty you wanted to print it out just to stare at it physically. A six month contract to ‘date’ Trent with a minimum of public appearances and the ability to control your own content. They were basically handing you all the creative freedom you demanded so often in every partnership you were ever a part of. But your pride was screaming at you. You built your brand on being authentic. Your followers trusted you because you weren’t fake. They would be able to sniff out any bullshit from you in milliseconds. You didn’t know if you could play it off that well.

Just as you were in your thoughts, doom scrolling through Instagram, you landed on a post about Trent. 

SpillTheBeansUK: Trent Alexander-Arnold spotted partying at 4 am while Liverpool struggles on the pitch. Distraction much? 

mintleaf: WHERE the FUCK is TYLER

realmrsTAA: he’s just having fun you miserable lot. leave my man alone 😤

YNWA_forever: he’s out clubbing while salah’s carrying the club? embarrassing look as vice cap

oh_shes_nosy: 4 am? with who though?? 👀 don’t let it be another ig baddie omg

ShutUpAndDefend: can’t defend on pitch but can defend a bottle of liquor fuck this guy

Footiebro: bruh just stay home and train. nobody asked for this shit wtf is his problem

DramaLlama12: this man said ‘defense’? never heard of her. shots at 4am? say lesssss

tumblrinagurl: need him to be so serious he’s messing up my fanfic posting schedule, follow the fucking script what the fuck

FPLQueen: this is exactly why i took him out of my fantasy team weeks ago. this is a big L

girl_shutup: not my man getting roasted while he’s just living his life 😭 y’all are haters fr

Shady_LFC: pov: you’re just a local lad from liverpool who wants to vibe

The entirety of the comments section was a battlefield. You sighed and toggled back to the email. It wasn’t your business what kind of PR storm he landed himself in, but if his camp was offering this type of money, he must’ve really fucked up.

Two days later, you found yourself in Manchester, sitting across from Tyler in a pristine meeting room at PLG. The room was sleek with chairs that looked expensive but were so uncomfortable. Tyler was polite but he didn’t look all that professional for someone who was supposed to be managing a high profile footballer.

“Uh, thanks for coming” he started, handing you a glossy folder. “I know it’s unconventional but I really think you’re the right person for this kind of arrangement.”

“Unconventional?” you raised an eyebrow, flipping through the paperwork. “Mate, this is unhinged. I’ve never had a request like this before.”

Tyler smiled sheepishly but just as he was about to respond, the door opened and Trent sauntered in. God forbid he enter the room like a normal person, he just had to be loud and obnoxious about it. He looked taller than you expected him to look, and he wore a tracksuit, totally unfashionable but it worked for him somehow. He nodded at Tyler before looking at you with an expression that was somewhere between bored and mildly annoyed.

“So this is her then, yeah?” Trent asked, as if you weren’t literally in the same room as him.

You leaned back in your chair, unimpressed. “And this is the guy who can’t keep his head on straight?”

Trent’s lips twitched as if he wanted to smile but refused to give you the satisfaction of it. Tyler exhaled, sensing there was likely more chaos to come from this little arrangement.

“Let’s stay focused” Tyler said firmly, pulling up the digital presentation he prepared. “The plan is to recalibrate Trent’s image and make him appear more serious and stable. Y/N’s audience aligns well with that narrative and her credibility can strengthen the likelihood of people believing this.”

“Sounds great” you said while closing the folder. “What’s in it for me though? Besides the headache.”

Trent snorted at your statement which earned him a glare from Tyler. “You’re getting paid aren’t you??”

“Trent.” Tyler replied sharply, then turned back to you. “There’s significant compensation and full creative control over your content. You also have the chance to build a connection with a large audience outside of your typical demographic. PLG will manage all the logistics and you don’t have to lift a finger unless you really want to.”

It was a good pitch, a lot better than you expected, but Trent’s attitude was already grating you. “I have one condition.” You snapped the folder shut dramatically and Tyler gestured for you to continue.

“I need your brother to at least pretend he’s interested in this. If he looks like he hates me in every picture my followers will clock it easily.”

Trent leaned back in his chair, smirking. “Relax. I’ll play nice.”

“You better” you shot back, grabbing your purse. “I’m not here to save your ass mate. I’m only doing it because the money is too good to pass up. And I actually know how to curate an image unlike you.”

Trent scoffed, rolling his eyes at your jab. “Curate an image? By doing what? Posting oat milk lattes and sunsets?”

“Try millions of people who actually care about what I say and what I buy” you fired back, standing up to adjust your bag strap. “But you? You’re lucky if anyone even reads your dry ass captions.”

Tyler pinched the bridge of his nose like he was deeply regretting his life choices. “Okay..enough. Both of you.” He turned to Trent with a warning expression. “Y/N is here to help you and we’re paying her a lot of money to make sure you don’t turn into a liability.”

Trent rubbed his hand over his forehead and crossed his arms, his smirk still in place. “Got it. I’ll be the perfect fake boyfriend.”

“You’re already bad at it” you muttered under your breath.

“Okay stop.” Tyler interrupted before Trent could come back with anything else. He stood up, motioning for you to sit back down. “We’ll need to go over specifics so you don’t mess up anything when this starts.”

“Right. Because I’m the one that’s gonna be a problem.” you answered back dryly, making Trent chuckle quietly. Tyler pulled up another presentation on screen with multiple bullet points and mocked up photos. “This is how this is gonna work. We’re going to start small with discreet hints like stories and maybe some pictures while you’re in Liverpool for the holidays. Make sure it’s subtle. Y/N, if your followers are eagle eyed we need to make sure it’s not too obvious at first.”

You nodded, already mentally calculating how to stage something that was lowkey but believable. “Got it. But what about him?” You jerked your thumb toward Trent, who looked like he would rather be anywhere but in the meeting room.

“He’ll match your posts,” Tyler said. “Simple stuff only though, like sharing ambiguous shots. Nothing too heavy.”

Trent scoffed and cocked his brow. “So what? Like a blurry picture of my trainers and call it a day?”

“Oh my god” you muttered, shaking your head. “You literally have no sauce. None. You’re so boring.”

“Moving on…” Tyler cut in before another argument could break out. “You’ll spend Christmas and Boxing Day with us at our family’s house in Liverpool. So you have to play the part for social media and for our parents, Marcel, and family friends. I’ll be the only one in on this.”

Trent frowned, not liking that idea at all. “Do they really need to be involved?”

“Yes.” Tyler answered matter of factly. “Because if we can’t convince them, then there’s no chance anyone else will believe it either.”

You raised your hand like you were in a classroom. “Mmk, quick question. What’s the backstory? How did we meet...how long have we been fake dating?”

Tyler pulled up a slide titled ‘Backstory’ and you glanced over it quickly, wanting to complain because it literally looked like he stole the idea from a girl blogger on the internet.

“You met at a private influencer event in London–”

Trent interrupted, “What’s an influencer event?”

You blinked at him. “Are you that fucking dumb?? There’s no way…”

“It’s like the stuff you post” Tyler deadpanned. “Clothes, photographers, influencers, models. Anyway...you hit it off, exchanged numbers and started seeing each other about four months ago and kept it lowkey because you wanted privacy.”

“Four months?” Trent questioned while frowning. “Isn’t that a little short?”

“Not when you’re a serial dating Libra…” you shot back. “And honestly the less time we pretend to have been together, the less likely we are to mess up the details.”

Tyler nodded. “Exactly that. But you still need to act like you’ve been dating for months. Know each other’s habits, inside jokes, favorite things.”

You tilted your head at Trent, narrowing your eyes. “Right. What’s your favorite food Trent?”

He looked like you asked him for the code to his house. “Um..protein I guess?”

“What? That’s not—I know you’re fucking lying” You slumped back in your chair, rubbing your temples from the regret. “This is going to be a disaster.”

Tyler ignored the tension and instead moved on. “After the holidays you’ll need to continue with the occasional post for the next month..just enough to keep the story alive online, but you don’t have to be seen with him publicly at all until February. We’ll do a hard launch in February with photos together and maybe a public appearance. After that, just a few photos online here and there.”

“And then we break up just in time for hot girl summer” you added, pretending it was a joke but it really wasn’t. You weren’t trying to let this affect your time on a yacht under the sun in Capri.

Trent smirked. “Hot girl summer??”

You gawked at him. “Meg the– wait are you serious? Are you on the internet at all??”

Tyler cut in with a firm voice. “Can you both shut up for two seconds? This will only work if it’s convincing. That means no fighting in front of people. Especially in public.” You rolled your eyes but stayed quiet, glancing over at Trent who was scrolling through his phone under the table. Probably googling himself knowing him.

After the meeting was over, you left the building with a heavy sigh that felt like it came straight from the soul. You couldn’t believe you accepted the proposal and were now under the contractual obligation to deal with Trent and his extensive attitude for the next six months. The cold air hit your face as you stepped into the car park and you pulled your purse closer as if to shield yourself from whatever chaos Trent was bound to bring in these next couple of months.

The sound of footsteps behind you made you groan internally. Speak of the devil.

“You always this fun or is it all for me?” His voice was smug, his accent rolled the words off in a way that made you have to pause just to think about what he said and that grated your nerves already. When you turned around, his hands were shoved into the pockets of his joggers, leaning against a black car. Of course he followed you out.

“Only for you mate. Consider it your welcome package..or an early Christmas gift” you deadpanned while still fumbling with your purse.

“Lucky me.” Somehow he made it sound like he meant it. Maybe he wasn’t all that clueless..or maybe he was just fucking with you.

“Don’t push it.” You yanked open the door of the hired car waiting for you, already done with his small talk.

“It won’t be so bad” he smirked, like it was some kind of joke to him. Like he wasn’t the one who needed this arrangement to clean up his trainwreck of an image.

“Just act like you’ve been somewhere before” You paused before you slid into the car. “Show up, smile, and don’t say anything stupid. That’s all I need from you. No more, no less.” You swung your legs in and reached for the door, about to close it, but his voice stopped you.

“Wait! What’s your favorite food?”

Your hand froze mid reach and you looked up to give him an unimpressed look. “Why?”

He shrugged, far too pleased with himself for someone whose job it was to not piss you off. “I think I should know. Seeing as I’m pretending to be the love of your life and all.”

The sheer audacity of this man was maddening. “Love of my life?? Please” you snorted. “I’m only mildly okay with you right now. I tolerate you. That’s it.”

“Ok. Fine. So what is it then?” he pressed, enjoying the way you rolled your eyes at nearly everything coming out of his mouth.

“Shrimp fried rice” you snapped, yanking the door shut. Through the tinted window you saw him grin and you shook your head, slumping into your seat as the car pulled off. You weren’t sure if it was the money, the challenge, or the audacity of Trent that made you agree to any of this.

Whatever it was, you knew it was going to be the longest six months of your life.

You made it to Manchester two days early to ‘acclimate’ as Tyler called it, but in all actuality you needed time to figure out how to make this situation feel less like reality TV. Posting subtle hints on Instagram was your first step. Just enough to start the speculation without turning everything into a circus. Your first story was a panoramic view of Manchester from your hotel room, where you left a cute caption about not being in London or Los Angeles for once. The comments rolled in nearly immediately. People wanted to know why you were in Manchester for the holidays, and whether it was for a brand deal, or a new beau. Your next story was a picture of your luggage, strategically unzipped to show a small piece of a Liverpool scarf tucked inside. You didn’t even caption it, you just let everyone draw their own conclusions.

Later that week, you were in the passenger seat of Trent’s car as he drove the both of you to Liverpool. It was silent, but it wasn’t uncomfortable, the silence was just there. You had your airpods in, half tuned into a podcast, while he had one hand on the wheel and the other scrolling through a Spotify playlist, probably looking for some stupid Drake song to play.

“This is your plan then?” he asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

You pulled out one airpod and glanced at him. “What?”

“This instagram stuff.” He gestured toward your phone. “I saw your story. Not bad. Kind of dramatic though..don’t you think?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Says the one having a PR disaster so terrible he had get his brother to hire a fake girlfriend for him.”

Trent smirked, turning his eyes back to the road. “Ah, fair. But a Liverpool scarf is a lot. That’s gonna cause some shit.”

“That’s the entire point. My followers will be on it in minutes and by the time we show up at your parents’, half the internet will have think pieces about how we’re madly in love.”

“Madly in love?” He shook his head, laughing. “That’s overkill.”

You shrugged, looking through your camera roll for your next post. “I know what I’m doing. Trust me.”

The Alexander-Arnold house was exactly what you imagined. It wasn’t obnoxiously huge but it was comfortable and cozy. The home’s exterior was decorated with Christmas lights and a wreath hung on the front door that looked handmade. 

You stood on the doorstep with bated breath. Trent was next to you with his hands shoved in his pockets, as unbothered as ever. If he was nervous about selling this relationship to his family, it didn’t really show.

“Ready?” he asked with a faint smirk.

“Are you?” you cocked your brow. “I’m not the one who waited until two days ago to mention I existed.” Trent winced but didn’t respond and instead pressed the doorbell. You didn’t know why he did that considering he could’ve just walked in. Maybe he was nervous. Either way, him not taking the responsibility over the fact that his mum would probably clock both of you had you annoyed. The door opened shortly after and his mum stood there, all smiles and festive. There was a look in her eye that told you she wasn’t buying any of this nonsense from the start. “Oh! You must be Y/N!” she greeted warmly, stepping forward and pulling you into a hug before you could even say hello. The hug felt genuine enough, but it also had that undertone of ‘lets see whats really going on here’.

You blinked, trying not to overthink things. “Hiii, so nice to meet you Mrs. Alex–”

“Dianne. Just call me Dianne” she interrupted, pulling back but keeping her hands on your arms while looking at you. “No need to be formal. You’re family for the holidays.”

Family. Right. That’s what this was. You were Trent’s ‘girlfriend’. You forced a smile, ignoring the way your stomach was turning as a result of her response. Trent’s dad appeared behind his mum and he gave you a firm handshake, but his expression was less warm and more reserved.

“Welcome. Glad you’re here to join us” he said simply.

“Thanks for having me” you replied, trying to keep your tone polite but still warm.

Marcel was leaning against the staircase in the hall with his arms crossed, displaying a shit eating grin plastered across his face. “So” he began, dragging the word out as he straightened up and walked over with a stroll. “You’re the random girlfriend that’s popped up out of nowhere.”

You felt your pulse spike but you forced yourself to laugh. “Yeah..I guess that’s me.”

“Hmm” he hummed, tilting his head. “Funny you’ve never been mentioned before until two days ago. Not even once.”

Your smile tightened and you glanced at Trent, hoping he would swoop in and save the day with something clever but he just stood there looking like he was vaguely amused by the whole thing.

“Marcel, don’t be rude,” Dianne warned lightly.

“I’m not!” Marcel kissed his teeth. “I’m just saying it’s mad he’s never mentioned her and now she’s here for Christmas. I don’t know this girl..never seen her a day in my life.” He turned back to you with a cheeky grin. “How’d you meet? Paris? Milan? Ibiza??”

You really wanted to knock Trent upside his head at this point but instead you gave a sweet smile. “At a private influencer event actually.”

Dianne laughed, knowing her son wasn’t serious enough to attend a private event like that. She looked at him, trying to figure out if all of this was bullshit. Marcel didn’t even try to hide his disbelief. “Yeah, sure. What was the event called?”

Your stomach dropped and you went wide eyed. You could’ve googled literally anything about Trent’s past couple of months to make this more believable, but you didn’t and clearly neither had he. You paused to think for a little bit, which was just long enough for Marcel to attack.

“Yeah that’s what I thought” he smirked.

“Alright that’s enough” Dianne interrupted, but it was clear she was waiting for that answer as well. “Marcel leave the poor girl alone.”

Michael cleared his throat and stepped in. “Dinner’s in an hour.”

By the time Christmas dinner rolled around, you sat down next to Trent, almost too distracted by the food to notice the tension brewing at the table, but then his mum’s voice cut through your distraction like a blade wrapped in sugar. 

“So Y/N..” She handed you a gravy boat with a fake smile. “How long have you two been together?”

“Four months” you answered with ease, remembering the backstory presentation. You looked at Trent for a brief moment to make sure he was following along.

“Three” Trent said through a mouthful of roasted potatoes while not even looking up.

You scrunched your face, blinking back disbelief. “Four.”

“No it’s three” he insisted, frowning as he reached for some rice. “September, right?”

“August” you corrected him through clenched teeth and kicked him under the table. His fork froze mid air and he finally looked at you. 

“August?”

“Yes” you hissed, trying to keep the forced smile on your face while glancing back at his mum, who was watching like a hawk. “The end of August.”

Trent shrugged, and went back to eating the food from his plate. “That’s basically September.”

“It’s really not.”

Dianne’s eyes darted between both of you with a smile still there, but curiosity very obviously piqued. “Strange..” she started lightly. “I don’t remember hearing about you in August or September. He didn’t mention you until just a few days ago.” Marcel almost choked on his drink from laughing, and even their dad chuckled to himself before taking a sip of his drink.

“I didn’t want to jinx it that’s all” Trent said casually while leaning back in his chair, still popping food into his mouth.

You glared at him. “Jinx it?”

“Yeah” he smirked, looking at you. “Didn’t wanna rush things y’know?”

You bit down on the side of your cheek to keep from snapping at him. He wasn’t following the script at all. He was barely trying, mostly hoping to coast on charm like it would cover all the gaping holes in your ‘love’ story.

“Right…” Dianne slowly spoke while arching her brow just enough to make you feel nervous. “So where did this event happen again?”

“London” you answered fast before Trent found a way to ruin that too, but he answered at the same time as you, with a completely different answer.

“Paris.” 

Marcel snorted into his drink, laughing so hard he started bumping the table and made the cutlery rattle. Across from you, their mum had a smile still on her face but the look on her face drilled right into your badly built backstory. She didn’t say anything, but you knew she had more questions when she eyed Michael with a knowing glance. You turned to Trent, narrowing your eyes at him and gave him another kick under the table that landed on his shin. He jumped forward and dropped his fork on his plate.

“London” you repeated in a tight voice with a smile that was more of a grimace. “We met in London at the influencer event.”

Trent nodded, rubbing his shin but still smirking, not taking any of this seriously. “Yeah London. The city with all the..... influencer stuff.”

Marcel nearly slid out of his chair from failing to keep his laughs at an appropriate volume at the table. Dianne looked at him with a warning but it didn’t bother him in the slightest. He leaned forward and rested his chin on his hand with an entertained look on his face. “Oh yeah?” he said grinning. “Since you’re so in love, what’s her favorite food then?”

You could see the gears in Trent’s head trying their very best to come up with an answer while he chewed his food. “Uhhh....” He drew the word out for so long you wanted to answer for him. “Shrimp fried rice?” You let out a soft exhale, surprised he actually listened in the car park. Marcel wasn’t impressed and tipped his head back to cackle.

“Took you long enough to answer.”

By this point, the entire family was trying to hide their laughs from the absurdity of the situation. Their dad even cracked a smile and shook his head as he passed a plate of roasted veggies to Marcel.

“Trent” Dianne dabbed her mouth with a napkin, still smiling. “You’re absolutely hopeless when it comes to relationships.”

“I’m not hopeless” he contested, glaring at Marcel who was still in stitches over the whole ordeal.

“Oh, love” you said sweetly, leaning in close enough to lower your voice. “You really are.”

He tilted his head, cutting his eyes at you but he had a playful look in his eye at the same time. “Careful. You’re supposed to be in love with me, remember?”

You smirked, raising your glass like you were doing a toast. “I must be a really great actress then.”

The sound of the door opening saved you from whatever dumb thing Trent was about to say. Tyler walked in a casual rush, juggling a reusable tote bag and his phone. “Sorry I’m late.” He slid in the chair next to Michael. His wife wasn’t far behind and had a baby on her hip, smiling to make up for Tyler’s disheveled state.

“Tyler!” Dianne exclaimed, momentarily distracted by her eldest child. “We were just about to have dessert. There’s plenty of food left, let me fix you a plate.”

“No need” Tyler replied while waving her off with a smile. His gaze shifted to you first, and then Trent. “You two alright?”

“Great.” Trent answered, dragging the word out in a very unbothered tone.

“Fantastic” you added, side eyeing Trent.

“Good..” Tyler clapped his hands together. “Because I brought something to make this whole thing even better.” From the tote bag, Tyler pulled out two neatly wrapped presents and handed one to both of you under the table with a wink.

“What’s this?” you asked in a whisper, frowning while trying to discreetly look at the tag.

“Just go with it,” Tyler whispered back. “It strengthens the story. Just act surprised.”

Trent shook the box in his hands like it came from the North Pole, fresh off the sleigh. “What is it?” he asked, too loud for the covert operation Tyler planned.

Marcel’s eyes lit up immediately. “Hey, what’s all that?”

“It’s nothing” you glared at Trent and then Marcel. “Just something we brought for each other.”

Dianne’s attention turned back to you and you felt her sizing up the gifts that had randomly appeared all of a sudden. “How thoughtful…”

You reluctantly tore into the wrapping paper. Inside, there was a Diptyque gift set and a pair of designer sunglasses from Jacques Marie Mage that were so exclusive they had yet to hit most influencer’s feeds. It was perfectly on brand and very believable. Trent unwrapped his gift with the same flair of a child. Inside was a custom bag from Goyard with his initials engraved, and a high tech Hypervolt massage gun that hadn’t been released yet.

“Nice” Trent exclaimed while holding both up like it was a trophy. “You have good taste baby.”

Baby?

The table paused collectively. Dianne’s eyes froze on both of you, Marcel peered at you over the rim of his glass, Michael leaned back with a curious look on his face. Tyler gave you a subtle thumbs up from across the table and you wanted to strangle him.

“Baby?” you repeated in a confused tone. “Where did that come from?”

“Just felt right. Don’t you think?” Trent shrugged with a smirk.

You clenched your teeth, glancing over at the baby that was now side eyeing you too. You gave her a sweet smile and she frowned at you more. “Oh it’s perfect.”

Michael broke the silence with a hearty laugh. “Well..it’s nice to see you two so close.”

“Oh, we’re close” you said quickly, giving Trent a look that could kill.

“Basically inseparable” he added, winking as he set the gifts on the table. Tyler cleared his throat to try and get the conversation back on track. “So, Mum..what’s for dessert?”

Thank god Dianne didn’t press any further after Tyler’s distraction, but you knew this was far from over. When no one was watching, Trent leaned toward you in a low and smug voice. “Relax. You’re doing great.”

You didn’t even bother looking at him because you were so annoyed.

“Stick to the script or I swear I’ll throw one of these Diptyque candles at your head.”

Trent chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Looking forward to it…..baby.”

By the time dinner was over, you walked upstairs to kick off your heels and Trent had already claimed the bathroom. You could hear the sound of running water and his terrible singing drifting through the door as you sat on the bed, laying out your carefully curated skincare routine: cleansing oil for your makeup removal, glycerin cleanser for moisture, red light therapy, centella toner, hyaluronic acid serum, eye serum, ceramidin moisturizer, a spritzer of atobarrier cream mist, and a sleeping lip mask. You lined them up on the table like little soldiers. When Trent finally came out of the shower, his towel was wrapped around his hips and he paused mid step, staring at your collection of bottles and jars.

“What the hell is all of that?” he asked, pointing with his toothbrush still in hand.

“It’s called flawless, glass skin” you shot back, reaching for the oil cleanser and heading to the bathroom. He leaned against the wall with a smirk. “You look like a chemist.”

“Don’t knock it til you try it” you ignored him as you massaged the oil cleanser into your skin. “This is why I look like this” you gestured to your face, “and you’re just...you know.”

Cute? He was cute. But there was no need to gas him up.

“Just what?”

“Nevermind.” you muttered, grabbing your face towel.

“Nah. Finish it. Go on” he teased, stepping gloser. “Already halfway there anyway.”

You glared at him. “If you don’t get out of my face…” Trent turned to adjust the towel around his hip and it slipped. The towel fell on the floor and his dick was in full display. Not bad honestly – thick with a slight curve that was...kind of aesthetically pleasing. Your mouth dropped before you could realize and you turned around so fast you almost knocked over a serum bottle.

“Oh my god! Trent!”

“What?” he asked, way too casual for someone who just flashed you. “It’s just skin. You’re acting like you’ve never seen one before.”

“Not the point!” you yelled, keeping your eyes firmly on the wall while he laughed. Eventually, he bent down to grab the towel and you could hear the smirk in his voice when he spoke again.

“Chill. Don’t act like you weren’t curious about it anyway. Gonna post my dick report anonymously online now?”

You turned back to glare at him now that he was safely wrapped back in the towel. “Please. I’m sure the girls you were with at 4am have already done that for you. Just..don’t let it happen again or I’m actually going to gouge my eyes out.”

He grinned at you, strolling over to the bed like he didn’t just traumatize you. “You’re dramatic. It’s cute.”

After the dick debacle, you climbed into bed, muttering under your breath about boundaries and respect. Trent flopped down next to you while scrolling through his phone without a care in the world.

“You’re actually so annoying” you said while setting up the perfect soft launch shot.

“Yeah, I’ve heard that one a few times,” he replied without looking up.

You ignored him to focus on the picture. It was supposed to be subtle, yet strategic: your skincare bottles glowed under the warm light from the lamp on the bedside table. In the background, Trent was slightly blurred from the setting, yet identifiable as he laid on the bed, legs crossed with his phone in one hand. The caption you added: ‘never let santa stop this slay, skincare always 🎄✨’. By the time you posted the story, your phone was already pinging because SpillTheBeansUK had posted it with a quickness.

SpillTheBeansUK: Who’s the mystery man in Y/N’s background? The skincare? Impeccable. The vibes? Cozy. But that ARM…who’s claiming it? 🕵️‍♀️

ynstan99: WAIT. WHO IS THAT IN THE BACKGROUND?

liverpoolbabe01: that’s defo liverpool and that’s trent’s fam’s house i recognize it bc my mum’s cousin’s best friend’s sister’s brother in law lives just across the road omg she bagged a footballer???

nosygirlfc: GIRL WE KNOW THAT’S TRENT WE’RE NOT DUMB

“What are you posting?” Trent asked, glancing over at your screen.

“Work” you replied simply, turning your phone toward him. “You see that? That’s how you soft launch.”

He studied the story for a bit and nodded while smirking. “Not bad. My turn.”

“You’re posting something?”

“Yup” he replied plainly, scrolling through his camera roll. Minutes later he posted a random photo of his feet propped on a coffee table next to the Christmas tree downstairs, with your phone case barely visible at the edge of the frame that he took earlier. His caption was lame and boring: Holiday vibes.

“That’s so pathetic” you shook your head.

“It’s subtle,” he argued, leaning back against the pillows.

“It’s lazy” you argued back, setting your phone off to the side.

“Lazy works.” He turned off the light, smirking. You rolled your eyes but didn’t respond and pulled the blanket up while turning away from him. The room went quiet before he broke the silence with his sarcasm just as you were starting to drift off to sleep. “Night, my love.”

--

You should’ve known Boxing Day wasn’t going to be about lounging around in pajamas and eating leftovers while scrolling through Instagram in peace. Not when Tyler was involved.

The man had sent a fully detailed itinerary to both of you at an ungodly hour that morning, outlining what he dramatically called ‘The Boxing Day Stroll’. The plan was to head to Manchester, walk around casually, and let the pre-arranged paparazzi do their thing. Of course it wouldn’t be all that easy because the man had already messed up damn near everything else in this facade.

“Just act natural” Tyler said while driving you over to the staged area. “And look like you can’t get enough of each other.” As the car pulled to a stop, you glanced over at Trent who was slouched in his seat, lazily scrolling through a dating app on his phone when he was supposed to be fake dating you.

“You do remember what we’re doing, right?” you asked.

“Walking” he said without looking up.

“Walking and looking like we’re deeply, madly, dangerously in love” you corrected him. “So don’t glare, or pout, and don’t say anything idiotic when someone asks what my name is.”

Trent finally looked up and his lips curved into that same infuriating smirk that pissed you off. “You’re very bossy, you know that?”

“And you’re very bad at following directions.” you argued back.

“Relax baby. I’ll be on my best behaviour.”

“Don’t call me baby” you muttered while pulling the car door open before he could irritate you anymore than he already had.

The city was packed with people entering storefronts, couples and families carrying bags from Boxing Day sales, and kids running around screaming from sugar rush. The holiday vibes were still in full force and picturesque enough for you to almost forget the cameras until you heard the sound of a shutter. You tensed and looked over to the source of the sound but Trent was still unbothered by it, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. He must’ve done these before. He annoyingly looked good even though all he did was throw on whatever was closest. Meanwhile, your fit was carefully curated and you wore a cute co-ord jumper over a wool coat, jeans, chocolate brown booties with a ribbed fold over knit fabric, a crossbody bag, and assorted jewelry from PR packages you received.

“Hold my hand” you whispered through clenched teeth with a frozen smile while passing a group of shoppers.

“What?”

“Hold. My. Hand.” you repeated with a forced expression while waving at an eager little boy who looked more interested in Trent than you. He rolled his eyes but reached for your hand. His palms were warm and comforting, annoyingly enough.

“Happy now?”

“Ecstatic,” you replied through your fake smile, tilting your head to pretend you were saying something cute instead of wanting to knock him upside his head. As you walked down the street, you could see the paps positioning themselves and whispering about different angles. You stopped in front of a shop window that had the most gorgeous jewellery and pretended to admire a necklace while pulling Trent closer.

“That one’s nice” you pointed to a random piece on display.

“Eh. Too shiny.” he glanced at it for all of two seconds.

You side eyed him. “Too shiny?? It’s a necklace.”

“Yeah. It looks tacky as fuck” he smirked.

“You think that’s tacky?” you cracked back. “You don’t even know how to dress. You have multiple pairs of the same trainers and tracksuits. That’s tacky.”

“Nah. They’re not all the same. Some of them are for athletic wear and the others are for leisure. There’s a difference.”

You almost laughed but quickly covered it with a cough instead. This man was ridiculous in his own way, and it was kind of endearing. When you turned the corner to a quieter street, the paps pretended to be hidden behind strategically placed stalls, waiting for the perfect shot. “Okay..” you muttered, leaning into Trent just enough to be believable. “Let’s just make this quick. Look at me like I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”

“Not too hard to do. You’re easy on the eyes.”

You lost your steps for a little and muttered, “Don’t overdo it,” brushing a nonexistent strand of hair from your face to behind your ear. “Just be calm.”

“I’m calm” he countered, lightly grazing his thumb over your knuckles. “You’re really committed to this shit, huh?”

“Well..your management team is paying me for this so yeah..I am” you tightly smiled. The cameras kept taking photos but you didn’t look toward them this time so that they could get exactly what was needed. The pictures hit the interwebs almost instantly and they were good. There was a candid of you mid laugh as Trent looked at you with a soft expression and melting grin. The second one was a close up of your hands intertwined while you leaned into him. The angle it was taken in made it look like you were sharing a private moment in the middle of a crowded street. The final picture was of Trent breaking off a piece of chocolate and feeding it to you while smiling in a cozy corner of a small shop. That wasn’t planned though, the joy from that was the real deal.

Before you made it back to the car, Tyler was already in the group chat, hyping both of you up. The pictures were reposted by SpillTheBeans too:

SpillTheBeansUK: Trent Alexander-Arnold spotted out with influencer Y/N L/N looking very cozy in Manchester on Boxing Day. Rumour has it, this love story started a few months ago...Any thoughts, Beans? 👀

ynstan99: sobbing, crying, throwing up. LOOK AT THEM

whatRUonabt: PR but i can’t even hate she’s gorg and they look good

reds4vr_: not convinced after that stunt he pulled last week during match. this is obviously fake news to get us off his back

chirpchirp: she’s just like me fr but i can hold his hand better footiebro: she’s leng but i hope bro isn’t serious he’s got too many distractions

giseleeee_: i give it 3 months before they announce a break up this is fake as fuck

plsbereal: imagine him holding her camera silently while she films vlogs and ootd’s i’m screaming 🥺

YNsquad: i can’t wait until she posts her next chaotic story and he’s in the background. confirm it queen!!

You scrolled through all the chaotic comments, shaking your head as Trent leaned in to peek at your screen. “What are they saying?” he asked, more invested than he wanted to let on.

“My fans think you’re obsessed with me” you held back your grin while showing him the comments.

