#BUT SERIOUSLY THAT CHRISTMAS SPECIAL MESSED ME UP

[normalteas]

just finished the Christmas special and I am screaming, crying, rolling on the floor, sobbing, absolutely distraught, depressed, jumping out of the window from the second floor of my house

[nichuuu]

Paper Houses

Cho Miyeon x M reader

(1st instalment of The View Between Villages)

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(No one fucks with your butter bell.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Miyeon’s unfazed. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m aching for cock right now.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Enjoying yourself?” you quip. 

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

Of course… How could you be so forgetful?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her legs close around your wrist. Her throat bobs.

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

You always loved how forthcoming she is. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh shut it you fucking—  Mmmph!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Baby.”

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

“I—can’t.”

“Ugh. Hate it when you lie.”

“I’m sorry—”

“Just fucking cum.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You willfully let yourself be blissful because you can.

--

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

“Are you seriously going out in that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“By all means, princess.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No? Fuck. 

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

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

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

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

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

She tries again. “Stay…”

“Miyeon—”

“I fucking need you… Please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blink. You blink again. 

The words don’t change. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And it makes her smile. 

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

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

“Yeah. I heard you the first tim—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You pull.

And it’s just that. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I only cum inside good girls.”

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

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

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

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

All you can really manage is, “Fuck.”

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

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

Tight, hot, wet, divine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She really is the best you’ll ever have.

“Miyeon–”

“Just fucking cum.”

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

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

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

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

Somehow, you don’t doubt it.

--

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

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

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

(...)

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

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

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

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

“Baby,” she rasps. “My phone…”

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

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

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

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

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

Damn straight it is. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hope that she can hold on.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The hate seems to fade. Your heartbeat slows.

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

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

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

Two?

Generous.

Try one. Fucking. Week.)

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Miyeon takes your hand in hers. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

(No?)

Ah well. Anyway,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Idol Cho Miyeon Slapped In Public…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I come over?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blink. “R-Right.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

Ugh. I’m blabbering. 

Sorry cupcake, I’ll get back to it.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And it’s good to hear her laugh again.

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

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

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

Maybe everything’s okay after all.

--

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

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

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

--

“So that’s the story?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stay safe, Nichu

[achromatophoric]

Wenclair Week - Day 7: Christmas

Yoko: ENID! SHE’S DOING IT AGAIN!

Enid: What’s she— WEDNESDAY, NO!

Wednesday looks up sharply from where she crouches with a lit lighter, mere moments from setting Ophelia Hall’s Christmas tree ablaze.

Enid: *spritzes Wednesday with a spray bottle* BAD GIRLFRIEND! BAD!

Wednesday: *hisses and retreats into the shadows*

Yoko: Whoa. Girl, what the F is in that bottle? Holy water?

Enid: Nah, just some essence of pine, peppermint, orange, clover—

Yoko: Christmas? You sprayed her with Christmas?

Enid: Yup! It’s super effective.

The shadows: HsssSSSsssss. Christmasssss…

Yoko: *warily eyes the shadows* Uh… huh.

Enid: *fiddles on her phone* Here, imma link you a special anti-Wednesday playlist. Just put it on if she keeps messing with the tree.

Yoko: *checks her phone*

Yoko:

Yoko: *incredulous* Christmas carols? You have got to be shitting me right now!

Enid: Nope! She says they’re tantamount to cruel and unusual psychological torture in direct violation of the Geneva Conventions.

The shadows: And not the fun kind. Hssssss.

Yoko: You’re seriously telling me that I could’ve been using freaking Christmas carols on Broodolf the Dread Woes Paindeer this entire time?

Enid: What? Goddess, no! They’re only effective at like—this time of year, when the collective belief is strongest.

Yoko: For reals?

Enid: Totes. You should’ve seen Xavier’s cousin this summer.

Yoko:

Yoko: But Xavier doesn’t have a cousin.

Enid: Not anymore.

Yoko: 😬

The shadows: *amusedly* Christmassss in July? That fool. Hsssssss…

[imagining-in-the-margins]

CM Wrong Recipient Writing Challenge 🎁

The following are prompts including a Wrong/Mistaken Recipient! Reader or OC, Gen/Platonic, AND Character/Character fics are allowed!

This event is over (Masterlist of Fics here), but you are welcome to use any of these prompts. If you would like to be added to the existing Masterlist of entries, please check out the Rules below!

SFW Prompts 🙈

The BAU arrests the wrong person

The flower delivery guy really messes things up

Character grabs the wrong person to kiss at NYE

Character leaves a voicemail for the wrong person

Character grabs the wrong person’s hand in public

Character receives an awkward text from an unknown number (or one they haven’t spoken to in a long time)

Character throws a snowball at their friend… but misses (and hits their crush/an attractive stranger instead)

Talking to different people on multiple phone lines can get really confusing

Somehow Character got on someone's super silly Christmas Card mailing list

There’s a mixup of notebooks and Character finds writings/drawings... of them

Character receives a package they weren't expecting and finds an even more unexpected item inside

The team recounts all the times Penelope said something inappropriate to the wrong person on the phone

Character has been sending messages to their loved one after they passed (they never expected a response)

Character pulls a prank against a fun-loving coworker, but their significantly less playful coworker triggers it

Character leaves an anonymous letter confessing their love, but the recipient insists it can’t be for them

Character enlists Penelope’s help in hacking into someone’s device to delete an unintended message

Anything else you can think of!

Keep Reading for more Prompts and the Challenge Rules!

Dialogue Prompts 🙉

“Oh, God. Wrong house.”

“New phone, who’s this?”

“So… who is (intended recipient name)?”

“Baby, I can be whoever you want me to be.”

“Any chance we can pretend you didn’t see that?”

“No matter what you do, do NOT open that.” “Too late.”

“I’m not complaining, but I don’t think that was for me.”

“What’s the point of the unsend button if it tells them that I unsent something?!”

“This is definitely the wrong number but, seriously, did you think that line would work?”

“I actually can come to the phone right now with a very special message that your mother is a—!”

NSFW Prompts 🙊

Character is a stripper at the wrong party

Character receives scandalous selfies from a coworker

Characters buy books together but take the wrong ones home (at least one of them is erotica)

Character wanted to gift a friend a sex toy as a joke and they used the same wrapping paper for their crush’s gift

Character sends their friend a detailed review of their recent sexual encounter… and accidentally sends it to the person they’re reviewing

There’s confusion and two BAU members end up with the same hotel room (Character walks in to find their coworker completely nude)

Character is waiting for an unsub in a confessional booth (the unsub doesn't show, but someone else confesses unholy thoughts)

Rules

Your fic can be a Reader insert, an Original Character, a character/character ship, a platonic ship, or a Gen fic. It can feature any Criminal Minds character. AUs and crossovers are more than welcome.

Tag me in the fic, or send the link to me in a Direct Message. It can be already written, or you can write it for the challenge - I collect both! You can also tag “#mentioningmargins”

The fic can be any genre, but ONLY send me smut if your bio states you are 18+. I DO NOT WANT smut written by minors. Ever. At all. I will check. Platonic ships and pure, fluffy fics are 100% allowed. Please also include some indication of rating if it is NSFW.

Please include Content Warnings and a one-sentence Summary of the fic in your post. For xReader fics, PLEASE specify if your reader is Female, Male, or Gender Neutral.

Have fun!

Happy Writing!

[4linos]

the gingerbread fix.

kim seungmin x gn!reader

synopsis: after seungmin unintentionally ruins the gingerbread house you’ve worked hard on, the two of you rebuild together, learning the importance of compromise and enjoying the process.

wc: 989

part 5/8 holiday series. 🎄

The week before Christmas, you’d come up with a fun idea, a gingerbread house decorating competition. You were excited about it, knowing that you and Seungmin could have a fun, festive time together. You’d gathered everything, the gingerbread kits, icing, sprinkles, and candy. It was going to be a lighthearted and playful competition to see who could create the best house, but you didn’t anticipate just how seriously you’d take it.

The night of the competition arrived, and the air was filled with a delicious smell of sugar and gingerbread. Seungmin was enthusiastic at at first, but when it came to decorating, he turned into the class clown. You concentrated on the house, carefully decorating every inch, placing the candy, and ensuring the frosting stayed neatly piped. Meanwhile, Seungmin slapped some frosting here and there, paying little attention to any kind of structure.

With each passing minute, you became more focused. You couldn't help yourself, it wasn't just about winning; it was about doing something special, showing that you cared about doing it right. Seungmin, on the other hand, was having a good time, nonchalantly bothering you as he randomly added candy canes and took nibbles out of the candy pieces. Every time you looked over, he gave you a grin, as if the whole thing was a joke to him. You tried to hold back your increasing frustration, but it came out when Seungmin, chuckling to himself, leaned over and touched your gingerbread house, just to tease you.

The whole thing crumbled.

You froze, staring in disbelief at the pile of crumbled gingerbread. Your heart dropped. You'd worked so hard to make that house perfect, and now it was ruined. Seungmin, still chuckling, stared up at you with wide eyes. He hadn't realized how serious you were about this. "Seungmin," you asked, your voice tight with rage. "What did you do?" His face fell, and he moved back. "Wait, I didn't mean to—" "No! "I've been working on this for hours, and you just…ruined it," you snapped, your words coming out harder than intended. His expression showed guilt, but the frustration was too much.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, his voice genuine. “I didn’t mean to mess it up. I was just joking around…”

You shook your head, biting back the anger and disappointment welling up inside you. “I don’t need you to joke around. I thought this was supposed to be fun, but now you’ve ruined it.”

Seungmin stood there, looking helpless. “I didn’t realize you were taking it so seriously.”

You folded your arms across your chest, hurt. “It’s not about that, Seungmin. It’s just… I wanted this to be something special. I wanted to share something with you, but instead you made me feel like it didn’t matter.”

The room fell silent for a minute. Seungmin, for the first time all night, looked completely serious. "I'm really sorry. "I didn't mean to hurt you." He hesitated, then looked down at the mess on the table. "I’ll fix it. "I promise." You didn't respond immediately away, the anger still simmering, but you were beginning to feel the sting of guilt yourself. You snapped at him when he didn't deserve it. You were frustrated and disappointed, but it didn't mean he deserved to be on the receiving end of it.

Later that evening, you went to the kitchen to grab a snack, still giving Seungmin the silent treatment. You were hurt, but you didn’t want to escalate things further. But as you opened the fridge, you heard him come in behind you.

