#reblogging the Christmas fix | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yoonia · 5 months ago

Text

Thank you so much for reading and sharing this one! <3333

A Christmas Fix — 01 (m) | kth

⟶ Summary | One-night stands are supposed to be nothing more than just. It shouldn’t have involved seeing those two red lines looking back at you weeks later without a name or a contact number linking you back to your mystery man. Nothing more but his face. The unforgettable face that would sometimes appear in your dreams at night. So unforgettable that you immediately recognise him the moment he walks into your family home at Christmas, hand-in-hand with your older stepsister.

With special collab prompt: "the holidays aren't so bad with you around."

⟶ Title | A Christmas Fix

⟶ Pairings | Taehyung x female reader

⟶ Genre | Secret Baby!au, Second Chance!au, Strangers to Lovers!au

⟶ Ratings & Warnings | +18 / M for Mature; including: alcohol consumption, mentions of pregnancy, vomiting/morning sickness, surprise babies, miscommunication, profanities/swearing, minor body insecurities (implied), some family drama; involves multiple explicit sex scenes, including: sexual tension, one night stand, drunk sex (with clear consent), minor dom/sub dynamic, brat!reader, size kink, rough sex, light choking, restraint, hair pulling (M, F), protected & unprotected sex, fingering (F), oral sex (F), clit play, breast play, stripping, biting, minor hand job/groping, grinding, masturbation (M, F), dirty talk, implied pain kink, praise kink, body worship, marking, multiple orgasms (M, F), overstimulation.

⟶ Word count | 25,363 words (of 54,773 words)

⟶ Story Notes | Part of the Jingle All the Way collaboration with @leahsfavefics, @kithtaehyung, @kpopfanfictrash, @cybrsan, and @sugaurora | Written in 2nd person POV (in case you’re new to my writing, I don’t use ‘y/n’ coding as all of my lead characters are considered as OCs) | Moodboard was done by me | Posted in: January 31st, 2024 by @yoonia

⟶ Author Notes | I know that this is so late, but December has always been a rough month for me and this time it continued until January. I hope you can still enjoy this story regardless. Happy belated holidays and happy new year, my loves!

⟶ Jingle All the Way collab masterlist | A Christmas Fix: next chapter ⇢

⟶ Main Masterlist | Taglist | Feedback | Mailbox | Ko-fi

⟶ Read on AO3

One month ago…

You already had everything perfectly planned out when you first thought of this trip some long months ago.

Everything.

From your personal bucket list full of wonderful things that you wanted to experience during your time away and the places that you wanted to see, down to the smallest details that you could possibly think of to be able to enjoy every single moment of your secret getaway.

Just like the red dress that you had chosen to wear tonight. The dress you had meticulously picked and bought to wear on the trip as you went to celebrate your newfound freedom.

In your well-thought-out plan, you were supposed to have landed on the tropical island you were headed to by sundown. The warm tropical breeze should have been embracing you at the start of your trip instead of the cold, chilly wind flowing right outside these walls.

By this evening, you should have already settled in nicely in the comfort of your hotel room right by the beachside. The calming sound of the rushing waves outside your window was the sound that you should have been listening to while resting from your long flight.

You had pictured yourself embracing your freedom in a foreign land. To feel the soft sand slipping between your toes as you were playing chase with the rushing waves, and to find calmness that you could only get far away from the treacherous city where you came from.

The trip was meant to help you mend your soul. Perfectly planned out as an escape from reality and leave all of your past hurt behind before starting a new chapter of your life.

And yet, no matter how thoroughly you had it all planned out, somehow life simply found a way to mess it all up. Just like how it had always been. So perhaps you shouldn’t have been so surprised when it happened to you again, just when you thought that you had everything under control.

You should have seen the signs long before everything started crumbling down.

The sky that kept growing darker ever since you left the city. The constant turbulences happening during your first flight that made the trip feel intense. The unsettling feeling you met the moment you landed in this place for your transit. The constant announcements echoing through the airport about flights that were getting delayed and cancelled while you were getting no news about your transit flight’s departure.

You should have been prepared to face reality, keeping in mind that life hadn’t been so nice to you lately to let you slip away that easily. Yet your stubbornness prevailed. And after your most recent predicament, you needed this trip to happen. You needed to be right.

After all, you have made it all the way here. It would have been impossible for you to return home, wouldn’t it?

So you remained in denial and were so stubbornly holding onto hope that you would soon be taken away from this place towards your dream destination. Even when the world around you seemed to be falling apart.

But after long hours of waiting, you were finally forced to accept your fate, letting go of any hope you had left to escape this place when they officially cancelled the rest of today’s flights due to unresolved weather issues. Including yours.

“I’m sorry, but we really can’t promise you anything at this moment. There will be no flights until the storm passes and our pilots are cleared to fly again. Until then, we have nothing to tell you.”

The staff’s swift response to your inquiries about getting on the first flight available to take you to your destination only left you with a dead end. Even flying back home was no longer an option, only because that would only mean that you were admitting defeat.

And that was how you ended up here tonight, stranded right between the daunting city that you called home and the paradise that you wished to be in until an unforeseeable future. Your dream of enjoying the night in the comfort of the beachside hotel room overlooking the wide, clear ocean, had been replaced with the reality where you had to spend overnight at the airport’s transit hotel that the airline staff helped book for you.

You released a sigh as you leaned back against the elevator wall. Recounting the events again only brought back all the terrible mood you were having. And it didn’t help that the last message that your roommate sent you only reminded you of your setback.

From Skye: Just checking on you on your secret getaway. I hope you’re having a blast right now. I wish you’d tell me where you’re heading so I can have a good reason to be jealous. Be safe!

Another sigh came from your lips as you wondered—

Now how am I supposed to answer her text?

Before you could find an answer, the elevator doors opened as it reached the lobby downstairs. You put away your phone as you stepped out, and immediately got lost in your thoughts. Your mind once again getting too loud as it keeps you company.

At first, you had no intention of hiding this trip from her. Yet all the circumstances leading to this weekend had made it hard for you to share anything to anyone.

You were planning to wait until you were finally there so you could surprise her with pictures from the beautiful beach or your comfortable hotel room. Showing her the pretty nighttime scene from the tropical island would have been a nice way to flaunt your secret getaway rather than boasting it when your fate had been filled with uncertainty.

But instead of having an evening walk down the beach, you were trudging across the lobby inside an airport hotel, accompanied by the sound of your heels clicking on the marble floors instead of having sand soiling your feet.

And the view outside the window that you got to see earlier had been nowhere close to the pretty beach with its white sand and rolling waves. Instead, you had a clear view of the dark night sky, painted with the raging storm and its blaring thunders so strong they almost caused the entire bedroom to shake. Neither showed any sign of calming down any time soon, leaving you with no other choice but to do what you could to enjoy your temporary stay.

And you were going to start doing so by having a quick drink to help you unwind for the night.

The red dress that you were wearing might seem a bit excessive for a nightcap, but for a short while, it helped you forget where you were. It felt almost as if you were walking in a dream as you strolled down the lower lobby in search of the hotel bar.

Entering the hotel bar, however, became another wake-up call.

The bar was quite large for a transit hotel, accommodating the patrons filling the place tonight. You had hoped that you could have a dance or two with a friendly stranger before retreating to your hotel room to rest, yet the closed-off lounge area had more space filled with box seats than the open dance floor. The seating area was the only place in the bar which was dimly lit, allowing the guests some privacy while they settled in with their drinks.

The small chandeliers glittering from the ceiling were far from the hanging lights that you pictured hanging in a beachside bar. Just like the one place you had seen pictures of while planning for your trip. The lights you were seeing here made the entire space beneath seem luxurious, spreading a soft golden glow over the wary faces trying to enjoy the night.

The pulsing bass that came out of the speakers was enough to drown the sound of the violent storm happening on the other side of these walls, further helping to create an illusion that you were in another place. That you were somewhere else instead of being stranded inside an airport hotel, together with all the strangers who seemed to be facing the same fate as you did.

You made your way towards the main bar, suddenly feeling hyperaware of your surroundings. Even without looking, you could feel people’s eyes following your movements. Yet you paid no heed to them. You were only here to quiet down the raging storm happening inside your head, after all.

A strong scent of old wood took over the bar area. Mixed in with the excessive scent of air fresheners and cleaners, it was enough to remind you that you were miles and miles away from the beautiful island where you had been so desperate to be.

Smoothing your palms down your red dress, you took one empty seat at the bar. You caught the bartender’s eyes as he walked past, and within moments, a glass of strawberry daiquiri ended up in your hand.

This feels nice, you wondered to yourself as you sat back and tried to relax.

One sip of the sweet alcoholic drink was all that it took to refresh your mind. As the warmth from your drink ran smoothly through your body, any doubt and wariness you felt began to fade.

The next sip of the drink managed to ease your thoughts down a bit more. It helped push away the reminders of your troubles to the back of your mind. Finding calmness, you took another quick look at your surroundings.

The seating lounge seemed to be filled with guests more than the main bar was. Stranded travellers like yourself. At first glance, the nicely dressed men in suits made it seem like you were in a bar downtown. As if they were nothing more than a group of businessmen seeking leisure on a Friday night with drinks.

It only took you looking a few seats away from them for the illusion to shatter. Your eyes fell on a group of men and women wearing their summer clothing who were making a toast, acting as if they were at the peak of their vacation.

Looking at the scene made you realise that you weren’t the only one feeling miserable tonight. You wondered just how badly these people here needed to forget. How many of them here might be similar to you, stranded in an unexpected situation while trying to escape reality?

You raised your glass to hide your bitter smile. The smooth liquid continued to flow through your body and you slowly began to find some peace of mind. Before you knew it, you had finished your drink, though you weren’t exactly ready to return to your cold bedroom.

“Can I order you another glass of drink?”

A deep voice invaded your senses after a long period of silence, and it was coming from your side. You had been far too deep in your reverie that you didn’t even realise that someone had taken the empty seat right beside you at the bar.

Curious to see this friendly stranger, you slowly turned around to look at him. And what you saw in him nearly took your breath away.

A tall, lean man was sitting there. His slick hair had a few curls at the end of each strands, and he had combed them back, leaving nothing more than a few stands framing his handsome face that looked almost as if it had been sculpted by the fine hands of masters in art. His sharp nose and jawline drew your attention, while his deep and soulful eyes that appeared like pools of rich mahogany drew you in, as if he was hiding a story behind his intense gaze. But it was his plump lips that formed into a smile which caught your eyes the most.

At your silence that stretched out while you were busy being captivated by him, he raised his eyebrows. It made you realise that he was waiting for your answer. An answer to a question that you had so obviously missed.

“I’m sorry?”

He tilted his chin to point at your now empty glass. “You look like you could use another glass, and I’d love to get one for you,” he said with an amused tone of voice.

Once again, his deep, velvety voice hit you deeply. It resonated through your body, and a shudder ran down your spine. You refused to believe that he was able to cause this effect on you solely through his voice or his pretty smile.

But how else would you explain the reaction that was drawn from your body?

I don’t think I’m that drunk already, you wondered.

It was probably the way he spoke to you which affected you so much. The way he was asking a question with pure confidence. As if he already knew your answer, and that it would be impossible for you to refuse his offer.

And he wasn’t completely wrong about it.

What remained from your sullen mood immediately shifted in his presence. And while you have no intention of turning him down, you decided that you were not going to make things easy for him.

“An interesting offer that seems like such a waste for me to refuse,” you sweetly said to him, smiling as your eyes fell on his empty hands. “But how would a woman feel at ease to accept such an offer from a man who isn’t even holding a glass in his hand?”

He squinted his eyes at you, which only made his gaze feel more intense. “Are you afraid that I might be planning to get you drunk?”

You softly laughed. “Not sure if I should be so worried about that. Getting drunk tonight has always been my initial plan all along,” you coyly said, hiding the fact that it was never your intention to get wild tonight. But his appearance intrigued you enough to change your mind about ending the night so soon.

The mysterious man remained oblivious to this as he laughed with you. His wide, almost boxy grin mesmerised you in an instant and you were once again left speechless.

He waved his hand to grab the bartender’s attention. It was nothing more but a simple gesture, yet you were somewhat drawn to it. To him.

While he greeted the bartender, you took the chance to have a better look at this man. You noticed that he was a bit different compared to the other men that you saw around you earlier.

Dressed in a black jacket over his plain white shirt, he didn’t seem as sophisticated as the stranded businessmen in their flashy suits sitting together at the bar’s lounge. Yet he had a different level of confidence which was enough to make your cheeks feel warm.

In your eyes, he was alluring, almost as intensely as the dark storm happening outside. And you couldn’t resist being pulled towards him.

“Another glass of the same drink for the lady and a glass of grasshopper for me,” he smoothly spoke as he ordered the drinks for you.

The bartender nodded and went to work, while you slid closer to him. His fresh-scented cologne immediately hit you, and your confidence nearly wavered that you almost slid back. But then he caught you with his gaze as he turned back to you, giving you the kind of attention which boosted every bit of ego you had.

“So you also prefer something light and sweet. How intriguing,” you teased him, bringing back his alluring grin.

“Why do you think I came here to join you? It was obviously for the fruity drinks and to have someone to drink it together with,” he joked.

You rolled your eyes at him and smiled. Before you got to say something in return, the bartender came back with his order. The man took a sip of his drink first before you took yours. Once again, the sweetness from your drink swirled through your body, chipping away at the tension that had been weighing you down ever since the day’s saga began.

“To be honest, I also thought that you were looking a bit rough.” His remark brought your attention back to him. The tease was gone from his voice. All that was left was a gentle concern that seemed genuine. “And you looked like you needed a friend. That’s why I invited myself to join you.”

It makes you feel uneasy to think that you were being so transparent. So much so that a complete stranger like himself was able to see right through you.

“You think so? Wait until you hear how rough I’m feeling inside as well,” you bitterly said to him, drawing a soft smile to his face.

“That makes the two of us then,” he said to you gently with his eyes on his glass of drink. There was a forlorn look in his eyes as he slowly twirled the glass, causing the liquid to swish around before he took another sip from it.

“Care to share?” you questioned him before you could stop yourself, only to pull yourself back. “Sorry, that sounds creepy. We just met and here I am, prying into someone else’s business,” you nervously laughed.

His gaze softened when he looked at you. Furthermore, he also seemed intrigued.

“No, not at all.” His voice was calm, and it somehow helped to calm your nerves. “I was just about to lend an ear in case you needed someone to vent to. I never expected that you would be a step ahead of me before I could make the offer.”

The comment he gave you made you feel warm inside.

“Mine’s a long story,” you bitterly said to him as you raised your glass, almost giving in to the urge to take a hefty drink and finish it off when everything started coming back to you again.

The reason behind this trip, why you were stranded here on your own, while being far, far away from home, and all the drama that had gotten in the way when you had been so desperate to get away from everything.

Unsurprisingly, the man merely shrugged. “I’ve got time to spare. My flight won’t leave until tomorrow. And that is if they’re allowed to fly out of here at all.”

You smiled at him. “Same here. I guess we’re both stranded here all night, huh?”

He leaned in just then, invading your personal space and filling it with his presence. And you didn’t even mind it as you leaned into him, meeting him halfway to welcome him into your little safety bubble.

“And I was worried that I might get stuck feeling lonely while being stranded in this place,” he gently murmured, drawing a smile to your face.

“I doubt that you would end up alone tonight,” you teased him, simply because there was no possible way that someone as attractive as he was would be returning to his hotel bedroom alone.

His smile grew, yet the deep, dark look in his eyes shifted into something else. Something naughty and sinful. It made you feel a new sensation brewing inside even without him ever having to touch you.

“Is that an invitation?” he asked with his deep voice that came grazing at your skin.

Normally, you wouldn’t know what to say in return. It had been so long since you played this kind of game with someone. With anyone. But his presence and his words were drawing something out of you. A part of you that you never thought existed. And you surprised yourself when you played along, taunting danger head-on as you challenged this handsome stranger before you—

“Would you like it to be?”

Something flashed in his eyes. It was dark and intense, and it was sucking you in. It brought a myriad of sensations that unexpectedly went straight down to your core.

In the deep silence that fell right after, the world around you faded. Even before you got to know his name, before you had the chance to share your story, you already knew the answer that he was about to give you as a response to your question.

And you also knew right then, that the sparks that came rising around you were something that you would never be able to easily forget, even if every bit of memory you had about him would fade over time.

Present…

Why do I keep thinking about that night all over again?

You can only wonder, as you keep being reminded of that eventful night.

Weeks, nearly a month have gone by ever since, yet the memories seem to have been engraved deeply in your thoughts. And today, even though you haven’t really been thinking about it since, you suddenly find yourself having no trouble recounting everything that happened then.

Well, almost everything.

Some parts may seem blurry now. All due to the passing of time and the fact that you were partly inebriated at the time. But you can still recall some parts of the night that had clearly left a strong impression on you—the first encounter and the conversation you shared before alcohol took over, the instant attraction that you felt, but most of all, his entire presence.

And they all have been coming into your thoughts while you are sitting here in the corner of your bathroom. Alone. With your arms wrapped around your folded knees and your eyes closed. As if you are waiting for a miracle to happen.

You scoff at the thought.

Right. Miracles.

Years have long passed since you stopped believing that miracles do exist. Life always has its way of blindsiding you with its twists and turns that miracles no longer seem to matter anymore.

Not for you, at least.

Your past experiences have only caused you to look at it with sceptical eyes, sometimes even with bitterness, knowing that life has never been on your side.

But here you are now, wishing, praying, holding onto hope that there would be a miracle to stop you from getting into a messy situation. One that you know you wouldn’t be able to handle on your own.

After all, the perfect season of miracles is right around the corner. So it wouldn’t be so wrong for you to have some faith in them again now, would it?

Your phone starts blaring with the sound of the alarm, snapping you out of it. Slowly, you rise on your wobbly feet. It feels as if your entire body has grown numb even before you get to face reality as it comes glaring back at you.

Clutching onto the edges of your bathroom counter, you try to hold yourself together, and immediately failing, as you look at the two thin white strips lying on the cold counter and feel your entire world tilting off of its axis.

All because of the two red lines that are clearly visible on each strip.

“Oh, fuck,” you softly groan. Deep down, you had already predicted this. Yet you kept denying it, hoping that you would be wrong.

“No, no, no—” you continue murmuring to yourself while wishing that you could somehow turn back time and change everything before things started going the wrong way.

Back to this morning, when your roommate caught you—once again—throwing up last night’s dinner before handing you the unopened pregnancy test packs that she has been keeping safe in her room with the premise, “Just in case.”

Or maybe you could return to last night when she pointed out your odd cravings—like dipping apples into peanut butter and eating leftover mac and cheese straight from the fridge without warming it in the microwave first—and joked about how you have been acting like a pregnant woman with your mood swings.

Better yet, you wish you could go back to that night, back to that many weeks ago, when you allowed yourself to fall for a stranger’s charm which led you to spend the night with him.

You close your eyes, once again murmuring to yourself, “This has got to be a dream.”

But the moment you open your eyes again, nothing has changed. You are still standing there with your hands holding tightly onto the edges of the bathroom counter. And the two pregnancy test kits that you used are still lying on top of the counter for your eyes to see.

A rapid sound of knocking on the bathroom door sends you jumping back.

“Hey, ______? Is everything okay?” you hear your roommate, Skye, calling out for you. Her voice seems calm, yet when you recall hearing the sound of her footsteps moving back and forth outside of the door while you were taking the test, you know that she has been waiting just as anxiously as you were. “So—? What does it say?”

Still in shock, and quite stuck in denial, you open your mouth only to have no words coming out of you. Your brain feels a bit hazy as you walk up to the door and open it for her.

Skye takes one look at your face and her gaze softens. “What did it—” She shakes her head. “Oh, never mind, I’m dying to know. Let me see it,” she says as she brushes past you before you can say anything.

Hoping that there is a chance that reality can change within the next few seconds, you refuse to turn around and once again close your eyes while she suddenly grows quiet.

Maybe you were just imagining things. Maybe you weren’t even looking at the test properly. Maybe—

“So, uhm—” you can hear Skye’s voice trembling a little as she hesitantly asks you, “Two lines mean it’s positive, is that right?”

And just like that, every bit of hope you have in you flies out the window. “I wish I could say that it’s the other way around,” you softly murmur, feeling defeated.

And the feeling grows stronger when you hear her cursing under her breath,

“Well, fuck.”

“What are you doing?” you ask Skye as you gingerly take a seat on the sofa.

Once you both stepped away from the bathroom, she guided you to the living room while she sauntered away to the kitchen without a word. You can hear the noises she makes as she is busy rummaging through the counters. Yet you are too far away to see what she is up to.

“Hang on a minute. Stay there,” she calls out without even looking.

“Okay.”

It’s not like you have any energy to go anywhere, after all. Your head is still spinning and you can barely feel your legs. It feels as if you are stuck in a bad dream and you just can’t get out of it.

It doesn’t take long before Skye returns to your side, carrying with her two clean tall glasses in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. It was the same bottle that you opened when you celebrated your promotion a couple of weeks ago after coming back from the trip.

Holy shit, you inwardly cry out. Your heartbeat rises as your hands find their way to your stomach.

“Okay, let’s try to calm down,” Skye says to you as she places both glasses on the table before you, although it seems to you more as if she is talking to herself instead of reassuring you while you are panicking inside.

A couple of weeks ago? Wouldn’t I have been already pregnant then?

These thoughts keep running through your head as you watch your roommate pouring wine into both glasses, just like the night she did the same when you first opened that same bottle.

Dear God, how much did I drink that night? You ask yourself with a grimace as you try to remember.

Wait, no. I didn’t drink anything, you remind yourself. Relief washes over you look back at the celebration night where you barely took a sip before Skye took the glass away from your hands.

Because you were already feeling sick that day.

You had been feeling nauseous for days, throwing up once in a while and mostly on the days when you were lacking sleep because of the workload you had to handle for the upcoming promotion. All you ever did was wet your lips with the wine after the celebratory toast. That was the only contact you made with the drink before Skye replaced it with a tall glass of alcohol-free smoothie that she made especially for your ‘upset stomach’.

Of course, how did I not see the signs? You wonder again as you remember the sickly feeling you had after vomiting each morning and feeling powerless for the rest of the day. It even got so bad that you had to skip work for a couple of days at the beginning of your ‘sickness’.

If only you knew then.

Your eyes are still on the wine glasses as Skye places them side by side and puts away the bottle.

“Uh—I believe we both just saw the two lines appearing on the test packs.”

She lets out a light scoff and waves her hand at you. “They're both for me. I’m going to need them while I process this,” she says, shaking her head as she sits down to join you on the sofa. “You get to keep that smoothie.”

You follow her gaze and look down at the glass of smoothie that you left on the table during the whole fiasco with the pregnancy test. While you pick up your drink, Skye takes a hefty drink from one of the glasses of wine and sits back.

“So—you’re pregnant,” she murmurs to herself. Her gaze flickers to your face for a brief moment and nods to herself before taking another drink.

Why does it seem like she is the one panicking?

She releases a sigh. Neither of you says anything for a moment. But you can tell when she grows more anxious by the minute. You don’t understand why, until she carefully asks you, “Are you going to tell Han?”

Confused, you look at her with your brows furrowed and ask, “Why would I tell Han that I’m pregnant?”

Skye looks genuinely confused, almost as much as you are, and you only realise the reason why when she asks you, “Isn’t Hansol the father? You guys have been dating for a long time and I can’t remember ever seeing you with anyone else while you’re on a break.”

You wince, realising too late that you have yet to tell her the truth.

“Actually—we’re not on a break,” you slowly admit with a low voice. Months have gone by, and even though it no longer hurts whenever you start thinking about your failed relationship or to mention your ex’s name, you cannot help but still feel bitter about how it ended and you hate talking about it.

That is the reason why you haven’t said anything about it to anyone. Maybe you were just too embarrassed. After all, it isn’t so easy to admit that you may have been the reason why the four-year relationship fell into pieces.

“I lied,” you say with a burst of deep sigh, “It was over, done, finished—”

“So you already broke up?” she cuts you off with a calm voice.

You bite your bottom lip as you slowly nod your head. “Yeah,” you whisper, suddenly feeling like your throat is tightening up. Not because you feel the sudden urge to cry. But only because this is all becoming too much to take at once.

“And the baby?” she carefully asks you. “It wasn’t Han—”

“The baby isn’t his,” you quickly answer before she even gets to question about it.

It’s hard enough to hear his name being mentioned after a while. It feels harder to think that you might be carrying his baby.

But the moment those words come out of your lips, reality finally sinks in. Grabbing the glass of your drink, you take a hefty drink out of it. You wish there was some alcohol in this thing. Maybe it would have helped you think more clearly.

That’s right. It couldn’t have been his.

Sighing to yourself, you begin to do the math. “We’ve been broken up for months, so if the baby is his, I’m sure I would be showing already by this time around,” you say this while gently rubbing your palm over your stomach.

Now that your suspicions have been confirmed, the gesture feels almost natural to you that your hand simply moves before you realise it, though it helps confirm that nothing much has changed with your body.

It feels odd to think that there is a life existing inside you, yet you cannot really see it with just one look. This convinces you further that the baby couldn’t have been conceived while you were still dating your ex. Looking back to it now, once you remember when exactly the sickness and craving started, it would only make sense that the baby was conceived on that specific night.

“So—if Hansol isn’t the Dad, then who was it?”

Biting your lip, you turn to look at Skye. Of course, if there is anyone in this world that you can talk to about this, it would only be her. Just like how she would come to you first whenever she is in a bind, whether it’s about her relationships, about work, or even the smallest things like having a bad day where you end up sharing a tub of ice cream to feel better.

After all, she isn’t just a roommate, but also someone you have known the longest compared to the other friends you’ve made since moving into this city. You have known each other since college, since back in freshman year when both of you were nothing more but young kids from small towns being thrust into the big city.

Being put together in the same dorm room led you to become fast friends. After years of enduring the same hardship in college, the two of you remained so close that you even moved to this city together and continued to live in the same place to keep each other company.

You have gone through everything with her, and you have always been honest with each other. It should have been easy to tell her everything. If only you could find the right words to begin sharing your story.

“I have no idea where to start.”

“Well,” Skye patiently says while twirling the glass of wine she’s holding. You squint your eyes at her when you find it almost empty. So unfair. “Why don’t you start from the beginning?”

“Right. From the beginning,” you say this with a nod. “Do you remember when I went away last month?”

She nods. “Your secret getaway. Still jealous of that, by the way.”

You give her a small smile. “Yeah, well—there’s a reason why I insisted on going alone on that trip. I actually planned it as a surprise vacation for me and Hansol. The original idea was for us to have a romantic getaway for our fourth anniversary.”