“Nah. Other way around I think” he smirked, cocking his brow.

“Whatever” you rolled your eyes, still scrolling through your phone as the car pulled away. 

By the time midweek rolled around, you were wondering why you agreed to any of this. Sitting in the box at Anfield felt like you were walking into enemy territory. This was...cute, but not really your vibe. The launch strategy was working so Tyler insisted you show up to keep up this festive fairytale. The box was filled with WAGS and family members dressed up. You weren’t entirely out of place, your fit was eating theirs up rightfully so, but you still felt like a fish out of water every time someone looked at you for too long. You tried to make the most out of it and half an hour into the match, you posted a curated story of a video on the field, zoomed in just enough to show everyone on the field in clear view with the caption: not usually my vibe but i’ll allow it ⚽

The second slide was a chaotic close up of your freshly done nails in an almond shape holding a drink. The third was a shaky clip of the crowd cheering just as Trent assisted with a goal. It didn’t take long for you know who to start some mess.

SpillTheBeansUK: Y/N posts from the box after her Boxing Day photoshoot with TAA! Official or not? Let the investigations begin 🕵️‍♀️

loverpoolluvr: she’s just posting random stories. y’all are reading too much into it

overlibramen: how are you lot defending this? man has a new personality every week. let’s bffr

ynbabesfc: nails immaculate and she’s living rent free in your head and trent’s. COPE

sleuthysleuth: the timeline makes sense i’ve got the receipts and it tracks

trentsgfwannabe: i bet she doesn’t even like football and he deserves someone who can actually appreciate the sport

By the time you and Trent made it back to the house that night, you were drained to hell. The day was filled with forced smiles, cameras, and a lot of online chaos that you tried not to look at but ended up scrolling through anyway.

“You okay?” Trent asked in a softer voice than you expected for someone who supposedly didn’t care.

“I’m fine..” you mumbled while grabbing an oversized hoodie you borrowed from him earlier in the week and some pajama shorts. “I just feel like I’m so out of my element right now.” 

Trent had already claimed his spot on the bed and was scrolling through his phone with one hand and eating crisps out of the other. “You’re not that bad at it” he replied, looking up at you as you climbed on your side of the bed.

“Wow thanks” you responded dryly and grabbed one of the snacks he was holding out for you. You were both on your phones, scrolling through various apps while crisp bags crinkled noisily through the silence.

“…Do you ever get nervous or scared?” you asked to break through the silence.

“Nervous or scared about what?” He set his phone down, looking at you with a confused look.

“Of losing yourself with all the fame. It’s like.. I’ve built this whole brand online on my own and I have an audience that trusts me a lot because my whole thing is based on being real with them. But this is....not real. And it feels wrong.” You gestured at him and then you. “I’m scared it’s going to ruin things for me.”

Trent nodded at you and took a deep breath. “Yeah, I get it. Everything I do on or off the pitch always feels like it’s for someone else. I don’t always know what I want. And I change my mind a lot.”

You looked at him in surprise, taken aback by what you assumed was honesty. “Really?”

“Yeah..” he leaned back against the headboard. “Feels like I’m a product and not a person sometimes. Sometimes I rebel every once in a while but I guess I took it too far this time.”

For the first time, you saw him as Trent and not some footballer with a PR disaster on his hands. “Well...at least we have this to bond over. Being fake together.”

He laughed then grinned at you with a wide smile. “Yeah...something like that.”

“It’s kind of weird though. Because for something so fake...it’s starting to feel like it’s...not. Since we’re together all the time and whatnot.”

Trent cocked a brow at your last statement. You opened your mouth to backtrack and say something snarky or petty, but your phone rang against the bedside table. The screen lit up with a facetime call and your stomach dropped when you saw the name.

Romeo Cruz.

Romeo was a rising singer in LA that had all the charm, charisma, and a voice that made every girl want to melt. He slid into your DMs months ago, and while it wasn’t anything super serious, there was definitely flirting going on, and it was FUN. You glanced at Trent who was also looking at your screen.

“Who’s that?”

You reached for your phone with hesitation. “Uhh..just someone I know. No biggie.”

Trent leaned back on the headboard with a clenched jaw. “Yeah? Someone important enough to facetime you at nearly midnight?”

You rolled your eyes and ignored him, answering the call anyway. “Romeo! Hey.” On the screen, Romeo appeared with tousled curly hair, a signature smile with dimples, a sharp jawline, and beautifully glowing, sun kissed skin. “Hey beautiful” he dripped in his velvety, deep and smooth voice. “Just checking in. Haven’t heard from you in a while.”

“Yeah, sorry” your tone was a bit light, a little flirty, but you were nervous because Trent was right there, burning his eyes into the side of your face. “Life has been....busy. A little chaotic but you know me, I love that.”

Romeo noticed the tension inflicted in your voice and cocked his head back from the screen a bit in concern. “You good? Where are you? LA or London?”

You didn’t get a chance to answer because Trent reached over and took the phone from your hands like it was his own phone. “She’s busy right now.” He answered for you in a flat tone, holding up the phone so Romeo could see him and his annoying smirk.

“Uh.. and who are you?”

“Her boyfriend,” Trent replied smoothly. “Thanks for the check in mate but she’s good. We’re in the middle of something.” He paused for the drama of it all and then looked at you.

Romeo had a look of disbelief and irritation showing on his face. “Well tell her to call when she’s–”

Trent didn’t let him finish and took the opportunity to cup your chin with one hand, pulling you into a kiss. For something that was fake it felt way too convincing. You felt butterflies in your stomach as his lips met yours. He didn’t pull away immediately, but when he did you were dazed and out of breath. Too stunned to speak. Romeo saw it all and Trent’s face lit up with the cockiest grin ever.

“Yeah I doubt that mate. She’ll be too tired.” He hit the button to end the call.

“What the fuck was that?” you stared at him, your mouth agape in shock.

“What?”

“What????” you repeated, the volume in your voice increasing. “You just kissed me and basically told him I’m taken..like I’m your actual girlfriend! What the fuck??”

Trent popped a crisp into his mouth, chewing obnoxiously and meeting your death glare with a calm look, then he shrugged. “Just following the script, remember?”

--

By New Years Eve, your public side of the bargain was winding down, but Trent was still annoying you more than ever, even after the kiss. The sound of him chewing in your ear was still echoing days later as you stood in front of the mirror of the hotel, adjusting your ponytail again. Your hair was slicked back with the ends flipped up in soft curls that bounced whenever you moved. You had two loose strands in the front. Your followers knew those strands as your ‘slut strands’ – a term you coined because whenever you had those two strands framing your face, things always ended up a little wild. Between the alcohol flowing at the NYE party, the DJ, and Trent by your side, you knew something was bound to happen. You were always a Chatty Cathy on the juice, and the strands were an unofficial warning label that signified you were about to be everyone’s best friend, or a major problem. You adjusted your dress and gave yourself a final look in the mirror. You were trying to give unbothered girlie with a hint of ruining someone’s life one drink at a time. You grinned at yourself, knowing you looked like you were that girl™.

Just as you were about to spritz your perfume, Tyler texted the group chat:

Start heading to the club. The event is popping off atm. Pap friendly corner is just outside near the bar’s exit so make it count.

You rolled your eyes in annoyance. Of course Tyler felt the need to micromanage the party from a distance while acting like he wasn’t the most hands off manager in the industry. He could barely schedule Trent’s interviews on time but was now suddenly invested in making this fake relationship seem so solid. You just wanted to have a good time and be free of this nonsense publically like your contract originally stated.

“I can’t believe all three of the Alexander-Arnold boys are this annoying” you muttered under your breath while putting your heels on. 

Your contract made it clear that New Year’s Eve was the grand finale for the public part of the facade. After tonight, you wouldn’t have to parade around looking like you were madly in love anymore. The plan was to silently pull back and make the relationship seem more private with the occasional story, casual mentions, and reposts every once in a while until June, where you would announce a breakup and be free of him for good. You grabbed your purse and headed for the door to meet Trent downstairs. If this was going to be the last time you had to fake it, you were going out with a bang..and you were going to have some fun with it too just to celebrate the end of this mess.

When you reached the lobby of the hotel, Trent was waiting for you and scrolling through his phone. He looked good, his trim was crisp, his fit wasn’t terrible, and he smelled amazingly good. He lowered his phone, eyeing you from head to toe with a clenched jaw.

“Damn” he voiced involuntarily.

You tried to avoid smirking and adjusted the strap of your dress but a smirk still appeared anyway. “That’s it? Just damn? I put a lot of effort in for this look…”

He licked over his lips and finally looked you in the eye. “Then you already know how you look.”

“You’re lucky I’m feeling great or else I’d make you say it with more enthusiasm.”

“Trust me” he started, running a hand over his head. “I’m enthusiastic but you don’t need a bigger head than you already have.”

You rolled your eyes and brushed past him to head to the car waiting outside, your heels tapping against the marbled lobby floor. “Shut up and come on. I can’t deal with you while sober tonight. I need a drink.”

By the time you made it to the club, it was already pure chaos. The bass was so heavy you could feel it in your chest as you walked through the VIP area. There were strobe lights flashing around, illuminating random moments of chaos. A group of footballers were trying to outdrink each other in a booth stacked with empty Clase Azul bottles, an influencer in a bright dress was dancing on a table with a sparkler in one hand, and a model was yelling at a bartender because she couldn’t find a tiny baggie of white substance she drunkenly left at the bar who knows how long ago.

When you and Trent walked in, heads turned and whispers cut through the air. His hand brushed against your back to keep up with the facade. The scent in the air was...interesting. It was a blend of liquor, sweat, perfume and the faint tang of weed smoke. You knew tonight was going to leave a mark whether it be on your reputation, your conscience, or both.

“Where’s Tyler’s pap friendly corner again?” you asked, leaning into Trent so you wouldn’t have to yell over the blaring music.

“Near the bar. But let’s grab a drink first.”

You followed him as the hem of your dress brushed against your thigh. The bar was wild. People were pushing against each other like they would run out of alcohol, or maybe they just really wanted the Getty Images watermark with a top face card photo to memorialize the end of the year. The bartender was busy juggling a bottle of Hennessy with one hand, and pouring multiple shots with the other hand, all while someone was yelling for espresso martinis from the corner.

“Champagne? Martini?” Trent asked, turning to you as you perched against the counter with your hips leaning into the wood.

You shook your head. “A round of shots from top shelf and a coconut water.”

“Uh...that’s specific.” He turned to the bartender, ordering for you and himself.

“It’s so I can get fucked up but still stay hydrated from the electrolytes.” Your hands grazed over the two strands of your hair, very diva like. “You wouldn’t understand. It’s my whole thing..it even went viral on tiktok. Don’t knock it til you try it.”

The drinks arrived quicker than you expected and you downed a couple shots immediately in between sipping the coconut water. Trent nursed his vodka soda with lime, scanning the room with his eyes.

“Don’t be boring” you said, gently shoving two shots closer to him.

“I’m not boring” he replied, eyeing the shots and the way your nails grazed against the top surface of the bar.

“Then prove it. Drink the shots and come dance with me.”

He shook his head before reaching for the shots and downing them both. “I don’t dance.”

“Oh my god, shut the fuck up and live a little” you quickly finished the last of your shots and coconut water and then grabbed his hand, leading him to the dancefloor as the curls in your ponytail bounced between the bass reverberating through the club.

The crowd on the dance floor was just as chaotic in a sea of gyrating bodies and heat. You were too tipsy to be sure of what the DJ switched the song to, but it felt seductive and made you sway your hips automatically. The music took control before your brain could even think about it. You turned toward Trent, moving your body to the beat with ease while he watched. He was locked in, staring at you so hard it almost looked like he didn’t realize he was eyeing you like that.

“You’re really not gonna dance?” you teased, tilted your head as you stepped closer with a flirty smirk.

“I told you I don’t–”

“Shut up Trent” you playfully grabbed his hand and pulled him further into the crowd. “Just dance with me.”

As the alcohol coursed through you, you let your hips find the beat, rolling against him with just enough pressure to test him. You felt him tense up behind you, holding his hands just above your waist like he didn’t know whether to grab you or run away.

“Aren’t you Jamaican?” you yelled over your shoulder with a smirk. “Just relax and let the beat find you.”

He let out an exhale and finally rested his hand on your hip. You arched back a little, grinding into him more and his other hand landed on your ass. His body was betraying him and his breath quickened, trying to think of anything else but your ass grinding against his dick so he wouldn’t get hard. His jaw was tight but then his lips parted when his eyes dropped to the way you were rolling your hips against him. He was barely blinking as he stared. Trent’s grip tightened just enough for you to become aware of it.

“You like dancing, don’t you?” you teased again.

“This isn’t dancing.”

“No?” you dared, grinding against him harder. “Then what is it?”

Trent’s fingers dug into your waist and pulled you up against him. His head dipped closer to your neck and he bit his lip like he was fighting the urge to kiss you there. The lines were quickly blurring in the fog of alcohol and you weren’t sure who was pushing harder to cross them. His breath was hot against your neck as you danced up against him. You felt something stiffen against his lower half but you were so tipsy you thought it was his phone. Trent abruptly pulled back, letting go of you as you stood there confused.

“I need a drink.” He turned back toward the crowd, leaving you standing there trying to catch your breath. Your heart was pounding and your body was bouncing with energy that had nowhere to go thanks to the shots and coconut water you had. Before you knew it, a voice yelled your name, but it wasn’t Trent.

It was Levi Colwill.

“Ahh, Y/N! Trent’s better half” Levi slid into Trent’s place, handing you a shot. “Got your favorite.”

You handed it back to him, forcing a smile. “Levi…”

“You look like you could use some better company” he eyed the outline of your body. “Not that Trent’s bad but..you know I’ll dance with you. Just saying.”

You rolled your eyes but still laughed at him...because you were drunk. “Still stirring the pot like always.”

“You know that’s what I do” He downed the shot you refused. “What you been up to? I know you’re exhausted pretending to be with Trent.”

The alcohol made you bolder. “You get me! He’s so annoying sometimes.”

Levi stepped closer, yelling into your ear over the music. “You know where to find me. Send me a DM when it’s all–”

“Levi” Trent slurred in an irritated tone. “Get the fuck out of here.”

Levi shook his head, sipping the drink in hand and then smirked at Trent. “I was just saying hello.”

Trent gripped your wrist firmly but not painful as he pulled you away from Levi and into a quieter corner of the club, which just so happened to be near the bar’s exit where the paps were waiting for the perfect moment to take pictures.

“What the hell was that?” you hissed, yanking your arm free.

“What was what?” Trent snapped back.

“Dragging me away like some jealous boyfriend. That’s not part of the script Trent.”

Trent’s jaw clenched and he stepped closer, leaning into your ear. “You were enjoying that too much. We’re supposed to be together..you can’t flirt with other guys here.”

You laughed, not believing your ears. “Are you dumb?! You walked away like you couldn’t handle it! I’m just trying to have fun tonight.”

“I walked away because you were making me hard.” he shot back in a drunken state, not realizing what he just admitted to.

Your brain short circuited under the fog of alcohol as the music thumped around you. All you could focus on was the thought of Trent standing in front of you, hard, because you danced on him. Then your brain took it a step further and you remembered the night his towel slipped. You had a split glimpse of him on soft and now your tipsy mind was wondering what it looked like on hard. You felt the heat from your cheeks trail down slowly, making your mouth feel dry and knees weak. You were trying to think of literally anything else but the alcohol coursing through your veins wasn't doing you any favors and neither was the way he was looking at you. Trent’s teeth pulled at his bottom lip like he was fighting his thoughts too. You shifted closer to him, playing with a strand of hair framing your face.

“Trent..” you began in a whisper. You didn’t know if you wanted to apologize, flirt, or tell him to just kiss you. His head dipped toward yours as his lips inched toward yours slowly. You were leaning in without even realizing it and his hands hovered over your waist hesitantly. Your eyes dropped to his lips and you saw him lick his lips like he was priming them.

“Y/N!”

A shrill voice broke through whatever was about to happen and you blinked back as someone grabbed your arm. It was another influencer you knew from a brand event but you couldn’t remember her name in your drunken state. She grinned and hugged you like she didn’t just ruin the most dramatic non-kiss of your life.

“Oh my days, girl I haven’t seen you in forever!” she yelled, dragging you toward a VIP booth that was probably just as chaotic as the rest of the club. Trent stood there with an unreadable expression watching as you were pulled away. He turned his gaze to the paparazzi outside who were very pissed they didn’t get their perfect shot.

Just as the countdown to midnight was about to begin, you found your way back to Trent. The club was louder than ever as the final minutes of the year ticked away. Trent was still in the same spot, nursing a fresh drink while the other hand was shoved in his pocket. He noticed you before you could say anything and you saw his eyes lock onto you with a certain look in his eye.

“Perfect timing” you giggled when you reached him, pulling him closer toward the exit where the paps were standing guard. “This is where Tyler wants us so let’s just get it over with.” You positioned yourselves near the glass doors so they would have a better view. The cold air from outside cooled you down a little, but it did nothing to knock any sort of clarity into you. As soon as the crowd started counting down, the air became tented with anticipation.

10...

9...

Your heart was beating fast against your chest and the alcohol made every sensation feel way stronger. You tilted your face up a little to meet his eyes, but he was already staring at you. Trent’s hand reached to cup your chin and tilt your face further upward.

8...

7...

His thumb brushed over the corner of your lip and the sensation made you exhale softly. He looked you in the eyes first, then at your lips, then back up at your eyes again, making you feel dizzy yet excited at the same time.

6...

5...

You parted your lips slightly with heavily lidded eyes. Both of you were supposed to be ‘acting’ but whatever was going on right now was not staged. His other hand found the dip in your waist, pulling you close enough to feel the fire in his eyes.

4...

3...

You leaned in at the same time, moving on instinct from the magnetism as the cameras outside began to flash. The paps were losing their minds and the shutters went off wildly, but all you could think about was how badly you wanted this kiss.

2...

1...

The room erupted into loud yelling, cheers, and champagne bottles popping as fireworks lit up the London sky outside. The second the cloud struck midnight, Trent’s lips lit a flame in you that made your whole body have goosebumps. His hand found your ass, gripping it firm enough to make you gasp and the tiny noise coming out of you motivated him even more. Your body arched into his as you continued kissing him in a way too entirely real make out session. You palmed the fabric over his dick and he groaned into your mouth, making you moan into his mouth in response. The crowd around you celebrated to a very random club remix of Auld Lang Syne but you were too wrapped up in him to care about celebrating the new year.

You finally pulled back breathless while staring at him. His lips were a little swollen but the fire was still in his eyes.

“We need to leave before they get the wrong pics” you blurted out, slurring your words from being tipsy but also flustered.

“Yeah” he said with his hand still on the curve of your back. “Hotel?”

“Hotel.”

When you made it back to the hotel and the lift doors closed, your back hit the mirrored wall as Trent pinned you into the corner. His hand slid over your thighs and the fabric of your dress bunched up.

“Thought I annoyed you” he muttered against your ear as his fingers slipped between your thighs.

“You still do” you replied back sassily, but then you gasped when he found the thin strap of your thong and tugged it against the folds of your pussy. The friction made you whimper and you dug your nails into his arm for stability. “But I can multitalk.”

“Yeah?” He smirked, gripping your thigh to open you up more. His other hand kept working the fabric of the thong, sliding it up and down until you were grinding against his knuckles. “Fuck you're soaked. This for me?”

“Shut up” you hissed while tugging at the button of his jeans with shaky fingers. When the lift dinged on your floor, you barely made it to the room before his hands were pulling, grabbing, and claiming you. He pressed you against a huge window of the hotel room while the fireworks were still popping off in the night sky.

“Take it off” you demanded, yanking at Trent’s shirt.

He pulled it over his head to show off his toned, muscled body that had been haunting you since the towel accident. You didn’t have much time to admire any of it because his hands were already undoing your dress, dropping it to your feet. The cool glass of the window pressed up against your bare skin and you shook a little when his lips latched on your neck, sucking and biting while his hands roamed over you. You moaned his name in a whimpered beg and arched into him when his mouth moved down to your boobs. His tongue ran over your nipple and he wrapped his lips around it, suckling gently and massaging the other with his hand. You gasped, clutching his shoulders and melting your body into his.

“You beg so pretty” he murmured against your skin. “What do you want, pretty girl? Tell me.”

“You” you panted in a trembling voice. “I need you inside me now.”

Trent groaned and ran his fingers between your folds to find your clit. The circles he rubbed against the sensitive nub made you moan loudly. “Not yet,” he rasped. “Need to feel how ready you are.” A broken sob escaped you when his fingers slid inside your pussy. His fingers were long enough to reach a spot that made your knees weak as he worked you open. Your head fell against the window as the squelch of your wetness filled the hotel room.

“Good girl” he coaxed, and your walls clenched around his fingers in response. He laughed and you could feel his smirk against your skin. “You like that, huh? You like being told how good you are?”

“Yesss” you gasped, grinding against his hand. “Fuck yes.”

He pulled his fingers out and you whined but the sound quickly turned into a needy moan when he ran the tip of his dick over your slit. He lined himself up, gripping your thighs to lift you up and push into you.

“DAMN” he groaned loudly, leaning his head back in both pleasure and disbelief from how you were gripping him. “You feel so fucking good gripping me.” You felt the curve when he stroked deeper, each thrust pressing you against the glass while the fireworks mirrored whatever was going on in this hotel room. “You’re so noisy” he teased when he heard you moan his name. He reached between your thighs to play with your clit again. “You want everyone to hear me fucking you, don’t you? You like that shit.”

You nodded, too far gone to care about anything but the feeling. “Oh my god, yes! Please don’t stop. You’re fucking me so good.”

Trent’s mouth latched to your neck again, leaving a mark you were going to have to cover up later. His hands gripped your ass, pulling you closer as he thrust harder..deeper. Your moans were nonstop, echoing against the window while he pounded into you.

“You’re creaming all over me” he groaned, dropping his eyes to his dick thrusting in and out of you with the perfect rhythm. “Look at that. Such a good girl for me.”

His praise and coaxing made you shatter. Your walls clenched around him while your orgasm rained over your thighs and onto him. Moaning cries mixed with his curses and filled the room until he took one last deep stroke into you and pulled out of you. You lowered yourself to take him in your mouth, sucking gently on his tip as ropes of cum filled your mouth. You got back up, very shaky and wobbly, but he wasn’t done yet. Trent carried you to the bed, lifting you up on top of him. Both of you were too far gone to care about the contract by that point and spent the rest of the night partaking in some ultra festive activities to bring in the new year as fireworks continued to pop off in the distance. 

The morning after, the sunlight was streaming through the large window you had just been fucked against the night before. It way too bright for how you were feeling now, even after the coconut water. Your head was pounding and you still felt groggy. Your lashes were barely clinging on and you forgot to do your skincare routine before falling asleep thanks to your activities. You groaned and reached for your phone, fumbling with it in your hands while Trent moved from somewhere else in the room to hand you a cup of coffee. 

“Good morning” he smirked at you, knowing exactly why you were in the state you were in. 

“Morning...and thank you” you muttered in a scratchy voice from a mix of sleep and..other activities. You took a look at yourself with your front camera and you snorted. Your hair was all over the place, your makeup was smudged and one of your lashes was hanging off. You took a glance back over at Trent, who had faint scratches on his back, making you laugh harder. The chaos was oddly on brand for the authentic, slightly unhinged content you were known for, so you decided to capture the moment to post online. 

You opened the camera app and switched to the wide angle just to make it that more authentic. You held your coffee cup in your hand with your messy hair and hanging lash on full display. In the background, Trent was off to the edge of the frame where only part of him could be seen digging through his distinctive Goyard wash bag, oblivious to his surprise cameo. You typed out the caption ‘Happy New Year 🥴✨’ and added it to the photo in white text before posting it on your story. You didn’t have to check the notifications...you knew what you did.

By the time you showered and made yourself look put together, your post had been picked up by SpillTheBeansUK where they did a full deep dive. Their post was a carousel of screenshots. The first was your original story in its chaotic glory, the second was a cropped version zoomed in on Trent’s hand digging into his bag and the faint lining of the side of his head, the third was a side by side of all the previous photos to confirm it was him.

SpillTheBeansUK: Happy New Year from Y/N and Trent Alexander-Arnold! 👀

realmrsTAA: sobbing into my pillow rn I KNOW THAT BAG

ynfansince2019: not her lashes hanging like that. IKTR QUEEN

yn_onlyyn: she’s so me coded i love her

leafygreens05: TRENT BABE TELL ME THIS ISN’T U?!? ARE THOSE SCRATCHES?

ballerbabyy: this feels like i’m on facetime with a friend i love her sm and they’re so cute

notyourfootiebae: Y/N and Trent 🏆 romeocruz: 😒

You laughed as you scrolled through the comments. Trent walked in, ready to head out for breakfast. Although, he was entirely too calm for someone who had just been moaning your name while you were bouncing on him just a few hours ago.

When you sat across from him during breakfast at the hotel restaurant, the realization of everything hit you all at once. You didn’t want this to end. Not the public antics, banter, or things with Trent. He was looking at his phone, scrolling through his apps. Unbeknownst to you, he was deleting his dating apps. All of them.

Meanwhile you were spiralling. Quietly, but definitely still spiralling. 

“What happens when this is over?” you asked quietly, cutting through your eggs benedict. 

He looked up, pausing his thumb over the delete button of the last app. “What do you mean?”

You shrugged, stabbing at the food with a vanished appetite. “The contract. When June comes and we’re supposed to ‘break up’... What happens then?”

Trent deleted the final app and set his phone down to look at you. “I don’t know,” he admitted in a quiet voice.

You laughed, trying to mask your nerves. “Well that’s not reassuring.”

“Why?” He asked, tilting his head. “You worried about something?”

Your fork tapped against the hollandaise sauce on your food while you gathered what you wanted to say. “Um..well..this whole thing started off as a job for your image. But now....” you trailed off and looked at him.

“Now?” he prompted, locked on your eyes.

“Now it feels...different.” you admitted. “It doesn’t feel fake anymore. At least not for me.”

You thought he would smirk and have some comeback ready but he didn’t this time. Instead, he leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed loosely. “Doesn’t feel fake to me either.”

“Really?”

“Yeah” Trent leaned forward to rest his arms on the table. “It started off as a contract but I think that changed a little...we both know that.”

You stared at him. “So..what are you saying?”

“I’m saying we don’t have to stop,” he replied, never taking his eyes off you. “We don’t have to make a huge deal about it or anything but I don’t want to stop seeing you. It feels…” He trailed off to search for the right words.

“Like something worth exploring?” you offered, finishing his sentence.

He nodded, giving you his signature smirk, but this time it made you melt a little. “Yeah. Like that.”

--

The day the public stint of the contract was supposed to end came and went like any other day. You and Trent kept seeing each other instead of posting fake launch photos like the contract originally suggested after NYE. Tyler was smug about it the minute he found out, thinking he was the best Cupid ever. The last time you saw him, he handed you a Valentine’s Day PR brief with a grin.

“Guess we’re not cancelling the hard launch then?” he asked in a satisfied tone. You wanted to throw the folder at him, but he was right. You weren’t going anywhere and neither was Trent. Your fans adored the idea of you with him. There were multiple theories flooding your comment section daily, micro analyzing every interaction. Meanwhile, Trent’s fans reluctantly admitted he looked happy in a relationship for once. 

The hard launch came in the form of a Youtube video thanks to the fans: Boyfriend Rates My Outfits

Your followers were begging for this video for weeks. You never announced having a boyfriend but they knew you better than that. You didn’t plan on giving in but Trent was all for it. Your chaos had rubbed off on him, even if he didn’t want to admit it.

“Do it” he said one night while laying in bed with you at your place after a date night. “It’ll be funny.”

“Funny for who?” you replied, rolling your eyes.

“For me.”

Eventually you agreed, and the video started with you sitting in front of your neatly organized wardrobe, clasping your hands together. “Okay..you’ve all been asking for it so we’re doing a ‘boyfriend rates my outfits’ video today. My man isn’t really a fashion connoisseur so don’t expect much.”

Trent’s voice came in from behind the camera, already flirty. “Nah, I have taste, don’t set me up like that.”

“Do you?” you countered, laughing as you disappeared to change into the first outfit.

You strutted back in the room wearing high waisted jeans, a blazer and a cropped top paired with trainers. It was chic and cute enough for a brunch or something similar. Trent zoomed the camera in dramatically on your feet. “Shoes are nice. I’ll give it...an 8.”

“An 8?!” you scoffed, doing a little spin for him. “You’re mad. This is a 10.”

“Ah..okay. 9.5 but only because you look good walking away.”

The next look was a silky midi dress with a thigh high slit, paired with strappy heels. You stepped in the room and did a twirl for the cam.

Trent let out a whistle. “11. Easily.”

“You can’t give it an 11!” you protested, hands on your hip.

“Why not?” he grinned. “I’d take you out in that.. maybe in Greece or Spain.”

For the third look, you went full streetwear and wore cargos, a fitted crop top, a leather jacket, and chunky boots. Trent panned the camera up and down with a lot of dramatics. “You look like you’re about to rob somebody.”

“Trent!”

“Hey, I’m into it though! Come rob me baby” he added quickly, smirking. “9 out of 10.”

The final outfit was a red mini dress with an open back that hugged you in all the right places, paired with heels and a statement purse. Trent was quiet as he looked at you, shaking the camera while he adjusted the focus. “Goddamn. That’s a 12.”

“A 12?” you laughed, walking up to the camera and playfully covering the lens while giving him a kiss. “You’re not supposed to go over 10, T.”

“I don’t care. You’re breaking the scale.”

Trent turned the camera to face the both of you as both of you smiled into the lens. “Alright. Like, comment, subscribe, and…” He trailed off, lowering the camera a little and looked at your lips. He whispered, thinking the mic wouldn’t catch anything but it did. “...and turn this off so I can take this dress off you.”

Your jaw dropped and you swatted at his chest playfully, giggling. “You’re going to get me demonetized if you keep talking like that.”

As you edited the video, you decided to leave that part in there because it was funny and also cute. The comments rolled in quickly when word spread around online about it:

ynbabydoll: THE WHISPER AT THE END??? HELLO? I’M FERAL

ynstanclub: trent stuns in Y/N’s youtube video!!

ynplustrent: the way the cam shook when she came out in that dress....i know they get real nasty

spicynsaucy: UNCOVER THE LENS I WANNA SEE IT

footieNfashion: why is this more compelling than any press interview he’s ever done?

LFCStan44: this feels like i shouldn’t be in the room watching them rn but i’m here for it idk. love to see him back to his happy old self

FreeKickFiend: ugh..the way he sounds when he called her baby. that should be me

YNWADefenseNeeded: bro’s focus on this video is what we need on the pitch ALL the time RedKisses98: this man has forgotten we exist. thanks a lot Y/N

You shut your laptop after the premiere of the video and sunk into the couch next to Trent. He was scrolling through the comments on his phone, with that same infuriating, yet extremely attractive smirk on his face.

“You’re really enjoying this huh?” you nudged him with your elbow in a teasing tone.

“Of course,” he replied without looking up. “I’m the star of your channel now.”

You shook your head, laughing. "Very bold of you to assume they’re watching for you.”

Finally, he looked from his phone, cupping your chin and pulling you into a kiss. “Nah...but I’m here for you though. Fully off script. No contract needed.”

[aemondapologistfrfr]

Your Favorite Flavor - Pt5 Final

modern!aemond x fem!dealer!reader 

Previous Parts

Summary: Super sweet and smutty holiday special to wrap up this mini series.

Warnings: 18+ swearing, smoking, sibling smoke sesh 😶‍🌫️, drugs(weed), bondage, vibrator, spanking, fingering, p in v, unprotected

Authors Note: sorry this took me so long but here’s the last part!!! literally finished this up today sooo happy holidays 💞🫶🏻

Word Count: 4.5k

                                         ᓚᘏᗢ

ততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

You have the perfect idea to welcome Aemond home but a lot of it plans on getting his parents house empty. It’s the holiday season so you’re hoping they’re going to one of their vacation homes to escape the cold. You didn’t necessarily want to text Helaena about your plans but you needed her. 

you: pls tell me you guys aren’t going to be home when Aemond gets done w school 

hel: do i even wanna know? but luckily for you both 🤢 we’ll be out of town 

you: and you’ll leave me a key in exchange for some gifts 😋 

hel: pls just don’t go in my room 🧎🏼‍♀️

you: anything else off limits 

hel: no i just don’t tell me where 🫠 

You drive over to Helaena and smoke with her before handing her a bag of different gifts. She hands you the key and giggles asking what you have planned. By the end of your ideas both of your faces are red as you giggle. You hug her and then make your way back home to finish getting the final touches. 