"Sit down," he urged gently, putting you onto the table. "We're not giving up on this." Before you could argue, he had left the room, returning shortly after with two new gingerbread house kits and an apologetic look on his face. "I'm sorry for messing around," he said cautiously, placing the boxes on the table. "Let's do it properly this time, together." You sighed, but couldn't keep the slight smile tugging at the edges of your lips. Despite everything, he was trying. He really was.

“Okay, fine,” you said, sitting back down. “Let’s do it again.”

So the two of you began again, this time more focused and serious. Seungmin, who had not been trying too hard before, now worked quietly beside you, delicately piped the icing, and set the candies with care. His gingerbread house was still a little disorganized, but there was something adorable about how hard he worked to improve things.

As the night progressed, you both began to relax. Your frustration gradually faded away, replaced with laughter as you giggled about how horrible Seungmin's house was looking. Even his decorating attempts failed miserably, but you couldn't help but laugh at how hard he was trying. "You're not winning this time," you mocked, staring at his house, which was leaning to one side and consisted of more sweets than actual construction. Seungmin grumbled, obviously dejected but taking it in stride. "Alright, fine. "I’ll let you win."

You grinned, finally feeling the tension dissipate. “Thanks for letting me win. That’s very generous of you.”

Seungmin smiled sheepishly, giving you a playful shove. “I’m just happy we’re not fighting anymore.”

You both sat back, looking at your respective gingerbread houses, your hearts lighter than they had been earlier. “I’m sorry, too,” you said, your voice soft. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. I was just really excited about this.”

He smiled at you, and the warmth in his gaze made you forget about the previous tension. "It's okay. I'm just glad we're doing this together." "Yeah," you replied, leaning against him. "Next year, though, we're definitely doing this seriously." Seungmin laughed and wrapped his arm around you. "Next year, we'll have an even bigger competition. But for now, let us just enjoy this." And with that, you both giggled together, enjoying the moment while the Christmas lights flickered softly in the backdrop.

//

[taglist: @lixies-favorite-cookie..]

[the-offside-rule]

Jude Bellingham (Real Madrid) - Baking Challenge

Day 5 of Christmas

Prompt: Baking Challenge

25 Days of Christmas

The camera blinked on, and the familiar hum of festive music filled the air. You grinned as you stood beside Jude Bellingham, Real Madrid’s rising star, while Y/n's teammate, Carla Camacho, and her partner in crime for the day, Kylian Mbappe, prepared on the other side of the kitchen.."Hola Madradistas!" Y/n greeted the camera, waving enthusiastically. "Today, we’re bringing you a special Christmas challenge. Jude and I-" She nudged him with her elbow, causing him to chuckle. "are winning." Jude flashed a smile to the camera. "Oh yes. I don't bake but Y/n’s the pro, so I’m in good hands."

"Good hands?" Carla quipped from across the kitchen, raising an eyebrow. "I think you’re just here for the entertainment, Jude." Kylian joined in with a playful smirk. "And to hold the GoPro, right?" He winked at Y/n, knowing Jude's role was likely going to be more decorative than practical. She rolled her eyes playfully. "Exactly. Jude is the GoPro holder and maybe, maybe he’ll help me mix a few ingredients if I trust him enough." Jude looked at the camera in disbelief. "Wow, thanks for the confidence, Y/n." Jude teased. "I’ll do my best!" Jude leaned closer to Y/N, wrapping an arm over her shoulder with an exaggerated smirk. “Anyways, on this side, we have the winning team: Y/n and, of course, yours truly, Jude Bellingham.”

She rolled her eyes dramatically but couldn’t help the giggle that escaped. "And on the other side, we have the ‘try-hard’ team. Kylian Mbappe and my amazing teammate Carla Camacho." Carla waved enthusiastically at the camera. "We’re not just trying, we’re winning." Kylian, ever the competitor, crossed his arms and smirked at Jude. "Just so you know, Bellingham, we’ve got this." Jude laughed, nudging Y/n. "Let’s just say baking’s a bit… out of my skill set." Y/n turned to him, eyebrows raised. "That’s putting it mildly, Jude. Just… try not to ruin everything, okay?"

With the introductions done, the card with their assigned task was handed to both teams. Y/n’s eyes scanned the instructions as she tried not to laugh at Jude’s confused expression.

The crew counted down until the time started. 3....2....1....start! Jude knocked a jar of untensils almost immediately, casuing the pair burst into laughter as she pointed to the camera in front of them. "Haven't even started and youve messed it up!" She grabbed the card detailing the challenge and ingredients. "So, we’re making a Christmas cake." She announced to the camera, holding up the recipe card. "Sounds simple enough. Jude leaned in, squinting at the ingredients. "Uh, you sure about that?" Y/n ignored him and quickly divided the tasks, aware of his limited experience in the kitchen. "Alright, Jude, I’ve got an important job for you." His eyes lit up. "Yeah?"

She grinned, grabbing the GoPro from the table. "You’re going to be our cameraman. Just film the process, and we’ll be fine." Jude pouted, but his playful energy was undeniable. "Seriously? That’s all I get to do?" She nodded. "Out of order, that is." Jude chuckled and took the stand of the goprop, adjusting it like it was some highly technical piece of equipment. "Alright, babes. What are we doing?" He said with a wink, focusing it on you. Carla laughed as she and Kylian began grabbing their ingredients. "You’re giving him the easy job, Y/n! Thats cheating, no?" The crew agreed. "Trust me, it's for the best." Y/n replied, already sifting flour into a bowl. "If you guys wanna be home at a respectable hour, you'll let us do our thing and let them do their's." Jude faked a look of offense but quickly turned his grin back toward the GoPro, focusing on her with it. "Right, filming duties it is. I’ll make sure to get your good side, Y/n." He added cheekily. "Every side is my good side." She retorted. Jude was taken back by that answer and looked over to the main camera. She couldn’t help but laugh, shaking her head as she concentrated on her task. "Just don't mess this up, Jude. The cake is what matters."

Although Y/n and Jude's side seemed chaotic, things were moving slower. Jude, holding the GoPro a little too close to his face, was narrating their every move in an over-the-top commentator voice. "Here we see Y/n expertly cracking eggs. Will she succeed, or will it all go horribly wrong? Stay tuned!" Y/n tried not to laugh, her focus on measuring the butter. "Jude, please! This is serious!" Jude leaned in with the GoPro. "Very serious, indeed."

As she measured out the ingredients, Jude leaned closer, whispering. "I feel like we’ve already won this. No one’s gonna even notice what the cake looks like when we’re the one's making it, right?" Y/n bit back a smile, glancing at him. "Yeah, but I’m not sure we get extra points for flirting." She grinned. "Maybe we should." Jude shot back with a wink, making her laugh harder. "Alright, focus!" Y/n said, waving a spoon in front of him while trying not to blush. "We’ve got a cake to make."

Carla, already working diligently with Kylian, glanced over and raised an eyebrow. "Is anyone baking on your team or just flirting?" Kylian chuckled. "You know, Carla and I might actually win this thing at this rate." Jude pointed the GoPro at them, narrowing his eyes. "We’re strategizing over here, thank you very much. Y/n’s just multitasking better than you lot."

"Right." She said, holding back a laugh as you stirred the mixture. Jude kept panning the camera over her shoulder, making silly commentary every few minutes. Y/n had to pause multiple times, either because she was laughing too hard or because Jude distracted her with another one-liner. At one point, he leaned in closer. "You’re really good at this, you know? Maybe I should let you take charge more often." She playfully nudged him away. "I always take charge. You’re just here for moral support." He grinned. "I’m killing it at that part, though, right?"

"Sure." She giggled. After a few more moments of him joking around, Jude finally set the GoPro aside and asked. "Come on, let me do something."

Y/n looked at him cautiously, hesitating. "Can you?" He handed her the GoPro, not even giving her an answer. "Can I mix? I'm not a complete idiot." He scoffed. "Okay, you can mix the batter. But don’t break anything, alright?" As Y/n filmed, Jude gave his own commentary. "So, the technique Im doing bere is clockwise and then anti-clockwise because...science, I think." Y/n sniggerwd behind the camera upon hearing his reasoning. "And I'm moving the bowl too because by doing this, it'll get more flavour. Camera-girl, am I right, or am I right?" He asked. Y/n turned the GoPro to focus on herself. "He's just in his own little world. I'm taking a well deserved break and-" She was cut off by the glass bowl falling onto the ground and shattering, the whole batter now on the floor. She turned the GoPro to Jude, matching her equally shocked face. "Jude!" Y/n gasped, wide-eyed. Jude’s grin slowly returned to his face, both embarrassed and stifling laughter. "Okay, okay, I can explain!" Y/n shook her head, trying not to laugh but failing miserably. "You had one job, Jude. One!"

From across the table, Kylian and Carla paused, watching the scene unfold. Kylian smirked. "Mate, what is that?" Jude raised his hands in mock defense. "It’s not my fault! The bowl just slipped!" Y/n, still chuckling, grabbed a new bowl and shooed him away. "Alright, new plan. You’re officially banned from anything breakable. Just… film again." Jude picked up the GoPro with a guilty grin. "You know I’m more of an production guy than a baking guy, right?"

"Trust me, I’ve noticed."

Despite the chaos, Y/n managed to mix the cake batter smoothly. She poured it into the tin, with Jude’s constant commentary keeping her laughing. "And now, the queen of baking herself, Y/n, swoops in to save the day, as always." After what felt like a small miracle, the cake was in the oven. Y/n turned to Jude, giving him a light shove. "You’re lucky I’m good at this." Y/n said exasperated into the camera. "I’m just here to make you look even better." He teased, leaning in closer, his playful smirk never leaving his face.

decorating the cake as the finishing touches came together. After some strategic placement of holiday-themed decorations and a light dusting of powdered sugar, you stood back and admired your creation. It was no masterpiece, but it was festive and definitely presentable. "Done!" She announced proudly, and Jude zoomed in with the GoPro. "Look at that! That’s teamwork right there." He said, though most of the work had been her own. Carla and Kylian also finished around the same time, presenting their cake, which was surprisingly neat. The four players gathered in front of the camera again for the big reveal.

As the teams presented their final products to the camera, Jude leaned in close to Y/n. "See, I didn’t ruin everything. Y/n smiled, shaking her head. "You came pretty close." Carla glanced over and laughed. "Alright, moment of truth." Jude said, still holding the GoPro close to your cake. "Who did it better?" They tried one another's cakes, both acty ending up very well. "Well, I think you two win for most… entertaining, at least." Carla smiled. Kylian nodded along. "But if we're talking about overall, I think we all know the answer here."