Skye raises her eyebrows. “Well, damn,” she mutters. “Let me guess. You broke up before it happened?”

You grimace as you recall what happened. “Close enough,” you answer with a bitter smile. “It was because of the trip that we got a huge fight in the first place.”

Skye tilts her head. “I’m not following.”

Sighing, you drink your smoothie to cool down and swallow the bitter feeling you are suddenly getting. Recounting the break-up isn’t so much fun to do. Not even after this long.

“I planned the entire thing on my own. Booked the flight and the hotel, and rearranged our schedules to fit each other so we could go on that exact date. But I never shared anything with him, except to confirm that it was a place that he also dreamt of going so we could both enjoy it together.” You let out a defeated sigh. “I wanted it to be a surprise. He used to love those in the past, so I figured it could be fun to celebrate our anniversary this way and get away from all the stress both of us had been getting.”

You stop talking for a moment to remember those days. Both you and Hansol had been so busy back then that you could barely spend time with each other.

It was the exact routine every day. Having long hours in the office and since you weren’t living together, you could only keep in contact with each other through texts and calls. By the time the two of you were able to see each other, all the stress had been piling up that you were almost always arguing and fighting instead of making up for all the time you missed while being apart.

“We were talking about moving in together but all of a sudden, we stopped discussing it and I could feel us growing further apart. I thought going away from all the stress for a while would help us get along and make up for all the fighting. Maybe we could have had a chance to talk things out and figure out what to fix.”

You stop with a soft sigh. “We were getting bored. With work, with life, and maybe we did get bored with each other but neither of us could open up about it, much less admit it. Not even to ourselves.”

Skye lets out a groan. “This is why I don’t do relationships,” she mutters before finishing her drink. The first glass. With the second one waiting on the table.

You give her a scoff, but smile at her comment before continuing, “He found out about the trip by chance. I was still logged in on his laptop after I borrowed it to check on my work email while I was staying over on the weekend. He accidentally opened the booking details when he was checking his email, thinking it was his account. He suspected me of planning to go with someone else, but even after I told him that the trip was for both of us, he wasn’t having it.”

Skye leans forward when she hears this. “Wait, he’s pissed about a secret vacation?” she asks, looking unhappy and confused at the same time. You can’t really blame her. Because that is exactly how you feel about your ex’s reaction. “Why would he be? If it had been me, I would’ve been ecstatic about going.”

“I wish I knew,” you groan, feeling just as frustrated as you had been then. “But he wasn’t just refusing to go. He started blaming me. Saying something about me holding him back or something. He said he had no time for a trip when he needed to be there and work for his promotion.”

Thinking back to that day, remembering about the fight and the things you said to each other, you are reminded of the moment the fight left your body. Because you knew then that there was nothing left to fight over.

“He never even brought up the fact that it was the date of our anniversary. I don’t think he even knew or remembered it,” you say with a bitter chuckle. “He broke it off, saying that he wanted to focus on his career and I would be keeping him behind. And I agreed because I knew that we’d wound up hurting each other if we’d stayed.”

“I can understand that,” Skye gently says. The two of you share a sad smile when your eyes meet. “And you still went on that trip,” she guesses, sounding proud. She lifts her glass to you and says, “Good girl.”

You merely shrug. “When I went to cancel the tickets for the trip, I thought it would be such a waste to throw everything away. So I decided that going solo would be a good idea and kept mine. Besides, I needed a moment to heal myself and get away from the city for a short while.”

She laughs, agreeing with you. Then, just as she is about to say something, she suddenly stops. A knowing look comes across her gaze and she slowly gasps. “Don’t tell me—” she says, “You met someone while you were there.”

You nod your head slowly and press your lips together. “Once again, you’re close. But that’s not exactly what happened.” Blowing out a deep breath, you slowly ask her, “Remember when I told you that I got held up for a day in transit?”

“Yeah, I was so jealous of you that I still remember everything you told me about that trip,” she lets out a dreamy sigh, then her gaze snaps back at you. “But, it seems to me that you haven’t told me everything about the trip.”

“No, I didn’t.” You grimace. “Anyway, that’s when I met him—”

The memories return to you again as you share with your roommate about your encounter with the beautiful stranger. You remember vividly the way he spoke, the deep and gentle voice that he spoke to you with, and his captivating smile that made you swoon. Everything about him that made it hard for you to leave and say goodbye to him.

You recount the way you enjoyed each other’s company that even after your terrible mood gradually became much better, and after you finished yet another drink, you simply couldn’t walk away and end the night with him so soon. You stayed longer, losing count of the time you spent with him and the drinks you had.

“And then, one thing led to another, it just happened.”

Skye’s eyes have grown so wide at this point, and her jaw has dropped in her surprise that she looks almost comical. “You hooked up with a stranger during your transit?” she asks you. The moment you nod your head, she switches her empty glass with the other. “I would drink to that.”

You laugh just as she takes a hefty drink as if celebrating on your behalf. “Why do you sound so proud of me?”

“Well,” she slowly starts, “We’ve known each other for so long. You have always been so put together, always followed the rules, and you are always so good at what you do. From school, to work, even the little things you have been doing on the side. But not when it comes to your sex life.”

You know that she is right about everything. But it doesn’t stop you from picking up a cushion and hitting her with it.

“Hey, you know I’m right,” she says while laughing and protecting the precious glass of wine. “Come on, you’ve never had any casual relationships or random hookups, and every chance I could have gotten to hook you up with my guy friends was gone when Hansol came into the picture.”

Pouting, you pull the cushion back and hold it tightly in your arms. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” you admit with a sigh. “How do you get to know me so well?”

“That’s because I love you enough to pay attention,” she smugly says while waving her glass around, sloshing the wine everywhere. “Why do you think I’ve been so protective of you over the years?”

You roll your eyes and hit her with the cushion one last time, making her laugh, even though she is right. For as long as you have been friends with her, she has always been like an older sister to you. Not only for coming hard like a shield against the guys you ever introduced her to but also for the trivial things that not many people would pay much attention to.

Like reminding you to eat properly when you are stressed out or too busy with work and school.

You feel bad for relying on her so much over the years. But you also feel grateful about it. Just like how you’re feeling right now once you notice that you’re no longer feeling as stressed as you had earlier once you’re done dumping everything to her.

Skye’s eyes turn back to you, landing on your covered belly as she curiously asks, “Are you positively sure that Hansol wasn’t the father?”

You slowly nod your head. As much as you wish that you were wrong, you couldn’t have been mistaken about this.

“What are the odds that it was a false positive?” you suddenly question her, while she shrugs.

“It’s possible,” she says. “But we can get some more test kits and redo the test. Just in case. Or you could make an appointment with the doctor straight away to make sure.”

“Right, the doctor—” You let out a soft sigh and close your eyes briefly. It has been a while since you’ve seen your physician. The last time was before—

Oh, shit.

Your eyes snap open right then. How long ago has it been since you’ve gone to see your physician? The last time was when you went to your regular appointment for your birth control. But that felt so long ago.

Long before the trip.

After that appointment, and once the break-up happened, you simply threw yourself into work so much you completely forgot about everything else. And since you were newly single, getting your birth control was the last thing you had in mind at the time.

Fuck me, you inwardly groan without saying a thing to your roommate who is busy chattering about the doctor, making appointments, and offering to take you there herself. You know that she would lecture you about safe sex like a mother hen if you ever share this with her.

But wait…he wore a condom, right? Yes, you are quite sure he did. The details are blurry when you try to remember, but you do remember protection being involved.

Groaning to yourself, you fall back on the sofa. Your head starts spinning again when you start worrying about other things. Once you start thinking of a problem that you may have to face, another one comes to mind.

“What am I supposed to do with this baby?”

Skye once again raises her eyebrows at you. “I think the right question should be what do you want to do?” she asks, while you can only shake your head.

“I don’t know,” you answer with a small voice. The only thing you can think of right now is how you are going to get through this holiday while being pregnant. You are supposed to be home for Christmas in two weeks, and knowing just how crazy your family truly is, you cannot imagine how they would react if they found out you are with a child.

You close your eyes and let out a sigh. “And my family still have no idea that I broke up with Han.”

“For once, I’m not jealous of your life,” Skye says as she sips her wine. But she is ready for it when you fling the cushion back at her and avoid it without spilling her drink. “Don’t worry. I think they’ll catch on about your failed relationship as soon as you walk into your family home without that hunk by your side.”

Huffing, you hug the cushion in your arms and lean back. “I guess if they’re going to find out either way, I might as well just tell them the moment I got home.”

Besides, it might be even harder to hide the fact that you are pregnant. You might not be showing yet, but there is no possible way you could avoid the questions that may come if you are still feeling so sick right in front of your family, or if your cravings suddenly get out of hand.

Especially if Honey is there. Despite the early signs of dementia showing on her lately, your grandmother has always been so perceptive. And there is no telling what random things she may blurt out once she has some rum in her system.

With so many different things to think about, you almost forget one important matter that you should be thinking about when it comes to the baby. And just like always, Skye is there to remind you of it.

“Do you remember his name?”

You turn to Skye with wide eyes, suddenly panicking inside. You can tell that she can see it on your face and is now sharing the same feeling when she suddenly knocks back the rest of her wine and groans, “Fuck, I’m gonna need more.”

You watch her pour more wine into her glass, hastily drinking it right after, before turning to you again. “You didn’t get his name? At least tell me that you got his number before you went separate ways.”

You bite your lips. “It’s Tae.”

“Tae—what?”

You shake your head. “That’s it,” you let out a frustrated sigh. “That was the only name he ever gave me.”

“Seriously?”

Skye is freaking out, you can tell. But you close your eyes and rest your head back, shutting everything down as she starts ranting about how she was supposed to teach you better about hooking up with strangers and keeping yourself safe.

With her voice turning into white noise at the back of your mind, your memories return to you, taking you back to the eventful night.

You can almost feel yourself being back there again—back in the cold hotel bar with the scent of old wood and liquor lingering in the air; the murmuring sounds of people chatting and laughing, accompanied by the sound of glasses clinking together resonating through the space around you; back to his presence that felt so strong and intense you could barely feel anything else other than him as long as you had your attention fully on him.

“What’s your name?” You remember him asking you with his voice that grew more gentle and deeper the more he drank.

You leaned into him and giggled in response as if he just said something funny to you. “Does it really matter?”

His soft chuckle rumbled around you. The voice was so soft, yet you could hear it clearly because of how close you were leaning into him. “I’m sure I remember being taught not to talk to strangers.”

“Are you telling me that you’ve been a good boy for listening to what your Mom taught you?” you teased him. It was obvious how tipsy you were at this point, which may have been the reason why you were growing more confident.

“Oh, I’ve always been a good boy,” he answered you while looking amused. He went silent right after. His gaze seemed far away just for a fleeting moment before he finally said, “My name is Tae.”

“Tae? That’s it?” you asked, “Is that a codename or something?” You feigned a surprise gasp before you leaned into him further to whisper, “Are you secretly a spy?”

You felt his chest rumbling when he softly laughed. “Something like that, yeah,” he said, as he played along with your joke.

But the moment you leaned away from him, you were surprised when you got to see something in him that you couldn’t see before. His guard was down, allowing you to see the vulnerability that was buried deep under his suave and smooth talking.

For a brief moment, he looked broken. Just like you did.

And from the way he was hiding himself, not only under the short nickname but also from the way he was masking his emotions, you could tell that he was looking for an escape from reality. The same way you did that night.

So you simply smiled at him, choosing not to pry further to see beyond the mask and play along. Because at the same time, you wanted to hide your broken heart and become someone else to be able to forget everything. Just for one night.

“Then you can call me Red. It’s my special codename for tonight.”

His grin widened. You could almost see the relief washing over him through his warm gaze when he looked at you.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you tonight,” he said, still with his gentle voice that almost felt like sin licking on your skin when he called you, “Red.”

Two weeks later…

“Here you go,” your mother’s voice snaps you from whatever stupor you have been stuck in. When you open your eyes, a glass of ginger tea has manifested right before you.

“Drink this,” your Mom says as she points at the drink. “It should be good for your stomach.”

Your breath gets caught in your throat. Furrowing your brows, you keep your eyes on the drink instead of reaching for it. Thoughts of those past mornings when you and Skye spent searching through the internet to find a way to get rid of your morning sickness come through your mind.

Does she know? Did she figure it out already? Is it really that obvious?

You clench your hands and resist the urge to rub against your stomach. It has become a habit of yours to rub around your belly as if trying to feel the baby that is hiding inside whenever you feel agitated.

After getting the positive results through the home test kits, you had gone straight to the doctor only days before you left the city to have it checked, confirming that a baby is growing inside you. It still feels unbelievable to think about it, even after you saw it yourself with your own eyes.

“It’s still really early, and we might not be seeing much yet, but that’s your baby,” the doctor’s voice echoes through your mind as you tighten your clenched hands, thinking back to the day you went to have an ultrasound and saw for the first time the growing fetus that was said to be viable to grow fully as a baby.

Just like how the baby inside you has been nothing more than a blob of mass floating inside your stomach in your mind, your belly itself has yet to change shape. Even if your full awareness of the baby’s presence has only been causing you to find small changes in your body that nobody else might be able to see.

But Mom has been pregnant before, so wouldn’t she be able to see it? Will that be possible?

“Ginger tea is good for nausea and will give you some energy boost. Your grandma always made it for me whenever I had a stomach ache. I’m sure it’ll help get rid of your nausea and your upset stomach will turn better in no time.” Your Mom stops talking and sighs. “You should’ve told me that you were sick. I wouldn’t have let you drive all the way home if I had known.”

Ah.

You breathe a sigh of relief. You should be thankful that she believed you when you told her about having an upset stomach from the long drive home from the city. It was the only thing that you could think of as an excuse when your Mom wondered why you hadn’t been eating well since you got back home and why you were feeling sick.

It makes you wonder why you have been feeling unwell since you got home. Just when you had purposely waited until you were well enough and had stopped throwing up when you planned for the drive.

It’s almost as if the baby is deliberately making you sick to let everyone know about your secret.

“Thanks, Mom,” you say to your Mom as you reach for the tea, hiding your relieved sigh as you gingerly drink in small sips.

You have lost count of how many times Skye has made you this drink specifically to stop you from vomiting in the morning before going to work. It has been helping a lot to ease your ‘sickness’, and you are feeling it calming your stomach already as the drink warms your body.

You can feel your mother’s eyes on you, making you feel uneasy to be under her watchful gaze. “I think it might be better if you get some rest and take things easy. But are you sure you’re okay?” your Mom asks again, still worrying about you.

You continue drinking the ginger tea slowly while pressing down your guilt. You hate lying to your Mom the most, and now you are starting to regret driving home on your own. If the baby hadn’t been the one responsible for your current sickness, then perhaps driving the long distance has been the reason why your nausea is now coming back with a vengeance.

So much for trying to not draw any suspicions.

“I’m fine, Mom. Really,” you sigh as you place the glass down. “The tea is helping me already. I’ll feel better soon, I promise.”

Your Mom says nothing for a moment, but the crease you see forming on her forehead says differently. “I’m not just talking about you being sick. Maybe there’s another reason why you’re feeling faint?”

You look up at her just then. The moment you catch the pitiful look she is giving you, you finally understand what she is trying to say.

Just as Skye predicted, it didn’t take long for your family to take notice of your solo arrival. In the past, Hansol would have joined you to visit your family for a day or two during the holidays before he would return to his family on Christmas day. So his absence was quite obvious from the get-go.

And with the big lie that you have to hide from everyone at home, you had to at least give them one honest truth the moment they started asking.

“We ended things a few months ago,” you admitted to your family during the first dinner you had since you got home. By that time, you had already tried to avoid the questions for long enough. Nobody has brought up about it again since then.

Until now.

“If you’re talking about the breakup, there’s nothing to worry about. I’m okay, Mom. It’s been months since it happened. I’ve been trying to move on.”

In fact, you haven’t been thinking about your ex at all for a long time. Not until you brought it up to Skye and then again when your family started questioning. The only thing you have been worrying about lately is the baby growing inside you and finding a way to search for the father of the baby.

It was the one thing that you talked about with Skye before you left. While you are capable enough to raise the baby on your own, you decided it would be the best course of action to contact the father and let him know.

In Skye’s own words, “Just in case.”

Just in case the father would care enough to know that he has a son or a daughter coming into this world and wants to be in their life.

“But if we fail to find him or he wants nothing to do with the baby, then we’ll deal with it on our own. You just got your promotion, I got my good pay. We can raise the baby together. You and me, just like old times.”

Skye’s words put a smile on your face. She always knows how to lift your spirit up whenever you feel like giving up, and those exact words have helped boost your confidence and made you believe that you could get through this.

But first, you just need to get through spending this holiday with your family.

“I know you said that. But as your Mom, I can’t help but worry. I thought you were serious and we’ll be hearing some good news about you getting married this year.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. “Yeah, that’s not going to happen. Sorry, Mom,” you tease her with a bitter chuckle. You don’t bother to mention that the two of you had never once talked about marriage throughout your relationship.

Yet another sign that you overlooked. At least you never got to waste anymore time with him.

“Things just didn’t work out between us. It happens when a couple grow into two different people in the course of their relationship. Which was exactly what happened to us. Hansol wanted to focus on his career, in return, I also got the chance to focus on mine.”

Just as you said the words, you realise that this is true for your case.

Hansol has always been career-driven, and it has been growing stronger lately for him with the constant rise he was experiencing in his current company. And breaking up with your long-time boyfriend has allowed you to turn your focus on your job. The recent promotion you gained was a testament to your hard work to show you that there might be a silver lining to everything that has happened.

“I suppose you’re right,” your Mom says with a smile. You are beginning to feel a bit relieved that she seems to understand. You are hoping that she would start talking about something else when she adds, “I just feel sad that it didn’t work out for you. And we were all expecting to have Hansol joining us again this year. I guess it’s too late now to let your sister know about this since she’s supposed to arrive today.”

Stepsister.

You lift your glass and slowly drink your tea to stop yourself from correcting her. For some reason, you feel a bit bitter having your mother mention her all so suddenly.

It isn’t that you hate your stepsister. It’s hard to feel something so extreme when you barely had any relationship with her at all. Back when you were younger, your mother did try to get you two to get along and be friends.

To make her happy, you tried your best to act friendly, or at least to be cordial whenever she was around, even when the only thing she showed you over the years had been nothing but contempt.

But things changed after a drunken fit that she had last holiday season, when she got drunk and tried to make a move and openly flirted with your then-boyfriend. Even if nothing ever came out of it except for her own embarrassment, as Hansol openly rejected her and stayed away from her for the remaining time he was here, the incident still left a bad taste that made you feel bitter.

That was when you finally decided that you would stop trying to be nice.

You put down the glass and try to remain calm. What’s done is done. All you have to do is focus on getting through this holiday before going back to the city and start with your mission to search for the baby’s father.

“What does Alia have to do with my break up?” you ask your mother, hoping that she wouldn’t bring up the drama from last year.

“Oh, it’s nothing serious, really,” your Mom answers with a soft chuckle, “It’s just that Alia called home sometime last week, asking if she could bring someone over this Christmas. She said that she’s been seeing someone new and since she was bringing him to meet her mother, she wondered if it would be okay if she could bring him along to meet us too.”

Your Mom sighs, looking a bit guilty when she adds, “We figured since you might bring Hansol with you, it would be okay if she has her new boyfriend along. Maybe the guys could get along and spend time together while you and Alia catch up.”

You try to imagine you and Alia catching up like old friends or—just like what your Mom has been wishing you to be—as sisters, and you almost shake your head.

Yeah, that seems unlikely, you bitterly wonder to yourself, yet you don’t have the heart to tell your mother that there is not much hope for you and Alia to be good friends.

“I guess it’s a shame that Hansol isn’t here,” you simply say to your mother while you inwardly wonder just what your stepsister is really up to this year.

“Yeah, it’s unfortunate,” your mother says with a sigh. “But I’m glad that at least both of you girls can make it home this year.”

“Me too, Mom,” you force a smile, silently hoping that you can start talking about something else. Something that doesn’t concern your bitter stepsister coming home or bringing up any dark thoughts about your ex. “So, what are we having for dinner? Want my help in the kitchen?”

Your question immediately puts everything into motion, drifting her attention away from your sappy story and the false hope of sisterhood that may never happen between you and your stepsister. Your Mom tries to stop you from helping out in the kitchen at first but finally gives in when you keep insisting.

At least, this way, you can keep your mind busy enough to stop it from thinking about unnecessary thoughts the way it often does when you are alone.

Things seem to be going on well enough at first, until your sickness returns and you have to give up trying.

”See, I told you that you should be resting until you feel better,” your mother complains as she watches you bending over, keeping away from the stove and what is currently cooking on top of it which seems to be making you feel dizzy and sick.

After garlic, lemon-scented air freshener, and coconut milk, seems you are going to have to add raw chicken to the list of things that may trigger your nausea.

“But then I’ll be bored like hell,” you argue, “I’m fine, Mom. Just let me take a quick break for a minute.”

Your mother looks as if she wants to say something, but the sound of a car coming into the driveway interrupts her. Both of you turn to look out towards the living room, just in time to see your stepfather, Cliff, turning in the corner of the hall and rushing towards the front door.

“Honey, they’re here!” he calls out, and you urge your mother to join him.

“Go, Mom. I’ll finish things up and make sure nothing gets burned before I join you guys.”

Once your mother is out of the kitchen, you can no longer resist pressing your palm on your stomach.

“Seriously, baby,” you whisper to the non-existent bump under your sweater, “Please take it easy, will you? I’m really struggling here, and you’re not making things easy for me. Trust me, it would be too soon for everyone to find out about you. At least wait until we can find a clue about your Dad, okay?”

As if the baby inside you is listening, even if it is still barely full-grown at this point, your body grows calmer and the nausea slowly wanes.

“Thank you, baby,” you whisper to your stomach once again before finally focusing on the stove and the oven, deliberately taking your time with what you do just so you can have a reason not to join the dramatic reunion happening right this minute.

From this side of the kitchen, the front door isn’t completely visible. But you can hear everything as the door opens and your stepfather joyfully welcomes his daughter.

Hearing his voice makes you smile. You may have had a tumultuous relationship with your stepsister, but the same cannot be said with your stepfather. Cliff has always been a great role model, and your relationship with him has always been great from the start.

It makes you feel guilty when you think about the previous encounters where you and your stepsister simply gave each other cold shoulders or when you were met with altercations just because of how different the two of you are. But there is no helping it. Nothing has changed over the years no matter how hard you tried. Not even once you have become adults.

You can’t even remember how it first started. And frankly, you no longer care. Last year’s incident was already enough to let you know that the sisterhood that your parents have been forcing you into was beyond saving.

The voices coming from the front door continue for a moment longer. This time, you get to hear your mother’s voice joining in the conversation and Alia’s soft voice answering her questions. You make no effort to listen to what they are saying and tune out their voices, until your mother’s voice calls out to you.

“______, your sister is here. Come and say hi.”

Your mother’s words make you stop. Slowly, you turn down the heat on the stove and turn to make your way towards the front door to join the family reunion.

“It’s stepsister,” you mutter under your breath as you drag your feet, taking your sweet time while you try to compose yourself before having to face the unwanted guests.

As you turn around the corner, merely moments before the front door finally comes into view, you get to hear another voice speaking. The voice that you couldn’t clearly hear from the kitchen while you were tuning their conversation out.

“I’m sorry for intruding. But thank you for having me here.”

That voice.

You immediately come to a halt. An uneasy feeling runs through your body when you realise that you recognise this voice and have grown to know it quite well.

There is no mistaking it. You may not have gotten his full name on the night you met, and his face has somewhat become a faint mirage in your dreams at night whenever you are taken back to the night of your hookup.

But you cannot say the same about his voice.

That deep and gentle voice will always be engraved in your memory. Even now, the only thing you would need to do is close your eyes and listen, and allow the voice to take you back to that specific night once more, where he used this voice to say sinful words that you could feel caressing your fragile heart while he was bringing you to the peak of pleasure.

And now you are hearing that voice here, at your home, idly chatting with your mother by the front door.

“_______, are you coming?” your mother calls again, and you know that there is no avoiding it. You have to face reality, even if that means you must come face to face with the man who is responsible for placing you in this situation.

Tamping down the rush of nerves going through your body, you slowly march ahead. Bracing yourself as you turn around the corner and enter the living room where everyone is currently gathering in.

Your eyes fall on your stepsister first.

Alia has always looked so vibrant and beautiful, drawing all kinds of attention from everyone in the room whenever she is present. Yet when you look at her now, there seems to be a new kind of light emerging from her. Even her smile seems brighter as she chats along with your stepfather.

And you soon realise the reason why she is shining brightly today as you turn your gaze to look at the person standing beside her. To finally see him.

He looks just like how you remember him. Tall and lean, with his arms and chest filling up his sweater. He has his hair falling over a part of his face, just enough of a mess that seems as if he has been running his fingers through the wavy strands. As he converses with your mother, he shows his boxy grin that seems familiar to your eyes.

Too familiar.

Because it looks just the same as the wide grin that was teasing and flirting with you on one eventful night at the transit hotel weeks ago.

No. That can’t be.

The baby’s daddy is here. The man who you were planning to look for once you return to the city.

He is here, today, appearing at the front door of your parents’ home together with your stepsister. His long fingers that had once entangled between the strands of your hair are now entwined with your stepsister’s dainty fingers. And there is no mistaking the matching couple rings that are glowing under the sunlight coming from their entwined hands.

Before you get the chance to process what is happening, you hear him introducing himself to your stepfather, “It’s good to see you, Sir. My name is Taehyung.”

No.

You stifle a gasp. It feels like you have been sucker-punched right in the chest that you can barely breathe.

Taehyung, you wonder. Tae?

All of a sudden, you feel as if the ground beneath your feet is tilting over, slowly taking you down with it. And since you seem to have lost the ability to move your feet, the only thing you can do to stop yourself from falling is to clench your hands tightly by your side. Tight enough to feel pain as your nails are sinking into your palms, convincing you that this is not a dream.

Yet you are still in denial as you watch the interaction happening right before your eyes. Because there is no way this is happening. There is no possible way that it is truly him.

Please. Please don’t let it be him.

It must have been your mind playing tricks on you. Because there is no way that he is here. Not as your stepsister’s new boyfriend.

This must be a mistake. Yes, you are probably confused and all the thoughts of finding your baby daddy are messing up with your head, forcing you to believe that your stepsister’s new boyfriend is your mysterious baby daddy. The fact that they have the same name must have been pure coincidence.

For once in your life, you don’t want to be right. You have to be wrong.

Please tell me that it’s not him.

Just then, as if life was listening to your prayers, as if life has yet to have enough of its games to play around with your heart, the man turns his gaze away from your parents. And those pretty eyes land on you.

