#and this is probably my new christmas time tradition | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thepersonnamedsam · 4 months

Note

helloo, just wondering if I could request an imagine for gen z driver and everything that happened last weekend in Qatar! How the heat affected her, and maybe something dramatic and how the other drivers, fans and teams maybe worried about her, thank u sm<3

a random day in my life in f1

pairing: the genz!driver x 23!grid

summary: a vlog about our beloved genz!drivers day in the paddock

word count: 2k

warnings: none

note: merry christmas and a happy new year!

thanks for staying with me this year and into the new one :)

it’s not exactly like you asked and i’m sorry for that… but this has been sitting in my drafts for sooo long, and i just had to like give it some meaning…

masterlist / taglist

The vlogging camera was always secured somewhere in her bags, but she almost never used it. Being overwhelmed fast by all of the other cameras, she didn’t want to create herself more anxiety. But today was different.

„Hi guys!“ Her face appeared on the screen. Much too close, you could almost see her pimples she got from her sweaty balaclava.

The camera swayed and the paddock was shown. „We‘re here in Qatar, it’s beautiful. It is-“, the video switched to her watch „-2pm on a Thursday, that means Free Practice!“

Light music played in the background of the video, but you could still hear the busy paddock. People talking and walking in the background. Sometimes there would even be shouting, but y/n didn’t care, she just smiled into the camera.

„I’ll take you with me through my day! Are you excited? I bet you are“, she smiled. „Uhm, Qatar is a night race, as many of you probably know… but FP1 is still in daylight, which I’m glad, because I can actually see the track and not just feel it-“, she gestures the curves of the track with her hand „-you know? Yea…“, she mumbles the last part.

The video switches to a different setting. y/n now standing inside of her garage: „I have to be careful what I show here, it’s like Hippa in hospitals“, she laughs, „with privacy and all, we don’t want the other teams to know what strategies we’ve been working on.“

„But that’s my car“, she points to the newly polished F1 car, „she got a new look just for this race, can you believe it?“ The camera sways around the car to show off the new design.

„It’s really hot here, make sure to drink enough guys!“ An animation of a glass being filled with water appeared on the screen. „If it works, you should see some water right now“, the young driver grins.

The view changes again, this time to her watch: „We have 3.30pm, it’s time for me to warm up, but I’m actually already very hot, so maybe my trainer will let me off?“ She looks expectantly at her trainer, who only shakes his head no. „Aww man, worth a shot though.“

She placed the camera on the ground to film her warmup. The timelapse shows how she starts to lightly jog on the place. Her trainer starts to throw tennis balls at her. You couldn’t hear it in the video, but he shouts with which hand she has to catch the ball.

The music was catchy and in best with her rope jumping. y/n face was red and she was sweating extremely. She was puffing and breathing heavily. In this humid weather, even inside the cooling garage, it was hard to train. How would she survive in an already 40° hot car, for over 50 laps?

The music stops, so does the timelapse. You can see y/n breathing loud as she laid on the floor. Her head turned towards the camera and she smiles lightly. „Phew, never doing that again“, she laughs.

The video changes again, as y/n walks down the paddock to visit some of her friends: „I’m on my way to the McLaren hospitality. Lando and I have that tradition for Free Practice. We always get a smoothie before, so we don’t have to drink some weird protein shake.“

The view sways around and you can see the bright orange from McLaren. You could hear Lando before he was even in the video. His laugh loud and prominent. „Hi y/n‘s fans!“, he waves into the camera.

„This is Lando Norris, if you didn’t know. He drives for McLaren!“, she explains to her viewers. „I hope they know who I am…“, Lando pouts. She shushes him and giggles.

„What smoothie are you gonna get?“, she asks Lando. „McLaren hospitality has the best smoothies, I swear. Mine doesn’t even have smoothies, can you believe that?“

„Uhm, I think I’ll get the green one, I don’t want to hear anything from Jon, so that’s the only safe option“, he sighs. y/n grimaces, as the green smoothie tastes the worst.

„I think I want the red one, the one with the dragonfruit in it, so I can fly through this Free Practice like a dragon“, she laughs.

Lando rolls his eyes but still has to laugh at her shitty joke. „That was such a bad joke.“ - „But you love me anyway“, y/n grins.

You see y/n full on sweaty and with a red head. „Free Practice is done, it was hot, like really hot, Imma hop into my ice bath for a second and yea. I’ll probably go to the Hotel after to cool down, so I’m fully prepared for Qualifying.“

A shot of the pink rubber duck floating in the ice bath was shown. The duck was flipped and it showed the temperature of the water. 8°C. Perfect for a hot day like this.

„Ohh, I’m almost vaporising“, y/n laughs as she submerges in the water. „My skin is so hot and the water so cold, it’s like I’m the hot metal they put into water, I love this videos, I binge watch them before I go to sleep“, she confesses.

„Anyway, have you seen my pink ducky? I got it from Carlos! I was jealous of his, so he bought me my own temperature duck, isn’t that sweet?“

The next shot was y/n in her hotel room. She was laying in her bed, scrolling through her phone and occasionally laughing. The view was amazing, the sun was setting and you could see so much of Qatar.

„Good morning! It’s Friday then, it’s Saturday, Sunday, what?“

„Welcome“, she laughs, „I’m eating breakfast together with Max, say hi Max!“, Max waves into the camera. „I’m eating Avocado Toast with some Salmon - good fats for my body and Max is eating, actually, what are you eating Max?“

The view changes to Max‘ plate. There was a mix of different things, like some roaster potatoes and beans and some weird, almost wool like thing on his plate. „It’s potatoes, beans and some sauerkraut“, he explains. „What? Sauerkraut?“ - „Yea, I don’t know, apparently it’s good for your body.“

y/n makes a face of disgust and the screen goes black for a second.

„Okay, Q1 and Q2 are finished, got stuck in Q2, but I’m glad I don’t have to start in Q3 honestly, I can focus on the Sprint Shootout later. It’s hot in the car, hotter than usual.“

The scene changes, again to y/n laying exhausted on the floor. From the side you can see Oscar creeping up with a big glass of water. The moment the water hits y/n‘s skin, she’s up and about chasing the rookie.

„Oscar!“ And she sprints out of the view. The screen goes black and then you can see Oscar’s wet hair and two smiley young drivers. „She dumped me“, he huffs. „Into the water“, she says for clarification.

„It’s race day!“, she screams into the camera. „Well sprint day“, she says less excited. „I hate driving in these conditions. It’s way too hot, I’d rather drive on ice than this.“

The scenery changes again, cars driving around the parking lot. „I came here with Charles and Carlos, we’re staying at the same hotel and to save our carbon footprint, with all the excessive driving we do anyway, we thought we carpooled.“

You can see Charles driving and Carlos sitting in the passenger seat. „They wouldn’t let me drive, even though I’m an F1 driver“, she sighs. You can hear Carlos laugh and say: „Have you seen your driving style on the street? No way I would sit in that car.“

The young woman shakes her head and tuts. „You wouldn’t understand“, she whispered into the camera. Charles laughs.

„You know, for you being Australian, you’re still very sweaty.“ - „What? I’m not sweaty, that’s my natural glow“, Daniel laughs. „Natural for sure“, she mumbles.

„What even are you doing? You’ve been walking around with that thing for the past three days“, Danny asks. „I’m vlogging!“ - „You’re what?“, he asks confused. „You’re old, that’s what you are. It’s like blogging but with a video, so it’s vlogging“, she explains with a sigh. The older out of the two just makes an ‚oh‘ sound and laughs.

„I wanted to make a ‚a random day in my life in f1‘ video but it turned out to be a ‚a random four days in my life in f1‘ video.“

Fernando looks confused at y/n. „What?“, he blinks at her. „You know, it should’ve been a video about one day, now it’s about the whole race week“, she explains. „Ahh, okay“, Fernando answers, still unsure what the younger driver tries to explain him. „You wanna say hi?“, she asks him.

„Hi“, he replies. Fernando was not yet in view, but you could hear him. „Into the camera, Nando. You know how this works, you’ve done press and TikTok!“

„Hi“, he says again, this time Fernandos forehead was in excellent view. You could hear y/n‘s giggles as he took the camera out of her hand. „This is for my wife, Taylor, who’s cheating with another athlete!“

The camera was set down and Fernando stood up. „What are you doing?“, y/n‘s giggles continued. „Play Cardigan by Taylor Swift please“, he whisper shouts. As soon as the music begins, Fernando dances and sings to it.

„This is me before the sprint“, y/n looks into the camera and holds up a piece sign, „And this is me after the sprint.“ Face red and puffy. „Athletes sweat, I‘m a real athlete“, she quotes Daniel.

The camera sways to Oscar, who won his first race/sprint. „How do you feel, Mr. Piastri?“ - „I’m hot and sweaty, I wanna drown myself in an iceberg or something.“

„Yea same“, she huffs. „Listen, this race is exhausting. We drive in an unnormal heat, alone in the car it’s 40°C when the outside temperature is like 20°C. But the outside temperature here is already like 40°C, imagine what it’s like inside our cars.

This is for the FIA: I lost like 7kg this sprint race alone, just from sweating. What about you, Os?“ - „I don’t know if I want to say anything to the FIA“, he says lowly. „Ahh, they won’t see that anyway“, she reassures him. „I lost like eight pounds, maybe?“ - „How much is that in kilograms?“, she asks him slowly. He laughs and says: „Maybe 3.5kg.“

„Mr. Verstappen how many kilograms did you lose today?“, she shouts over the paddock. Max halts and turns around to face the camera that was shoved in his face.

„The scale says five, why? How much did you lose?“ - „Seven! Can you believe that?“

„This race really is torture, and we only raced, what, 16 laps? I don’t know.“ - „Can’t wait for tomorrow“, Lando sighs.

The screen goes black for a second again, before the same music started from her warm up at Free Practice. The timelapse begins again and you can see y/n sweating.

Occasionally she sits down to have a sip of water, but her trainer gets her up again. Her face appears wide in front of the camera and she starts to sing the lyrics as the music fades.

„Race day, baby, hoping for a good result today! I feel it in my sweat that I’ve been losing over the past few days“, she jokes.

She gets filmed as she gets into her car, it’s being rolled out of the garage and she makes the shaka with both her hands.

We get a few scenes as she drives past the start line and as she crosses the finish line, the radio messages was overlaid on the video.

„That is P4, baby!“, her race engineer shouted. „Yes! C‘mon! I almost fainted the last three laps, but totally worth it!“

You can see the podium being filmed from the ground. Max won, of course but; „Oscar and Lando! Woohoo! P2 and P3 for my Papaya Boys“, she screams as the McLaren drivers received their trophy.

The video ends with y/n sneaking into the room where they celebrated their podium in private. They were all exhausted.

„You reek of sweat and champagne“, y/n says from behind the camera. All three laugh and Max throws his towel at her camera. The screen goes black.