"No, no, no." Y/n interjected. "Our cake is festive and cute, and most importantly, edible." Jude nodded enthusiastically, pointing at the camera. "Yep, edible is key. And look at that snowflake design. Pure artistry from us." She turned and arched a brow at him, making the other two laugh. "Anyway, we win for sure."

"No, you don’t." Carla laughed. "Carla! Te golpeaste la cabeza o qué? Así es como se supone que debe saber un pastel! Try it again!" The trio laughed as Y/n grantically fed her teammate another piece. "Not bad, right? Even with Jude just filming!" Jude laughed, finally dropping the GoPro and grabbing a fork. "Hey, I helped with morale! And filming is harder than it looks!"

As the camera cut off, Jude leaned in close, his voice low. "Next time, I promise I’ll actually help bake." He said. "Good." She replied with a smirk. "Because I’m not carrying you through every challenge, Bellingham." He chuckled, that familiar playful glint in his eyes. "You know you love it."

[bettystonewell]

SNICKERDOODLES & SPECIAL SAUCE SERIES MASTERLIST

Back to Main Masterlist || Read on AO3

Dean Winchester x Reader

'Twas the night of fake Christmas and all through the halls, creatures were stirring, eventually on all fours... or ...Mrs Butters isn't just messing with Dean's underwear drawer. She's messing with your love lives, too. MDNI 18+ only 13.1k words

Tags: SMUT in parts 2&3, friends to lovers, love potion, language, dubious consent, pining, eggnog, Mrs Butters makes a terrible wingman

A/N: Yeah... a Christmas themed fic that's a month late. Oh well - l've wanted to do something like this for a long time. This one is fast paced (for me), and there's multiple POV's coming in part two. Feedback is appreciated, but seriously, enjoy the crazy, 'cause I had fun!

Part 1 - Do We Really Have to Keep Her?

Part 2 - It Should’ve Gone Down By Now

Part 3 - Good Things Come in Threes

Part 4 - In Progress

From Chapter 3

And with that, Sam left Jack, and Jack headed towards the library, a little apprehensive about going in alone. Being told to check the ropes, even though he could smite Dean if he wanted to, was no easy feat. He respected him a great deal.

He was strong, knowledgeable about the world, and had taught him a lot. They’d even got around to “the talk,” so Jack was also knowledgeable about what was happening in the bunker that night.

Dean’s body, not the spell.

No, Jack had no idea why everything was happening as it was. Just the physicalities.

He knew all about courting and fucking and the differences and similarities between them. It was all thanks to Dean. They hadn’t covered masturbation because Dean had said, “he was better left on his own there,” but Jack understood the basics of what Dean was going through.

Blood was pumping through Dean’s penis. He’d busted his nut three times (Sam had stopped him on the fourth), and was still erect now. Oh. And in pain. Which was difficult to understand because Jack had only ever experienced an erection when he woke up and it had just gone away on its own.

But he also didn’t sleep much, and he shrugged, considering his options as he walked the halls to you.

[thesassypadawan]

I Want A Hippopotamus For Christmas (Scott x ChubbyFemReader)

Summary:  Yes, granted, you’re a bit ditzy at most of the times.  So when your boyfriend says that he only wants one thing for Christmas this year, you're bound and determined to give it to him…in a big way!  Stuffing yourself with all kinds of sweet treats and high calorie foods while he’s away at college; fattening up, transforming yourself into a perfect hippo hero.  At least, that’s what you think he was going for…that he wasn’t being sarcastic at all.

Warnings: 18+ (mdni), because there’s sooo much of the smut.  Missionary (with them legs up in the air, like you just don't care), a few harsh pet names, mentions of wanting to fatten/knock up reader, and…Scott's big, fat cock.  (Pretty Baby is aged up for this, early 20s)

Notes:  Happy Holidays, lovelies!  Welcome to track six of my special holiday mix, I Want A Hippopotamus For Christmas! ❤️💚

- “Fuck…fuck…”  Bottoming out, Scott groans.  The sound low, gruff.  Emanating from the depths of his toned chest.  “Didn’t think…shit…”  While big hands squeeze, grip your wide hips a bit tighter.  Supple, pillowy flesh overflowing.  Spilling out between the gaps of his long fingers.  “Didn’t think you’d take me seriously when I…”

- Laying beneath, chunky legs tossed…thrown up over his broad shoulders.  Your such a pretty, little mess.  With lips swollen from his rough, hungry kisses.  Eyes scrunched, adverted and looking away in embarrassment.  Chubby cheeks shining from the remnants of hastily wiped tears.  Hiccupping and babbling weakly, words nearly incoherent.  “I-I know.  Went to-too far.  Turned myself in-into a literal-”

- “Shut…up…”  Lewd squelches of juices.  Gasping mewls of flustered, pleasurable pain.  The soft crack, slap of a firm yet gentle blow landing on your bruised love handle.  Ring out, fill the vanilla scented air of your tiny apartment.  “Shut up…stupid…”

- Wasting no time, he quickens his pace.  Bullying your cute cunt with his fat length, bulbous tip roughly kisses that sweet spot of yours.  “Said I don’t wanna doll…”  Your loving  boyfriend puts his weight behind each strong, powerful thrust.  Causing your now softer, fuller body to ripple and jiggle.  Bounce like the perfect ball that you’ve transformed yourself into.  “No stupid, dinky tinkertoy…”

- Warm palm trails, descends your thick thighs.  Kneading and fondling your ample bottom.  “Wanna hippo to play wit…”  Fingertips swirl around, dip slightly into those delectable dimples.  Before settling, pushing on your round tummy.   “Enjoy…”

- Squirming, you whimper meekly.  Feeling how deep he’s buried, the pressure of him baring down on your not so tiny paunch.  “Mmmh, but ya know what…”  Gummy walls fluttering and clenching.  Burning from the stretch, from the continuous barrage and onslaught of blissful abuse.   “Think ya might still be too small for me…”

- Surprised, alarmed squeak bubbles up from your throat.  “Don’t worry gonna fix that though…”  Gaze locks with his, both sets of colored orbs blown wide.  “Gonna stuff ya full…day ‘n night…”  His in feral, raw desire of his fantasy coming to life.  “Wit all sorts of junk foods…”  Yours in shock and awe, arousing intrigue and undeniable rush.  “Wit a brat or two…”

- Soaked core tightens, clamps hard.  Stray drops of slick spurt out, trickle along the curve of your meaty behind.  “Yeah…like that, huh…”  Splatter onto, soiling the festive sheets even further.  Feeble wail, mixed with a muffled moan escapes.  “Want me to make ya into a real hippo hero…”

- Face and body grow flush.  Your tiny fingers wrap, cling to his bulging bicep desperately.  Pearly painted nails sinking, leaving crescent shaped marks behind.  “All big and bloated…”  Trying to anchor yourself from the flood of thoughts.  Images of the fuller future that leave your head spinning, pussy throbbing.  “All helpless and needin’ me for shit…shit…”

- String of needy pleas fly from your lips, accompanied by his endless stream of curses.  “Don’t…fuck…”  Neck strains deliciously, veins pop enticingly.  Boisterous balls slap heavily.  “Don’t worry, dum-dum…”  As his hips slam harshly into you one last time.  Creamy, sticky seed pouring in; painting your insides snowy white, stomach inching a smidge higher into the air.    “Will have ya nice and huge by next year…”

- Panting, sobbing, laughing.  “Then…fuck…”  Skin glistens with a sheen of sweat under the twinkling lights.  “Then I really will have me da perfect hippo fo-for Christmas…”  Lovesick grin adorns Scott’s handsome face, which you can’t help but mimic.  “But, ya know, this is a good star-start…  Just sayin’…”

Tag List: @espinathena-17, @t03soup, @princessswifie, @jediavengers, @myheartwillgoon2022, @laylaplease, @loverforoldermen, @jediavengers, @anisangeldust, @anakinstwinklebunny, @xhunnybeeex, @sapphirefrog-blog, @khoatic-with-no-energy, @valyna27, @googie-jeon, @modsmm, @thefallenlittlebloodyangel, @hearts4sammonroe, @lostboys1987girl, @starwh0r33s, @igalol, @arabellaamore, @starsoldier077, @luciiaagarrigos, @enchant5d, @anakinca, @iluvmyesti

@hearts4sammonroe, @pitas-star, @sythethecarrot, @naberriess, @steven-grants-world, @valyna27, @elcaballerodragon, @yayyy5678, @anakinsrilgirlfriend, @padme-urlove,  @brattyyybbg, @mrschr1stensen, @rosie-chan92, @beresfordsgirl, @darthdaddi, @icosmiclou

[flowafairy]

“A MAN UNDERCOVER” g.suguru x reader

postscript : looks like you wont be able to fool your daughter’s anymore. cw ɞ‎ fluff, fem reader - wc : 0.5k ʚ event masterlist ( #DAY3 ) ꣑ৎ

you watch your beloved husband, suguru mischeviously put on a white beard to mask his identity, perfectly camouflaging his identity with the red hat. mimiko and nanako had left some cookies and milk for santa on the table, hoping they’ll wake up to some presents in the morning. and what father would suguru be if he didn’t entertain a child’s wishful belief?

of course, santa wasn’t real. both you and suguru knew that. but you both also knew better than to shatter a child’s innocence. they’re still young, they don’t have to know that the so-called man that’s been eating their cookies at night and leaving gifts is actually just their father.

“are you seriously eating them?” you giggle at the view of suguru dipping the cookies in the milk and eating them. “of course i am.” suguru huffed, as if it was criminal to not eat them. “nanako told me her and mimiko spent hours baking delicious cookies so they get extra presents from santa this year.” suguru couldn’t help the smile on his face.

“i tried one, they don’t taste very good though.” you tease, obviously noticing the slightly disgruntled look on your husband’s face. “..well.” suguru let out a cough. “if it has love in it, then it’s no problem.” he finishes the last cookie, letting out a breath of relief.

“you’re so doting, they’re gonna get even more spoiled because of you.” you pout, crossing your arms as you watched him place a few presents beneath the christmas tree. he knows how much the girls love shopping, so whatever he’d see them eye at the mall, he’d buy just for this special day. it was like magic to them—“how’d santa get exactly what i wanted?!” “i’ve been wanting this shirt for so long!”

it always made him grin. when you both would giggle during the present unwrapping, the girls would always be confused at the looks on your faces. yet too distracted by the gifts to question anything.

you gently pull suguru’s ( fake ) beard down slightly, leaning up to place a short, loving kiss on his lips. “good job, dad.” you tease, eliciting a chuckle from his lips. “come on, i think i deserve another-“

“mom’s kissing santa!” mimiko pointed at the two of you, hugging nanako with her other hand as tears begin to leave their eyes. “m-mom, how could you..”

