#i should like. stream or something i miss streaming

[hyukascampfire]

𝓖INGER & 𝓢NAP ` ꕀ. k.th

you were the last person taehyun expected to appear on his doorstep. sweet and fluffy and oh-so-proper; he never thought he’d see you again. but... there you stand. and, much to his own chagrin, he fears that nobody else could get him more bothered. ׄ ⋆ ִ

་༘ ՚՚ ꒰ 🪵 ꒱ ･ 7.9k

ρairings gingerbread!taehyun x frosty puff!reader

𝒢 ‧̥ smut, fantasy, strawberry shortcake au

⍵arnings brat taming, brat tamer!taehyun & brat!reader, his cum is frosting, creampie, ofc no sex ed in strawberryland, thigh riding, oral m!receiving, cumming into mouth, cum eating, corruption of innocence & innocent!reader, banter, chubby!reader and buff!taehyun, manhandling, he throws her around a bit and she's so into it, they don't like each other but also def do, he likes to teach her manners, reader is also spoiled & rich and taehyun is not, hair pulling, he gets mean, no protectiom, let me know if i missed some!

✎୭ ashlynn's note this collab has been seriously so fun. writing fics is fun, but there's something about talking your friends and scheming all the yummy ways you can incorporate certain things into your fic. @thetxtdevil mae baby, thank you so much for being the best and even coming up with this idea. your mind amazes me... like actually. everybody did so unbelievably good, and i'm blessed to have been a part of it. now... let's get foody and smutty lol. some of this was written in a benadryl haze, but that's the fun part. i'm sorry mine came out a lil later than everybody else's, but hopefully it's still fun!

... back to the masterlist ⌇ back to strawberryland

Raising your fist to the door, your knuckles rap against it with a few thick knocks. The door is frosted around the edges in little swirling white puffs of icing, framing the gingerbread door. It’s the same all around his house: gumdrops and candy canes and the like, all twinkling with sugar crystals.

It’s all so sweet—unbelievably so. The man that calls it home is the very antithesis of sweet. He does not take after the gumdrop, nor the sweetness of the icing, and most definitely not the brown sugar and molasses of the gingerbread. Taehyun is the quick snapping of a leg, or the sharpness on your tongue when you get to the cinnamon and nutmeg. 

You loathe it. Even being stood here, knocking at his door, you hate. He is everything uncouth and abrasive—he is everything you should not entertain. 

Here you are, entertaining it. The door swings open. Your fingers and toes have begun to slow with the cold, like frosty-whip in the fridge. Through the forest, stepping over sugar bushes and cocoa streams, you had fought the bite. Why did he have to live all the way out here? Secluded, as though the rest of Strawberryland were beneath his meddling. You know why: it’s that he believes it. He is exactly as your parents told you he’d be, all those years ago. Of course, they were right. They always are.

When he catches sight of you at his door, his distant eyes morph, and his lip tugs into a scowl. The rise of his brows ruffles your feathers with an infuriating ease. “Is there something you want?” he asks. His tone is infuriating, too. It’s the kind of question that means much more beyond the words said. You catch exactly what he means—how he intends to get under your skin.

Hidden behind the door, he has one hand on the handle. It's an unspoken thing, too. He wants you to remember that he could close it. You can’t let him, or else you’ll have drug your pretty new furry winter boots through the powdered snow for him to slam a door in your face. “Yeah, actually. There is.” You run preening fingers through the ends of your hair. “We’re partners for the bake-off.”

“I don’t do the bake-off,” he says. His eyes would be chocolate and smooth if it weren’t for the way he wields them sharp. “Sorry. You’re gonna have to find somebody more your speed for that.”

Barking an incredulous, perhaps even snobby, laugh, you look around. Snow comes down on the ground, sweet and creamy. It’d been enough of a battle to come here. If you were going to give up so easily, you would’ve turned your little bottom around perhaps two hours ago. Does he think you hadn’t considered that? It was a long walk; you had plenty of time to mull over the many things he might do. Sometimes, you imagined him diplomatic and affable. You stomped those wispy thoughts out. Perhaps it’s been years since you’ve spoken with him, and perhaps what happened between the two of you is dusted over, but you know better. Here he stands in front of you: bitter as ever. 

“You’re just gonna leave me without a partner?” you say. Your jaw trembles, seized finally by the cold. “Everybody is already paired up. Literally everybody.”

Shrugging, he says, “I don’t see how that’s my problem. I didn’t sign up for it.”

Your brows knit. That means somebody else had signed him up. You have a sneaking suspicion who might’ve—Blueberry Kai always tells you that he just feels excluded. It’s hard not to laugh when he does. Taehyun? Excluded?  He is exactly where he wants to be. Where most are sweet in Strawberryland, the snappy gingerbread finds it easier to justify his bitterness when he lives off in his little gingerbread home, out and away in his own neck of the forest only to be found by a winding gumdrop road, where he can pretend he’s above it all.

It’s entirely ironic. Him, better than you? Gingerbread, and all his ruggedness? His unpolished edges? Once, you’d believed that the two of you weren’t so different. That you could be friends, even. Seeing what he’s grown to be, you think you understand why your parents stepped in. Back then, though, as just that soft little girl who followed the charismatic boy around with crystal stars in your eyes, it had been the worst thing to ever happen to you. He had been so gravity-defying, moving through the soft, marshmallow edges and the sugar-whipped reality of Strawberryland as something different.

No. Not gravity-defying. Rather, in the powdery and sweet sweet Strawberryland, you think that he is the only thing with gravity.

“That’s not fair.”

“Not fair?” he echoes, letting a little patronizing laugh out along with it. “That’s sweet.”

It’s hard not to shift or cross your arms over your chest, abraded by the dripping sneer.

“What? It’s not. It’s not fair that, just because you don’t want to at least give it a try, I can’t participate,” you say. Really, you should just crawl back home and beg to join somebody’s duo, but you can’t lose like that. You can’t lose to him. If you leave it like this, then he’ll have gotten the better of you. 

“Can’t get everything we want, huh?” he says, straightening up and taking the door in his hand once more. “Just because everybody else has bent backward to give you what you want doesn’t mean that I will.”

“Wait,” you say, sighing in a white swirl. “Don’t close the door. Don’t you know your manners? It’s rude. You’re just going to let me freeze out here? I walked all the way out here, and even got snow all over my new boots, just for this, just for you to slam a door in my face? I mean, a gentleman would at least invite me in to warm me up.”

Lips twitching into a laugh and his eyes suddenly alight, he says, “A gentleman, huh?” He pulls the door open a little further. The warmth from his home, warm and spiced and oh-so-inviting like oven-warmed gingerbread, brushes over your twinkling skin. “Sure. Show me your manners, then. I want you to ask me nicely.”

Your jaw tightens. Sending him a once over, sharpening your eyes, you decide to just do it. His tone is nasty, but you don’t want to be disqualified for not having a partner. Even if he’s the worst you could’ve been paired with in all of Strawberryland. Or maybe the best, because it’s a gingerbread house competition this year. “Will you just do it?”

“I said ask nicely. Say please.” 

He wears a mean smile—he’s having fun watching you squirm. So, you make a conscious effort to straighten up. “Will you please be my partner for the competition?” you say, making your voice sugary and batting your eyelashes in an overdone way. He thinks he’s funny.

Stepping out of the doorway, he motions you inside. It might look gentlemanly if it weren't for the sting in his eyes. You swallow down petty words and push through, your arms full with supplies. Arms aching, you finally let them clatter down over the countertop. The inside of his home is fresh-baked and spiced, aromatic like a true gingerbread cookie straight from the oven. You’re sure the glowing fire helps carry the smell in warm air. It wraps your cold bones up and smooths over some of the frayed edges. You’d been out there for so long… Nobody else had to walk that far for their partner.

Better just to get this done as quickly as you can. You just have to put up with him today, and you’ll be done, and then you can have fun with the competition. He won’t even show up for it; you’re sure. 

“I’ll do it all if it’s that big of a deal,” you tell him, laying out the walls and warming the icing between your palms. “You can put the peppermint on, I guess. So then we can say we both worked on it.”

Hair the fluffy brown of true gingerbread and dusted with snowflakes like powdered sugar. Taehyun shakes his head, and it moves with him. “No,” he says, the corners of his lips still turned up as though he knows something you don’t. He rolls the sleeves of his gaudy, knitted Christmas sweater up to his elbows. The corded muscle there, flickering with movement, catches you off guard. Gingerbread, built like that? Tearing your eyes off him with the effort of metal tearing itself from a magnet, you watch him approach the kitchen counters. “I’ll help. We’re partners, right?”