                                         ᓚᘏᗢ

Aemonds family left an hour ago and you showed up ten minutes ago ready to clean his room and get it ready. You thank the Gods his mother still upkeeps his room so you don’t have much to clean up. You yank off his sheets and replace them with the red silk ones you ordered. After getting the bed situated you grab the plastic bag with the rest of your things and finish setting up. 

aemond: omw home 

you: helaena left me her key yesterday i’m in bed waiting for you 🤭 

Aemond groans, putting his phone in the passenger seat and giving his car a little more gas. For the next couple of weeks he gets to spend everyday with you. Besides the couple days starting tomorrow when he has to go to his parents. The ride home flies by and he smiles when he pulls into the drive and sees your car. He scrunches his brows when you don’t meet him outside or even at the bottom of the stairs. 

He expected you to be napping or anything but this. His headboard has black silk tied through the slats that wraps around both of your wrists. You have silk tied around your chest in a bow with a matching bow tied over your hips hiding your core. He walks closer to you slowly trailing his fingers up your leg.

“You have to tighten this one. I couldn’t on my own.” you whisper, wiggling your fingers and his hands are at the wrist you mentioned tightening it. 

“Mm I quite like this.” his fingers dance along your skin teasing you with his touch. His fingers grab onto one of the ribbon ends on your chest and he looks at you with a raised brow. You nod at him and he pulls slowly at the silk, groaning as your chest is bared to him. “My very own present.” he hums, kneeling on the bed next to you. He dips down and flicks his tongue against your nipple. 

“Aemond.” you squeak as he takes the peak between his teeth. He continues to suck and nibble as you squeeze your thighs together.

“I can’t believe you did this for me.” he kisses across your chest to your other nipple. “So very sweet to me.” you squirm as his fingers trace down your side. He grabs the edge of the ribbon over your hips and it slips off and falls to the bed. He sits up on his bed and looks down at you. “Fuck you’re so perfect.” he stands up and lets his eyes travel over your body. 

“I got some more stuff for you in that bag.” Aemond turns and sees the black plastic bag waiting for him on his desk. He gets up and smiles watching you squirm in his bed. When he grabs the bag he groans finding more silk restraints, a ridiculous amount of oil, and Gods he’s going to have too much fun with this. 

“You won’t be leaving this bed for hours.” he turns to you with dark eyes. Your eyes look at the vibrator in his hand and you nibble your lip squeezing your thighs shut. 

“Open your legs. I won’t hesitate to tie them open.” your breath catches as you slowly open your thighs. He turns the vibrator on and watches your cheeks flush. He presses it to your bud and smiles when you pull on the silk. 

“Aemond,” you moan loudly. He chuckles as you roll your hips while soft gasps greet his ears. He settles between your thighs keeping them open and pressing his lips to yours. A cry comes from you as he turns up the setting. “Aem, yes, I’m gunna,” he watches you with an amused smile as you buck against him and pull against the headboard. 

“Fucking look at you,” he watches you go taut as your pleasure washes through you. He starts to swirl the head against you as you tremble beneath him. “How’s that feel?” he hums watching your chest heave. 

“Good, so good,” your words slurred from pleasure as he starts to kiss down your neck. “Yes, yes please,” your legs wrap around his waist and he grunts as the vibrator presses against his pants. You chuckle hearing his breathing deepen. “You gonna come in your pants again?” you gasp as he pulls back and turns up the speed. “Aem, I-“ you gasp as he chuckles. 

The broken whimpers leaving your mouth are going straight to his cock and he wants to hear more. He starts to circle the head and his name is torn from your throat. The silk tied to his headboard is taut as you arch off his bed. He pushes your legs open more as he slides down to lay between them. He doesn’t pay attention to your babbling as he shoves two fingers into you. He groans when he feels you pulsing around his fingers and with a couple more pumps of his fingers your pleasure is seeping out of you. 

“Please fuck me, please,” you cry and he chuckles turning off the vibrator and tossing it to the side. “Gods Aemond please.” you pull on the silk groaning that you can’t touch him. 

“I was going to until you made that pants comment.” you scrunch your eyebrows and whine at him. 

“I take it back. I’m sorry. Please.” he watches your body shake as pleasure still courses through you. “Aemond please, please,” he smirks watching you try to wrap your legs around him again pulling him towards you. “Aemond please, I’ll do anything.” you whine watching him get off the bed and start tugging his clothes off. 

“I’m sure you will but I don’t think I can be convinced right now.” he hums getting back into bed. You turn your body towards his and he silently chuckles as you pout. “Gods you’re so fucking perfect.” he runs his hand up your side. “But when you open your mouth.” he shakes his head. His eyes widen and he sits up and smiles with an idea.

You watch as he leans over you and grabs the ribbon and hovers over you. He lowers the ribbon to your mouth and tilts his head slightly in question. You lift your head up and he smiles, wrapping it around and tying it into a bow. He leans back and kneels between your legs looking over every inch of you. You squirm when he wraps his fingers around his length and starts to slowly stroke himself. 

“This is what I’m going to think about every night you’re away from me.” you squirm watching him tighten his grip. “Tied to my bed with your mouth shut,” he softly groans as he swipes against his tip. “Pussy crying for me just to reach out and,” he chuckles as your body jolts when his other hand trails up your thighs. “Tell me what you want.” he smirks as your words get lost. 

You look up at Aemond with pleading eyes spreading your legs wider. He watches as you bite the ribbon in your mouth with frustration as he ghosts his thumb up your slit. Whimpers make it past the ribbon as his thumb dips into your wetness just to glide up to your hip. You watch his grip tighten around his length as he watches your writhe on his bed. He groans, unable to take it anymore and leans over to slide into you. He pulls the ribbon from your mouth and smashes his lips to yours. Your wrists tug against the ribbon holding them up and you whine. 

��What is it now?” he pumps into you slowly. 

“I want to touch you.” you whimper as he rolls his hips. 

“Mm, but I just want to sit here and enjoy my present.” he chuckles, snapping his hips into you. “Maybe I’ll try both of my presents at once.” he reaches around the bed searching for the vibrator. 

“Yes,” you nod your head quickly. “Please,” you roll your hips into his. He smiles when his fingers wrap around vibrator and he flicks it on. He hovers it above your bud and watches you buck against him and pull on the ribbon. “Oh Gods Aem, please, please yes,” you whine and he presses the head to your bud. 

“Fuck,” he groans as you pulse around him. Your eyes roll back as you shake beneath him as he continues to push into you. The vibrations push his pleasure over the edge and he spills inside of you. He turns off the vibrator and tosses it once more before collapsing on your chest. “You give the best gifts.” he presses his lips to your skin. 

“Please untie me.” you push your chest into his face. He chuckles and reaches up to pull open the silk. “Thank you, baby almond.” you wrap your arms around him and run your fingers up his back. 

“No, thank you for the perfect present.” he lifts up and presses his lips to yours. 

                                         ᓚᘏᗢ

When Aemond wakes up he panics that you’re not still in his bed. He pulls his sweats on and a smile spreads across his face as he’s halfway down the stairs. Music is coming from the kitchen along with your voice and the sounds of you cooking. The sight of you in one of his shirts could send him to his knees every time. He leans against the doorway watching your relaxed state and begins to make his way over to you. 

“I was wondering how long you would continue to watch me.” you hum as his arms wrap around your waist. 

“I could watch you forever and it wouldn’t be enough.” he mumbles, pressing his lips to the back of your head. 

“Shut up.” you chuckle at his dramatics. 

“I’m serious.” he holds you tighter. 

“Well go sit down and keep watching so I can finish breakfast.” you wave him off with a smile. He presses his lips to yours quickly before walking around and sitting at the counter. 

“I don’t want to go visit my family later.” he sighs, resting his head in his hands. “I want to spend my time with you.” you turn to look at the pout you know is placed on his face. 

“It’s just a couple of days, baby almond.” you hum. “We can Facetime like we normally do.” you begin to plate the food. 

“I don’t want that. Can’t you just come with me?” he doesn’t care about the slight whine in his voice. 

“Mm baby almond,” you coo, setting his food down in front of him. “Why are you so whiny this morning?” you brush your fingers through his hair and he buries his head in your neck. 

“I’m not, I just want to be with you.” he pulls you into his lap and you chuckle. “Please.” his lips press against your neck and your fingers pull his hair. 

“Is this my present?” you smile. “My sweet baby almond.” you hum holding him closer. “Let’s eat breakfast first and we’ll figure it out from there.” you pull back cupping his face. 

“Okay.” he nods, finally letting you go. You both start to eat and he turns to you with a smile. “So we’ll spend the next two nights with my family and then we’ll come home and be with your family?” he says in between bites. 

“Aemond,” you chuckle. 

“I’ll pack for you and drive you. I’ll roll for us every time. You won’t have to do anything.” he nods. “You’ll get to see Hel, you love her. You can smoke with her.” your smile widens at his coaxing. 

“How could I say no to any of that?” you look at him. 

“You’re supposed to say ‘Yes Aemond I’ll come with you because I love you so much.’ and then give me a kiss.” he purses his lips and you study his face wondering if he realizes his words. “Wait fuck, I’m- 

“Yes Aemond I’ll come with you because I love you so much.” you chew on your lip watching his cheeks flush. “This is when you say ‘I love you so much more.’ and not make this awkward.” his eyes snap to yours searching to see if you’re making fun of him. 

“But do you really?” he whispers with a raised brow. 

“I do.” you whisper back. “Do you?” your heart starts to beat faster. 

“I do.” he nods. 

“Then say it.” you feel your face heat. 

“I love you so much more.” he grins and you know your face matches his. 

                                         ᓚᘏᗢ

When you pull into the driveway Helaena opens the front door and waits with a smile plastered on her face. You give Aemond a quick kiss before getting out and leaving him to unpack the car. He smiles watching you run up to Helaena and she tugs you inside. She hauls you upstairs to her room and you chuckle when she slams the door shut behind you both. 

“Gods I was so happy when I found out Aemond was bringing you. I didn’t want to have to hear him whine about you.” you chuckle kicking off your shoes to sprawl across her bed. 

“I want to meet Aemond’s girlfriend.” his brother walks into the room. “Our baby brother got lucky.” he smirks at you. 

“Aegon, get out.” Helaena throws a pillow at him. “And knock next time freak.” he chuckles before leaving the room. 

“I need to like gossip real quick.” you turn to her with a hushed voice. 

“Tell me now.” she scoots in close. 

“He told me he loved me today.” you still can’t believe it. 

“Well of course he does.” she chuckles. “But do you love him?” she raises her eyebrow. 

“I do.” you nod your head and she squeals. “Shh,” you cover her mouth and you both turn when her door is opened once more. 

“For fucks sake can none of you knock?” Helaena sits up and looks at Aemond. 

“You stole my girlfriend.” he walks over to the bed and scoops you up. 

“I’ll sneak you away from him later.” Helaena calls after you with a smirk. He starts carrying you down the hall and you chuckle at his small pout. 

“Aemond,” a woman’s voice calls from downstairs. 

“Gods,” Aemond groans and changes his course. When you both get to the first floor once more he sets you down. “Yes mother?” he grabs your hand and leads you to the living room. 

“Oh my Gods she’s so much cuter than Helaena described.” his mother stands from the couch and pulls you into a hug. “Look at the two of you.” she stands back and coos. “Go stand by the tree right now.” she waves the both of you over and Aemond chuckles, grabbing your hand. 

“Mother-

“Enough,” she smiles, grabbing out her phone and immediately starts snapping pictures. “Smile.” you chuckle looking up at Aemond and he presses his lips to your quickly before turning back to his mother. “Gods you’re both so adorable. Oh Aemond, look at your little blush.” she coos and you bite your lip to hide your laughter.

“Mother please,” he says exasperated. 

“Fine.” she sighs. “Go relax you two and I’ll see you for dinner.” she smiles at her phone flicking through the pictures. 

                                         ᓚᘏᗢ

Dinner went well and his entire family loved you. You’ve never seen Aemond blush so profusely and make a note to come to more family dinners. His hand has been squeezing yours for the past ten minutes and once the table is cleared he’s helping you up and tugging you to his room. 

“I can roll, Aemond.” you go to grab the tray out of his hand and he holds it above your head. 

“I said I was rolling for you.” he smirks as you glare up at him. 

“I just thought I’d offer.” you roll your eyes before going to lay on his bed. There’s a quick knock on his door and he groans walking over to it and opening it. 

“Thank the Gods you’re not fucking yet.” Helaena smiles pushing past him and joining you on the bed. “I brought a joint for us.” Aemond watches the both of you giggle and curl up on his bed. He flares his nostrils and goes to shut the door when Aegon's hand stops him. 

“I also come with gifts.” he walks in with a small package of gummies. 

“You two could smoke together and leave us alone.” Aemond looks at his siblings. 

“It’s the holidays, baby brother. Don’t be so grumpy.” Aegon giggles sitting at the desk. 

“She was my friend first. If anyone is smoking alone with her tonight it’s me.” Helaena says from next to you. 

“And where did you two meet?” Aegon waves off Aemond’s sigh. Aemond begins to roll knowing there’s no way he’ll get them out of here. 

“School then she became my dealer.” Helaena hums before lighting the joint. 

“So that’s why you stopped buying from me.” Aegon chuckles before popping a gummy into his mouth and tossing the bag to the both of you. 

“Aemond too. She’s much better than you.” she smiles and passes you the joint. 

“Ouch,” Aegon grabs at his chest playfully. 

“You literally stole back the weed I paid for.” Aemond looks at him with a raised brow. 

“Well you left it at home when you went back to school.” Aegon lulls his head to the side to smile at Aemond. 

“You’re impossible.” Aemond sighs and walks over to you, handing you the blunt. 

“Thank you, baby almond.” you smile up at him before handing him the joint and gummy. His eyes go wide hearing your nickname and Aegon's accompanying snort.

“Baby almond?” Aegon giggles and you watch Aemond clench his jaw. 

“Aegon enough,” Helaena chides with a hint of a smile. 

“I’m sorry.” you whisper up at Aemond. He looks down at you with dark eyes as he continues to hear Aegon chuckle and Helaena attempt and fail at hiding her joining laughter with him. 

“Here.” Aemond reaches his hand out and passes the joint to Aegon. He tosses the gummy into his mouth and joins you on the bed choosing to ignore his siblings. 

“Can you pass this to Helaena, baby almond?” Aegon giggles. 

“At least I have a girlfriend.” Aemond seethes, taking the joint from Aegon. 

“Fair enough.” Aegon shrugs still smirking. “Baby almond.” he bursts into giggles along with Helaena. 

“Aem,” you look up at him and see him looking up at the ceiling. “Aem,” you grab his hand and he looks down at you. You lean into his side hoping he’ll start to relax. You light the blunt and pass it to him and hope the nickname will be forgotten by everyone within a couple minutes. 

“Well if Aemond is going to pout I’m going to put music on.” Helaena sighs and gets up to turn on his speaker. 

“Of course I’m going to pout if you’re going to make fun of me.” Aemond sighs, passing the blunt to Aegon. 

“Gods Aemond, you’re so dramatic.” Helaena comes back to the bed with the joint once the music is on. “I figured her present for you would help you relax.” he looks at you with wide eyes and you fall back onto the bed covering your face. 

“And your girlfriend is equally as dramatic and has good weed. Be happy. Things could be worse.” Aegon chuckles, handing him the blunt back. “Just hold onto that until you chill out.” Aegon reclines back into the chair. 

“Since when do you guys tag team me?” Aemond groans looking between both of them. “And you? Hiding when you started this.” he turns and looks down at you. 

“Me?” you move your hands and look up at him with an open mouth. 

“Don’t give me that look.” he points the blunt at you. 

“So now I have, pouting almond?” you blink up at him and Helaena claps her hand over her mouth to hide her laughter while Aegon lets his sound loudly. 

“Both of you out of the room.” Aemond stands. “Take the joint and blunt with you. I don’t care. Out.” he walks to the door and his siblings stand trying to rein in their laughter. As Aegon walks past he plucks the blunt out of Aemond’s fingers before he snaps the door shut. 

“Aemond I’m-

“Now you can call me Aemond.” he shakes his head, chuckling. “Because you know you’re in trouble.” he grabs your ankle and drags you to the end of the bed. He lifts you up and takes a seat on the edge of the bed. “Come here.” you walk until you’re standing between his legs. 

“I didn’t mean to.” you push your bottom lip.

“Mm.” he starts to take off your shirt and pants leaving you in your panties before looking up at you. “Over my knees.” you nibble your lip as he helps you bend down. 

“Aem,” you look back at him and his hand lands on your ass. 

“I don’t want to hear it.” he lands his palm on your other cheek. He pulls your panties and you squirm as they press into your center as his hand lands upon your cheek again. He watches your panties become more wet as his hands land on your cheeks. He starts to softly rub at the heated flesh and you turn and look up at him with pleading eyes. “Stand up for me again.” he spanks you one more time pulling a whimper from you. 

“Aemond I’m sorry,” you watch him smirk up at you. “Aem,” he stands and towers above you as he starts to pull off his clothes. 

“Then be a good girl and get on the bed.” you nod quickly. “Face down.” he turns, watching you raise your ass into the air. You hear him discarding his clothes and bite your lip when his fingers ghost across your ass on the sensitive skin. “Bring a pillow to your mouth or my whole family will hear you.” you reach up and bring one down to you. 

Aemond grips your hips, lifting them higher before he begins to spank you again, watching your pleasure leak out of you slowly. He swipes at your wetness and coats its length watching you squirm on his bed. He slowly starts to push into you listening to your muffled noises. He starts to pump into you quickly, watching you scoot against his bed and fist his pillow. His hand lands on your ass again and groans when you flutter around him. 

He leans down over you slowing his movements so he can whisper in your ear. “Next time you call me baby almond in front of someone I’m putting you over my knees on the spot.” he groans as you squeeze around him. “Mm but you might like that. Hm?” he chuckles, snapping his hips into yours as you nod your head into the pillow. “Of course you would.” he lifts back up and spanks you again. “Because you’re so fucking naughty.” his hand lands on your cheek and your pleasure bursts through you. “Fuck,” he groans spilling his pleasure in you. He slowly pulls out and flips you over to look at your heaving chest. 

“Do you still love me?” you nibble your lip. 

“Of course I still love you.” he curls up next to you in bed and holds you closely. 

“And you’ll still love me if I call you baby almond?” you turn your head and look at his smile. 

“I love when you call me baby almond. Just not in front of others.” he presses his lips to your brow. “Though I’m sure now my siblings will call me that exclusively.” he sighs, pulling you closer. 

“So I can call you baby almond in front of them?” you try to hide your smile. 

“Gods I’d let you call me anything you want.” he shakes his head. 

“I love you, baby almond.” you hum letting your eyes shut. 

“I love you too.” his head rests against yours as he starts to drift off. 

ততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

The rest of the weekend with his family went smoothly and by the time you got back into town to spend the next couple of days with your family you were both relaxed and prepared. Your parents and siblings adored him and invited him back anytime he wanted. You were nervous about this weekend but everything has gone so perfectly you couldn’t have asked for anything better. 

“So this is what holidays will be like for the rest of our lives?” Aemond turns to you on your bed. 

“The rest of our lives?” you smirk. “Someone is thinking far into the future.” you cup his cheek. 

“We’ll graduate soon. Get nice jobs or if you’ll allow me to, I'll just have a nice job and you can stay at home. We'll have our own house. Maybe have a kid or two. Get a dog or a cat.” he looks down at you and takes in your flushed cheeks. 

“I want to get a big fish tank.” he chuckles, holding you closer. 

“That’s the only complaint?” he raises his eyebrows. 

“Not a complaint, just an addition to everything else.” you reach up and kiss him. 

“I can do that for you.” he mumbles against your lips. 

“Thank you, baby almond.” you wrap your arms around him tightly.

“It’s only because I love you so much.” he wraps his arms around you and pulls you on top of him. 

ততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

masterlist 🔌 

the end of our baby almond series 🥺 thank you for reading this with me and having patience while i took my time finishing it 🫠😅

ur fav flav taglist: @echos-muses @sinistersnakey @uwuuness

taglist ✍️

@ka1afbr @ninihrtss @daintylittlesunflower @primroseluna @alexxavicry @misspendragonsworld @papichulo120627 @ashovertheriver @gabriella-aesthetic @moonymoo1 @faenyra @uwuuness @lizzylovebooks280501 @nostalgiagoth03 @multilover19 @summer-and-sunflowers

[cowboylikefaith]

with great power...

art donaldson spiderman! au x reader

summary: stanford has a masked superhero on the loose, and you're trying to crack down on his identity. little do you know, it's your boyfriend art.

warnings: cursing, injuries, reader highkey gets mugged, art is being mysterious af, reader is incredibly oblivious, sappy at the end sorry, not proofread

author's note: HI so this is actually my first time writing a fic ever... but this au idea has been absolutely rotting in my brain for the past week or so and i need to get it out. enjoy!!!!!!

╰🕸️ ₊✧ ﾟ❤️⚬𓂂➢

"dude!" you say barging into art's dorm (not realizing that your poor boyfriend was in the middle of a nap) "look at the topic the newspaper just assigned me. some shithead on campus is doing parkour in a scuba suit, people are calling him 'spiderman'."

art is pulled out of his trance-like state when he hears the name fall out of your mouth. you feel bad after realizing you woke him up, seeing him wipe his tired eyes with a pout on his lips. "hey pretty" he says with a lopsided smirk on his face "what were you talking about? some spider-idiot?" you hop into bed next to him "yeah it's nothing...sorry for waking you up, just go back to bed, 'kay?"

you don't know what's been up with art recently. he rarely returns your calls, he's always tired, and when he's awake, he's either in a rush or incredibly sluggish. you asked patrick about it and he said that the beginning of a new tennis season is wearing both of them down. seems reasonable, right?

now, it's been a few weeks since you were assigned this story, and jess (your senior editor) wants you to photograph and interview this spiderman guy, because apparently he's some kind of campus superhero (returning stolen laptops, helping drunk sorority girls avoid getting hit by cars, the usual) however you have no leads so far.

until one day, tashi tells you a story about how he saved a freshman from the tennis team from being hazed, and you decide to ask your boyfriend about it.

"you don't know anything about a kid named steven mcdonald, do you?" you ask art as you settle down to watch some gossip girl.

"that freshman who survived a hazing incident? yeah, i know of him" he replies as he pulls you into his arms and kisses your forehead.

you pull away with furrowed eyebrows "well did he...say...anything about that night?"

"uh no. no, not really" he says (a little distantly) "anyway! i seriously don't understand why serena loves dan so much, nate is obviously the better choice for her."

you roll your eyes sarcastically "wow donaldson...really smooth transition! way to change the subject there honey."

"i'm sorry.." he replies as he plays with your hair "it's just that...i don't want you getting mixed up in that kind of stuff. if you got hurt.." he sighs "i don't know what i'd do with myself"

and so you promise art that you'll stop working on the article...until jess says she'll kick you out of the stanford star if you do.

one night, as you're walking back to your dorm after dinner with tashi and patrick (third wheel much?), a man in a black ski mask suddenly approaches you and orders you to put your hands up.

"give me your fucking heels lady...and your purse!" he demands.

"oh god no" you shut your eyes and groan "please sir, these are really expensive and- and these are manolo blahniks!! my mom bought-"

before you can finish your rambling, you can hear a thud, and when open your eyes, you can see that he's been wrapped up in some web-like substance.

"don't worry, he's not dead" a figure says as he walks out from behind the criminal. you feel like you know him, you can't even see his face but something about him is just so familiar, and you can't put your finger on it. until..

oh my god

"oh my god! you're spiderman! thank you so much, seriously. that guy could've killed me" you say excitedly, forgetting about your past opinions about him.

art- i mean spiderman, chuckles and says that it's no problem, and asks if he could take you back to your dorm.

"yeah! i would love that, thank you." you reply "actually, could i take your photo? i'm doing an article about you for the stanford star." oh and art eats it UP. he's doing stupid poses and acting silly and goofy (just to hear you laugh of course).

you get back to your dorm safely, and spiderart bids you farewell. just before he leaps out your window, he pulls a red stanford cap (one that you've never noticed, and one that looks suspiciously like art's) out of his pocket.

"hey, maybe i'll see you around" he says as he puts the cap on...backwards. something that only art would do. lucky enough for him, you're too tired to notice.

"...and those are the differences between meiosis and mitosis." you're trying to study for another biology exam when all of a sudden you hear a tapping noise on your window.

at first you think it's a bird, or some frat boy trying to piss you off by throwing empty beer cans at your window, but the tapping turns into banging and you start to hear sounds of pain through the glass.

you run to the window and see a boy in a familiar red and blue suit sitting on the windowsill. this time with a huge gash in his side.

"spiderman? oh my god, get inside, what happened?" you ask while scrambling for a first aid kit. art falls onto your bed, unknowingly bleeding all over your new floral sheets. he groans and holds his side, mumbling something about...well god knows what.

art protests as you try to patch up the very open wound by his waist. "you're just like my boyfriend art," you say with a grin "he gets all fucked up during his tennis matches and doesn't let me help him out." you can hear him through the mask but you can't tell if it's a laugh or a whimper.

"jesus- how long is this going to take? i have an econ final to study for" he says with a wince. "not very long if you sit still, spiderboy" you retort "why don't you take off your mask? you must be dying with that thing on."

you feel his face, and it feels...familiar. you slowly take off the mask, and reveal art's lips, sculpted nose, blue and brown eyes, and tousled blonde hair.

suddenly you realize. you realize the reasons for the missed calls, hurried kisses, and rain-checked dates. all this time you've been thinking that it was tennis kicking his ass, when really art was kicking other people's.

"hi honey" art mumbles, same lopsided, boyish smile that you fell in love with gracing his face "i'm sorry. i should have told you." before you can say anything, he kisses you and sneaks his hands to the small of your back. you can feel him smiling into the kiss as he pulls you into his lap.

"i missed you" you say, pulling away with a pout. you card your hands through his blonde curls. "i know, i know, i'm sorry pretty girl, it's just that...i don't want you to worry about me." art replies, pushing your hair away from your face.

you flick his forehead. "you dumbass. of course i'm going to worry about you, whether you like it or not...because i like you. a lot. no matter what kind of freaky superpowers you have." art lets out a weak chuckle, then he kisses you like a man stuck in the desert for 40 days. you can feel him drawing small circles along your hips and caressing your thumb.

you pull away one last time. "now tell me spiderboy...how did you go from tennis team captain to stanford superhero?"

[whatdidtheydotomygirljinx]

Why Episode 7 is the worst episode in all of Season 2.

This fuckass Timebomb ship is the worst thing to ever happen to Jinx's character.

Ok so finally we're gonna talk about Boy Savior Complex and AU Girl Next Door Powder

This is gonna be long. Also, we're not only talking about Episode 7 and Timebomb, we're also discussing Jinx's suicide attempt and how her character's resolution is actually really sad.

First of all, Jinx never liked Ekko back. Season 1 makes it pretty clear that they're friends, and that Ekko has an unrequited crush on her. His feelings are clear, but she never shows any reciprocation. And, no, the art book that came out after season 2 concluded doesn't count. You can't just put "the boy with the unrequited crush" trope in your story and then retract it.

And now to get to the serious part... who the fuck is AU Powder?

Ekko gets transported into this alternate timeline where we the audience soon realize everyone is happy and none of the conflicts that plague the original story exist and everything is perfect and "as it should be". So this is the ideal world and the one where all these characters reach their highest form of happiness. Even Silco is back with Vander.

And in this ideal world Powder is... a waitress at The Last Drop? I rewatched this episode and I genuinely tried to pay attention to see what does she actually DO. Like what occupies her time in this universe. And between Vander's line about how she's "too smart to be spending her life in a bar" and the fact that she is at one point behind the counter (while Ekko is studying his books... imma get back to that) and the fact that we never see her in any other places besides the bar and her hideout and that one time Ekko takes her out... this seems to be it.

So in the perfect timeline, Powder has decided to stay back with her family once she's grown up, to remain with Vander and help him run his bar, and implicitly has no big ambitions of her own, and definitely no ideas that she would sacrifice her family life for.

Now... Powder/Jinx as a family person is not actually wrong characterization. This is pretty congruent with her character in season 1. Her entire story and literally everything revolves around her family and not much else. When she's Powder she's attached at the hip to Vi and when she's Jinx she doesn't seem too interested in the world outside of her hideout and Silco's office. So considering all we know, yes, Jinx does place family first.

And this is pretty assumed by the show. Now, I also characterized her like this in season 1! She is a family girl. And Jinx happens to have all these people with big revolutionary ideas around her, be it Vander or Vi or Silco or Sevika, but she herself never actually seems much interested in that. She has a small moment in arc 1 of season 1, which i think it's significant to mention comes right after Vi plants the idea in her head. It would've been one thing if these ideas stayed with her, but post time-skip she doesn't bring anything like that up again. She mostly acts like a bored teenager whenever Silco drags her to the river to tell her all about his tragic past that radicalized him. Overall, any time she exhibits any revolutionary spirit, it seems to actually be more of a personal vendetta for her.

So, okay, Jinx is a family girl and she's never really actually been about all these big ideas, I can agree with the writers that this represents her character.

It's just that... this much?

Man, COME ON. There were people making "Everything's Perfect" AUs since season 1, and they almost all had Powder be a student at the Academy. This girl was clearly passionate about her little inventions, her bombs didn't work but she kept and kept trying. You're telling me she would be completely uninterested in learning more about engineering, in getting a formal education in that, in doing anything with it? Since in this world, there's peace between Piltover and Zaun, we can't talk about any barriers to her becoming a student. And, for that matter, in League lore there's an academy in Zaun, too, that she could have attended.

Even Ekko points it out, man. Now, to the writers' credit, the story acknowledges quite clearly that Powder choosing to stay with Vander and help him run the bar is weird. It just... never explains it. Like why is she like this, though? Let's throw out some possibilies:

(1) in some scenes, there seems to be a little "jinxiness" in this Powder, too. maybe she's aware of that side of her, and doesn't like it, and fears that if she went off and did what she wanted, and was truly herself, it would ruin what she has, "things are good now" (in this case, this Powder is actually a tragic character. nowhere near ideal timeline stuff.)

(2) in act 1 of season 1, the reason Vi makes Powder stay back is because she fears losing her, after Vander tells her that she might lose Powder in a confrontation with Piltover. since Vi dies in this universe, on a job, maybe in that moment Powder internalizes that rocking the boat in any way is bad. Vi was spirited and had big ideas and wanted to be someone and it led to her death. so maybe this Powder gave up on all of that then. Vander seems like the type to give her a "look what happens" speech, too.

But these are just my theories. This doesn't ever get properly explained in the show. So then maybe Powder is actually content like this and likes this and maybe these people constantly pestering her that she could do and be more are just annoying nuisances to her, same as Sevika is an annoying nuisance to Jinx in the original timeline (although there it makes significantly more sense).

(Also, why is Vi even dead in this universe? They could've easily found another way for Piltover and Zaun to make peace. Guess Jinx doesn't even get to be happy in the Perfect Timeline, goddamn, girl really is cursed after all.)

If you're gonna spend an entire episode on fix-it fanfiction that is supposed to pander to fans and give them, on screen, what they always wanted to see, why didn't we get grown up Powder in a cute academy uniform, being a top student and working on school projects and being loved by her professors cause girl was a prodigy.

Instead... this is Ekko in this universe, actually.

Ekko is the "big idea guy" and he's working on an entry to the innovations fair and he gets to be Heimerdinger's pupil. To her credit, this Powder still seems to be very smart, Ekko comes to her for help cause he can't actually build his invention alone. But she only uses her intellect to help Ekko. I always thought it would be Powder who would be Heimerdinger's pupil. Instead, here, she's hanging off Ekko's arm, and being all cute, as he discusses Important Stuff with Heimerdinger, stuff that she doesn't get to be privy to, but that she is expected to help them with anyway.