As if there is a switch turned, the brightness in his gaze fades. His beautiful eyes are filled with recognition. It is so subtle that you are quite sure that nobody else around you notices it, but it is enough to let you know that your memories have been right all along.

Because those are the same eyes that you saw looking back at you with pure lust and sin while he was bringing you wanton pleasure, when you made love as if both of you had been under a spell, right on the very night that may have changed your fate forever.

Fuck.

Me.

At one glance, this moment would seem like any other pre-holiday family dinner. It may seem picture perfect, even—if you had been a stranger looking in.

There are still a couple of days left until Christmas Day, yet the festive mood has already filled the room. From the living room, all the way to the dining room, Christmas decorations are already plastered across the walls and hung from the ceiling. On the dining table, the delectable meal that your mother worked hard to prepare—with your poor assistance—had been perfectly laid out.

With Alia’s arrival today, the immediate family is now complete. Ever the charming daughter, Alia takes up the attention of everyone around her as she shares her story—about how she has been travelling between different states and some neighbouring countries, changing jobs, finding new hobbies, and even planning to adopt a new pet.

Sitting at the head of the table, your stepfather is soaking it all in, enjoying the time he has with his daughter whom he rarely gets to see throughout the year. Your mother sits on his right, getting the front seat of their merry reunion. She would sometimes chime in, never failing to try to get you into joining their idle chat even when you are not feeling up to it.

Other times, you would have been able to easily play along. From making cordial comments and joining with all the light jokes shared by your family, or feigning interest in anything that Alia might be sharing at the table—even when she rarely would share the same courtesy when you did the same.

Tonight, however, it feels like a struggle for you to focus on the conversation shared at the table, let alone pretend to be interested. Not when you are busy trying your best to calm your nerves.

You can't even embrace the same warm atmosphere that everyone seems to be sharing.

For you, the air around feels stifling and tense. It has been this way ever since you sat down right next to your mother for dinner. Because due to the seating arrangement, the special guest of the night is now sitting right across from you at the table.

Taehyung.

The last person that you had ever expected to see. Not here. Certainly not at your home or sharing the same space with your parents.

It seems surreal to meet him here like this. Even more so when he was introduced to your family as Alia’s new boyfriend.

Judging from the way he reacted when he first saw you, you can tell that he never expected something like this could ever happen. You know that he has questions, perhaps just as much as you do, yet the situation that you found yourself in right now isn’t allowing you to even show any sign that the two of you know each other or to have met before today.

But there is something in the way he is looking at you that doesn’t sit right with you. Aside from the lingering shock you see each time your eyes accidentally meet each other, there is a look that shows a semblance of guilt, despair, and at the same time, filled with wonder.

Was it because he never expected to see you again after that night, much less to find out that you are somehow related to the woman that he is dating? Or was there something else going through his mind?

“This is Alia’s sister, ______,” was what your mother said when she first introduced you to him. At that point, you and Taehyung were stunned to silence, and for a brief moment, neither of you reacted.

Thinking about it now, you can’t even remember how you managed to join your family in the living room. The moment you saw Taehyung standing there, your legs nearly gave out. It was a wonder how you managed to stop yourself from falling or tripping as you walked over to them in a state of distraught.

“Hi, it’s good to see you,” was all that you managed to croak out of once you snapped out of it. You didn’t even give him a chance to respond when you suddenly turned your attention to your stepsister, forcing a smile on your face when you greeted her, “Hey, Alia. It’s good to see you. You seem well.”

You can’t even remember the expression that Alia gave you when she responded to you, “Uh yeah, thanks. You too.”

“Right. Well, I’ll let you guys settle in. I left the stove on, so—”

That was the last thing you said before you turned away and quickly left the room, practically running away from him to hide back in the kitchen. The last thing you heard as you walked away was your mother’s voice saying something about you being her assistant of the day in the kitchen while you were feeling unwell, as if excusing you for your unmannerly attitude.

By the time you got back in the kitchen, your hands were shaking, your heartbeat was racing so fast you could barely breathe. It took a long time for the shock to wane, and you had spent the rest of the day staying away from both of them, avoiding him entirely until you were finally called to join dinner.

And you are still avoiding him even now, keeping your head down as much as you can and resisting the urge to look his way. As if it isn’t hard enough for you to have him sitting right in front of you, you can feel the heat of his gaze constantly following you whenever you are not looking.

He doesn’t make it so obvious, and it doesn’t seem like anyone else has noticed it yet. Perhaps you are just too hyperaware of his presence that you caught on to it so easily.

You sneak a glance at your stepsister, wondering if Alia has taken notice of her boyfriend’s wandering gaze or where he has been directing his eyes. It takes you watching the conversation between her and your parents more closely to see it.

Because it turns out that she also has her own gaze wandering to questionable places at the same time that she isn’t paying much attention to her boyfriend.

Each time Alia turns to regard your mother or speak to her, her gaze flickers away briefly, ever so subtly landing on the seat to your right. At the seat that Hansol would usually occupy whenever he joined you during these holiday visits.

It is easy to catch it when you are seeing it from your angle. And it is easy to guess what is going through her head when she keeps doing it with a curious look written all over her face. An unspoken question seems to linger, while the incident from last year keeps flashing through your head when you picture Hansol being present beside you.

Even if nobody notices her intention, you doubt that anyone would question her about it, seeing that the seat that was supposed to be left empty has been taken by someone else.

While you are busy trying to make sense out of everything, your grandmother makes a disapproval noise with her tongue, grabbing your attention. “Are you still feeling under the weather? You’ve been drinking that boring thing the whole day,” she says, referring to the glass of iced tea that you have just put down after taking a drink from it to cool down.

You turn to look at your dear grandmother, Honey, and smile at her. She probably hasn’t realised what a saving grace she has been for taking the unoccupied seat to your right the minute she came in for dinner.

And she is now helping you again by drawing your attention away from the source of your dismay. Immediately, you feel better the moment you are met with Honey’s smile.

“I’m feeling much better, actually. I’m just being careful not to drink anything that might get me sick,” you answer carefully, hoping to sound reasonable enough without making anyone question your ‘sickness’ any further.

The more you lie to your family about it, the more guilty you feel. You don’t have much choice at the moment but to hide it just a bit longer.

At first, you couldn’t share the news with your parents simply because you were still clueless about how you were going to find the father of the baby with only limited information you had of him. But then things only got even more complicated for you to ever come clean when he walked through the front door of your parents’ home.

What are the odds that the man you hooked up with turns out to be the man your stepsister is currently dating? And here you are now, stuck in the same room with them while hiding a secret which may change the course of everyone’s entire life.

Yeah, miracles don’t exist. Not for me, at least.

Honey taps at your hand on the table as you grow silent, oblivious to the thoughts running through your head. “You know what you need?” she asks, whispering in a conspiring tone that she barely keeps down so that everyone at the table can still hear her voice.

And she does it while looking at you with her wide, expecting eyes, with the barely concealed mischief written all over her face. It makes you smile, knowing where this is going. So you simply play along.

"No, Honey. What would that be?”

Her mischievous smile widens as she leans closer. “A hint of rum. With a few drops into that boring tea of yours, you’ll feel better in no time,” she says, lifting her hand and showing you a pinching gesture with her thumb and forefinger nearly touching each other, “Just a pinch. Or better yet, just trade your whole glass—”

The sound of your Mom’s frustrated sigh cuts her off. “Mom, I already told you, giving her alcohol isn’t going to make her feel better. I’ve already given her some herbal tea, that should be enough until she can get a proper rest.”

“Oh, posh,” Honey says, waving her hand at your mother. “Ignore your Mom,” Honey says just as you are about to respond. “I’m telling you. Alcohol is best to cure your heartbreak,” she adds, and you certainly have no arguments against that. Alcohol might be able to help you forget.

But, alas…

But, wait a minute. You stop and look closely at Honey. What is she talking about?

“What do you mean?” you question her while tilting your head, wondering deep down if she had noticed something. Surely, she wouldn’t be able to tell the high tension rolling between you and Taehyung through dinner.

Nobody else could. But you also know that if there is anyone in your family who might be able to catch on with the tension rolling between the two of you, it would be Honey.

Once again, Honey reaches out and taps her dainty fingers on the back of your hand. “Isn’t that why you’re feeling down, peaches? I know you’re still thinking about that good for nothing—”

Honey stops herself and bites down her smile before you can figure out what she is about to say. But you have heard enough to understand who she is referring to.

Relief washes over you when you realise that she was talking about your ex, Hansol. She must have thought that you have been stressing over the breakup and you have been feeling unwell because of it.

Honey leans in, this time lowering her voice just enough only for you to hear. “You must’ve taken it from me. I also get a stomach bug when I’m stressed out. Just like last summer when I lost a go-stop game against the ladies from the block,” she says, before she continues blabbering about how she had made bets during the game and went all-in only to lose everything.

“You might think that they’re nothing but small pennies used for gambling coins, but I spent a whole week collecting them. How am I supposed to replace all of them before the next game?” she continues to complain, while you laugh at her.

Her story takes away the tension on your shoulders for a brief moment before she adds, “And then you had to come here and watch these two being all lovey-dovey with each other.”

As Honey mentions the pair sitting across the table, waving her hand at them to make a point, your eyes are drawn towards them once more. And your gaze lands right on Alia’s hand which is now resting on top of Taehyung’s.

Seeing this makes you feel tight in the chest. Bitterness fills your mouth which you can barely hide with a tight smile. Honey may not have been entirely correct with her assumptions, yet her comment still hits the mark somehow.

Not about Hansol, obviously, as he is the one to occupy your mind the least. Yet she wasn’t too far off when she talked about the new pair of lovers before you. Seeing them does make you uncomfortable, miserable even, but for entirely different reasons.

Looking away from their joined hands, your gaze meets Alia’s. She is wearing an unreadable expression on her face as she listens in to Honey’s words. And the strange look that she is giving you now is making you feel uneasy.

Just as you start wondering if Alia has noticed something, she instead asks you, “You guys broke up?”

She throws a quick glance at Honey’s seat with a frown. For others, she might seem concerned, yet there is a look in her eyes which tells you that there is something more. “I was wondering why I haven’t seen him around. He was with us last holiday.”

Her comment rubs you in the wrong way. You have no idea why she would care when your relationship has nothing to do with her. But you try to not let it bother you. “Yes, it’s been months now since we broke up. I only told Mom and Dad yesterday when I first got home.”

“I see,” she says. Her voice comes out so softly that it almost comes out as a murmur. She pulls her hand back and places it on her lap. “That’s too bad. I’m sorry,” she adds while offering a small smile. And for some reason, she also seems guilty.

Does she think it has something to do with what happened last year?

Her words remind you of something that she said to you last year, back on the morning you confronted her after her drunken blunder which happened the night before.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking. I didn’t mean anything, I swear. It’s just drunk talking.”

That incident shouldn’t be bothering you today. Yet it still makes you feel bitter when you think about it. The feeling only grows worse when you glance at Taehyung who is showing a sudden interest in this whole thing.

“It’s fine. Sometimes things just don’t work out,” you simply repeat the same thing you said to your mother earlier while biting back the real question that is hanging right at the tip of your tongue.

But what’s in it to you?

No matter how curious you are to know what kind of scheme that is going through her pretty little head, you know it’s not worth all the drama that it might cause. You cannot even possibly imagine the drama that would unfold once this whole baby thing comes out.

God, just thinking about it is already making your stomach churn. Your lower abdomen suddenly feels hard and heavy. As if you have a full-size lead inside instead of a small, growing blob that is about to form into an actual living baby within a few weeks from now.

Thinking about the baby, your eyes find the man who is behind all of this. He has grown oddly quiet while you were conversing with your stepsister and is now staring at his food with a frown on his face.

“So tell me,” you ask calmly while clenching your hands, doing your best to hide the trembles, “How did you two meet?”

This question immediately draws Taehyung’s attention. His eyes snap up, but the moment he looks at you, his face seems to grow pale and he becomes awfully nervous.

“We, uh—we used to work at the same company before Alia left to venture into other things,” he says, almost stuttering. He also keeps stealing glances at Alia, as if begging her to help him out.

Huh, strange.

What is it about answering your simple question which makes him so nervous?

Or perhaps…

Have they been seeing each other when the two of you hooked up?

Fuck.

The moment this thought crosses your mind, you suddenly feel sick. Your stomach grows heavier with anxiety. Meanwhile, Alia’s smile seems to beam brighter.

“We didn’t work in the same division back then, but we would frequently meet during breaks and company hours. Had it been, what, a year after we last met?” Alia turns to Taehyung, who stiffly nods his head. She grabs his hand once again and looks at him lovingly as she continues, “We met again last summer by chance while I was travelling and started talking since then.”

Last summer? But that was before—

Your head starts spinning. You grab your glass and take a couple of small sips of your tea to regain composure, yet the drink suddenly tastes bitter on your tongue.

Honey’s voice barely registers in your brain when she responds with a hum. “Travelling in the summer? That sounds like a charming way to meet a new lover,” she says, lifting her mug to her lips as she continues marvelling at your stepsister’s story. “You must have felt some sparks when you two met. I bet you’re still feeling it now, aren’t you?”

You have no idea what she has inside that ceramic mug, as she had been nursing the same drink since even before dinner started. You can bet money that she had more than a pinch of rum dropped inside that drink of hers, seeing how talkative she is becoming.

Oh, how you wish you could have a taste of it. Just a sip would have been good enough. Maybe it can also help to stop your hands from trembling.

“And the ring?” Honey asks again with a teasing tone as she points at their entwined hands. “I noticed that you two are wearing matching rings. You can’t possibly be engaged already, can you?”

Almost choking on your drink, you slowly set your glass back down and pull your hands onto your lap, hiding them from prying eyes just in time as they begin to shake.

“But it wasn’t that different back in the day,” Honey continues, “I remember that Russ—that’s my dear late husband,” she explains to Taehyung, “he bought me a cheap ring at the beginning of our relationship to show me and my parents that he was serious about courting me.”

On any other times that Honey would speak about your late grandfather, you would always enjoy listening to every word, admiring how she would always share her story with pure love in her voice and wonder glowing in her eyes.

But not this time.

Ever since she pointed out the ring and started talking about your grandfather’s old promises, you start having trouble breathing. The more she speaks, the worse it gets, and now there is a ringing sound echoing in your ear that seems to be coming from different directions.

“I still keep the ring with me, side by side with the wedding ring that doesn’t fit anymore on these wrinkly fingers of mine,” Honey keeps gushing. She raises her hands and starts wiggling her fingers to show them off, while your whole body grows tense.

Alia shares a nervous laugh with Taehyung and waves her hand at Honey. “Oh, no…it’s actually a part of a joke that we—”

You try to tune out the voices, the words that are being said, while clasping your hands tighter together on your lap, but the shaking doesn’t stop. Alia’s voice fades in and out beyond the loud ringing in your head as she continues to tell her story about how they started dating and the ring came to be. With everything that is going on, added with your awareness over Taehyung’s intense gaze that doesn’t seem to waver, it becomes too overwhelming that you feel as if you are slowly being swallowed into the ground beneath you.

With a sharp gasp, you slowly push yourself out of your seat. “Excuse me, I have to—” your voice cracks as you speak. As you stand, you notice that everyone has their eyes on you, all curious to know what is happening with you.

“_______?” you hear your mother calling you.

You can feel the blood draining from your face under all the unwanted attention, making you wish that you could just fade away right at that moment. But then your hand find its way to your stomach, and it almost feels like there is a touch of warmth forming under your palm. It helps you force a smile and gather yourself just enough to say, “I’m sorry, but I’m not feeling well, so I’m going to step out early. I hope that’s alright. You guys enjoy the rest of dinner.”

You don’t wait for anyone’s response as you turn away, finding your escape merely moments before you get into a full-blown meltdown right in front of everyone.

Your legs are wobbly as you walk down the hall, yet you still manage to slip into the guest bathroom downstairs. With trembling hands, you lock the door behind you, shutting yourself from the world outside.

And that is when you fall apart, turning into a heaving mess as everything that you have been bottling up inside comes flooding out of you.

“Breathe,” you command yourself while you fight back against your nausea. Holding onto the bathroom counter, you keep yourself and try your best to focus on controlling your breath.

Take a slow, deep breath. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

Little by little, all the tension, the trembling, and the tightness in your chest begin to wane. But once everything is gone, once you begin to find calmness, your emotions seize control of you.

The next thing you know, an unstoppable flow of tears comes running down your face and you start sobbing, crying in defeat.

“Shit. Fuck. What a mess,” you curse between each sob, feeling absolutely helpless and alone. You close your eyes, hoping that you can clear your head by doing so. Yet your mind keeps going to dark places. Constantly wondering and questioning about all of this.

About him.

“Did he ever mention anything that was related to his personal life that night?” you cannot help but wonder out loud.

Only silence answers. Because you hold little to no recollection of the details from the conversation you shared with him that night. Whenever you try to remember, it always feels like there was a part of your memory that had gone missing.

You haven’t had the slightest clue of the things you shared with him at the bar once the drinks started coming more frequently. Which is a wonder, because you are completely sure that neither of you had gotten drunk enough to experience a blackout, much less lose a memory.

At least for you, the alcohol was just enough to burn through your nerves and help build your confidence to take the lead and openly show the attraction you had for him. Even if he did end up taking back control the moment the two of you finally gave in to temptation.

Your head starts pounding, aching the more you try to remember the missing details. Meanwhile, all the questions won’t stop coming, making it harder for you to regain a peaceful mind.

Did he ever mention having a girlfriend, or at least give any hint that he was taken?

Was he wearing that ring on his finger when he was touching your skin under the dim light of his bedroom suite?

You shake your head and close your eyes again when you still remember nothing. The only thing that remains in your memory is the look you saw in his gaze that night. The pitiful look that seemed to mirror yours, making you believe that he was looking for the same thing you did that night.

An escape. A way to forget even if for a moment.

But what if that was all just another lie?

Your stomach churns. A sharp pain comes shooting through your body. It starts from your lower abdomen, causing you to almost double over.

Fuck. Now what?

Your hand instantly comes down to your stomach, pressing and rubbing gently against it until the uncomfortable ache ebbs under your touch.

Right, I’m supposed to avoid any form of stress, you remind yourself as you recall what your doctor told you the last time you went to see her. Something about getting your blood tension rising when you are stressed, and that it wouldn’t be good for both you and the baby in the long run. Closing your eyes, you try to think of happy thoughts, all while keeping your palm pressed on your stomach.

To your surprise, rubbing your palm against the barely-there baby bump on your belly isn’t just helping you to soothe the pain away, but also to calm yourself down.

With a sigh, you gently wipe your tears and look down. “I’m sorry for swearing so much, baby. I promise to stop doing it once you’ve grown big enough to start hearing things so you won’t learn any of it too soon. But fuck, this is too much.”

It feels odd to speak like this to the living being growing inside you that is barely more than a piece of flesh. Yet speaking to your growing baby seems to help ease your anxiety a little.

Better yet, it helps make you feel less alone.

“Let’s not think any bad thoughts. Let’s not assume that your Dad is an asshole, okay? Not until we get to hear the full story,” you whisper to the tiny human growing inside you. The more you speak to it, the more it seems to be helping you to find some ease of mind.

But even if it turns out that he was…

“Then I can deal with it later with my head held high,” you murmur to yourself in a soft, yet reassuring tone of voice. And you repeat it again, and again, almost as if you are chanting a spell which would be able to give you a boost of confidence.

It may not immediately change the way you look at things, yet you can feel it slowly rising within you. It feels like a ray of light, the first spark of hope that you get to feel amid all the uncertainty which surrounds you.

Soon enough, the strong urge to cry no longer overcomes you. Even your hands have stopped shaking. All that you have left is exhaustion. It rolls through your body with a vengeance, and there is nothing that you want more right now other than to curl up like a ball on your bed and sleep it off.

You raise your head to look at yourself in the mirror, and instantly a bitter laugh escapes you at what you are seeing.

Because you look like a complete mess. Your life is slowly turning into shambles, and it seems to be mocking you through your own reflection that is now staring back at you.

“Just exactly what I need,” you whisper with a sigh.

I need to be stronger, if only for the sake of this little one in me, you tell yourself as you splash cold water at your face to wash away all the mess—the drying tears, your swollen eyes, and the skin on your face which has yet to regain its normal colours.

It feels therapeutic to be washing everything off, leaving nothing more but your swollen eyes which you can explain as a part of your sickness. You may not be strong enough to take on the world, but at least now, you are prepared to face the reality that is waiting for you right outside of this door.

No matter how fucking messy it is.

Having this new revelation should be giving you a newfound credence that could push you forward. And yet there is none of that here. The only thing you are feeling now is the new bout of anxiety rolling up through your body, starting from your stomach as it churns painfully.

“Yeah, now I feel sick,” you groan as you rush to the toilet bowl, seconds away before you start dumping the small amount of food you had during dinner into waste.

It takes a bit longer than expected before you finally find the courage to step out of the bathroom.

Soft murmurs filter into the bathroom the moment you open the door. You can tell that the voices are coming from the living room, which means that the family has gathered there after dinner. It allows you to breathe a sigh of relief. At least this way you wouldn’t have to hide or make excuses if you have to bump into someone on your way to your bedroom.

Stepping out of the bathroom, you are relieved that nobody is around. Everyone should be in the living room, so you make haste, hoping to be able to escape before anyone notices.

But as you turn to the next hallway, someone is standing in your way. The light is dim, yet you can easily recognise him before you get any closer. Standing with his back leaning against the wall, he has his hands tucked into his pockets and his eyes looking absently into the distance.

As though he has been waiting for you.

Taehyung turns when he notices you coming. Before you can start to wonder what he is doing here, a smile grows on his face.

“Hey, is everything okay? Everyone was worried,” he asks you, sounding genuinely concerned.

The calm tone of his voice might be a bit deceiving if only you are not looking into his eyes. His gaze keeps wavering as he speaks, as if he is unable to look at you for too long. The same guilt you saw earlier is still present in his eyes. And you hate seeing it there.

It only tells you that he has a secret that he is keeping from you. You have no idea how to feel about it. But if it has to do with his relationship with Alia, then—

“I’m fine, it’s just—”

Your cheeks grow warm the moment you speak, feeling embarrassed at how dry your voice sounds. “It’s nothing. You heard my Mom, I’ll be better in no time.”

You have so many things to say to him. So many questions that you would like to give him. But you are too tired to do anything. Much less to talk. As much as you can convince yourself that you are ready to face anything, now is not the right time to do it.

So you keep your mouth shut and try to walk past him instead. Only that he isn’t letting you go that easily.

“You know, it really is nice to see you again, Red.”

His voice sounds so subdued that you almost miss it. You come to a halt. Your heartbeat starts picking up again. If you ever needed confirmation that the sinful night you shared with him truly happened, and that he remembered any part of it, then this is it.

His comment which instantly brings you back to that fateful night. The nickname that he used to call you then.

You close your eyes, refusing to remember the way he managed to draw out a myriad of sensations with his voice alone. You refuse to be brought back there again. Not now, when your mind isn’t clear enough to be dealing with this. Taking a deep breath, you compose yourself just enough to face him.

Only to be met with his amused smile as he looks at you.

“I was surprised to see you. I never would have thought that you could somehow be related to Alia.” He lets out a chuckle. It sounds empty and a bit bitter, mirroring exactly how you are feeling right now.

Your chest feels tight, hating the way he is saying her name. Nor do you enjoy seeing the way his gaze changes when he does it. Annoyance fills your chest that you can barely speak, while he remains in his blissful ignorance as he continues talking,

“Funny how life works, doesn’t it? I kept thinking about you after we met and wondered if we would ever see each other again. I regretted that I didn’t ask for your number before we parted ways. I didn’t even get to ask for your real name.”

The tightness in your chest grows tenfold.

You never admitted it before—not to yourself, and not even to Skye, when you first talked about him—yet there was some point between that night and the day you found out about the pregnancy that you spent your nights wondering if you would ever see him again.

If there had been one thing that you regretted about that night, it would be the decision you made to leave the next morning without asking for his real name or leaving any means of contact.

A night to escape from reality.

That was all it meant for you at the time. So when the morning came, it was time for you to return to reality. Your reality. Your real life. And you were too busy preparing yourself to face all the hurt, the bad memories, and the stressful life that had nothing to do with the desirable woman that he brought into his bed the night before to even consider exchanging contacts with him.

It didn’t matter if you were still riding the high of that night’s self-gratification and wanton pleasure through the rest of your trip. The moment everything ended, you simply moved on from it. Putting everything about that night to the back of your mind as you returned to your normal life and quickly fell back into your normal routine.

Until weeks later, when life decided to fuck you over and you ended up with a baby growing inside you, and you had no way to find or contact him to inform him about it.

“I guess it can’t be helped, given the circumstances.” Your conviction quickly melts into dread once you are reminded of the current circumstances. “It’s kinda too late now to talk about it and regret what didn’t happen, don’t you think? Seeing that you’re now dating my stepsister.”

Taehyung winces. For a brief moment, you almost believe you can see a glimpse of hurt flickering through his gaze. And for some reason, it only pisses you off.

So he doesn’t like being reminded of the fact that he is here for someone else?

“Look, about Alia. I was hoping that we could talk. Maybe when all of this is done, or maybe after the holidays we can—”

He continues talking, but you aren’t hearing anything. The questions that flooded your brain earlier come flashing back. The ringing that pained you returns. Everything lasts for a few more seconds before your mind clears out, and only one question remains.

“Were the two of you already dating when we slept together?”

He falls silent, taken aback.

“No!” he immediately says, almost shouting. But he quickly reins himself before his voice would reach where everyone is and draw their attention. “Fuck, no. Is that why you’ve been sulking all through dinner?” he asks you with a hiss. He seems offended and hurt at the same time. “I’m not that kind of guy. Trust me.”

“Sulking?” you let out an incredulous laugh. Is that how he saw it? When you were coming close to breaking apart right in front of everyone because of him?

“How am I supposed to trust you when I barely know you? How am I supposed to know that you’re telling the truth?” you snap back at him with a hiss. “Just because we fucked it doesn’t mean that I’d magically know everything about you.”

Again, he winces at your question. As if your words come to him like a slap on his face. He takes a deep breath and speaks more calmly in response, “Look, we should talk. Soon. I can explain everything. But not now, okay?”

As much as you hate to admit it, or to agree with him, you decide that he is right. There are a lot of things that you need to discuss with him, and now is not the right time to do it. Not when your emotions are all over the place and when he has his girlfriend keeping him in close sight most of the time.

“I agree. We do need to talk,” you finally agree, even though you know that both of you have different things in mind.

You have no idea what he intends to discuss with you. The only thing that matters to you is to talk about the baby that you conceived together. And hopefully, decide what will happen next.