No matter what he says, there’s a twist of something sparkling in those sharp eyes that has you watching him closer—has you trying to gauge exactly what he’s playing at. “Uh… Yeah. Sure. If you want to, I guess.” You gesture at the walls. “Two for us, and ten for display. Can you start the walls?”

“Ten?” he says. “We’re making twelve gingerbread houses?”

With your lips pulled taut, you say, “Yeah… Twelve. Is that too much? I didn’t think any amount of gingerbread houses would be too much for you. That’s a little ironic.” Everything is warm in his home—even when you look down at your own hands to tug off your white woolen gloves, your skin that usually sparkles like frost rests just beneath the surface is tinged with the warmth.

“I can handle it just fine,” he says, taking the wall and base sections of one. “Just wouldn’t want you to ruin your pretty outfit. Twelve is a lot of icing.” He spits the word pretty out like it tastes bad. On his tongue, you’re sure it does. He never cared for pretty things the way you do. Your mommy always said that he was just jealous, but when the both of you were little, before your parents’ meddling, you learned that it was just a different lifestyle. One that you don’t understand, perhaps. Who doesn’t enjoy dressing themselves in lush furs and sugar crystals over their necks? 

“I’ll be fine,” you say, snipping the tip of the piping bag open. “I wore these knowing they’d get dirty. They’re my baking clothes. My boots already got all messed up…” 

“Oh,” he says. “You put on cashmere knowing you’ll get it dirty. Mommy and daddy paid a pretty penny for that, huh? And it’s your throwaway outfit?”

“Look. If you like it so much, I’ll let you have it when we’re done, yeah? Maybe you’ll make a pretty penny off selling it.” You ice a warm white line down the length of a wall. “Can you hurry? I’m already icing. I don’t want to be here all day.”

There’s  a few long, thrumming moments of quiet, where only the sound of your piping back crackling fills his home. Finishing a wall, you tear yourself away from your work to spare a glance his way.

Taehyun’s jaw is tight, a muscle flickering where he grits his jaw in the low light that washes over him. There’s a fire blazing in his eyes, and though he doesn’t turn them on you, the smoke rolling from them is enough to make your skin warm. You’d successfully gotten under his skin. Why stop here, when seeing that look on his face is so fun? He looks as sour as an apple; as spiced as cinnamon. “Wall?” you say, sharp and haughty as you offer your hand out to him in an impatient demand.

Snapping his head up, he hands you a wall with the heat of a thousand ovens in his face. You feel the scald he intends for you with it, and you revel in it.

You bark commands at him, watching his shoulders grow tense and his lips twitch with each. Crush the candy canes, you tell him. Melt the icing. Sprinkle these over that. Soon enough, you’re sitting back and watching him work more than anything.

He doesn’t say a word. You see them brimming in his eyes, but he doesn’t let them burst out all venomous like you know he wants to. It’s quite the show. 

“Would you at least help me hold this up?” he says, holding the walls of a house together with one hand. His hands are a mess of runny sugar and powdered sugar for snow, and yours are perfectly clean. You can at least help a little bit if you want to claim any part in the competition. 

You reach for the piping bag, fat with the sweet sweet icing, and straighten a wall up. You trace the seams with it, thick and like glue. With a bit too much pressure, the side of the bag bursts. White rivulets of slow icing run down your fingers and over the table. You curse, dropping it to the counter. That’s all of your icing, flopped down and deflating over the surface all sad-like. It’d been so much, that you thought it would last you each house and then some. Of course, you hadn’t brought extra.

Bringing your sticky fingers up to your mouth, you suckle the mess off. It’s so very sweet—warm and weeping, nutty and spiced with something like nutmeg. It’s Taehyun: the smell of it, the way it spreads over your tongue… You stick your tongue out to catch it where some drips down your forearm. “Mmm,” you say, sticky-armed. “Tastes good.” That’ll be good on the gingerbread houses; maybe the two of you do have a chance at winning. 

When you look up to Taehyun, he stands frozen in place, his hands still holding up a half-constructed gingerbread house. His eyes are different. It’s a look you don’t recognize—a look you’ve never seen before. Rather than deep and warm, his eyes are blackish and heavy. A swallow goes down his throat; a tense, barely contained thing.

 You frown, your lips still a sugary mess. “I didn’t mean to make a mess. Sorry. I’ll clean it up…”

Clearing his throat, Taehyun says, “Yeah…”

He watches you clean the counters, where the icing had pooled, and now the bag is empty, with the same intensity. You can feel it on your skin in a foreign, itching way. You swipe and scoop and work at the spill, and still, he watches. He does not speak. 

You survey the houses you’ve managed to finish. They’re pretty, and absolutely competition ready: looping swirls of icing like shingles on the roofs, peppermint chunks all red and white catching light where you’d sprinkled them into the frosting, gumdrops lining the paths true to Taehyun’s own home, and powdered sugar sifted over the entirety of it like snowfall. It’s all great, but there are only four.  “What are we supposed to do now?” you say, lips pouty. “That’s all the icing I brought. We literally can’t make any more.” You wipe at a smear on your cheek. How’d that get there? “I think I’m gonna have to come back tomorrow… Can you hold on to the houses for me?”

“Yeah—yeah, sure. Tomorrow,” he says, blinking something away. He straightens. “It’s a long walk. I think you should get going.”

You want to say something snarky or ask him why he wants you out of the house so fast, but it’s true. Night’s creeping over Strawberryland, and you have no icing, and tomorrow’s the last day before the bake-off. If the two of you don’t work harder tomorrow than you did today, then you won’t even make qualifications. You’ll lose before even starting.

You never lose. Not like this, and certainly not to the man standing before you. 

ꕀ

“C’mon. You can do better than that, can’t you?” Taehyun says, drooping icing from rooftops like icicles as you sprinkle crushed candies over the top. 

You grit your teeth. If he’d been snappy yesterday, he’s made it his mission to be your worst nightmare today. You think it’s his sort of revenge for ordering him around how you did. “What would you like, then?” you say. Maybe it’s feeding right into what he wants, but your life has lent you a short fuse. “You don’t even care about winning. Why does it matter? Let me do it how I want.”

He’s in another sweater. The sleeves are bunched up to the elbow just like yesterday, but you think he’s making a point with it this time. The shifting of his muscles is a bit too intense for piping icing. You’d made it through three more houses, wrangling your inner demons with each passing snide remark or nasty smile the whole time. It doesn’t help that he keeps his home terribly toasty, and you run cold down to the core. You melt and melt until all that is left of your temper is a puddle on the floor beneath you. Gone. 

“We’re partners, remember?” he says. He doesn’t even look at you as he says it. “I don’t do things half-assed, Frosty.” 

You’re sent reeling with the old nickname. It’d been sweet then, back when it was just the two of you against the world, but now it’s gone sour like milk. It even comes from his mouth soured. It’s something that you thought you’d left a million lifetimes ago, never to hear again. With Taehyun, though, it’s hard to pretend that you are no longer that. 

He will not let you forget that, at one point, the two of you were friends. An unlikely pair, especially looking at you now. You thought it was all nothing to you, but seeing him has kicked up dust. 

“You don’t?” you say, shooting him a quick glare from the side of your eye. “That’s funny.”

Strong brows shooting up, Taehyun quits mid-piping to look at you. “Funny? What’s funny about it to you?”

You can’t settle the obnoxious smile that curls at the edges of your mouth, mean and taunting and falsely sweet. “Oh, nothing.” You shake a sifter full of powder against your palm. It falls like true snow down over the house. 

“No, tell me,” he says, his eyes trained and heavy on your dismissive shrug. “Tell me what you think of me. I wanna hear it.”

Oh, this will be good.

“It’s just that,” you say, “you’re not really known for doing things the best way, you know? Living all the way out here, an ass when anybody tries to talk to you… Well, really, it’s just that nobody likes you. But, don’t worry! I’m sure there’s at least somebody that does.”

His face falls, the twinkle of delight at taunting you that he’d been holding in his eyes gone away. All that’s left is the peaking of something deeper and roiling from out of the cracks. You get the funny feeling that maybe you’ve taken it a step too far.

But, you never lose.

“Is that what it is?” he says. “I work for my shit. You? Everything you’ve ever had has been handed to you.” He measures his words delicately. Like a measuring cup full over the top, he cuts the excess words and coarseness off. He doesn’t say all that he thinks, but you see all he leaves unsaid toiling furiously behind his eyes. 