“honey, wait! i-i can explain its just-“ you push your husband away, exhaling out of your mouth as you watch the girls run into their rooms. you turn to suguru, glaring at his grin. so this is amusing now?

“i thought you said you put them to sleep.” now you have a lot on your hands, mainly explaining that you were not cheating on their dear father. “look at the mess we have now..” you pout, again.

“i think you were being too loud, dear.” he shakes his head. “maybe you should try toning your voice down a little-“

“suguru geto.”

“im sorry, it’s my fault. i should have double-checked to make sure they’re asleep.”

“good.”

[kisses4kaia]

‘TIS THE DAMN SEASON… .ᐟ

synopsis—you visit your hometown for the holidays and the man who’s smile you’ve been missing has been missing you, too.

pairing—highschoolsweetheart!billy x reader

a/n—merry christmas !! happy holidays !! plz enjoy this rushed christmas special with our favorite cowboy. ❤️

—

“NO FUCKING WAY,” are the first words you’re met with as billy wearily opens the door you pounded on just moments ago. his expression, once groggy and obviously sleep-ridden, now wide awake at the sight of you.

“well, are you going to let me in, cowboy, or are you gonna leave me out here in the snow?” you tease, nose a dusty shade of maroon, bitten with the brutal winters cold, and billy cannot believe his eyes.

he picks his jaw up and nods quickly, opening the door wider for you and rendering himself speechless.

he never thought he would see you again, not after you moved to california to pursue your dreams of becoming a writer. he’d reckoned you would’ve been married by now, had children of your own. children you and billy had planned to have two of. a boy and a girl, a quiet life—and save for scarce letter from time to time, he had no idea how or where you were, and frankly, you were on his mind all the time.

“how? when? why?” billy’s eyebrows are furrowed as he watches you shrug off your heavy winters coat from your shoulders and hang it onto the old coat rack.

nothings changed in his house from since when you were an adolescent, save for the tattered couch that was once pushed against the wall now sitting in the middle of the room, facing the kitchen. other than that, the small, yet cozy, cottage felt like a time capsule—your memories from oh, so long ago suddenly feel like a decade hasn’t passed. like if you’d stayed, the world wouldn’t stop spinning, nor would your life end. you pushed the thought away.

instead, you laugh at the questions, because frankly you’d expected a much different reaction from him when you’d returned to the town you loved so much. “well, i got here on a horse,” you began, already cracking a joke. “as for when, i made it in town last night. and… i just felt like it. that suffice for you?” billy noticed your soft southern accent remained, though you had spent so long away from your beloved hometown.

“where are you staying?” yet another question from billy, but you didn’t mind, for, you were just grateful to see him.

“i’m staying at my parents house. you know it’s the funniest thing, i took the long way there… but the road not taken looks real good now. you know, considering the ass-freezing cold,” you jest again and billy finally cracks a smile. “you know i’ve missed you,” he says, and you pout to contain a smile. “yeah, i missed you, too. why do you think i came all this way? to get a cup of sugar?” you quipped again, never taking anything too seriously.

and there it is. that’s exactly what billy loved about you. so light-hearted, so good. even when he did things he deemed unforgivable, you were always there to highlight the brightness in his heart, to be the brightness in his heart. everything was whole with you, and billy can’t help but pull you into a tight, yearning, embrace. you reciprocate the energy and hug him back just as passionately.

and after a cup of hot coffee and catching up on one another’s lives by the burning fireplace, you end up on the floor, head resting back onto billy’s chest, bodies forming a T shape. “there was this girl called alice, and this other one called barbara, but uh… they were no good,” billy says after asking if you indeed had gotten married and had kids, to which your answer was a strong no, reasoning you didn’t have time for it, yet.

you kiss your teeth and chuckle humorlessly at billy’s unwarranted confession. “if i wanted to know who you were hanging with while i was gone, i would’ve asked you,” with the sting in your tone, billy could sense he messed up. because of course you wouldn’t want to hear about other women. billy was uneducated, not dense.

“i’m sorry,” he sighs sincerely, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “it’s okay, i mean, it’s only natural you’re gonna meet other women, i’ve been gone a good while.” you nod, allowing a false smile to dance onto your lips, throat pounding as you try mightily to keep tears from pricking at your eyes.

“hey, i want you. i always have, since the day we met. and you’re here now, aren’t you, baby? it’s just us, hm?” the endearing nickname slips, but you don’t correct him. after all, he was the only soul who could tell which smiles you were faking. “i’m only here for the weekend,” you look up at him, eyes honest and big, vulnerable and almost naïve. he smiles down at you, not turned off in the slightest by the very short amount of time he had with you. “well then, i guess we just have to make it count, right?”

you smile and stand, wordlessly making your way over to where, if memory serves you well, his bedroom is. lo and behold, the room is his, you know by the window being in the same place you remember staring out of while billy played with your hair as your ear pressed to his chest. difference is, the once full-sized bed has been replaced with a king—checks out, you’d taken a mental note earlier of how tall he’s gotten.

billy’s entering the room not long after you, and when he comes closer, places his hands on your waist, forehead pressed against yours, lips just a whisker away from one another’s, he asks. “can i… can i kiss you?” and you smile, because even now, when you’re full grown adults, he’s still nervous to even kiss you without audible permission. “please,”

and it’s like fireworks went off when you feel warm, coffee flavored, familiar lips on yours. god, you’d almost forgotten how much you missed kissing him. your hands tangled in his hair as he walked you back onto the bed, laying you down and not daring to pull away from your lips as he unbuttoned your blouse.

your tongue swiped his bottom lip, a beg for entrance, and he so graciously let his mouth to fall open slightly, allowing your tongue to meet with his. hastily, billy rods you of all your garments, before allowing you to help him strip himself. he only disconnected his lips from yours when he kissed down to your jaw, to your neck and to your clavicle, finding your sweet spot on your collarbone.

his hands trail down your abdomen, coming to a stop at your core, fingers drawing fast circles onto your clit, and you can’t help but moan. “fuck, billy, please, please fuck me, i‘ve missed you so much,” he smiles as he presses a kiss to your cheek, before he pushes his middle finger into your tight cunt. he lets out a groan himself at the squeeze. “fuck baby,” he breathes out, before beginning to pump the digit in and out of you, your pussy getting wetter by the second. and when he adds in another finger, curls both of them upwards to press against that one spongy spot inside of you, you come undone almost immediately. “that’s it, attagirl. cum on my fingers all pretty for me, yeah?” and you’re still desperate for billy’s cock even after your orgasm.

“billy, please,” you whine as you watch him lick the arousal off of his fingers, moaning at the taste, and he just coos at you reassuringly. “i know, baby, i know. just wanted to taste you first,” and when he finally pushes his aching cock into your impossibly tight cunt before bottoming out, you moan gutturally, and a breathy “fuck,” leaves billy. he gives you a moment to adjust to his size—necessary due to your long time spent away from his cock—before slowly beginning to move again.

for your sake, he tried to hold back, go at a pace slow enough that won’t leave your legs out of order for a week, but when you’re moaning underneath him so pretty like that? how was he expected to do anything but fuck you into the mattress like the world was ending? “billy, fuck, please, don’t stop—shit! i’m—ngh—i’m gonna cum, billy, holy fuck!” and it’s with a loud, sinful, moan that you squeeze around him incomprehensibly tight, like a fucking vice, billy thinks, and cum around his dick. he’s right behind you, looking down at where your bodies meet and seeing a creamy ring form at the base of his own cock. i did that, he thinks, and with your nails painfully dragging down his back, with your legs wrapped tightly around his waist, with just you being in his fucking presence, he pulls out of your pussy and strokes himself a few times, before painting you with warm, white ribbons of his own release.

wordlessly, he presses a kiss to your forehead before he picks you up bridal style and carries you to the bathroom. he runs a towel under warm water and cleans you up carefully, all before preparing a bath for the pair of you.

and when all is said and done, when the world is quiet and you are wrapped up in an old flannel of his, paired with his boxers, sitting on his bed, billy holds you close, and begins humming a song you aren’t familiar with, but the voice from which the tune flows out of is nothing but intimate, close.

“what’s the real reason you came back?” billy stops his humming, and you can only smile.

“because, billy, it always leads to you in my hometown.”

[spaghettiposts]

Spaghettiposts - Masterlist

just your friendly neighborhood noodle with a pen

- Request status: Closed (but you can still send some in!! I usually tend to do the ones that inspire me)

Characters I write for:

Wanda Maximoff

Tara Carpenter

Wednesday Addams

Cairo Sweet

Natasha Romanoff

More coming soon…

| Wanda Maximoff

Oneshots:

Language Barriers | Fluff

Summary: In which you can't help but try to figure out what Wanda's been calling you in sokovian

/~/

Snowmen & Kisses | Fluff, winter special

Summary: Making a snowman with Wanda leads to her mouth on yours.

/~/

Through Thick and Thin | Sick fic, fluff, clingy witch, requested

Summary: “any chance of a fic where Y/N comes home to find Wanda sat on the sofa surrounded by tissues, shes all sniffly and is sneezing like 24/7. Y/N realise she has a pretty bad cold and takes care of her? Lots of fluff?”

/~/

Secrets Out | Established Relationship, fluff, a hint of spice, Requested

Summary: “Hi do fick like wanda (16/17 years) invites his girlfriend (reader) to komleksu avengers in the absence of the team but are caught (Avengers do not know that wanda has someone and ask for Clint in the role of slightly overprotective older brother / dad)”

/~/

All Me | Tooth rotting fluff, sleepy cuddly gf Wanda supremacy, author fav fic

Summary: sharing a cute moment with wanda under the sheets

/~/

Unspoken Truths | Unspoken Desires | Pregnancy fic, slight angst, fluff, friends to lovers, no powers au

Summary: You and Wanda have been friends for years, but never once has she showed up at your doorstep in this state. Pregnant, alone, and hurt. You take her in and you both dive into the difficulties of pregnancy, and hiding feelings.

/~/

An Outlaws Christmas | Cowboy au, established relationship, fluff, holiday special, many kisses.