So AU Powder is this very smart girl who is helping her boyfriend build his entry for a contest because he can't actually do it himself but it's okay she'll help him of course and no he can take all the credit she doesn't want to be recognized or anything or to go to like University that would be crazy she's doing it cause she loves him and she's sweet like that and she likes to help others and she doesn't have any character traits that make her difficult she's just a cute funny and relatable down-to-earth girl and she pokes fun at Ekko but like in a loving way and she likes being a waitress and she'd rather be recognized for her dancing skills and................ I'm sorry.....................

So you're telling me Ekko gets transported into an alternate timeline in which his childhood crush who never liked him back is stripped of all her personality, has no goals or ambitions of her own and has no interests besides being his supportive girlfriend, is devoid of all the traits that might have made a relationship with her difficult, and despite the fact that she never showed interest in him in the original world, here she is head over heels for him, always acting all lovey-dovey with him and being nothing but a cute and affectionate puppy.

This is every little boy's with an unrequited crush dream right here. Man, Ekko won more than any other character in this show. And she's mentally ill, too! He's hit the jackpot. Y'all what the fuck am I watching.

I'm sorry but literally ALL I COULD FUCKING SEE WHEN I WAS WATCHING THIS STUPID DANCE SCENE was that in this universe Powder is a good christian girl who stays home with her dad and loves her boyfriend and is always happy to help WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS GOOD GIRL PROPAGANDA get this bullshit OFF my fucking screen I cannot fucking believe what I'm watching here

Moving on.

Ekko has hurt Jinx more than any other character in the show.

Physically speaking.

Ekko is the one who does this.

Which leads to this.

Which ultimately leads to this.

It has always confused me and it continues to confuse me why no one in this fandom treats Jinx being injected with shimmer as a big deal, when this is the worst thing that happens to her post episode 3. And it's a point of no return for her character, she can't undo this. And yeah I know everyone thought Shimmer Jinx was cool in season 2, but her being turned into a half-dead monster is not a good progression for her character. She also goes through agonizing pain in the process.

Singed agrees.

It's Ekko who forces Jinx between death and being turned into a half-dead corpse. It's actually insane to me that no one in the fandom considers this and that this is never brought up in the show. If they wanted Jinx and Ekko to be a thing, you'd think this would be a big deal in their relationship. Ekko has changed her irreparably, for the worse.

Idk, is the guy who beat you up and left you for dead really boyfriend material?

This is the first moment Jinx shows any interest in Ekko. Interesting timing.

I'm pretty sure she doesn't even mention his name post act 3 of season 1. She doesn't wonder about whether he's alright after the bridge fight (for that matter, neither does he). The first time when Jinx looks at him with any hint of affection is when she's standing on a ledge, ready to throw herself off.

Jinx has no one anymore at this point. Her old family is long gone. Silco is dead. Isha is dead. Vi has decided having a good time with Caitlyn is more important than her. This is Jinx at her lowest moment. Does she like him back or is he just the only one who showed up?

Ekko is a winner once again. His crush has been abandoned by everyone, and he is the only one left to comfort her. Luck like this is hard to come by. And of course, she's gonna be super impressed and touched by any sliver of affection now. Probably gonna look at him with big, grateful eyes, and see him as her savior. I'm disgusted.

By the way, this should have never been Ekko. If Vi was too busy with fucking Caitlyn, this should have been Sevika. Sevika is the only character who has known Jinx since she was a child, and who has been with her through every iteration. And she's the only character who has never cared whether she's Jinx or Powder or any other persona she decides to take up, to her she'll always just be an annoying kid. And to Jinx this might actually be comforting. Sevika is the only one who has a realistic perspective on Jinx, and recognizes her flaws, so her talking her down might have actually been very touching, and there are things she could tell her that neither Vi nor Silco could.

(The fuck could Ekko tell her, honestly? That he went off to an alternate universe where she was his perfect girlfriend, so she shouldn't kill herself actually? What the fuck.)

I also wanna talk a bit about Jinx's resolution as a character. Not her fake-out death, but her in the last episode. I think it's interesting that everyone who had a connection to Jinx is gone, namely Silco and Isha. Silco and Isha are both people she chooses, actively, and she is herself around. Instead, now, she's back to Vi and Ekko, the same people that were with her in her childhood. This is a full circle moment for her.

This is Powder right here, guys. Powder was a little girl who made a mistake and then she went off on this journey where she met new people and she was someone else and it was fun for a while but ultimately she realized what she was doing was bad and she came back to her family and is ready to be that little, sweet girl again. The problem with the Powder-Jinx dichotomy is that Jinx, as much as she represents all this bad stuff that the show has made clear, also represents Freedom and Power, two things that Powder definitively lacked. Her coming full circle, coming back to Powder, is not actually a good resolution for her. She's right back where she started, with Vi and Ekko. Her venturing off on her own and making her own decisions was ultimately a mistake that only lead to her suffering. We can take this all the way back to when she decides to venture off on her own with that bomb, despite Vi's disagreement, and the consequences plague her for the rest of the story.

I know everyone thought it looked super cool when she lifted off that hood, but I could only think it was tragic.

[nuggeteri]

hello hello i see you are a flower ranchers enjoyer, i am The flower ranchers guy would you like to talk abt them :>

Oh my god I was writing you a one-shot and my fucking website just fucking glitched and erased all of it. Welp. Back to writing I go (another concept though because I am not rewriting the same shit twice)

Also my DMS are open if that's what you meant :333

.

"Are you sure?" Jimmy asks, looking from right to left---almost worried to be getting caught.

Scott doesn't know why he even bothers. They're in the BamBunker and it really wasn't that big. It could all be seen from one look. He guesses it only emphasized on how anxious Scott was about the idea.

Scott doesn't think it should be against the rules if it's his power. He nods.

"Well, okay, but you can't say I gave you permission, alright?" He warns and Scott knows that Jimmy wouldn't do anything even if he didn't listen. Scott agrees anyway. "Yup. Sure. Now let me."

With only minimal sounds of protests, Jimmy turned around, back facing Scott, which the shirt the blond was wearing having two rips, allowing golden small wings to pass through.

Scott knows he could've stolen Grian's wings. They were bigger and would probably get him more success. Pearl would've let him without a second thought. He could probably coherse Martyn. While Lizzie's were fake, they could certainly do the job. But if he chose anyone other than Jimmy, then they wouldn't be getting all red, hot and bothered and Scott having his hands in their wings.

"You've grown some blue feathers." He remarks as he passes a hand through them. Jimmy hiccups, gasps and chirps before managing to answer him--- "Yeah..- I guess? I mean, look at me! Still standing!" He wasn't a canary anymore,Mumbo and Skizz are indeed dead. Scott can give that to him. "Proud of you, Petal."

He passes his hand through a few more of the new feathers before activating his powers. He's not even entirely sure if it would work, but at least, trying it gave him an excuse to pass his hands over Jimmy's soft wings.

It does work. It's not painful, per say, more of uncomfortable to have his back torn off to let wings pass through, but oh well.

It also ripped his shirt and jacket--oh well. He could always ask Cleo to sew it back together afterwards. She wouldn't say not to her soulmate.

"Did it work?"

Scott chirped---it didn't come as a surprise for him, he remembered how being an Avian was from Empires season one-- and it was all Jimmy needed to get his question answered. He chirped back, and oh gosh, not only had Scott missed these Avian instincts, but it made him feel fuzzy to have his partner respond.

He doesn't show it, though. That's Jimmy's thing, as he got redder and redder by the second.

"Aww, Jimmy, are you flustered?"

"Go and catch Tango!"

Right--- because this was also what it was all about. While Scott wanted to run his hands through his boyfriend's unused wings, he also wanted to catch up on his other boyfriend who had been running all around the server not to get caught.

He knew, logically, that Tango would stop for him if he asked. After all, he was still green, and therefore not allowed to attack him. However, that wouldn't be fun.

"I'll send kisses from you his way, then!" He says before flapping his new wings and getting out of the bunker without using the ladders--which he could hear his boyfriend complaining about.

He doesn't care--- he has a mission. Find Tango.

It's not that hard. The Bamboozlers' mountain already gave a good overall view of the server--flying slightly higher made it incredible.

Tango was running circles around Spawn.

Scott dipped and glided all the way over there.

"Hey, snowbug!" He called out.

"AAAH!" Tango screams---a little loud, which makes Scotts newly obtained head wings flap back in surprise, but other wise, doesn't hurt a fly.

"Since when have you gotten wings?" He asks, flabbergasted.

"Jimmy gave them to me. Powers, remember? I can steal people's hybrid status."

"That is---amazing! Oh my, can you become a blaze hybrid?" Tango proposes and---well, it's not like Scott hadn't already considered it. There were cultural and biological traditions he and his partners couldn't practice. Like wrapping someone around a wing for Jimmy, or have flames intertwine for blazes. He wanted to try all of that. But not right now.

"Later, bug," he informs him, "You've already stolen from me!"

Tango's fire seems to spark at Scotts words---something that he finds absolutely adorable. They were all excited.

"How so?" He still manages to get out.

"Ice is my thing. It's the second time you steal it!"

-

I did get lazy towards the end soryyyy it's soon to be four AM....but flower ranchers

[shallowseeker]

bobby definitely seems to have emotionally adopted cas by season 6, like him helping cas when rachel attacks him.

to be clear bobby was also disappointed in sam during the demon blood detox but never once abandoning the idea that he was sam's father

at some point he decided cas was one of his boys and even when cas betrays them he takes it similarly to how he reacts to dean and sam going against him.

Oh, you've hit at one of my favorite Bobby and Cas moments!

LOOK AT THIS FACE 😭😭😭

////

AND OH HEY LET ME TALK ABOUT HOW CAS WAS FIRST KILLED/sacrificed among the pages IN CHUCK'S KITCHEN AT THE END OF SEASON 4 BUT FINDS SAFETY IN BOBBY'S KITCHEN IN SEASON 6:

versus

yes, I needed all caps to say that

And poor Cas is pretty much: "Stay back until it's safe, Bobby."

Then, all Bobby says:

ARE WE RUNNING OR FIGHTING!!!!!! THE SUPPORT!

PLEASE

THIS IS ONE OF THE SAFEST PLACES CAS HAS EVER EXPERIENCED IN HIS LONG LIFE

but fuck cas is heavy dammit

///

The other moment that's on my mind is the one after Cas collapses (apparently dead) in 7x01. Bobby's voice cracks when he says, "He's cold."

BOBBY WAS THE ONE READING THE SPELL AND—

THEN HE HAS TO LOOK AT DEAN'S—HIS KID'S—FACE AND

BOBBY: *voice cracking* He's cold

Dean, despite hearing and knowing what "he's cold" means... not believing it:

And Bobby. Bobby is trying to gently break through Dean's disbelief, while dealing with his own disappointment/sadness and it's HNNNNNGH

[izelthewashbear]

Good news: we finally know why c!Martyn fell off between his win in Limited life, and then his recent placements in Secret life and Wild life!

Bad news: Not angsty enough.

Worry not, for I have already thought of three (3) alternative reasons for why Martyn fell off the way he did!

(disclaimer: this post is NOT meant to signify that Eyes and Ears is a bad AU by any means. I respect the decisions that Martyn makes (as much as I wanna toss this man into a wall sometimes), but I decided to give this one thing my own little spin, since I've already been thinking about it for a while. Enjoy!)

These headcanons are placed in a particular order: 1 fits pretty well into EaE AU and technically could be canon if Martyn likes it ig?, 2 is a pretty neutral one that could fit into any AU or interpretation (+ is the closest one to what Martyn said on his lore stream, but a little different) and 3 is one I personally use in my own AU, called Preservers AU, or The ones who watch, the ones who listen, the ones who kill AU (WLK for short).

1. Martyn got fucked up the same way Cleo and Pearl did in Double life.

While doing research into EaE and watching Limited Life lore stream a while back, one particular thing caught my attention. As you may remember, in session 6, Cleo and Pearl were absent and Gem and Lizzie came to fill in for them. I really liked what Martyn lored there - the idea that Double Life messed up with them so much (especially Pearl, but Cleo too) that even after "resting" in the eternal fuckass void that the Watchers throw them into (the void has no name, so may I propose the name I use in my own AU - The Midway, as in the middle of the way between different worlds) they weren't quite in the right mindset to enter the games again - hence, for example, Pearl talking about Tilly in ep 1 of LimL. So, their souls got snached by the Watchers, threw into the void like into a microwave when you need to heat up your food for just a minute longer, and their conciousnesses were replaced with Gem and Lizze's.

And what if the same should've happened to Martyn?

Let's be honest, winning this series messes everyone up, especially if it ends by you backstabbing the only person who was nice to you the whole season (+ some random guy who just happened to be too close to your sword). Especially if we take into account the interpretation that Martyn got briefly possessed by the Watchers as he killed them ("time is delicious" yada yada yada, we know what you are sir). I can totally believe that this win messed with him enough that at the beginning of Secret life, he was still a bit woozy, a bit disjointed. That would explain him being the first yellow, first red, as well as ending up in the bottom half of the leaderboard for the first time. Funny how he was still the only person to never fail a task, I guess even when fucked up by the Watchers he still has his 300 IQ.

But why didn't the Watchers snatch him during Secret life and put him back into the aforementioned void? Cuz they like torturing him too much and they were like "naaaaaah he'll be fineeee" (he wasn't). Or, they wanted to, but they accidentally snatched the wrong blond guy (aka Tango) (just like in Wild life, they mixed up their blondes again and got Martyn killed before Jimmy).

2. The nihilism route

Martyn's explanation during the lore stream was that c!Martyn, after he won, stopped caring about his performance and decided to chill out a bit, hence him doing worse and worse each subsequent season. But c'mon dude, where's the angst? So I propose a slightly changed version.

You go through four painful, draining, exhausting death games. Each time you die too early to reach your goal. You see your friends die, and you die painfully as well. Until one day, it happens. You win, you kill everyone. You're ecstatic, now you can fix everything, free everyone, change everyone's fate and be free-

And then you're tossed into a new game. All your happy murder time didn't matter. You're right back where you started. Not to mention, the one you were fighting for isn't around, still. So what do you do? Wallow in sorrow, of course! You're all stuck and you're all fucked! There is no escape! Nothing matters! (/neg)

So yeah what Martyn said but make it sadder

3. The Watchers hate you, personally (spoilers for my AU! + if it sounds stupid out of context I'm sorry)

(TW for body horror, oops)

So I'm no stranger to writing horrible fates to characters I really like (and unfortunately that includes c!Martyn, this guy is just too fun to mangle repeatedly). In my AU, after a win, each player is granted a singular wish from the Watchers - and that wish is twisted into a sick version, making up the new game. WLK!Martyn, the nosey bastard he is, asked to know everything about the Watchers - all their secrets, all their knowledge, how to defeat them. Watchers said "bet" and in return, gouged out his eye and replaced it with their own, "lending" him some of their powers (with the side effects being migraines, insomnia, being flashed with horrifying visions, throbbing pains in half of his skull and falling off in general). So uh yeah, guy that loses an eye in such a fashion and doesn't have any time to recover will probably have a hard time placing high again.

It could also be made into a non-WLK version where the Watchers mangled him in some other way. Sorry Listeners but you can't save your boy from that, he too far gone

So I hope you liked my little ramble! If you have any of your own ideas, interpretations or even questions lemme know, I love loring and I wanna outlore the lore guy one day :3

[thanakite]

I wonder if part of the reason Silco struggled to discipline Jinx when she did things that fucked with his plans or whatever was because he spent so much of their time together and because a decent amount of their relationship was encouraging her to follow her worst instincts?

Like yes, he's pissed at her when she kills the Enforcers at Progress Day, but he isn't so pissed that he actually does anything to punish her, and when she shows him that she got the Hextech Gemstone, he pretty much loses all his anger

And when she messes up with the Firelights and it results in the loss of a bunch of Shimmer, he kind of punishes her by not sending her out to do more and by having Sevika clean things up, but is it really THAT MUCH of a punishment to be like "Go work on your inventions" instead? Because while she worries about how he sees her and her usefulness after that, it's not like it actually does anything to actually curb the behavior considering she like nearly immediately goes out and kills the Enforcers at Progress Day immediately afterwards

Stemming from this, I wonder if that's ACTUALLY why Jinx has more or less changed so much from season 1 to season 2?

I've seen some posts where people are complaining that Jinx is less erratic and destructive in season 2 that makes it clear that they feel she was sanitized to be more palatable as a character in season 2 and that the general reasoning that being around Isha and taking care of her is what did it is weak, but really I do wonder if the change is actually because Silco isn't constantly telling her to give into her more destructive tendencies and such?

Until the scene in the bunker prison cell, they make it relatively clear that Jinx is not hearing/seeing Silco as one of the voices that speak to her (in fact a lot of those seem to be gone, which COULD be because they were trying to make her character more palatable, or it could be because she was starting to move on from the traumas that were causing them to manifest so vividly, especially with Silco's own death since he did play such a role in Vander, Claggor, Mylo, and Vi even appearing in them (her parents too as we learn, but I don't think she ever found out about that)), so she isn't hallucinating seeing/hearing him doing that and thus her worst impulses aren't being externally encouraged in that manner anymore, added on to the fact that the person (who she did come to care for and love as a father figure to be clear, but people are complex and can have VERY complex feelings about people in their lives) who instigated one of the worst traumas she experienced was dead (because Vander wouldn't have been taken if not for Silco and then Claggor and Mylo wouldn't have been there with Vi and she wouldn't have felt the need to set off her Monkey Bomb and thus likely none of them would have died)

Then, add on to the lack of Silco's influence that she wasn't trying to deal with getting caught by Enforcers and that she ended up essentially taking in Isha (who stuck around her pretty much all the time and COULD have been helping to curb some of the influence of her hallucinations and more negative thoughts) it seems like a more likely change to have occurred, AND could even be a factor as to why it wasn't until after Isha's death that she finally saw Silco as one of her hallucinations (And that it's interesting that he wasn't advocating for some kind of violence like he seemed to do in life, but instead was talking about how to break the cycle of violence which doesn't seem like a Silco sentiment as much as a Vander sentiment)

Anyway, this is a very long way to wonder if the majority of the changes we see in Jinx in season 2 weren't more related to the lack of Silco's influence in Jinx's life and not because of Isha as directly as people tend to assume OR the idea that they were trying to make her a more palatable character (Which to be clear, I do think that was a PIECE of it, but I'm not sure how big of a piece it actually was, as it's my understanding that she's pretty erratic and destructive and such in League of Legends as a whole and that she's still a fairly popular character so that seems like an illogical change to make for that reason when you have that information, beyond like more minor adjustments here and there, but maybe that's just me? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

Oh and again, as I've said elsewhere, I DO think Silco loved Jinx in his own way, but that doesn't negate that he wasn't necessarily a good influence on her, especially considering his actions as a whole and not just towards Jinx, resulted in A LOT of negative things for A LOT of people (people that he was supposedly fighting to free and do good for I mean, I don't really care honestly how he harmed Piltover so much, I more care about the direct harm he did to Zaun and the people there)

[jooniperbonsai]

Penalty Shot (pjm) | Part 1

Pairing: professionalhockeyplayer!jimin x minorleagueplayer!reader (afab)

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 22,512

Release Date: December 24, 2024

Genre: Smut, holiday romance fluff, angst, hockeyau, holidayau, comedy, slight rivals to lovers

Summary: He's the worst hockey player on the worst team in the national league, with an awful attitude to go with it. You're the best player in the local chapter, but turned down your chance to go pro. After a scandal benches him for part of the season, he recruits your help to get him ice ready by the New Year.

Warnings: mentions of threesome, Jimin is bi, probably inaccurate ideas about hockey, Jimin is an asshole, swearing, misogyny in sports, slightly homophobic comments, hometown trauma, arranged marriage, corny Christmas references, holiday party stress, mentioned death of minor characters, teen pregnancy, abortion and discussions of abortion processes, emotions, and characteristics of shame angst, misunderstandings, Y/N is a self sacrificial person, fighting and threatening violence, alcohol, sexual innuendos, omg look it's Shinee's Minho as the role of bff, mention of random kpop artists on y/ns team, groping, oral (f receiving), hand jobs, unprotected sex, creampie, rivals but not, friends but not? Who knows, Christmas is all around and the cheer is in the air idk

a/n: It's here! I mean, kind of! Here's part 1 of what has become a monster of a fanfic. I just have 1. Learned so much about hockey it's ridiculous, and I feel like I need more time with these characters. To all who celebrate, Merry Christmas. I hope everyone enjoys this fic. Be easy on me with the proofing errors. I rushed the proof a bit to get it out on time.

“That’s it, babygirl; Cum on my cock. That’s it. Fuckkk.”

“No no no, what did I say? Did I say you could ride me? No. On your knees. Mouth open. Just your mouth, not your hands. Be a good boy or you won’t get my cum. There we go. Open. I said open. Do you want my cock or not? There we go. Ah-ah, swallow. That’s a good boy.”

“Fuck, Jimin, my turn, please please please.” 

“What did I say about begging? There’s plenty to go around.” 

“Oh for fuck’s sake. Close the damn laptop. I’ve seen enough.” 

The sharp, wet slapping sounds and deep, guttural moans echoing through the conference room cuts off as the laptop is snapped shut. As if rehearsed, all bodies in the room turn toward the subject of the scandal, expectedly awaiting a very different response from the one they’re given.

“What? Everyone has sex, it’s not new,”  Jimin says. 

“Yes, everyone has sex. But not everyone is filming a sex tape, much less an orgy, and putting it out onto the internet,” Sophia, the public relations manager says. 

“I didn’t put it on the internet. I’m not that stupid. And, it was a threesome, not an orgy.”

“Well, clearly you are stupid, if you thought attending, much less filming, your not-so-private sexual exploits wouldn’t come back to haunt you. And yet, shocker, they have, and we are swiftly becoming the top headline in every tabloid magazine on the planet. You seriously thought none of these participants would want to brag about how they bedded the bad boy of the UHL?” 

“Park, you finished off last season being one of the most famous people in the Universal Hockey League, and not in a good way. Need I remind you that we just spent the whole summer trying to implement a marketing campaign to improve sales of your jerseys since manufacturers don’t even want to make them? That after ‘Park the Park’ became a trending hashtag on every social media site, you suddenly caught attention as the ‘Hottest But Worst Player in Professional Sports’?” Coach sighs heavily into his hands, clenching his fists as if he needs to punch something. 

It’s very much the Coach way. It’s not unheard of for him to be taking swings at the punching bag during gym training days. Clearly this is how he releases steam. 

Only the problem is, the steam is channeled directly at Jimin. 

“I thought any press is considered good press.” 

Sophia snorts and rolls her eyes. “That is a load of bullshit that PR reps say to make shitheads like you feel better. But I’m not here to soothe your ego. I think it’s been stroked enough, based on what we all just saw.” She clears her throat, shaking her head. “The point is, JImin, you’ve cost this team a lot, and at this point, I can’t advise the staff enough to let you go. You’ve caused fights on the ice that almost turned lethal, you have the worst stats, and the highest lien we’ve had to take out after you damaged the rink in LA and caused them to end their season early. In any other job, you’d be fired by now.” 

Sophia scoops her laptop up off the table and places it in her bag. She stands, hastily collecting her other things. Her assistant-slash-lackey, some nameless, anxious young woman, follows suit, clattering her impressive collection of color-coded pens across the conference table. She bows in apology, shakily attempting to collect her things. No one, including Sophia, moves to help. 

“I have to go, because I need to figure out some way to spin this story now that we are receiving hundreds of requests for interviews, quotes, and extra footage.” She fake gags, as if Jimin and the debauching act on the screen is repulsive to her. “Stay off social media. Do not make a single claim unless advised by your lawyers. We are petitioning the website to take the video down. I know it’s out there forever, but I think if we act fast we can reduce views and hopefully end its virality quickly. Once I hear back from the firm I’ll send you an update.” 

The door shuts behind them slowly, but once the final click ensures that no one outside can hear what’s being discussed, Jimin turns to see the deep set frown of Coach and Assistant Coach Jay sharply aimed toward him. 

“Do you. Have. Any fucking idea. How bad this looks?” Coach’s voice is clipped, fury piercing through his staccatoed breath. Gone is the negotiator, the collected cool that he’d worn while Sophia was here. Instead is the same anger and resentment that Jimin has gotten used to experiencing in the locker room before and after every game, as well as his many meetings as of late. 

“It only looks bad because people take shit way too seriously. If this was a threesome with two women, I’m sure it wouldn’t be blowing up right now. But add a man into the mix and all the homophobes come with their torches and pitchforks. This’ll all blow over in a few weeks, or days even depending on what new scandal the tabloids decide will get the most clicks. Really, Coach, it’ll be okay.” 

A vein protrudes from Coach’s neck, and he huffs a heavy sigh. “You’re missing the point, Park. It’s bad because it’s gay or bisexual or pansexual or whatever the hell your generation is calling things now. But that’s only part of it. All those celebrity gossip pages have been reporting on you for months as is, detailing your explicit sexual appetite and partying with celebrities. You’ve built a reputation for yourself as a playboy, and they’re eating that shit up. And maybe that would all be fine and fun and you could be the next Travis Kelce of the world toting around your celebrity fuck buddies, but there’s one thing Kelce’s got that you don’t.” 

“…Taylor Swift? Whiteness? A mustache?” 

“No you dumbass, talent. Travis Kelce is good at his sport, Jimin, and you fucking suck at yours.” Jay interjects. He reaches into his padfolio, pulling out a complex spreadsheet. “We’ve pulled the totals of all the stats. In the Universal Hockey League, you have the lowest stats out of every active player. Minor players are doing better than you. A hell of a lot better.” 

Jimin reaches out and takes the page, scanning it, brows furrowed. “Okay, so I need to clean up my game a little bit. I don’t see how those two things are connected.” 

“Then let me explain it to you, son.” Coach leans back in his chair, revealing the lower portion of his suit coat, stained from the bit of pasta sauce that dribbled down during his lunch. Jimin finds himself staring at it for so long that it takes Coach three tries before his attempts at calling Jimin’s attention actually works. 

“Focus, Park.” 

“Sorry,” he responds reflexively. 

“Basically, what Sophia said in the meeting is true. I have been advised by her as the official Public Relations Director to fire you. You’ve caused significant risk in various ways. And what I didn’t tell her is that the manager of the Bells and team owner both called me this morning worrying about the integrity of the team. Your little bullshit behaviors have been adding up. Not only are you impossible to market to Bells fans, you’re untradeable and undesirable to any other team. No one wants the Scarlet A you’ve tainted the team with.” 

Jimin raises an eyebrow. He didn’t know Coach was so familiar with classic literature.

“The point is, investors are backing out. Brand deals are falling through. The capital gains of our team are dwindling because we have a shitty player with an even shittier attitude.” 

It feels like a brick has been launched at Jimin’s chest. A hot, crumpling feeling washes over him, and the very cool and collected nature he’s kept fresh this whole meeting has now taken the backseat. 

“I don’t know what happened to you, Park, but you weren’t always this way. When I scouted you and signed you onto the Bells, you were just this young kid with a dream. You loved the game more than you loved the fame. I miss that guy. That’s the one who I wanted. I wanted the fresh energy of early morning practices led by a player with eagerness and potential. And you were that for a while. 

“But all I’ve seen in the last two seasons is someone who cares about hair gel and being an A-lister for afterparties. When you’re supposed to be driving the net, you’re getting flanked. You can’t control your mouth so you start chirpin’ and hand every opposing team at least one power play, usually in the third period and leaving your team to handle the mess you created as you sit in the box.”

Heat floods Jimin’s cheeks. “Am I supposed to just let all those guys walk all over me? I’m one of the shorter players in the league, and they love to talk shit.” 

“Of course they love to talk shit when you’re such an easy target! It's a practical strategy! If you target the hothead, they’ll take themselves out of the game! They don’t even need to be good to do that!” 

“Isn’t that allegedly your strategy anyway?” Jay says, raising an eyebrow. “Doesn’t seem like a very good one.” 

“Shut up, Jay,” Jimin retorts, blowing air sharply out of his nose. 

“Don’t you two get started on me now,” Coach says, snapping his fingers. Jimin refocuses his gaze. 

“So, what does that mean for me then? Am I fired? Just like that?” He folds his arms over his chest defensively.

Coach rubs a hand over his face. “I don’t know, son. It depends on what you want from this.”

This shocks Jimin. Is he seriously being asked if he wants to be fired? Isn’t the answer obvious? He opens his mouth to speak, but is cut off by Coach. 

“What I mean, is that now is a good time to think about your goals. Do you just want to be a celebrity or do you want to be a player? A good one, one who makes his team proud.” 

His chest twists with sadness. For nearly ten years, Jimin has been with the Bells. He’d been scouted by Coach himself at the age of 19, having just completed high school and graduating from his own league. During the try-out period, he’d been one of the best, and after a summer of ups and downs, he was offered a contract to be the rookie starter of the season.

 “I want to play. You know that. You know how much this means to me!” His voice trembles as the pain in his chest spring tears into his eyes. 

Coach gives him a sympathetic smile, nodding. “I do. At least, I used to. But now, I need you to prove it to me. To all of us. Which is why I think this break will be good for you to do so.” 

He knits his eyebrows, counting how many days of break he’ll have over the holidays. Then he nods. “Sure. It’s not much, I know, since we have a game between Christmas and the New Year, and one next week, but I’ll come to the arena every day, morning ‘til night. I’ll do explosion drills and I’ll rework my stickhandling. Shit, I’ll even do one better. I know we’ve been struggling to get the puck out of our zone, so I’ll focus on drills that shift us into neutral position. I know Zelensky was complaining about that last game and–”

“Whoa, whoa, slow down kid. I’m glad to hear you’re taking this matter seriously, but it’s not going to correct itself in a matter of days. It’s going to have to be a change in attitude. You need to learn how to not let every little thing trigger you on and off the ice. That’s going to take some time. Therapy, maybe.” 

“I’ll get a therapist. Right after this, I’ll call my friend Yoongi who can recommend me to someone and…” But already they’ve moved on, Jimin’s promise hanging in the air. 

Coach opens the folder he has in front of him before digging into the pocket of his jacket to fish around for something. He produces a glasses case, and then pulls out his reading glasses, placing them on the bridge of his nose. “Let’s see here. What are you thinking, Jay?” 

Jay careens his body to glance over at the schedule Coach has unfolded and laid before them. “Well, you already know what I think.” 

Jimin and Jay haven’t always had such a sour relationship. They were friends once, before Jay was hired as the Assistant Coach. Before there was a significant power imbalance between them. Most days, they can get by without making snarky remarks. Some days, Jimin even likes the guy still. Jay is a good AC. He looks at problems with a square eye, knows usually before anyone else what strategy the opposing team is laying out. He protects and vouches for all his players in press meetings, including Jimin. But when he doesn’t have to be doing his job, Jay is ready to cut down anyone and everyone who gets in his way of going home early. 

Jimin sighs, looking around the conference room. A framed poster from the 2000 season Choice Cup championship stares back at him. It’s faded, but he can see the beaming face of his favorite player: Lee Wonhyuk. 

Wonhyuk is seen as a hockey legend, having more hat tricks than anyone in Bells’ history. Always a balanced player, he led his team to the 2000 Choice Cup Playoffs. Jimin was just a kid then, but that was what started his love for hockey. 

“Hmm, well, then I think this is going to be the only option. Park, you’re suspended until late January.”

Jimin freezes. “What?”

“Suspension. I don’t want to see you on the bench in your jersey until the 23rd.” Coach marks the calendar with a thick black marker and nods. “That’ll give you enough time to start getting your shit together and maybe we will have cleared the air from this scandal long enough to recover some of our team’s reputation.”

Coach stands, gathering his folder and heading toward the door. 

“B-but I said I was going to fix this! Did you not hear me promise I’d get a therapist?” 

“We heard you, Jimin. That doesn’t suddenly erase everything you’ve done. How can we even be sure you’ll take it seriously? It doesn’t seem like you’ve taken much of your career seriously for a while now. You’re just lucky you’re not being fired,” Jay knocks his knuckles on the table, almost like a gavel from a judge. 