His eyes. They’re clear and, sharp as they are, they pin you. It’s a reflection of that look he gave you yesterday: deep and swirling and wild. It’s more than that, this time, though. It’s laced with anger and bursting at the seams of him. You’re not sure he’ll be able to hold back whatever it is that storms just beneath his skin, this time.

“It is,” you say, punctuation your words concisely. “It’s exactly why my parents said I shouldn’t hang out with you. They said that I’m above… all this.”

Oh, you’ve absolutely taken it too far now. You don’t really mean it. Sure, that’s what they told you, but you don’t really believe it. For some time, you did, but not now. It’s too late for sorries, though. Taehyun’s jaw goes tense.

For a long, awful moment, you just stand there and burn in his silence. It’s worse than any words he might spit. It’s hot—hot, hot, hot, and you turn liquid in it.

In a blink, nothing more, you collide against his countertop. Something clatters and thuds behind you. The gingerbread houses? That doesn’t matter right now—all that your dizzy mind can manage is his body crushing you and his fingers biting into the plush of your cheeks.

Where he had fractured, like true gingerbread, he snaps. You can see it in his eyes; even you know when you’ve pushed too far. Perhaps you ought to have seen this coming.

His knuckles curl white around the edge of the counter beside you, and his fingers dig deeper into your face. He’s oh-so-hot up against you. “I’m sick of your fucking mouth,” he snarls. His breath is hot as it fans over your face, too. “Someone needs to put you in your place. Where are your goddamn manners?”

Your heart thrums in your chest, and your pulse goes wild in your neck. You can’t form the words to answer him.

“Quiet now, huh?” he says. The husk in it makes the place between your thighs feel weird. You don’t know what’s wrong with you.

He shut you up real quick. You’ll give him that.

That funny feeling does flips, roaring to life when his fingers hook under the waistband of your bottoms. “That’s your problem.” His eyes send a chill up and down your spine. “You’ve never been told no. You’ve always gotten what you wanted.” Peeling down all the layers, he tugs your knitted stockings and your little fur skirt, and your sweet frosty panties, too. They bunch at your feet. Between your thighs, right where those foreign, throbbing waves reign, cool air laps at a wetness there. The hair all over your body rises. You’ve never felt anything like it. “Not with me. I'll set you straight. I don’t put up with spoiled brats.”

“I’m not a brat,” you say. “You’re just an ass.” They’re the first words that come to you. Damn your temper.

With the same hand he’d been holding your face in place with, he curls his fingers right into your scalp and yanks hard, baring your neck to him. You lose a strained squeak, tears pricking the corners of your eyes at the sting. If your heart had been racing before, it runs wild, now. You strain your eyes to look at him and his curled lips. Painted with a sneer, he says, “Watch your mouth.”

A swallow goes down your throat hard. It’s all unfamiliar: the aching between your thighs, the burning in your blood, and the dazing of your thoughts. “Taehyun, I… I feel weird. It feels weird.”

Something knowing passes over him. “Yeah?” he says. “Show me where. I can help.”

Show him? You hesitate, searching his eyes for an ounce of joke or aversion. You find none, and that pounding is syrupy-sweet, and he says he can help. That’s all you want; all you need. Taking a trembling hand, you bring it down your body, running the palm down the planes of your belly and resting it just over the spot where the lower bit gives way to the apex of your thighs. Going any further—the thought tightens your throat and pinkens your cheeks the color of strawberry frosting. “There. It feels weird there.”

Taehyun smiles a snappy, spiced smile. He likes that. “Want me to make it feel better?”

Your thoughts feel replaced by something powdery and weightless. You give him a dumb nod.

“Say please.”

Something bratty crawls up your throat, but you want help, and he’s the one who will give it to you. He’d meant that: teaching you a lesson. Melted around the edges already, you say, “Please, help make it feel better.” Your voice wavers.

“There we go. That’s how good girls talk. That’s how you ask to get what you want.” He nudges your thighs apart with a knee and slots it between them, pressed right up against that coolness. Right up against that need. “Grind down on it.”

Neck aching at the angle, you say, “Grind?”

He brushes his clothed thigh right up against you. The friction is delicious—sweet and melty and just what you need. It shoots yellow sparks throughout you.

It feels so good. Your mouth waters in anticipation.

“Grind,” he says. It’s harder, this time. Not a sweet suggestion.

You bring yourself back down on it, gasping at the contact, and you do. You grind, tummy tightening at every brush of the fabric hard and delicious. Your chest constricts, one hand flying up to dig your fingers into his shoulder and the other fighting the hand he has still in your hair. It aches and hurts, and so does the friction as you grow more gaspy and frantic. 

It feels so, so good. You want more—you want him to touch you there and everywhere else. He smells just right all over you, nutty and musky like a gingerbread twist. “Taeh—hyun,” you mewl. It burns, but something slick eases the burn a little bit. Just enough for you to enjoy that burn.

“That’s it,” he coos. It’s not a sweet coo; it’s the type of sound one might make when you play right into their mean game. It’s mean. “Make yourself a mess on my thigh. I don’t even have to touch you. What would mommy and daddy think of you now, huh? What would they think if they saw their precious princess fucking herself on my thigh?”

No. That would be the end of you. You whine, thighs twitching. Something twists in your center, scary and foreboding, and still you chase it. None of your thoughts are solid enough to stop. Each time he flexes a muscled thigh or presses it harder into you, you shudder and curl your fingers into his shirt harder. 

“Don’t like that, huh?” he laughs. “Then you haven’t learned your lesson. You’re no better than me; I mean, look at you.”

You want to cry when he pins your hips back to the counter, stilling your wild bucking. Squeezing your eyes shut, you claw and reach for that wave, even as it recedes from you. “Why?” you say, voice thin. It’d been so yummy—the sweetness still rests on your tongue. Your heart thumps hard, longing for it.

“I said, look at yourself,” he growls, taking his hold on your hair to crank your head down.

Right where you’d been on his thigh, there’s a sticky, marshmallowy mess. Your mess. 

Taehyun releasing his grip on your hair is almost a relief, but he doesn’t even give you time to relish it. The walls of his house blur around you. All that you register in between the motions is his shoulder in your belly and your limbs dangling from you. You dig your hands into his back to balance yourself, but he’s got you.

He has you slung over his shoulder. He’s carrying you like you weigh nothing at all. That place between your thighs flutters anew. In all your life, you never worried too much about the plushness of your belly or your thighs. It is who you are; all mallow and soft around the edges and starkly sweet. But you did get nervous when somebody tried picking you up. Usually, you protest and giggle it off. Watching somebody strain to pick you up when they lift other girls like sacks of flour is just something that makes you feel a little strange.

But, Taehyun does not strain. He doesn’t huff; he carries you right down the hallway and into his room, and he even manhandles you down onto the bed with a bounce without so much as a sound. He is a solid pillar beneath you, and then he is a solid, muscled chest above you. With strong fingers, he pins your hands to the mattress above you. With the other, he leads your shirt up.

He’s so warm against your cold skin. His breath like waves from the oven over your mouth, he says, “You think you’re so much better than me because you have all this?” Curling his fingers around a necklace circling your throat, he tears it off with a clattering of a few snow-drop beads.

 You gasp, glaring right into his eyes. “What the hell?” you hiss, arching your chest to wiggle beneath him. Your necklace. Who does he think he is, breaking your stuff? That was one of your favorite necklaces, and now it lies all over his floor. Still, your center pounds and longs for the return of his touch. Everything about him just calls for more from you. You don’t know how you went so long without him, or how you made yourself forget just how drawn you are to his magnetism. Maybe he is just what your parents turn their nose up at, and you too, but that does not make him any less a powerful personality. 

He knows exactly who he is and what he wants, as solid as the gingerbread cookie. And you, plush and impressionable as whipped marshmallows, take to him just right. It’s something you once knew, but the sneered words of adults obscured that memory.

“Don’t whine,” he says. “I want to see your pretty neck without all that shit. That’s your problem: you’re spoiled.” He reaches down to mess with his pants.

His length springs free. Cheeks flushing, you take it in. You can’t look away, even as embarrassment crawls spindly legs over your skin at the interest you take in the sight. You’ve never seen anything like it—long and hot and weeping something thick and white from the slit at the pinkish tip. A pearl of it dribbles down, landing on your belly in a string where he holds it.