Summary: Wanda’s father has never liked you, but that won’t stop you from delivering a special gift this season.

/~/

Devotion | Kinda dark Wanda? sorta established relationship, hurt/comfort, slight themes of possessiveness, she ties you to a chair.

Summary: You could never escape Wanda, much less the Scarlet Witch. Even bound to a chair, you couldn’t help but fall into her again. Your precious witch.

/~/

Window Crashin' | Fluff, WandaNat, Oblivious reader, seriously you're dense af, tooth-rotting fluff.

Summary: Crashing into the wrong window at night proves to be the best mistake you’ve ever made.

/~/

It's okay to need help | Hurt/comfort, angst, arguments, established relationships, wife wanda.

Summary: Snapping at your wife was the last thing you wanted to do, but between the pressures of financial disputes you do. You both seek to make things right.

/~/

5 times you slept in places you shouldn’t have + the 1 time Wanda dragged you with her | Fluff, too much fluff, slight feels angst, cuddling, buffoons in love, reader has sleeping issues and insecurities, hurt/comfort, author fav fic.

Summary: You’ve always had trouble sleeping, and Wanda’s always been there to see it.

| Tara Carpenter

Oneshots:

A Fools Love | Ghostface!Tara, murder, slight mentions of gore, fucked up but we love her still, fluff, hurt/comfort

Summary: You're a fool who falls in love with Tara Carpenter, a fool who's hopelessly devoted to her. No matter what.

/~/

To Be Loved | Soft slow fluff, mentions of ghostface/attacks, injured arm, hurt/comfort, sweet love confessions, softness all around, established relationship, author fav fic

Summary: You’ve never known love, until Tara.

| Wednesday Addams

Oneshots:

Video Games | Fluff, established relationship, slightly ooc wednesday, mentions of death yk the usual.

Summary: Video games are a waste of time in Wednesdays opinion, being with you however is not.

| Cairo Sweet

Oneshots:

Picture to Burn | Angst, drinking, slight sexual content, friends to what the hell are we.

Summary: You should've known better than to fall for Cairo, your friend who seemed to have no interest in you, but it only takes one drink to mess things up and get you into her bed.

| Natasha Romanoff

Oneshots:

Window Crashin' | Fluff, WandaNat, Oblivious reader, seriously you're dense af, tooth-rotting fluff.

Summary: Crashing into the wrong window at night proves to be the best mistake you’ve ever made.

[mikaazune]

Oho, hello dear customer! What a pleasure to see you on this fine snowy morning! Here, have some hot chocloate to warm up! And I set up a wonderfully cozy corner over there to sip your drink to your leisure. You'll even get a fantastical view of the town through the front window. Isn't that just delightful?

12 - 1 - 2024

❝ Kitchen Mischief ❞

— Lilia Vanrouge x gn!reader...

Contains fluff, Lilia's cooking deserves a warning; based on this post's prompt "S'mores are perfect when the marshmallows are burnt" "You just can't cook."; December 1st special; not proofread.

I wasn't really sure where to end it so bear with me, it's my first fic on my new account and it's been a while since I've written. I'll admit that it's a little rushed because I have things to do soon but I wanted to get this out before I get too busy and forget. I hope you enjoy!

"Y/N, make sure Lilia doesn't handle too much of the cooking." Silver's words echoed in your head as you helped Lilia gather the ingredients for various Christmas treats. The plan had originally been for you to handle the baking, but after Lilia had dropped into the secret meeting between you, Silver, Sebek, and Malleus and insisted on baking the sweet treats himself, no one had been able to talk him out of it. Afterwards, Silver had pulled you aside and told you that advice. You knew as well as he did that left unsupervised, the kitchen would become unusable for the next week, so you took the duty quite seriously.

"Y/N, how many marshmallows should I use?" Facing Lilia, you saw that the short fae was holding a sizeable bag of the fluffy white cubes. He wore a bright smile on his face, wide enough that you could see his sharp canine teeth. "Check the recipe book," you said, pointing to the open book on the counter nearby. "And stick to the recipe, no deviations." You warned him as though he was a small child. He must have picked up on your tone as well, because he good-naturedly answered, "Fine, fufufu."

Against your better judgment, you turned your back on Lilia to focus on your own project. As worried as you were that he would find some odd ingredient to add in, you couldn't hover over him the whole time. At least you'd compromised with him, allowing him to pick a sweet of his own to make rather than the frosted sugar cookies that he'd had his eye on making. Otherwise, you definitely wouldn't have taken your eye off of him for even a second. But s'mores seemed to be a safe option. There weren't a whole lot of ways someone could mess those up, right? Though, you thought dryly, Lilia would undoubtedly find a way if you didn't watch his progress carefully.

You heard playful giggling behind you and turned. Lilia held a bag of M&Ms and was popping the colorful candies into his mouth as he placed graham crackers on a plate. Relieved that he was placated — at least for now— you finished cutting out the cookies from the flattened dough on the counter and carefully moved them to the pan you had ready.

Once you'd finished, you stuck the first batch of cookies into the oven, casting a quick glance at the timer to make sure it would go off, you went about making the frosting. You'd settled on a fairly simple recipe and, after ensuring Lilia was still occupied, moved across the room to grab what ingredients you'd need.

"Y/N!" Lilia called out. Bracing yourself for disaster, you turned around. Only, the kitchen wasn't on fire as you'd expected. In fact, Lilia was nowhere to be seen, which worried you more than if the kitchen had spontaneously combusted.

"Lilia?" You questioned, looking around. Suddenly, a pair of blood red eyes appeared in front of you, accompanied by a curtain of black and pink hair and Lilia's upside down face, a smile on his face. Startled, you jumped back, but as you opened your mouth in an instinctive yelp, he shoved something in your mouth.

Taking a moment to process what had just happened, you realized what was now in your mouth was a s'more. You were pleasantly surprised that you could at least tell what food you would be ingesting, most of all that it was edible and hadn't already poisoned you.

"So? How does it taste?" Lilia asked expectantly, a proud expression on his face. Taking a bite of the s'more and holding the remainder in your hand, you chewed thoughtfully. It tasted like a s'more should, which meant that he hadn't taken any disastrous creative liberties. You swallowed and gave a thumbs up. "It tastes great!" You said with a grin. Beaming, Lilia laughed. "Thank you! Though, I think a few tweaks in the recipe could've made it taste better." He seemed to be contemplating this idea, so you quickly moved the conversation on.

"Er- the original tastes awesome, don't bother! Anyways, let's get back to work. These treats won't make themselves." You walked back over to your area of the counter and set down the stuff you'd need to make the icing.

Checking the timer, you still had a few minutes, so you got the icing going in the stand mixer while you cut out more gingerbread man shaped cookies with the cookie cutter. You'd just finished putting the last cookie on the tray when the timer went off. You shoved the oven mitts on and opened the oven door, replaced the finished cookie pan with the unbaked one, and set the first one on the stove top.

You realized, a good chunk of time later, that you hadn't been paying attention to Lilia until you heard a sheepish, "Whoopsies," come from your left. You spun around, and apparently your earlier worries were proven to be warranted. Lilia held the smoldering remains of what you could only assume had once been a s'more in his hand, blowing out the small green flames that had presumably been the cause of setting it ablaze. Luckily, nothing else appeared to be scorched, so you assumed that the fire had been magic, and thus started by Lilia.

"Have you been making the s'mores by setting them on fire?" You asked incredulously. The smore you'd eaten earlier hadn't been burnt, so what had happened this time? Lilia's expression was bashful as he explained, "I got a little overzealous..." Half worried that what only deserved the name of charcoal would damage the garbage bag if you tossed it — it still had smoke emitting from it and was evidently still hot — you gestured to it gingerly. "What do you plan to do with it?"

"Eat it, of course!" Came Lilia's response, and he immediately popped it into his mouth. Your look of appall must have been visible on your face, because he said, "S'mores are perfect when the marshmallows are burnt!" You turned away with a sigh of disappointment in your partner. "You just can't cook," you answered. You'd long since dismissed the notion that anything the fae cooked, if it could be referred to as something that was cooked, would harm him. However, you, rightfully so, avoided kissing the fae or sharing anything with him for at least a day after he did this.

"I'm wounded," Lilia said, rather dramatically. "I can cook! I took care of Malleus and Silver and they don't have anything bad to say about my cooking!

You didn't reply, choosing not to mention the whole reason for the secret meeting with them that Lilia had dropped in on. Instead, you pulled the second pan of cookies out of the oven and sent Lilia to grab you sprinkles and the ingredients for brownies.

Once everything had finished baking and cooling, you let Lilia do what he liked decorating the treats. You figured that that was a task that he could manage without setting stuff on fire — again. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Silver's head poke around the doorway of the kitchen. You gave him a slight nod and a smile, hoping that he got the message that everything was going fine, which he seemed to understand, because he gave a brief nod in return and disappeared from view.

"These brownies are very good, Y/N," Malleus said, taking a bite out of his square. Silver and Sebek made noises of agreement as they ate their own brownies.

"See? My baking skills are amazing!" Lilia told to you proudly with a smug grin on his face. Hearing his words, Malleus and Sebek looked shocked and appeared ready to spit the sweets out, but then they seemed to notice that the brownies tasted okay and Malleus, at least, regained his composure. "Lilia, you made these?" he asked. You could tell that he was still dubious as to whether or not he should continue eating. "I was there to supervise," you spoke up.

"I see." Sebek seemed relieved and began eating again, your explanation satisfying him. Silver, for his part, had finished his own brownie without pause, though that was probably because he'd checked in on you earlier and saw for himself that the food wasn't hazardous to consume.

"I can't believe that Christmas is only a few weeks away! I haven't even finished getting Kalim or Cater's presents yet!" Lilia exclaimed conversationally, munching on one of your sugar cookies.

Silver chimed in, "Neither have I for Se— uh, Riddle." He caught his slip up and redirected quickly, his eyes glancing at Sebek for a brief moment before flicking away. It clicked after a few seconds. Silver had gotten the Equestrian Club gifts, and he didn't want to spoil the surprise for Sebek. Malleus seemed to catch this too, judging from the way his smile widened slightly, but he too stayed silent.

"So, Malleus, Y/N, are you getting presents for anyone?" Lilia prompted teasingly.

"Of course," you said with a conspiratorial wink to the dragon fae. You had both collaborated to make a special gift for Lilia, a way of showing your thanks to him. The gift itself would be a horizontal weapon stand for Lilia to place his magearm on, but it wasn't quite ready; you still needed Sam to deliver a few decorative pieces so you could finish it.