“Don’t take this thing too much to heart, kid. A suspension is kind of like a break. A vacation even! Go enjoy Christmas with your folks and enjoy some eggnog. Watch one of those ridiculous Hallmark movies about the magic of Christmas making some uptight lawyer into a farm girl because of the hot ranch hand or whatever it is. Take a crash course in anger management, I don’t know. Either way, stay away from the team or else you might not be part of it for much longer.” Coach idles in the open doorway, wafting his hand for Jimin to leave. “Either way, let’s go, we need to go. Our time is up with the conference room and I gotta get home to the Mrs. to help make enough cookies to feed an army.” 

Jimin deflates, grabbing his bag and shuffling out of the building and into the mild winter air swirling around him. 

Christmas with his folks sounds like a nightmare. He hasn’t talked to them since the scandal leaked, despite the worried calls from his mother and the less-than-enthused follow-ups from his father who began calling on behalf of his mother. 

He wasn’t planning on going home for the holidays. The excuse of his work schedule would keep him away another year, and he also suspects that the invite to attend Christmas is one that has no real urgency behind it. He hasn’t been home since his first year going pro. He was just a kid then, trying to balance this new life with the one he left and heal a broken heart. He had hopped on a plane home, only to have to turn around just after the Christmas dinner was finished. The entire flight he was nauseated from overeating. 

The idea of coming home now, while being the biggest loser in the UHL just sounds like another way to rub salt in his wounds. 

He drives home, calling Yoongi and getting a number for a therapist, only to realize that they would be closed until the new year. Of course they will. He turns the key to his apartment, he can’t help but feel like the place looks completely different even though it’s exactly as he left it a handful of hours ago: blinds drawn, warm-lit sconces on his display shelves in his living room giving everything a soft glow. Everything is pristine. Jimin values tidiness and control of his home. Of his life.

Which is why standing here with nothing to guide him for the next 30 days suddenly feels paralyzing. How is he supposed to become another person in a month? He’s not allowed at the arena for practice, and god, he knows everyone will recognize him at the next closest community one, though who knows if he’ll even be allowed in after how “inappropriate” his type of fame now is. 

And it’s too warm here to skate outdoors. He checks the weather app on his phone. No snow is forecasted for the next two weeks. It’s looking to be a warm Christmas this year. Meanwhile, he knows from the location settings that his hometown he’s saved into his favorites is reporting frigid temperatures and at least a foot of snow by the end of the week. Which means the pond he spent so many winters on with his father learning the rules of hockey and practicing on will be frozen solid. A safe place to anonymously practice. 

“Fuck.” He knows what he has to do. And as the phone rings one full time before an answer, Jimin tries not to feel the heat that floods to his cheeks in humiliation. “Hi, Mom. It’s me.” 

“Okay, now drive through! Tighter, tighter! That’s it Y/N! Go! Go! GO!” 

You weave through the blur of jerseys, somehow avoiding a tripping maneuver that would have had you crashing head-first into the wall. Well, barely. Maybe you’d be easier to trip if you hadn’t calculated their positioning early enough in the quarter. 

You drive forward, just as you’re told, scanning. Where’s the weakest link in the defensive lineup? Ah, there he is. Number 55. The taller one who has already spent half of the game tailing you as if he’s an offensive player. The one that said shit on socials about your pussy being so tight because of how much you enjoyed being anal. 

As if that made any sense. Encountering an entitled, hot-headed loser in the minor leagues is about as unique as a tiny, crusty white dog being named Bella. They exist in abundance. Lucky for you, these are always the worst players on the team, and it became immediately obvious to you who was going to be your target for the rest of the game. 

As you redirect your position toward his direction, 55 seems to have plenty to say. 

“Hey Baby, why don’t you leave the big game to the big boys?” he coos, clumsily regripping his stick as he glides toward you. 

“Mm, if this is a game for the big boys, then why are you here?” you say with a smile, cutting the puck around his right skate before tapping your stick against his. It clatters to the ground. 

“You fucking bitch!” he yells, but you’re already well past him, leaving just the rookie goalie between you and the goal. 

He tightens up when he sees you barreling toward him, the puck guarded tightly behind your stick as you weave it, turning slightly to your side to make it seem like you’re going in for a slapshot on the left side of the goal post. 

Naturally, the goalie floats to the left, creating a huge gap on the right side. 

Suddenly, you pivot, shooting the puck to the right, where your teammate, Minho, has stationed himself perfectly to receive and slide the puck neatly into the net. 

Easy. As the buzzer sounds at the end of the game, you high five Minho, solidifying the hottest win streak the Griffins have had to date. The teams line up, a slur of “good games” parroting from the mouths of each team member as you go down the line tapping sticks. That is until you reach 55, whose expression has soured significantly. 

“Fuckin’ slut,” he mutters under his breath. You pause, turning to him. 

“But I thought my pussy was so tight since I’m so anal? Now I’m a slut? Wow, I really got around fast,” you laugh, rolling your eyes. “Leave it to the worst player on the team to have the most unoriginal, misogynistic insults. Maybe if you practiced holding your stick properly instead of trying to craft an insult, you would have one less thing to suck at. I’m sure not knowing how to handle your stick isn’t just a problem on the ice either. Yikes.” 

You feel a nudge on your back, knowing your team captain, Christopher, is bringing up the rear. 

“Easy there, Y/N, don’t make the guy pop a blood vessel when the season’s barely started,” he says and you chuckle. “And for what it’s worth, I don’t tolerate the sexist machismo you’re carting around. You’re lucky you didn’t lose some teeth this game. If I hear you chirping more bullshit on the ice next time, I’ll personally make sure you have a dentist on speed dial, we clear?” 

Christopher smiles with shiny white teeth, making his threat all the more menacing despite his usual golden retriever energy. 

55 deflates, giving you one more loathsome glare before spinning on the ice and skating away. 

“Bang, Y/N, hustle! We have a party to get to!” Your coach, Bee, curls one gloved finger in, her impatience apparent on her face as she waits at the end of the rink. 

You and Christopher shrug at each other before racing across the ice, the high of the victory still swirling in your head. 

“Oh, bullshit! You know for a fact that if given the chance he would rather be cameoing in some D list movie in LA than getting his shit together. I get that he was your idol, Chris, but times have changed.” 

Jihyo takes a swig of her beer, jabbing a tipsy finger in Christopher’s direction. 

“So he’s gotten a little big-headed with his team. It happens to the best of us. Jimin still remains a hometown hero and we should be grateful he put us on the map!” 

“What map? No one has come here to scout talent since Y/N was being considered for the UHL. I still don’t get why you turned that down. Fucking moron.” Wonpil scoffs as he bites down into his pizza, effectively silencing Christopher, and well, the rest of the room. 

“Ah yes, the awkward silence about me missing out on my once chance,” you snort, glancing around the room as the remaining members of your team devour the last of the team holiday dinner. Bee left not long after the party started, getting some phone call that appeared urgent. Slowly, your families and friends made their way home, leaving only a handful of you behind in the old bar. 

Taeyon, one of the servers you’ve known forever, smirks at you as you gather some plates together to make cleanup easier. 

“Why did you turn it down?” Soobin, the youngest and shyest member of the team asks. 

Everyone in the room turns to you. Everyone in the room besides Soobin knows why. 

“Uh, well, a lot was going on in my life at the time. I had a scholarship to go to college, but then I’d heard that some coaches were coming to scout for the UHL during the summer so I deferred the fall semester, just in case. I was up for consideration and offered a spot with the Bells, but um…I was…sick. And he only had room for one person on his team. While he’d told me I was his first pick, I don’t know, I was…sick, and the other player deserved it. He had a future in it, a need to get out of this place more than I can say I had. So I declined the offer and made plans to use my scholarship and go to school.” 

“I didn’t know you went to college,” Soobin says, eyes wide. 

“She didn’t. Finish the story, Y/N.” Minho says before shoving a tree shaped cookie into his mouth. 

You click your tongue. “Honestly. It was no big deal. It turns out my deferment voided my scholarship, so I didn’t go.” 

“So you gave up on both the major leagues and college? Who’s the other player?” 

You wince at the question, knowing the storm that Soobin has just unknowingly unleashed. 

“What do you mean who’s the other player? Who do you think? She’s talking about Park Jimin, dumbass. He’s the only pro hockey player from here.” Christopher says, delivering a light punch to the maknae. 

“Oh, right,” Soobin says, blushing in embarrassment. 

“And look at what he did. He’s fucking up his chance in this after everything Y/N went through. He knows how to rub it in.” Wonpil downs the rest of his beer. “Honestly, Y/N. If I were you, I’d want to beat that guy to a pulp for being such a loser when you were the one who was rooting for him the most, it seems. Bastard. Good thing he doesn’t come around here much.” 

“Yeah, ha, well. He’s probably off somewhere warm and sunny and not thinking about anyone but himself anyway. It’s for the best, probably.” 

“I never knew you were sick,” Minho says later that evening as you two gather the empty bottles of soju and beer and place them on the counter for the barkeeper to collect. “Bummer that was aligning at the same time that you were about to make it big.” 

“Yeah, it was. Um, hey, my mom wants to know if you’re going to the caroling party,” you say, hoping to change the subject. 

“Oh, uh, no sorry I can’t make it. I have a date.” 

“A victory and a hot date? Well, Minho, look at you! Looks like you’re growing up.” 

He rolls his eyes, chucking a wadded up napkin at you. “Shut up. She’s nice. We are going to that Thai place downtown.” 

“Well, it sounds like we need to get you out of here so you can get your ass downtown. Are you even going to be hungry? You ate like, a half a package of those cookies by yourself.” 

“I’m a growing boy! I need my calories! And yes, I’ll be fine, Mom. And I’ll remember to wear my coat and hat too.” 

“Well, good. It’s supposed to be sub zero tonight. Not the night to be outside without the proper gear.” 

You grab your purse, doing one last run of the room before you shove Minho out the door to prepare for his date.

“Fuck, I thought you said it wasn’t too cold, Mom!” Jimin climbs into the passenger seat of his mother’s car, his luggage practically owning the backseat. 

“It isn’t! It’s just a cold snap! I thought you’d be used to it from spending so much time in the cold.” She clicks the turn signal, pulling them away from the curb while Jimin fidgets with the heat settings. A thin stream of hot air puffs out of the ancient sedan. 

“I usually have tons of padding on me and am moving so much I’m sweating. That’s different from whatever tundra this is.” The heat finally kicks in. “Where’s the Kia I got you for Christmas last year? Don’t tell me you traded it in for the cash or something.” 

His mother scoffs, merging into the freeway. “No, we didn’t trade it in. It’s in the driveway. You can drive it while you’re here.” 

“Why aren’t you driving it?” Her annoyance is annoying him. 

“Because it’s too complicated. Touch screen and Bluetooth and heated seats and cameras. I don’t need that. I just need to go from one place to another place!” 

The old car roars as if it is in agreement. Jimin rolls his eyes. 

“You could have told me you wanted something simpler. I would have at least gotten you a car from this decade. This piece of junk’s falling apart.” 

“It does what I need it to. It’s fine. I didn’t ask for a car anyway.” The lights of the bigger city begin to fade. With a metropolitan city so close to where he grew up, it’s shocking how much Jimin’s mother is clinging to the outdated ideas of small town life.

The strained conversation dies out as his mother turns up the volume of the radio. As the final commercial clears the airwaves, the car is flooded with Christmas carols. 

“It’s good to have you home, my little star.” 

Jimin’s chest wrenches with guilt as he hears the term of endearment. His mother always called him that when he was a child. For a long time, he really lived up to it. Lately though…

I’m more like a fallen star. A star on its way to burning out. 

He lets the music do the talking for the remainder of the drive, and as his hometown comes into view, he’s surprised by how little has changed in the time he’s been gone. Everything is just more worn, older than it used to look. The faded sign of the main grocery store still has the same design. 

The bar where Jimin drank his first beer is still open, and he watches as two people leave through the door, a tall, handsome guy who is laughing and smiling while a woman with her hood up hits him with her purse, also laughing. 

For some reason, his stomach churns at the sight. God, what a miserable place to be stuck in. How can anyone still want to live here? How can anyone smile about the idea of being outside in that frigid air? 

He grumbles to himself and folds his arms, hoping to trap some of the heat back in his body while his mother drives confidently to the sounds of jingling bells. 

In the near decade since Jimin has last been home (he doesn’t count the quick stop-ins during longer layovers at the airport or his grandfather’s funeral), his childhood home has gone through enough renovations to disorient him but still create the same pang of nostalgia.

He goes to hang his coat up in the front hall closet and finds that there no longer is one. Instead, it’s an inset wall with a set of drawers tucked away. His parents have a new dog, Bada, who isn’t even all that new. He’s five now, a full fledged member of the family. Bada growls when Jimin walks through the door, but barely lifts his head off the couch cushion to do so before falling back asleep. 

“Are you hungry?” his mother asks as Jimin pads into the kitchen. 

“I ate on the plane,” he replies. His mother turns to him, her face twisted in disgust. 

“Ugh, that’s not food they serve on those things. It’s cardboard! Here, come sit down; I have some rice and mackerel from lunch leftover. And soup. You’re so skinny. It’s time we plump you up.” 

“I’m not skinny. I have a very specific diet and exercise regimen in order to stay light and fast on my feet while on the ice.” 

But his mother has already left to duck into the kitchen, the sounds of the rice cooker turning on making Jimin wonder if she really had leftovers at all. 

When she reappears about twenty minutes later, she comes with an entire filet of hot fish, black beans, radish kimchi, a mountain of rice, some clear broth soup, and cut up pears. 

“Eat! Eat my son!” she orders, and Jimin obeys, his full stomach betraying him over the promise of home cooked food. 

He is about to ask his mother where his father is when he hears the door open, his father bundled up tight with a dusting of snow on his coat. 

“Storm blew in earlier than I thought.” 

“Oh, honey. Come sit. Give me your coat, I'll hang it to dry.” 

With a grunt from his father, he settles next to where his mother was sitting before, casting his eyes across the table. 

“So you finally made it home to see your parents, huh? When’s the last time we saw you in person again?” 

“Uh, I think last summer. When you guys came to visit.” 

A year and a half. That was the last time they’d been partially together as a family. His brother comes home much more frequently, though this Christmas he’s in Hawaii with his girlfriend. 

Lucky bastard. 

“Well, it’s good to see you. How was the flight?” 

“Fine,” Jimin responds awkwardly. 

He and his father haven’t been close since he moved, and he’s gotten used to vague and scripted questions his father often asks. 

His father nods, slurping his soup from his bowl. 

“So did they fire you for being a porn star or is something else bringing you home.” 

His cheeks flood with heat. Of course his father would bring this up. 

“Um no, just suspended for a bit. And I'm not a porn star.” 

His father shrugs and continues eating. “Hey if it’s what you want to do I’m not here to judge. Just wondering what brought you back home after years of trying to convince you. Your mother was so happy to hear from you that she deep cleaned the house.”

A heavy weight of guilt settles in Jimin’s gut. He’s been gone for so long. And while he knows his parents will never wish for anything to be different for him and his career—well, up to this point— the fact still remains that Jimin has been distant and detached since he moved away. He looks over to the curio cabinet that has been filled with his sports memorabilia. A photo of Jimin when he was on his first team, the bulldogs, sits in the back, Jimin’s two front teeth missing as he gives a gummy smile to the camera. 

“It looks great, Eomma,” Jimin says to his mother when she returns, not even blinking an eye to the fact that his father took her spot. 

“Well, thank you. Now eat up, before it gets cold.” 

As the dinner carries on, Jimin learns that his mother has agreed to go to some neighborhood caroling event tonight. 

“Do you even know who is hosting it?” he asks when his mother fails to name anyone associated with the event besides her friend. 

“I’m sure she told me her name but I’ve forgotten. Names are hard to remember when your friend of a friend invites you. Even harder to say no.” 

“But isn’t there a storm happening?” He glances out the window, confirming the heavier sheet of snow blowing around outside. 

“Sure, but that’s no problem. It’ll make it more festive. Walking in a winter wonderland and all that.” 

“We’re already in one. There’s like, a foot of snow out there.” 

Jimin looks to his father, who has since abandoned the conversation for a sudoku puzzle. 

“Well, I need the exercise. If you’re so concerned, you can always come.” 

No. Absolutely not. The idea of caroling in a blizzard sounds like the bottom of the list of his favorite things. That’s just above dying. 

But as he watches his mother bundle up for the snow and move to grab the keys to her dying sedan, something prompts him to snag the keys for the Kia off the hook, and after a few minutes of painfully shoving his body into his former winter wear his mother kept all those years, he walks out into the snow, insisting to his mother that he drive. 

“Hot chocolate has arrived!” you sing, carrying a large steaming carton to the drove of community members who have shown up to bring “Christmas cheer to all”, as your mother has claimed. 

It’s freezing. You have heat packs shoved into just about every nook and cranny of your body. Even as you pour the warm, sweet liquid into cups to be passed around, you have to fight the urge to shiver. 

“Don’t worry, everyone! Once we get our bodies singing and moving, we’ll be warm in no time!” 

“I thought you said there would be a heat shelter we can go to!” someone says among the crowd. 

“Well, not exactly. It’ll be my house! I have my husband getting the snacks prepared now. And a warm, crackling fireplace. So let’s get this carolfest started!” Your mother beams, unfazed by the sour mood that has fallen upon the group.

With a deflated woo, the carolers set off on foot from the parking lot. 

You have been specifically instructed to wait ten minutes past start time in case anyone else shows up. But given how fast the clouds have rolled in to dump more snow on you, you don’t foresee anyone else coming. 

Still, you abide by your mother’s wishes, pulling your hood over your hat and rewrapping your scarf over your nose, hoping that will encourage less heat to escape. 

Just as your timer buzzes for you to ditch the greeter position and catch up to the crowd, you see a Kia pull into the parking lot, two people shuffling out toward you. 

“Did I miss it? Is it over?!” the woman says, panicked. 

“No, no, they just got started. They’re just down here.” You pull out your mother’s hand-drawn map she passed out to all participants at the start, and point to the one block your mother marked with a star for newcomers. “We will be able to catch up to them easily.” 

“Ah, thank you! Thank you! My son is visiting from out of town, so I was a little late.” 

“It’s no issue, really, this is a volunteer activity. I’m just glad you made it in this snowstorm. Would either of you like some hot cocoa? Or hand warmers? I have some extra.” 

“Oh, you’re so sweet. Nothing for me, really, but maybe my son would like some.” The woman pivots her body toward her son, who is still idling by the car, bundled up from head to toe and appears to be staring at you. “Jimin! Come here!” 

The second you hear the name, you freeze. 

No. There’s no way he’s here. Because he never comes home for Christmas. He’s always playing hockey around the holidays. But then you remember. He’s suspended. So where would he be able to hide and wait for his scandal to blow over. Where else could he hide but here?

Slowly, the bundle moves, shuffling his way toward you. You’re prepared for an awkward conversation, for some unenthused hey to leave his lips, but instead he says nothing, just looks at his mother. 

“What?” he asks. His voice is velvety and soft, just like you remember. Even annoyed, it’s a powerless annoyance, one without much heft to sting. 

“Hand warmers. Hot cocoa.” His mother gestures, forcing his gaze to follow her hands and over to you. 

“No thanks,” he says flatly. When his eyes meet yours, they’re empty, and something about how impersonal it is sours your stomach.

Jimin’s mother sighs before turning to you and smiling. “Is this the way we go?” she asks. You cock your head, confused. 

Before you can ask what she’s talking about, Jimin interjects. “Yes, Eomma, it’s this way. Come on. Let’s get this holiday bullshit over with.” 

His mother trudges forward and for a moment you’re too shocked to move. You stand there as the snow continues to float down onto your coat and bare hands, until Jimin speaks again. 

“Uh, hey. You comin’ or…?” 

You blink up at him, still seeing no recognition in his face, no anger, nothing. 

“Oh, uh yeah,” you say, quickly depositing the leftover hot z cocoa and maps into your car and matching your pace to Jimin’s. “So, um, how have you been?” 

You don’t risk looking at him, insteading focusing on placing your feet carefully into the snow. 

“Fuck, it’s cold,” he says, not quite answering your question. 

“Oh. Yeah, it is.” You pull a heat warmer out of your pocket. “Here, take this.” 

He eyes it for a moment, then relents, taking the heat pack from your warm palm. “Thanks.” 

The crunch of snow under you sounds loud, an occasional crack as you step on a patch of ice fills the silence. 

“So, you’re home for the holidays?” you ask lightly. 

He snorts. “Something like that. Although you’ve probably heard everything on the news already.” 

“Something like that,” you parrot, turning the corner of the parking lot to head down the side street you know the carolers will be on. Mrs. Park has outpaced the both of you, already joining the cluster of people on the far end of the block. 

“Are you home for the holidays too?” he asks and you frown, clearing your throat. 

“Oh, um, not really. I live here. Well not here, here, but in town.” 

“Right. Hm. Well…cool. And you grew up here?” 

You stop dead in your tracks, turning toward him. 

“What?” he asks, facing you. His plump lips look even more rosy in the cold, and his nose has gotten red to match. 

“Don’t do this. Don’t pretend you don’t know me.” 

His eyes flick across your face and he furrows his brow. “Why?.” 

“What do you mean why? You know damn well why.” 

He kicks at the snow under his foot. “Well, I mean we were good at pretending we didn’t know each other for so long, Y/N,” he says sharply. “So you’ll have to forgive me if that’s an old habit.”

Your heart sinks, and you shove your tongue into your cheek. “Right. Forget the fact that you were the one who initiated it. But the truth is that I do know you, Jimin. Your mom seems nice, by the way.” 

His head snaps up and he glares at you. “Are we just going to pick up on the same argument from a decade ago? I might have initiated but you’re the one who shut me out and never let me know what was going on. I think then, maybe it makes sense to say I don’t know you. And you may have read everything the tabloids have said about me, but let’s make one thing clear. You don’t know me, anymore, Y/N. You know nothing about me at all. So don’t start acting like you do.” 

His voice is cold, this time a true seething annoyance and anger leaking out of his words. 

You blow air through your lips. “Wow, yeah I guess I don’t. The Jimin I used to know wouldn’t jump down my throat the second that I ask him if he’s home for the holidays. Some hot headed macho temper you’ve got there.” 

He rolls his eyes. “Whatever, Y/N.” 

He begins to stomp off toward the crowd, but clearly thinks better of it as he waits for you to catch up. 

“Temper tantrum over?” you say sarcastically, and he grumbles under his breath. “What was that?” 

“I said it wasn’t a temper tantrum. You’d be pissed too if your hockey career was pulled away from you because someone couldn’t keep shit to themselves.” 

Your mouth drops open, and while your stomach churns, all you can do is laugh, your laughter forcing you to misstep in the snow and land right on your ass, which only leads to more laughter. 

“What is wrong with you?” Jimin says, his eyes cast down on you judgingly. 

“Oof, man, I haven’t had a laugh like that in forever. A good joke coming from you of all people.” 

You pull yourself up from the snow, ignoring his outstretched hand in front of you. 

“I don’t think it’s all that funny.” 

“Yeah, well, you really should learn to lighten up,” you say, dusting the clods of snow from your legs. ”And work on that temper of yours.” 

“You sound like my coach,” he says, lifting his eyebrow. “Did he send you to watch me?” 

You squint your eyes at him. “Huh?”

“Forget it. Let’s get this shit over with so I can go dethaw in the comfort of my own home.” 

“Oh yes, heaven forbid Mr. Heatmeiser is out in the snow for any longer.”

Jimin is pretty sure that he’s a lost cause when it comes to redeeming himself as a somewhat decent person. 

He’s not sure what compelled him to lie and pretend he didn’t know you. Maybe it’s because when he stepped out of the Kia and he realized it was you, his throat dried up. Over the last decade, he’s distracted himself from thoughts about you and what happened when he left home. How much it destroyed him when you stood in front of him during one of the last days of warm weather and called it all off. 

He was so in love with you. So in love even though you were his biggest competition. Someone who had just as much of a chance at going pro as him. Maybe even more so. And while your town was too big to know everyone, but too small to not recognize people, Jimin had always known you. Had watched you on the rink practicing for your figure lessons while he waited for junior hockey practice. And how slowly your movements became less dainty and more powerful, less whimsical and more fierce as you dashed around the ice to be faster than everyone else. 

One day you were tossed into hockey with him, but as you both grew older and your bodies shaped themselves around different figures of puberty, it led to the eventual discontinuation of co-eds. 

His mother wouldn’t remember you. Because Jimin never told his strict parents that he was breaking the rules and went to your home games when his schedule allowed it in high school. That in the spring of his senior year, he finally got the guts to ask you out after he heard you’d broken up with your shitty boyfriend. That nearly every night after the first date he spent sneaking in through your bedroom window or driving you around in his car with the windows down. 

When he said he was going to practice, you always were in the parking lot waiting for him, your skates and gear ready for you two to practice drills and place bets on who could win in a shoot-out, only for him to buy you a blue raspberry slushie an hour later as you glowed from your victory, poking your stained tongue out at him to tease him. 

He loved that flavor when he tasted it on you. How many of those sweet kisses had turned hot and filthy, leading to your little whimpers and cute little sighs as he thrust into you in his back seat when everyone had left for the night? 

You told him you hadn’t told anyone you were together either. Not because your family wouldn’t understand, but because if word got out in this town, the chances of someone telling Jimin’s parents would mean the end of your relationship. It was easy, you said, to let things be private and just for you. 

Which is why the breakup felt like an unexpected death sentence when it happened. You’d both been scouted by Coach, and Jimin was certain you were going to be the one signed to the Bells. 

But then you’d both gone to a grad party for a classmate in August. And much like every other social event, you’d agreed to not be too friendly together, to not rock the boat of parental expectations or be a part of the town gossip. So you went to the party with your separate friend groups, danced around each other but never with each other. When one of the girls drunkenly stuck her tongue down Jimin’s throat, you watched without jealousy. And when Jimin begged on the walk to his car for you to forgive him, you’d laughed and said easily that there was nothing to forgive because he didn’t consent to the kiss.

But after that night, after you showered him with plenty of kisses in many places he did consent to and closed the door to his car, everything shifted. 

Suddenly, you were absent from try-outs and had texted Jimin saying you were sick. When he offered to come over, you replied that he needed to stay away for a bit. He’d tried to talk to you, but you often left his texts on read. After two weeks of pseudo ghosting, he had finally had enough.  

This wasn’t what you did. Something was clearly wrong. And after hearing that day that he’d officially been selected to contract with the Bells, he needed answers. He drove over to your house and snuck into your bedroom when your light was on. 

You were sitting on your bed, hair neat and dressed comfortably, with no signs of ailment despite what you’d said before. 

“So you’re feeling better I see. You don’t look very sick,” he said, bewildered at how normal you seemed. 

“It wasn’t that kind of sickness,” you’d replied, teeth gritted as you turned down the volume of your TV. 

“Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you lie to me?” His anger had started building, lifting the volume of his voice to above the whisper-level policy that you’d both implemented. 

“Shhh, my parents will hear you.” 

“Fuck it! Let them hear me! It’s stupid to keep this shit a secret anymore!” 

Your jaw had dropped. You had looked at him with venom. “I was only keeping it a secret for you!” 

“Why? Why then was that a secret you could keep between us but you couldn’t even tell me what’s been going on! Are you mad about the party? About that kiss?” 

By that point, both of you were talking loudly, and Jimin had heard your parents call up to ask you who was in your room. 

“Don’t worry about it!” you called back, returning to your argument. “I can’t believe you think I’m mad about that when I told you it was fine!” 

“What do you expect me to think when that’s the last time I saw you? The last time things were normal between us, Y/N?” 

“Nothing between us has ever been normal, Jimin.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“We’re rivals. Competition for each other. You really think that this would hold up if either of us went pro? How would that work? The sore loser just carts themselves behind the other and sits on the sidelines despite their dream being crushed?”

“What? Baby, that’s crazy. Is that how you would feel if I was signed?” 

“Maybe, but maybe you’d feel that way.” 

“Y/N, I wouldn’t. I would be so happy for you. And maybe I would still have my chance too. To get signed for another team or–” 

“And then be on opposite schedules in different places? Really? You think that would work out?”

“It could! Why are you being this way? Did you fake being sick because you’ve been rotting in here thinking about things that haven’t even happened yet?” 

You shook your head. “No, I was sick but it’s whatever now. Anyway, I know you were signed today. Coach called me.” 

An early fall breeze blew through the open window, settling the heat between you. 

“I haven’t signed yet,” he said quietly.

“You will.” 

“Maybe I won’t!” 

“Oh be serious for one fucking second, Jimin. All summer you’ve talked about this. This is your dream. This has always been your dream.” 

“Yeah well that was before you! Before this.” 

“What is this?” 

“Love! I’m in love with you. I want to spend every day of my life with you, don’t you know that? Since we were kids on the ice, when you were a failed ice skater because you were too gruff. Don’t you love me?” 

Tears had welled up in your eyes, but you didn’t move from your bed. 

“You can’t give up on hockey Jimin.” 

“I’m not going to, Y/N. Now tell me, do you love me, too?” 

He sat down on the edge of your bed, looking over at you sadly. He wanted so badly to hold you, to wipe away your tears, but he knew if he moved any closer, you’d be sure to kick him out. He sat anxiously as you silently looked at him, more tears spilling forward. 

“You need to leave.”

“Then tell me you don’t love me. If you say that, I’ll climb through that window and I promise I will never bother you again.” 

“Stop it. Please, just go home.” 

“What is wrong? What happened? I don’t understand. We were fine. Please, tell me.” 

The desperation in Jimin’s voice cracked him open, tears falling down his face too. 

“It’s over, Jimin. I’m breaking up with you.” You didn’t look him in the eye as you said it. Instead your eyes were fixed on your shelf above your dresser, decorated with trophies, team photos, and medals from your years of hockey. Noticeably gone from that shelf was the stuffed purple whale he’d gotten you from an arcade that summer. 

When he looked around, that’s when he noticed every trace of him was gone from your bedroom. The little things you’d put there as symbols of your relationship like postcards he’d written love letters to you on the back of, a small picture you kept by your bedside of your reflections in the water, and the dried flowers from the field off the highway he’d picked for you the day his car stalled on your way into the city. Almost like every trace of him was gone.

“Y/N? I’m coming in.” The sound of your father opening your door pulled Jimin off your bed, wiping his tears as he turned toward the window. 

When your father saw him –and as Jimin assumed, you– he cleared his throat. “I think it’s time for you to go, son.” 

With one glance back, Jimin looked at you, pleading for you to return his gaze. And as he for the first and last time walked out of your bedroom door, you looked up at him. Your eyes were filled with an agonizing sadness. One that answered every question he asked that night. You loved him. But that somehow, didn’t mean anything. 

Now, as he stands in the deep snow looking out across the frozen pond in his parents’ backyard, Jimin can taste the memory on his tongue. Not just of you, even though since he’s gotten home from caroling with his mother he’s been obsessively replaying the memories he thought he put to rest. But he also is remembering his first time skating on the pond. 

Back then, it felt like it stretched on for miles, but back then Jimin was also about half his height and terrified the ice was too thin. Over time, he’s learned how to get a better idea of the ice’s thickness and safety, but even if he fell in, the water in the pond is only 4 feet deep. 

Carefully, he takes the shovel to the surface, trying to scrape away at the layer of snow that has caked over the ice. He knows by tomorrow the snow will just be another layer of thicker ice to reinforce itself, but he can’t wait. 

After shoveling, he returns to the bank and props himself on the old log bench his father put on the edge of the water, replacing his boots with his skates. It feels so natural and right to lace himself back into them, though the missing bulk and weight of his padding feels out of balance. Still, he pulls himself up, shuffling over to the pond and shifting his weight forward to feel it out. 

It takes a moment to get used to the rougher ice. It reminds him of the time the zamboni driver was on paternity leave and the roughed up edges from practice after practice made it harder to glide across. Yet this is the pond he first learned to skate on. He knows its bends, how to steady himself among it. And once he feels the ice glide easier under him, it feels like a giant weight has been lifted off his shoulders. 

“Do you think they’ll want wreath cookies or tea cakes? Or those ones with the snowmen cutouts! Ooh, we should get those while we’re here, too, just in case.” 

Your mother has been leading you down aisle after aisle of the grocery store, nervously questioning every decision she’s made for her Christmas party. After the lackluster turnout post- caroling, she decided she wanted to try again, and for some reason has decided that the selection of cookies was the reason for low turnout, not the record-breaking snowstorm occurring during it. 