Comments 3.2K

user i- what was this?

user2 love, love, LOVE the smoothie tradition

user3 qatar should be banned from the schedule

user4 what do you mean, you almost fainted on the last 3 laps? what is going on?

user5 i heard lance almost fainted too

user6 this is cruel, but also love the content

user7 I WANT TO CRADLE HER AND TELL HER EVERYTHING IS OKAY AND THAT SHE CAN TAKE AN ICY SHOWER

user8 kimi would’ve walked straight to his yacht

user9 nando’s so right playing cardigan

user10 I KNEW YOU, PLAYING HIDE AND SEEK AND GIVING ME YOUR WEEKENDS!

youtube this was… eventful?

user11 ariana, what are you doing here?

user12 that’s so old

user13 shut up, they’re probably from all the tiktok edits here on yt

user11 what’s tiktok?

user14 love the new content

f1 wowza, y/n is just stealing our job! next stop: y/n hosts grill the grid

°°°

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#f1 x reader #formula 1 #f1 #charles leclerc x reader #carlos sainz x reader #daniel ricciardo #charles leclerc #fernando alonso #genz driver #lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton x reader #max verstappen x f!reader #max verstappen x reader #female driver #female f1 driver

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babydollmarauders · 4 months

Text

IN THE LIGHTS — JACK HUGHES

jack hughes x fem!reader

12 DAYS OF KINKMAS

summary: in which y/n and Jack are decorating the tree, and he finds another use for the christmas lights

warnings: fluffy cheesiness in the beginning, NSFW CONTENT, bondage, p in v (unprotected), fingering, degradation, praise, spit. (4k words)

notes: welcome to day 7 of the 12 days of kinkmas! where i wrote this smut in…not at all at christmas time! it’s no surprise to me that this is my favorite one because… it’s Jack.

“please, Jack?”

i’ve been begging for a week. pleading with my boyfriend to finally decorate our christmas tree.

usually, when i was back in my own apartment, i would make a fun night out of it with my friends. all of us getting together to listen to christmas music, drink spiked hot cocoa, and decorate my tree before hunkering down for holiday movies with big bowls of popcorn; that were meant to be used to make garland, but somehow always ended up with more in our mouths than on the string. but now i live with my boyfriend and his brother, and i had hoped we could decorate the tree together; starting a new tradition.

Jack seemed to love the idea when i brought it up, knowing how excited i get around the holidays and how much i loved the season. but with his hockey schedule being so busy, we haven’t exactly had the time to decorate it amongst roadies and the various home games and practices.

but now it’s December 20th, five days away from christmas, and he has a rare free night at home.

logically, i know Jack is probably dreading the decorating. my tidy boyfriend will surely hate the various boxes of ornaments around our living room and the sparkly tinsel that always seems to shed onto the floor. i know he’ll probably complain about my putting on the chipmunks christmas album, and the fact that i’m so anal-retentive about the placement of the ornaments and how the lights are spiraled around the tree.

but i also know that he’ll do it to make me happy. i know that although he’ll complain about some things, he’ll smile when i bring out the christmas cookies, and he’ll tease me about how the stockings have to be hung just right on the entertainment center or i’ll get chills and have to fix them while he sleeps.

which is exactly what i’m banking on to persuade him to say yes to giving up his relaxing night of sitting on the couch and watching hockey in order to help me decorate.

Jack looks over at me, situated under his arm on the couch, my cheek pressed to his shoulder as i make my best puppy dog eyes up at him.

“yeah.” he finally sighs, shaking his head as a bright grin breaks out across my face.

“thank you!” i squeal, quickly shifting from his hold. i sling a leg over him, straddling his lap and cupping his face in my hands. i pepper kisses all over his cheeks, forehead, and nose.

“alright, alright!” his face turns pink as he giggles, playfully trying to push me away.

i pull back just long enough to give him some reprieve before swooping back in and pressing a kiss to his lips.

“i love you.” i remind him sweetly, winding my arms behind his neck.

“i love you too, kiss monster.” i laugh at his teasing nickname, leaning forward to press my lips against his once more.

his hands come up to hold my ass and he chuckles into the kiss as i squirm a little at his touch.

“oh, c’mon guys, really?” our moment is broken by Luke’s voice, and i pull back to find my boyfriend’s brother walking through the living room, pulling a hoodie over his head. “other people live here, you know? i don’t wanna see my brother fondling his girlfriend in our living room.”

Jack’s head tips back in laughter, “fondling?”

“yeah, you know, what you were just doing?” Luke raises his eyebrows, pointing at his older brother’s hands that still rest on my butt. “i know you didn’t go to college but that’s like a fifth grade level vocab word, dude.”

“get outta here, you cock-block!” Jack huffs, one hand leaving my body in order to give Luke the middle finger and then shoo him off.

the younger boy shrugs, snagging his coat off the hooks by the front door.

“oh!” i pipe up before he can leave, garnering his attention. “where are you going? Jack said we could decorate the tree tonight! do you wanna join us?”

Luke’s eyes flick from me to his brother, and i look back at my boyfriend to find him looking at his younger sibling with the ‘be nice or i’ll convince Nico to make you skate extra laps’ look.

it’s a pretty oftenly used facial expression between the two, ever since Jack found me crying in our closet early this year because i thought Luke hated me after i moved in. that was also when i learned that Luke doesn’t dislike me, he’s just an extremely blunt person.

“i’m sorry, y/n/n, i have some friends from U of M in town for a couple days. we’re gonna hang out and catch up.” Luke explains nicely, obviously trying not to hurt my feelings. “i look forward to seeing it when i get home though! Jesper said your tree designs are legendary.”

“okay.” i give him an understanding smile, nodding my head. “have fun! and be careful!”

he gives me a thumbs up, heading out the door. as it clicks shut, i look back at my boyfriend, who’s already looking at me with a pitiful smile.

“i’m sorry,” he starts, rubbing a comforting hand up and down my back. “i know you wanted it to be all three of us.”

i shrug, “it’s fine. he should catch up with his friends.”

“it’ll be just us then.” Jack smiles, “a new tradition for us.”

“a new tradition for us.” i repeat, grinning as i lean forward to peck his lips.

it took another couple hours for Jack and i to finally get up and drag out all the decorations i had brought when i moved in; the boxes being stuffed in the back of the storage closet.

“jesus, babe.” he huffs, setting the final box down on the coffee table. “i knew you brought a lot, but six boxes?”

i shrug, already pulling the first box open, finding a wide array of ornaments inside.

“a box for everything.” i explain to him, pulling open a second box. “two boxes of ornaments, a box of lights, a box of tinsel, a box of stockings and their hooks, and a box of all my stuff for garland making.”

Jack rolls his eyes, pulling open another box. he reaches his hand in, pulling out a red and white knitted stocking with an embroidered ‘J’ on it.

“is this… for me?” his voice is soft as he looks at me in questioning.

“yeah! i made it after you asked me to move in!”

“you made this? just for me?” he steps in closer to me, a prideful smile on his face. “my girlfriend is magical with her hands.”

i chuckle, pulling the stocking from his grip.

“oh, don’t act like you didn’t already know that.” i wink and he pulls me in by my hips, pulling me flush against him.

“oh trust me, i knew it.” his words drip with lust, his head dipping down to capture my lips in a kiss, but it’s in that moment that the christmas song that fills the air switches, now playing ‘The Chipmunk Song’.

Jack groans, pulling away. “even the music is cock-blocking me tonight.”

the laugh that slips through my lips is quickly followed by a snort, which makes my boyfriend grin, crinkling his nose.

“let’s just start decorating.” he nods at my statement, letting me step away from his touch.

as i begin fluffing the tree branches, making sure they’re nice and spread for the decorations, Jack opens the last few boxes. i glance over for a second, watching him pull out two more stockings, matching his, these ones with Luke and i’s initials on them.

the corners of his lips quirk up as he sets them on the entertainment center, more than likely not wanting to risk hanging them without my guidance.

i finish fluffing the tree, pulling a can of spray snow from the tinsel box, and Jack throws me an odd look as i begin spraying the tree.

“what’s that?” he questions, coming over to join me by the tree.

“it’s spray snow.” i tell him as i continue spraying. “see how it gives the tree a white dusted look, as if it’s been in the snow?”

he nods, his brows still threaded together as he watches. i can feel his eyes on me as i bend over to spray the bottom branches of the tree, making sure no spots are left bare.

but when i stand back up, my boyfriend is stood right behind me, his hands coming down on my waist and pulling my ass against him.

“you know what you’re doing.” he hums, and with the feeling of his semi-hard bulge against me, i have a feeling he doesn’t just mean with the tree.

“Jack.” i scold playfully, turning around in his grip. “the lights please?”

he sighs, letting his hands fall back down to his sides as he steps back.

“right.” he huffs, turning back to the boxes and pulling out a string of perfectly untangled lights, thanks to my storage hack of wrapping them an empty paper towel roll.

he begins unraveling the lights, and once he has the entire string of them into his hands, he sets them to the side.

turning back to me, a smirk is glued to his lips, a dark look in his eyes. i squint at him, crossing my arms over my chest.

“what are you thinking?” i ask suspiciously, scanning him up and down. but he just shrugs, feigning innocence.

“who? me? i’m not thinking anything.” he could possibly be convincing, if i didn’t know that exact look all too well.

he’s been horny ever since we were on the couch, and this is his ‘i just got a dirty idea’ face.

“i’ll tell you what,” i start, holding a finger up to stop him mid-step forward. he hums, urging me to continue.

“you’re horny, i’m horny, we both want sex right now. but, you know how much doing the tree means to me. after we finish the tree, we can do whatever dirty little thing just popped into your head. but first, i want the tree done.”

Jack nods rapidly, “deal!”

i giggle at his excitement, watching as he turns back around and grabs the lights again, walking over to the tree.

“alright, how do we do this?”

i guide Jack through plugging the lights in before spiraling them around the tree, from bottom to top. once that’s done, Jack lifts me up, letting me place the topper on the tree.

“what’s next?” he asks me, standing in front of all the open boxes, his hands on his hips.

“draping the tinsel.” he groans at my words, pulling the tinsel out of its box.

we work together to spiral it around the tree, making sure it doesn’t cover the lights, before we finally start on ornaments.

with the two of us, it doesn’t take too long, but i can tell my boyfriend is getting impatient. especially with the way he keeps having to lift me up to put ornaments on the top branches, my body pressed against his as he does so.

the last thing we do is the stockings, me guiding Jack on how to space them out so that they’re evenly spaced at the front of the entertainment center.

when we finally finish it all, about an hour and a half later, i stand back, looking over our finished project with a smile.

Jack stands behind me, his arms wrapped around my waist, my back pulled against his chest.

“it looks great, baby.” he compliments, pressing a kiss to my cheek. blood rushes to my face, biting my lip. “Jesper was right, you really are legendary.”

“thank you, love.”

he wastes no time, squeezing my waist tighter as he speaks up again, “so…”

“yes, Jack.” i laugh, nodding my head. “now we can do whatever you thought of earlier.”

he excitedly pulls away, spinning me around and gripping my chin, making me look up at him. his eyes are dark, his voice low as he speaks.

“go to the bedroom, i want you naked and on the bed when i get in there.”

i nod, speeding off to the bedroom. as soon as i step through the threshold of our room, i’m tearing my sweater over my head, letting it drop to the floor. as i walk over to the bed, i unclip my bra, throwing it to the side as well. i stop at the edge of the bed, peeling my jeans down my legs, along with my panties, leaving me bare as i crawl to the middle of the bed.

i sit quietly, my legs tucked under me and my hands clasped on my knees.

the soft flow of christmas music from the living room stops, and i can hear Jack’s footsteps down the hall, getting closer and closer. i squirm a little in excitement, shifting my weight around and squeezing my thighs together.

he steps into the bedroom, one hand behind his back, smirking when he sees that i did what he told me.

“good girl.” he gruffs, stepping up to the edge of the mattress. “give me your hands.”

i hold my hands out, and it’s then that he brings his own out from behind his back, a spare string of lights in his grasp.

“what are you doing?” i ask, but my question is answered by his actions.

he grips my hands in one hand, pressing my wrists together, and begins wrapping the lights around my them.