"I don't suppose you'd tell me what it is?" Lilia asked, blinking his eyes like a puppy. Malleus chuckled. "That would ruin the surprise."

Lilia pouted but conceded. "Fine." He reached to grab another cookie, but there were none left on the plate. "There are more in the kitchen," you reminded him. The short fae looped his arm through yours and with no further explanation or room to protest, he announced, "You're coming with me!"

Once you followed along, he nudged you in the side with an elbow. "Are you sure—"

"I'm not going to tell you," you said firmly. With that, he sighed and he seemed to actually give up, knowing that if you weren't going to budge, you wouldn't budge. You arrived at the kitchen and you scoped out what baked goods remained. Another pan of brownies and a copious amount of sugar cookies that you would have to give away to other students to get rid of in a timely manner.

"Y/N~" Lilia said. You turned and was met with his face inches from yours. You felt his lips press against yours in a quick kiss. It took you a few moments to register that he'd been hovering, but that honestly wasn't your most pressing thought as you gagged. The taste of sickly burnt marshmallow invaded your mouth, remnant from the failed s'more from earlier. Lilia's eyes lit up in alarm. "Y/N?"

"No more kisses for the rest of the day — or at least until you brush your teeth!" You said, gagging still and grabbing a glass of water to attempt to rid your mouth of the acrid taste.

"Do you want a cookie?"

"Yes."

"Does that mean I can—"

"No."

You're leaving now? Do be careful out there, it'd be unfortunate if you injured yourself by slipping on a patch of ice or whatnot! Oh, here's a peppermint for the road, they're quite tasty! Well, I hope to see you again soon, esteemed patron.

Twst taglist... @h2llish @xen-blank @edith-is-a-cat @nightmare-in-the-woods @floydsteeth @officialdaydreamer00 @cookiesandbiscuits @mermaidfanficlibrary @casp1an-sea @tako-cafe @creatorbiaze @koihanwrites @lyle-my-beloved

Reblogs and likes are appreciated but not necessary!

[hannahhook7744]

Oh No! My Intervention! It's Broken!

Summary: King Arthur had tried to ignore Merlin’s not so slowly increasing visits to the tavern. But after Merlin's three day disappearance and reappearance he just can't ignore it anymore.  Merlin’s drinking has gotten out of control and their friends are all concerned. He has to do something. Or: Arthur tries to be a good friend by staging an intervention for Merlin’s non-existent drinking problem.  Trigger Warnings: Implied alcohol abuse and dependency, swearing, threats, etc. Inspired by this post. Merry Christmas @aconfusedvoid ! Hope you like it!

------------------------------------------------------------

Gwaine was, undoubtedly, going to hell for this. 

Oh sure, he had definitely earned his place down there long before today with all his drinking, galavanting, fighting, swearing, and wooing of many. But after today? He was most definitely, seriously, unequivocally going to a special place in hell. 

Why?

Well because Arthur was staging an intervention for Merlin because of a drinking problem Gwaine knew the younger man didn't have and the knight was enjoying every single moment of it like the little shit stirrer he was. 

The king had gathered the round table, Gwen, and even George for the intervention—saying that he was concerned for Merlin and his health and safety, and that he hadn’t invited Giaus because he was afraid the man enabled the behavior. He looked more and more embarrassed the longer he spoke, and honestly it would have been a pretty solid argument had Merlin actually been the alcoholic Arthur thought he was. 

Lancelot, Leon, Mordred, and George looked like they wanted the floor to swallow them up—which made sense since the four of them obviously knew what Merlin was actually up to. With George being an assassin, Mored being a druid, and Leon and Lancelot being extremely observant, and all.

Gwaine couldn't help but wonder if they knew that each other knew. 

He was willing to bet 20 shillings that the answer to that was no. 

Elyan, Gwen, and Percival looked just as concerned about Merlin as Arthur did and yeah, Gwaine was definitely going to hell for how much the whole thing made him want to burst out laughing. 

He was made all the more sure of it when Merlin entered with a pitcher and some cups, and stopped dead when he saw the looks on all their faces (Gwaine was sure it was obvious he was holding back laughter based on the glare Arthur was sending him). “If I didn’t know better, I would say this looked like an intervention.” 

Nobody said anything.

Merlin shot Arthur a betrayed look. “You told me this was a council meeting!”

Ah. That’s how he got Merlin to willingly come here.

Gwaine couldn’t help but snicker. 

Percival elbowed him in the side. 

“Ow! What was that for?”

“It was for you not taking this more seriously. Thank you Percival.” Arthur responded, rolling his eyes before turning his attention back to the subject of why they were all here. “Now, Merlin, I’m sorry for bringing you here under false pretences but I—we—are concerned about you.”

“I can see that. You don’t normally have interventions for people you aren’t concerned about.” Merlin scowled as George took the tray and pitcher from him, and crossed his arms. Giving them a baffled look. “What I don’t understand is why—”

“You have a serious problem, Merlin.” Gwen interjected. “Drinking to this extent isn’t healthy.”

The look of complete done-ness on the servant’s face was almost enough to make Gwaine start cackling again. He almost did when Merlin and Lancelot met eyes—no doubt having a silent conversation on how to get out of this mess. The only thing holding him back was the pain in his side from when Percival elbowed him. 

But oh how he wanted to.

He probably shouldn’t have found this as hilarious as he did. But he couldn’t help it—the whole situation was just so ridiculous in context. 

Gwaine knew he should intervene. 

But he didn’t. 

He would when he was needed. But for now, he was content with just sitting back and watching to see just how his best friend planned to get out of this.

“I don’t have a drinking problem.” Merlin sighed. 

“Says everyone with a drinking problem ever.” Arthur deadpanned, ignoring Gwen’s hiss of “Arthur!”

“What Arthur is trying to say—”Elyan cut in. “—is that we aren’t here to judge you. We just want to help you get better because we’re your friends and we don’t want you disappearing like that again because next time we might not be able to find you.”

“I am going to kill Uncle Gaius for this and then tell mother.” Merlin muttered, only loud enough for Gwaine to hear it seemed before addressing Elyan at a more natural tone. “Yeah…about that…”

“You always take on so much.” Percival frowned. “You take everything so hard and  you keep everything negative bottled up inside when you really shouldn’t—”

Merlin looked at Mordred, who have him a sympathetic grimace and Lancelot, who gave a ‘don’t look at me, you get us out of this’ look. 

“You should really tell them, Merlin.” George hummed, refilling Arthur’s drink. “He’s been planning this for weeks and they’ve all been oh so worried. They’d likely  be less worried if they knew the truth.”

The other servant looked alarmed. “How did you—”

“What are you on about George?” 

“What do you mean the truth—”

“Oh for Godsakes.” Leon grumbled, standing up. “Merlin isn’t an alcoholic, he's a sorcerer and he’s been disappearing so often because he’s always trying to save Arthur and the rest of Camelot. Now can we PLEASE just end this and pretend it never happened. This is mortifying.”

The room went silent. Dead silent, one might say. 

Gwen, Arthur, Elyan, and Percival all looked like several different things were all dawning on them at once—missing puzzle pieces no doubt appearing and sliding into place explaining things they had been suspicious of like too easily defeated foes, broken branches, and foes speaking in riddles that seemed to make no sense, for instance. 

Lancelot looked embarrassed. 

Mordred was staring at Leon in shock.

George refilled their cups as if nothing had happened.

All while Merlin stared at Leon gobsmacked. 

And just like that the damn that had been holding back Gwaine from laughing broke, causing him to have a fit. His laughter so loud that it echoed throughout the castle and the kingdom.

“YOU KNEW?!” Merlin screeched—eyes moving frantically from Leon to George to Gwaine, shock written all over his face. 

“All the servants in the castle know, Merlin.” The other servant rolled his eyes—actually rolled his eyes, which was the most emotion Gwaine had ever seen from the man other than when the meeting had started, that is. “How many times has Giaus scolded you loudly about being careful with your magic with the door wide open?”

Merlin swore, burying his face in his hands. 

“I told you.”

“Not the time, Lancelot. Gwaine! Leon! How did you two know?”

“You weren’t exactly quiet when you told the dragon to fuck off, Merlin.” Leon deadpanned, looking exasperated as if he wasn’t just as much of a menace. “Also I recognized Mordred as the druid boy Arthur spared. That along with the bandits tripping over nothing and flying tree branches, not to mention the Lamia not affecting you, made it very clear that you were dabbling in sorcery.”

“Strength.” Gwaine pointed at Arthur before pointing at himself. “And Courage. That makes you magic. Also plates don’t fly by themselves. I would also like to apologize for my previous bad faith comments regarding magic, I was trying to hide the fact that my sister had magic too and may have overdone it a bit.”

Lancelot stared into space, looking as if he was regretting every decision he had ever made in life. 

Gwen and Elyan were muttering to one another. Comparing stories. “It all makes so much sense.”

“That’s why Mordred called you EMRYS?! I just thought he was confusing you with the real deal because of how attuned with nature you are!” Percival sputtered, having an existential crisis. 

Merlin was two seconds away from a panic attack.

And Arthur?

He looked relieved. “Oh thank god you aren’t reckless enough to risk your life just for the sake of getting sloshed. I was afraid we’d have to lock you in a room to help you detox or something.”

“Arthur!”

“WHAT?!”

“You were gone for three days! We thought you were dead! Can you blame me—”

“How many times have I told you I’ve never been in the tavern?!”

“It was a genuine concern!”

[shunin-gumis]

(Not) Lonely SANTA's Mission - Track 03

Seasonal Event: Christmas 2024

Location: HAMA House - Living Room

Nagi: …Glue the eyes to the chrysanthemum, and attach the felt ears… 

Nagi: Add some puffed rice into the wrapper and tie it off with a ribbon… 

Nagi: Muun… 

Nagi: (After which I cast a charm of happiness— And that’s a wrap on the “Bunny Bouquet.”)

Nagi: (Yup. As I thought, working on the bouquets in the living room wards off the sleepiness compared to working on it back in my room.)

Nagi: Onto the next one.

Nagi: (Next is the Teddy Bouquet. Add the eyes to the chrysanthemum…)

Nagi: (The ears… Puffed rice…)

Nagi: (Charm…)

Nagi: …*snore*

Nagi: —*gasp*

Nagi: This isn’t good… My consciousness is floating away like the seeds of a dandelion… 

Nagi: Fluffy… 

Nagi: (T-There’s a weight… on my back…)

Nagi: (Could this possibly be the first encounter with one of the Seven Wonders of HAMA House: “The fairy that pulls you under if it catches you past midnight”...?)