Taehyun collects that wetness and then urges more from the tip with a few drags down the length of it. Wrapping his fingers around it, he begins to slowly work his fist up and down it. It’s nothing short of impossible to tear your sights off it—it’s another thing that inexplicably fans the flames of something roaring in your center. “Do you want to touch it?” he says, watching your tongue dart out to wet your lips. 

The sight of him growing restless over his pumping fist is enough to get you nodding. 

“Fuck,” he says, sharp and under his breath. He lets his hand off it. “Go ahead. Touch it. I won’t tell anybody you did.”

When he frees your pinned wrists, you reach out a slow hand. You curl your fingers around it the way he had. Your fingers don’t even touch around jt. The weight and warmth of him in your palm makes your blood tingle. Looking up, you search for guidance in those intelligent, swirling eyes. His bangs hang over his eyes as he watches.

Placing his hand over yours, he drags it up and down his rigid length the way he had been doing a few beats ago. “Like that,” he says. “Just like that.”

You pump your closed fist up and down him, encouraged to squeeze harder and flick your wrist faster with each tight breath he lets slip. The skin of your palm gets stickier and stickier, the slick sounds sending your ears and core burning just the same. You like that it makes him feel good—that he’s making those noises just for you. 

He twitches under your fingers. “Feels just like I thought your pretty hands would…” he says, stomach tight. “See—what happens when you give up that bratty fucking act? Shit… harder—give it to me harder, Frosty…” Shivering at the name, you oblige him. You reach your thumb up and collect more of that beaded liquid from the slit, and you work your arm harder. Faster. Your forearm begins to burn, but you don’t let it slow you. All you want is more of this; more of him. Finally, he lets sounds out from his chest freely. He grunts and hisses through his teeth, letting his head fall back. “Holy shit. I’m gonna—gonna ice your face, okay?” he says. “You said you liked the taste, huh? Wanna taste it again? Give me your tongue…”

Whatever that means, you push yourself up and situate your face in front of his length, your tongue out. Taehyun’s sounds tighten, and his hips begin to stutter and chase your hand. He picks his head back up to look down at you half-lidded—to watch. With only a few last runs of your palm down his length, skin so slick that your hand just slips and slides up him, he growls through gritted teeth. The weight of him in your working hand twitches once more, and from that weeping tip he shoots dancing ribbons of white. It lands on your tongue hot and sweet, melting out all spiced and snappy.

Snappy like gingerbread. Like gingerbread icing. Swallowing it down, you meet his gaze. He pants, chest rising and falling, but there’s something clear and knowing in his heavy eyes when you do. You think you know now, why he’d been so dazed as you made a show of licking that same sticky icing off your hands and said how good it tasted. 

When you release him from your palm, it glistens with his sweet essence. He softens in front of your eyes just the littlest bit.

Eyes just as hungry and still catching his breath, Taehyun says, “Open your mouth. I wanna see your tongue.”

Belly doing wicked twists, you do. You stick your tongue out for him, still laden with the headiness of his taste. He does taste good. 

“Swallowed it all down?” he says, eating the sight of you with your mouth dropped open up. “You really are so nasty. They all think you’re so sweet—you think you’ve got them all wrapped around your finger.” He pushes you back down to the bed with a palm. “Well, not me. I know that you’re just as filthy as you are spoiled. Somebody had to deal with you.”

Like always, snarky words swirl in your mouth. All it would take is letting them fall off your tongue. But you don’t—not with the feeling between your thighs, and not with the way your blood, frost turned to snowmelt, begs for him to fix it. Not when you know that all it will get you is more of Taehyun’s wrath. 

It’s not like what he says is true, or anything. That’s what you tell yourself anyway.

“Taehyun, please. I need it…” He takes a marshmallow thigh of yours, pressing it up so that it melds with your belly. Cool air reminds you once more of that strange wetness between them.

Dark, blown eyes catching the sight of it, his lips quirk into a scoff. “Need what?” he says, reaching a hand down. At the contact of his fingers, just as they had against his thigh, your hips jolt and an explosion like the breaking of sugar glass shoots down the muscles of your thighs. He scoops that stickiness up from its source, bringing the soft cream up to his mouth. Tongue darting out, he has a taste of you just as you had tasted him. “Shit—you taste good too, frosty. You’re so sweet, how’d you turn out like this? That’s okay. I’ll deal with you, and then you’ll be just as sweet as you taste.” That fat tip of him presses flush to the source of all your want. “I’ll straighten you out.”

You don’t know what that means, and you are absolutely sure that you don’t deserve it, but any sass is staunched with the utter sweetness of the stretch in your center. Taehyun presses his hips up into you, slowly and internalizing the dropping open of your mouth, the pinching of your brows into a worrying line, and the press of your palms to his broad chest. He takes it and metabolizes it down like cream cake or the plumpest fruits, and he gives you more. More, all the way up until there is no length of him left to give, and nowhere else for him to go.

You feel so, so full. No amount of twinkling jewels or new skirts hold a candle to this. You don’t know what it is, and you don’t know why Taehyun knows, but whatever. Who cares? Breathing out a shudder, you squirm beneath him to search for that dazzling feeling he’d made you feel earlier.

“Stay still,” he barks, steadying himself beside your head with a sturdy, powerful arm. When had he lost his sweater? You don’t know. You might drool over the definition and warm skin there if he didn’t pull the length of him out until just the tip of him threatens to pop out, and then drive right back in before you could. A gaspy breath falls from your mouth, devolving into mewls and whimpers when he does the same over and over and over again, quick with snapping hips and the smacking of his skin against the soft skin of your bottom. Your thigh quivers in his hold, his fingers digging into the fluff of your thigh as he holds you into it. 

Each and every time he slides up against something inside you that makes you feel different. Different from what you felt when you were on his thigh, and different from anything else you’ve felt in the entirety of your life. It’s deeper, right at the very bottom of your belly, sending your veins lazy and your hips twitchy. You want to chase it as much as you want to hide from its power, so all you do is stay in a hazy limbo of sharp gasps and long, drawn out mewls for more.

“No,” he says, his face right in yours. The smell of him, manly and so very sweet like oven-warmed gingerbread, settles over your bones and wiggles its way through your thoughts. It does something to your melted mind, planting a need to cling to him right in the center. Your hands perch all over him: the hair at the back of his head, his working waist, his biceps that flex and strain with his effort, and finally around him so that you can push your cheek to his chest and feel his heart racing there. “You’ll take exactly what I give, and thank me for it. You don’t get to ask for more; not with your mouth.”

“Why?” you say, whining. “I want it—so bad. Please? I’ll be so… so good…” Your voice bounces with each collision of your bodies, and your toes flex and curl at the twisting in your core. Nonetheless, you want more. Whatever this is—this syrupy, pure goodness—Taehyun has shown you something that you will never be whole without again. He has bloomed a flower right in the chest of you, something hungry that will want and want this, and you fear that he will be the only one able to satiate it. 

The thought of the smile he’ll wear, should you come crawling back to his doorstep just for this… 

Taehyun stops, pushing off you with a curled lip. “What will it take to get you to fucking listen?” he says. He pulls himself from you, leaving you to whine and long for that feeling once more. You want to complain and pull him back over you, but with the fire churning in his dark gaze and the sight of his length, covered in that same white, whipped stuff you’d left all over his thigh. 

You’d made a sticky, frosty, frothed mess all over him once again. Really, what would people think of you now? Your mom? Your dad? 

Manhandling you again, he flips you onto your hands and knees and shoves your face into the bed. Any yelp or gasp that tears from your chest is muffled into the sheets. Taking the swell of your hips, his fingers like bites against the powdery, soft skin there, his voice comes from behind you. “Won’t you just listen to me? If you’re gonna be mine, you’re gonna have to start learning how to hear no.” Curling your hair up and pulling it like a handle, he snaps your head back into another stinging, awful tug. It turns the arch of your back into something that you can imagine is a sight to be seen. If the burning where you feel his eyes raking down the curve of it has something to speak of it, that is. You squeeze your eyes shut as if that’ll help you any. “You don’t get everything you want. That’s not how this works.”

You don’t say anything. You have nothing good or sweet left to say.

“Say thank you, and I’ll give it to you good, okay?” he says, running a flattened hand down your spine. “That’s all I want to hear. Show me you can be good.”

The last thing you want to do is to thank him. That would mean admitting that you’ve lost, and that ruffles your preening feathers. But you want that goodness back, you want his hips snapping into you and that tight knot back in your belly. You’d do anything for it; even forget your ego.