“I should go,” you sigh, feeling exhausted and drained. “I need to lie down. This is too much for me to process.”

You try to walk around him so you can continue on your way. Your head is pounding, and you have the dire need to rest in your comfortable bed, where you would be able to feel safe and hide away from all of this.

“Wait,” Taehyung stops you before you can go too far.

“What?” you ask him, feeling exasperated—both from the stress and from the way your body still tingles each time you hear his voice. You really need to get away from him.

“Nothing, it’s just…” he starts, suddenly looking nervous with what he is about to say. The sound of laughter echoes from the living room, making him glance over his shoulder briefly before speaking to you with a lowered voice, “Can you do me a favour?”

You frown at him. “What is it?”

He looks wary, and it makes you feel uneasy in the stomach as you wait for him to speak.

But what he says next makes you feel even worse. “Please don’t tell Alia that we’ve met before, more importantly that we hooked up that night.”

You say nothing at first. Even if you are well aware of the situation and where Alia’s position in all of this, it still doesn’t stop the sharp pain you feel in your chest as he mentions her name, or to express his request.

Taehyung steps closer when you remain quiet. His voice comes as a desperate whisper when he pleads with you, “Please? Can you do this for me?”

You grit your teeth. “Fine, I won’t,” you finally say to him. But you refuse to give in that easily.

Taking a step closer to him, you point at him and demand him, “But you need to tell her.”

He clenches his jaw as he listens to your demands, but you ignore it and continue to talk. “She needs to know—” your voice nearly wavers, because you know what would happen once everything is revealed.

Telling your stepsister that you had slept with her boyfriend would not only be hard, but it would be ugly.

But it would be better than keeping it a secret for much longer. Because secrets don’t always remain hidden, no matter how hard you try to keep them in the shadows. And things would even get messier once the baby comes while she is still being kept in the dark.

It’s better to bite the bullet as soon as possible, rather than waiting and living your life in uncertainty until the day comes.

“If you don’t, and we keep this a secret much longer, things might get messier if she somehow finds out on her own. The last thing I’d ever want is to get into any drama. Not with her,” you try to convince Taehyung, despite him looking like he would rather bolt and have nothing to do with any of this.

After all the drama that happened last year, the last thing you need is to get involved in another.

“I’ll tell her myself if necessary.” There is a bite in your voice when you are telling him all of this. To his credit, Taehyung—despite looking shell-shocked and cornered—seems to respect and understand your request.

He lowers his head and nods. “Give me time. I’ll—”

You are surprised to see him looking defeated. It makes you wonder if there is something more about their relationship that you need to know before going further.

As Taehyung raises his head again, he seems more resolved. He looks straight into your eyes as he promises, “I’ll tell her myself once I get the chance to. I promise. But we’re going to have that talk first, and soon.”

“It’s a promise.” You bite back the ache that suddenly pierces through your heart, seeing how he is so adamant about protecting his relationship with your stepsister. Trying not to look too deep into it and get yourself hurt further, you avoid looking into his gaze and start walking away from him.

“Goodnight then—” you whisper to him as you turn away from him, biting back the sound of your defeat when you call his name, “Tae.”

The moment you are within the safety of your bedroom, your knees buckle. Thankfully, you still manage to close the door and lock it behind you, once again shutting yourself from everyone to give you some moment of peace.

Although it doesn’t stop him from entering your mind in the silence that follows.

As you lie down in your bed, curled up in a fetal position with your arms wrapped around yourself, your mind wanders back to the conversation you just had with Taehyung in the hallway.

You can’t help it. His words keep coming back to you, and you keep finding yourself dissecting everything he said. You close your eyes, and keep telling yourself to stop. The situation that you are dealing with right now already seems absurd enough for you to waste your energy trying to understand him.

You begin to wonder if things would have been better if you hadn’t come across each other again. Things would probably turn out differently. You may have to keep the baby’s existence a secret from him, and the truth about the father a secret from your family.

You may have to deal with everything yourself.

The possibility seems petrifying, but it still sounds a lot better than having to go against your stepsister. Better than causing your frail relationship to become even worse. This time, you know that this would be big enough to ruin any chance for you and your stepsister to have any kind of relationship at all.

He was right. It’s funny how life works. If only it doesn’t have to be this hard to laugh it off.

Stop it.

Keeping your eyes closed, you let out a deep sigh and force yourself to think about something else. Anything. As long as you are not thinking about him. His face, his voice, the scent of his cologne, everything that belongs to him.

Your head starts swimming. No, everything about him now belongs to someone else.

Once again, you force yourself to start thinking of less stressful things. Like Skye’s text message from this afternoon suggesting that you could run away with her to a secluded place somewhere in Europe so that the two of you could raise the baby together. Or the little stories that Honey shared about the cute new gardener now working at her apartment complex—the complex specifically built for elders like herself—that she wanted to introduce to you the next time you come by to visit.

You regret forgetting to pick up the smoothie that your mother made for you while you were throwing up in the bathroom, all due to Taehyung’s distraction. You wonder if having the smoothie would be able to help you feel better. Picturing the drink being left attended in the kitchen, you can picture your grandmother—the sweet little mischievous angel that she is—sneaking in a few drops of rum into the smoothie when your mother isn’t looking.

This thought makes you smile. It replaces every ugly thoughts that keep circling inside your mind and calms you down.

Your heartbeat is no longer beating like crazy. The more you fill your head with wonderful thoughts, the sooner the uneasy feeling in your stomach begins to wane.

And soon enough, you start drifting away to a restless sleep.

But just like how he invaded your home with his sudden appearance, Taehyung invades your sleep once your mind is left unguarded.

Speaking to him, albeit briefly, brings you back to that night. The moment you close your eyes, you start seeing everything from back then that you couldn’t remember in your waking hours. Even the smallest details that your conscious mind has forgotten. Everything comes crashing down on you as you toss and turn in your bed, unable to give in completely to a peaceful slumber as memories continue to flood your dreams.

Six weeks ago…

You opened your eyes and squinted.

The overhead lamp above your head was bright, and it was hurting your eyes. You could barely see a thing through your bleary eyes, until your gaze drifted further, looking into the dimly lit bedroom far across the foyer.

The room looked more spacious than yours, albeit a bit messy. The massive bed looked comfortable, and there were two lounge seats set up near the windows that looked more luxurious than the ones you had in your room.

“Your bedroom seems a lot more cozy than mine.”

The words came out of your lips with a moan. The sound seemed foreign. Barely recognisable through your hazy mind. But there was a familiar sensation slowly rising in your body that hadn’t at all come from the alcoholic drinks you were having tonight.

“Hmmm…You think so?”

A deep, sultry voice spoke as a pair of hot lips made their way down the side of your neck, tracing your skin with delicate kisses that made it even harder for you to think straight.

Shivers ran down your body. Heat rolled through your chest. And it almost seemed to you that your skin was becoming even more sensitive to the touch when even the most subtle caress of his fingers was able to light up your senses.

Right after the voice spoke to you, he suddenly switched and started kissing his way up. You blinked, and his face came into view just as he looked down at you. The beautiful face that captivated you when you first met him at the bar was presented right before your eyes.

So close. So tempting. And his eyes were so intense that you nearly lost your breath. He smiled and leaned down, capturing your lips with a kiss.

“You haven’t seen anything yet,” he murmured against your lips, drawing another moan out of you which snapped you from your daze.

You sighed as you gave in to the chaste kiss he was giving you. “It’s kind of hard to look around and see anything when you have me pinned to the door.”

He let out a soft chuckle and once again pressed his lips on yours. As if he was both pleased and amused that he got to put you in this position. When he pulled back, the look in his eyes softened.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t help myself. It’s all your fault for teasing me all the way here while I couldn’t allow myself to touch you with so many eyes paying attention,” he said without any hint of regret in his voice.

“Well, forgive me because I wasn’t aware,” you taunted him back, knowing fully well what you had done to tease him until he was on the verge of breaking apart even before you reached his hotel suite.

As much as you wanted to hold back, you were quite sure that you hadn’t gotten things wrong. You couldn’t have possibly mistaken the chemistry that kept sparking between you. And the way he kept openly staring at your body was enough to make his intention clear, as his eyes seemed more honest than the words he gave you.

But back at the bar, you had let him be the first one to make the move.

With his sturdy hands, he was the one who pulled your seat closer. By placing his arm on your backrest, it may have seemed as if he was marking his territory for anyone else at the hotel bar to see. Normally, something like this would’ve put you off. But there was something in the way he did it that made you feel otherwise, allowing you to give in and lean more into his warmth instead of pushing him away.

That was when you reciprocated his actions with your own. The light and subtle touches of your fingers on his arm drew soft shudders through his body. The accidental brushes that happened when you moved against his body pushed him into wrapping his arm around you, keeping you close before he finally pulled you out of the bar.

When you leaned close enough to whisper softly against his ear, you could feel goosebumps rising on his skin, his heartbeat escalating under your palm, and he could barely hold himself back from devouring your lips right there at the hotel lobby. Right where everyone could see you falling into pieces under your sinful desire.

By the time you were alone with him in the elevator, the tension between you just kept escalating until he finally snapped.

He nearly dragged you across the hallway leading to his bedroom suite in his rush to get you alone. The moment he pulled you in through the door, every bit of his composure simply left him. He barely gave you a chance to catch a single glance of the suite, as he immediately pushed your body against the door and kept you there.

Until this moment.

His eyes grew dark after listening to your answer. His breath is still ragged after the hot kiss that he gave you once he got you pinned between his hard body and the locked door behind you.

With his broad chest locking you in place, his hips pressing against your lower body, he left you with nowhere else to go. But this didn’t seem to be enough for him. Looking into his eyes, you could tell that he needed to see you become even more vulnerable. Almost as if he wanted to punish you for putting him on the edge.

And he did exactly that as he slipped one hand around your neck and pulled your hair, tilting your head back so that he could continue exploring the column of your throat with his sinful lips. Instead of resisting it, you simply gave in. Arching your back to him further as he trailed kisses on your skin, your hands clutching on his jacket to hold on.

He used his other hand to explore the rest of your body. Starting from your waist, he continued to move further down to your hips. Tracing every curve, every dent along your body with his firm fingers pressing through your thin dress.

Just as he was about to reach the hem of your dress, he suddenly stopped and pulled back.

“Tell me again. Are you sure this is what you want?” His voice was quiet when he asked you this. It sounded as though he was caught between convincing himself that this was happening while giving you an out for one last time before getting too deep.

But you had gone deep.

And you knew then that the moment you let everything happen, there was no going back from it. Everything about this was new to you; hooking up with a complete stranger while you were in the middle of nowhere, and knowing that once the night was over, both of you were going to move on with your lives.

It felt thrilling to think about it, and the liquid courage should help you in letting go of your inhibitions. Yet you couldn’t deny the fact that you are feeling slightly nervous about jumping fully into this.

When you failed to answer him, Tae leaned down, pressing a chaste kiss right below your ear and whispered, “Well? Talk to me. Because there is no going back from this once we begin, and I won’t let you go until you tell me what you want.”

The way his breath tickled your ear and caressed your skin broke you out of the walls you put up. Every flicker of doubt you felt immediately melted. You brushed against him, allowing him to feel every bit of heat coursing through your body before you answered with a whisper, “Yes. I’ve never been so sure in my whole life.”

You could feel the way his breath was caught as you pressed your palm on his chest. Pressing against him, you raised yourself up and nipped his chin with your teeth.

“This is what I want.”

You weren’t completely sure if you ever got to finish your sentence when all of a sudden, his lips came crashing into yours, pressing firmly as he kissed you, barely concealing his desire for more.

The kiss unleashed your own desire. You opened your mouth for him in return, allowing him to devour you, to have a taste of your demands as he thoroughly kissed you until you were left breathless in his arms.

His hand began to move again just then. Tracing down your hips, he pressed the tips of his fingers harder into your flesh. He made it seem as if your dress had melted into your skin with the heat of his touch that you felt completely exposed to him. And he didn’t stop until he finally found the exposed skin of your thigh.

Your body quivered upon contact, and you could tell that he felt it too. He began stroking your skin, moving at a slow, agonising pace just to put you on the edge.

And he easily succeeded. Already, you could barely breathe, even when he was still far from touching any part of your body that needed him the most.

Overcame with need, your body started moving on instinct. As if his touches were controlling you as you lifted your thigh for him. His grip on your thigh tightened, helping you to keep your leg up and open yourself to him while his kiss became sloppy yet gentle as he released his hold on your hair.

He moved his other hand down, brushing against your covered breast with a brief contact and continued trailing down. You felt him pressing at your hips, before pulling the hem of your dress upward until your lower region was completely exposed. His hand continued its travel as it climbed up your inner thigh. So you opened your legs to give him better access. A move which he appreciated with a deep hum, before you felt his thumb brushing up just an inch away from your throbbing core.

“Should we move this someplace else? Somewhere that would be more comfortable for us?” he asked you with his lips hovering close to yours.

It took a moment for his words to sink in. Too lost in the sensation that you were made to feel, you felt as if you were drunk and high, not from the alcohol that was no longer running wildly through your veins, but from his entire presence alone.

All thoughts faded further as his thumb grazed across the front of your panties, finding your folds through the fabric before he pressed down, enough to give pressure on your covered clit. Sparks flew through your half-lidded eyes as pleasure came rushing through you in waves. You couldn’t stop the moan slipping out of your lips, nor the way your hips rocked into his touch to feel more.

“So responsive,” he murmured against your neck before he planted a light kiss on your skin. “I would have loved to watch and enjoy every reaction that you would give me, every sound you make, while I have you lie down on my bed and fuck you senseless.”

Your breath hitched and caught in your chest. Not only because of his words, but also from the way his thumb continued to rub against your covered clit. It felt sinful, yet so delectable the way he kept drawing more and more sparks and shuddering pleasure through your body.

After being deprived of such attention for quite some time, your body became more sensitive to every friction, every treatment he was giving you, and you simply wanted more.

“Then take me there. Take me to your bed.”

As if you had flicked a switch in his brain, his expression changed. His gaze darkened as he captured your lips with unrestrained need, yet he was careful when he picked you up, pressing you against his chest when he turned and moved to take you away from the door.

You wrapped your arms and legs around him for balance, while your lips remained locked in a deep kiss. You could feel his long stride as he began carrying you across the room. His kiss and his firm hold on your bottom cheeks were enough to draw your attention away from his clumsy footsteps, but not enough to deny you from sensing the changes happening around you.

The scent of his cologne grew thicker as he went deeper into the room, and you were getting more and more lost in him. Drowned in his heat, his kiss, and the traces that he had left behind all over his bedroom, you felt him everywhere all at once that you felt like you were being put under a spell.

All so suddenly, you were pulled out of it when he broke away from the kiss. He laid you gently over the cold white sheets of his partly-made bed. Instead of joining you right away, he chose to pull back. His eyes seemed to glint in the dimly lit room as he took this moment to take you in.

“Beautiful,” he murmured softly, drawing heat back to your face.

He kept his eyes on you as he shrugged off his jacket and began peeling his shirt from his chest. Desire pulsed through your body as you watched every move he was making without ever drawing his attention away from you.

The more you watched him, the stronger the pull that you felt towards him. Once the need to touch him took over, you reached up and tugged on his pants, hoping that you could quickly shred them off of his body.

You barely grazed against his covered hard-on when he stopped you by catching your wrists. Like a disappointed teacher, he made a disapproval sound with his tongue.

“Patience, Red,” he teasingly said to you as he grabbed the hem of your dress and pulled it off of you with one swift move. You fell back to the bed with a gasp, shocked to see how easy it was for him to take over until you were left with nothing more but your lacy underthings.

The intensity you felt from his gaze made you want to wrap your arms around yourself and hide. But being half inebriated was making you slow in thoughts and movement that you couldn’t do anything but lay still. At the same time, you enjoyed the way he was looking at you, loving how he was losing himself to you the same way you did to him.

But it was the words that he said next that further brought out your wanton needs.

“Be a good girl and stay still. I want you to stay just like this,” he said with a murmur while his eyes ran down your body, “I want you to lie on your back while you are screaming out my name.”

If only you hadn’t been so lost for words, perhaps you would have challenged him in return. Instead, by the time every piece of his clothing was gone, you felt like you had melted further into the sheets. The raw passion you saw in his gaze and the way he was tracing his fingertips on your skin had locked you completely in place, leaving you with no other option but to surrender as he took control.

He bent down, his lips came down to your neck. Planting his kisses on your skin, he kept your attention away from his hands as he snapped off your bra and went down to pull your panties down your hips. As he dragged your panties down your bare legs, he continued his kisses further down, not stopping until he reached your heaving chest.

You couldn’t even remember what happened to that flimsy piece of fabric that he took from you. Everything else faded as his tongue grazed across your chest, drawing a gasp out of your lips. His firm hands returned to your hips right then, holding you down while he captured your taut nipple between his teeth.

The feeling that coursed through you was heavenly. A shooting pain came with a flare as he bit down, yet it was quickly replaced with an overwhelming feeling of pleasure when he lapped the pain away with his sinful tongue.

“Tae—”

His body quivered against yours at the sound of your voice. He pulled away with a grin, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he watched you arching your chest as if you were chasing him.

He ran his gaze down your body. Perusing you while silently admiring what he was seeing while he licked his lips. As if he was picturing the way you would taste.

“Tell me how badly you want this, Red,” he taunted you with his hand reaching out to the nightstand. You vaguely saw him grabbing a condom while you were struggling to breathe. Your eyes fell on his exposed, throbbing cock, and words simply left you.

Seeing its impressive size and girth, your entire body erupted with a pulse. It started from deep inside your core, right where you wanted to feel him the most. Astonished, you failed to remember that he was still waiting for your answer with his eyes locked on your face.

And he made you struggle further to find words when he reached down, wrapping his long fingers around his cock and started giving himself slow, lazy strokes. You could see the bead of his pre-cum glistening under the dim lighting. It took everything in you to stop yourself from leaning forward and lapping him dry. To have a taste, before you let him devour every drop of your essence.

“Red? Talk to me,” he spoke to you again with a curious tone in his voice.

He knew that he wasn’t getting any attention, as your eyes were locked only at one place that was not his face, and he seemed to be curious to know what was making you so lost in thoughts.

Instead of answering him, you continued to watch, completely transfixed by his actions, as he slowly spread his pre-cum along the length of his cock. You licked your lips, almost as if you could taste him. A barely concealed whimper slipped out of your lips when you watched him slowly roll the condom to cover himself from the tip of his cock and down to the base.

Seeing him covered with protection seemed to snap you back to the present. Even if your pulsing need still refused to tame down.

Resting back against the pillows, you dragged your eyes away from his impressive cock to his beautiful face.

“I want you here. Inside me,” you finally responded to his question. Placing your palms on the underside of your thighs, you parted your legs open, making him see the mess that had been building up right between your legs while you were enjoying the show he was giving you.

Now it was your turn to give him a show.

Reaching between your legs, you moved your fingers to find your folds. You bit back a gasp once the tips of your fingers were met with your wet arousal. It felt slick as you moved your fingers around, parting your nether lips so he could see your swollen clit, before you moved your fingers in circles, pressing at yourself the exact same way you wished he would.

“Please, fuck me, Tae. Fuck me good.”

His pupils dilated at the sound of your voice, at the pleading words you were giving him. You loved the way he was reacting to you just as much as he did with you, yet you decided to push his buttons further by adding, “And then I want to hear you scream my name while you cum inside me.”

He raised his eyebrows. “What a little brat,” he said, chuckling. “So you like to play games, hmmm?”

You bit your bottom lip, holding back a moan that was threatening to come out when your touch inadvertently pushed against the source of your heat. “Oh, I do. Games are always fun.”

While he continued stroking his cock at a lazy pace, he used the other hand to grab your neck. His palm fit perfectly as he wrapped it around the column of your throat, putting pressure that was not enough to choke you, yet enough to show you who was in control.

“Then let’s play,” he groaned while he pressed you back down on the bed. “But this time, I make the rules.”

You felt the electrifying pleasure surging through your body as he brushed your hand away and lined himself against your entrance, shutting down the circuits inside your brain for a moment and stopping you from wiggling too much beneath him just to feel more friction.

A sharp moan was drawn from your lips as Tae slammed his full length deep inside you. The sensation that you felt from being filled by his width was so feral and explosive that you were sure you immediately experienced your orgasm right then and there.

Your body must have been shaking, which was a response that you failed to notice as you had your senses filled with the steady pulse of pleasure pressing across the girth of his cock. He must have noticed it when he came to a halt, giving you a chance to process everything and adjust to his presence inside you.

Nothing made sense to you beyond the pulsing pleasure that you felt from your hot pussy. Your senses were filled with the sound of your racing heartbeat, the soothing touch of his fingers on your skin, and the whispers of his voice calling you back to him.

He only managed to bring you back to the present by pressing gentle kisses on your lips, nose, and then on the rest of your face, stopping only after he kissed your lips again to draw your attention back to him.

Your legs were quivering when you opened your eyes to see him, yet you could already tell from the way the pulses that came right where you were joined started to settle, that your body had adjusted perfectly to his size.

But it didn’t mean that you would simply take it without sharing your thoughts.

“You’re—big,” you complained with a soft moan when you felt him growing harder inside you. It didn’t stop you from rocking your hips, trying to feel more friction, while he merely chuckled at your words.

“And it’s perfect for your tight pussy.”

His words drew a gasp from you. But he didn’t pay much attention to it, as he slowly began to move. He started with a slow pace, which was torturous and agonising, forcing you to feel the delectable way his girth was brushing against your pulsing walls.

Back and forth he went, going so deep you could almost feel him pressing up your stomach before pulling out until only the tip was buried inside you. He kept moving at the same pace, until you began to feel more desperate. Even your body was shaking with the need to feel more.

“More—!” you whispered with a strangled moan, “go faster.”

Hearing this, instead of doing what you were begging him to, Tae denied your plea by doing the opposite. With a wicked grin on his face, the fucker slowed down, bringing the pleasure that had been rising back down a notch.

You opened your mouth to protest against it, and he moved his hands down your hips, stopping at your thighs where he gave you a tight grip.

“You want more?” he asked you, his voice almost seemed to grow deeper, and you could feel a tinge of danger when he spoke. The same danger you saw coming through his gaze as he slowly brought your legs up.

You expected him to stop once he got your legs up his shoulders. But he just kept going. And going. Until you were nearly folded with your legs almost pressed to your chest.

“Tae—!”

It made you feel vulnerable, with nothing but your hands to use to hold on while he had full control of your body. He was still buried inside you, and this position allowed you to feel him more. As though you had grown tighter around him and he was growing bigger. His entire length and width made you feel full, as his cock was pressing tightly against your hot walls.

“You wanted more,” he murmured as he began moving, rocking his hips slowly back and forth, going in and out of you, drawing more and more of that shuddering pleasure out of your body as he continued fucking you gently. “I’m giving you more.”

He began increasing his pace. Going faster the more he heard you moaning in pleasure. “Lift your arms, Red. Bring them up and hold the pillows.”

It took a moment for his words to register in your head. Your hands had been clutching tightly on his forearms and it was a struggle to let go. And he waited, tormenting you by keeping his pace much too slow to your liking until you followed his command.

Your hands trembled as you unlatched them from his skin. You could barely feel your fingers as you dragged your hands up, as every part of your body grew more sensitive the more you opened your entire self to him. Keeping your eyes on him, you got lost in his intense gaze.

It was then when you finally came in contact with the soft pillows above your head, and your fingers easily sank into them, latching onto them as you did when you were holding onto his arms.

“That’s it. Good girl,” he murmured gently, and you were pleasantly surprised to realise how much you loved hearing his praise. Warmth bloomed in your chest, and it easily made its way down right to your core. “Now hold on tightly and don’t let go.”

And you did just that. Holding on tightly the way he wanted you to.

Only once he gained complete control of your body, once you fully submitted to him, he finally fulfilled your wish. He held firmly on your thighs to keep them folded and open for him, and he began ramming his cock deep inside you.

He was doing it faster. Harder. Sending you high in pleasure while all you could do was take his constant pounding. The only leverage you had to hold on was the tight hold you had on the pillows and the weight of his body that was pressing you down each time he pushed deeply inside you.

The anomalous sounds coming out of both of your lips kept bouncing off the walls. Followed by the sound of flesh clashing against flesh, the slick sounds that came from right where you were joined, and the creaking sound of the bed beneath you.

He kept going, relentless in his rough thrusts and his need to push you over the edge, until you could feel the rise of your orgasm coming in waves. The wanton pleasure that was hot and intense came rising inside you, growing rapidly with his deep thrusts until you finally succumbed to it, coming into your climax with a scream.

“Tae, I’m coming,” you cried out to him as you fell over the edge, though you weren’t completely sure if the words coming out of your lips were as coherent as you thought they would have been.

The sound of your pounding heartbeat seemed to drown everything away. Except that you could still hear the sound of his breathless grunts as they grew clearer, and the strangled moan that came out of him when he shouted, “That’s it, Red. Fuck, I’m coming!”

With a sharp intake of breath, he came to his climax. You felt every pulse of his release as he came inside you, and the tremble in his chest that surged through him with his deep groan as he relished the pleasure. Even after his release, he kept moving, rocking slowly and steadily until the spasms of your orgasm slowly began to wane down.

He remained buried inside you when he gently released you from his hold. You could barely feel his lips pressing on your quivering thighs before he lowered them back on the mattress, yet his gentle fingers remained hot on your skin when he brushed up against you.

He reached up and gently pried your fingers away from the pillows before slipping his fingers between yours. The way your fingers were entwined together felt so intimate. So unlike anything that you had ever thought about what a one-night stand would entail.

Your body felt hot, and your muscles were lax, but there was a series of small spasms still going strong from deep inside you, coaxed by his incessant rocking. You should have been pushing him off of you, instead of embracing his weight as he lowered himself, covering your body with his own.

“Tae—” you whimpered against his lips as he kissed you. Holding your hands in his, he continued to rock his hips.

How he managed to remain so hard and stiff even after his climax was beyond you. He still felt thick as he moved. His cock brushed against your pulsing walls as he went in and out, awakening all sparks of pleasure that were supposed to have dwindled.

And with how sensitive your body was, it rose and peaked so quickly and you had no power to stop it.

“Too…much…” you cried between the strangled moans coming out of your lips, right before he swallowed them with another kiss.

“One more,” he groaned as he picked up his pace. “Just do it one more time for me, Red.”

You were so sensitive it was beginning to hurt, but the pleasure was also maddening that you didn’t want to stop. This time, he wasn’t holding you down so strongly, allowing you to move beneath him. So you rocked back against him, pushing up each time he was thrusting into you. It only took a couple of more strokes before the coil in your core snapped, and you were sent to another climax.

And he joined you in your release, falling into a smaller climax of his own as you clenched tightly around him.