Nagi: No way… Jose… 

Kuguri: My, so you were awake, Nagi?

*Nagi sinks down a bit*

Nagi: Oh, thank goodness. It’s just Kuguri-san. Um, you’re… really heavy… 

Kuguri: Mhm, that would be because I’m putting all my weight on you.

*Nagi keeps sinking down*

Nagi: Once again, the shepherd's purse is crushed gently… by the ever beautiful lily… augh… 

~~~

Tao: Argh, that last round didn’t go well. I seriously messed up my reload timing.

Tao: I’ll just grab an energy drink and move on to the next match…

???: Can’t… Breathe… 

Tao: Huh… Who’s groaning? No one’s supposed to be in the living room… The heck…

Kuguri: Hello, maci.

Tao: Woah, Kuguri-san, what are you doing here by yoursel–

Tao: W-Why are you on top of Hachinoya-san!?

Nagi: T-Tao… 

Tao: What are you doing!? Please get off of him!

Kuguri: That’s too bad. I simply wanted to enjoy the warmth of a pale flower for a little longer.

Nagi: Phew… I was almost flattened… But I was also surrounded by Kuguri-san’s nice scent in the meantime, so I guess I broke even…? No, it might be better than even… 

Tao: Are you alright, Hachinoya-san? What are you two even doing out here this late? It’s 4 AM, y’know.

Nagi: *gasp* This is no good. I need to get ready to head to the market.

Nagi: See you later, Tao, Kuguri-san. 

*Nagi runs off*

Tao: Sure…

Tao: It sorta looked like he’s working on something with his flowers… I wonder if he’s been working at night too?

Kuguri: My, hard workers have it hard, don't they? December is something of a bonus month meant for relaxing.

Tao: You slack off, like, every month though…

~~~

Location: Flower Laundry

Sonia: Yesh… Got it. Thank you for your order~

Sonia: Nagi-shan, we got an additional requesht on a pending order! I’ve left the note over here!

Nagi: Got it. The other Christmas bouquets are also perfectly done.

Sonia: The one that will be picked up at noon, yesh? I’ll keep it safe in the storage.

Sonia: Shtill, it’s a good thing we have sho many customers~

Nagi: This is a special holiday for florists. We should make good use of it.

Sonia: That reminds me, did you finish making the bouquets you plan to hand out later today?

Nagi: There’s still three left. The atmospheric pressure isn’t looking good today, so I’m taking the bus. I’ll make them on the way. 

Sonia: In that case, it’s probably besht if you leave now while you have two hours to shpare, beshides the time you need for travelling. 

Sonia: If you manage to get there early, you could always take it easy at the cafe nearby.

Nagi: Huh? But… 

Sonia: It's okay! You can leave the shop to me!

Sonia: Here you go, the usual shafety and emergency bag packed by yours truly!

Sonia: It’s got the bandages you losht lasht time, your helmet and whistle, and I’ve even put in shome extra cat toys and nyao-churu*!

Nagi: Sonia… 

Nagi: Thank you. These are all really handy.

Nagi: I’ll be off, then.

~~~

Location: HAMA Downtown

Nagi: (For a moment, I was worried when I ended up diving headfirst into a gaggle of cats while trying to avoid a snowdrift, but I was saved thanks to Sonia’s items.)

Nagi: (I managed to get to the station safe and sound. There’s still time before the bus arrives, it’s almost scary how smoothly this is going.)

Nagi: (Alright, I should use this time to make the remaining three Teddy Bouquets…)

Baby of the person sitting nearby: Da~

Nagi: Wah.

Nagi: (A tiny hand just grabbed onto one of the chrysanthemums…)

Baby’s Papa: Oh! C’mon, don’t do that. I’m so sorry for the trouble…!

Nagi: It’s okay… 

Baby of the person sitting nearby: Uua?

Nagi: …… 

Nagi: Muun… 

Nagi: (Grow up healthy and strong—)

Baby of the person sitting nearby: ?

Nagi: …Um. You can have this, if you’d like. As a present. 

Baby’s Papa: Wait, really?

Nagi: Yes. He seems to like it, and I have plenty to spare, so— 

Madam with a strong presence: Oh my, how wonderful! Could I have 3 of those teddies for my children too!?

Nagi: Um, uh, huh?

Kids with a strong presence: Wooow–! So cuuute! Gimme gimme gimme!

Nagi: Awawa… 

Nagi: S-Sure, here you go. Three teddies.

Kids with a strong presence: I don’t like this ribbon!

Nagi: Okay. I’ll change it for you, so let me know which color you like. Red? Alright, take this one.

Nagi: The chrysanthemums are delicate, so be careful not to crush them by accident. Yep, I’m glad you like them too— 

*sound of the bus leaving*

Nagi: …Ah.

Nagi: Excuse me, please wait. I need to get on too…!

~~~

Nagi: *out of breath*

Speedy delivery guy: Get outta the way! I gotta deliver this pizza within five minutes!

*Nagi slides to the right*

Nagi: Woah.

Kind worker: Watch out for that traffic cone!!

*Nagi hops back to the middle*

Nagi: Not a problem.

Taco vendor passing through: Welcome~ Happiness from the other side of the world, now at your doorstep~ Would you like to try our Mexican Avocado Tacos~

*Nagi slips and falls backwards*

Nagi: —Ah.

Nagi: (Turns out the skin of an avocado is pretty slippery too…)

Woman: That’s some gymnastics you just went through but, are you alright!?

Man: That spine’s arched so soundly even a lobster would be surprised…! Is your back okay!? I’ll call for an ambulance right now…!

Nagi: (I won’t make it in time if I’m loaded off in an ambulance…)

*Nagi gets back up*

Nagi: D-Don’t worry about it. Goodbye…!

*sound of tires screeching to a halt* 

Nagi: Oh.

Terrified witness A: Yikes, that guy just dived in front of that clearly luxurious looking car…

Terrified witness B: He’s a goner… 

Nagi: (...I wonder if I can reach a settlement with them. If I’m forced to work in some underground empire, I’ll need to check in with Kafka whether side-jobs are okay or not…)

*sound of a car window rolling down*

Liguang: What the hell are you doing, Hachinoya.

Notes:

Nagi specifically uses pompon mums for his bouquets this time, which is a smaller and round variety of chrysanthemums. Chrysanthemums in flower language can mean "noble," "believe in me," and "I love you" (specifically 君を愛す - kimi wo aisu, which is slightly different from the usual 愛してる - aishiteru)

Nyao-churu seems to be a play on ciao-churu which is a cat food brand.

Event Masterpost

Next Track

[starleska]

OKAY i just want to scream about the Fifteenth Doctor for a sec!! 🔥

spoilers for Joy to the World (the 2024 Doctor Who Christmas special); read at your own risk!!

so many thoughts about this fun, goofy, absurd episode and what a good old-fashioned Doctor Who romp it is, but i desperately want to talk about that harrowing scene where the Doctor purposefully angers Joy. to preface, my favourite Doctors are Six and Eleven. i love my Doctor with a little mean, arrogant streak, so seeing Fifteen's bright, cheery, complimentary façade slip away into overt malice was so much fun, and Ncuti does it so well!!! even though we all knew he was trying to break the Villengard's hold on Joy, getting to see his capacity for cruelty, grandiosity and harm is my favourite thing about the character. and it's one of the things that stands out about Moffat's characterisation of the Doctor: he isn't afraid to write him as an alien being with powers who could hurt us if he decided it was for our own good. the revelation that the Doctor was able to say those nasty things about Joy with such realistic venom because it's how he feels about, and treats, himself...ouch. this many regenerations in and Fifteen is just as mixed-up and angry as he's always been, but with a fresh wave of losses weighing heavily on his ancient mind. the Doctor always feels the most interesting to me when he's preoccupied with his own responsibilities not dealing with it well...because that's what makes his companions, and humanity as a whole, matter. when you think about the best companions and human characters in the show, they are always the ones who are able to make the Doctor pause and take stock in the middle of his (extremely understandable) moral crises. the ones who can say, 'yeah, what you've gone through is seriously messed up, but here's how i carry on. here's why you should keep living'. that's why the Doctor keeps coming back to us: we're an emotional anchor for him in a way it seems no other species is. both Joy and Anita showed the Doctor new ways of continuing on even when he's feeling so much loss after Ruby's departure...and i really want a companion who can challenge the Doctor's self-hatred in a constructive way, while we see how the Doctor really feels beneath that mask. just!!!! so many thoughts about Fifteen!! is it bizarre that i vastly prefer his portrayal in Joy to the World and Boom compared to, say, The Legend of Ruby Sunday and Empire of Death? it's possible i do just enjoy the way Moffat writes the Doctor in general, but god, when it's the Doctor i want his age and the enormity of his emotional burden to come across 😭💖

[dsireland86]

The First Day Of Christmas:

A White Christmas

Tag list:

@philomenie @supersquirrel1996 @foliosgirl @angelmarie89 @fadingintothegrey @thisbicc @lma1986 @dominuslunae @shayzillaaaa @mrsnoahsebastian @flowery-mess @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @stardustsirenmelody @romanreigns-supreme @anything-more-than-human @into-the-grey @rumoured-whispers @myownthoughts12 @sister-sebastian @nyxthedestroyerofworlds-deactiv @missduffsblog @bngurngheart @somebodyllelse @xxkittenkissesxx @fadingangelwisp @dizzylmwahh @Youlookforultraviolet

The sky outside was gray, the threat of an incoming storm looming over the cabin. I carried the stack of logs up onto the porch, turning around to stare out into the vast grayness.

"Looks like a storm is moving in," Folio commented, coming up behind me. The smell of leather filled my senses as his tan leather gloves lay gently on my shoulders. "It sure does," leaning back against his chest.

His hands found my hips as he leaned over and kissed my neck, breathing in deeply.

"Here, let me take those."

Turning around, I handed over the logs, catching Nick's kiss as I did so.

"Mmm, let me have those lips again," he smiled, making my knees weak. "Do you think maybe we should head home sooner just in case? I don't want to get snowed in and miss Christmas with our family."

Nick's bottom lip protruded out, frowning as if thinking. He looked up at the sky, shaking his head.

"I'll check the weather, just in case."

I nodded, folding my arms tightly around me.