“is this okay?” he asks softly, looking me in the eye as he speaks. i smile at his care, grateful to have a boyfriend that makes sure i give explicit consent to what he’s doing.

“yeah.” i nod, “this is okay.”

“you remember your safe word?” he finishes tying the lights around my wrists, not too tight, but just enough that i can’t slip my hands through.

“assist.” i tell him, and he smiles in confirmation.

“good.”

and like a flip of a switch, the soft and gentle Jack is gone, replaced by a dark and dominating one.

he allows me to watch him pull his hoodie cover his head, bringing his t-shirt with it, before he pushes me back on the bed. he crawls slowly over top of me, pushing my arms above my head and dipping down to lock his lips with mine.

the kiss is rough and dominating, his tongue pushing past my lips to tangle with mine. he sucks my bottom lip into his mouth, pulling back with it caught between his teeth before letting it pop back into place.

he trails hot, wet kisses down my jawline, sucking gently at my neck as his hand grips my breast harshly, pinching my nipple between his fingers and pulling.

my back arches, pushing my breasts up towards him, a moan sounding from my throat.

“Jack.” i whimper as his hand begins to trail down my abdomen, getting closer and closer to where i need him.

i can feel him smirk against my skin, dipping his fingers down to find my clit. my hips buck against him, my hands pulling against the lights in attempt to separate so i can grip his back, and i whine when they can’t.

he begins to circle my clit with his thumb, rubbing in figure eights, and the high pitched sounds escaping my lips bounce off the walls of the bedroom.

my eyes squeeze shut, my chin tipping up towards the ceiling, and Jack pulls his lips from my neck, staring down at me and admiring my blissed state.

while his thumb rubs, he runs a finger through my wetness using it as lubrication to slip one finger into my heat.

my walls clench at the intrusion, my eyes rolling back as he crooks his finger inside of me.

“Jacky, please.” i breathe out, grinding myself down upon his hand. my own hands grip the pillow above me, the only thing i can think to do with them restricted.

“such a slut. you wanna come so bad, don’t you?” he spits out, “wanna make a mess all over my hand.”

i whimper, nodding my head rapidly as he slips a second finger into me, thrusting and curling them to push against my g-spot.

pressure builds in my stomach as he continues fucking me with his fingers, stretching me with a third digit. my toes curl, my walls clenching around him, and i know he can tell i won’t last much longer.

“you wanna come? say it.” Jack leans forward, whispering in my ear. “say you wanna come on my fingers like a fucking slut.”

i gasp as he thrusts his fingers in again, my orgasm quickly approaching.

“i’m a slut.” i squeak, a moan falling past my lips. “i wanna come on your fingers like a slut.”

i pry my eyes open, my boyfriend hovering his face above mine, and he nods.

“come.” he commands, and as if he summoned it out of me, my climax hits, my breath catching in my throat as the knot in my stomach disperses, my eyes rolling back and my hands struggling against their restraints.

Jack’s fingers still, only his thumb continues moving against my clit, and he leans down to kiss me. pulling away once my orgasm is done.

he sits back, pulling his fingers out of me and leaving me clenching around nothing, feeling empty. his hand smacks my thigh, and i open my eyes again to look at him, watching as his hand rises to his lips, sucking his fingers clean of my release, one at a time.

i release a shaky breath as he hums, my eyes falling down to find his erection straining against his sweatpants.

“you taste so sweet, baby.” he whispers, bringing my attention back to his face. “you want a taste?”

my lips part, nodding, and he smirks; but instead of pushing a finger to my lips, he dips down to eye level with my pussy, his tongue darting out as he starts licking through my arousal. my hips wiggle, bucking up against him, and he pushes them down before pulling away.

he crawls back over top of me, squeezing my jaw open, and spits, letting a slow string of my cum drip down onto my tongue. he closes my jaw, raising an eyebrow at me, and i swallow before opening again, sticking my tongue out to show him.

“such a good girl for me.” he praises.

my arms ache, and i contemplate asking him to untie me, but instead i wait for him to crawl off of me before i lower them back down to my stomach.

i watch with baited breath and a bitten lip as he drags his sweatpants down his hips, his boxers going with. his cock springs free, slapping against his lower stomach as he kicks his bottoms to the side.

my whine echoes through the room at the sight, longing to feel him in my hand, and Jack finds amusement in my torture, slowly walking back to the bed.

“you want my cock so bad, don’t you?” he pouts, mocking me. “you want me buried in your tight little pussy, filling you up?”

i let out a strangled whimper, nodding my head.

“please.” i beg, already knowing where this is headed. “please, Jack, i want you. i want you to fuck me so bad.”

he climbs onto the bed, cupping my cheek as he settles over top of me.

“you made me wait, maybe i should make you wait too.” he teases, beginning to pull back, but i quickly lock my arms around his neck, holding him in place. my tied up wrists helping in my endeavor. i shake my head.

“no, please. i’ll be good.” i plead. “i’ll be so good, just please fuck me.”

Jack nods, pressing a kiss to my lips. “okay.”

he uses his knee to spread my thighs further apart, one hand wrapping around himself, guiding his dick through my folds. my legs wrap around his waist, my back arching as his tip rubs against my swollen clit.

“you ready?” he stares down into my eyes, raised brows as he questions me.

“yes,” i start, “plea-”

i don’t even get to finish my words, cut off as he thrusts deep into me. i squeak, my eyes rolling back as he wastes no time; pulling almost all the way out before harshly snapping his hips against mine again.

“shit!” he curses, and i blink my eyes open to watch his head tip back in pleasure. “squeezing me like a fucking vice, baby.”

his voice is strained, and my hands grip his back to ground myself, my nails digging into his skin, surely leaving crescent shaped indentations.

his strokes slow before speeding up again, getting rougher with each thrust. my breathing quickens, and i use my arms to pull his lips back to mine.

our lips move in tandem, his tongue poking through to taste mine, our connection occasionally broken for a moan or a breath. i trail away from his lips, dragging the tip of my tongue along his jaw until a reach the end, placing an open mouthed kiss below his ear.

he groans, my hips bucking up to meet his thrusts, and i suck his earlobe between my lips before i go back to his.

our kisses are messy, teeth clashing with our rushed movements, but it fits the scene perfectly. his hand comes down to cup my breast, pinching and pulling my nipple as our skin slaps together.

the pressure begins to build again, a knot tying in my stomach, and my abdomen tightens, my walls clenching around him.

i’m still oversensitive from my first orgasm, and i can feel my second rapidly approaching.

“fuck, you gonna come on my cock?” he grunts, and i shake my head ‘yes’, speechless at the feeling that’s washing over me.

“do it.”

my body tenses, the sensations of him thrusting inside me while playing with my nipples throwing me over the edge. my nails dig deeper into his back as i finish, and his thrusts become sloppier and hurried.

within a minute, his hips stutter, his body tensing just like mine had moments ago, and he quickly pulls out, ropes of cum painting my stomach as he finishes.

our heavy breaths are the only sound left in the apartment, Jack bowing out from under my arms and flopping down on the bed beside me.

we take a few moments to replenish the oxygen in our lungs and Jack gently unties my wrists, pressing kisses to the skin there, despite them being perfectly fine.

as soon as my hands are free, i’m swiping a digit through his release on my stomach, looking over at him as i lick his cum off my finger.

“fuck.” he drags out, lust rejuvenating in his eyes. “baby, you’ve already had 2 orgasms, don’t make me wanna give you another.”

i bite back a smile, shrugging my shoulders, and he gets up, stalking into our en-suite bathroom, coming back a second later with a wet washcloth. he kneels on the bed, wiping my stomach clean before disappearing again.

when he reappears, he holds one of his t-shirts from our closet in our en-suite. he pulls on some clean boxers from his drawers, pulling another pair out, before coming back over to me. he helps me into the extra boxers, before i sit up.

“arms up, baby.” i follow his directions, letting him slip the t-shirt over my head before snuggling back into my pillow.

he climbs back into bed, pulling me closer until my head rests on his chest, and i mellow, listening to his heartbeat.

“so, is that part of the tradition too? or just the tree decorating?” he jokes, making me giggle in amusement.

his arms tighten around me as he places a kiss to my hair.

“check back next year, i’ll decide then.”

#faithlynn’s 12 days of kinkmas #jack hughes #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes smut #jack hughes fic #jack hughes blurb #nj devils #nhl smut #nhl fic #nhl imagine #faithlynn’s writings <3

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imbored1201 · 4 months

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hi! would you be able to do a teen reader x barca/arsenal (or like an individual) where they spend christmas alone without anyone knowing until they comeback, and when people realise they make it up to reader?

thanks! (and happy christmas and new years)

Mapi’s Huge Surprise

Warnings: Neglectful parents

Barcelona Femeni x Teen Reader

Word Count: 1,383

A/N: Merry Christmas everyone!

You looked at the time, 11:55 pm. About to be Christmas Day. You sighed, getting up from where you laid, to eat the rest of that gingerbread house that you built.

You hated and loved Christmas. You loved the lights and how joyful the people got, but you hated how alone you felt every year. Your parents had never acknowledged it, but they let you walk around the neighborhood to see the lights while they partied at some coworkers place.

Now that you were far from them, you wanted to do something big, but then you realized you didn't have any friends outside of the team, and the whole team were busy with their families.

You were completely alone again. When midnight hit, you decided to watch some classic Christmas movies.

—————

New Years was the same; you had also drank some wine, hoping Alexia wouldn't notice, but overall, you just enjoyed watching all your teammates stories to see what they were up to.

Your parents had called you, wishing you a great holiday and hoping it went well for you. You just asked them what they did, and as usual, they went to a party, not bothering to ask what you did for Christmas or New Years or if you would even visit them.

—————

When Alexia came back home, you were excited and clingy. You wanted to watch a bunch of Christmas movies with her. She found it cute and agreed; even though Christmas was a week ago, she even brought up the idea to make Christmas cookies.

It was probably the happiest Alexia had ever seen you. Apart from the mess, it was a fun day. A day you hated to see end, but at least you finally got to experience a Christmas tradition with someone that you knew cared about you.

—————

"So, what you do for Christmas?" Lucy asked as she bumped your shoulder. "Nothing," you shrugged, drinking some of your water. Lucy frowned at that.

"What do you mean nothing?" She asked, grabbing the water bottle from you. "I didn't do anything Lucy. I just stayed home and watched movies."

"You didn’t see your parents?" She pushed more. "Come on ladies!" Jona yelled at you guys. You quickly jogged to where the other girls were for sprints.

————

When training was over, as usual, you were the last one out the locker room, taking your sweet time. Alexia waited for you patiently, knowing if she rushed you, it wouldn't be a fun car ride for either of you.

You had lied to Alexia about your parents coming to Barcelona, telling her that they were getting a rental where you guys would stay and that they would leave after New Year's Eve. Alexia was going to her mama's house, so you weren’t worried about getting caught lying. You felt bad for lying, but you didn't want her worrying about you.

You noticed her expression, like she was thinking hard about something. "You okay?" You asked her, packing your bag. She nodded.

"We have to talk." "Did I do something? I swear, I've been on top of my work, so if my teachers told you something again, they're lying," she shook her head.

"I know you're doing good in school; your teachers have been praising you a lot lately." You smiled and followed her out to the car. She wanted to press you, but she also didn't want any awkwardness during the car ride, so she waited until you guys got home.

—————

Right when you got into the door, you tried to hurry to your room, knowing an awkward conversation was about to happen. Of course, it didn't work out.