Unlike yesterday, when you were forced to carol alone, you managed to lie to Minho about needing to get a few things from the store and wanting to hear about his date, waiting until he got in the car to inform him that you would be meeting your mother at the store. 

You sigh as you turn the heavy cart around, back in the direction of the dairy section from where you just came. “They’ll be back here. I’ll go get them.” 

But her attention is focused more on the list in front of her, so you wheel the heavy load through the masses of shoppers, Minho grumbling behind you about how much he hates you. 

“Listen, now that we’re away from my mother, you can give me all the juicy details. How was the Thai food? How was downtown? Did you kiss?”

“I don’t think you deserve to know,” he pouts, pretending to stall at the discounted advent calendars.

“Look, I have stuff to tell you too, so let this be an equal exchange of tea.” 

“Y/N, I don’t want to hear about whatever some loser said to you on a dating app about hat trick record holders.” 

You arrive at the section with the pre-cut cookie dough. Minho snags two boxes and holds them up, trying to make you pick between the Rudolphs and the Christmas trees. After a second deliberating, he puts both in the cart, knowing your mother will be pleased with his decision making. 

“It’s not about dating apps. It’s about Park Ji-”

“Hi!” A bright voice chirps close by, and you jump, focusing on the source. You whirl around to see Mrs. Park waving with a tree shaped butter mold in her hands. Standing behind her at the handle of the cart is Jimin. 

“Oh, hi Mrs.Park,” you say, your voice strained. “How are you?”

Mrs. Park smiles at the question. “Good! Please tell your mom I had a fun time yesterday. Lots of good singing! Especially you. Are you a professional?” 

Minho snorts behind you, causing you to elbow him in the stomach. 

“No no. I’m really not good. I’m not a professional by any means.” 

“Oh, I see. Well, what do you do for work then? Is this your husband? He’s very handsome.”

Your eyes widen in horror as you realize she’s talking about Minho. 

You try not to look at Jimin, but you do, and he still wears the same blank expression from yesterday, only his jaw is set and the tips of his ears are red. He looks back and forth between you and Minho, almost like he’s trying to imagine you two together. 

“Oh, you’re really sweet, but, no. I’m not her husband. Neither of us are married.” Minho pipes up, his hand gently rubbing up and down your back. Somehow, you know he has pieced what you were about to say together, and the comfort of his touch makes you feel a little less like running at full speed out of the store. 

Jimin’s blank expression has turned into a glare. 

You clear your throat, not only drawing his gaze up to you but also his mother’s. 

“I, um, I own the ice arena. So I am usually there, sorting out bills and repairs. Or driving the zamboni. When I have downtime I play offense in our hockey league.” 

This seems to draw Jimin’s attention. “You own the arena?” 

“Yeah, the Lee family who owned it? Both of them passed away a few years ago. None of their children wanted it, so I bought it from them about two years ago.” 

Jimin frowned. “Oh no, that’s so sad. They always gave me extra time to practice and always had those licorice laces at the food counter. Remember the time we–”

His mouth snaps shut as he realizes his mistake. His eyes flash to his mother, who is looking between the two of you. “Oh! Then you must know each other!” she says ecstatically. 

You raise your eyebrows at Jimin expectantly. What narrative is he going to choose?

“Yes, Eomma. Y/N and I went to high school together. And we saw each other a lot.”

“Yeah, something like that,” you say, quietly challenging him even now to say the whole truth. He responds with a shake of his head. His mother doesn’t notice. 

“Oh, how nice! Such a shame my son never mentioned knowing you before. He could be the one shopping with you now if he had gotten you sooner instead of your husband! But, my son was always so focused on sports. Do you know the UHL? He’s on a team there!” 

Something twinges in you at the mention of the truth. You know Jimin never mentioned you, as that was part of your arrangement. But the thing his mother says about getting you sooner really throws you. 

“She knows, Eomma. She of all people will know about the UHL. She had tried out during the same trials as me.” 

“Is that so? Well, a pity that he beat you then. He’s always been so talented. I guess fate really made things work out for both of you then.” 

You find yourself folding your lips into a thin line, trying to avoid spilling the details about her son’s talent. But just as you wrap your hands around the cart rails until your knuckles pop, you feel MInho reach over you, loosening the cart from your grasp. 

“Hey, uh, you know, your mom is probably looking for us,” he says, introducing the bait that you can take to escape the increasingly painful conversation. 

As if summoned, your mother appears, rambling on about how long it has taken before she recognizes who is standing in front of her.

“Oh, well hello there! It’s great to see you again. Thank you for attending yesterday, it was wonderful having you. Too bad you missed the post-caroling cookies!” 

You sigh, knowing that your mother is sounding passive aggressive to anyone within earshot. 

“Oh, yes, I’m sorry we couldn’t attend. My son had just flown in earlier in the day, so we went home after so he could rest.” 

Your mother’s smile falls a little, no doubt from the guilt. 

“Of course! Well, no harm done. In fact, I’m having a soirée on Christmas Eve, and you should attend! Bring the whole family!” 

You glance back at Minho, whose mouth is pursed to hold back a laugh, much like yours. A soirée. Sure.

“I don’t know Eomma, we still have–” 

“It sounds amazing!” Mrs. Park interrupts, shooting a harsh look at her son. “We would love to attend, thank you.” 

“Perfect, I’ll email you the details then. Well, we should get going. These cookies won’t bake themselves!” 

As you peel yourself away from the Parks, you take a deep breath. 

“Well,” Minho says, “I don’t think I need to hear your story anymore.” 

“Well, there’s something more I need to tell you, but not here.” 

When you first met Jimin, you were seven, though you don’t remember him. While he once claimed he’s known you for forever, it wasn’t until you were both teenagers before you actually remembered him. 

In high school, you’d laid low, avoiding just about every social event that you possibly could. Your focus was on academics and the ice, with 5am wake times to get to the arena to practice, and late nights doing extra cram school sessions to keep your grades in shape despite your busy schedule. You had friends, but they were ones who lived in different cities, most of them commuting to your traveling team. Because co-ed hockey wasn’t an option and your high school had only invested in boys’ leagues, Park Jimin wasn’t someone on your radar. 

Until you’d learned that you were on his. 

It started in the early spring. Rumor had it that major league coaches were scouting for new recruits. Of all genders. There was a special trial process, and the trials would happen during the summer, with a potential for newly contracted players to begin their rookie season as soon as the fall. 

You’d tried not to get too excited. With an early decision college acceptance under your belt, your future was already looking bright. There was even an athletic scholarship attached. You could play on the women's team. But the potential of playing for the UHL, to be scouted and live out your dream to play hockey professionally was still filling your stomach with butterflies. 

So you kept yourself chill until the rumor became official, and marched into the arena you knew so well with your head high, ready to take on the other recruits. 

It was then that you and Jimin officially met. 

He was a bit scrawny looking then, his mop of black hair almost shadowing his face. It was hard to believe that this kid was the one you knew to be the MVP of the boy’s hockey team at your school. 

But once you saw him move, you understood why. Jimin had the form and movement almost of a dancer, with his build keeping him strong but light on his feet to race forward and snake around even the most complex of defense measures. He instinctively knew how to bend his body and stick away from a targeted maneuver, and cut swiftly enough to throw off the goalie and score. He would have made a great figure skater. 

You, however, were different. From the start, the grace of figure skating wasn’t with you, with your skates sloppily digging into the ice so you could chase after the object of your affection. A little brutish, you were also cunning, and the strategy of hockey and the game board that laid before you made it all the more satisfying. Your patience and ability to unfold a game play before it fully manifested often led to your team’s win. 

It also made playing against Jimin all the more intriguing. 

Because during each scrimmage, shoot-out, and obstacle you faced for the try-outs, Jimin was often neck-in-neck with you, somehow knowing your own plan of attack, and sliding the puck out of your hold as if he was plucking a feather from a pillow. It appeared so effortless, like he’d studied you for so long and knew your every movement. When he would shrug and give you an angelic smile during his wins over you, it made you all the more angry. 

One day after a scrimmage, you were stressed and hormonal and pissed. Some of the other players had gotten under your skin, shit-talking you for being the only woman on the team. 

“You sure you aren’t on some steroids or some shit? Performance enhancement can happen to everyone.” 

“I’m sure your daddy taught you quite a bit when you played on your little ponds, sweetheart. But this is the big leagues. There’s guys out there three times your size who will ruin that pretty little face.” 

“Are you sure you’re cut out for this? The position of Puck Bunny is open. If you want to experience hockey with the pros, might as well be safely bouncing on my cock to do so.” 

The sexism was rampant in hockey, and you knew it. But that was a day where it was too much. With graduation on the near horizon, just breaking up with your boyfriend, and the scouting day schedule being released soon, your nerves were as tired as your body. 

When Jimin found you crying in your car outside of the arena, he’d gently knocked on your window, a light smile warming his face as he held up a protein shake and a Kit Kat. 

You’d let him in, and from there, your whole world shifted. 

The days grew longer, the sun warming parts of your life you’d forgotten winter took away. Jimin was there to listen, to sit and strategize plays with you, to eat Subway sandwiches after practice and walk you to your car after school. 

“Hey, so, there’s this movie coming out. It’s a documentary, actually, about my favorite player, Lee Wonhyuk? Would you, uh, like to see it with me?” 

You knew that was his favorite player. He mentioned Wonhyuk nearly every day, and wore his jersey when he wasn’t in his own padding. You also had learned other things about Jimin during this time, like how the tips of his ears would turn red when he was embarrassed, and that his parents had a no dating policy because he was supposed to have an arranged marriage some day. He dreamed of leaving the town you both grew up in, wanting more for himself and hoping the distance from his family would allow for him to be more himself than simply fulfilling the dreams of his parents. 

He wanted it so badly he repeated it like a mantra to you often, it sometimes sounding like a plea to the heavens as tears fell from his eyes. 

He had a tooth that was a little crooked, and sometimes when he was tired, his voice would lisp a little. When he laughed, it was often with his full body, a cute giggle that scrunched up his face and folded him nearly in half with joy. He was allergic to cats but loved them. He had a brother. He learned to skate on the pond in his backyard. 

But he never bragged. Never let his anger get him on the ice. Was respectful to you and held open doors or carried your equipment bag when your shoulder hurt. 

So of course you said yes to the date. Of course you let him tuck your hair behind your ear and kiss you in the warm night, his breathy finally he sighed when your lips broke apart ensuring you’d made the right call about him. 

“So you were seeing each other in secret,” Minho says, drinking his Americano smoothly, like it isn’t a pile of caffeinated sludge. 

“Yes,” you respond, the cinnamon on top of your gingerbread latte making you cough slightly. 

The café’s window is foggy, but you can still make out the figures of bustling shoppers. For the sake of discretion, you agreed to Minho’s suggestion to go into the big city for “decent coffee and the ability to be strangers in a larger public”. 

He was right. Everyone is either deep in their own discussions or blocking out the world with headphones as they work on their laptops. The soft jazz Christmas music makes it feel safer to speak your secrets into the air. 

“Well, then what happened? What led to you breaking up? It sounds like you two were in love.” 

“We were…I think” you say, correcting yourself immediately after. 

“You think?” 

“Can you be in love when you’re nineteen?” 

“Uh, yes? Nineteen is young, but have you seen the teens these days? I think they have emotional maturity.” 

“Well, I didn’t, I guess. Because that summer was so intense. We graduated, but we were already together. And then we were hanging out with our own friend groups and trying to balance things. But we saw each other just about every day. And then it was almost like an obsession. We were unable to go a singular day without each other. He would sneak into my room to be with me at night and then leave before either of us had to get up to go to practice. We didn’t want to get caught, so we would makeout behind the movie theater in his car or drive to a more secluded part of the woods so we could…you know.” 

“Have sex? Come on, Y/N, don’t get all shy on me now when I know you were eating up the details about me taking my date the other night and eating her out while she–” 

“Shh!” You look around, but if anything, your shushing is the thing that drew attention. 

“You’re such a prude,” Minho laughs. “Anyway, go on. So you would sneak around, make love, and spend every hour with each other possible. Sounds like you were being nineteen.” 

“Well, it was intense. And once the coaches came it was rigorous and terrifying. Jimin was getting better and stronger, but I was constantly getting slower and I felt weaker. At first I thought I was just tired, like I’d overworked myself, but then I was getting more anxious and nauseous. So I just assumed that it was nerves. But I was playing pretty good and I was drawing attention from the coaches in a great way. Well, one in particular. The coach for the Bells. He was the only one who seemed to be interested in signing a woman.” 

“Well, yeah, because we live in a hellish and misogynistic society and you kick ass!” Minho says enthusiastically, pounding his hand onto the table. 

A woman carrying her tiny Pomerainian in her purse whips her head over. “Do you mind? Snowball is trying to get her beauty sleep.” 

“Sorry,” you both say in unison. 

“Anyway, yeah, I was so excited about the opportunity. And so was Jimin. He kept going on and on about playing on the same team as his idol. But Coach approached me one day after practice and told me that despite there being another three weeks in the trial period, he’d already made his decision. He wanted to sign me on for the fall season. And he would see through the process to be fair, but he had already contacted the legal team to begin drawing up my contract.

“And I had to keep it a secret. While it’s kind of known that coaches do this, they usually keep it to themselves. But Coach said that he hadn’t seen the strategy his team needed in their play execution for quite some time and I would be a huge asset to the team. I’d asked about Jimin, too, out of curiosity but he kind of skirted around the details, saying that there would only be one recruit for the team from this area.” 

“Oh my god, that’s incredible! So why didn’t you go through with it? What did Jimin say when you told him?” 

“I didn’t,” you shake your head, fiddling with the cupsleeve of your latte. “I couldn’t. Not only was I sworn to secrecy basically, but how was I supposed to tell the person who adored the Bells that he wasn’t going to play for them? How could I crush his dreams like that? He needed this. Not only because he wanted it, but he was good at it. As much as I hated to admit my shitty opponents were right, I physically was going to be one third of the size of my competitors sometimes and there is a danger in hockey.” 

“Okay, but it’s not like Jimin is some massive dude.” 

“No, but you’ve seen how graceful he is. He slips out of the hold of the other team fairly easily. I’ve only seen him get body checked recently, when he got whatever that temper is he now is known for. He wasn’t like that at all when we were younger.” 

“Did he find out? Is that how things ended?” 

You shook your head. “I never told Jimin about this meeting. Maybe he knows now and that’s why he’s always pissed whenever he sees me, I don’t know. But there’s multiple reasons why I didn’t sign on, and yes there’s that part I just told you about, but there was more to it than that.” 

Minho sips his coffee, gesturing for you to continue. 

“So, as the week went on, my stomach was hurting more and more. And with all the stress and nerves but all the crazy workouts, I’d been skipping my period for a few months. Jimin and I had been safe for the most part, but not always. Sometimes we were too hot and heavy and we’d do the pull-out method instead. But I didn’t ever make the connection. A lot of the time, female athletes who are super physically conditioned have lighter or missed periods. It had happened before, but that was before I was sexually active. Stress, too, can sometimes make you miss periods. So one night Jimin and I went out to this party. Nothing really important happened but some girl threw herself at Jimin and he was worried I’d be upset. I wasn’t, but all-too conveniently I was super sick the next day. I missed practice. And that’s when I started putting the dots together and bought a test that was clearly positive.” 

“Oh my god, Y/N. What?” 

“Yeah,” you chuckled, taking a deeper sip of your drink. “Pregnant. And for a little while actually. When I got into the clinic and they took the blood tests and ultrasound, they suspected I was about 8 weeks along. Which means I had been drinking, getting body checked, and all sorts of shit during that time. But, they said it was still viable.” 

“Did you want it to be viable? I mean, how did you feel? Scared, I can imagine.” 

Your lips curve into a soft smile. “I don’t think I really gave myself much time to decide how I felt besides that I was terrified and that this was happening at the worst possible time. I asked for an abortion right then and there. So they sent me home with the pills, and I just waited. It takes a few days, and god, honestly it was awful to experience alone. I didn’t tell anyone, because if I told my parents I was afraid they would ask whose it was, and I didn’t want that to get back to Jimin’s parents. So, I just spent about a week at home, saying I had a really heavy period this time, experiencing heavy cramps and crying and letting it pass. The following week I had to go back in and make sure it worked, but in that time I just laid low and didn’t talk to anyone. 

“My parents didn’t suspect much, but Jimin was freaking out, thinking I had some infectious disease and threatening to come over every five minutes with soup or a Hazmat suit. I didn’t want him to be there, though. If he knew I was pregnant, I knew it would throw him off. He’d be worried about me even more and start thinking about us having babies together and getting old and staying in this town.” 

“I can understand why you didn’t tell him, I do. But I do wonder what’s so wrong about letting him think about those things too.” Minho reaches his hand out gently, stroking his fingers on the back of your hand. “I’m not saying what you did is wrong in any way, Y/N. It’s your body and always your choice matters the most. But based on how you described him to me before, do you think he would have thrown it all away or tried to make you keep the baby? Do you think that your decision and his wouldn’t be aligned in that way?” 

You think for a minute. “No, I think he would have been on my side. He was really adamant on letting me be independent and pursuing what was best for myself. I just couldn't give him the option at the time. I was too focused on making sure things went right for him.” 

Minho smiles softly and nods. “I just hate that you went through that alone.” 

“I do too. But I’m glad I can finally talk about it. I did end up telling my parents, about a year or so later, that I had an abortion. I didn’t say whose it was, but my mom cried for like three days because she was so sad for me that I went through it alone.” 

“Is that why you turned down the offer, then? Were you okay after?” Minho furrows his brow with concern. 

“Oh, I was fine after about two weeks. I felt completely back to normal. And it wasn’t really that reason that I turned the offer down. I mean, it was a part of it, obviously, but mostly when I was having the abortion and was alone at home I was thinking about how fucked up life is. I was a normal teenager and then shit I was pregnant. I was in love with someone but oh god we were almost parents. We were breaking rules despite being adults. We were living in secret and baby or no baby, life was going to change for us and soon. If I was signed to the Bells, I would be leaving home, but what about Jimin? Would he come with me, stay back? Would he get other offers and we’d play on opposing teams? If I said no and he said yes, would he seriously be okay coming back and seeing me or trying to figure things out while I was away at school? 

“Keep in mind, at that time, I didn’t realize my deferment was me rescinding my scholarship. I just suddenly felt like the world was so, so big and the tiny, romantic solitude we’d coveted was not going to work out. So I made up my mind. I turned down the offer for the Bells. I told Coach the world wasn’t ready for a woman in professional hockey and told him about Jimin and his drive and passion and dreams. I told him to sign him instead. Or at least I hoped I told him. I was really laying it on thick,” you laugh. 

“And then you broke things off with Jimin,” Minho finishes. You frown softly. 

“Yeah. And it was awful. He begged me not to. He didn’t know where all this was coming from. He told me he’d only leave if I told him I didn’t love him, but I couldn’t do that. Eventually my dad busted into my room and sent him away. And that was it. That was the last time we talked or saw each other.” 

“Until now.” 

“Until now,” you confirm. 

‘Well fuck, Y/N, that’s one hell of a story.”

“I’ll say.” 

Your head pivots to the Pomeranian lady, who is turned toward you and Minho, sipping her coffee indulgently. 

“You were eavesdropping that entire time?” you ask. 

“Well, it’s not like you were being discreet. Either way, honey, these kinds of places absorb everyone’s biggest secrets. That’s what makes the coffee so good.” 

When Minho dropped you off at your house, you felt like a huge weight had been lifted off your chest. After years of holding onto something that wasn’t necessarily shameful but still heavy, someone else knowing the full story was relieving. 

However, one question he asked before leaving has been popping around in your head, taking up a residence that you weren’t quite expecting, even as you unlock the doors to the ice arena the next morning.

“Are you going to tell him?” 

Had Jimin not been only mere miles away from you at this very moment, you would say no. There’s no point in bringing up the past if it’s never around to haunt you. But it seems like Jimin is determined to make your small town feel even smaller. 

When he walks through the doors behind Bee, you can’t help but feel like you manifested him. 

“So, Y/N, here’s the deal.” Bee always tells you news this way. A deal, a situation. This is her way of telling you she’s made a decision and you’re probably not going to like it.

“I got a call the other day from the Head Coach of the Bells. I don’t know how, probably Jay gave it to him since he’s the AC but whatever.” Bee suddenly admitting that her long distance boyfriend, Jay–the Jay she has baby talked to multiple times after a game loss– is the Assistant Coach for the Bells is shocking. But not as shocking as what next comes out of her mouth. “He wants us to rehab Park. Drill him, get him back to his roots and all that shit. He’s hoping some time on a familiar rink will help him shape up. So starting today, he’s going to be training with you.” 

You blink silently at Bee, wishing you could communicate “I want to strangle you” through the pattern. 

“What?” Jimin says incredulously. “I thought I was just going to be training with the space, not with her specifically.” 

Bee cocks her head at Jimin. “You got a problem training with women, Park? Because if so, I would be happy to call Jay and let him know you’re not complying.” She smiles viciously. 

Jimin sighs in resignation. “No, ma’am.” 

“Bee,” you say. “That’s not fair. If he doesn’t want to train with us, he doesn’t have to. I have some opening slots since the junior teams and figure skating lessons are on hold until after the new year. He can just come do drills during those times if he wants to.” 

Bee flicks her gaze between you and Jimin, raising an eyebrow. “What’s with you, Y/N? You’ve never disagreed with my plans before. Are you guys ex lovers or something?” 

You suck in a breath, ready to deny the accusation, but Jimin beats you to it. 

“Yeah, actually. We dated in high school.” He says it calmly, with no malice or venom. It actually shocks you a bit. 

“Oh. Well...do you think you two can make it through the holidays without killing each other?” 

Jimin laughs lightly. “I don’t know, you’ve seen her slapshots. I think you know how lethal she can be.” 

Bee smirks, nodding. “Fair.” 

You knit your brows together. Jimin making light jokes to Bee? What reality do you live in? 

“So, Y/N? Can you not enact Kill Jimin at this time?” 

Despite yourself, you find yourself smiling, allowing a light laugh to fall from your lips. 

“Yes, I promise I won’t kill Jimin.” 

Practicing with you feels like a weird dream Jimin is walking through. Familiar because the arena looks about the exact same as it did back when you were teenagers. Only now, you are both older, and when Jimin gets a good look at you without a giant winter parka over your body, he can’t help but notice how good you look. 

Your body has filled in, with wider hips and strong legs that lunge forward with ease, carrying you as you slam the puck into the goal post, chiming in the air before it pivots in. Your ass has gotten bigger, too, and it looks perfect in your leggings you’ve chosen to wear for practice. He can’t see much of your arms due to the bulky hoodie you’ve chosen, but he can tell by the way you bodycheck one of your teammates that they are far from weak. 

It’s almost enough to get him hard. Until he hears you laugh, and then he remembers how long it’s been since he’s experienced your laughter, and the empty ache of his past drags his sulky mood back up. 

Being home sucks. Seeing his parents is great, but he’s been coddled since he got here, being sent off with homemade lunches from his mother and warnings from his father not to stay out too late. He’s almost thirty and he feels sixteen. This morning his mother woke up even before him just so she could corner him in the kitchen and ask if he’d reviewed any of the potential matches she sent him so he can also go on a date while he’s home. 

He’d said not yet, but what he wanted to say was “No, Eomma, because marriage couldn’t be the furthest thing from my mind right now when my career is dying in front of me.” 

Now, witnessing you be still so much of yourself after nearly ten years, Jimin can’t help but feel even worse about himself. 

“Park, you’re up.” Coach Bee whistles for Jimin to begin his drill, handling the puck quicking between a set of cones. It’s a familiar drill he’s done hundreds of times with the UHL, but this time there’s a twist: he must avoid the agitator, a player who will skate behind him tightly, not only trying to intercept the puck, but also piss him off. 

Naturally, you’re the agitator. 

“Before we do this, no low blows,” he says as you glide up to him. “Treat me with the same knowledge any other player would have. Nothing too personal.” 

“Oh, uh, I wasn’t going to, but sure,” you say softly. 

When Coach Bee blows her whistle, he begins, curving his body along the cones, with you right behind him. 

“Pussy,” you say, which catches Jimin off guard immediately, throwing him into a laughing fit and knocking a bunch of cones down.” 

Coach blows her whistle. “Reset! Come on Park, Y/N, be serious.” 

“I am being serious!” you shout back, but Jimin is still laughing hard. 

“Oh come on! Pussy? You’re kidding me!” Jimin wheezes. Your lips twitch. 

“Okay, fine, I haven’t gone into my zone yet. Give me a break.” 

“I know you can be mean,” he says. Your face falls. 

“I don’t want to be mean.” 

“Well that’s your job right now isn’t it? To agitate me? So just suck it up and do it. Or are you a pussy?” He raises an eyebrow. You clench your jaw. 

This is how he knows he’s got you. All it ever used to take was a little bit of a challenge to rile you up. And Jimin knows just what buttons to push. 

“Reset your shit and let’s go,” you say. 

He smirks. 

This time when Coach Bee blows her whistle, you’re practically on top of Jimin, careening your body so your stick is just millimeters away from his. 

“You know, you used to be hard to crack. What’s wrong? All that fame get to your head? Or was it the fake orgasms you gave that girl in your little sex tape?” 

“Oh, baby, you of all people should know those orgasms were real.” 

“Hmm, I don’t know. You were going awfully hard on the poor girl with your needle dicking. Does being shitty at hockey now amount to being shitty at sex these days?” You smack his hockey stick, causing it to rattle uneasily in Jimin’s grasp. 

He chokes up on the handle, reshaping the curve of his arm so the puck tucks behind the stick when you go in for another slap. 

“Aw you’re asking about sex? Has no one fucked you since me or are you just having awful sex?” he retorts. You scoff. With a twist, Jimin begins the second set of cones, this time with a more fluid movement that feels natural to his body. 

“So interested in my pussy, aren’t you. If you were maybe more attentive to the other people you fuck, you wouldn’t be the worst player in the major league.” 

“As opposed to what? The best player in the minor league? I’m not the one stuck at home.” 

He feels your skate sliding between his legs, the force of your body checking, almost knocking him to the ground. He steadies, glaring at you as you coast behind him gracefully. 

“Oops, sorry. Did I almost trip you?” 

“You always played dirty,” he spits. “Come on, babygirl, give me your worst.” 

You roll your eyes and fall into position as he passes the puck back and forth between his stick. 

“Being awfully quiet back there. What’s wrong, big boys got your ego down?” 

“Hardly. I think you’ve got enough ego for the whole fucking town.” 

“And how did I get it, hmm? It didn’t come from sucking, Y/N, it came from talent. Something you didn’t try hard enough for.” 

“And you did? I’m sure Coach really loves to tell you all about your talent.” 

“He does, he said I had drive and passion and that’s why I needed to come back here. To show how far I’ve come from this shithole. How skilled I am and how much I deserve to be there instead of here.” 

“Well lucky for you to have been the top contender.” Your voice drips with anger, and Jimin peers back to see your eyes piercing through him. You drop your stick, shifting to Coach Bee. 

“Bee, I’m done. Send in someone else to agitate.” You skate off the ice, whispering angrily to her as you jab your finger in Jimin’s direction. She nods, blowing her whistle. 

“Alright, reset! Let’s get this show on the road. Wonpil, you’re with Jimin. Minho, go take goalie position. Hustle! It’s Christmas Eve, we all want to get home!” 

Everyone resets, and the player named Wonpil pulls up behind Jimin. As the fellow players begin their drills, Wonpil immediately jumps in where you left off. 

“God, I can’t believe they let an asshole like you in here,” he says, leering over Jimin’s shoulder. 

Jimin snorts, focusing on his positioning. 

“Seriously, you’re the scum of the entire UHL and you really think you’re the shit? Embarrassing.” 

“Well, at least I have a contract. How's a dinky rink going for you, bud?” 

“You know you only have that contract because Y/N turned it down, right?” 

Jimin grips his stick harder. “Nice lie, you almost got me with it.”

Wonpil laughs, empty and cruel. “Oh you don’t know do you? Your coach scouted her for the Bells. She only turned it down because she was sick and felt bad for you.” 

“You’re lying,” Jimin said, teeth gritting. 

“Sure I am. Keep telling yourself that. But facts are facts, Jimin. You playing like a piece of shit is a disgrace to not just yourself, but everything she built for you too.” 

“Stop. Lying.” Heat flares through Jimin’s body, and he pivots on the ice, slamming his body into Wonpil. 

“Oh, I’ve wanted to do this for a long time,” Wonpil says, teeth sharp as he smiles at Jimin. “Someone really needs to put you in your place, and I’m more than happy to do it.” 

Jimin grabs Wonpil’s shoulders, jerking him into the barrier. “Go for it, bud. Show me how cool you think you are.” 

Wonpil jerks his arm up to bring his elbow down onto Jimin's face, but something stops him. A hand squeezes his forearm, and as Jimin follows the limb, he sees you.

“Stop it, Wonpil. That’s enough.” Your voice is soft but ragged, and Jimin realizes you’ve been crying.

Somewhere in the background, the whistle is screaming through the arena, and the entire team of the Griffins are streaming forward to break up the fight. But it’s your touch, your voice that seems to break Jimin from his fury. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, but the question confuses you, and you stand there staring at him, your body only looped through one arm of the hoodie, your skates untied. 

You don’t answer, instead skating back off the rink, grabbing your equipment bag and disappearing behind a door marked for employees. 

Jimin doesn’t see you until closing time. While practice ended hours ago, he stayed, doing drills, eating a hot dog from concessions, and most of all, waiting for you. 

Your hair is messy, eyes puffy and red, but when your eyes land on Jimin, you don’t look fazed by his presence. 

“I saw you on the security camera,” you say softly. 

“Ah,” he responds. Your arms are crossed, the long sleeves of your shirt confirming the muscle definition he suspected before. 

“I assume you wanted to talk to me?” you ask. 

Jimin clears his throat, nodding awkwardly. “Um, yeah. Your teammate, Wonpil. What’s his deal?”

“What do you mean?” 

“Does he have it out for me or something?” 

You shrug. “I’m not sure what you mean. Besides you trying to beat the shit out of him. Did something happen?” 

“Well, I didn’t try to beat the shit out of him for nothing. The guy has a screw loose or something. He was saying all sorts of shit.” 

“Didn’t you tell me that this is what the agitator does? Of course he’s going to say shit. Come on, follow me. I need to lock up.” You lead him through the various lobbies and areas around the arena, checking bathrooms and corners for anyone who might be loitering. Jimin saw the last people leave about an hour ago, but he doesn’t say so. 

“Yeah, but this was crazy stuff.” You duck your head into the women’s bathroom. 

“Mhm.” 

“He said that the only reason I’m contracted with the Bells is because you turned it down. Isn’t that nuts?” 

You freeze, your hand on the key that turns off the lights to the south side of the arena. 

“Oh.”

Jimin watches you. Your voice sounds shaken, and when you turn to him, you don’t meet his gaze. 

“Y/N,” Jimin says. 

“Yeah.” 

“Look at me.” You obey. “Is that true? Did you get a contract for the Bells?” 

“I did,” you say. 

Jimin’s chest clenches but he forces a deep breath through it anyway. 

“And did you turn it down so I could go?” 

“Yes,” you say. Tears well up in your eyes. Jimin blinks in disbelief. 

“Why? Why the fuck would you do that? It was your dream and you just threw it away!” Anger pulses through him again, making him flushed and hot. “Why didn’t you tell me? What the fuck, Y/N?” 

“You wanted it more than I did, Jimin! You needed it more than me. What was I supposed to do? Leave you behind?”

“You were supposed to tell me! You were supposed to be honest so I could figure things out for myself! If I wasn’t the first pick, I deserved to know! Now I know I was the pity pick? All this time I was thinking I was chosen because I was wanted, but I wasn’t even good enough for that?” 

He rubs his eyes with his hands, trying to stamp out the burning he feels in them. Despite himself, his throat tightens, and the hot lick of tears begins to fall in mirror to your face. 

“Of course you were good enough! Why else would you have been contracted! He saw in you what I saw!” you yell, a ragged cry leaving your chest. 

“So that’s why you dumped me all those years ago? Was it guilt for what you did?”