He came with a deep groan. His whole body quaked against you before he finally fell on top of you. While you were trying to control your breath, his lips came brushing your neck, kissing you gently to help soothe down the shudders running through your body.

“Fuck…so perfect,” he sighed between his kisses, his voice came in and out through your senses, and the sparks you felt rushing through your body started waning as you were slowly drifting away into the night, with his words echoing in your dreams,

“You are perfect.”

Author’s Note 2.0 | Thank you for reading so far. Any likes, kudos, comments, and feedbacks will be appreciated. The story continues in part 2.

⟶ Jingle All the Way collab masterlist | A Christmas Fix: next chapter ⇢

#c-oupsiereads #reblog #fic: a christmas fix #misc: feedback

2K notes · View notes

kingofbodyrolls · 22 days ago

Text

Doughn’t Go Baking My Heart (m) | ksj

This Christmas season, you’re back in the kitchen, whisk in hand and determination in your heart, entering the annual holiday baking competition once again. The goal? Finally beat your long-time rival, the infuriatingly talented Kim Seokjin. But as the ovens warm and the ingredients come together, you realize it might not be just the doughs rising this year… Will the holiday spirit bring you closer, or will the heat of competition drive you further apart? 😜

→ Pairing: seokjin x reader (female) → AUs: baking!au, competition!au, christmas!au, holiday!au → Trope: enemies to lovers → Genres: fluff / smut / romcom / comedy → Rating: mature/explicit/R18 (this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Word count: 16.5k → Warnings + triggers: an insane amount of stupid and bad jokes with sexual undertones (like it borders on cringey), tension and a lot of it, sexual frustration, pettiness (briefly), jealousy (briefly), baking jokes turned sexual (I’m sorry, not sorry), unprotected sex in the form of oral (female and male receiving), missionary and very vanilla sex, kissing, tender but also a tiny bit rough (not really, lol), big dick Seokjin, nipple play, nipple sucking, breast play, creampie, multiple orgasms, mention of aftercare (but not described), other sexual encounters that aren’t described in detail, pet names (he calls her princess). → Author’s note: hiiiii!! Hello! Long time no see! I was in a Christmasy mood (written in the end of October lol), and I’ve written this cute and tension filled Christmas love story for my dear friend @allie-in-the-moon 💜 Thank you so much for always reading, commenting and loving my work so much; it means the world to me!!! 😭 So I hope that this story shows my deep gratitude for you—I hope you, and everyone else enjoys it ✨ Please don’t be afraid to let me know what you think with a comment, reblog and even an ask. I’d love to hear your thoughts, even if it’s just you spamming the keyboard or lots of emojis. There’s a lot of bad jokes and puns in this and you get bonus points if you know what song inspired this pun of a title! 😂 (also, I did not proofread this, I know there’s some mistakes, but I’m too lazy to fix them lol). → Read the spoiler? [JINtastic subreddit] → Read on AO3? [link]

With your duffel bag slung over your shoulder, you tread the frosted path from the bus stop to the towering silhouette of the grand castle—the heart of the annual Great Christmas Bake-Off. The castle looms before you, its turrets crowned with glistening snow, twinkling lights casting a soft glow in the winter twilight. For three years now, you’ve returned to this place, yet this time, the air feels different, charged with a deeper longing. You clench your hands inside your pockets, the icy wind biting through the fabric of your jacket, as if the cold itself is testing your resolve. If only this could be the year—if only you could finally claim victory, or at least break into the top three.

But as your thoughts drift toward victory, a familiar dread settles in your chest. Kim Seokjin. Your long-time rival, the thorn in your side, always there to ruin your focus with his relentless, groan-worthy jokes. Of course, he’ll be attending again, as smug as ever. A sigh escapes your lips. Can you endure four more weeks of his puns? The mere thought grates at your nerves like a dull knife. Still, you take solace in the fact that there are other contestants—ten, to be exact. Perhaps you can avoid him altogether this year, lose yourself in the company of kinder souls. The thought lifts your spirits, and before you know it, you’re humming a soft tune to the melody of a Christmas song that drifts on the edge of memory—its name lost to the blur of countless holiday seasons, but its warmth still familiar.

Footsteps crunch behind you, but you pay them no mind, your gaze fixed on the castle doors. You can only hope that this time, luck will favor you with a decent room—not like the first year, where you were stuck in a damp, windowless chamber that smelled of mold. This year, everything must be better. Especially now that the world will be watching, with the competition broadcast live on national television. You can’t help but smile, a flicker of excitement mixing with your breath in the cold air, as the castle draws closer.

This time, you tell yourself, things will be different.

The castle stands as a relic of a bygone era, its weathered stones whispering tales of the past, likely from the 1800s or older—though you’re not quite sure. Normally, this place serves as a museum, preserving its history, but every December, it transforms into something magical. As the first of the month dawns, the grand structure becomes home to the Great Christmas Bake-Off, and its ancient walls are filled with the warmth of ovens and the thrill of competition. Surrounding the castle is a scene straight out of a holiday dream: towering evergreens, their branches heavy with snow, stretch towards the sky; a silver stream winds through the rolling hills, and the fields spread wide, blanketed in pristine white. It’s a vision of Christmas perfection, and you can’t help but love it, the landscape glowing with the enchantment of winter.

At last, you make your way up the gravel-strewn path, each step crunching beneath your boots, until you reach the enormous wooden doors of the castle. They are old and heavy, carved with intricate designs, and it takes all your strength to push them open. Inside, a familiar warmth greets you. The space is draped in festive splendor—rich red and gold hues, a plush crimson carpet underfoot, and ancient paintings adorning the white walls, their gilded frames thick with history. You step up to the reception desk, where a handsome blond man stands, his name tag reading ‘Park’. His eyes, a warm hazelnut brown, twinkle with mischief as he catches your smile. “Hi, I’m here for my room key. I’m part of the competition,” you say, offering him a smile that becomes even brighter when you sense the shadow looming behind you. You know exactly who it is without turning around. Determined not to give him any attention, you focus on Park, your smile sweetening as you push aside thoughts of the man behind you.

Park’s lips curl into a grin as he hands you a key. For a brief second, your fingers brush his, and the warmth of his touch is a small comfort against the cold that lingers in your hands. “I’ve given you the best room,” he says with a playful glint in his eyes, “the perfect room for someone as lovely as you.”

Your cheeks flush despite yourself, and you chuckle softly. Oh, he’s sweet, and trouble, you think. But you feel a surge of relief—finally, you won’t be stuck in the dreaded moldy room. Behind you, a familiar scoff cuts through the air, and you roll your eyes. You don’t need to look to know who it is, and you breeze past him, a skip in your step as you make your way to your room.

Finding it easily, you unlock the door and step inside. It’s small, yes, but far more comfortable than your first year here. A single bed sits in the center of the room, draped in dark green linens that match the heavy curtains cascading down from the tall window. The pillows, a deep crimson, add a touch of festive warmth to the space. Exhausted, you drop your duffel bag to the floor and fall onto the bed with a contented sigh, your eyes slipping shut. Tomorrow, the competition begins, and you know you’ll need every ounce of rest you can get.

When you wake, your muscles ache from the journey, and your face feels puffy from sleep. Groaning softly, you gather your things and shuffle down the hallway toward the showers, your fluffy slippers barely making a sound against the cold stone floor. The warm spray of the shower jolts you awake, and by the time you’re dressed, with fresh makeup and a clear mind, you feel ready for the day ahead. With a steady heart and your baking utensils in hand, you descend the grand staircase toward the great hall, where the scent of cinnamon and sugar will soon fill the air. The competition calls, and this time, you’re determined to make your mark.

The main hall is vast, its high ceilings echoing with the murmur of anticipation. Twelve baking stations stand neatly in two rows, six on each side, gleaming under the soft glow of hidden lights. The air hums with energy as cameras are discreetly tucked in the corners, their lenses poised to capture every moment, while the judges’ table—grand and imposing—commands attention at the front. A producer, dressed in black with a headset and microphone, guides you to your station, and you carefully set your supplies on the smooth surface. The shelves beneath the counter provide just enough space to stow away your ingredients and tools, your hands moving methodically as you prepare for what’s to come.

But then, your heart sinks as you catch sight of him—Kim Seokjin. To your horror, the producers direct him to the station right next to yours. You feel a knot tighten in your stomach as he flashes you that signature smile, all too sweet and saccharine, with the familiar mischief sparkling in his crinkling brown eyes. “Fancy seeing you here,” he quips, as he ties his apron around his slender waist, his movements annoyingly graceful. “Back to get your ass kicked again?” His chuckle is low, smug, a sound that makes your blood boil beneath your skin. You clench your jaw, forcing yourself to inhale slowly. Calm. You need to stay calm to bake well, you remind yourself, even as the heat of irritation rises within you. “Yeah,” you grunt back, your voice low with restrained anger. “I plan on wiping the floor with your face.” Why, of all people, do you two have the front row benches?

Around you, the hall grows busier. Cameramen move quietly through the room, adjusting angles, capturing every nervous glance and confident grin. The judges have arrived—Yun Christina, a legend in the baking world, with her sharp eyes and warm smile, and Kim Taehyung, whose playful charm hides a discerning palate. At the side stands the commentator, Jeon Jungkook. His tall frame is hard to ignore, built like an athlete with a face so soft it seems to contradict the sleeve of tattoos he wears with pride. There’s something effortlessly captivating about him, and his smile draws as much attention as his ink.

“We’re live in 10 minutes!” a producer announces, and the familiar flutter of anxiety churns in your stomach. No matter how many times you’ve done this competition, the nerves never quite fade—especially with the weight of live television hanging over you. The thought of making a mistake, of becoming a viral meme or the subject of a Reddit thread, haunts the edges of your mind. Seokjin knows this pressure all too well—he’s practically an online legend. His Instagram is filled with stunning images of his creations, each post a curated masterpiece, and he even has a subreddit dedicated to his handsome face and corny jokes. ‘Don’t get Jinxed,’ they call it. You’ve definitely never visited the site, but the stories of his fandom are everywhere, impossible to ignore.

The judges step forward, their presence commanding immediate attention. Christina beams at the group, her hands clasped in excitement, while Taehyung grins with a gleam of mischief in his eyes. “Welcome, everyone,” he begins, his deep voice resonating through the hall. “Today, we’ll start off easy. Your challenge is to create regular buns, but with the sweet taste of Christmas in them.” His smile broadens, and he pauses dramatically. “You’ll have one and a half hours to present Christina and me with six perfect buns. Let the magic of Christmas guide you.”

Christina claps her hands together, her joy infectious. “We can’t wait to taste what you create! Ready. Set,” she says, her voice lifting the room, and then— “Bake!”

The word slices through the air, and the competition springs to life. Your heart pounds as your hands move instinctively, the ingredients becoming your allies in this battle of skill and precision. Seokjin hums beside you, the sound grating against your nerves, but you push him from your mind. There’s no time for distractions—not today. Today, you’re here to prove yourself, to create something more than just buns. You’re here to craft a masterpiece, with the essence of Christmas baked into every bite.

In a flurry of motion, you gather everything you might need at your station—the gleaming kitchen machine ready to knead the dough, bowls stacked high, the flour, sugar, and baking powder measured with care. Your mind races as you dash to the refrigerators at the back, the cool air biting your cheeks as you grab fresh yeast. Spices linger nearby, their rich aromas filling the air, and you make a swift decision—cinnamon and apples. The sweet warmth of cinnamon paired with the crisp, tart apples is a classic, a comforting blend that whispers of holiday mornings by the fire. With practiced hands, you quickly dissolve the yeast in lukewarm water, watching the delicate bubbles rise before adding it to the flour and oil. The kitchen machine hums to life, its rhythmic kneading a soothing counterpoint to the buzz of the room. Time is your greatest adversary—dough needs to rest before it can rise into perfection, and every second counts. While the machine works, you gather crisp apples, their skins glistening under the lights, and grate them roughly, the scent of fresh fruit mingling with the warm spices around you.

As you’re focused on the task at hand, Jungkook appears beside you, his presence radiating calm curiosity. “What are you making?” he asks, his voice smooth, as the camera zooms in on your hands, catching every careful movement. You glance up, giving him a soft smile, though your mind is racing. “Apple cinnamon buns,” you reply, juggling ingredients with a steady hand. His smile broadens. “A classic combo,” he says approvingly before moving to Seokjin’s station.

Your heart sinks as you hear Seokjin’s voice, his tone confident and infuriatingly charming. “I’m making pumpkin buns with cinnamon sugar on top,” he announces, and you can almost hear the smug grin in his words as he adds that he’ll be shaping them like pumpkins. Like pumpkins are even a Christmas thing? You roll your eyes, irritation bubbling as the camera lingers on him far longer than it did on you. It’s not that you’re jealous—not exactly—but it’s hard not to notice how much more attention he gets, how the spotlight seems to favor him, casting everyone else into the shadows.

Returning to your dough, you add the shredded apples to the mix, the machine whirring gently as it blends them in. When the dough is ready, you pull it from the machine, feeling the weight of it in your hands. There’s something grounding about working the dough with your fingers, shaping it, molding it—your hands know the rhythm of this dance well. You sprinkle flour across the table, working the dough slowly, savoring the texture, your hands moving in steady, practiced motions.

“Careful with that dough,” Seokjin pipes up from beside you, a playful glint in his eye. “I wouldn’t want you to get too kneady.” His pun hangs in the air, and you cringe, resisting the urge to groan as the cameraman swoops in, once again capturing his every move.

“That was so bad,” you mutter under your breath, rolling your eyes as you divide the dough into six even portions. Each piece is dusted with flour, your hands working quickly, forming the dough into perfect rounds. A glance over at Seokjin reveals that he’s somehow ahead of you—some of his buns already resting, a smirk playing on his lips as if he knows exactly how much this irks you.

He chuckles, his voice low as he works his dough with casual ease. “You should watch yourself,” he teases, “or you’ll end up spread out like this dough.”

You stifle a groan, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of a response. Instead, you grab a baking tray, your movements quick and efficient as you line it with parchment paper. Carefully, you place your apple cinnamon buns down, spacing them out before covering them with a cloth, allowing the yeast to work its magic as they rise and puff up. Your eyes dart back to Seokjin’s station, and you can’t help but notice how far ahead he still is—his bench already wiped clean, his buns resting, as if he’s been playing this game for far too long.

But you remind yourself—it’s not about speed. It’s about the buns. And yours will be nothing short of perfect.

You glance at Seokjin again, feeling the weight of his presence beside you, and rush to clean your bench with hurried hands. His voice cuts through the noise, playful and sharp, “You keep staring at me like that, and I might think you’ve forgotten what we’re actually baking here,” he says, his laugh spilling out in waves—full-bodied and obnoxious, like a windshield wiper squeaking through a storm. God, how you hate it. That laugh grates on your nerves, scraping at the last of your patience.

With your bench spotless, there’s nothing left to do but wait. You cross your arms, eyes wandering, trying to ignore the anticipation that hums in the air. Jungkook is moving through the room, his voice soft but firm as he interviews the other contestants. You tune out Seokjin’s interview, determined not to let him rattle you, focusing instead on calming your breath. When it’s your turn, you speak with a quiet passion about your love for baking—how each year you come back, driven by the dream to win, just once, to finally claim the prize that has always been just out of reach.

The minutes trickle by, and after what feels like forever, you lift the cloth to reveal your buns, risen and perfect, their golden promise waiting to be fulfilled. Seokjin pulls the cloth off his buns at the same time, his voice dripping with mischief as he grins your way. “You really know how to get a rise out of me... or is that just the yeast talking?” His laughter fills the room again, and this time, it spreads like wildfire. You hear the other contestants chuckling behind you, and your stomach tightens with frustration. So lame. The joke was painfully lame, and yet they laugh as if he’s a comedy genius. You push forward, determined not to let him get under your skin. Brushing your buns with a delicate layer of egg wash, you sprinkle chunky sugar over the tops, watching it glisten in the light. The oven waits, hot and ready, and with practiced ease, you slide your tray inside. For a moment, you linger there, sitting in front of the oven like a camper before a flickering fire, watching as the buns slowly turn golden. You know this process well, the way the dough will puff and brown in exactly eleven minutes, and you double-check the timer, feeling a quiet confidence bloom in your chest.

When the timer beeps, you pull the buns from the oven, their perfect golden sheen filling you with a rush of pride. They look beautiful, warm and inviting, just as you’d imagined. To your right, Seokjin is already plating his buns with a flourish, his hands moving with an ease that makes you grit your teeth. You rush to do the same, arranging your apple and cinnamon creations with care, each one a testament to your skill.

The competition timer rings, and the tension in the room snaps like a wire pulled too tight. One by one, the contestants are called to present their work. When Seokjin’s turn comes, you can barely contain the roll of your eyes as the judges swoon over his pumpkin-shaped buns, praising his technique, his creativity. He stands there, soaking in their compliments with a smile so smug you can almost feel it radiating across the room. He eats it all up, every word, while you silently seethe, waiting for your moment.

And then, it’s your turn. You walk to the front, presenting your apple cinnamon buns with steady hands, the weight of the moment pressing down on your shoulders. Christina and Taehyung inspect your work, and you hold your breath, but to your relief, their expressions soften into smiles. Compliments flow your way—no critique, no hesitation. They love the warmth, the balance of flavors. Satisfaction warms your chest, but you keep it inside, holding your victory close, knowing there’s still a long road ahead.

At the end of the round, a contestant is eliminated—a guy named Kwon, whose face you barely remember. Only eleven remain now. Ten more to beat.

The cameras finally stop rolling, the tension in the room easing as everyone begins to disperse. You head toward your room, eager to review your baking books, one of them authored by none other than Kim Taehyung himself. But just as you’re about to retreat into the quiet of your thoughts, you feel a hand on your arm. You turn, and there’s Seokjin, his smile sharper than before, his eyes glinting with something like challenge.

“Good luck tomorrow,” he says, his voice smooth as silk, but with an edge that sets your teeth on edge. “Just remember, there’s only room for one winner here. But...” he pauses, his tone growing sweeter than honey, “I might let you take a bite of my victory… if you ask nicely.”

You clench your fists, resisting the urge to respond with the fire burning behind your eyes. Instead, you offer him a tight-lipped smile, letting your silence speak for you. You won’t let him win—not this time. Tomorrow, the real competition begins.

A good night’s sleep can cure almost anything—but not, it seems, the stubborn ache in your back. The new room may be a small upgrade from the first year, but the bed springs creak like old bones, refusing to offer even a whisper of comfort. You sigh, stretching your stiff limbs, trying to shake off the lingering fatigue.

Yesterday’s competition left a flurry of emotions behind, but instead of retreating to your room, you spent time mingling with the other contestants, laughing, chatting, doing your best to dodge the dark-haired Seokjin whose presence you’ve come to despise. There are so many fresh faces this year, and a few familiar ones from the past—some that carry the weight of past victories. You’ve even found yourself thinking, more than once, that there should be a rule: once you win first place, you shouldn’t be allowed to enter again. Let someone else have a shot. Let you have a shot. It’s a wish that flickered through your conversations with the other women, murmured over cups of tea and shared frustrations. But rules are rules, and here you are—still in the shadow of Kim Seokjin.

But not for long.

With newfound determination swelling in your chest, you stride down the grand staircase, each step echoing your resolve. The camera crew is already in place, their lenses trained and waiting for the drama to unfold. Not today. Today you won’t be sent home. You can feel it in your bones. You glide to your station, pointedly ignoring Seokjin’s casual wave and sugary smile—he won’t distract you, not this time. You can feel his eyes on you, but you keep your focus sharp. Today, you’re here for one thing, and it’s not his attention.

The judges enter with a quiet authority that pulls everyone’s gaze. Taehyung, his eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief, claps his hands together and greets the room in that deep, melodic voice of his. “Good morning, everyone! Today’s challenge is another easy one, yeah. We’re keeping it simple—cookies.”

Cheers ripple through the room from contestants behind you, their excitement palpable. But you know better. Cookies aren’t just cookies. There’s an art to simplicity, and you can’t afford to underestimate it. As Taehyung speaks, Christina steps forward, her voice soft but full of warmth. “You’ll be making two varieties of cookies. Six of each, so twelve in total. The flavors are up to you, but they need to complement each other,” she says with a gentle smile, her eyes scanning the room, lingering on the possibilities.

Off to the side, you catch a glimpse of Jungkook—tall, tattooed, and sharp-eyed—ready to start the competition with his usual flair. Before he even has a chance to utter the word “bake,” your mind is already alive with ideas. Chocolate, orange zest, cinnamon, almonds—flavors begin to swirl together in your thoughts like sugar in a mixing bowl. Your hands itch to begin, your mind races, and your heart pounds with the thrill of creation.

This is your moment. You’ll make it count.

Before your mind has fully settled on a plan, your hands are already in motion—grabbing bowls, spoons, and flour the moment Jungkook’s voice announces the start. The familiar rhythm takes over, and you quickly turn the oven’s dial, ensuring it will be heated just in time for your dough’s transformation. Under the bench, you find a block of chocolate, its dark richness calling to you. With swift, practiced motions, you chop it into large, satisfying chunks, the knife’s steady rhythm keeping pace with your heartbeat. Chocolate chip cookies—simple, but timeless. Your grandmother’s recipe is legendary, the kind that lingers in memory, and you know it will speak for itself on the judges’ tongues.

Adding chopped almonds for texture, you blend the sticky dough, your hands moving as though by instinct. Soon, the dough is portioned out in neat mounds on parchment, each one promising gooey perfection. Into the oven they go, disappearing behind the hot glass, and already your mind is leaping ahead to the next batch. Orange zest, you decide—a bright, citrusy contrast to the chocolate, something both bold and nostalgic.

As you stir the second dough, the spoon moving lazily through the thickening batter, you catch sight of Jungkook and two cameramen gliding over to Jin’s station. You roll your eyes, already anticipating the onslaught of Reddit posts, memes, and fangirls swooning over whatever nonsense Jin is about to spout. No doubt, he’s ready to charm the cameras.

“So, Seokjin, what kind of cookies are you making? Just from the batter, they look really delicious,” Jungkook says, trying to sneak a taste from Jin’s mixing bowl like a kid caught in a cookie jar.

“I’m making candy cane cookies with vanilla, and a batch of chocolate peppermint crunch,” Seokjin replies smoothly, his voice practically dripping with the satisfaction of knowing all eyes are on him.

“Amazing! Can’t wait to taste,” Jungkook beams, while Seokjin slides his tray into the oven with a showman’s flourish. A burst of steam escapes as he shuts the door, and he turns to the cameras with that signature smirk of his. “Is it hot in here, or is it just the oven? Or maybe…” He pauses, eyebrows raised suggestively. “Maybe it’s just you?”

You scoff, even though your gaze lingers on the scene longer than it should. That was painfully predictable, but no doubt, the fangirls will swoon. You shake your head, refusing to admit you’ve ever spent a moment browsing through Jin’s subreddit—no, not you.

Jungkook, ever the charmer, saunters over to your station just as you pull the first tray of cookies from the oven. The golden-brown chocolate chip beauties rest on the tray, and the smell of warm, melted chocolate fills the air. His eyes widen in anticipation, practically salivating. He reaches for one, but you gently swat his hand away, a grin tugging at the corners of your lips. “Careful,” you warn, “they’re hot—and there’s only six.”

Jungkook pouts, his lips forming a playful smile. “They look incredible,” he admits, his gaze still fixed on the cookies as though they were treasures freshly unearthed.

Before you can respond, Seokjin’s voice cuts through the moment from your right. “Looks like your cookies aren’t the only thing heating up in here,” he quips, his deep laugh filling the room—rich, unrestrained, and annoyingly confident.

You grit your teeth, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks, unsure whether it’s from the oven’s warmth or Seokjin’s infuriating presence. His words swirl around in your mind, making your blood simmer, but you refuse to look his way. Not today. You won’t let him distract you. Not now.

Christina and Taehyung appear beside your bench like a pair of deities, their presence as magnetic as it is intimidating. Up close, Taehyung’s beauty is striking—flawless skin, eyes that seem to hold secrets, and a calm that makes your pulse race. You can feel beads of sweat gathering at your temples, heat rising not just from the oven, but from the thrill of standing before this legend. “What kind of texture are you aiming for in your cookies?” he asks, his voice rich and velvety as he watches you deftly portion the orange zest dough before sliding it into the oven.

You swallow, trying to steady your voice. “I’m going for crisp on the outside, soft and sweet in the center,” you say, cheeks warming under his intense gaze. Damn it. Get it together. You silently pray the blush on your face isn’t betraying you on national TV, even with the camera zoomed in on your every move.

A sudden, familiar laugh breaks your concentration—Seokjin. You glance over, and there he is, obnoxiously close, standing at your bench as though he owns the space. His broad shoulder nudges yours, his smirk devilish. And of course, he can’t resist. With a wink at the camera, he adds, “That’s just how I like my women.”

You blink, momentarily stunned by his audacity. Is he really doing this right now? In front of the judges, in front of Taehyung? He’s hijacking your moment, stealing the spotlight you’ve worked so hard for—and making a joke at your expense. Your blood simmers.

“Go away, you jerk,” you mutter, shoving him back towards his own station, but the damage is done. You catch Taehyung and Christina exchanging glances—subtle, but there. You let out a sigh, feeling your frustration simmer just beneath the surface. Tackling Seokjin to the floor and giving him a piece of your mind sounds so tempting, but no. You rein yourself in, forcing a smile instead.

Seokjin, ever the provocateur, throws a wink at the camera and grins. “Impressed, Y/N. Not everyone can handle this much heat. Guess I’ll have to turn it up,” he says, his voice light but layered with something more. And as if to punctuate his words, you watch him out of the corner of your eye—he’s actually turning the heat on his oven higher. What on earth is he playing at? The hall feels warmer, sweat prickling your skin as the competition wears on. Is he talking about the ovens? The tension between you? Or the way he’s managed to catch up to you despite the chaos?

The cookies are nearly done, and you wipe your brow, wishing you’d made both batches at once instead of one after the other. Jin’s smugness only deepens when you realize he’s managed to bake both varieties simultaneously, and now, somehow, he’s neck-and-neck with you. Damn him.

With the final timer ringing out, you pull your cookies from the oven—golden, perfect. You carefully plate them, arranging them with precision. The judges make their way through the line of bakers, and soon it’s your turn. Walking up to the front, your heart pounds, but the praise that follows is worth every ounce of effort. Even if they’re ‘simple’ as Christina put it, the execution is flawless. You let out a quiet breath of relief, but before you can celebrate, Jungkook swoops in and steals a cookie right from Taehyung’s hand. The whole room erupts in laughter, and for a moment, the tension breaks.