Your mind is gone, anyway. Whatever your rational self would do, it doesn’t matter. There’s one thing that you want right now, and getting it is so easy. “Thank you, Taehyun. Thank you so much… I’m sorry I’ve been a brat, and I’m sorry about what I said to you. Please, just… help me. Please, I need you so bad.”

You? Sorry? It’s absurd, and yet, you entirely mean it. Maybe it’s your lazy brain talking, or maybe he really has won.

“See? So sweet when you act right,” he says. “Let me show you what happens when you do.”

You could cry real tears when he sets that same pace, his hands bracing on your hips to pull you deeper into each thrust and the front of your body bouncing against the sheets with each. Your cries grow hoarse and beyond needy, and your insides twist and turn even more dangerously.

You are on the brink of something divine. Something that will melt down so well, good on the tongue and as smooth as chocolate, but as sharp as the snapping of gingerbread.

And, snap, he has.

“Yes!” you cry, straining your shoulders as you reach behind you and curl your fingers around the place where he meets your skin. “S..So good! Right there—thank you, Taehyun!”

He doubles down on you. His length hits a spongy spot in your core, pounding up against the walls there and turning your insides against you. It’s almost too good. “There we go,” he says, voice shaking with a growl. The delivery of his thrusts grows sloppy. You think he feels just as good as you do. “That’s what—” Falling over you, he supports himself with each strong arm dug into the mattress beside your head, his solid front melded to your soft back. “That’s what I like to hear. Here you go—fuck, I’m gonna give you what good girls get, okay?”

You hope it’s more of that melty icing he shot from his length earlier. The knot in your belly tightens, just on the brink of a glittery, bright explosion. “Mhm!” you say, your voice cracking. You want it—you want it so bad. The intensity of it, turning over in your veins and rendering your thighs jelly, sings in your ears. It’s a frightening greatness, but you rage against the urge to drop your hips into the mattress and run from it. You need to finally taste what you’ve been chasing. “Taehyun! Right there—please, don’t stop!”

You were demanding more from him again, but Taehyun didn’t stop this time. Not when his growls and whines against your shoulder tell you enough about how he’s feeling. He tongues and nips at your shoulders, the only sounds echoing off the walls of his room, the hollow smack of his hips against your bottom, and the only smell of the sweet mingling of his gingerbread sharpness against your heady marshmallow. It’s good enough to eat.

Crying out with a frantic whine, the feeling deep in your belly changes once more, and you’re writhing and squirming against him. Your hips buck and chase and run, wild and just as explosively as the tightness shooting down your thighs and up through your lower back.

Everywhere. You feel it everywhere. It’s in the continued bouncing of your body, in each nudge of his tip to a sweet, spongecake spot deep inside you, in his breathless pants into your skin, and in the curling of his fingers into your hair when he releases a hip to do so, and in your pleads when he chases his own delicious release. Your throat tightens, and suddenly the sheets are all too warm around you, and you realize with blistering intensity that another one of those knots builds up in your belly. It’s quicker, short, and bright. You’ve barely even made it through the last, but still, it comes.

“Holy shit,” he growls, hips stuttering and then stilling. He reaches a hand down between your thighs and finds a very sweet button. The breath in your throat catches, and in nothing more than a blink of an eye, you crash again, and then your bodies are two twitching, elated things. He presses himself impossibly deeper into you before shooting that same hotness, sweet ropes of sugary icing right into you, and your fluttering insides hold him tight and eat it up. Your heart pounds in your chest, running amok in your ears and your neck, and you try to catch running breaths to no avail.

Occasionally grinding up into you, though there is hardly any space between your joined bodies to do so, Taehyun shoots more lazy spurts for a few long moments. His breaths slow against your skin, and yours do in your chest. Slowly, you recover as two entangled bodies, all clammy and melted like left in the oven for a bit too long.

Pressing hot, wet kisses to the back of your neck, and then down your spine when he pushes off you and pulls himself out, his tongue darting out against your skin for some, he says, “Taste so good… So sweet, even on your skin…” He brushes the wild tangles of hair from your face and adds, “I wonder if you’ve gone all sweet inside, too? You look like it…” The mess of you, your thick creaminess staining your thighs and his runny load pooling from your hole, is all over. It even makes the sheets beneath you dirty with dribbles of his release as it drips. “I told you I’d get you sweet.”

If that sluggish, sugary thing moving through your veins is sweetness taking over you from the inside, perhaps you have gone sweet. Or, perhaps you now have every reason to become his worst nightmare—just if it gets you this.

You’ll play sweet for now. The softer kisses he seasons your skin with are no less enthralling than the delightful goodness still ebbing away between your thighs. You think that, for the first time, you have lost. 

And, to your very own dismay, it tastes so very sweet. 

... back to the masterlist ⌇ back to strawberryland

✎୭ ashlynn's note BRAT TAMER TAEHUN, amirite?

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[saythenametotheworld]

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

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

Genre: holiday fling, smut

Pairing: Mark Lee x afab!Reader

Warnings: mature themes, explicit content (18+)

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

ENJOY!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can hear you,” you gloated.

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

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

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

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nodded quickly. “Yeah. Good idea.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We only just met.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Talking about what?” your mom asked.

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

“Pigeons?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mark grinned, leaning slightly closer. “Maybe.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Right,” he mumbled, rolling his eyes.

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

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

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

“You love me for it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like what?” you asked, curious.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

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

You chuckled nervously. “There is no guy.”

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

“Why is that?”

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

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

You grinned. “Do it then.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Touche.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, Mark.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mark’s smile widened. “Never better.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tomorrow morning,” he replied.

“Already?” you asked, surprised.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mark: See you Wednesday?

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

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

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

You: Can’t wait.

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

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

[fin]

[earthlybeam]

Is there any chance we might get to see the secret crush (with or without mistletoe) also with Elrond? If not, no worries, I don't want to stress you. I'm just really in my Elrond feels atm lol

Ahh, I completely get it—how could anyone not be smitten with Elrond? 🛐❤️‍🔥🥰 He’s the perfect blend of wisdom, elegance, and understated strength. chef’s kiss. 💋🤌And don’t even get me started on his voice! It’s like honey and starlight had a love child; he’s a dream boat, I class him as my fictional hubby 😉🫶✨

how would the elves react to this?

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Elrond Version below. (You and Elrond well secret have a crush but either of you acted till now.)

📜 𝓔𝓵𝓻𝓸𝓷𝓭

✶ The great hall hummed with life, the warmth of firelight and the soft buzz of conversation filling the space. Outside, the cold winter night pressed against the stone walls, but inside, the atmosphere was inviting and alive, the scent of spiced wine and roasting meats mingling with the laughter of guests. You and Elrond had settled into a quieter corner, where the voices around you seemed distant, a mere background to your animated conversation. Your hands moved in an endless stream of gestures, your words flowing freely as you wove stories, jokes, and observations into the air between you. Elrond, ever the listener, had always appreciated the way your voice danced with excitement. But tonight, something was different. His mind, so usually sharp and present, was slipping away from the conversation, drawn instead to the subtle, almost unnoticed mistletoe hanging above the archway nearby. It swayed gently in the flickering light, a quiet, beckoning reminder of tradition. Elrond’s gaze flickered to it again, and his heart stuttered. Mistletoe.

✶ He nodded every so often, murmuring a soft “mm-hmm” or “indeed” to feign attentiveness, but in truth, his focus had long since wandered. His attention drifted to the soft glow of the mistletoe. Elrond’s thoughts raced. Should he say something? Could he? He had spent countless moments by your side, always holding himself back. You were his friend, his confidant, and yet there was something more—something he had never dared to voice aloud. Tonight, though, with the mistletoe above and the warmth of the hall around you, he wondered: What if I kissed you? The idea seized him, unbidden but persistent. Would you pull away? Would it ruin what you already shared? He wasn’t one to act impulsively, but tonight… tonight, the temptation was almost too much. His gaze drifted from the mistletoe back to you. You hadn’t noticed his internal struggle, too absorbed in your own thoughts and stories. Your words tumbled on, each sentence more animated than the last, your eyes alight with enthusiasm as you spoke. Elrond tried to focus on what you were saying, but his attention kept slipping back to you. The way your voice filled the space, the way your laughter wrapped around him, drawing him in deeper. Every gesture you made, every word that slipped from your lips, seemed to only heighten the ache in his chest.