“No! No, it was because I couldn’t be the one dragging you down, Jimin. You spent that whole summer telling me how badly you needed to escape. You talked about your dreams, everything. If I went and played for the Bells, would you have been happy for me? Would you have been okay with letting your dream go?” 

“Of course I wouldn’t Y/N! Because you were my dream. You never seemed to get that! All along you were playing with my future like I was your puppet on strings. Did I live up to your expectations? Hm? Is watching me fuck strangers in a threesome that has since ruined my life been a dream for you? Has watching me become the loser that I am been satisfying for your sick idea of reality?” 

“No, it isn’t. It’s been sad, Jimin. It has been absolutely awful to watch! And keep in mind, there’s no way for me to be a puppeteer if I’m not around to pull the strings. You became who you are now by your own hand. Not mine. Yeah, it was wrong of me not to tell you, I know that now. I’m sorry. It wasn’t fair to you. But I’m not responsible for your career failing. That’s all you.” 

You turn the key to the set of lights, shutting the arena down into darkness. 

“Now, excuse me. I have a Christmas Eve party to get to.”

You manage to get the swelling of your eyelids to go down with some cold spoons your mother shoves into the freezer when she sees you arrive at the party. 

You know you’ll have to face Jimin again tonight, but some resolve has washed over you in the time since you left the arena earlier this afternoon. You’ve had time for a shower, and thrown on some makeup so no one can ask you why you’ve been crying. 

With Minho here, things are feeling a little less stifling, as he instinctively knows how to assemble a killer charcuterie board while also wearing a dashing smile on his face when your aunts ask him if he’s single. He’s good for the distraction, giving you more time to mentally prepare for when Jimin walks through the door with his parents, wearing a white button-up shirt and open suitcoat. 

He looks good. Put together, unlike earlier when he and you were crying and screaming at each other. Composed in only the way a celebrity with PR training could. 

“Oh, hello Y/N!” his mother says as you greet them at the door, taking her pea coat into your hands. 

“Hello, thank you for coming. My mom will be happy you’re here.” 

“Thank you, dear. It’s our pleasure to be here. Jimin, help Y/N with our coats while we go put the tapenade on the table.” 

Mechanically, he obliges, taking his and his father’s snow-dusted coats and following you to the spare bedroom down the hall that has become the coat room. 

“You look nice,” he says, nodding in your direction. You chose to wear a sparkly black dress with shooting stars on it. It was one of the few things in your closet you could deem festive enough without being tacky. The only downside is that it’s shrunk in the wash, making your breasts spill over and your ass practically falls out the back when it rides up. 

“Thank you,” you say, trying not to notice too much that his eyes are glued to your chest. You feel a light jolt of warmth in your stomach. “You do too.” 

Jimin flushes, looking down shyly. “Thanks.” 

Without much effort, you turn toward the door, falling back into the warmth of the party. Your mother clinks her glass, drawing the attention of others. 

“Thank you all for attending this party at the last minute,” your mother beams, clearly pleased with the turnout. 

“That being said, we have lots of games at the ready, song sheets with lyrics, and plenty of eggnog and mistletoe to help you feel some holiday cheer.” She looks at you and winks. “So, enjoy! And cheers!” 

The partygoers cheer, and some swingy, festive rendition of “Deck the Halls” kicks on. You retreat to the designated bar table, where Minho is pouring a heavy glass of something. 

“What’s ailing you?” he asks. 

“Jimin,” you scoff, gesturing for him to pour you a shot of vodka. He goes to top it with cranberry juice, but you shake your head. 

“You sure you want to get wasted?” 

“Absolutely. I can’t imagine getting through any of this sober,” you grimace. Minho laughs. 

“Fair point. Cheers.” 

You clink your shot glasses, downing the alcohol quickly. The burn pulls down through your chest, warming you instantly. 

For the next two hours, you and Minho take turns pouring each other drinks before jumping into games like Christmas Pictionary, where your father draws the worst reindeer you’ve ever seen in your life, looking more like a group of sausages on a grill. 

Jimin hovers around, refusing to partake in the fun, and his Grinchy attitude is still weighing on you too. 

When your mother passes out her caroling sheets and your father shoves someone over to the piano, you find yourself stuffed into the corner with him. 

“Having fun yet?” you ask, the alcohol giving you the guts to feel daring enough to speak to him. 

“Is this supposed to be?”

You frown. “God, you’re such a grump. You better be careful, or you’ll be visited by the ghosts of Christmas past, present, and future tonight.” 

“I’d say that I’m already experiencing it,” he says, gesturing toward you. “You get to be all three it would seem.” 

You roll your eyes, putting some distance between the two of you. 

At some point, you’re stuck together again. This time near the snack table and you try to pad your stomach with something other than alcohol. As you load your plate with salami roses and lots of different cheeses and vegetables, Jimin reaches over you, grabbing the bag of potato chips and depositing some of his plate. 

“Here,” he says, when he sees you struggle to balance your stash, and he carries it into the kitchen so you can eat against the counter in peace. 

“Um, thank you,” you say, and pop a tomato into your mouth. 

“About earlier,” he says. Something in his voice sounds less tense than before, and it prompts you to look at him, taking in the softness of his face. 

“Yeah?”

“I was being an asshole,” he finishes. “I’m sorry. I just…it was a shock is all. And a bit disappointing.” 

“It’s okay to be upset,” you say, dusting your hands off on a napkin. “And I’m sorry, too. It wasn’t right of me. I know it’s not an excuse, but I was really young at the time and I was scared.” 

“I was scared too,” Jimin says, lifting his eyes to look at you. “God, leaving here was terrifying.” 

The room is warm from all the crockpots still heating the various delights your parents have encouraged others to serve. Jimin’s face is rosy, and he looks almost like a teenager again.

You nod. “I can only imagine. A new place to start from scratch. Trying to get a hang of everything and be independent. You were practically a kid.” 

“I was,” he smirks. “We both were.” 

“Yeah,” you smile. 

“I do have another question, if that’s okay,” he says quietly. 

“Sure.” You bite down on a piece of cheese, chewing softly.

“When you broke up with me, you said something about how if you got the contract you were worried that I would be miserable. Was that why you did it? Didn’t take it.” 

You sigh. “It was more complicated than that.” 

“How so?” 

In the living room someone whoops as the partygoers sing along to “Jingle Bell Rock”. 

“Not here, let’s go somewhere more private.” 

He follows you into the guest room where you left your coats earlier. The room feels colder than the rest of the house, since the door has been closed despite the groups of people warming the living room. 

You sit. Jimin sits, too, though on the far side of the bed. 

“Well, I guess that me worrying about you was part of it. But I think looking back, I was also worried about myself. We had such a hot and heavy summer and this contract felt like a huge question mark over both of our futures. And we’d never talked about it. While I was at home, I just kept twirling the idea of how things would work out over and over in my head.” 

“Did you skip trials because of it? I had no idea you were so anxious. When I saw you and you didn’t look sick, I thought you’d lied. I never considered that you would have made yourself sick with all of that.” 

“Um, well that wasn’t fully it.” His composure takes you by surprise. “The week of the party. The one you assumed I got mad at you for? I was kept after practice by your coach. He said that while the try-outs weren’t done, he had made his choice. He picked me. And I had to keep it a secret from everyone. Including you.” 

Jimin folds his lips into a line. “Ah, I see.” 

“But, I also had been feeling really shitty. Nausea, heightened anxiety, stress related stuff. Missing periods and stuff, which I know I told you some about. But the day after the party, I felt really bad. And then I finally realized what was wrong. Um…I was pregnant.” 

Jimin’s eyes flare wide. “What?” 

“Yeah. Turns out a lot of my symptoms were signs of pregnancy. And you and I weren’t exactly careful a lot of the time.” 

Heat floods to Jimin’s face, and you watch as his ears turn pink. “No, we weren’t.” 

“I knew I couldn’t have a baby. I wasn’t really thinking what you would want in that but–” 

“What I would have wanted doesn’t matter.” 

You smile, some warmth spreading to your chest over your instinct being right. “Well, thanks. I got an abortion. And then I turned down the contract. I was going to go to school but I guess my deferment resulted in me losing my scholarship.” 

Jimin stares at you, unmoving. 

“You okay? I’m not shocking you too much?” 

“It’s not that it’s just. Holy shit, Y/N.”

“People keep saying that,” you chuckle. 

“Because it’s a holy shit situation. Were you okay? Did your parents take you?” 

“No, I just did it alone.” 

“Fuck, god. And I was just off dicking around on a rink while you were going through that”

“Which is what I wanted you to be doing, Jimin. I didn’t want you worrying about me. You had to focus!” 

Jimin rolls his eyes. “God, you are ridiculous. You were all alone having an abortion by yourself, going through that pain by yourself. Something of which I caused and you were still thinking about me instead of yourself?” 

Your mouth opens to speak, but no words come out. You never thought of it like that. 

“I’m not mad you didn’t tell me, just so you know. I don’t think I really have a right to be mad because it’s not my body that had to go through it. I just…I would have wanted to be there for you through it. More than anything. You were my world, Y/N.” 

“But I couldn’t be. I needed you to be your own world. I needed you to go make something of yourself that wasn’t just because of me.” 

He snorts. “But it was because of you that I made something of myself. I got contracted because of you. I played hard to not think about you. I kept myself busy for nearly a decade with my career so I could forget about you.” 

“Well, did you get close?” you ask carefully. The alcohol has made your head feel a little fuzzy, but the conversation has sobered you up. 

He picks up a throw pillow and tosses it at you. You laugh. “No, of course I didn’t. It’s you, for fuck’s sake. You were my every wet dream of my teenage years, do you think I would just forget you like that?”

“Well, you tried to pretend you didn’t remember me.” 

“God,” he runs a hand over his face. “I think I was just shocked, honestly. I thought you would have left here. Gone away to college and got your sports physiology degree and I would run into you one day in LA after a bad injury and I could convince you to fall in love with me again.” 

You scoff. “Oh is that the dream?” 

“Well it was. I really didn’t think I’d see you ever again, actually.” 

“I hope it’s not too much of a disappointment.” 

“Well, we’ll see…it wasn’t because you were pregnant that you broke up with me, was it?”

“Oh my god, no. You’re obsessed with this like there’s a singular reason but there wasn’t. It was a culmination of everything. Besides, I’d had the abortion during the time I was home. When you showed up, I had just gotten clearance from my doctor that it was a success.” 

Jimin frowns. “Were you sad about it? The abortion? Not that you had to be.” 

“I was sad that I was alone. I was sad that I felt like I couldn’t tell you. I was worried that if I did, I would be the reason for you not getting contracted. It was a lot of worrying for you. But also for myself. I worried I wouldn’t be okay. And I worried I would regret it somehow, that I would wake up one day wondering what could have been.” 

“Did you?”

You look down at your hands. “No, I mean, not really. I have since, I guess, but it’s less wondering what life would have been like without an abortion and more what life would have been like if I didn’t call everything off. That decision hurt me. And it never felt completely right. But my fear of things ending kind of ruled over me. I was so in love with you that I couldn’t imagine a lifetime where things would work out. Not when you had an arranged marriage you’d someday have to fulfill, or one of us would go pro and have to figure out how to make both our dreams work.” 

Jimin nods. “Well, thank you for telling me. I’m glad you made the decision that was best for you at the time. It gives me some closure.” He scoots closer to you before reaching over and squeezing your hand. “And I hope that if you ever go through something like that again, you have someone by your side so you feel less alone.” 

“Thank you,” you say. 

The warmth of his hand comforts you both as you sit in the room. Your mother squeals in the other room, shouting at your father for allegedly grabbing her ass. 

“Come on, babe! It’s Christmas!” he replies. 

You and Jimin burst into laughter. 

“You know,” Jimin says behind gasps of air. “I don’t think I hate being here as much as I thought I would. Sure, it sucks being under my parents’ roof again, but god, the sound of a holiday party is a welcome change from a bunch of locker room groans.” 

“You smell better too,” you add. You sniff the air between you too. “I always liked that cologne on you.” 

He smirks. “Remember when I ran out and you drove your car, broken A/C and all, into the city to get me a replacement?” 

You groan. “God, my car was truly an oven that day. When I finally got home I thought I was melting like an ice cream cone.”

“I remember that.” 

“I have a question for you now,” you say. Jimin blinks a bit, taken aback by your abruptness. 

“Oh, sure.” 

“Why are you home? Why didn’t you stay at your place and just see your celebrity friends? Why come back here which is clearly full of bad memories and feelings and experience all of this?” You gesture around you. 

He takes a sharp breath. “Well, it felt like something that I had to do. First of all, I’ve been instructed by our PR team not to be seen out with any of my celebrity friends. I’m not supposed to be seen anywhere near Bells Arena, so practicing locally was out. And with it being too warm there to skate on a natural body of water, it seemed like home was the only option.”

“That sucks,” you blurt. “I mean–”

Jimin laughs. “Yeah, it does suck. But home isn’t the worst place to be, and I feel like there hasn’t been a lot tying me to anything lately. The last few years have been rough. Threesome notwithstanding, but my life hasn’t been exactly private for a while. And I guess that kind of presses you to become someone else.” 

“Like a prick?” 

“Am I really that much of an asshole?”

“Uh, yeah. You lost your drive because you’re too busy chirping on the ice and not focusing on the game.” 

“You’re sounding like Coach again.” 

“Well, he had a good point. Do you have your gear with you by chance?”

“It’s in the car, why?”

“Go grab it and meet me out back.” 

“Why?”

“Just do it,” you roll your eyes and stand up, smoothing your dress. When you turn to face Jimin, his gaze moves from your ass. 

You pretend not to notice. 

“You have a rink in your backyard?”

“Yep, Dad built it back when we were trying out for the pros, thinking that during my break times I could come home and practice.”

Now knowing the truth, Jimin can’t help but feel an ache in his chest for you and the dream you left behind. 

“It’s incredible. But are you sure that you’re not too drunk to skate?” 

You balk at the question, laughing. “You think I haven’t skated absolutely wasted? Come on now.” Fair point. “Besides,” you add, “I feel fine now. The fresh air is nice.” 

You’ve traded your tiny little dress he was admiring in the bedroom for a more sensible outfit. “Now, lace up your skates, Park. Let’s get to drills.” 

An hour later, Jimin is sweating through his button down. He didn’t have an extra outfit with him in the Kia, just his skates, so he’s been sweltering in the stiff button down. A little perspiration is beading your forehead, but you still have a healthy glow to you, and are not nearly as out of breath as he is.

“You’ve gotten sloppy with your passing,” you say nonchalantly. 

A lick of heat prompts Jimin to argue, but he shoves it down. He’s supposed to be working on that, after all. 

“Just a tiny bit,” he says. 

“You’ve got a long way to go if you’re going to be ready to hit the ice in less than a month.”

He pouts a bit, despite himself. 

“Oh come on, you used to love the challenge of beating me on the rink. Did time change that much?” 

“Well, there was a pretty good incentive for winning. Like seeing you naked.” 

“Is not being kicked off your dream team not enough incentive?”

“I mean I’m a guy, Y/N. Of course my career is important, but I’m just saying, sex was always my best motivator. And if I remember correctly, yours too.”

You look away from him for a moment, thinking. 

“Well, then, fine, let’s give you an incentive then. If you beat me in a shootout, I’ll let you see my ass.” 

Jimin stalls. “What?” 

“I know you’ve been checking me out like, all day. It’s obvious. So, you beat me in a shootout, I’ll show it to you.” 

Jimin chuckles. 

“What’s so funny?”

“Y/N, I’ve seen your ass. And while I’m absolutely sure it’s even better than I imagined, I hardly consider that a motivator.”

“Fine, then what do you propose? What is it that you would like to do?”

Heat pools into his stomach. As much as he doesn’t want to admit it, Jimin can’t ignore the intense attraction he still has for you. It’s like 10 years hasn’t changed much about his body chemistry. 

He skates up to you, putting his hand on your waist, testing the limits of what in his desires he truly is allowed to ask for. As his hand works up your side toward your breast, you let out a small gasp. And that’s when he sees it in your eyes: arousal. Unmistakable, just as easy for him to spot as it was all those years ago.

“Do you remember that time we went to the beach? And you got vanilla ice cream all over your bikini because it melted before you could even eat it?”

You cocked your head to the side. “Yeah?”

“And so I licked every inch of you? That’s what I want.” 

“Jimin!” you gasp, but as his other hand loops around your back, you don’t fight his touch.

“You tasted so sweet,” he whispers, his mouth hovering over your neck. 

“Stop.” But it’s a weak gesture, mechanical. 

“You fucking loved it, didn’t you?” 

Your heart beats a little faster. “I did.” 

“What else did you like, hm? When I fucked you that summer.” 

Jimin’s voice lowers, a deeper, seductive tone replacing his usual, cheerful one. It’s the same one he used to use on you, and the pressure building in your core tells you that it’s having the same effect. A hand finds its way to the curve of your ass, and you melt into his body.

“Jimin,” you rasp. 

“Yeah?” 

“Fuck.” 

“Tell me,” he whispers. “What used to make you come so hard that I had you screaming?” 

“God.” 

“Do you think about that as much as I do? Do you think about the little whimpers you made when you came all over my lap that day? Do you think about how hard my cock was for you? How desperate you were for it after I told you you’d have to wait?” 

“You’re such an asshole,” you heave. 

“I know. But if I win, I want you under me again. I want to lick every inch of you until all you can think about is me.” 

He pulls away, ignoring the hardening of his cock, rasping a deep breath. You blink at him, confused, before taking in his form as he sails the puck into the net. 

“That’s one, babygirl. Now show me what you’re made of.” 

Sex, it turns out, is Jimin’s greatest motivator. Which is why after he wins in the shootout up to ten, you end up naked in the guest bedroom. 

“Your nipples are so hard,” he says, sucking one into your mouth. “That’s how I always knew how needy you were. How badly you needed to be fucked.” 

A moan escapes you. He squeezes your thigh again, his other hand roaming up your side. 

“You were always so sensitive there. I’m glad to see that hasn’t changed.”

Your hands lurch forward, digging into the open ends of his jacket, pulling him closer. 

“When was the last time someone fucked you good, Y/N?” he asks, and your brain searches through your list of ex lovers, turning up empty handed 

“I don’t know,” you groan, hissing when you feel his other hand land on your breast. 

He clicks his tongue. “You poor thing. Tell me, what do you need, hmm?” 

“I don’t know,” you say again. Your thoughts are jumbled, how you got here, stripped naked while he still hovers over you fully clothed, your focus faltering as you clench your thighs. Jimin pulls away, grinning down at you. . 

“I bet you’re just as sweet as I remember,” he says. “I bet you still get so wet that when you get fucked the nastiest little sounds come out of you.” 

“Fuck, Jimin, god.” 

“I told you I would like every inch of you. Do you think I was joking?” 

“We can’t,” you say, your eyes flitting to the door. 

“Does the door lock?” he asks. 

“Yes, but–”

“Then lock the fucking door and come sit on my face.” 

Heaven. Jimin has died and gone to heaven. As he laps at your clit again, he can’t believe this is really happening. 

“Fuck, harder,” you order, and he finds himself grinning, sucking your bud into his mouth hard. Your legs immediately squeeze around his face, and he reaches up, forcing your thighs down harder, pressing himself deeper into you. 

You really shouldn’t be doing this. He has no idea how long you’ve both been away, but all he knows is that they’ve finished singing the entire “12 Days of Christmas” and someone has been getting your friend Minho to do a rendition of “Santa Baby” that hopefully everyone is too drunk to remember. But he can’t help himself. Couldn’t help the electric feeling when he squeezed your hand, couldn’t ignore how your tits spilling out of your dress had him rock hard the second you gave him a knowing look. 

And now, knowing what Jimin knows about you, about your past and why things ended, he can’t be mad. While yes, he’s frustrated by your positioning of him as the priority in your life, even seemingly now, he isn’t mad. And whatever happens after tonight, he hopes you’ll both be able to talk about it so you can reframe the future. 

Until then, he really, really wants you to come on his face. 

His fingers leave your thighs. You lift off of his face, gasping as you look down at him. 

“Do you have a death wish?” 

“Yes, now smother me with your pussy.” 

You roll your eyes, lowering yourself back down onto him. He laps at you again, this time flicking your clit with his fingers before rubbing them through your slick folds. “Fucking missed this pussy. Do you know how many times I think about this? How much cum have I spilled thinking about this?” 

“God, you’re such a perv,” you say. But he can hear the lightness in your voice, knowing that despite the slight embarrassment, you’re also flattered. 

“How tight is it, hmm? Do you ever fuck your toys thinking about me?” 

“Not often,” you tease before you wail as he bites your ass. 

“Liar.” 

“Ugh, fine. I think about your cock a lot, okay?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yes, now are you going to make me come or not?” 

“You know, I could, but now I can’t stop thinking about you thinking about my cock and fuck, I’m so hard.” 

Jimin feels you leaning forward, your hand roving down his toned chest until you reach the tent in his pants. 

“Please, babygirl, don’t tease me too much,” he warns and you chuckle, tugging at the zipper and clasp and reaching into his pants. 

Your hand dips into his briefs, tugging the elastic and pants down his hips to free his throbbing cock. 

“Fuck,” you say, sliding your hand up and down his leaking shaft. “Were you always this big?” 

Jimin groans, sliding a finger into you. You moan. “Shit.” 

“You used to take this cock like such a good girl,” he says, sliding a second finger in. “Though I’m not sure how with such a tight little cunt you have. I think I need to fuck it open.” 

“Oh.” 

“You like that, baby? My fingers fucking you open so you can take my cock? You’re so wet, god, listen to you.” 

The room fills with the wet sounds of his fingers fucking into you, his tongue returning to your clit and sucking hard. 

“Shit, shit, we need to change positions or I’m going to collapse on your face.” 

He obliges, pulling his fingers out so you can lie on your back. You watch as he sucks your juices from his fingers, your mouth slightly parting as he moans. 

“So sweet.” 

“Fuck,” you say suddenly, your eyes once more turning toward the door. “We gotta hurry. Once we get to the cookie shots, it’s only a matter of time before my dad makes us do round two of competitive games, and they’ll be looking for me.” 

 “Aw, but I was just getting started,” he whines.

You roll your eyes. “You can fulfill your fantasy later. Skip the foreplay and fuck me already.” 

“I don’t know if you’re warmed up enough for that–”

“Jimin, I promise you the second I feel your cock slide into me, I will be ten seconds from cumming because of how good it feels. Now you can take your time with me later, but if you don’t fuck me right now, I might lose my goddamn mind.”

He feels precum dribble from the tip, and he looks at you. “Shit, okay. Well, um, I don’t have a condom.” 

“IUD. I’m clean. Please,” Your voice cants into a whine, which makes Jimin feel delirious. 

“Okay, lie back down baby, I’ll take care of you.” 

Despite your desperation, he moves slowly, sucking your nipples back his mouth, giving a little bite to one that makes you whimper. 

“Please, Jimin,” you beg again. He reaches down, taking his cock in his hand and rubbing it through your slick entrance. As the head of his cock dips in, your eyes meet his, and a sigh leaves your throat. 

“Yes,” you say when he seats himself to the hilt. You pulse around him, and Jimin hisses at the tightness. 

“Shit, watch it babygirl or I’ll come right now.” 

“Just feels, so good, fuck,” you pant, your body convulsing around him once more. 

He pulls out slightly and thrusts back in, his cock tapping your cervix. Your whole body quakes and you moan loudly. 

“Shh, do you want to get caught?” 

“Kiss me, then,” you say and Jimin being the fool that he is, he does. 

Your lips meet, and you taste like a peppermint candy cane. He licks along your lip, trying to get more of the taste in his mouth. Your lips part, welcoming in, his tongue tangling with yours as he thrusts fully into you. 

You moan into his mouth, silencing yourself as his pace increases, sharp snaps of his hips making you curl and clench around him, your wetness coating his pelvis and balls as it drips down your thighs. 

On a particularly hard thrust, you come, your body shivering and pussy spasming around him. Your nails dig into his back as you seat him deeper into you, riding out the aftershocks. 

“Holy shit,” you whisper. 

“Mm, feel good baby?” 

“Yes. You’re so big; It feels so good.” 

He kisses your nose.”Well, I want to make you come one more time before I do, so hold on.”

He rolls you over, propping you up on your knees. 

“When I saw you earlier at practice in those leggings, I was imagining this moment. My cock deep in you while I watch your ass bounce on me. Do you think you can show me that, Y/N?”

You moan a yes, thrusting yourself back onto him as he pounds into you. The flesh of your ass bounces against him, and Jimin is hypnotized by it, his hands repeatedly slapping to spank your cheeks as you fuck yourself on him. With each slap, you clench harder, and as he places his hands firmly on your hips and bucks into you with speed and precision, it’s only a matter of time before you’re face down in the pile of coats, moaning freely as he thrusts into you. With one final gasp, you come, legs shaking violently as you succumb to your orgasm. Jimin follows behind, is cock pumping a heavy load of cum into you. You sigh satisfied, holding your hand under yourself to catch it while Jimin watches it leak out. 

“Jesus, Y/N. That’s so hot.” 

“Well, hot and practical. I’m not spilling your cum onto all my guests’ clothes. Now go get tissue from that bathroom over there. I need to clean up.” 

Despite Jimin fucking you within an inch of your life, you manage to make your reappearance with your guests fairly easy, a glass of some concoction your mother has named Jingle Juice in hand. 

“So,” Minho whispers after your father divides up the room into teams. “Are you creaming of a white Christmas with Jimin?” 

“Ew, Minho! No! That’s disgusting!” You slap him on the arm. “How did you know?” 

“Well, first I saw you two go out back and grope each other on the ice. And then you practically ran into the guest bedroom. After about thirty minutes of not seeing you, I figured I’d come check. But then I heard you and that confirmed my suspicions.” 

Your cheeks burn with embarrassment. “Were we loud? Oh god, does everyone know?” 

“I think everyone was too busy drinking or eating or singing to notice. But to answer your question, my god, Y/N, you’re so loud. He should put a muzzle on your or something.” 

“Shut up. Besides, this is no big deal. A little Christmas stress relief. A one time thing.” 

“Sure it is. Well may Santa bring you more stress relief very soon because you’re glowing from the orgasm he gave you.” 

“Two.”  

“Huh?” 

“Two orgasms. With the promise of a third later if I meet up with him."

Minho looks at you uneasy. “I want to be happy for you, but I’m honestly not sure what to think. I thought you hated him. Or at least wouldn’t fuck him at your parents’ house.” 

Heat floods your cheeks as the reality of your decision begins to set in. 

“Yeah, uh, I don’t know.”

Minho takes a final sip of his drink, grimacing as he sets it down. “Well Merry Christmas to you, Y/N. Maybe you can fuck him into a better attitude while you’re at it. Because you’ve only got a few weeks before his suspension ends and if he isn’t ready by then, he can kiss his professional career goodbye.” 

“I think he can do it. We have plenty of time.”

“I hope you’re right. Not to ruin your post-fuck glow, but be careful. People don’t change overnight. While I’m glad you two had a fun little reunion romp, there’s still a lot of work to be done with Park Jimin.” 

©2024 by jooniperbonsai

[the-blind-assassin-12]

The Yule Lodge - Part One

A PEDROSTORIES SECRET SANTA GIFT FIC

A/N: As always, a big thank you to the moderators of @pedrostories for organizing this event! It's always a lot of fun and definitely helps put me in the holiday spirit every year. I can't wait to see what others have created for this event! This story kind of completely ran away from me, so as you can see, this is only the beginning. I hope my fic recipient doesn't mind, but it's looking like a three part story, which I'm aiming to get the rest of posted within the next few days. Now, if you'll all suspend disbelief with me, there's a very exclusive, high-end Bed & Breakfast I'd like you all to visit...

Gift Tag: SURPRISE @covetyou ! I was your Secret Santa for the Pedrostories gift swap! You gave me so many great prompts and ideas to run with, but the ones that stuck out most to me were "Magic is real" and "chaotic meet cute". Out of the characters that you listed, Ezra and Dieter seemed like likely candidates, and that's where my top secret anonymous ask where I made you choose emojis with no context came into play. You (blindly) choose Dieter, and I am so glad that you did because I have been having a blast writing this for you and I truly hope that you enjoy it! Wishing you a very Merry Christmas, the happiest of holiday seasons and only the best in the New Year, lovely!!

Warnings: brief mention of infidelity (not Dieter or Reader!) cannabis consumption, I think that's it for now ;)

Word Count: 5,416

Summary: Last minute holiday travel plans sure can be chaotic sometimes. In some cases, it can even seem as though there is some kind of supernatural intervention going on. But that's crazy... Right?

He wasn’t supposed to be here. 

Wherever the fuck here is. 

As the cab pulled up to its destination, Dieter rolled his forehead against the rear passenger side window to get a better view of the place, ignoring the way that the chill from the glass sunk into his skin. His eyes narrowed, then blinked wide as he took in the Dickensian looking Bed and Breakfast. 

Well it’s sure as shit not the Savoy. 

That was where he was supposed to be staying. That was where he had asked Cori, his assistant, to book him a suite from the 23rd to the 26th. That was where he had been planning to spend his Christmas, sprawled in a king sized bed wearing baggy pajama pants, devouring snowflake shaped THC infused sugar cookies, watching old movies and ordering room service until the holiday was good and over. Just like he’d done almost every year for the previous two decades. 

And to her credit, Cori had booked him that suite. She’d done it months ago, when she made the travel arrangements for the press tour that had brought him to London in the first place. He was there to promote Getaway Man - the must see action-thriller that was set to open worldwide on Christmas Day, and that was already receiving Oscar buzz - with two of his co-stars. They had both gone straight to the airport following the final round of interviews, though, anxious and eager to get back home in time for holiday celebrations with their families. But Dieter had planned to do just the opposite from the get go, so all he had to do was check out of one hotel, travel a few blocks, and check into another one. Cori had sent him receipts along with his itinerary, and his stay at the Savoy had been on both of them. 

It wasn’t a booking issue that caused the last minute switcharoo. Or, rather, it wasn’t an issue with the room that Dieter had booked. It actually had to do with another guest’s reservation - his ex-wife’s. Or, rather (again), it had to do with a reservation made by Anika’s new husband, fellow actor Mark Atlas. 

And people say my last name is bullshit. 

Anyway, apparently Mark found out that Dieter was going to be staying at the Savoy while he and Anika were also going to be there, and promptly threw a Hollywood sized hissy fit about the “optics” of the three of them spending Christmas under the same roof. Something about “not wanting to put Anika through the ordeal of being around Dieter.” As though he was the one who had shocked her by asking for the divorce. 

As though I was the one who cheated. 

It was far more likely that Map Man was worried about his sweet, innocent wife “accidentally” bumping into Dieter under the mistletoe in the middle of the night, than he was about putting her through anything. 

And for the record, even if she had tumbled into Dieter’s lap wearing nothing but a couple of strategically placed Christmas ribbons, he wouldn’t have done a damn thing about it. He wasn’t like Mark. He didn’t need - or want - to fuck someone else’s wife. 

No. This had nothing to do with Atlas looking out for Anika, and Dieter knew it. This was about Hollywood’s new favorite golden boy snapping his fingers and getting what he wanted at Dieter’s expense. Dieter’s body of work since the Cliff Beasts fiasco may have been award worthy, his performances lauded by critics and fans alike. But Mark Atlas had just signed on to a six movie deal in a superhero franchise that already had comic cons selling out despite the fact that he hadn’t been announced to the panel yet. The first film in the series hadn’t even been released but McDonald’s already had the fucking action figures in their goddamn happy meals. 

In short, Atlas was the bigger, shinier, more family friendly name at the moment. And in show business, the moment was all that mattered. 

So even though Dieter had checked into his room at the Savoy earlier that day without issue, and despite the fact that he’d already changed into his baggiest pair of pajama pants and shaggy green robe, the call from the front desk still came. It wasn’t a demand that he leave. It wasn’t even really a suggestion. The manager had simply stated that another guest expressed concern over the “possibility of a negative encounter with Dieter”, and asked if he would like to cancel his stay for a full refund, plus a complimentary three night stay at a time of his choosing. 

Good to know I’m still shiny enough that they didn’t want to piss me off entirely. 

He didn’t need to bother asking the manager which guest had expressed that particular concern. There was only one person Dieter could think of who both held that kind of sway, and disliked him enough to purposely derail his holiday. He knew it was Mark. 