Seokjin, of course, gets his perfect feedback too. Not that you’re surprised. The two of you are safe for another day, though as the announcement rings out, your heart sinks a little—Eun, one of the kind women you chatted with yesterday, is the one sent home. As she leaves, the weight of the competition presses down on you. Eight more people stand between you and victory, and among them, the one person you refuse to lose to—Seokjin.

The next two days blur together, a whirlwind of meringues and bread dough, flour dusting every surface like snow, batter splattered across your bench. Somehow, by grace or sheer luck, you’ve managed to hold your place in the competition. Now it’s the second week, day five, and the pressure is palpable—only seven of you remain, each step closer to the edge, and everyone is fighting harder, knowing the next misstep could mean elimination.

As you descend the grand staircase, the tension in the air feels heavier than before. You’re the last to arrive, the others already poised at their stations, judges watching with eagle-eyed precision. When you reach your bench, something catches your eye—a sprig of mistletoe hangs conspicuously in the center aisle, like a trap waiting to spring. You make a mental note to steer clear of that festive lure, no time for distractions, no matter how innocent.

Christina’s voice rings out, warm and inviting. “Today, you’ll be baking pies! Crisp edges, soft centers, and a filling that sings of the season.” Her smile is comforting, but Taehyung’s nod is all business, his eyes gleaming with expectation. “The filling is your choice, sweet or savory, but it must be in line with the spirit of Christmas,” he adds, his deep voice resonating in the hall like the toll of a bell.

You nod, the vision of your pie already clear in your mind—a memory-laden apple-pear lattice pie, passed down from your grandmother. The tart bite of apples softened by the sweetness of ripe pears, all tucked beneath a delicate lattice crust dusted with sugar. Nostalgia and tradition baked into every bite. You know this pie by heart—it’s your connection to the holidays, the warmth of home wrapped in pastry.

As soon as Jungkook announces the start, your hands move with purpose. You reach for the flour, the butter, the cold water—crafting the crust that will hold your memories together. Focused, you’re already mixing the dough when Jungkook’s voice cuts through the air. “Notice anything new?” he chuckles, pointing to the mistletoe overhead, “A little extra something to trip you up—or maybe bring you some luck!”

You roll your eyes, brushing off his playful tease. You didn’t come here for kisses or games. Your eyes flick to Seokjin, who’s snickering under his breath, ever the one to play along. But you push the sound of his laughter away, focus sharpening like a knife’s edge. He won’t trip you up this time—not with jokes, not with smiles. Your hands work swiftly, shaping the dough into something beautiful, knowing that every moment counts in this relentless competition.

No matter what mischief brews beneath the mistletoe, your eyes are on the prize.

As Jungkook drifts behind you, interviewing the contestants in low, animated tones, you’re relieved for the momentary quiet, allowing you to pour your full attention into the pie crust. This is where it all begins—the delicate balance between flour, butter, and water must be perfect. The crust is the foundation, the soul of the pie. You flick on the oven, feeling the heat radiate in waves, and start toward the supply table to grab a mold. But before you make it halfway down the aisle, you slam right into a solid wall of warmth. Seokjin.

“Sorry,” you mutter, trying to collect your scattered thoughts. You sidestep to go around him, but Seokjin clears his throat, and you feel the annoyance bubble up inside you. You glance up at him, your lips tight. “What?” The word slips out sharper than you intended, but your patience is wearing thin.

He doesn’t respond at first, just raises a finger to point above your heads. You follow his gaze—mistletoe. Of course. The sight drains the color from your face. The mistletoe hangs above you like a mischievous sprite, and your heart drops into your stomach. No. Not with Seokjin.

“I’m not kissing you,” you hiss, crossing your arms defensively, feeling a wave of heat rise in your cheeks. The growing number of cameramen hovering around doesn’t help. You can practically feel their lenses zooming in, capturing every moment of your horror.

Seokjin’s smirk grows, and he shrugs nonchalantly. “It’s tradition,” he says, his tone infuriatingly playful. “Don’t you believe in tradition?” His eyebrow quirks, daring you.

Damn Seokjin and his ridiculous smirk. You grit your teeth, a storm brewing in your chest. “Fine!” you snap, voice tight with frustration. With a huff, you step up onto your tiptoes, grab his annoyingly perfect face with flour-dusted hands, and plant a quick, perfunctory kiss on his lips. A fleeting touch—just enough to meet the demands of tradition, nothing more, nothing less. But the moment your lips brush against his, something stirs inside you, unbidden and unexpected. You pull away like you’ve been burned, cheeks blazing scarlet, heart racing as if you’d sprinted a mile. The cameras catch it all, zooming in on the moment—your moment with Seokjin, under the damn mistletoe. Your mother is probably watching this unfold, and you already dread the mountain of messages awaiting you back in your room. And Seokjin’s subreddit? You can only imagine the wildfire of jealousy that’ll sweep through it.

Mortified, you dart past him, heading for the pie mold like it’s the only lifeline left. Behind you, Seokjin chuckles, completely unaffected, while you feel like the floor might as well swallow you whole.

You slam the mold down on your bench, your body still buzzing with the embarrassment of it all. In a haze of frustration, you glance over at Seokjin’s bench. The idea forms before you even register what you’re doing. With a swift motion, you turn the dial on his oven a notch higher, a small, petty act of vengeance. Maybe that’ll teach him to stop messing with you.

“If you wanted me under the mistletoe, you didn’t have to bump into me, you know,” Seokjin’s voice floats over, teasing, unbothered. Before he gets back to his station, you’re already back to yours as if nothing happened.

Your fingers move automatically, rolling out the dough with steady precision despite the flutter of irritation still coursing through you. You lay the crust in the pie tin, pressing it gently into place, trying to focus on the task at hand. As you slide it into the oven for a quick pre-bake, your gaze drifts to Seokjin. He’s melting chocolate at his bench, completely at ease, while you’re still trying to get your heart to stop racing.

What the hell is he baking? You wonder, shaking your head. But whatever it is, it better not be good enough to outshine your pie.

Taehyung and Christina make their way around the room, their presence like an elegant breeze passing through the charged atmosphere. When they reach Seokjin’s station, Taehyung flashes his signature boxy smile, curiosity gleaming in his eyes. “So, what are you baking today, Seokjin?” he asks, voice smooth as velvet.

Seokjin grins, the kind of smile that holds a touch of mischief. “I’m making a Mississippi Mud Pie,” he declares proudly, his tone thick with confidence, as if he’s already envisioning the applause.

“Interesting choice,” Taehyung remarks, his eyebrow raised ever so slightly. “I hope you manage to keep that pudding silky smooth.” His words hang in the air, a challenge wrapped in playful encouragement.

Seokjin nods with a flash of determination before turning back to his task, while you continue preparing the glaze for your apples and pears, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. Of course he’s making something as bold and obnoxious as a Mississippi Mud Pie. Always grandiose, always showy. You stifle a smirk and push forward, focused on your own pie.

With nimble fingers, you weave the lattice atop your tart, dusting it generously with chunky sugar crystals before sliding it into the oven. The warmth of baking apples and pears is already beginning to dance in the air, a comforting scent that feels like Christmas itself. You glance over just as Seokjin slides his pie into his oven, and the question tickles the back of your mind—did he even notice the temperature?

“I thought Christmas was all about giving,” Seokjin’s voice floats over, snapping you from your thoughts. “How about giving me a break and stop staring like that?” There’s a teasing edge in his tone, and for a moment, you falter. Had you been staring? Damn it. You avert your eyes quickly, but the truth is, you’re curious to see what havoc that tampered oven might wreak on his precious pie.

Time slips by, and as you clean your station, a faint smell begins to curl through the air—something acrid, something burnt. You can’t help the small, wicked smile tugging at your lips. It’s coming from his bench.

Before you can enjoy the moment, Jungkook materializes in front of Seokjin, all wide-eyed and concerned. “Uh, Seokjin... I think your oven might be burning something.”

Seokjin waves him off with the casual arrogance of someone who never second-guesses his skills. “No, no, it’s fine,” he says confidently, but Jungkook pushes further.

“Just check it, mate.”

Finally, Seokjin opens the oven door, and a thick cloud of scorching hot air bursts forth, like an accusation made of smoke. His expression falters. “Shit!” he exclaims as he rushes to pull out the pie, his face darkening with frustration. It’s burnt—not ruined entirely, but the edges are crisped more than they should be. You bite back a laugh, wishing it had turned to charcoal.

His gaze snaps toward you, sharp and piercing, like he knows exactly who’s behind this little mishap. “Well, well,” he smirks, eyes glinting. “Looks like someone’s been naughty instead of nice, messing with my oven temperature just to throw me off.”

You blink innocently, batting your eyelashes as you offer him your best impression of sincerity. “I’m so sorry,” you say, voice dripping with faux sweetness. Both of you know the truth—it’s anything but an apology—but you can’t help but find this moment deliciously funny.

Seokjin chuckles, the sound rich and unbothered as he begins to assemble the other components of his pie. “Oh, I get it now. Sabotage me, burn my pie, and then you try to sweet-talk your way out of it?” His words are playful, but there’s an undercurrent of challenge beneath his voice.

You turn back to your own creation just in time to pull your pie from the oven, golden and perfect. The scent of apples and pears wafts toward you, warm and inviting, and you feel a surge of pride. Perfect.

Seokjin isn’t done yet. “Nice try, though,” he says, not missing a beat. “Your little ‘sabotage’ just makes me want to beat you even more.” Then, with a glint in his eye and a smirk playing on his lips, he leans in slightly. “Maybe even taste what you’ve got cooking.”

Your breath catches for just a second, heart skipping a beat at the unexpected flirtation. Did he just say what you think he did?

You quickly shake it off, focusing back on your flawless pie, hoping that his burnt crust might just seal his fate. But fate isn’t that kind, and as the day’s competition ends, Seokjin survives. Someone else, with a pie more disastrous than his, is sent home. You’re both safe for another day, and as you walk back to your bench, you can’t help but feel both triumphant and a little unnerved.

This isn’t over.

It’s the third week, the seventh day, and you’re already halfway through the competition. You stand at your bench, hands clasped gently in front of you, fingertips brushing and fidgeting, a small effort to calm your jittering nerves. Why you’re nervous is beyond you—yet there it is, that flutter, pressing into your chest.

Across the room, Taehyung, Christina, and Jungkook step up to the judges’ bench, their faces alight with matching mischievous grins. An ominous spark flickers in their eyes, and you feel a knot tighten in your stomach. Whatever’s coming won’t be easy. Jungkook claps his hands together, a low, resonant sound that carries across the hall, his eyes sweeping over each of you.

“Good morning, everyone!” he greets, his voice cheerful and commanding. “I hope you’ve all rested well, because today, you’ll be making—sourdough bread!”

The words hit you like a chill down your spine. Sourdough, of all things! Your breath catches in a gasp; you’ve made sourdough before, but never with a timer breathing down your neck. The very essence of sourdough is its patience, its slow, careful fermentation.

Before the panic can take hold, Jungkook flashes a grin, his bunny teeth peeking out as he adds, “Luckily for you all, Taehyung has prepared a batch of sourdough starter so you can skip the fermentation process.”

Relief trickles through you, the tension easing in your shoulders. A starter made by the Kim Taehyung himself—a legendary boost if ever there was one.

“All you need to do is turn it into a flavorful bread of your own design,” Christina chimes in with her warm, encouraging smile.

Taehyung nods, his voice soft yet firm. “But don’t forget—this is a Christmas competition. Bring those holiday flavors to life.”

With the judges’ call to begin, you spring into action, finding the precious sourdough starter tucked neatly under your bench. As you run through flavor ideas, one combination settles in your mind—walnuts and cinnamon. Yes, you think, a spiced walnut bread sounds just right. Your hands move almost of their own accord, gathering ingredients: flour, eggs, oil, walnuts. You fire up the mixer, combining everything with precision, your gaze flickering momentarily to your right. Seokjin, just as focused, seems to be neck-and-neck with you. You quickly turn away, determined to keep your attention on your dough. Yet as you slide the mix out of the bowl and start kneading, a creeping dread begins to gnaw at you. The dough doesn’t feel right; instead of that soft, slightly sticky texture, it’s dense and tough, refusing to yield beneath your palms.

Your heart skips a beat. Damn. Something’s off. You must have slipped up somewhere with the ratios. You press on, kneading harder, trying to bring life to this obstinate mass, hoping a little coaxing will do the trick.

But then you hear a soft chuckle from beside you. Seokjin, watching with a gleam in his eye, can’t resist the jab. “I hope you’re better at making out than you are at making dough,” he quips, his tone light yet cutting. “Because, judging by that disaster, you’ll need something to make up for it.”

Your blood boils, cheeks flushed with irritation. He has no idea what kind of kiss he missed under that mistletoe, when he only got a peak. His smirk grows as he turns back to his own bread, perfectly unbothered, and you clench your teeth. If he thinks he’s seen the last of your kitchen skills, he’s in for a surprise.

Focus, you tell yourself, hands pressing into the dough with renewed intensity. If anything, his teasing will only push you to rise—just like this stubborn dough is about to.

You knead the dough with an intensity that borders on frustration, each push and twist a quiet vent for the anger bubbling beneath the surface. The dough yields under your hands as you work it harder, almost punching it into shape. Suddenly, Jungkook appears by your bench, his brows furrowed as he takes in your struggle.

“Trouble?” he asks softly, voice edged with concern. You’re too caught up, too irritated to even answer, so you only grunt in response, lifting the stubborn dough and shoving it back into the mixer. A splash of water might save it, you hope, and you watch the machine turn, willing it to obey.

Jungkook and the camera crew linger a moment longer, their lenses capturing every sigh and furrowed brow, then slowly drift down the line toward Seokjin. The camera’s absence leaves a little more space to breathe, but as you finally check the dough, your heart sinks. It’s too sticky now, clinging uncomfortably to your fingers, almost mocking your efforts. Damn it.

With no time to start over, you grab the flour, dusting it like a lifeline as you fold and press, trying to bring it back from the brink. Gradually, with each turn of the dough, it begins to take on the consistency you need. Relief washes over you as you shape it, finally, into the pan and slip it into the oven. You bend and arch your back to set it carefully on the rack, breathing out a sigh, satisfied at last.

“Damn, Y/N—if you’re trying to turn me on, you’re doing a better job than the oven right now.” Seokjin’s voice floats from your right, low and casual, but with a playful glint.

Your mouth drops open before you can stop it, caught off guard as his words settle over you. Did he really just make a sexual comment about my body—right here, on national TV? Anger mixes with embarrassment, but with the cameras still lurking, you only manage a scowl and a sharp roll of your eyes. He grins in response, clearly enjoying your reaction.

When the oven timer finally dings, you take a steadying breath and pull the bread from the heat. It’s risen beautifully, with a golden crust that promises all the flavor and fluff you’d hoped for. But the moment you start to slice into it, dread tugs at you. The knife cuts clean through with too much resistance—too easily. You pull the loaf apart, and your stomach drops. No airy holes, no soft webbing—just a dense, compact mass.

Damn it all.

Your heart sinks as you stare at the thick slice, the reality settling in.

Fuck.

You let the knife slip from your fingers, a dull clatter as it meets the tabletop, and you sink to the floor, unable to hold back the weight that’s been pressing on you all day. Tears blur your vision, slipping down your cheeks as silent sobs shake you, and you curse the cameras that have flocked to capture every moment of your breaking. You hate that they’re filming this—that you’ve sacrificed an entire December, each day on display, competing beside someone you’d rather avoid.

Just then, a gentle hand rests on your back, tracing soft, steady circles that ease the storm a little. Surprised, you look up to see Seokjin crouched beside you, his face soft with a kindness you didn’t expect.

“It’s going to be okay,” he murmurs, his gaze moving from your dismal bread to meet your tear-streaked face. “I’m sure it still tastes good. And remember—that’s what matters most.”

You blink up at him, catching his eyes for what feels like the first time. Have they always been this warm, this deep? Rich shades of caramel that seem to melt right through you, gentle but somehow grounding. Your chest tightens as something new stirs, fragile and unfamiliar, even as you brush the tears from your cheeks. He doesn’t crack a joke, doesn’t tease, just holds you there in the quiet of his presence.

Your heart hitches, and you take a deep, unsteady breath. He’s right. Taste is what matters most, you tell yourself, though you know the truth—that texture, that mouthfeel, plays an equal role. But he seems so sure, and you let that comfort settle in for a moment before he gives you a last reassuring nod and returns to his station. You rise, still shaken, hoping someone else fumbled more than you did. In the end, it’s Leah who leaves, but that close call leaves a tremor in your chest that keeps you restless long after the day ends.

Sleep evades you that night, leaving you tossing beneath the weight of everything that happened. You can’t stop replaying that disaster on national TV, the sourdough fiasco, your tears on display. Dread tightens your stomach, the idea of what Instagram or Reddit might be saying about your meltdown twisting your mind in knots. You don’t want to know what people think, how foolish you looked. And then there’s Seokjin, adding to the confusion.

You’ve been avoiding him ever since that kiss under the mistletoe, as fleeting as it was. His lips were warm, soft as clouds, and that one moment had left you breathless. And yesterday, instead of pushing you with his usual banter, he was gentle, almost... tender. It’s left your heart skipping, the memory of his face, his touch, stirring something unnamed and unsettling.

Is he just being nice, or is there something more? Don’t be ridiculous, you tell yourself. Maybe this is just his tactic, trying to throw you off your game, to make you lose your focus so he can swoop in and claim victory. But as you lie there in the dark, his kindness replays over and over, leaving you uncertain. Something’s shifting inside you, something you can’t quite grasp yet—and whatever it is, you can’t afford to acknowledge it now. Not when you still have a competition to win.

Exhausted but determined, you stand at your bench on this eighth day of the competition, avoiding even a glance in Seokjin’s direction. Just the thought of him, of how good he must look, sends your stomach into a whirl.

“Boy, have we got something special for you today!” Jungkook announces, his grin wide and electric. Taehyung chuckles, adding, “It’s team challenge day!”

Your heart sinks. You’ve dreaded this day since the start, hoping for the luck of a decent partner, as you had in past seasons. But as the names are read off, fate delivers the unexpected.

“You and Seokjin,” Christina calls, her voice carrying a mischievous note as your eyes meet Seokjin’s. There he stands, dark hair framing a face that’s far too perfect. He smiles, and your heartbeat quickens, rebelling against every ounce of sense you’re trying to hold on to.

“Do you want to know what you’ll be making today?” Christina beams.

The room’s voices echo in eager agreement—all except yours. You’re rooted to the spot, standing close enough to feel the warmth radiating from Seokjin’s shoulder, aware of every traitorous thump of your heart.

“You’ll be making gingerbread houses!” Taehyung laughs, a spark of holiday pride lighting up his face. “We can’t wait to see your creativity—and bring that warm, familiar taste of home to life.”

The start bell chimes, and you and Seokjin exchange a nod before quickly settling on your plan: simple but elegant. As he dives into mixing the dough, you turn your focus to the sugar glaze and icings, choosing Christmas colors—red, green, and white. You work side by side, silent but close, the unspoken tension filling every touch and glance. Whenever your shoulders brush, heat flares up your neck, and you can only hope the cameras don’t catch it.

Then, in a moment of calculated ease, he leans in close, his shoulder pressing against yours. “See, I don’t need mistletoe to get you right where I want you,” he murmurs, voice low and warm.

You’re not sure if he’s talking about the gingerbread or something else entirely, but your cheeks flush, and the world narrows down to the steady beat of your pulse. Words escape you, leaving you flustered, almost dizzy, as you help him press the dough into shape, trying desperately to calm the storm he’s stirring within you.

He turns his head just enough to lean closer, his breath warm against the sensitive skin of your neck, sending an electric shiver down your spine. His voice, low and edged with something you can’t quite decipher, murmurs, “I can’t tell if this tension is from the competition… or just from you being this close.”

A hard swallow catches in your throat, and suddenly the room feels far too warm. Damn him for making you lose focus like this.

You manage to cut the dough into its final shapes, sliding them into the oven to bake. As they brown, you check on the icing, spooning through the white, glossy peaks to make sure it’s the right consistency.

“What do you think of this texture?” you ask, holding the spoon high as the icing drips, thick and slow.

His gaze lingers on you for a fraction too long. “Thick and creamy, just how we like it,” he replies, a smirk pulling at his lips. A wink flashes your way, and your face flushes hot. Thick and creamy. You banish the unbidden images forming in your mind, inwardly scolding yourself to get back on track.

When the cookies finish baking, you and Seokjin move in tandem, retrieving the trays and setting the cookies on racks to cool. Golden brown and perfectly crisp, they gleam in the warm light. “They look perfect,” you say, smiling, and Seokjin nods in agreement, arranging the pieces with careful precision.

With the cooling underway, he whips up a fresh batch of icing, the new bowl of white peaks tempting you. “Mind if I taste it?” you ask, reaching toward the bowl. “Just to make sure the sugar’s balanced?”

He raises an eyebrow, offering the spoon. “Go ahead,” he murmurs, tone laced with mischief. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you if you find yourself craving more.”

The suggestion hangs heavy in the air, and your pulse races, a current of anticipation tightening your chest. You take a taste, licking the spoon, but a little too quickly; icing slips over your lip and trails down your chin.

His eyes darken as he watches. “I must say,” he says softly, his smile curling with intrigue, “you look pretty with liquid dripping down your chin.”

Your cheeks burn, and something inside you clenches unexpectedly. The heat rising within you is almost too much to bear, and for a second, all you want to do is escape his gaze, escape this overwhelming feeling—run, hide, anything. But no, you won’t back down now. Not today.

Why the fuck are you getting turned on right now?

You shove your dirty thoughts aside, convincing yourself he couldn’t have meant anything suggestive. This is the competition, after all—focus. You set to icing the cookies, carefully piping along the edges as Seokjin holds each piece of the gingerbread house steady.

“You’ve got a real talent with that icing…” he murmurs, voice thick with suggestion. He raises an eyebrow, that mischievous glint in his eyes. “Want to see how good I am at licking it off?”

Heat rushes to your cheeks, and your voice escapes in a half-choked laugh, “No!” Yet you’re left wondering—did he really mean just the cookies? Your heart races, and by now, you must be as red as a ripe apple.

Seokjin leans in, his shoulder brushing yours, eyes glinting playfully. “Better let me handle this,” he whispers, “unless… you’d rather things get a bit messy.”

The closeness is dizzying, and a startled cough escapes you just as Jungkook wanders over, asking if you’re alright. You manage a nod, praying for the day to end so you can escape this charged atmosphere, your flustered nerves, and his honey-laced teasing.

You glance up to find Seokjin’s gaze locked on you, his eyes dark and glinting. “Keep looking at me like that,” he murmurs low, “and I might just let you have a taste of my frosting.”

A jolt shivers down your spine, heat pooling in your cheeks—and elsewhere, much to your horror. You exhale shakily, fingers trembling as you finish icing the final wall of the gingerbread house, praying for the cameras to cut so you can flee.

Finally, the house stands complete, a festive masterpiece that brings a surge of pride and relief. With a quiet thank-you to the heavens that you’ve made it through the day, you’re spared elimination. The moment filming ends, you bolt from the hall, the steady beat of your heart pounding like a drum in your ears.

Reaching your room, you swing the door open, craving solitude. But just as you go to close it, a hand stops the door, and a familiar foot wedges into the gap, preventing your escape. Seokjin appears in the doorway, his presence filling the room as he nudges the door open. You turn, surprised, meeting his gaze as he scans your face, concern softening his eyes.

“Are you alright?” he asks, voice low and gentle, and you catch a hint of genuine worry.

“Y-yeah,” you manage, feeling your pulse skip. The door clicks shut behind him, sealing you both in this moment. He steps forward, his gaze drifting around your room, but you instinctively retreat until the edge of the bed presses against the backs of your legs. Caught between him and your own mounting desire, you feel strangely exhilarated, breaths uneven as anticipation rushes through you.

“You just seem…” His voice trails off as he draws nearer, his eyes tracing your features, “a bit… out of sorts.”

You swallow, trying to steady yourself, but his intuition sees right through you. “I’m… I—” You start to speak, but words falter. Say the truth, or shield it?

His eyes narrow slightly, his voice dipping into a whisper. “You’re a little… wet, aren’t you?” The question drips with suggestion, and heat floods your cheeks. Your breath catches, and he smiles knowingly—Seokjin has never been one to miss a tell.

He’s so close now, his scent, warm and intoxicating, fills your senses. His lashes flutter as he leans in, and for a breathless second, your eyes lock. Without thought, driven by the longing pounding in your chest, you reach for his face, pulling him down to meet you in a kiss that’s anything but tentative. It’s intense, melting away whatever barriers you held, a wordless confession pressed from your lips to his. You lean into him, drawn, tethered by an undeniable need.

When you finally part, his dark eyes are fixed on you, filled with astonished heat. “Princess,” he murmurs, voice husky, “do you really want this?” He searches your face, looking for any hint of hesitation.

“I do,” you whisper, your voice raw with desire, “I don’t know why… but I need you, right now.” Your own need sounds urgent in the quiet of the room, and his gaze flickers, a grin tugging at his lips as he pulls you close once more.

You pull him close, kissing him deeply, wanting nothing more than to feel him everywhere, his warmth mingling with yours. Your hands trace the lines of his body, and he lets out a soft, knowing chuckle. “Well, princess is in a rush,” he murmurs, a teasing smile playing on his lips. You can’t help but giggle—he’s always had that look, one that riles and draws you in. His beauty, so effortless, had once made him feel like a thorn in your side. His charms seemed unfair, his confidence so maddening. But now, in his arms, all of that melts away; there’s no room for anything but this want, this anticipation.

“Call me that again,” you say, breathless. “I like it.”

“Princess,” he breathes, voice low and laced with desire. Your hands glide lower, feeling him pressed against you, hard and wanting. You bite your lip as you savor his reaction, and he smirks, lifting a hand to brush your cheek, before leaning close to press a kiss on your forehead, soft and unexpectedly tender.

“Let me taste your cream,” he whispers, eyes dark with mischief and longing.

A laugh bubbles up from you. “Really, Seokjin? Is that your best line?”

He chuckles, his gaze unwavering. “I’m serious. I’ve wanted you since we set foot in this castle.”

The admission catches you off-guard, your heart skipping as you meet his gaze, feeling that familiar, disarming warmth. “Wait… Since the start of the competition?”

He shakes his head, voice dipping to a whisper. “No. Since the moment I first saw you.”

His eyes, rich with longing, hold you captive. Corny as it is, it’s so him, and there’s something so undeniably real in the way he looks at you that you’re left breathless.

“You mean it?” you murmur, still stunned, but unable to resist his pull.

He answers only by lowering you back onto the bed, his touch gentle, yet urgent, and you sink into the softness beneath, wondering if somehow, in his presence, everything feels warmer, softer, more alive.