"How was Christmas with your parents?" You froze. "Good." She looked at you, and you knew from that look that she knew you were lying.

"Don't lie to me," you winced at her tone. "Were you here alone?" You knew you couldn't lie yourself out of this one; you nodded at her question.

"Why didn't you tell me?" She asked, "I didn't want to be a bother." "You're never a bother Bebe. My mama loves you, you're practically another daughter to her." Alexia pulled you into a hug.

"It's okay Alexia, I'm used to being alone on holidays, we never do anything anyway," she shook her head. "Next time you're coming with me, okay?" You nodded, and she kissed your forehead and let you go to your room.

—————

All you wanted to do was sleep; you were a teenager, so of course it was your top priority. You groaned and shoved whoever was on top of you. You heard them laugh and smack your cheeks a bit.

You finally opened your eyes and saw Patri and Claudia with mischievous smiles. "What are you doing here?" You mumbled sleepily, closing your eyes once again. "Alexia sent us here to wake you; we have a surprise," Pina said excitedly.

"I'm too tired to get up," you told them, shoving Patri again. You felt her get off you; you got happy, thinking they would leave you alone, but of course, with this team, you would never get your way.

"Hey!" You yelled as Pina grabbed your legs and dragged you off your bed. A huge thud sounded through the apartment as you fell. Patri quickly grabbed your arms, and they lifted you up. You tried wiggling away, but it was no use. You gave up and let them carry you.

They set you on the floor in the middle of the living room, and there you saw all of your teammates crowded around the front door and the couch.

"Alexia they hurt me," you whined to her. "I told you guys to get her out of bed nicely for once," Alexia scolded them. "She wouldn't get up," Patri defended, and Pina nodded along.

"You didn't tell me we were going to have a team bonding night," you looked at Alexia offended that she didn't warn you. "It wasn't planned,” Mapi told you.

"We got these for you" Frido told you, and you looked around and realized they all had gifts. "For what?" "What do you mean for what? For Christmas kid" Lucy told you as she threw her gift at you.

You looked at her suspiciously, "go on, open it" She was way more excited than you. "New headphones!" You said excitedly, "Because you broke your other ones and cried about it the whole bus ride," she said.

Aitana was about to give you hers but got shoved out of the way by Mapi. "Trust me, when you see mine, you won't want the other ones." Everyone rolled their eyes at Mapi.

She grabbed you, and put her hands over your eyes, and led you outside. "Alexia!" You shouted, scared Mapi would pull some dumb prank on you. "I'm right here bebe" she reassured you, giving Mapi a look of confusion.

"What did you do Mapi?" Alexia told her, seeing what she got you, but Mapi just smirked. She finally let you see, and your jaw dropped. "Holy shit" you cursed. Alexia was also too shocked to even tell you off for your language.

A dirt bike.

"No" Alexia told Mapi sternly. "Yes" Mapi said back. "I love you!" you shouted and tackled Mapi into a hug.

"We can go to a trail this weekend; I have a buddy that will teach you; we just have to get you gear" she smirked and turned to Ingrid, who handed you a box.

Your smile got bigger when you saw there was all the gear you needed. Ingrid noticed Alexia's glare. "I tried to talk her out of it, but you know how she is when she's set on something."

"Come on Alexia. Look at that smile." Mapi points to you, all happy on your dirt bike, showing it off to Patri and Pina.

"If she gets hurt-" "she won't; trust me, in a week she'll be wanting to be competing" Alexia sighed, but let it be; there was no changing Mapi's mind, and you already seemed attached to the bike.

—————

Mapi was right though; you were only paying attention to the bike all day. Completely forgetting you had everyone else lined up to give you their gifts. It was truly a Christmas you would never forget.

#woso x reader #woso #woso fanfics #barcelona femeni x reader #barcelona femeni #mapi leon #ingrid engen #alexia putellas

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starry-eyes-love · 4 months

Text

Love Never Fails: A New Year’s Eve Kiss

Series Masterlist Main Masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader AU (no outbreak)

Summary | You have had a crush on Joel Miller, you know your father’s best friend, for a long time. You’re now 20 (and Joel’s 35) and you’re home for the holidays. Tonight is New Year’s Eve and you decided to go to Bill and Frank’s New Year’s Eve party wearing a sexy black dress. You have one goal in mind, you want to kiss the man that you’ve had a crush on since you were 16. And you finally get your New Year’s kiss at midnight. Happy New Year!

Warnings | 18+, Minors DNI. Language, fluff, sexual tension, references to sexual encounters, slight grinding up against a wall, kissing, alcohol consumption…that’s it.

Word Count: 2.0K

A/N: Welcome to my new series titled Love Never Fails, this one is the origin story of how the couple seen in my other series titled Marriage Dynamics became a couple. Enjoy and Happy New Year!

His hands were shaking and he felt his heart race. This is a bad fucking idea man, ya need to stop this before it goes too far, Joel thought. But the truth was, he wanted it to go too far. He wanted an excuse to taste you, to feel your soft lips against his. You were every forbidden fantasy from his goddamn dreams, sent from Heaven and Hell together to test him. You were like a siren, someone who called to him, to his soul. And he knew that with just one kiss you’d be his forever. So that's why he needed to stop this before it went any further.

It was New Year's Eve, and you were at a New Year's Eve party that was hosted by Frank and Bill, two of your father’s closest friends. Frank and Bill always had a tradition of giving you a small gift each time they threw parties. Your father always fussed and stated that you didn’t deserve any type of gift from them, but Frank didn’t care, he gave you a gift anyways. Tonight was no exception. This time though the gift came early during Christmas. Frank had wrapped up and gave you a form fitting black dress that accented and hugged your curves just right. When you opened it in front of your father you almost gave your father a heart attack at seeing what the dress looked like. Frank encouraged you to try the dress on and when you came out to show everyone, Joel almost choked on his drink at the sight of seeing you wear it. When you asked Joel in private if he liked the dress, all he said was “fuck woman” and then excused himself to the bathroom. Frank bought the dress knowing what type of effect it would have on Joel, considering that Frank knew you had the biggest crush on Joel Miller. The only problem was that Joel was your father’s best friend, and you had babysat Joel’s daughter, Sarah, from the time you were 12 until you graduated high school two years ago.

Now tonight you were back in the dress over at Frank and Bill’s party, with your hair done up nicely, and a small amount of natural looking makeup on your face. As you slowly approached Joel upstairs alone, he considered leaving and not sticking around to talk with you. Joel was trying to stay clear of you all night, unsure of how he would be able to keep his hands off of you. Joel, being your father’s best friend, was seriously struggling in not fucking his best friend’s 20 year old daughter up against the wall tonight. God, this was torture for him, especially seeing you slowly saunter down the hall towards him, holding out a glass of alcohol for him to take. Seeing you like this tonight, in that tight dress with your hair done up nicely, made him feel like he had died and had gone to heaven. Or more like probably going to Hell considering all of the dirty thoughts that he was having tonight of what he wanted to do with you while you were wearing that dress.

“Evenin’ darlin,’” Joel said in a low Southern drawl as you approached him.

“Hi, Mr. Miller” you said, smiling ever so slightly, handing him a glass of champagne.

Joel accepted the glass graciously from you while also gently brushing up against your fingers as he took it from you. He saw the slight blush that instantly hit your cheeks at the feeling of touching him. After a moment of holding his glass, and slowly looking you up and down, he said, “How many times do I have to tell ya to call me Joel?”

“I was always taught to be respectful to men, Mr. Miller. Don’t want you getting the wrong idea that I’m not a good girl or anything” you answered him in a sultry tone.

Yeah right. Ya ain’t a good girl wearing something like that, swaying that nice tight ass back and forth. God, how I’d love to grab that ass of yours and---Jesus Joel, get it together man, Joel scolded himself internally for thinking those dirty thoughts about his best friend’s daughter. But when he glanced at your face he noticed that you also must have been having some dirty thoughts of your own because now you were pressing your thighs closely together, shifting your weight slightly back and forth in an attempt to relieve an ache deep inside of your core. Joel also watched you slowly look him up and down, and then stare at the prominent bulge that was forming in his pants at the thought of pushing you up against the wall. “If ya knew what calling me Mr. Miller did to me darlin’, ya wouldn't think it was respectful” he said to you.

Your breath hitched in your throat at his admission. Joel looked wrecked right now, and you assumed you looked no better. All night the electricity or sexual tension between the two of you was intense. You didn’t know what you wanted fully from this man before you tonight, you just knew that you craved him, and wanted to kiss him. That was why you wore the dress that you did, you were hoping to ignite something primal in him that maybe with the mixture of a little alcohol would get him to relax and open up to you more, or at least open up to the possibility of kissing you at midnight. You were so lost in your own head that you didn’t realize that your back was now up against the wall behind you, and that one of Joel’s arms was now resting on the wall beside your head. Joel was so impossibly close that you could smell the whiskey on his breath and the spicy hint of cinnamon flavor gum that he was chewing.

“Ya know, that’s a pretty dress. But why’d you wear it tonight?” Joel asked while slowly nudging his leg in between your legs, looking you up and down with hungry eyes.

“It’s New Years” you said, swallowing hard at your reasoning.

“New Years” he repeated to you and tsked at the same time, not believing the reasoning you were giving him. “Darlin’, that dress ain’t something that should be worn to a party of your dad’s friends. What are ya doin’, trying to give Bill another heart attack?”

“No,” you said, breathless.

Joel shifted his weight a little closer as he slowly ran his nose up the side of your cheek while he whispered in your ear “then tell me darlin’, who’s attention are you tryin’ to get in that dress?”

“F-fuck, y-you,” you said. “I’m tryin’ to get your attention.” You found yourself giving out a soft moan when Joel slowly nipped your pulse point on your neck, a sensitive spot you had that usually turned you on even more.

“Well, ya got my attention darlin’. I can’t fucking think straight with you in that dress. So distracting” he said, switching to the other side of your neck and giving that side the same attention as the previous one.

“Joel, how much alcohol have you had tonight?” you said, not wanting him to stop. But you needed to make sure that he wasn’t totally intoxicated where he wouldn’t remember what he was doing, or who he was doing it with.

Joel paused and pulled back to look at you intently. He tsked once again and said, “aw, look at you darlin’. All grown up and asking a grown man how much he’s had to drink-”

“I just want to make sure you’re not too drunk where you won’t remember this or who I am in the morning” you said, looking him stern in the eyes.

Joel downed the glass of champagne that you had handed him and placed it on the table next to you. He then placed both of his hands on the wall, one on each side of your head, while slotting his hips tight against your core. “Well, for your information, I’ve only had a total of 2 drinks all night, that includes counting the one I just downed. For the record little girl, I can clearly see who the fuck is in front of me” he growled while slowly grinding his hips into you.

“Ah-well Mr. Miller, I- shit- I’m- I’m just t-trying to be a good, ahh, a good girl and make sure you- fuck” you said as you felt Joel grab your hips and rotate them slightly, snapping his hips forward where you could feel that prominent bulge in his jeans grind deliciously against your core. God it felt good to feel him there, you thought.

Joel wasn’t a good man, that was for sure. A good man wouldn’t have his best friend’s daughter pinned up against the wall and grinding himself hard into her. He kept trying to slow his heart rate down, and stop his actions that he was doing. Joel tried closing his eyes to will his body to calm down, but as soon as he heard you let out the softest moan, it caused him to grip your hips harder. He wasn’t drunk, hell he didn’t even feel tipsy. Yet here he was, grinding into you like he was a horny teenager who was two seconds away from unzipping himself and fucking you hard against the wall. You were trouble, with a capital T. And the worst thing about it, you both knew it.