Even though I have no idea why that fucker hates me so damn much. He fucking won. 

Though the thought of spitefully refusing to leave just to screw with Atlas was tempting, Dieter just wasn’t in the mood for a big dramatic debacle. And even though it hurt to know that Anika was seemingly fine with Mark’s treatment of him, he didn’t want to give in and invite the negative encounter that Mark was setting him up for. 

Instead, he told the manager that he’d check out as soon as he found a new hotel, and took the man up on the offer for a future stay. He then promptly texted Cori to fill her in on everything and crossed his fingers in hopes that she had some secret backup options up her sleeve. The fact that it was mere hours away from Christmas Eve in one of the world’s busiest cities made it a tall order, and he was aware of that. But Cori had proven time and time again that tall orders were her specialty, so Dieter was cautiously hopeful. 

When his phone rang in his hand a few minutes later, he ceased his pacing to answer it. 

“Cori?” He plopped down on the edge of the bed as he spoke, hardly holding back a groan at how goddamn comfortable the mattress was. Can’t believe I don’t even get to sleep on it. “Please tell me you found something else.” He flopped all the way back, sinking into the down-filled duvet. Oh, fuck you, Mark. “I really don’t want to have to come back to-“ 

“Actually,” an unfamiliar female voice cut him off. “My name is Ivy, Mr. Bravo. I work for Cori. She asked me to handle finding you a new place to stay since she flew home yesterday to be at her son’s-“ 

“School holiday show.” Dieter mumbled, covering his eyes and scrubbing his hand back over his forehead and into his hair. Fuck, I knew that. “Yeah, that’s right, she told me.” 

It had come up a few times as the press tour was winding down, the woman clearly looking forward to being able to be there for her kid’s performance. Though that kind of life was about as far from his own as he could imagine, Dieter admired the way that Cori prioritized being present for her kids as much as possible. He knew that being with her family made her happy, so he was glad that that’s where she was. But wait…

“Hang on.” Dieter propped himself up on one elbow. “I didn’t know Cori had anyone working for her.” She’d been his assistant for over ten years, and he never once heard her mention the name Ivy. Not that she wouldn’t need help. I’m not always the easiest. 

She let out a silver-bell laugh, the sound high and tingling. “Well that’s because I’m good at what I do, and so is Cori. Usually I get to stay behind the scenes, but this was a-” 

“A clusterfuck?” Dieter supplied, slumping back down again. 

“I was going to say a special case.” She laughed again. “Trust me, I’ve seen fuckier clusters.” 

He wasn’t sure if that was supposed to make him feel better or not, nor was he sure if it actually did. Switching the phone to speaker and laying it on his chest, he crossed both arms over his eyes. “Does that mean you have a backup place for me?” He crossed his fingers as he waited for her response. 

“It does, Mr. Bravo, I-” 

“You can just call me Dieter, Ivy. Actually, please just call me Dieter. And-” Her words clicked then, and he bolted up to both elbows, sending his phone sliding down to his stomach. “Wait, did you say yes?”

“I did,” Ivy confirmed. Fuck yeah! “But it’s a little unconventional.” 

Dieter sat all the way up, reaching for his phone before it could fall between his legs and down to the floor. Lifting it level with his mouth, he cocked his head to the side. “What does that mean?”

Ivy cleared her throat. “It’s not a hotel, per say.” Okay… “More like a high end, exclusive bed and breakfast. And technically it’s just outside the city.” 

Dieter grimaced, clunking the edge of his phone to his forehead. A bed and breakfast? Like… With other people? And shared common rooms and… He considered his other option - flying back to L.A. and going home to his empty house - and the grimace deepened. “How exclusive is exclusive?” 

“Pretty private. The place is an old Victorian mansion. It accommodates guests in four suites, but I was told that only one other room is booked at the moment.” 

He sighed, bringing his phone back down to his lips. I guess this is the best I can hope for. “Okay.” 

“Okay?” Ivy questioned. “Does that mean I should go ahead and call them?” 

Dieter dropped his phone into the fluffy bedding beside him. “Yes. Please.” He stood, rubbing at one eye. “And can you also call me a car? I don’t-” 

“Of course,” she answered. “Consider it done.” 

“Great.” It was far from great, but it would have to do. “I really appreciate it, Ivy.” That part was 100% true. 

“My pleasure! I’ll go ahead and communicate with the Savoy staff, too, that way everyone is on the same page. Oh, and I’ll update Cori, of course.” 

“Perfect.” Again, it wasn’t. Perfect was the thread count of the sheets he was leaving behind. Perfect was the five-star service he wouldn’t be receiving. Perfect was the way the champagne chiller always had ice in it and the towels were always warm and fluffy. But it beats the shit out of going home. “Thank you.” 

“Of course. Hopefully you won’t need me again, so I’ll wish you a Merry Christmas now.” 

“Um, yeah.” Dieter sniffed. “Yeah, Merry Christmas. I’ll uh…” He raised his arms and then dropped them to his sides. “I’ll try not to offend the other guest with my presence so I won’t have to bother you again.” 

“Never a bother, Dieter. I’m always happy to help when you need it.” 

With that, she ended the call, and Dieter was left to gather his things and wait for the car to come pick him up and bring him to the secret, backup, break-in-case-of-clusterfuck location that Ivy had procured for him. 

Looking up at the place once he arrived and got out of the car, Dieter really wished he’d asked her a few more questions before telling her to make the call. 

Snowflakes fell slowly through the air as he stood there in his pajama pants with his thick, plush brown fleece pulled over his robe and his bag slung over his shoulder, staring at the sign affixed to the side of the building. “The Yule Lodge”, he read aloud, rolling his eyes at the stylized flame surrounding the name of the B&B, an obvious play on words. “Shit, that’s cheesy.” 

The building itself looked as though it only existed at Christmastime - the cornices catching the fresh snow in picture perfect banks, the candles illuminating the windows like something off a holiday card, garlands of greenery wrapped around the porch railing and draped over the doorway. So if any place was going to have a name that stunk of cheddar, he figured this was the one. I mean… He tilted his head to take the sight in. It’s festive as fuck, that’s for sure. 

Not that that part mattered. He still planned to spend the next few days sprawled out like a starfish in bed, waiting out the holiday. Even if it means doing it here. 

He turned to wave a thanks to the driver who had dropped him off, only to find that the car was gone. Huh? That’s weird, I didn’t hear the tires… He shrugged. Whatever. He’d already had one of the snowflake cookies before the whole Mark Atlas shitstorm started, so he chalked missing the car driving away up to that kicking in and giving him tunnel vision for the building’s campy signage. 

With a sigh that turned into a visible white puff in the chilly air, Dieter climbed the two small steps and reached for the door handle. Alright. Here we go. Combing one hand through his hair, he shook the snow from his curls, stepped inside, and looked around. Oh, holy shit. 

The B&B’s cheery exterior had nothing on the inside. 

Wreaths, garlands, and sprigs of greenery adorned walls, windows, railings and the carved, wooden mantel of a roaring fireplace that spread a warm, golden glow throughout the whole space. Deep red velvet ribbons added lush pops of color, as did the gilded candlesticks atop the mantel. A bowl of clove-studded oranges sat as the centerpiece of the coffee table in front of the fire, and the smell of spice and citrus wafted through the air to fully warm his senses. 

To top it all off, a towering spruce tree stood in the corner of the room, lit by dozens of lights that were made to look like candles. Bows and baubles dressed the evergreen’s branches to elegant but cozy perfection. In a way, it was difficult to imagine what the room would look like - or feel like - without all the holiday decorations. 

He may have been trying to avoid acknowledging Christmas as much as possible, but Dieter couldn’t help but admit that the staff there had outdone themselves. It was fucking beautiful. If you’re into that kinda thing.

“Welcome to the Yule Lodge, Mr. Bravo.” 

Suddenly, a voice greeted him from somewhere to his left, making him jump and turn towards the sound. What? Who said tha- Oh. He’d been too distracted by the elaborate decorations to realize that he’d walked straight past the front desk and the smiling woman standing behind it. Right. I need to check in. 

Clearing his throat, he crossed the room to stand in front of the desk. “Um, thanks-” He glanced down at the golden nameplate that was pinned to the woman’s green cardigan. “-Laurel.” He adjusted the strap of his bag on his shoulder and leaned on the counter. “I guess you spoke with Ivy?” 

Laurel nodded, her curls bouncing. “I did. We’ve got you all set in room two until the 26th.” 

“Great.” He flashed her a smile. “Do you need a credit card now, or do I just pay when I check out, or-” 

Laurel’s curls swung as she shook her head. “No need for that right now, Mr. Bravo.”

At check out, then. “Okay.” He tapped the countertop with his fingertips. “In that case, can I get the room key? I’m about ready to-”

“Of course!” Laurel spun around to grab a key from one of four hooks, one of which was empty. Guess that means the other guest is already checked in. She spun back, key in hand, but stopped short of passing it to Dieter. “I just need to go over a few things with you about the Lodge first.” 

Dieter felt his shoulders slump. I’m being punished. I just want to get stoned and sleep and I’m being fucking punished. “Uh…Okay.” He sighed. “What, um… What do I need to know?”

Laurel launched into a run down of the Yule Lodge’s rules and amenities. Fully stocked kitchen and bar, chef-prepared meals for breakfast and dinner, fireplaces in the parlor, library and… something to do with the candles in the windows? She was saying something about a small holly wreath while holding it up with his key when Dieter’s attention was stolen completely by the creak of the stairs just visible beyond the parlor, and the stunning woman who was descending them - you. 

Huh. He blinked, watching the way your hand slid down the railing as you took the last few steps. Maybe it won’t be all bad, staying here. You looked up then, making quick, unintentional eye contact, and Dieter felt himself grin at the way your eyes widened when they met his, your mouth falling open in slight shock. Your tongue darted out to lick at your lips, and then you quickly slipped into another room. The library, maybe? 

But just when he had convinced himself to go throw his stuff upstairs and then come back down to see if you were still there - and maybe ask if you wanted to have a drink with him - he saw you slip back up the stairs with a book in hand, and his grin fell into a frown. Oh, well. Guess I’ll stick to the plan. 

By then, thankfully, Laurel was finished with her spiel, and she finally handed over the key, along with the small holly wreath. “Enjoy your stay, Mr. Bravo. I hope it’s exactly what you need it to be.” 

I have no idea what that means but… “Thanks.” He smiled, nodding as he took the key from her. “Have a good night, Laurel.” 

With that, he headed upstairs to his room, where he promptly tossed the key and the little wreath onto the dresser, shucked his coat off, and collapsed into the bed with a groan. It wasn’t the plush, pillowy cloud bed he was supposed to be sleeping in, but for the next few days it would do just fine. And who knows? Your face popped into his head. Maybe I won’t spend the whole time holed up in here after all.

– – – 

You weren’t supposed to be here. 

And I’m not even sure I understand why or how I am but… 

You rolled over in the big, soft bed and gazed out the window as flurries fell outside. The picturesque grounds were covered in a thin white blanket of fresh snow, and the glow from the lamppost along with the flicker of the candle on the windowsill threw golden halos of light against the darkness in a way that warmed you through. 

I’m really glad that I am. 

Traveling solo was somewhat out of character for you. Doing it at Christmas - and missing your family’s annual holiday party - made that even more true. Add in the last minute nature of the trip, and it was no wonder that your parents and siblings (and probably your nosey aunt and cousins, too) were having a hard time accepting your decision to spend Christmas abroad by yourself. It simply wasn’t like you. 

Which was, of course, the whole point. You wanted a change, had been looking for a way to shake things up. It wasn’t that you were unhappy with anything in your life. You had a job that you enjoyed and that paid you well, owned a house that you had turned into a home, and had a close group of friends who you knew would be there for you no matter what. But what you wanted, or maybe what you needed, was a little adventure. A measured dose of the unknown. A play from out of left field. 

Because even though you were happy with the things that you had, there was a part of you that felt like you only had most of those things because you followed some predetermined script for your life. Graduate from a good school, get a respectable job, buy and maintain a home… It was all good stuff, and you took none of it for granted. But sometimes it felt a little too similar to the board game version of Life, spinning the wheel and plopping your little plastic car along the path, collecting socially acceptable experiences along the way. 

Even the last few vacations you took weren’t really vacations. You’d had to travel for three separate destination weddings in the last year and a half. And then there was the trip your grandma surprised the whole family with, which was extremely nice, but was also extremely mandatory. So not only did you not get to choose the when or where of your last four trips, you didn’t have much say in the what to do part, either. 

You deserved to do something unexpected and just for you. So when you got the unexpected news that you’d won an all expense paid trip to London to spend Christmas in a quaint, Victorian-style B&B, you chose to act on it. 

I don’t even remember entering the contest, but… You glanced around the room and ran your hands over the quilted comforter. But I’m here. It’s real. So I must have. 

You thought back to the voicemail you’d received a few weeks prior, and how you almost deleted it without calling back to follow up. It seemed like a scam. And even if it wasn’t, you were sure that there was no way it could actually be free. You figured it had to do with a timeshare or some marketing promo where you could win a free trip after spending a crazy amount of money on rental cars or luggage. But a curious little voice from the back of your brain piped up and told you to at least Google the phone number first. 

And when you did that, and it didn’t link you to numerous Reddit posts about scam callers or direct you to a clearly phony website, but instead brought you to a completely legitimate page hosted by the site where you had booked your most recent flight for your friend’s wedding in Puerto Vallarta, displaying your name and stating that all you had to do was call to claim your prize, you allowed yourself to possibly entertain the notion that maybe it wasn’t too good to be true. 

You were still cautiously skeptical when you pressed call and waited while the phone rang, still expecting there to be a catch somewhere. You also expected the number you dialed would be an automated one, and that you would just be pressing buttons when prompted to complete the process. So it was a surprise to you when a very human voice greeted you after the second ring. 

“Thank you for calling Spirit Travel!” The woman on the other end spoke in a bright, cheerful tone as she introduced herself and then said your name, making sure she was speaking with the correct person. You were so taken aback by the fact that you were wrong about it being a recording that you completely missed her name, but you caught back up in time to confirm that you were in fact you. 

“I, um… I’m a little confused, to be honest,” you immediately confessed, shrugging as though she could see the lift of your shoulders through the phone. Shaking your head, you went on. “I don’t think I entered any contests, and I definitely don’t think I’ve ever heard of the-” You double checked the name of the place that the website had listed as your prize. “The Yule Lodge? Is it like a Christmas themed hotel or something?” 

The woman let out a small, jingling laugh. “You could say that. Christmastime is when the Lodge is at its best, that’s for sure.” That didn’t quite answer your question, but she continued. “And it’s a very small, boutique-y little place. Doesn’t draw a ton of tourist attention, so I’m not surprised that you haven’t heard of it. But I assure you it is absolutely lovely.” 

“Oh…kay.” You stared at your laptop screen, narrowing your eyes suspiciously at the scrolling congratulations banner. “I still don’t remember entering a contest, though.” 

“Oh, that part!” You heard what sounded like keystrokes from her end of the call, and figured that she was pulling up some information on a computer. “Yup, mmhmm. It’s right here.” Before you could ask her what was right where, she filled you in. “I’m emailing a screenshot of it to you right now so you can see it, too, but when you booked your trip to Mexico in September, you checked a box entering you in Spirit Travel sponsored giveaways. It’s all perfectly legitimate, I promise!” 

A few seconds later you received her email, opening it and seeing for yourself that you had in fact checked that box. Hm. Must’ve been a mistake. I usually opt out of that crap. You shrugged. But maybe I’ll stop doing that now. Finally sufficiently happy with the proof that the trip was real and that it wasn’t a hoax, you cleared your throat. “Okay, so it’s… It’s really free? Airfare, the hotel, all of it?” 

“Well, just to be clear, the Yule Lodge isn’t a hotel, per say. More like a very exclusive, high end bed and breakfast.” 

Sure. Semantics, whatever. “Okay, fine. Airfare, the B&B? That’s all free?” 

“Yup! We’ll even arrange a car to pick you up from the airport and drive you to the Lodge. All you have to do is say yes and then show up for your flight.” She paused. “So is that a yes?” 

You chewed your bottom lip, going back and forth in a span of a few seconds. What will everyone think when I’m not there on Christmas? What will my friends say when I tell them? They’ll probably think I’m nuts or something. But then that same voice that told you to call about the trip spoke up again. Who cares? It asked. Do it for yourself. And that was all it took to answer. 

“It’s a yes,” you said, excitement making you sound a little giddy. I can’t believe it, but… “Yeah, I’m in.” 

She went over a few more details with you regarding dates - December 23rd to the 26th - and flight times, and then let you know that if you had any more questions you could always call her back and she’d happily answer them. 

“Thank you, really, this is… I really needed this, so thanks-” You realized you never got her name after missing it initially. “I’m so sorry, what was your name again?” 

“Oh, no need to apologize,” she assured you. “I get it, you were excited. Happens all the time.” She chuckled. “But my name is Ivy.” 

“Well, thank you, Ivy. You’re pretty much my favorite person right now.” 

She laughed again. “I’ll take it! Listen, like I said, you can call me if you have any other questions about the trip. But otherwise, in case we don’t talk again, I hope you have a very Merry Christmas.” 

“You, too! I hope you get a surprise this good in your stocking this year.” 

“Oh,” she said in a wistful way that actually didn’t sound like a customer service put-on, “For me, making other people’s holidays special is the real gift.” 

With that, she signed off, and you were left with the task of telling everyone you knew that you were pitching them all a holiday curveball. 

They’d responded similarly to how you thought they would. But by the time you had checked in to the Yule Lodge, met Laurel, the exceptionally festive and cheerful hostess who had given you the quirkiest run-down on a hotel you’d ever gotten (including a somewhat campy but cute enough folklore-inspired instruction to place the small holly wreath she’d given you at check in around your door knob to “keep out unwanted spirits” on Christmas Eve) and settled into your room, it was far too late to worry about all of that. 

All you were concerned with for the next few days was which fireplace you’d be spending the most amount of time reading near, whether or not you felt like strolling the snow covered grounds in the morning, and possibly chatting with the other guest that Laurel had mentioned would be checking in shortly after you’d arrived. Or maybe not. Who knows, maybe they’ll want to be left alone. Either way, you were looking forward to a few days of answering to no one but yourself. And if it came with a heaping helping of authentic Christmas cheer? Even better. 

Deciding not to wait until morning to venture downstairs and into the library to choose your first of hopefully many books for the duration, you popped up from your bed and headed for the door, smiling to yourself as you made sure that the holly wreath was securely around the knob. Don’t want any bad spirits messing around in my room. About halfway down the stairs, you heard voices and realized that Laurel was giving her welcome speech to the other guest. Oh, guess they’re here. You peeked through the hall and into the parlor, hoping to catch a glimpse of the person you’d be sharing the common areas of the Lodge with. But as was becoming a theme for this trip and everything connected to it, you were floored to find Academy Award winning actor Dieter Bravo looking right at you. 

Holy shit. You felt your eyes go about as round as the baubles hanging from the giant spruce tree, your mouth dropping open as your heart thundered in your chest. Holy shit, holy shit that’s Dieter Bravo. Oh my god. No, it’s not. It can’t be, right? You blinked and he was still there and still definitely Dieter Bravo and - wait is he..? Yup. He was grinning at you. Oh, fuck. 

You scurried down the last few stairs and disappeared into the library, repeating those two words over in your head in a series of tones ranging from disbelief and shock to disbelief and excitement, with a twinge of nerves because Oh, fuck, what am I supposed to say to Dieter Bravo? Your face flushed making you warmer than the fireplace on the other side of the room. There was plenty that you’d thought about saying to him, your imagination running a little wild at times when you saw interviews or red carpet photos of him, or when you saw his performances on screen and he made you fall in love with his characters time and time again. But all of those thoughts had occurred while you were under the realistic assumption that you would never actually get to say any of it to him. 

But now he was sleeping just down the hall from you. 

Blindly grabbing the first book your fingers found, you scurried back up the stairs and into the sanctuary of your room before you ran the risk of running into him on the way. Choosing a book was a fine enough thing not to put off until morning. Figuring out what to say to a celebrity that you had an innocent but huge crush on was something that definitely required you to sleep on it. Flopping back into your bed a little breathlessly, you had to laugh at the absurdity of it all. 

I did say I needed an adventure. 

Glancing down to see what book you’d grabbed, you read the title and laughed again. A Christmas Carol. Of course. What else would it be in this place? 

It took a while, but eventually you were able to calm your brain - and heartbeat - enough to sink into the story and let thoughts about how on earth you were going to interact with Dieter slide to the backburner, and eventually, you drifted off to sleep.

Meanwhile, downstairs, Laurel was making one last phone call before closing up and heading home for the evening. 

“Ivy?” She tapped her fingernails on the desk and grinned. “They’re both here. Just where they need to be this Christmas.” 

“Good,” the other woman said. “Now the rest is up to them.” 

– – – 

Dieter tags: @something-tofightfor @littlemisspascal @tentacruels @alraedesigns @practicalghost

@trickstersp8 @imtryingmybeskar @mswarriorbabe80 @theredwritingwitch @silverstarsandsuns

@pedro-pedrito-pascalito @jedi-in-crocs @chiyo13 @myloveistoolittle @noisynightmarepoetry

@haylzcyon @jessthebaker @pedrostories @covetyou

[toasterhasabucket]

I finished season two

I'm going to kRill myself.

"omg Abigail! Omg she my favorite omg how is she alive omg- ALANA NO NO WHY."

"omg they're going to kiss omg they're going to leave together? WILL WILL NO WILL."

Hannibal kept Abigail alive just to kill her in front of will while he couldn't do anything, I can't fucking do this anymore. I feel like I've been SHOT. I can't, even

I just can't

Merry Christmas to me ☹️

Anyways I love Abigail long live Abigail

And I really hope Alana is okay like omg

OMG and Hannibal just taking wills jacket off Alana's injured body? Petty. I can't with him I can't

Why can't they just kiss and get over it instead of stabbing him and killing his daughter he thought was dead, freaks. I hate this show.

Freaking what the freak

Will was like "still dream about teaching hee how to fish" and Hannibal is just thinking about how she's in his attic or something like 'you have no idea, lollllllllllll you're about to get jumpscared' –> "I'm sorry I took that from you"

"do you believe you change me in the way I changed you" "I already did" OUCH????? OWIE?? Yea just go ahead and punch me right in the gut why don't you? God.

I got so sad I made an edit of Abigail, I can't do this anymore

[pavedinashes-if]

WINNER SNIPPET

The Winner of this XMas' Snippet Raffle is here. Our lucky one wished the following content: MC: Mollie (aka Mols, F) RO: Felix, relationship stage, pre-breakup Setting: Xmas / Winter Setting - FLUFF vibes Thanks for allowing me to post it here. 🫶

Felix steps out of the car, his breath immediately condensing in the sharp, wintry air. The season is at its peak, the world around him covered under a blanket of snow. At least the snowfall has eased for now—though the wind still bites sharply at any exposed skin. Tugging the collar of his jacket closer to his neck, a faint shiver courses through him before he turns to the car trunk. He pops the trunk open and pulls out two bags, slinging them over his shoulders before walking toward the passenger seat. His boots crunch softly in the snow as he circles the vehicle. Felix approaches the door cautiously, opening it slowly. His gaze flickers briefly toward you inside. 

(more below the cut)

You sit still, hands resting lightly in your lap, your posture tense yet composed beneath the blindfold still secured over your eyes. His expression flickers with excitement at the sight of you, but there's also a subtle trace of insecurity, unsure whether he’s doing the right thing.

Positioning himself by the door, he rests his hand lightly on the door frame, ensuring you won’t bump into it. “May I?”

You nod silently, lifting a hand toward the direction of his voice. His fingers close around yours softly, still warm despite the chill in the air. Felix keeps his grip careful, afraid to press too firmly, but even more reluctant to let go. Slowly, he guides you from the seat, his gaze flickering anxiously over your every movement. His free hand hovers near your head, in case you waver. Each subtle shift makes his mind race: Are you cold? Comfortable? Uneven on the icy surface? "One sec," Felix says softly as he closes the door behind you.

When he stops in front of you again, he glances down at his hands, turning them slightly before exhaling softly to warm them. He carefully lifts his fingers, hesitating just at the edge of your blindfold. Slowly, he slips his fingers beneath the fabric, removing it gently. When the blindfold comes away, his lips curve into a smile almost instantly. The moment your eyes meet his, something in him jolts. It happens every time—a pull so deep it leaves his chest tight. His gaze softens as he watches your eyes blink, adjusting to the pale brightness of the winter landscape.

The moment your eyes adjust to your surroundings, your expression turns puzzled. “Where are we?” you ask, your tone unsure but curious. He glances toward the hut in the distance, then back at you. As he tucks the blindfold into his jacket pocket his fingers brush something cool and smooth—the small surprise he has hidden there. The feel of it steadies him, though the gesture is unconscious.

“I just thought…” He hesitates, his words faltering, the sentence dangling unfinished. “With how fucked up things have been at home lately, I…” His voice trails off, his gaze dipping for a brief moment before meeting yours again.

“That you’ve brought me to a murder house in the middle of nowhere to solve my problems?” you continue with a raised brow.

Felix freezes, the words hitting him like a blow. His face falls completely, panic flickering in his eyes. “W-what? I…” he stammers, his gaze darting from the hut to you, his stomach suddenly heavy with dread. “No, I… I’m sorry. Was it a stupid idea? It was a stupid idea. How could I… We can just—”

“No, no, it was just a joke,” you interrupt him, your tone a bit more light this time, more reassuring.

Relief washes over him, though his expression remains skeptical. He searches your face, still unsure if you are truly okay, but then you smile—that smile, the one he knew so well and had come to adore. It’s enough to melt his doubts. He exhales shakily, then extends a hand toward you. “Shall we?” he asks softly.

You nod, slipping your hand into his. The two of you walk together toward the hut, snow crunching underfoot as it clings stubbornly to the soles of your shoes. The wooden steps creak faintly, the sound muted at first by the snow before becoming clearer. Felix reaches into his pocket, his fingers quickly finding the key. He unlocks the door, pushing it open with a loud click.

Stepping inside, he walks to the armchair near the window, setting your bags down carefully. Turning back, he catches sight of you moving through the small cabin, your eyes taking everything in. A smile spreads across Felix’ face once more as he watches you curiously inspecting the cabin, your eyes roving over every detail. There is a warmth to your presence that seems to ease every space, filling it with a subtle but undeniable life.

Just as you begin to shrug off your jacket, he moves quickly toward you. “Let me,” his voice gentle but carrying a touch of eagerness. You nod, your hands occupied with the scarf around your neck. Felix’ hands brush lightly against your shoulders as he reaches for your coat, and as you finally free your scarf, he leans in. His lips press softly to the back of your neck, the kiss brief but lingering enough for the warmth of your skin to register against his mouth.

He notices you stiffen ever so slightly, caught by the surprise, and he feels the faintest shiver ripple through you. Felix can’t help the smile that follows. He has caught you off guard in the way he always enjoys—not in jest, but with affection.

He slides the jacket off your shoulders and carries it to the coat hook by the door, hanging it carefully alongside your scarf. Then he turns back to you. “Why don’t you sit for a moment? I’ll get us a couple of mugs.” Without waiting for a reply, he moves toward the kitchen area. The cupboards are small and painted with slightly peeling white lacquer. As he opens one of them, he instantly finds two ceramic mugs with faded blue patterns.

Felix returns to you, carrying the mugs and placing them gently on the small wooden table in front of you. You are settled on the sofa opposite, sinking into its cushions. He straightens, offering a quick smile before turning back toward his bag. From the depths of it he retrieves a thermos and a small box. Unfastening the lid of the thermos, the rich, thick aroma of hot chocolate wafts into the room. He pours the steaming drink into the two mugs. A curl of steam rises from each cup as he slides your mug carefully toward you. Then, he opens the small box, its contents hidden from your view for now.

“What’s that?” you ask, your curiosity piqued.

Felix smirks, a touch of pride dancing in his expression. “I brought us something extra,” he says lightly.

You look at it with a mix of suspicion and amusement, watching as he opens the lid with a small flourish. Inside are cookies—partly golden, partly darker brown and slightly uneven in a way that hints they aren’t store-bought. “You brought cookies?” you ask, laughter slipping into your voice as you eye them.

“Not just any cookies,” he replies, his tone suddenly playful. “I baked these myself.”

“You baked them?” Your incredulity is almost comical, and you stare at him as if he’d claimed to have invented the wheel.

“Hey, don’t be unfair,” Felix protests, though he grins at your reaction. “I can learn new things, you know. There was this video on social media—foolproof.” With that, he reaches into the box confidently, plucking out one of the biscuits. He examines it briefly, then takes a bite with an exaggerated air of self-assurance. The sharp crack echoes in the room, and Felix’ face immediately twists with pain. It slices through his jaw and shoots up into his skull, leaving him frozen for a moment.

“Oh my God, are you okay?” Your voice is panicked as you quickly scoot closer to him, your hands reaching out instinctively, unsure where to touch.

With a wince, Felix only manages a low “Mmm” in response, his face still contorting in pain. A moment of tense silence follows. “Shit, I think I’ve chipped a tooth.” His voice is strained, his attempt to downplay the situation failing miserably.

You immediately lean forward, concern flashing in your eyes. “I’ll check where the nearest dentist is,” you say, already pulling out your phone to search for one.

“No, no, it’s not necessary…” He raises a hand, halting you mid-movement.

Hesitation audible in your voice. “Are you sure? Not that you...”

“Really, it’s fine...” he mutters, trying to reassure you despite the still-growing discomfort in his face. He’s planned this whole thing for so long—he doesn’t want something as silly as this to ruin the weekend. The last thing he wants is for his own clumsiness to change everything now.

You sigh, then you gently take the cookie from his hand. “Then no more cookies,” you say with a light chuckle, shaking your head.

Felix tries to recover with a feigned seriousness, though his smile still tugs at the corners of his lips. “Well, at least we won’t be unarmed if a killer shows up,” he says while his eyes flicker briefly toward you, hoping for a laugh, but unsure if the joke will land.

You, however, don’t respond with laughter. Instead, you meet his gaze with something more—a genuine, warm smile. It wasn’t one of those quick, polite gestures, but something deeper, more comforting that makes his stomach flutter and his cheeks flush.

“Oh, wait, I’ve got something else,” he says suddenly. He almost forgot and springs to his feet, making his way quickly to the coat hanging by the door.

“Should I get the first aid kit?” you ask, half teasing but still worried, the concern lingering in your voice.

Felix’ hand closes around something cool and smooth. For a moment, he freezes and his gaze softens as he considers the weight of the moment, his thoughts clouded with the effort to lighten the mood once more. He turns toward you slowly, his eyes meeting yours for the briefest of moments before he lowers himself to the floor across from you. When he looks up again, he offers his closed hand in your direction.

“What comes next?” you ask, your voice now marked with clear skepticism. There’s no masking the wariness in your tone after all the surprises, the sudden shifts that seem to find their way into your afternoon.

He slowly opens his hand while his eyes never leave yours. The small object in his hand, tucked carefully into his palm, finally becomes clear as your eyes fall upon it. It’s a glass heart, deep green and smooth, catching the light in a way that makes it almost glow. He notices your breath catching slightly at the unexpected sight, and Felix’ smile spreads wider, something warm, tender, and entirely unguarded on his lips. He can’t hide the pride that flickers there—no matter how small the gesture seems, it feels significant. Seeing your eyes so warm and tender, to him, it’s as if the room disappears, leaving only the intensity of your gaze. “I found it yesterday on the beach in Nice,” he says softly, his voice a little tighter now, as if the memory of the moment has a more personal weight than he realised. His heart races, the feeling he had just the day before when he'd discovered the shard of glass, shaped like a heart, half-buried among the stones and pebbles along the shore. He remembers how he carefully picked it up, hardly believing his luck to find something so unique. The memory brings a rush of warmth. He exhales softly, still holding the glass heart carefully between his fingers, and glances back at you, his smile steady but just the slightest bit nervous now.

“It’s beautiful,” you say as you pick it up from his palm to take a closer look, your voice soft as you gaze at the delicate glass heart.

“You’re beautiful.” The words slip out without thinking, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I love you, Mols,” he adds.