"C'mon, let's go in. I'll throw these bad boys on the fire, and then we can cuddle up on the couch and finish the movie from last night." "Oh, you mean the one we didn't get to finish because you couldn't keep your hand out of my sleepy pants?" "I don't know what you're talking about. I was a good boy last night," Folio denied, patting my bottom as he followed me inside.

Christmas was in two days. We had a plan. But now, that plan was on hold.

"Are they seriously calling for an accumulation of five feet? Holy shirt, Nick! We're going to be snowed in for god knows how long!"

Folio sighed, as if knowing this was going to send me into panic mode.

"Okay, first off," he said, tapping the weather app closed then turning around to face me. "You should know by now that they are never right ninety percent of the time. A lot of times it's just an assumption."

Reaching for my hand, Folio pulled me towards him then down into his lap, wrapping his arms around me.

"Besides, would being snowed in for a few days together be so bad? Just think of all the fun things we could do, not to mention an actual white Christmas..." "Like the movie," we both said in unison, laughing afterwards.

The charming smile that creeped over his adorable face made my tummy flutter, and the playful glint in his eyes made the tingling feeling between my thighs deepen. His lips reached my throat and I giggled, laying my arms around his neck as my head feel on his shoulder.

"No, it wouldn't be so bad, but just the thought of missing Christmas with our family makes me sad, that's all." "I'll tell you what, then. Just in case, lets go to the closest town and get some last minute Christmas decorations and a few supplies just in case. Maybe that won't make you feel as sad."

Folio slipped a finger under my chin and lifted my face. "God, you're beautiful," he smiled, laying a soft kiss on my lips. "You're pretty cute yourself," I complimented back, leaning in and kissing him back. His tongue slipped over my bottom lip forcing me to open my mouth and when I did, he invaded my mouth heavily.

For a few moments we made out, feeling the heat between us beginning to rise.

"Alright, alright," I said, pulling away. "Don't get too carried away. Lets go to town before night falls." "Ohhh, it was just getting good too," Nick pouted. "Maybe, if you're a good boy, you'll get an extra special treat tonight." "Holy shit!" he said, excitedly. "Alright then, let's go!"

Folio picked you up, tossing you over his shoulder and ran out the front door, making sure to lock up first, all the way to the truck with you laughing hysterically all the way.

"There, how's that?"

I looked over and gasped. Nick had placed the small angel tree topper in her proper place, putting the finished touch on our final mission.

"It's perfect, baby, thank you," I said softly, grinning like an idiot. I had just finished hanging the lighted garland around the fire place, after hanging the two stockings and placing the two small nutcrackers and snowmen on the mantle. "You're welcome. Anything for you."

Folio grabbed my face and kissed my forehead before patting my bottom.

"God, I love your butt," he chuckled, grabbing as much as he could and pushing me against him. I could feel his excitement and it made me a little lightheaded. "Oh, I know, trust me," I said, laughing. "I'm going to go shower. I feel gross." "Okay."

He began to walk away, but stopped, turning around.

"You want to join me?"

I looked over at him only to find he'd already removed his shirt and the top button of his jeans was undone. The perfect v shape of his hips that dived down well below his jeans had me clenching my teeth and swallowing hard.

"I, uh, I," clearing my throat before grabbing some more garland. "I think I'll pass and let you have your space," turning my back to Nick. But his warmth and presence were felt before his arms even wrapped around me. "I don't want my space. I want you. In the shower with me. Hot water, soap, and me inside you. Now," he whispered against my shoulder. "I might need a little more convincing than just words," I coaxed him.

I smiled as he took the garland from my hands and tossed it on the floor, reaching for the hem of my leggings and tugging them down along with my panties. My breath hitched in my throat at the feeling of the cold air hitting my skin.

"Fuck, look at that ass," Folio praised, running his hand gently over my rear end. I knew what was coming. It was just a matter of when.

The slap against my skin was, thankfully, lighter than I thought it would be, but if I was being honest with myself, I loved the hard, harsh feeling of my boyfriend's strong drummer hand coming down on my bottom.

"Convinced, yet?"

I woke to the strong smell of coffee. Rolling over and reaching for Nick, I was only met with disappointment. He was the reason for the strong coffee smell.

Groaning and unwillingly pulling myself out of the warmth of the blankets, I grabbed his brown hoodie and threw it on before trucking out into the main area of the cabin.

Folio was standing at the kitchen counter, arms stretched out with hands bracing the counter top. He was shirtless, wearing only his red flannel sleepy pants, making me wonder how in the hell he wasn't freezing. His hair was dry, causing it to look utterly disheveled, yet I couldn't wait to run m y hands through it.

"Mmm, good morning sweetheart," he mumbled as I slipped my arms around his waist. He took one of my hands in his and the warmth that came from it surprised me.

I kissed his shoulder first, dragging my lips across his skin to the middle of his back while sliding my free hand down the front of him and hearing him sigh.

"God, woman," Folio moaned, letting his head fall back. I wrapped my hand around his covered erection, hoping to give him the satisfaction I knew he was craving. "You made me wake up without you," I pouted, lighting massaging his tip with the palm of my hand.

Nick hissed, gripping the counter top.

"At least I made coffee," he chuckled as did I while planting kiss after kiss over the skin of his back. "That's not the point." "Then what is?" he growled through clenched teeth.

"I wanted to make love to you," I confessed against his back.

I heard the subtle curse fall from Folio's lips as he turned around and grabbed my face between his callused hands, kissing me hard.

"Goddamn, why do you tease me so badly," he laughed, his bright smile warming my heart. Picking me up, I locked my legs around his waist as he carried me back to the bedroom, closing the door behind him.

"It's coming down pretty hard. I think there's already over a foot out there," Nick said, taking off his coat and boots.

I groaned, turning my attention back to the movie. White Christmas. How convenient.

Folio came over, recovering his seat from earlier. He pulled me into him where I snuggled in deeply, entangling my arms around his and the blanket. His sweet kisses to face and forehead made me feel a little better, but not completely. I wanted to be home for Christmas. But now, I didn't think that was going to happen.

As if Nick could sense my sadness, he squeezed me a little tighter.

"It's going to be okay, sweetheart. At least we're together. Think about if we had to be apart for Christmas. That would suck."

I wiped the tears that slid down the sides of my nose, gripping Nick's arms tighter, thanking god silently that he was right. At least we were together.

The hour passed and I was almost asleep by the time the end of the movie was near. As Bing and Danny, Rosemary and Vera sang, and the snow outside softly rained down leaving a blanket of white in it's wake, Christmas Eve passed quietly, leading me and my love into the early morning hours of Christmas Day.

"Merry Christmas, Sweetheart," Folio said quietly, kissing the side of my face as I drifted off into a deep sleep.

"Holy crap! It really is a white Christmas!"

Everything was covered in white. I could barely see the truck, the shape of it buried beneath the mountain of white the only visible thing.

"Aghh," was all Folio could say, rubbing the back of his neck. "I freaking hate snow."

I looked over at him as if he was crazy.

"Now who's not being so optimistic," I scolded, earning me a hard glare.

"Yeah, whatever."

I frowned, walking over to him.

"Hey, what's wrong? This attitude isn't like you."

I hugged Nick's waist while patting his chest. He took my hand and kept it the there, squeezing it tightly. The look on his face was one of great disappointment, and it worried me.

"Baby, what's wrong?"

Nick sighed, looking down at me. The loose tendrils of hair falling in his face made him look absolutely delicious, and it made me want him.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath. "I had this whole thing planned for today, that's all."

"What kind of thing?" "A surprise kind of thing."

I tried my best to hide my smile, not wanting to make Folio feel worse.

"Okay, well, can't you improvise or something? Is that possible?"

Folio grinned at me, and the sweet sparkle in his eyes returned.

"It's possible, I guess, just not the way I wanted it to be." "Well, that's okay. I'm sure it can still be good."

Nick just stared at me for a moment, thinking.

"Alright, fine. Come with me," offering me his hand. I took it willingly, allowing him to lead me back into the house.

After minutes that felt like hours of waiting, Nick finally came out of the bedroom, telling me to close my eyes, which I did, skeptically.

"Okay, open them."

I was so confused. Sitting on the floor, at my feet, was a box, a big box, all folded up, but not wrapped. I scowled at Nick, and he told me not to think about it too much and just open it.

"A box inside a box?"

"Keep going."

Another box. And another, but they kept getting smaller.

"Nick? What in the world," "Just keep going. There's only a few more," he insisted.

A few more turned into three.

"My question is where did you find all these boxes?" I stared at my boyfriend, puzzled.

"You would care about that, wouldn't you" he laughed. "There's one more box," he said, nodding towards me.

Smiling, I opened the last box and gasped, almost dropping it. I brought one hand to my mouth. It was shaking so badly. Was he really serious? I looked up at Folio who was staring at me intently.

"Are you for real?"

He nodded, slowly.

I shook my head, unable to believe what I was looking at. Inside the box was a small, simple, silver diamond ring. An engagement ring.

Tears filled my eyes at the realization of what was happening.

"Marry me," was all Folio could say. "Is that a question or a demand," I chuckled, looking up at him. "Both?" he shrugged, forcing a small smile.

I took the ring from out of the box, holding it up to see it better. Nick came closer, watching as I studied it.

"Are you sure about this, Nick? I mean are you sure you want to marry me? I mean I'm not always the happiest person to be around, and sometimes I have really low days that make me a total bitch and I end up feeling terrible for the way I treat you and others around me. I don't thinking you've thought this properly through. I don't think..."

My words were cutoff by Nick's mouth on mine as he pinned me against the couch, almost climbing into my lap.

"Just shut the hell up and answer the question, dammit," he demanded, trying his best to suppress his laughter. "I fucking love you. You should already know that by now. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, fishing and fucking and making babies with you like we've talked about."

I huffed a laugh through my tears, wiping them away.

"You're it, sweetheart," Folio confessed. "I don't want anybody else. Only you. Forever. You're the one I've chose to give my heart to. Just you."

I was crying. Tears rolled down my face. I threw my arms around Folio's neck, burying my face in him. He smelled like heaven

"Okay, then. Yes. Yes," I squealed. I raised my face to see the look of relief wash over him.

He took the ring and slipped it on my ring finger, pulling me in for a kiss.

"This isn't the end, you know that right? I'll never finish falling in love with you."

Nick's words hit my heart like fire, creating a whirlwind of emotions inside me.

"You're my favorite," he said, smiling at me. "My favorite everything."

Gently, he wiped my tears away as I wrapped my arms around him tight.

"Merry Christmas, Baby," I whispered to him. "I love you."