As you both stood there in silence, just enjoying the feel of one another, you heard people begin the last minute countdown to midnight downstairs. You pushed your head back against the wall with a little thud and said “shit” out loud. Joel slowly opened his eyes at hearing this and stared at you after stopping his movement. He was trying to figure out what you wanted, what you needed from him. After a moment you looked him in the eyes and whispered “please Joel.” You wanted Joel to kiss you so bad, and for him to continue what he was doing, but you didn’t know how to ask him for it.

Joel kept staring at you after you gave him that quiet plea. When 30 seconds was left of the countdown, he gently cupped your cheek and then said “please what honey? Come on, use your words f’me.”

With a shaky breath you closed your eyes as you heard the countdown downstairs go from “5,4,3,2,1.” When you heard people say “Happy New Year” you softly whispered “kiss me Joel, please. I wanna feel you.”

With that admittance you felt Joel crash his lips onto yours to finally give you what you both needed. You two have been teasing each other over the phone for the last few weeks leading up to Christmas, and then continuing that teasing for the week you’ve been here. Joel had no intention of deepening the kiss with you tonight, but when he felt you gently skim his lower lip with your tongue, caution went completely out the window and he granted you access into his mouth. The next thing he knew his hand was in your hair and your legs were wrapped around his waist as he was slowly grinding and rocking his hips back and forth into you while you both made out with each other, with your back tightly placed against the wall.

The two of you heard cheering below as you both softly moaned into each other’s mouths from the friction of your hips, and the intensity of your kiss. A lot has happened in the past year of your life, most of it being the dramatic change with the relationship you had with your family, along with your feelings for Joel. You didn’t know what the future would bring with you two, and honestly right now you didn’t care. All you knew was for the first time in a long time you felt safe in the arms of a man who was 15 years older than you. A man who was also your father’s best friend, and someone you were finally able to kiss after all these years of secretly wanting him. Truly, this was going to be the best New Year possible, and one that you’d never forget.

Happy New Years!

Taglist: @punkshort @shotgun-shelby @strawbunnyx @orcasoul @pedritoferg @chiogarza @jesfreedark @untamedheart81 @rainbow12346 @nandan11 @swiftpascal @eliza-8 @joeldjarin @vickie5446 @nastiasnow @staywildflowahchild @ratoonstown @l3laze @its-always-420-on-the-moon @kirsteng42

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mncxbe · 4 months

Text

bsd men and what they do for christmas

𝑫𝒂𝒛𝒂𝒊, 𝑪𝒉𝒖𝒖𝒚𝒂, 𝑭𝒖𝒌𝒖𝒄𝒉𝒊, 𝑺𝒊𝒈𝒎𝒂 𝒙 𝒇𝒆𝒎!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

𝑮𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: sfw/nsfw/ severe brainrot♡

𝑫𝒂𝒛𝒂𝒊 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

can I just start by saying that this man has never celebrated Christmas properly so he's so excited to spend time with you

Dazai prefers to keep things simple: homemade dinner and then watching a movie

you're supposed to open the presents in the morning but he isn't patient enough. the moment he sees them under the tree you so kindly decorated a few days ago he has the biggest smile on his face

"come on bella you don't seriously want to wait until morning. how could you do this to me? you know how curious I am"

you end up opening the gifts that night. he's gonna loves whatever you get him really but his heart literally melts if you knit him a scarf or write him a letter. dazai's a sucker for self-made gifts

the only appropriate way to show his gratitude is to bend you over and fuck you nice and slow, your face mushed in the cushy pillows on your shared bed as he takes you from behind

"there you go pretty girl. my, my I'm starting to think this pretty pussy of yours is my favourite gift so far"

you can bet he wears a santa hat

𝑪𝒉𝒖𝒖𝒚𝒂 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

he'd take you out to the most expensive restaurant in town for a proper meal

after that, if you find a rink that's open on Christmas eve he takes you ice skating (totally not an excuse for him to hold your hand)

once you get home you cuddle on the couch while watching a generic movie like Home Alone. it's always the classics I'm telling you

he has a fireplace!!! and insists on opening the gifts next to it

among other stuff, he gets you Christmas themed lingerie and makes you wear it in bed. cuz after all, you're the best gift he could ask for

forget about baking him sweets, the only dessert he wants is your pretty cunt. he's gonna eat you out for what seems like hours, making you cum on his tongue at least two or three times before he even thinks about fucking you

"shiit baby you look so pretty like this. you like it when I spoil you rotten don't ya? I bet you do- oh fuck yea cum f'me doll"

𝑭𝒖𝒌𝒖𝒄𝒉𝒊 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

hubby's busy even on holidays

he probably has to attend some obnoxious event and ofc you go as his plus one

he's gonna spend all evening sulking and complaining about how idiotic the whole party is

by the time you two get home he's too exhaused to do anything but you may be able to bribe him to stay awake for an hour or two with some gingerbread

can I just say he'd probably get you the nicest gifts? i'm 100% sure he has a good salary so he can afford whatever you want. expensive jewelery or skincare? sure, no problem. a stack of books with those pretty decorative covers? fine again

he probably gets a bit tipsy on mulled wine so be prepared to hear a silly yet lengthy love confession before bed

falls asleep before midnight but he's gonna make up for it in the morning if you catch my drift

𝑺𝒊𝒈𝒎𝒂 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

sweet baby's so anxious at first

he's never celebrated christmas before so he doesn't really know what to do. this whole idea is so new to him but he can't deny he loves spending time with you decorating the house

Sigma wants to try any tradition you may have; baking winter themed cookies, making crackers, watching a movie marathon

when it comes to gifts he doesn't really know what to get you so he ends up buying multiple things he thinks you'd like and he's so happy when you tell him you like them

cuddles cuddles cuddles all evening under a cushy blanket with a mug of hot chocolate in your hands

he'd look so cute wearing one of those reindeer headbands

if it's snowing, take him slow dancing in the snow or on a walk around town. he's gonna love the pretty christmas lights

#bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd x reader #bsd fluff #bsd smut #dazai bsd #bsd dazai #dazai x reader #dazai fluff #dazai smut #chuya smut #bsd chuya #chuya x reader #sigma fluff #sigma bsd #sigma x reader #bsd fukuchi #fukuchi bsd

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traegorn · 6 months

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(Not the same anon) I’m really curious in learning more about how Christianity didn’t actually steal from Pagans, and how ‘Pagan’ traditions aren’t actually Pagan, but I’m not sure how to word my question specifically. If you could point me to a resource or two that would tell me about that stuff, I’d love it! (I will be looking up the definition of syncretism as well as checking out the podcast you linked the other anon). Sorry if I worded anything incorrectly or got a concept wrong, I’m very new and wanting to learn. (Also I know I can probably find resources for myself, but I’m not sure where to even begin, which is why I asked you, sorry if I’m being a bother).

So syncretism is when cultural or religious traditions get merged into another religion, usually by customs getting carried over post conversion or colonization.

Like imagine a religion like Christianity comes into an area and mass converts people. And the people say "Oh yeah, we're Christian now -- for sure" but keep doing all of their cultural traditions. What happens over time is that those traditions get recontextualized into the new religion's framework.

It's not Christianity "stealing" them -- it's the cultures that were converted holding onto their traditions in spite of Christianity. The church wasn't deliberately trying to take them -- they just kind of got stuck with them. You get that with a bunch of Yule stuff with Norse and Germanic areas and Christmas.

So that's part of it.

The rest is that a lot of things modern folks claim are "Pagan" just... aren't? Like take the Christmas tree. Like we have clear documentation of its origin going back to German Protestants. Like we know when it started. Yet you'll see countless folks online (and badly written witchcraft books) claiming it's some ancient tradition to decorate a tree in your house. It just... isn't tho?

What you need to do is go to academic sources on these topics, and just kinda take anything in a witchcraft book with a grain of salt.

#witch #witchcraft #witchblr #pagan #neopagan

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shadowhearts-ponytail · 4 months

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christmas with abby anderson!

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ masterlist ˚୨୧⋆｡˚⋆

a/n: I love winter so so much! and I love abby, so here you go!

warnings: this is just fluffy Christmas activities. there is a bit of a suggestive joke. but nothing too bad. let me know if I missed anything!

words: 1,066

abby is a Christmas girly. for sure. she loves Christmas. it is the most wonderful time of the year for her. by far. her favorite holiday. she goes all out.

abby has one of those mistletoe hats. the ones that hang mistletoe over you and another person. she wears it all the time as an excuse to pull you into a kiss. her hands on your hips as she leans down to plant a long kiss on your lips.

she has mistletoe all over your shared apartment. for extra kisses. in every single doorway. she keeps some mistletoe in her pockets to pull it out when you both are out so she can hold it over your head and pout for a kiss.

making Christmas cookies. she's a sugar cookie girl. simple. easy to make. plus, she likes decorating them with frosting after but will complain that the frosting "makes them overly sweet" when she's the one that drenched it in red and green icing and snowflake sprinkles.

she always makes cookies to give to her dad. she always makes him a big tin full of different kinds. chocolate chip, sugar cookies, oatmeal cookies, snickerdoodles, gingerbread men.

she's actually quite a skilled baker. old family recipes she knows by heart. muscle memory usually kicks in when she kneads the dough. she hums when she bakes. while she waits for the oven, she'll do a little dance if she thinks you aren't looking.

she makes fresh bread and cakes and so many sweets around the holidays. she's not one to eat sweets, but she loves making them for friends or family.

she makes enough to feed a damn army of 5,000 gren men and then sends them with you to work for your coworkers or to your family.

"no, baby. you know I hate cookies and cake. just give it to your family. or I'm sure your boss would love 200 cookies, right?"

"sure, abs. sure. whatever you say." you playfully roll your eyes at your girlfriend as she has once again gone overboard with the Christmas cookies, just like last year and the year before that. it's tradition at this point.

getting custom Christmas stockings with your names on them. the stockings mean a lot to her. getting to fill your stocking with little gifts, candies, and love notes would bring the purest smile to her face. and seeing her stocking next to yours. she loves seeing it. she's always wanted that. wanted someone to make her a stocking with her name on it.

she would get alice one and put it next to both of yours. full it with dog treats and chew toys. she says it makes you three a family.

abby buys alice a new collar every year and gets those doggy Christmas sweaters. she gets alice bones to chew on and toys and clothes to wear. that dog is spoiled rotten.

abby would want to take "family photos" with you and alice. she has alice wear one of the shirts in the photos.

she like hires a photographer, and everything. you go out to some field or somewhere nice to take professional pictures. she hangs them in your apartment and makes a Christmas card with them to send to both her family and yours from "The Anderson Family."

"I hope it's okay I used my last name. I'm sure you'll end up taking it anyway."

when she says this, you about choke on your water. "i-" cough, cough, "Yeah, that's fine, baby. I'm sure you're right." you tease with a little wink.

abby gets you small gifts every day of December up until Christmas. a small bouquet of flowers, a little handwritten note, candies. simple things. she sees it as an extra excuse to spoil you. not that she ever needs one. but she's just a sappy romantic like that.

she always wants to come home to you as soon as she gets off work to cuddle up and watch some Christmas movies, and warm up the apartment by cooking you dinner or baking.

abby probably isn't one of those people who's crazy particular about the ornaments on the tree. like they don't have to be all the same colors and shit. she would like handmade ones more. ones that were passed down in the family. sentimental ones.

she always puts the same star on the tree every year. one her dad got her as a gift. it'd very important to her. she packs it in a metal box wrapped in bubble wrap and blankets to keep it safe.

but she refuses to get on the ladder and out it on the tree. she's too scared of heights. she won't get further than the first step on the ladder.