✶ You were so close, your presence warm and inviting, and Elrond found himself wondering how you would respond if he leaned in, if he finally crossed that line between friendship and something more. His breath hitched as his hand subtly shifted closer to yours, the idea of touching you setting his heart racing. He tried to tell himself that this was foolish, that he was overthinking it, but no matter how much he told himself to focus, his thoughts kept circling back to the same question: Should I kiss you? “Elrond?” Your voice, sharp and clear, pierced through his thoughts. He blinked, suddenly realizing he hadn’t heard a word you had just said. His mind scrambled to catch up, but there was no denying it now—he’d missed everything.

✶ “Are you even listening?” you teased, tilting your head slightly with a playful smirk. The flush creeping onto his cheeks didn’t escape your notice, and his distracted gaze and stiff posture gave him away. Elrond was flustered, and it was obvious. Straightening up, Elrond tried to recover, his eyes flickering between yours in a desperate search for something to latch onto. “Of course,” he replied smoothly, though the heat in his cheeks betrayed him. He had to make it seem like he was still in control, but his words felt hollow as they left his lips. You had caught him, and there was no hiding it now. You leaned in just a little closer, the mischievous glint in your eyes only sharpening. “Really?” you asked, the teasing tone in your voice thick with playful challenge. “What did I say?”

✶ For a heartbeat, Elrond froze. His mind scrambled to find an answer, but the conversation was a blur, the details slipping through his fingers like sand. He looked around for anything to cling to—something that might sound convincing—when his gaze fell on the festive surroundings: the garlands, the ribbons, the warmth of the gathering. The decorations, he thought. That’ll work. “Elrond?” You prompted again, your eyes twinkling with amusement as he struggled. You were enjoying this, and you were sure he could feel the weight of your gaze sharp on him “Umm…” Elrond cleared his throat, his mind still racing for something to make sense of it all. “The… um… decorations?” he stammered, cringing internally. The decorations? Really? “Yes, the decorations! They’re… very festive. The garlands, and ribbons, and… the atmosphere? Very… festive, yes.”

✶ His words were so disjointed, it felt as though the entire world had tilted off-balance. He could feel the flush creeping deeper, his heart sinking with each passing moment. I can’t believe I’m doing this, he thought. The more he tried to explain, the more his words felt like they were slipping out of his control. You let out a soft laugh, the sound warm and teasing, but there was something more to it, something knowing in your eyes. You raised an eyebrow at him, clearly amused at how easy it was to catch him off guard. “Decorations?” you repeated, as though trying to wrap your mind around the absurdity of it. “Really, Elrond? You’re telling me you’ve been listening to all that, and that’s what stood out to you? Garlands and ribbons?”

✶ His heart was racing for reasons he didn’t fully understand—embarrassment, confusion, and something else, something deeper. The playful teasing in your voice didn’t help him at all. He could feel your gaze on him, sharp and probing, and it made him feel as though you could see straight through him. His tongue felt tied. What could I even say? The kiss, the longing, the tension that had built up between you, all of it seemed so close now. He had almost said it, had almost made that leap—but now, all he could manage was a stuttered excuse. You watched him, enjoying the way his composure faltered. There was something about catching him off guard that sparked a flutter of excitement in your chest. His attempt to pass off the decorations as the thing that had caught his attention was almost too perfect. It was clear—he hadn’t been listening to you at all, and yet here he was, fumbling over the simplest of answers. His words stumbled, disjointed and unsure, and it made you want to press just a little harder.

✶ “So, all that talk about ribbons and garlands, and you’re still thinking about them?” You leaned in closer, your voice dripping with a teasing warmth. “You’re really going to try to pass that off as a proper answer?” It felt like power, but there was something else beneath it too, something softer. You could see the frustration in his eyes, the way he avoided meeting your gaze now, and it made your heart skip a beat. There was more to Elrond than he let on, and you were beginning to realize just how much he might be hiding. From you—and from himself. Elrond, meanwhile, felt the weight of your teasing press down on him. You could see it, couldn’t you? He couldn’t hide his thoughts from you—not this time. And maybe he didn’t want to. He opened his mouth to speak again, but the words eluded him. Should he say something about how he felt? Should he finally let go of the fear that had been gnawing at him all night? The kiss. What if I just kissed you now? But his mind was a whirlwind, and before he could act on the urge, his thoughts were drowned out by the lingering question that had been haunting him all evening: Should I kiss you? The words were hanging in the air between you both, and with every second that passed, it was becoming harder to ignore them.

✶ Without another thought, Elrond leaned forward, closing the gap between you with a decisive yet gentle movement. You continued speaking, unaware of his intentions, lost in the flow of your words. His hand brushed lightly against yours, grounding him in the present. He could feel the warmth of your skin, the subtle connection as his fingers made the faintest contact with yours, sending a ripple of electricity through his chest. The touch made him realize how much he had been longing for something more, something deeper, and he couldn’t wait any longer. His breath caught as he watched you, still oblivious to his inner turmoil, your voice filling the space between you. He knew he couldn’t hold back anymore.

✶ You began to speak again, unaware of the storm of emotions swirling within him, but before you could form another sentence, Elrond silenced you with a kiss—a kiss that was sudden, but soft and sure. It was a break in the endless flow of conversation, a pause that felt like time itself had slowed down just for the two of you. His lips met yours with a delicate pressure, as though testing the waters. For a moment, the world outside ceased to exist, and all that mattered was the feel of your lips, warm and welcoming, against his. His hand moved to cup your cheek, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw, grounding him in the moment. The softness of your skin under his touch made his heart race, and he deepened the kiss slowly, carefully—unsure of what you might do, yet unable to stop himself.

✶ When you didn’t pull away, when you softened into the kiss, something inside Elrond snapped. It was as though every unspoken thought, every hesitant longing he had carried for so long, was suddenly allowed to rush forward. His heart surged as the kiss deepened, more confident now, slow and deliberate, with the weight of everything he hadn’t yet said. It was as though his lips were speaking the words he couldn’t quite form. The kiss felt like an answer to the unspoken question that had hovered between you both for what felt like an eternity. The tension, the longing, everything that had been building between you evaporated in that moment. You melted into the kiss, your hand instinctively reaching up to touch his arm, feeling the warmth of him beneath your fingertips. Every kiss, every movement, felt like an exploration, as though neither of you knew where it would lead, but you both wanted to find out. It was a kiss that said more than words ever could, a kiss that was at once tentative and full of yearning, quiet yet full of promise. Elrond felt your breath against his lips, your warmth filling him with a sense of peace he hadn’t known he needed. When the kiss finally broke, he pulled back just enough to catch his breath, but his forehead remained pressed gently against yours, as if he couldn’t bear to be too far from you.

✶ You stared at him, wide-eyed, caught between surprise and something softer, something unspoken yet undeniably clear. Elrond’s heart raced as he searched your face for any hint of what you were feeling. His pulse thundered in his ears as he waited for your reaction. The silence stretched between you, thick with emotion, and for a moment, neither of you seemed to know what to say. Finally, you whispered his name, the sound soft and breathless. “Elrond…” His heart stuttered at the way his name passed your lips, and he looked at you with a gentle, almost apologetic smile. A light flush colored his cheeks, and he cleared his throat, his voice dropping to a low, warm murmur. “Forgive me,” he said, the teasing glint in his eyes softening, “but you weren’t giving me much of a chance to speak.” You blinked in disbelief, a faint laugh escaping your lips. Your mouth opened slightly as if trying to process his words, before another soft laugh bubbled up, catching you by surprise. “Wait—so you kissed me to stop me from talking?” you asked, amusement flickering in your gaze. Elrond chuckled, the corners of his mouth lifting into a playful smile. “Perhaps,” he said, his tone light but sincere, “but in truth, it was long overdue.”

✶ Your heart fluttered at the warmth in his voice, the sincerity behind the playful words. For the first time, you became aware of the mistletoe hanging above you both, the realization slowly dawning on you. A grin tugged at the corners of your lips as you looked up at it, then back at him. “Oh,” you murmured, your eyes sparkling with amusement. “So that’s what you’ve been thinking about all this time?” Elrond glanced up at the mistletoe, his eyes following the soft, green sprigs that hung above you both, before returning to you. His voice was steady, though there was a hint of vulnerability in it that contrasted with the lightness of his words. “I might have been,” he admitted, his gaze locking with yours. “Though, truthfully, I haven’t been able to think about much else when I’m with you.”