Seokjin gazes down at you, his eyes twinkling with that familiar, infuriating smirk. “Oh, I know you’ve felt this too. The way you look at me says it all.”

Your lips curl in defiance, though your pulse betrays you, hammering under his gaze. “I looked because I thought you were ridiculous—and infuriating,” you murmur, heart skipping as he leans closer, closing the last sliver of space.

“Yet here we are, and still… you want me,” he breathes, his words brushing your lips just before they meet. His kiss is deep, a slow surrender, and you moan softly, hands curling over his broad shoulders as though anchoring him there. Your kiss is hungry, desperate, as though he might vanish, and when he pulls back, you laugh breathlessly, “Yes, alright, I want you—even if you’ve been an ass.”

He grins, all smug satisfaction. “I do have a good ass, and so do you might I add.” His gaze glints mischievously as he traces a line down your body, catching the edge of your pants and slipping them down your legs. “Let’s take a proper look, shall we?”

The fabric slides away, leaving you in a sliver of lace. He inhales sharply, admiring the delicate pink, and you can feel his gaze linger as he teases, “Pretty soaked for someone who’s supposedly annoyed with me.” His hand hovers, like he’s savoring the moment, his voice low. “What would I find, I wonder?”

Breathless, you lift your hips, letting him pull the last barrier away. His smile softens as he takes you in. “Oh, princess,” he murmurs, voice thick with appreciation, “you’re glistening. Like a rare gem.”

Heat pools in your cheeks, heart pounding at his words. No one’s ever looked at you like this, and he senses your shy retreat, gently catching your arm before you can shield your face. “Don’t hide from me now,” he whispers, pressing a warm kiss to your wrist. “It’s just you being beautiful. Let me see you.”

Then he’s there, lips trailing down the sensitive skin of your thighs, leaving a fire in their wake. You feel your body hum in anticipation, every nerve aware, waiting.

“Don’t tease me,” you murmur, fingers threading into his soft hair, tugging gently.

He looks up, a satisfied glint in his eye, the corner of his lips lifting. “Oh, but I’m going to. Because this moment, with you… I want to savor it.”

Slowly, he draws closer, his breath warm against your most sensitive skin, his gaze heavy with intention. The first ghost of his lips on your pussy sends a shiver through you, drawing out a helpless moan. Instinctively, you arch toward him, craving more, but his hands are there, steadying your hips, holding you in place with gentle strength.

Then, his mouth descends, and the first touch of his tongue on your clit sends you spiraling. He moves with a softness and rhythm that leaves you breathless, and when he begins to press his tongue in slow, unyielding circles, a molten heat spreads through you, curling your toes. Each movement feels like a practiced art, his mouth relentless as he savors you, tasting every bit of your arousal with unhurried devotion. The pressure builds inside you, your breaths quickening, pulse pounding.

Your fingers clench in his hair as you gasp, “God, I’m already so close… How are you this good?”

He says nothing, only hums in response, and the low vibration nearly sends you over the edge. He keeps working, drinking you in, savoring every quiver and moan that slips from your lips. You can feel yourself cresting, a torrent of sensation washing over you as you tighten your grip, and he knows—you’re almost there, and he’s right there with you, groaning in satisfaction as he tastes every pulse of pleasure.

The release is all-consuming, a rush that lifts you, dizzies you, blurs the edges of the world. You’re floating, flying, a haze of pure sensation that fades only when you’re utterly spent.

You meet his gaze, dazed, and whisper, “Let me taste you too.” He smiles, standing to pull down his pants and underwear, and you sit up, eyes widening as he’s revealed, long and thick, every inch of him somehow as beautiful as the rest. You slide to your knees, your palms pressing into his hips as you look up at him, your lips parting. With one hand, you wrap around him, earning a sharp hiss as you bring your mouth to him. You start with the barest of kisses at his tip, savoring the salt and warmth of him, a hum of pleasure escaping your lips. His moan deepens, and you smile, swirling your tongue over him with languid strokes, focusing on every place that draws out his breaths and soft curses.

His eyes darken, his breathing growing ragged, and you feel the tension between you deepen, pulsing in rhythm with every touch. You want to make him feel everything he just gave you, and as you lose yourself in the rhythm, you know that the night is only beginning.

He’s breathless now, each exhale a shiver against your skin as you take him deeper, letting his pleasure guide your every move. His fingers rest in your hair, gentle but firm, grounding him as he struggles to hold back a moan. His voice is rough, ragged as he stutters, “Engh—princess…so good with that tongue.”

You glance up, catching his gaze, and hold it with a mischievous spark. In that moment, you give him a slow, deep pull that has his eyes fluttering shut, a strangled groan slipping free. Encouraged, your hand finds its way to his balls, caressing, and you revel in every new sound he makes—each one sending warmth surging through you, building your own need.

But just as he seems ready to let go, he stills your movements, framing your cheeks with both hands as he catches his breath. His thumb traces your skin, his eyes darkened with desire, and he breathes, “You’re incredible, princess, but…I need to be inside you.”

He hesitates, a flash of frustration crossing his face. “I don’t have a condom—do you?”

You pull back, a glistening thread connecting you for a moment before you smile, whispering, “It’s okay. I’m on birth control, and I’m clean.” A small laugh escapes you as you add, “Besides, this wasn’t exactly on my itinerary for tonight.”

Relief softens his features, and he runs a hand through his hair, tousling it further as he laughs with you. “Same here. And I’m clean too.” Then, without another word, he gently lifts the hem of your shirt, tugging it up until it catches briefly in your hair, pulling you both into a shared, breathless laugh as it’s tossed to the floor.

For a moment, he just gazes at you, taking in every curve, every rise and fall of your breath. His hands slide behind you, unhooking your bra, and as it slips away, his gaze drinks you in. “You’re…beautiful,” he murmurs, voice soft with reverence, as though seeing you like this has stripped him of words.

You arch into him, and he cups you, his hands warm and reverent, kneading your skin with a tenderness that has your heart thudding. His fingers trace slow, teasing lines down to the soft, sensitive peaks, barely grazing them, sending delicious shivers racing through you. A moan slips past your lips, urging him on, and you feel his lips close over one, hot and soft, his tongue swirling in ways that leave you trembling. He alternates, his other hand grazing, then gently pinching, teasing out sparks of pleasure that arch through your body.

“Jin—oh god, it’s…” you gasp, but words fail as his mouth closes over your other peak, his hand tenderly attending to the first, each touch adding fuel to the fire raging between you.

He lifts his head, lips parting with a quiet sound as he whispers, “Good?”

“More than good,” you breathe, feeling yourself melt under his touch.

You teeter on the edge of bliss, so close it’s dizzying—but just as you reach for it, he pulls away. A fleeting pout crosses your face, only to be replaced by awe as he sheds his shirt, and god, he looks like a masterpiece. The warm glow of his skin, rich and golden, calls to you; the strong line of his shoulders tapering down to his narrow waist, and below that, his cock—full, hard, and yours to claim. The thought alone makes your pulse race. Every bit of him leaves you breathless, and suddenly, there’s nothing you want more than to feel all of him.

He leans over, guiding you down, covering you in gentle, feverish kisses that send giggles tumbling out between your sighs. His body presses against yours, skin to skin, his dick grazing against your thigh, and your pussy throbs in answer, sending shivers radiating out from your core.

“I want you, Jin,” you whisper, offering yourself to him, fully and freely.

“Oh, I want you too, princess,” he murmurs back, the words a caress against your collarbone as he trails his lips up to your cheek. Slowly, he guides himself to your entrance, positioning himself carefully. His voice softens, “Ready?”

You bite your lip and nod, heart pounding, as he begins to ease into you. You feel every inch as he stretches you, filling you so deeply that it borders on overwhelming. You hadn’t prepared yourself, a detail you remember only now, and for a moment, you squeeze your eyes shut. He pauses, his brow furrowing in concern.

“What’s wrong?” he asks gently, searching your face.

You chuckle, half-apologetic, “I forgot to prep. It’s…been a while, but keep going.” Despite his hesitation, you nod reassuringly, opening yourself to him fully. He holds your gaze for a heartbeat, and with a final glance for confirmation, he presses deeper, sliding into you with a controlled tenderness. The ache as he stretches you only heightens the pleasure, a sensation that grounds you in the here and now, and you find yourself craving even more, wanting him to lose himself with you.

“You’re so tight,” he rasps, still pressing in, his breathing labored.

A shaky laugh escapes you. “I did say it’s been a while. You’re so big—I think you’re almost splitting me in two.”

A chuckle slips from his lips as he strains to control himself, stilling inside you. “Oh? Now you’re joking?” he asks, amusement lighting his eyes.

“Maybe a little,” you whisper, breathless, “but it does feel incredible.”

Finally, he’s fully seated within you, filling you completely. He takes a moment, his breathing uneven as he absorbs the sensation, and then he begins to move, a slow, intoxicating rhythm that has you clutching at his shoulders. Each glide ignites sparks that streak down your spine, stars already dancing before your eyes. Your toes curl, and that familiar knot tightens low in your stomach, winding tighter with every thrust, unraveling your senses until you’re completely, blissfully lost in him.

His whispered, “Fuck,” is thick with pleasure, a low groan as beads of sweat glisten on his forehead, catching the dim light. He hovers over you, breath warm against your skin, hands planted firmly on either side of your head, grounding you in his intensity. He moves slowly at first, each thrust deliberate, unhurried, yet powerful, the rhythm coaxing cries of pleasure from deep within you as his body presses into yours.

“Seokjin,” you pant, voice trembling, each syllable tangled with need.

“Princess,” he echoes, a rough murmur that makes your body pulse in response, clenching around him. He falters, groaning at the sensation, and his eyes darken as he slides his hand beneath your thigh, lifting it to rest over his shoulder. The change is immediate; he fills you even deeper, his movements reaching an intensity that makes every nerve sing. The new angle has you gasping, clinging to him as he strikes that perfect spot, driving you toward the edge with relentless precision.

“Right there!” you cry, vision spotting, as he picks up the pace, his breaths sharp and stuttering. Your whole body is alight, toes curling, heart pounding, the pleasure mounting too quickly to contain. He grins as he watches your desperation, his hand dipping between you to find your swollen clit, fingers circling and pressing, amplifying every sensation. You’re drenched, his fingers slipping over you easily, driving you higher as your breath hitches, your body shuddering, head thrown back as the climax crashes over you. His name escapes your lips, a cry filled with release, as you feel yourself clench tight around him.

You open your eyes to his face, gorgeous and utterly captivated, his gaze locked onto you, stunned and transfixed. “You…damn, that was beautiful,” he rasps, still circling your sensitive flesh as your body trembles in the aftermath. His own body tightens, breaths quickening, and he leans closer, groaning your name as he thrusts deep, finding his own release. A final shudder ripples through him, and he lets out a sound of your name you’ll remember, deep and raw, filling you with warmth.

As he pulls back, breath heavy, he reaches to sweep a damp hand through his hair. “That…that was amazing,” he murmurs, grinning, his face flushed and bright.

You can’t help but smile back, a quiet chuckle escaping, “I agree.”

“Let me get you cleaned up,” he whispers, tenderly withdrawing as he reaches for a cloth, gentle as his hands linger. You lie there, chest heaving, slowly returning from the edge, the two of you savoring the haze of satisfaction between you. You’d just shared something unforgettable with Seokjin, the man you once called an enemy—but now, that feels like another lifetime away.

Morning’s first light glows softly against the frost-covered castle walls as you step outside with a steaming cup of tea, hoping the chill might clear your mind. The steam from your cup swirls like a small, fleeting cloud in the crisp winter air, mingling with your breath as you stroll along the snow-dusted path. Massive evergreens stand cloaked in fresh powder, their branches heavy with snow, while the castle behind you sparkles with delicate strands of Christmas lights that flicker with a nostalgic warmth. The decor, the quiet beauty—it all fills the air with a festive, dreamy charm.

You wrap your hands tighter around the cup, its warmth spreading into your palms as your thoughts drift back to last night. Seokjin had come to your room, and the memories of the intensity between you still linger, bringing a flush to your cheeks. You can’t help the way your stomach flutters when you remember his touch, the way he melted through every wall you’d built around yourself. There’s no denying it anymore—you like him. Maybe you always have. Maybe all that tension you held against him was just your heart speaking the only way it knew how, because acknowledging these feelings felt too risky. But now it feels even messier. What are you supposed to do with this, with him, here, in the midst of a competition where every moment counts?

Lost in thought, you don’t even hear footsteps approaching until a familiar voice murmurs behind you, “Having regrets?”

You turn, surprised, and meet Seokjin’s steady gaze. He’s watching you intently, something unreadable in his expression, but the glint in his eyes makes your heart skip. Regrets? Not a chance. “No… Never,” you say honestly, the answer flowing out of you without a second thought. The surprise in his face softens, and he steps closer, his brow furrowing as he studies you.

“Then what’s on your mind?” he asks, voice low as if he’s afraid to break the quiet between you.

You hesitate, blowing gently on your tea as you gather your words. “I… like you. I like you a lot. But I don’t know what that means here, now, while we’re both still in this competition. I just don’t want to mess things up.”

Seokjin nods, a small, understanding smile spreading across his lips. “Well, I like you too,” he says simply, and his sincerity warms you even more than the tea in your hands. “We don’t have to make it complicated. Why don’t we just take things as they come? Let’s be in this moment, here together, and not let it get in the way of anything.”

You consider his words and feel a sense of ease settle over you. His simplicity, his kindness—they’re exactly what you need. “That sounds perfect,” you whisper, heart lightening.

He grins, reaching forward to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I’m glad,” he murmurs, and the moment feels as close to magical as the glittering snow around you.

For a while, you simply stand there together, absorbing the quiet. When he finally speaks, his voice is soft but determined. “I’d better go in and get ready for the semi-finals. Coming?”

You nod, catching one last look at the snowy landscape before following him, feeling strangely certain that whatever happens, this memory, this moment with him, is yours to keep.

Inside the grand, echoing hall, the atmosphere thrums with anticipation—third week and it’s the semi-finals, and only four contestants remain. It’s another sourdough challenge, and the thought knots your stomach; but this time, you feel armed with everything you’ve learned, determined to redeem yourself from the last round’s missteps. You’ve reviewed every ratio, every technique, certain you won’t make the same mistakes twice.

Across the room, Seokjin catches your eye, flashing a small wink your way that sends warmth rushing to your cheeks. You look down quickly, hoping the cameras miss your blush. You can already imagine the uproar if anyone notices the subtle shifts between you and Seokjin. His fans would be livid, and part of you shivers at the thought. But another part is thrilled—glowing, even—that his glance lingers on you alone.

Taehyung’s voice cuts through the quiet as he announces the start. You reach for your premade starter, blending it with flour, water, salt, and crushed walnuts. A familiar recipe—but this time, perfected. As the machine kneads, you steal a glance at Seokjin, working at his own station. He looks over and smirks, nodding to the dough in your hands. “If you keep kneading it like that,” he murmurs with a glint of amusement, “I might have to admit I’m a little jealous of it.”

Your cheeks flush deeper, and you stifle a laugh, hoping the cameraman didn’t catch the exchange. You’ll knead him later, if he’s lucky. The thought amuses you, and you bury your smile, adjusting your focus as you work the dough in your hands until it reaches that perfect, silken elasticity.

Moving through the contestants, Jungkook stops by Seokjin. “That’s a beautiful dough,” he says, nodding approvingly.

Seokjin grins, a mischievous spark in his eye. “Thanks. I know this is a baking competition, but you can stop flouring me with compliments every time.”

Jungkook’s laugh echoes through the hall, and the room feels warmer somehow, each exchange brimming with camaraderie and friendly rivalry. You cover your dough to let it rest, feeling a swell of satisfaction as the texture is just right. Wiping down your station, you shift your focus to the next challenge—cupcakes, of course, because the semi-finals wouldn’t be complete without multiple recipes in one day.

You dive into the batter, drawing on the festive mood with a blend of cinnamon and shredded carrot for a Christmas touch, and creamy frosting chilled in the fridge, each detail meticulously planned. Into the oven go the cupcake molds, filling the hall with a warm, spiced aroma, blending with the yeasty scent of sourdough proofing.

Across the bench, Seokjin is working with a similar quickness, his gaze drifting to you with a gentle intensity that you can’t help but return. As you work side by side, sharing the small glances that carry more meaning than words, you feel a strange harmony, both within yourself and with him. You’re in the competition—but in these moments, everything feels like a rhythm, an unspoken bond both fierce and gentle, pushing you toward something extraordinary.

In goes the frosting to chill, waiting patiently in its piping bag, and now it’s back to the sourdough. You uncover the dough, marveling at its perfect rise, feeling a surge of confidence and—well, maybe a touch of mischief. Glancing over at Seokjin, you call out, voice low and playful, “You know, the only thing that should be rising faster than this dough is the tension between us.”

He lets out a deep, warm laugh, a sound that wraps around you and settles deep in your stomach, stirring something close to admiration—maybe even more. “Touché, Y/N!” he grins, pulling the cloth from his own dough with a wink. “Though, this dough isn’t the only thing that’s rising around here…” His words hang in the air as your mouth falls open. You give him a quick look, half-worried he’s serious, but you don’t find him popping a boner and instead find him grinning, reveling in his joke. The mischievous glint in his eye is impossible to resist, and you can’t help but laugh, enjoying the banter you two have woven between the flour and dough.

Focused, you place your dough on a baking tray, score a precise line along the length with a sharp knife, dust it lightly with flour, and slide it into the oven alongside your baking cupcakes. You’re quick to pull them out once they’re golden and perfect, setting them on a rack to cool as time dwindles. The kitchen hums with activity, everyone moving at a near-frantic pace, yet somehow you feel steady with Seokjin beside you. You glance at the clock—just fifteen minutes remain. The bread has to finish, and the cupcakes still need their frosting. Seokjin catches your anxious glance and gives you a reassuring smile, dashing to the fridge for his frosting. His calm steadiness eases the pulse of worry in your chest, and you follow suit, gathering your frosting bag and applying smooth, swirled peaks to each cupcake, finishing them with a sprinkle of walnuts.

As you pull your sourdough from the oven, the loaf is everything you hoped for—golden, hearty, the cut expanding beautifully along its edge. With a sense of quiet pride, you plate everything just in time, arranging the warm, rustic loaf and delicately frosted cupcakes into a small but satisfying spread. Relief washes over you when the round ends without either you or Seokjin being eliminated—though the victory feels bittersweet as Kevin packs up his station.

Exhausted but exhilarated, you and Seokjin retreat to your room to unwind, sharing stories and laughter until words give way to the kind of silence only the two of you can understand. And as the evening stretches on, he leaves you breathless in new ways, your bond deepening with every heartbeat shared between laughter and tantalizing touch.

With each passing day since the competition began winding down, you and Seokjin have become tangled in each other’s warmth, his presence as comforting as the scent of baked bread. But today—today is the final. Just the two of you remain, locked in a dance of rivalry and something deeper, unspoken. It’s week four, and the pressure sits heavy in your chest. You’re here to win, driven as ever—but some part of you almost wants him to take the victory, too. How strange, this tug of ambition and affection, both pushing you forward and grounding you at once.

The vast hall feels somehow larger with only two stations now, each of you taking your place under the blinding lights. Cameras linger, catching every nervous inhale, every flicker of emotion, and you steel yourself as Christina addresses you, her eyes twinkling with excitement. “Today is the finale, and we can’t wait to see what you’ll make. We’re asking you to prepare three distinct Christmas desserts.”

Your heart skips a beat. This isn’t just any bake—it’s a final act, a moment to define the entire journey. Taehyung steps forward with his trademark grin, “You’ll be baking the same desserts, so we can judge them side by side. They are: a chocolate raspberry roulade, a traditional Christmas pudding trifle, and finally, profiteroles.”

Profiteroles. You feel a pang of dread—choux pastry, your nemesis. But there’s no time to overthink it. You exhale deeply, eyes darting to Seokjin, who meets your gaze with a soft, reassuring smile, and you offer one back, letting that silent exchange ground you. Whoever wins, it won’t be for lack of trying.

“Bake!” Taehyung shouts, clapping his hands, and the clock starts ticking. You dive in, gathering ingredients, organizing every move in your mind like a well-choreographed routine. Pudding layers, roulade filling—everything goes into the fridge and blast chiller to set, and you work swiftly, feeling beads of sweat prickling on your brow. Seokjin keeps pace beside you, and you can’t help but catch the gentle gleam of his focus. As you fumble with a pat of stubborn butter, Seokjin’s voice lilts beside you, “You think you’re so tough, but I bet you’d melt faster than butter in my kitchen.” His teasing catches you off guard, and you laugh, cheeks flushed, just as a cameraman swoops in to capture the moment.

Then, a murmur fills the hall—a door opens, and suddenly a chorus of voices drifts through. You pause, glancing up, and your heart stumbles as you see them: your mother, sister, nieces, and nephews, all holding balloons, flags and waving, their faces beaming. Behind them, an older couple you recognize from photos as Seokjin’s parents stand with pride lighting up their faces. More familiar faces follow—the eliminated contestants, cheering, their hands clapping, adding an electric energy to the air.

The crowd reminds you of what brought you here and what’s at stake, and it fills you with a quiet determination. It’s down to the two of you, and you intend to give it everything, heart and soul, even if it’s the final push in more ways than one.

“Welcome, everyone!” Jungkook calls out, his voice brimming with excitement. “We’ve prepared seating just over here, so you can sit, relax, and enjoy watching the grand finale.”

Your heart pounds as the realization settles in—you’d forgotten about this moment, the pressure of having every pair of eyes on you in the throes of your work. You’ve never reached the finale before, and the weight of the audience—family, friends, past contestants—is suddenly heavy, a slight quiver of doubt creeping into your hands. But before you can spiral, Seokjin darts over to your bench, leaning close enough for his warmth to steady you. “Take it easy,” he murmurs, his voice a balm to your nerves. “You’re doing great. But who would’ve thought baking with you could feel this... intense? Not that I’m complaining—I’ve always liked a challenge.” He throws you a wink before returning to his station, leaving you with a small, fluttering smile. Seokjin’s usual banter never fails to ground you, even if he’s technically still the competition, both of you eyeing that coveted trophy and the hundred-thousand-dollar prize. A part of you can’t help but think, though, that he’s won enough already—why should he get this one too?

Returning to your tasks, you finish mixing the batter and pour it onto a tray, sliding it into the oven just as the judges approach, their expressions curious and bright. “How’s it going, Y/N?” Taehyung asks, his familiar warmth and calm demeanor making you smile despite your nerves. “Pretty good,” you answer, focusing on the profiteroles. “I just need to pipe the choux and bake it, and then it’s on to assembly. Just hoping to finally beat Seokjin for once,” you add with a sheepish laugh. It’s no secret—he’s always been the one to catch, and your admiration, even begrudging, is genuine.

“Think I’m playing hard to get, do you?” Seokjin’s voice calls out from his station, his tone teasing, playful, earning a burst of laughter from the audience. “Princess, I’m just giving you a taste of what’s coming.” At the word ‘princess,’ your breath hitches, a warm flush creeping over your cheeks. You chance a look toward him, and his eyes meet yours, a mischievous glint dancing in them. Thankfully, no one else seems to catch the slip, and you focus back on your profiteroles, steadying your hands and your thoughts.

As you start piping the choux, you toss a look back his way. “Well, Seokjin, I’ll have you know I’ve got a secret ingredient in my roulade this time—I’m feeling pretty good about taking first place.”

He chuckles, your exchange laced with that familiar, easy banter you’ve shared a thousand times, though now it simmers with something deeper, something unspoken. “Oh, a secret ingredient, huh? Cute,” he replies, amusement thick in his voice. “But I already know your weakness, princess…,” he pauses for effect, the words rich with mischief as he slides his profiteroles into the oven. “Me.”

The words strike a chord you weren’t prepared for, and your hands still, feeling exposed as his eyes flicker with a knowing gleam. He’s right—damn it, he’s right. He is your weakness, more than you’re ready to admit.

“For someone who talks a big game, you sure seem distracted by me,” he laughs, returning to his work. The sound pulls you back to reality, and you move to your next step, hoping the blush has faded enough to go unnoticed. Glancing toward the crowd, you catch sight of your mom’s watchful eyes, and you can only pray that neither she nor the cameras caught the moment.

You slide the roulade from the oven, transferring it to cool on a fresh tray, each step a carefully orchestrated dance of urgency and precision. Raspberries glisten in their bowl, their color vivid against the creamy filling you grab from the fridge, and you can’t help but smile—chocolate and raspberry, a classic match. I hope it’s perfect, you think as you roll the delicate sponge, sealing it with care before tucking it away in the fridge.

The hours slip by in fragments, your family’s cheers a soft echo at the edges of your concentration. Nearly everything is done: the roulade chilled, the profiteroles cooling on the tray, the trifle assembly is next with a bit of hope and a dash of doubt. You’re so close. You portion the trifle into gleaming glasses, slipping them into the fridge, then temper the final swirl of chocolate for your profiteroles, adding a whisper of orange zest for flair. Each element comes together like pieces in a puzzle, one you hope will capture the hearts of the judges.

Finally, you and Seokjin finish almost in sync, both of your creations plated to perfection. The judges, standing at their table with anticipation, gesture for you to present your roulade first, then Seokjin’s. Side by side, your roulades look like echoes of each other—his, perhaps a bit more precise, but the judges praise the flavors of yours, and you breathe a little easier. When it comes time to present the trifles, nerves flutter in your chest. Pudding has always been your challenge, and it shows. Taehyung’s gentle apology about its grainy texture confirms what you feared, and you nod, feeling the sting despite the kindness in his voice. It’s not over yet, though. The final moment comes down to the profiteroles. Watching the judges savor each bite, their expressions inscrutable, feels like holding your breath underwater. Did you get the texture just right? Are the flavors enough? You can’t tell if they favor yours or Seokjin’s, but the judges step back to confer, and the wait stretches on. Seokjin catches your eye, and the slight squeeze of his hand around yours is like a wordless reminder: Whatever happens, you made it this far. The audience hushes as the judges return, smiles lighting their faces.

“Seokjin is the winner,” they announce, and the room erupts in cheers, the joy swelling around you even as your heart sinks. You give a soft smile, watching as his family rushes to his side, while yours gathers around you, their hugs and warmth softening the ache of coming so close.

Taehyung clears his throat, addressing the crowd. “Honestly, Y/N, it was such small details that set you apart—mostly the pudding texture and the choux consistency.” You nod, grateful for the explanation even as disappointment lingers, a reminder of how hard you tried to make this win your own.

As your mom wraps you in a warm embrace, she whispers, “It’s alright—second place is still something to be proud of,” her voice gentle but consoling. You can’t help the small eye roll, even as you know her heart’s in the right place.