"abby, cmon. just put the star on the tree. I'll get the ladder."

"No! I can't. what if I fall and break my neck?" she asks with puppy eyes and a big pout.

"abs are you serious? the chances of that are, like, zero!" you argue back to the muscled woman before you, "besides you're taller than me."

instead of arguing back, she picks you up in her massive arms and hoists you to sit on her shoulder.

"abby!"

"there. now you're taller. now you have to do it"

she wears boxers with Christmas prints on them. snowmen, reindeer, santa, snowflakes.

you guys are bickering about something meaningless, and to lighten the mood, she just unbutton her pants and push them down to her knees to reveal boxers with a mistletoe print on them then yell, "kiss it then!"

you can't help but burst into laughter and clutch your stomach as you double over in a fit of laughter.

abby looks at you with a cheeky grin, "still mad at me, baby?"

abby is a fanatic about Christmas lights. she likes going to the park closer to Christmas to see all the lights at night. she'd be so excited. begging to go every night until they take them down.

she brings you to the annual anderson family dinner. the first time she brought you, she was so excited, but you were so nervous.

she was practically bouncing with joy when her dad brought you into a tight hug the moment he met you. he immediately started to talk your ear off. making you feel welcome.

you are definitely invited to next year's dinner.

a/n: feedback is always welcome!

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kitkatscabinet · 4 months

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All I want for Christmas

For my lovely wife @juvenillia as a part of the secret Santa exchange. I'm sorry it took so long love

Simon Riley x f! reader

Summary: Your holiday plans are thwarted when the task force is abruptly called away for a mission.

Word count: 3.2k

A/N: reader celebrates Christmas.

You’d always been ambivalent towards the holidays, especially the christmas season. The wonder that had illuminated your childhood at the lights, the decorated trees and the general spirit people exuded had long since faded. While you didn’t hate the holiday season, it was hard to muster up the same level of excitement and magic that children seemed to naturally conjure.

When it came down to it, you supposed the issue in truth was your family, or rather the lack thereof, most of the remaining members of your jagged family being low, to no contact completely. Atleast, that was the case until your old lieutenant, John Price, had dragged you into his new off the books task force. Sergeants Kyle Garrick and John Mactavish were hard people to hate, not that you’d tried, and both had very quickly wormed their way into your heart through the high stress situations you’d endured together over the years.

Though given the way Soap had seemingly latched on with both hands and refused to let you go, dragging you to his concernigly empty home in Scotland to spend the holidays together a few years back let you know that he was likely just as lonely. Kyle had hosted the next, Captain Price had been bullied into opening his apartment for the third, and then when it became apparent this would be a 141 tradition, surprisingly Laswell and her wife had welcomed you all with open arms into their home.

It was through your team, your family, that you started to once again regain that childlike wonder for the holidays. Even Simon, grinch that he seemed to be was always present, glass of Eggnog in his hand as he watched his teammates engage in childlike behaviour from the corner. Soap had tried to pester the large man into wearing the matching pajamas that you, Kyle and him all now proudly wore but that was apparently a step too far.

You weren’t fooled by his nonchalant persona though, not when you could still so clearly picture the shock and vulnerability that had settled over his pretty unmasked face the first time you’d handed him a full stocking decorated painstakingly with his name in silver thread. The stockings you’d made for your team were incredibly shoddy, a labour of love not skill. Yet even two years later, frayed and chunky, they were still in use. Johnny had been genuinely aghast when you’d tried to take them back, to buy them new, better quality ones.

With the way your eyes seemed to naturally gravitate towards Simon it would have been impossible not to notice the way he had flinched slightly at your suggestion, hands protectively clutching his stocking. Nor could it escape your notice that every year as the stocking frayed more and more, Simon’s still seemed to be in immaculate shape. Somedays you could swear it seemed to be better off than when you’d first gifted it, though that was probably wishful thinking.

Your fifth Christmas with the team was rapidly approaching, a fact Johnny wouldnt let you forget, practically vibrating out of his skin at the exciting prospect of celebrating Christmas at your place. As you and Simon were the only remaining members who hadn’t hosted the onus had fallen on you even if you hadn’t volunteered. It seemed the entire squad had silently assumed it would be you, not the paranoidly private Simon, yourself included.

The apartment you lived in was small but comfortable, and with two weeks until Christmas it was already decked out with lights, tinsel and a small tree covered in garish ornaments. You’d received some odd looks from people in the shopping centre but you were too excited to care. Presents had been bought, multiple for each of your teammates in fact when you kept finding better gifts. Or rather, you’d gathered an assortment of gifts for everyone but Simon. Nothing seemed to quite fit. Sure, there had been a few bits and bobs that you could have settled for, but in your mind nothing had been good enough for him, his gift needed to be perfect. An announcement that the centre was closing ringing through the stores PA system had you dejectedly walking back to your car, the determined promise of tomorrow for sure ringing through your mind.

Tomorrow is thwarted when the phone you keep in the bedside drawer rings urgently at 3am, rousing you from the light slumber that was characteristic of all your nights sleep. It only takes a few minutes for the gorgginess to exit your system as Price’s grim voice filters through the speaker as you roll out of bed with a less than professional whine. Couldn’t the terrorists or whoever have waited until after the holiday season? Until March even?

Johnny’s just as pouty as you and though the two of you form a coalition to turn your best puppy dog eyes on Price to try and convince him to pawn whatever bullshit mission you’ve been called on to another squad, the captain apparently doesn’t find the act cute enough. Simon jokes that Soap’s ugly mug probably hindered more than anything and thus you were stuck between the two as a sacrificial lamb before things escalated.

Between the early wake up call and the prospect of being called out so close to Christmas tensions were running a little high. The lack of decent intel further fraying the nerves of everyone bar the ever unflappable Ghost who sat rigid and alert as ever even when you slumped down in the seat next to him on the helo. You’d barely been given a few hours to prep before you were already getting shipped off to Chechnya where the team was then tasked with entering the country very illegally and covertly. In otherwords the whole thing was a shit show and a half and it was felt through the silent tension that thrummed in the air.

Simon’s large muscled frame pressed lightly against your side, something you were increasingly aware of as the flight droned on. Heat emanating from his body and sinking into your skin. Pressed so closely, you could smell him before he was marred by sweat, dirt and blood, a rarity. He didn’t wear a nice cologne, smelling like simple soap and washing detergent, but it was nice nonetheless. It was nice because it was just so Simon.

Exhausted already both physically and mentally, you quickly fall asleep to the lull of the whirring blades and warm pillow of muscle sitting to your left, head lolling to slump against his arm. Lost in your slumber as you are, you completely miss the way he tenses minutely at the sensation before quickly relaxing, shuffling just a little to ensure your maximum comfort. He spends far too long staring at your sleeping face, warm eyes committing every little detail to memory. It’s not until he reluctantly tears his gaze away from your peaceful visage that he sees Captain Price’s amused look, brow raised pointedly as he stares at his two subordinates. Not for the first time in his life Simon is thankful for the mask, leaving none of the pink blush marring his skin visible.

The mission goes totally fubar almost immediately, because of course it does, the whole thing was fucked from the start. Somewhere in the back of the alarms whirring in your mind as you ran through the dense woodlands you recognise that maybe Kyle’s theory of foul play wasn’t so farfetched.

Price is barking something over the gunfire that you don’t hear over the chaos and deafening ringing in your ears, Johnny’s swearing over the comms as he switches between sniping and hightailing it down from overwatch to the exfil location. You’re half dragging, half carrying Kyle along as he mumbles deliriously, head slumped into the crook of your neck and left leg hanging nearly limply as you both blindly stumble.

You’re fucked. You and Kyle are so unbelievably fucked it’s a little funny, and if it weren’t for the fact your lungs were burning and working overtime to expand and provide you with desperately needed oxygen you’d probably be laughing.

You’re fucked. You’re probably going to die. You and Kyle, who’s useless without you, who’s relying on you to get him to safety. That’s the part that stings the most, that causes your lower lip to wobble traitorously and tears of panic to build in your lashline. Not the fact that you’ll die, forgotten and buried in a cover up orchestrated by your government, but the fact that you’ll take Kyle with you. Sweet, loyal, driven Kyle who wormed his way into your life and into your damn heart. Your confidante. The only person who knew how you really felt about… Simon.

Simon Riley. The goddamned smug, cocky, bastard that had taken it a step further than the rest of your teammates when he smashed his way into your life. The man you eventually came to realise was nothing like the fear tinged rumours. Sure, the Ghost was scary and more than a little rough around the edges but Simon was kind, generous, gentle, funny, and looking back on it you suppose you’d been doomed from the start.

You were going to die and he was all you could think about. Where was he? Was he hurt? Was he safe? What if he didn’t make it out? Would he die alone, bleeding out in the snow, not knowing that you loved him?

Moving on a cocktail of adrenaline, muscle memory and desperation you finally burst out of the treeline and towards the road where the exfil vehicles were already roaring to life. A quick head count has you sagging in relief despite the situation. Johnny. Price. Simon. They’re all waiting for you and Kyle, and though it’s impossible to gauge any injuries just yet, it seems that you and Kyle are the worst off by far.

The relief abruptly leaves your body with a yelp as you take one step down the small hill towards the road only to immediately trip, legs giving way as you and subsequently Kyle fall forwards and tumble down through the slush. Between one blink and the next the shouting starts up again and you’re ceremoniously pulled up from the ground and tugged into a vehicle in a mess of confusion and limbs.

When your vision finally focuses it’s to the sight of brown eyes crinkled with more concern than you’d ever seen surrounded by a signature skull mask. Trying to sit up, the world tilts precariously once more as a large hand pushes your sternum back down against the seats and a gravelly accent barks something at you. Any other time you’d be elated at the touch but right now you couldn’t even begin to think to appreciate it.

Simon’s yelling something that sounds vaguely like your name, as if trying to get your attention between whatever he’s screaming at who’s driving. Your head lolls to the side in an attempt to better gauge your surroundings but the movement does nothing but send your vision spinning, a sudden sharp burning pain radiating from near your collarbone. Clumsily one of your hands attempts to clutch the aching site, attempting to locate the problem. You end up missing in spectacular fashion, blinking in confusion at your sudden lack of motor skills until there’s a hand on your chin, tilting your face back up to look into uncharacteristically alarmed eyes.

Simon’s other hand pushes down on your shoulder harshly and pain anew lights your nerves on fire as you scream, tears streaming down your cheeks as you thrash. All you achieve is further agitating your injuries and expending the very little adrenaline fuelled energy you still had.

“-me. Look at me!” Your hearing suddenly kicks back just in time to hear the tinge of desperation in the Lieutenant’s voice, the black spots in your vision clearing just a little to allow you one last look into Simon’s eyes. Even when they’re wide with terror you can’t help but think how pretty his eyes are, the sentiment might even slip past your tingling lips though you can’t be sure as you abruptly lose the battle and your body shuts down into unconsciousness.

It’s a steady, consistent beeping that your mind registers first, before your eyelids that feel like they’re weighed down with glue even open. Your lack of vision quickly becomes second on the list of priorities when you try to breathe, only to find yourself gagging and choking on an obtrusion in your throat. You struggle blindly for what feels like an eternity, panic mounting as you fight for oxygen and to get your leaden, useless limbs to cooperate.