✶ Your heart skipped a beat at the quiet sincerity of his words. For a moment, you were speechless—an unusual occurrence for you, to be sure. But there was something about the honesty in his eyes, the depth of his feelings, that left you breathless. When you finally found your voice again, it came out softer, tinged with playful teasing. You leaned in slightly, just enough to close the distance between you. “Well,” you murmured, your lips curling into a teasing smile, “if that’s the case, you might as well kiss me again. Just to make sure I’ve properly stopped talking, of course.” Elrond’s eyes sparkled with both amusement and warmth, and his smile widened as he leaned closer. His hand found yours once more, fingers threading with yours as he moved in. “Gladly,” he whispered, his voice warm, the words filled with both humor and something deeper, something more sincere. Without hesitation, his lips found yours again.

✶ This time, the kiss was different—more assured, more confident. The hesitation had melted away, replaced by a certainty that had been brewing for far too long. The kiss was slow and deliberate, deeper than before, carrying with it the weight of everything unspoken between you. It was a promise, a vow, one that echoed in the way his lips pressed firmly against yours, as though he never wanted to pull away. Your arms wrapped around him instinctively, pulling him closer as the kiss continued, lingering and full of meaning. The world outside seemed to disappear once more, leaving only the warmth of his touch and the softness of his kiss, a shared moment of connection and understanding.

✶ When the kiss finally broke, Elrond pulled back just enough to look at you, his breath soft against your lips. He smiled, a gentle and sincere expression that made your heart swell. “I think I could get used to this,” he said, his voice soft and full of warmth. You smiled back, your heart full of something unspoken, something deep. Your voice was teasing, but there was a warmth to it that matched his. “I think I could, too,” you replied. The bond between you had deepened in that kiss, forged in the lingering sweetness of the moment and sealed beneath the mistletoe. There was a promise in the air, a silent vow of more to come. And in that quiet, shared space, you both knew it was only the beginning.

Bonus - funny but romantic

✶ Elrond’s smile lingered on his lips as he gazed at you, the shared moment between you both settling in the air. The soft warmth of his touch still lingered on your skin, and the unspoken bond felt stronger than ever. He continued to hold your hand, his gaze full of tenderness, but there was an undeniable spark in his eyes—a glimmer of mischief, of something deeper. His fingers gently traced the back of your hand, as though he couldn’t quite bear to stop touching you. You were lost in the quiet intimacy of the moment, a teasing smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you met his gaze. The space between you felt electric, charged with the weight of everything unsaid, everything you both shared.

✶ You leaned in slightly, eyes twinkling with playful challenge, your voice soft yet filled with a teasing edge. “Well,” you murmured, lips curving into a smile, “another one?” Elrond’s breath caught, and before he could respond, you were already moving in, closing the distance between you once more. He didn’t resist this time. His lips met yours eagerly, but as the kiss deepened, you leaned in more, pushing gently against his chest, encouraging him to lean back. Elrond, caught off guard by your sudden shift in momentum, lost his balance and was pulled back in his chair, the both of you tumbling to the floor in a soft heap. For a moment, neither of you moved, your bodies tangled, laughter spilling from your lips as you found yourselves on the floor. His arms instinctively wrapped around you, pulling you close as the kiss continued. The world outside, the uncertainty, the quiet hum of reality—all of it faded as the warmth between you both deepened, just like before. Only this time, there was no hesitation, no holding back.

✶ Elrond looked up at you, still catching his breath, a gentle chuckle escaping his lips as he gazed at you with affection. "Well, that wasn't exactly what I had planned," he murmured, his voice warm and playful, as his hand brushed a lock of hair from your face. You smiled down at him, your heart racing, but the lightness of the moment carried you both forward. "Maybe you should stop planning then," you teased, your eyes sparkling with amusement and affection. "I think I like this spontaneous side of you." He chuckled softly, pulling you closer, his lips finding yours again, this time with a renewed sense of certainty. As you melted into the kiss once more, neither of you could deny that this moment, however unexpected, was exactly where you both were meant to be.

[vengefultakeover]

Daemon: Following the Crumbs (5)

“What do you want, Freddy?” Shaggy, or the daemon controlling him, finished putting his shirt on. He made sure to go slow, reveling in the fact that Fred was uncomfortable. I peered in from the balcony, only able to see a sliver through the blinds as Max stood behind me. Max had his hands on my waist to keep me from leaning too far in.

"The Daemon Ritus is missing - haven't you seen the news?" Freddy crossed his arms and stood by the closed front door with eyes that were trying to slice through the apartment. I had always thought Freddy was rather chivalrous, with his face plastered all over the news outlets for every mystery they solved. Velma was in the background with a knowing smile - she did all the real work. Daphne wanted something more from the beginning and would have been standing there after having just been caught up as the bait for the monster. In reality, Fred was just a lonely bro.

"Oh? I had no idea." Shaggy leaned back into the cushions of the sofa and played it off rather well. His arm draped over the back cushions. The truth was that he did know about the museum break in - his producers had informed him and wanted to see if he had an angle for his stream.

"I came to ask for help." Freddy didn't budge and was met with a moment of silence.

"Interesting. That's a first." Shaggy had no interest in helping Freddy and it was pretty clear on his face that he just wanted Freddy to vacate the premises without another word.

"Look, I'm worried there are more creatures that we didn't get back at the island. In fact, I have some leads with the descriptions." Freddy started pulling out a notepad and Shaggy held up his hand.

"Sorry, not in the business anymore. I think you should leave Freddy." Shaggy shook his head.

"Shaggy, please." Freddy's eyes were unwavering. Either he thought he couldn't do this on his own or he really wanted to reconnect with the gang. Either way, Shaggy's body belonged to a daemon now.

"I said no." Shaggy repeated himself like a mother to her child, standing up to show him out. I sighed in relief and felt Max's hands slip off my waist after he accidentally kicked a chair. I felt his hands immediately wrap around me like the balcony was going to explode and fall off the side of the building. Freddy heard it, turning his head as Shaggy held the door open.

"Guests?" Freddy asked, now somewhat concerned.

"Yeah, some chick. I thought you were her boyfriend or something." Shaggy was a good liar. If it was me being told to leave I would have believed him. His charm oozed off of him like it never had before.

"What happened to you?" Freddy shook his head as he turned to leave, disappointed in his old friend and co-worker. If Freddy thought about it - really thought about it - he might have solved the mystery behind Shaggy's odd behavior and what was hiding on the balcony. Maybe he just didn't want to believe it. Instead, he walked away with a look of disgust and a weird shiver that spread out from his neck that made him want to look back. 

"Which one of you almost gave us up?" Shaggy didn't look angry as he turned away from the now closed and locked door, in fact he had a bulge so enticing that I almost reached out to touch it. He was horny from being so close to danger. What could have Freddy done? If he came after Shaggy, Max and I would be right there to defend him.

"It was me." I said, taking the blame.

"Hm. You're interesting." He was squinting at me. There was an awkward moment of silence and I looked between the two of them before my attention went down to Shaggy's bulge again. Max chuckled a bit and broke the silence.

"So what's next?" He asked.

"Just lay low. You guys are safe here. You most of all," He reached out and pinched one of my nipples and I rubbed it as the soreness made my eyes roll, "you have two monsters defending you."

"Oh? You're defending me now?" I scoffed.

"Yeah. You know, you're pretty cute. My offer still stands, you know, I'd happily show you how good this feels." He grabbed his bulge when he sank into the couch. I looked over at Max to see his reaction and he shook his head laughing. Did he like this?

"Where is the real Shaggy anyways?" I asked trying to make sure he couldn't see my own growing hard on.

"Ah. I forgot about him." He excitedly ran to his bookshelf and pushed apart the books on the top as though he was pulling out a private collection. He unlocked a metal safe and reached inside, revealing a small acrylic box with some type of liquid in it. Floating in the center was the head of the original Shaggy. I leaned in and watched the light bend through the box and then through the translucent liquid.

"Let me out of here! You have to help me!" He clinked against the acrylic and Shaggy laughed as struggled, nothing but a bodiless soul.

"I keep him in here for safety." Shaggy said, sliding him back into place and locking the safe.

"That's good. I had one of those fly up my ass." Max shook his head.

"No way!" Shaggy said. "I've always wondered what that feels like. We should try it some time." He chuckled, pushing the safe back behind the stack of books and winking at me. My cock jumped and this time he definitely noticed.

"Do you have the Daemon Ritus?" I asked next.

"Why are you interrogating me?" Shaggy shook his head.

"I just - well - I just want to make sure we are safe." I said.

"You really mean it, huh?" Shaggy's demeanor shifted. Was he starting to believe me?

"Yeah." I nodded.

"Told you." Max said.