Suddenly, there’s a familiar arm around your waist, steady and reassuring. Seokjin pulls you close, leaning his head onto your shoulder before pressing a tender kiss to your neck. “How are you feeling, princess?” he murmurs, voice low and meant just for you.

But the entire room seems to freeze. Conversations fade, and a hush spreads as everyone looks on, your mom’s jaw slack in surprise, cameras hovering so close they might capture the racing pulse at your throat.

You let out a breath, half-laughing as you shrug. “Honestly… a bit deflated,” you admit, feeling his warmth steadying you, “but I’ll survive.” You lean into his embrace, letting it soften the lingering ache of the moment.

Then he turns you toward him, his gaze intent, before he kisses you—fully, deeply, with a confidence that leaves you breathless. A soft sigh escapes, and you can hear whispers ripple through the room, a wave of disbelief from everyone watching. They had no idea that this quiet affection had been growing in secret all this time.

Seokjin pulls back, his eyes shining as he holds your gaze. “It’s okay. You can beat me next year,” he teases, a hint of laughter in his voice.

You pout, rolling your eyes with playful sass. “Oh, I plan on beating your ass next year,” you reply, certain and unflinching.

He chuckles, leaning down to kiss you again. “I wouldn’t mind that,” he murmurs, his words a soft thrill against your lips. Then he pulls back, a sudden tenderness in his expression. “But… there’s something I want to ask you first.”

Curious, you tilt your head, waiting. “How would you feel about going on a date with me and spending Christmas together? Maybe somewhere special—a resort in the mountains, all-inclusive?” His words tumble out, eager, a little nervous.

“Trying to buy my love, are you?” you tease, grinning as you hear your sister muttering behind you, “Go! It’s all-inclusive!”

Seokjin stammers, his eyes widening in flustered surprise. “What? No, princess, I just—”

You press your hands against his chest, silencing him with a soft smile. “I’m joking. Yes, I’d love to. To date you, officially. And spend Christmas with you. I like you. Might even love you a little,” you add, pinching your fingers close to show just a little, even though you know it’s more than that.

The smile that lights up his face is nothing short of radiant. His arms tighten around your waist, and he lifts you, spinning you in an impromptu waltz that has you laughing breathlessly as he plants a quick kiss on your forehead. “This is going to be the best Christmas ever,” he says, his voice low and thrilled against your ear, his warmth filling you from head to toe. You hum in agreement, already lost in the certainty of it.

Seokjin may have claimed the trophy, but with him by your side, you know you’ve won something even better. And as the room erupts in applause, you realize this Christmas will be the start of something unforgettable.

→ Taglist: @back2bluesidex @yoontaethings @ktownshizzle @closer-to-jungkook @tea4sykes @myspi2010 @luaxjin @dazzlingjade @lachimolalajeon @agustverse @mrs-ksj @nora12379 @joonsmagicshop @ajoonniice

→ Permanent taglist: @nora12379 @jeonsbabygirlsworld @fancypeacepersona @ktownshizzle @pjmxxjm @ajoonniice

→ Author’s endnote: what did you think??? Please let me know. This one was so fun to write and I laughed multiple times. I hope you had fun reading too 🥰

383 notes · View notes

benkeibear · 7 days ago

Text

Okay okay okay eevee, this will be a novel of reblog and i apologize but I'll yap as i read because this means the world to me and I love you endlessly. Thank you so so so much 😭😭

*cracks knuckles and wipes tears*

No because why can I see Toji sitting at my table like that and *looks up my super high ceilings* yup. Checks out with the huge Christmas tree 😭

Throwing a Christmas cookie at his head as we speak

But he does have a point with his dislike for Christmas- those ARE the worst parts of it 🥹

"He’s afraid to put a name to the fact that you’re the first person in a long while that has him looking forward to calling this place you share with him, home." WHY DO I SEE HIM AS THE LITWRAL GRINCH HERE HELP

I had to take a break here to snort my nose and wipe some more tears bc I couldn't read anymore of my gods this is so soft and sweet my heart🥹

“Naw, my ass is a bit sore after last night, so I can’t do any heavy lifting.” NoT THE REFERENCE I AM SCREAMINGGGGG PLEASE 😂😭 I'll can do it again, Toji. Pain cancels out pain or something like that.........

Eevee you crack me up one line after the other 😭 my heart is so soggy soft from domestic Toji and you hit me with this piece of gold: "He just hopes it isn’t the Santa-themed shower curtains. Who the fuck needs Santa Claus staring at their junk when they’re trying to take a piss?" I almost spat out my tea

No but if I hear someone on my roof and Toji is already out of bed you best believe I go out with my tiny pink fruit knife as protection (aka I cheer on Toji to whoop that persons ass so hard)

But my teddy bear put the Christmas lights uP DID YOU JUST HEAR MY HEART BURST??? Germany reports a heavy case of flooding as we speak, a girl named luma wouldn't stop crying and flooded the entire village she lives in...

Oh my gods okay I'm taking another sniffle break here. He is so perfect. So soft and domestic. ugh ugh ugh

Okay the tears are dried for now and I hopped into your dms to thank you there too lol

The way he TRIES to put his feelings into words like yes please my sweet Toji bear, just call it by its name it's L - O - V - E LOOOOOOOVE LOVE AMORE LIEBE 愛 AGÁPI LIEFDE WHATEVER LANGUAGE ELSE YOU WANT ME TO PUT IT TO GET IT IN YOUR THICK HEAD >:((

(I actually melted at how he's trying despite not being too good. But actions > words anyways)

NOT THE SLAP ON THE ASS THAT IS TRUE TOJI FASHION. 10/10 he can't stop doing it.

“You know, skin-to-skin contact is the fastest way to warm someone up. Let me put some color back into those cheeks, baby.” This is the most Toji thing ever I CAN NOT😭😭😭

And I also can not say no to him soooo....

I stand corrected. This is the most Toji thing to say☠️ “I think I deserve a reward for my efforts, don’t you?”

OH OWLRIGHTY WE GETTING SEXY HERE 🫣🫣

I'm actually melting into my couch from the kissing alone. His kisses are all consuming indeed

"You, desiring his attention, spread yourself willingly to him" DONT CALL ME OUT LIKE THAT OH MY /lh

I am his good girl indeed oh me oh my I am BLUSHING SO HARD AND BITING MY PILLOW

At this point I'm giving up with the yapping I'm too busy trying not to die or flood my village with something other than my tears... but the way his tongue ugH you know??????

TOJI BEAR OH MY YOU SAID IT!!!! I AM SCREAMING CRYING SOBBING😭😭 it feels so special seeing that silly nickname in there

The way I gasped when he- oh me oh MY I AM GETTING SHY OVER HERE

I stand corrected once again. THIS is the most Toji thing he could ever say “Getting all emotional and soft with you while still fucking you like a whore. Merry Christmas, right baby?” 😭😭

The way he gets all soggy soft after again 🥺🥺🥺 oh baby bear I knowww

He is such a needy, desperate man it's ugh. I love him so dearly you have no idea :((

This is officially part of my selfship lore with him now 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

Whew. A soggy ride in many ways but it is literally perfect. Thank you so much again you have no idea how much this means to me 🥹🫶 you own my heart

Loving You is My Tradition - NSFW (Fem!Reader x Toji Fushiguro)

AN: A Christmas-Themed Fic for @benkeibear as part of @pixelcafe-network's Secret Santa event! Merry Christmas, Luma! Surprise! I’m your annoying Secret Santa. Thanks for playing along with me while I kept slinking into your ask box. Also, fun fact: this is the longest thing I’ve ever posted on this hellsite. Growth.

Synopsis: In which your boyfriend, Toji, shows you that he can get into the holiday spirit, too!

CW: Fem!Reader x Toji Fushiguro. Established relationship. Christmas-centered. Soft/Introspective Toji. Brief mention of fucking him with a strap, Ass smacking, dirty talk, kissing, thigh riding, cunnilingus, dominant Toji, sub/dom reader, a lil biting, hair pulling, a handjob, use of the word whore but lovingly, reader is called baby girl, baby, pretty girl, and good girl. Minors Do Not Interact. || Word Count: 3.9K

Banner by me. Divider by @saradika-graphics

“You’re stressin’ me out, babe,” Toji calls out as his thumb flicks mindlessly across his phone's glossy–but still cracked–screen.

Your eyes flick over to him, observing that he looks anything but stressed—loose grey sweatpants hugging his narrow waist, black muscle tee clinging to the swell of his pecs, and legs kicked up on your table as though that’s where all civilized people park their feet.

“The only thing “stressful” about the holidays, Toji, is your lack of Christmas cheer,” you announce as you move a side table out of the way, making room for the 8-foot Christmas tree you plan on purchasing.

Toji’s eyes narrow as you call him out for being a stereotypical Grinch. But you’re not wrong, he actually hates Christmas: the roads are too crowded, lines are too long at his favorite stores and restaurants, and he hates how consumeristic the holiday is. And quite frankly, the holiday was a reminder of all the things he didn’t have.

Well, actually, he hated Christmas. Emphasis on the use of past tense here because he’s had a recent change of heart regarding the holiday. The catalyst to his shift in world-view? You, of course.

Sure, Christmas still sucks, but he’s found that over the years, it sucks even less because he has someone to come home to after a long job, someone who gifts him thoughtful shit without expecting anything in return, and someone who looks at him as if his hands aren't stained with blood, and as if the specters of past deeds and lives don't linger behind his eyes.

But most of all, watching you get hyped up about activities like decorating the Christmas tree or trying out a new cookie recipe makes him feel things he’s afraid to put a name to verbally.

He’s afraid to put a name to the fact that you’re the first person in a long while that has him looking forward to calling this place you share with him, home.

You make him yearn and ache, and he wants to be the strongest person in the world for you while simultaneously seeking the comfort that only you can provide. You are a contradiction that he gladly welcomes into his life.

But he’s always known—always felt this—ever since he first laid eyes on you and felt practically delirious at how fast and hard he fell for you.

It was the heart quickening, palm sweating, wondering what you’re doing and why you’re not texting him kind of delirium that had him questioning absolutely everything.

At the sound of your voice, Toji is brought out of his thoughts. “Are you going to help me?”

“Naw, my ass is a bit sore after last night, so I can’t do any heavy lifting.” He crosses his legs over one another as if to drive home the point further that his glutes will be permanently glued to the cushion of your couch for the remainder of the night.

The corner of your lip twitches at his reference to your extracurricular activities that led to him being reduced to a whining, whimpering mess on your strap the night before. “Funny that you can dish it out but can’t take it, pillow princess.”

“What the fuck did you just call me?” He barks out, but it’s too late. You’re already heading into a different room, probably to throw up obnoxious Christmas decorations in the bathroom or some other less-than-ideal place.

He just hopes it isn’t the Santa-themed shower curtains. Who the fuck needs Santa Claus staring at their junk when they’re trying to take a piss?

Truth be told, Toji was trying to conserve his energy. He had a long night ahead of him—a long night for which he needed you fast asleep.

He didn’t need you to know about his plans to do something special for you, and he certainly didn’t need your input every ten seconds about how Dancer and Prancer should be next to each other, and Dasher should be near Cupid…

Who. Gives. A. Fuck? Not Toji!

But she gives a fuck, so that means he has to give a fuck, he thinks, dragging a palm down across his face in exasperation. And so he looks up the lyrics to “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” and commits the names of the silly cartoon animals to memory.

“You seriously don’t have a tradition, Toji?” He looks up from his phone to see you carrying a giant reef to hang on the door outside. “You don’t have a single Christmas tradition that puts a smile on that mean mug of yours?”

“Just one,” he murmurs, knowing you can’t hear him through the thick wood of the door.

Wall-shaking thumps and the sound of something heavy being dragged rouse you from your sleep that same night.

You think it has been going on for a few hours now, but being between sleep and reality has made you less inclined to check out the noise. Besides, if Toji—your shoot-first, ask-questions-never boyfriend—isn’t worried about it, neither are you.

As you turn to your side–a feeble attempt to lull yourself back to sleep–you notice that Toji is missing from his usual bedside. It isn’t unusual–sometimes he has trouble sleeping at night, and you find him sitting by himself in the living room, lost in the recesses of his brain, which he chooses not to burden you with.

Your eyes shoot upward at the ceiling as you continue to hear something knocking rather aggressively against the roof. Against your better judgment, you decide to investigate. You begrudgingly tear yourself away from the comfort of your warm bed and grab the robe you usually wear for lazy days around the house.

“I swear, if I see a man in a big red suit, I’m going to ask Toji to hide the body,” you grumble as you open your front door, your boots sinking into fresh snow as you tilt your head and look above.

Toji hears the sound of the door creaking open. Knowing it isn’t anyone but you, he peers over the side of the rain gutters, only to shoot you a glare at your lack of appropriate clothing for the weather.

God, you frustrating, annoying, beautiful, perfect woman. What the hell are you wearing? He thinks as he anchors the last reindeer into position.

And with perfect precision, Toji jumps off the roof, rising from crouching to standing before you can fully turn your attention to him. “What the fuck are you doing out here in nothing but a robe?” He growls, pulling you closer to him.

And he’s right. It’s incredibly cold outside, but you can’t pull your eyes away from the roof. All the Christmas decorations that had previously been in storage and that you had planned to put up yourself were already up and shining vibrantly.

Bulbed lights of reds, greens, and yellows adorn the rim of your roof, and a red sleigh pulled by nine reindeer—all in their proper positions—stands placed in a way that makes it look like they’re ready for take-off.

“Say something,” he grumbles, kicking some of the snow at his feet mindlessly and looking everywhere but at you at that moment.

Your heart clenches because even though it’s discrete, you can hear a hint of vulnerability in his gruff voice.

“You did all this for me? I…this is so sweet, Toji.”

The wonder shining behind your eyes and ringing in your voice has Toji looking up at you from where his bangs had fallen into his face. The lights he strung up pale in comparison to the radiance you emit. You’re a picture of everything that’s right in his world.

No, a picture would and could never do you justice.

Fresh snow is still falling from the sky, dusting your hair in white crystalline shapes that make Toji’s eyes soften. His gloved hand reaches instinctively to clear the fallen snow from your tresses, but he stops, wanting nothing more than to keep you memorialized like this.

He has so much bad shit burned into his mind that when he can commit something pure and beautiful like this moment, like you, in his mind, he does.

And who is he to diminish the light of an angel's halo?

“Of course, I did this for you, dummy. You get so wrapped up in the Christmas bullshit. If you were anyone else, anyone who wasn’t you, I’d probably make fun of you for it.”

You nod silently as you allow him the space to express himself, especially knowing how tough this time of year is for him. Toji rants and raves about the expensive nature of the holiday, but you know his foul mood stems from something deeper.

After a beat, he continues despite the strain you hear in his voice. “But I like seeing you happy. And I know sometimes I’m not always the source of your happiness, fuck, I’m probably the source of your irritation sometimes, too,” He trails off, both of you chuckling at his joke as you lean further into his warmth.

His face quickly sobers, “A couple of hours ago you asked me if I had a tradition and I think my answer is a little untraditional, but my tradition is you. All I want is to make you happy, smile, and be someone you can depend on, always, but especially now.”

You blink rapidly, willing the fast-forming moisture to stay at bay while you swallow thickly and continue to listen in silence.

“Sometimes, you give so much of yourself to others, always making sure that everyone else is ok before you even think about yourself, and I wanted to do something, anything, to show you that you’re at the top of someone’s mind.”

For a moment, you don’t know what to say because this is so uncharacteristically sweet of him. Toji has his sweet moments, but those are more subtle. But here Toji is not only performing a grand gesture, but it’s also accompanied by a speech that is clearly from the depths of his heart.

And when you tear your eyes away from the blinking lights to look at him, your heart can only ache. Because he looks like he’s holding his breath to hear what you have to say–his cheeks are flushed a light pink, misty air is jutting out in plumes from his lips, and his eyes are vulnerable and wanting even as he tries his best to hide it.

“This means so much to me, Toji.”

He nods, his lips curling into a small smirk. It’s as if your validation pumps air into his chest.

“Good, because gift option #2 was my dick in a box. Now, let's get inside–I’m freezing my balls off out here.”

He delivers a playful slap to your ass–palm meeting clothed flesh in a loud smack that echoes through the empty street.

You didn’t realize how cold you were until you stepped back inside your home. Your body began to tremble, and the robe did little to retain your heat.

Toji notices, too, and he frowns, grunting his displeasure and helping you strip out of your quickly dampening robe. A low, satisfied grumble reverberates through his chest as he watches your flesh reveal, inch-by-tantalizing inch.

“Idiot, you came outside in a robe and your underclothes?” His tone is half incredulous and half in awe, eyes raking over your curves and swells with rapt—and perverted—attention.

“I thought it was an emergency! Who has time for jeans when there’s a man on a roof?”

He can’t help but roll his eyes, but the corner of his lip twitches, the scar on his lip looking more prominent with the movement.

Toji leans in, his tongue darting out to lick the shell of your ear. “You know, skin-to-skin contact is the fastest way to warm someone up. Let me put some color back into those cheeks, baby.”

He backs you up against the wall while shedding his winter coat and gloves. “I think I deserve a reward for my efforts, don’t you?”

“Is that why you did it?” you chide back softly with a shaky breath as he dips his head low and licks a long stripe along your neck. His tongue is warm and yet you still can’t help the goosebumps that appear on your arm or the way your nipples harden as if a cool draft just blew past.

“Naw, but it don’t hurt.”

And with a chuckle, Toji is lifting you up effortlessly, tossing you over his shoulder, and carrying you into your shared bedroom. If there was any confusion about his intentions, his firm grip on your ass with the occasional, hearty smack and squeeze to your malleable flesh allows you to speculate.

The vulnerable Toji you caught a glimpse of outside is nowhere to be found as he tosses you onto the mattress. “Fuck, I love the way you bounce,” he purrs as he slots himself between your thighs.

His mouth is on yours–hot, all-consuming, and demanding. Toji always kisses you as though tonight could be your final kiss, and you kiss him as though you’re trying to convince him that that simply isn’t the case.

His hands waste no time pushing apart your legs, exposing your panty-clad core to his heated gaze. You, desiring his attention, spread yourself willingly to him.

But instead of touching you where you need him most, his thumbs settles between the smooth flesh of your inner thighs, rubbing small tight circles against your skin as he coaxes your tongue out of your mouth to dance with his.

You buck your hips in an attempt to get him to move his fingers higher but he clicks his tongue in disapproval, gripping your hip and keeping you in place.

“How about,” he muses softly as he trails open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and neck. “You ride my thigh like a good girl first, yeah? Show me how a good girl behaves, and I’ll give you exactly what you’re soaking the bed sheets for.”

And just how he slotted his waist against your sex, he’s now replacing his torso with his thigh which is firm but does little to quell the heat between your legs.

But you’re no stranger to this sort of request from him. The open-mouthed kisses against your pulse point pause as if he’s daring–waiting–for you to disobey.

“Yes, Toji.” You grip his shoulders and start to grind yourself against his thigh, and he lets out a low approving groan.

“Thaaaaat’s a good girl,” he drawls out as the hand on your hip gives a supportive squeeze and guides your movements.

Seeing you so submissive and so agreeable makes an undeniable fire burn within his abdomen and makes his cock drool precum in the confines of his boxers.

“H-how long?” you pant, your hungry eyes meeting his. He reaches down, cupping your chin between his thumb and pointer finger, dark eyes boring into yours as he spreads your legs further apart with his thigh.

“Until I say otherwise.”

You let out a soft groan, as he shifts his thigh, pressing it harder into your slick, throbbing sex. Even through the barrier of your underwear, the friction is delicious.

Toji smirks as he watches you, your hips undulating side-to-side, up-and-down, hitching when you hit the occasional spot that makes your eyes almost roll into the back of your head. He licks his lips as he watches a small wet spot form into the denim of his jeans where your cunt is rubbing against.

“Look at you. You’re always so messy” he coos condescendingly, but not without warmth. “Here, let me take care of you like I promised.”

And take care of you he does. He hooks his thumbs through the waistband of your underwear and slowly pulls the garment down, his smirk growing wider as you lift your hips to speed up the process.

“My helpful, needy girl,” he murmurs. Toji lowers himself down between your thighs, broad shoulders acting as a natural thigh separator and leg rest for you.

Not once does he take his eyes off of you as he descends.

Not when his warm breath ghosts across your labia, making your clit twitch between your folds and descend further from the protection of its hood.

Not when his thick tongue darts out, licking a long slow stripe up your slit and separating you down the middle with a muffled groan.

And certainly not when he puckers his lips, creating a gentle suction around your clit with his mouth, alternating between slowly making out with your sensitive bud and firm suckles.

“Come on, pretty girl. Ride my face like how you were riding my thigh,” he purrs as he briefly presses a love bite against your inner thigh, soothing it with his tongue and then returning to lavishing your cunt with his tongue.

“You’re going to have to work for it, Toji Bear” you muster through a shaky moan, still finding the oxygen to tease him with one of your favorite nicknames. Your fingers thread through his hair, gently tugging at the dark tresses as you grind your cunt against his mouth.

And Toji? Toji volunteers up his tongue like an offering to your churning hips, moaning as you sink yourself deeper and deeper onto him, reveling in the squeeze of your slick, gummy walls against his tongue.

“Fuck, yeah, love. Use me, baby. Fuck my face.” he encourages through barely restrained grunts which quickly divulge in gargles as he swallows every single drop you give.

“Damn,” he finally says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His body moves up yours—predatory and practiced, like he owns the space between your thighs.

Dark eyes bore into yours as one hand moves down to expertly unbutton his pants. His other tangles through your hair to angle your face for better access as he pushes his tongue into your mouth, allowing you to taste yourself. “Could drink you down for fucking days. Would you let me?”

Through heated, messy kisses, you nod even though he needn’t have to ask. You’d give him the world if he asked.

A low hiss of approval slides past his lips as he feels the heat from your core. “I wanna take my time, but when you’re looking at me like this—like you’re asking to be split you open on my fat cock, and you’ll fucking die if I don’t give it to you, fuck, it makes me—“

And before he can finish, he’s spearing himself inside of you, fat cockhead kissing your womb in a way that makes you want to cry, beg, pray for more.

Your nails find purchase against his shoulder blades enjoying the flex as he grips your thighs and folds you within yourself to get himself impossibly deeper.

He pulls your hair, forcing you to look at the way his thick cock pulls out—glistening with your arousal, the white ring of your lust lathering his veined shaft—and pushes back in with a filthy squelch.

“See? Isn’t this nice?” He pants, voice tilting upward in obvious mockery. “Getting all emotional and soft with you while still fucking you like a whore. Merry Christmas, right baby?”

All you can muster out is a soft whimper, his cock stealing your breath away with every willful stretch of your cunt.

Toji, noticing your inability to speak, chuckles heartily. “Yeah, that’s what I figured.” His eyes roam over the entirety of you in this state—face contorted in pleasure, breasts bouncing, body folded in half yet still open for him like you were meant for this.

For you, the fucking is good, really good, but there’s also something about everything that Toji previously shared with you that makes this feel deeper—as if a new avenue of connection was forged between you both.

Who knew that vulnerability could strengthen a relationship and act as foreplay?

“Perfect,” he mutters as he feels his balls tightening, especially as they snap forcefully against your ass. “You want a real present, baby?”

You cry out something between a gargled “yes” and a strangled whimper.

“Gonna give you one of your gifts early, baby girl. Ya ready for me? Ready to take my special gift to you?” he grunts, cock giving a valiant final twitch as the feeling of your walls squeezing him.

Toji allows your body to unfold, going limp and sated as he collapses next to you. He pulls you into his arms, warm breath ghosting over the hair that curls around your ear.

“Meant what I said,” he whispers after a beat. His fingers briefly dig into your arms as if out of fear that you’ll disappear.

“I…don’t always express myself well, and you deserve more than I know how to give, but I’m glad I can give parts of myself to you, among other things.” He grabs your hand, bringing it to his arousal-slick length as he nuzzles into your neck.

You shake your head in disbelief at his virility, but you still stroke his quickly hardening member. “You express yourself just fine, Toji,”

His hand finds purchase on your ass as he brings you closer to his side, a satisfied sigh escaping his kiss-swollen lips. “Naw, I think you’ve always just been able to read me really well.”

“Yeah?” A harsh squeeze from your hand causes him to buck his hips, a vocal groan ripping from his throat.

“Yeah. Fuck, do that again.”

You offer another grip of your hand, this time slowing your strokes deliberately as you watch his head fall back. “Like this?” You whisper sweetly into his ear.

“Y-yeah,” he stutters, his hips bucking upward. You can’t help the smile that forms on your face at the sight of Toji Fushiguro trying to fuck your fist into another orgasm.

“Maybe I’m not the only needy one,” you tease. Toji tilts his head towards yours, eyes half-lidded, “Shut up. We still have a few more days until Christmas, and I expect you to be on your best behavior.”

You let out a small giggle as you continue to stroke him, watching the way his breath hitches more often, indicating how worked up you’re getting him.

He puts one arm behind his head, reclining back, his other fist still kneading your ass as his eyes begin to close.

“Keep your eyes on the way I stroke your cock, Toji Bear. Or else I’ll stop.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” his large hand envelopes yours to keep it in place, but even with that effort, you stop pumping. He lets out a frustrated growl, sitting himself up on his elbows as he watches your strokes continue up and down his cock.

As he watches you work him over, you can’t help but notice the way his eyelids flutter and his breathing grows more labored. “See? Doesn’t it make more sense for you to watch, pervert?”

You rub your thumb across the underside of his cock, knowing how sensitive that particular spot is as you stroke him faster. Precum beads at the tip and bubbles down his shaft in droves.

“G-gonna get you for calling me that.” Toji lets out a guttural moan as white, hot cum leaks from his cock in a stream that is far less copious, but still impressive, due to his previous orgasm. You watch as it coats your hand, marveling as it cools against your heated skin.

Despite his early warning—which lacks any real consequence, he moves his face to yours and kisses you, deep, slow, and not like this might be your final kiss. And you kiss him as if with reassurance that he’s right—because he is—there will be far more kisses to come from now, until the end of the year and certainly beyond.

#💫hotter than the sun💫#this made my entire month if we're being honest #Christmas is hard this year as I come to terms with a lot of things like the loss of my dad #but this somehow fixed me a little #and I mean it #it made the season easier on my heart #fuck I'll be reblogging this fic so many times until everyone on tumblr dot com has read it #eevee I feel terribly honored to have received this beautiful beautiful gift from you #I will love and cherish it forever #thank you from the bottom of my heart #I wish I could express the utter gratitude I feel because I really did cry while reading this #it just means an awful lot to me #and you write so very beautifully too that made it somehow even better #now please excuse me I'll go read it again hehe🫶

115 notes · View notes