Suddenly hands are grabbing at you, firm voice speaking over the now rapid beeping of what’s probably the heart monitor. Your eyes burst open at the same instant the trachael tube is pulled out, leaving you to gasp and cough for air as a warm hand cups your cheek tenderly whilst helping you sit up. It takes a few more seconds for the blur in your vision to completely clear but when it does it’s to the visage of Simon’s soft brown eyes once again.

He’s not wearing his mask, giving you the perfect view of his deep purple eye bags and greasy, dishevelled hair. “You look like shit,” your voice is a croaky rasp, throat like sandpaper and Simon’s handing you a styrofoam cup of water before you can even ask. You take small sips of the cool liquid, savouring the soothing nature.

“Pot meet kettle” he grunted, slumping down into the far too small chair that had been pulled to your bedside. You watch in appreciate silence as he brings one arm up to rub the back of his neck, the muscles in his biceps flexing beneath the sleeve of his shirt. Though after a few more seconds of observation the corners of your lips dip into a frown, he seemed far too used to the room, almost as if he was used to it. Had he been watching over you? Waiting for you to wake up?

You don’t comment on it though, a sudden panic smacking you square in the chest as you sit up instinctively once more, ignoring the pain that shoots up the left side of your body once more as you suddenly remember, “Oh god Kyle-”

“Garrick’s fine, already discharged. We’ve just been waiting for you to get your lazy ass up sleeping beauty.” You hate the way your traitorous heart skips a beat at his words, the monitor betraying your emotions and given the way Simon smirks at you it’s clear he noticed.

Though the embarrassment is quickly flushed away by a second round of panic, “wait, what’s the date today? What happened? How long have I been out?” the questions fly out rapid fire. He answers all your questions calmly and with patience, not at all angry. You’d been shot, which certainly explained the fierce ache in your chest and arm even through whatever drugs they’d doped you up on. That made sense you supposed, but it was hardly as alarming as when the date registered in your mind.

“Wait it’s the 26th?” devastation coloured your tone, “I missed Christmas?” It was such a silly, trivial thing to get upset over. You’d almost died, but that was nothing in the face of missing getting to celebrate with your team. Your lower lip starts to wobble dangerously before you can stop it as Simon’s eyes widen in alarm, standing so quickly the chair falls over with a clang that gets ignored as he hovers anxiously, taking your clenched hands in his own and rubbing calming circles over your pulse point in your wrist.

“It’s ok lass, nobody’s upest with you. We’ll celebrate when you get discharged yeah?” Looking back on the memory you’ll laugh, but right now you’re too emotional to react logically.

“S’not just that, I didn’t have time to get you a present! Everything was s’posed to be perfect and now it’s all ruined” you exclaim. The two of you must make quite the sight from an outsiders perspective, a near hysterical woman more upset over the prospect of missing Christmas than the fact she’d been shot and a hulking man in black hovering somehwat frantically in an attempt to soothe.

“You waking up is the best present I could’ve asked for darlin’” he finally murmurs, so quietly that you almost don’t hear. His long, calloused fingers entwined with yours as he sat on the edge of the mattress, having finally disengaged the finnicky railing.

“That doesn’t count” you weakly protest, once again cursing the heart monitor for giving away your internal struggle, “‘sides, Johnny and Kyle got three things.” Some of the humour has returned to the situation for Simon, and your pout only deepens when he smirks at you.

“Did they now? You playing favourites?” You know he’s teasing but you still can’t help but squawk of indignation. “You’ll have to make it up to me,” he continues on, completely unphased even as you smack him on the arm like a child throwing a temper tantrum, “How bout a kiss? That should be enough yeah?” The heart monitor blares like thunder in the background in a way you’ll know will probably alarm the nurses but you can’t think about that. Can’t think about anything other than Simon. The baritone lilt of his voice that had trailed off as he dipped his head towards you, leaving enough of a gap for you to pull away if you wanted though the warmth of his breath still fans across your face.

His lips are rough, chapped and the scruff of his unshaven face is uncomfortable against your skin but the kiss is perfect nonetheless. Even with the blaring monitor and the burning fire that consumes the left side of your body in agitation from your sudden movement you don’t pull back just yet. Both hands cupping his cheeks reverently as you all but threw yourself at him. Despite the pain and slight embarrassment, it’s perfect.

When your lips part neither of you pull away, and Simon rests his forehead against your own as you hum contentedly, the both of you leaning desperately into each other’s touch. It’s not until you hear a whooping holler and a series of whistles that you both startle and jerk away from each other in alarm. Kyle’s clapping and jeering alongside Soap whilst your captain simply sighs in exasperation at the scene, though there’s amusement detectable in his smile.

“And here I was thinking ye’d need this” Johnny grinned mischievoulsy, waving around what you quickly realise is a bushel of mistletoe, causing you to roll your eyes at his theatrics as Simon huffed.

“Just cause you need an excuse to get kisses doen’t mean I do Johnny” Simon quips and it’s your turn to laugh at the blatant offense that covers the Scotsmans face. The four of you are then promptly made subject to unintelligible Scottish blathering as Simon presumably gets cussed out. Your laughter is briefly interrupted when you feel fingers entwine with yours and you briefly shoot Simon a look from the corner of your eye before you squeeze his hand, face beaming as you turn back to look at Soap.

It may have been a day late, but as you sat surrounded by your team, with Simon by your side, thumb stroking circles over your wrist you had to admit that it was the best Christmas to date.

Taglist: @ghostslillady @bunnyreaper @tokusho@ohworm-writes @kmi-02 @dumb-fawkin-bitch @jumpofmyclif @tiredmetalenthusiast @Chibijustuff @cooliofango @101crows

#x reader #simon riley x reader #cod mw x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley #cod simon riley #female reader #cod ghost

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daechwitatamic · 1 year

Text

All That Holly, Jolly Sh*t || MYG

(banner by @/itaeewon)

Title: All That Holly, Jolly Sh*t

WC: 11k

Genre: exes to lovers, the babiest angst straight to fluffy smut (they’ve got shit to work out, but they get there!!)

Summary: You haven’t seen or heard from Yoongi since he broke your heart five years ago, laying out a logical list of reasons why you were better off breaking up. When a Christmas Eve blizzard traps you together for the night, you have no choice but to examine how few of those reasons are still true. And if they’re not… where does that leave you?

Rating: NSFW - minors DNI

Warnings: manbun!yoongi YES THAT IS A WARNING, drinking, language, kissing, breast play/nip stim, fingering, unprotected sex with bc (be safer than this!!!), multiple orgasms (f), penetrative sex, soft idiots in love

A/N: Merry Christmas, Kelly!!!! @here4btsfics I was soooooo excited to pull your name for @bangtansecretsanta because it gave me such a good opportunity to get to know you better and start talking to you! I really, really hope you love this little Christmas fic!

I know you said no angst so just a lil disclaimer, a synopsis I messaged my beta was "it hurts for a hot minute but then they kiss about it and everyone is fine" so I think you'll be okay!!!

Huge thank you to @kookstempo @moonleeai and @cherrysoulth for beta-ing and to @itaeewon for the gorgeous banner!

“Anything new with you? How’s work?”

You plaster on what you hope is a friendly smile and not a sarcastic one. Seokjin’s girlfriend is super nice, you remember her from a party over the summer, but you do not want to talk about work right now. You want to drown yourself in another cinnamon toast crunch cocktail and double-fist those iced, reindeer-shaped brown-sugar cookies.

You admit to being a little bit on edge.

You’ve attended Taehyung’s annual Christmas party every year since you left for college. It’s tradition, and it’s one of the only times each year that the whole group is back together again after you all went your separate ways in the world.

Except, for the last five years, Yoongi hadn’t attended. You never thought too much about why - too busy, other plans, just the fact that he’s an absolute Grinch… or maybe it’s your presence that keeps him away. You didn’t waste too much time thinking about it. You’re just always happy he isn’t there.

Until this year.

No one even had the decency to shoot you a warning text. Hey, heads up, your ex is here, very unexpectedly.

You knock back the rest of your drink and head to make yourself a new one.

You normally attach yourself to Jimin at these, but he’s betrayed you this year by bringing an absolutely gorgeous date. They’re currently hogging the doorway with mistletoe above it. You make a mental note to remind him tomorrow that the PDA thing stops being cute after a while.

“Work’s good,” you say, finally answering the question. “Nothing new. How about you and Jin? All good?”

“Nothing new to report!” she grins. Then, the smile slips off her face a little as she glances at her phone. She notices you watching and grimaces. “Sorry,” she says, “I’m not trying to be rude, I’m just keeping an eye on the radar. The storm tonight is supposed to get nasty.”

“Hey! What’s the rule tonight?” a voice bellows from the living room. It’s Taehyung, perched against the back of one of his couches, and he points an accusatory finger at the girl you’re talking to.

She must know something you don’t, because while you’re baffled, she looks chagrined. “Don’t talk about the blizzard,” she recites by rote.

“Don’t talk about the blizzard,” he repeats. “Have another drink. It’s Christmas Eve, we welcome the snow.”

“You’re the only person I know who’s optimistic enough to try to throw a party on a night they’re calling for the storm of the century,” Seokjin tells him, making his way into the kitchen - probably to protect his girlfriend from Taehyung’s scoldings.

“They say that every time,” Taehyung scoffs, waving a hand. Then he’s up and moving, heading towards the dining room, where a spread of food is laid out.

There must be more people in there, you think, because the kitchen and the living room are definitely looking a little less crowded than they were an hour ago. Yoongi and Hoseok are on the couch, glasses in hand, talking quietly. The tv, mounted high on the wall, plays a classic Christmas film in black and white. You stop before the balcony doors, peering out into the night. The lamps that line the parking lot glow orange, and you can see in the lamplight that snow is falling steadily, and it’s starting to accumulate a little on the pavement below.

Jimin comes up beside you. His date’s lipstick is still smudged in the corner of his mouth.

“You’re a hot mess,” you tell him affectionately.

“I think we’re gonna head out,” he tells you, ignoring the jab.

You shake your head, your earrings glittering in your reflection in the glass. “It’s not even nine,” you point out.

“The roads are going to get slick,” he tells you, suddenly serious. “You should think about getting an Uber before too long, too.”

“You’re going to break Taehyung’s heart,” you inform him. “I think he’s starting to catch on that people are leaving.”

“He should have rescheduled the party!” Jimin says hotly; he and Taehyung had argued about this passionately all week, ever since the forecast picked up on the storm coming through. “We could have done this yesterday, no blizzard, everyone would have stayed all night!”

Jimin’s date slinks over and presses her hand to his upper back. “Ready?” she asks, voice like silk.

“Bye,” you tell him sulkily. In the reflection, you watch him pause to tell Yoongi and Hoseok goodbye. They each stand, reaching in one at a time to give him a quick one-armed hug goodbye.

You keep watching the reflection in the glass as Hoseok takes advantage of already being up and heads for the dining room.

You knew it would happen at some point tonight - you’re alone in the living room with Yoongi. You’d just hoped it would happen after you were a lot drunker.

He meanders over. You glance at the drink in his hand - whiskey, neat. You could have guessed that on a gameshow and earned some money.

He’s dressed in all black - down to the chelsea boots. His hair is half-up in a bun that sits just behind the crown of his head. The rest brushes the tops of his shoulders, curling slightly at the ends.

He’d never had long hair like this before. It’s a crime how fucking good it looks.