"I guess there are good humans out there, but no I don't have the Ritus." Shaggy picked something out of his tooth and flicked it away from him.

"I think we should find it." I said.

"I think I might know where it is." Shaggy said.

Outside of the apartment, Freddy was on the verge of tears while sitting inside of the Mystery Machine. He looked towards the horizon and took a deep breath in, deciding what his next move was. The clues flitted in his vision, the sketchbook, the broken door of the apartment, the weird neighbors, until he finally landed on the display case where the ritus had been stolen.

"The glass." He said to himself. He beat himself up for not having thought of it sooner. With the piece of glass wrapped in a handkerchief, he arrived back at headquarters. One of the back rooms was set up as a makeshift lab where he could conduct tests like the one he was about to do on the sliver of museum protection glass. He slipped the piece onto the table and pulled out a black light, the glass piece lit up with specks. He then put it under a microscope, looking at the specks even closer. He had seen it somewhere before. This was the same material that was inside the protoplasm pool back on the island.

Fred took his eyes away, blinked a couple times and looked back through the lens. To him, things were starting to line up, whoever stole the Daemon Ritus had access to the island and even worse needed to get ahold of the artifact that caused all the trouble. His eyes lit up as he started writing things down, the computer beeping as it confirmed the contents of the sample. Most of this work was learned since Velma wasn't around to do it for him. Questions popped into his head, but there was a big one that kept coming up: Was someone trying to recreate the ritual?

Freddy stood up, this time smiling and slapping his notebook closed, "Time to have a chat with Scrappy."

On the boat that passed the bar on the cliffs I thought about the Mystery Inc. case about Miner Forty-Niner. It was the first case solved by the group of detectives where there were actual bodies and not just masked villains. The inside of the mines were closed in 2015 when the case was solved and The Crag replaced it as the towns hottest queer club. The bad guy ended up being one of the top business owners in the town looking to buy the mines for the alleged oil inside it. People assumed he was scaring away potential buyers to drive the price down, but the kicker was that there was no oil. He was scaring them away because he was hiding bodies in the mine shafts.

"So, back to Spooky Island. Did you think you would be going back so soon?" I asked as Max wrapped his arms around me.

"I definitely did not. Although, I didn't expect to find you either." He was staring at me.

"Aren't you lucky?" We both chuckled. He pulled me into the cushioned chairs of Shaggy's not-so-humble yacht and kissed me with one hand supporting my neck and the other sliding down my body and into my waistband.

"You two just can't keep your hands off each other, huh?" Shaggy was watching us and we both were forced to calm down, a little embarrassed.

"You're excellent at interrupting." I retorted.

"Oh, please keep going. I don't mind watching." Shaggy raised his eyebrows.

"You'd love that, huh?" Max also raised his eyebrows.

"Yeah, well now neither of you get to do anything with me." I said, crossing my arms and heading into the lower depths. "Let me know when we get there." I looked at Max and squinted before disappearing.

"So, do you love this human?" Shaggy sat down next to Max with his drink.

"Why are you asking? You want a crack at him?" Max leaned back and scoffed.

"No. I just like seeing one of us in love instead of doing someone else's bidding." Shaggy took a sip.

"Have you ever been in love?" Max asked.

"I don't think so. Wouldn't know what it feels like." Shaggy shrugged and let the ice cube spin in the bottom of the glass.

"I've never felt this way before so it must be love, right?" Max asked.

"I think you two have something special, just remember that he's human." Shaggy raised his glass as though he was making a toast and then walked away.

We spent the rest of the boat ride separately. I was laying on the sofa near the bar, Max was watching the water, and Shaggy was with the captain nursing his drink. If the island was still open we would have been able to hear the faint drum of the resort ambiance, but there was nothing. The island was a shell of what it once was and the three of them joined each other at the front of the boat to get a look at the shoreline ready to continue their own investigation.

[pogueish]

sarah arched a brow at his comment, a small, amused smirk tugging at her lips as she shrugged her shoulders casually. “nah, it’s not that bad,” she said, dismissing his complaint with ease. she was perfectly fine out here in just leggings and a sweatshirt, the chill barely phasing her.

she let out a soft laugh, shaking her head as the hammock swayed gently beneath her. “me? banished? nah, i’m perfect. no one in there would dare banish me,” she joked, her tone light. but the truth was quieter, more personal. out here, under the foggy winter sky, everything felt calmer. it gave her space to think, to reflect. the holidays had a way of bringing back nostalgia—good and bad. as much as she loved what they’d built here, she couldn’t help but miss the simplicity of being a kid, when the biggest concern she had was whether santa would leave the right presents under the tree. back when the cameron family hadn’t been so broken.

her eyes drifted upward, her voice turning thoughtful. “ya know, cleo’s making that holiday pie…” she let the thought hang in the air for a second before continuing. “we should come up with some fun christmas drinks to go with it. like, oooh, maybe something with a little spice. or cranberry. …or baileys irish cream? i dunno.”

she trailed off, her gaze still on the sky, her words more of a stream of thought than anything else. but there was a spark of excitement in her tone, like maybe these little things could keep that festive spirit alive if they came to fruition. “and we gotta get some christmas cookies, too,” she added, finally looking back at him with a grin. “like, awww, cute lil snowmen or something! really get into it, y'know?”

on paper, the idea was a great one. rebuild his childhood home with his five best friends — his family — and fill it with better memories than he had growing up. in practice? not so much. six young adults, three couples,  in a home with paper thin walls made for awkward conversations across the kitchen island the morning after. a lot of the time, they were constantly getting in each other’s space in the beginning. it took a few months but they figured out a good rhythm, a way to coexist without wanting to kill each other. just, not during the holidays. apparently, the stress of the holiday’s had everyone’s nerves on edge and cleo had stepped on jj’s foot one too many times while trying to perfect mrs. heyward’s pie recipe. he had been thrown out of the house. his house. he grew up here goddammit! they were supposed to be creating better memories, not banishing each other from the house for an undisclosed amount of time.

cigarette between his lips, jj could admit that maybe he was being a little dramatic. but it was the principle of the thing. flipping his lighter closed and hunching his shoulders against the chilly breeze coming off the water, the blonde headed toward the hammock, just to see that it was being used already. “cold as fuck,” he said as a response to sarah’s question and a greeting. “you get banished out here too or are you out here on your own accord?”

[plushkips]

wassup!!! super sorry if someone asked this previously but will you participate in af this year? your homestuck stuff is so dope

i just want to say i want to! like i will def be checking the site but im not 100% confident i’ll be able to attack back bc i am teaching once again this summer ontop of starting to move! but i’ll def maybe update some refs and try to add in my kidsona if anyone wants to attack me! but thank u so much! 😭😭 i wish i could post more and stuff but it has been so busy on my end

[royalarchivist]

[front-facing-pokemon]

[svtskneecaps]

thank you for bearing with my purgatory posting and i'm also glad to see i'm not the only one who still has this fungus eating away at my brain matter. seeing other purgatory posting in the tag makes me feel better lmfao.

i'm not done btw, posting will (probably) continue as i revisit vods. wanted to extend a thanks in the interim, since i know how contentious the event was in the moment. i kinda thought the general consensus was most people hated thinking about it, but there's been a weird amount of engagement and yknow other people talking. makes me happy to know i'm not alone here!

[thetangibleghost]

I need to go. Store.

[hauntingblue]

Jaya time

I love these moments of nearly cosmic horror when they encounter inexplicable things (at first) they are so intriguing

Is strawhat here?! *Megan thee stallion saying AAH 😜*

This cover just goes hard... Get it chopper

[tetzoro]

sighs … i want to redo my theme again :<

[sea-buns]

the things my mind will do to NOT have to face the consequences of a traumatic story arc

"oh so and so died last week? and the new episode is tonight? hmm sounds like it'll be a good one...

.....y'know i've really been meaning to get into [absolute rabbit hole of a fandom]"

[tomandgeriatric]

I still really like that Tidal has a feature where you can go live and stream your music, but they still only have it on the phone app and the lives stop automatically after 2 hours. should give me an option to keep streaming once it reaches that last song. also let me go live on desktop!!! i use tidal the most when i'm working!!! anyway I went live for the first time in months last night and had 2 listeners the entire time :3 pretty sure they used my station to go to sleep cuz it was late. but still. hehehehe. one time i got a message on instagram from someone who tuned into my live and said they love my music and they use it to help them sleep. it was v sweet.

[prapuna]

.

[imflyingfish]

Going through another phase of wanting to buy a record player verses being unsure if i should