Your gameplan tonight has been simple: avoid, avoid, avoid. But Yoongi stands close enough to reach out and touch you, sips at his whiskey, and murmurs, “It’s been a while.”

Five years. But who’s counting?

“It has,” you allow. You hate confrontation, you don’t want this to be a thing. You’re determined to be polite, play nice, and hopefully get out of here unscathed. “How have you been? Are you enjoying yourself?”

He wiggles his head. “Eh. You know I’m not into all that holly, jolly shit.”

“It’s a Christmas party,” you point out flatly. “Holly, jolly is kind of the point.”

He shrugs. “The point for me is just to see the guys, catch up with everyone. It’s been a long time since we were all together.”

He means we the guys, not we you and him. But your heart still speeds up at the word, the traitor.

You nod, turning away from him to look outside again. But your eyes stay on his reflection, both of you standing with your backs to the party. He looks down at his drink, swirls the amber liquid around the bottom of the glass.

“You always did hate the holidays,” you observe absently.

“We don’t have to do this, you know,” he says, so gently that it shocks you into turning to look at him.

“Do what?”

“Rehash everything,” he says with a shrug. “Talk about everything we remember. Talk at all.”

“If you don’t want to talk to me, then don’t,” you snap, suddenly defensive and heated. “You came over here, not the other way around.” So much for polite and non-confrontational. But damn, he has some audacity.

“That’s not what I meant,” he says, a little quickly, holding up his one empty hand like he’s surrendering. “I just meant… don’t feel like you have to, if you don’t want to. Don’t do it for my sake.”

Your temper settles, but you still feel a little… disgruntled, unsettled. “If I didn’t want to talk to you, I wouldn’t be,” you grumble.

He smiles at this. “That’s right. You never do anything you don’t want to do.”

Maybe that used to be the case.

The liquor takes over your mouth. “I didn’t want to break up,” you say pointedly, “so I guess that’s not true.”

He huffs out a single laugh, shaking his head at your audacity. “You always just say shit,” he murmurs. “To hell with the consequences.”

“What consequences?” you demand, turning to face him fully. “Are you going to dump me more? I fail to see how I could make things worse for us after five years of not speaking.”

He licks his lips, eyes on his glass again. That was the thing about you and Yoongi - he’s right, you did just say shit. And he always just handled it. He always heard you, processed it, and dealt with it productively. He never took the bait and got mad back, never yelled - even when you’d wished he’d yell.

“It’s because,” he’d told you, sometime around seven years ago, when you were together, “when you say absolutely wild shit like that, you always mean something else. And I just happen to be very good at translating you.”

Now, he meets your eyes again, having processed. Having translated. “What I’m hearing you say,” he says slowly, “is that you’re still mad at me.”

That’s all it takes to take the wind out of your sails - that’s always how it worked with you and Yoongi. You blustered and got worked up, and he defused you easily - just by meeting your gaze, just by assuring you that you were heard.

“I think I’m mad at our circumstances,” you correct quietly. “And I think I’ve had too many of these.” You eye the cocktail in your hand with narrowed, accusatory eyes.

He gives you the barest sliver of a smile. “Don’t blame the drinks,” he says, shaking his head. “You never could lie to me - it has nothing to do with alcohol.”

He’s right. For all your faults, for all the negatives you can take credit for, you always told him the truth.

Namjoon appears in the living room, a beer in hand, still in the bottle.

“I’m trying to decide which one of you needs to be rescued from the other,” he admits, looking between you, “and I honestly can’t tell.”

“Rescue him from me,” you say. “He’s been nice and I’ve been prickly.”

“You?” Namjoon says in mock surprise. “Prickly? No way.”

You flip him off, smiling.

Seokjin comes up behind Namjoon, clapping him on the shoulder. “I think we’re going,” he says, looking past you to the snow outside. “I don’t want to drive once the roads are slick.”

Namjoon sighs, following his gaze. “I was having fun,” he says sadly. “But I’m probably not too far behind you.”

“Nooo,” Taehyung whines from the dining room. “Everyone stop leaving! It’s just a little snow!”

Seokjin’s girlfriend finds him, joining your little circle, her phone still in her hand. “We’re supposed to have almost three inches by midnight,” she says in a whisper, clearly not wanting Taehyung to come after her. “We need to get moving.”

When Seokjin and his girlfriend leave, you float back towards the dining room. Namjoon and Yoongi stay behind, talking quietly. Probably, Namjoon is checking to make sure you weren’t too mean to him. Which… that’s fair.

The truth is, you aren’t mad at Yoongi. How could you be? When he ended things, he hadn’t been cruel, or unfair. His decision had been made logically. You understood exactly why he felt he needed to do it.

That’s where the hurt came from, you figured. You were always led by your emotions - quick to anger, but quick to laugh. Yoongi was always more even-tempered, logical. While you were packing up your life to move away from home for university, he’d laid out the reasons you shouldn’t stay together like they were a grocery list.

Like it didn’t hurt him at all.

None of his reasons were wrong. But would it have killed him to act like he cared? You’d been together three years - and you felt like they should count more, since they were such formative ones. Like dog years - each one should have counted for seven. It had broken your heart to let him walk away - shouldn’t he have felt something, too?

You’d dated plenty in college, a few of those relationships getting serious enough to last a few months. But at the end of the day, nobody compared to your first love. How could they? How could anyone?

No one understood you like Yoongi. No one could translate you like Yoongi. No one knew - or learned - how to settle you down like Yoongi. No one had that mental encyclopedia of useless knowledge like Yoongi. No one else had that perfect blend of dry and earnest like Yoongi. No one else fit to your body like a puzzle piece like Yoongi.

It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter then, and it doesn’t matter now. Yoongi had left, Yoongi had taken the decision right out of your hands and walked away with it. You weren’t mad at him, but you definitely resented that.

You’d had years to get over it, to forgive him, to come to terms with the fact that he was right about every single thing. But forgiveness and understanding are one thing. Letting go - of him, of loving him - is something else entirely, and you’re starting to think that even a lifetime of years won’t be enough for that.

That’s enough of that, you think, giving yourself a rough mental shake. You set down your drink glass and head for the bathroom, but it’s occupied. You lean against the wall outside, counting your breaths, trying to get yourself back into that holly, jolly headspace.

The door opens and Jungkook emerges, singing under his breath, “Pah-rum-pum-pum-pum!”

“Hi, JayKay,” you say, moving to slide past him into the bathroom.

“Oh, hey!” he says brightly. “I was just about to leave. You have a way to get home, right? It’s getting worse out there.”

“I was just going to Uber,” you tell him.

“Better do it soon,” he warns. “Soon the drivers aren’t going to want to be on the roads.”

“Good point,” you say, and wave a quick goodbye before shutting the bathroom door. You give yourself a stern look in the mirror.

Get it together, please, you think firmly. Seeing your ex - this ex, too, not just a casual one - for the first time in five years earns you a little wallowing, you think, and you fully intend to. At home. Later. Not here, in front of everyone.

Not here, in front of him.

Back in the kitchen, the party has really dwindled down to the last few people. Outside, snow falls as steadily as Taehyung’s guest list.

The peer pressure gets to you, and you pull out your phone and open a ride-share app. It takes a while before a driver connects, but you’re persistent. Once you have a driver, you watch the little image of their car start to head in your direction on the map.

From the dining room, you hear Yoongi make a tch of frustration. “No one is picking up for me,” he grumbles, seemingly to himself.

“Good,” Taehyung says seriously. “Don’t leave me.”

You go find your coat, slipping your arms into the sleeves and doing up each button. When you return to the dining room, Yoongi and Taehyung are the only ones left. Taehyung is fully, blatantly, sulking, his arms crossed on the table and his chin resting dejectedly atop them.

“Better luck next time, bud,” you tell him kindly.

Yoongi is still squinting at his phone screen, frowning.

You feel a twinge of concern, of the need to make it better for him the way you used to on a regular basis. “Still nothing?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t even see anyone on the map.”

You check your phone again - your car is just up the road. “I have one,” you tell him. “Join mine - we’ll just request the extra stop.”

Yoongi meets your eyes, holds your gaze for a minute. Then, he says, so seriously, “Are you sure?”

You know he means it. You know if you give any indication that you don’t want him in a car with you, he won’t push it.

“Yeah,” you say. “Of course. I’m not going to leave you stranded here.”

“Why not?” Taehyung whines, kicking his feet a little in protest.

“My car’s just here though,” you warn, eyes on your screen, both of you absolutely ignoring the host of the party.

“I’ll grab my coat,” Yoongi says, and heads for the hallway.

“Sorry, Taehyung,” you say sympathetically. “I know you’re sad.”

He refuses to look at you.

After giving over-the-top goodbye hugs to try and un-sulk the whiny baby, you and Yoongi head down the stairs and outside. You don’t look behind you to check that Yoongi is following. The car idles by the curb, and you double-check the license plate against the app.

In the backseat of the car, you slide over to make room for Yoongi. As soon as he closes his door and the car lurches into motion, the vibe changes. You sit stiffly, ramrod straight, eyes on the windshield. Yoongi’s not sitting quite as straight as you, but there’s a tightness to his shoulders, like he’s holding himself carefully so he doesn’t touch you by accident with the car’s inertia.

You had put in your parent’s address when you requested the ride, since that’s where you’re staying until New Years’ Day. You and Yoongi sit in blasting, blaring silence as the car crosses the middle of the town you’d both grown up in, that you’d run around in together as teenagers in love. But, past town, towards the quiet neighborhood where your parents’ house is, the car slows to a stop.

“I can’t go through this way, Miss,” your driver says, peering at you through the rearview mirror. “There’s a powerline down up there.”

“Oh shit,” you say, which is probably not very polite of you. You lean forward to look at the same time Yoongi does, your shoulders bumping. You both recoil quickly.

“I think you can get to the development from the other side,” you muse, “but we’d have to backtrack and go around the lake on the other side…”

“Let’s just go to my place,” Yoongi interjects. “The roads are getting worse, and it’s close.”

You frown. Yoongi’s parents’ house - which you’d been to plenty of times as a younger person - is on the other side of town. Not close by your standards, but you aren’t here to argue.

Or maybe you are.

“I don’t know, Yoongi,” you say, uncertainty creeping into your voice. “How will I get home from there?”

“You might have to stay,” he admits, leaning down to better look at the road through the front windshield. The driver sits, watching you debate, waiting for a directive.

You give Yoongi a silent look like, okay, and so you see my problem?

He scoffs at you. “It’s fine. We can handle one night.”

You want to ask, how sure are you about that? Instead, you start to tell the driver Yoongi’s parents’ address.

“Wait,” Yoongi says, putting a hand gently on your arm to stop you. You both freeze, looking at the point of contact. Yoongi shakes himself out of it first, and tells the driver a different address.

The car shifts back into drive and you look at Yoongi quizzically.

“Did your family move?” you ask finally.

Here’s the thing. You know Yoongi, you get Yoongi; five years apart hasn’t changed that at all. So when he licks his lips, shifts his gaze to his feet, and starts rubbing the back of his neck, you know it’s guilt.

“Yoongi?” you prod, suspicious.

He mumbles something, still not looking at you.

“What?” you snap. “You what?”

“I sort of moved back last month…” he repeats to the floor.

“You live here?” you repeat, dumbfounded. “You live in town again?”

“Currently, yeah,” he says, and there’s something in that currently that you’d really like to examine, but you’re still fucking floored.

Yoongi had gone to university in the city - hours away. The distance thing was reasons one through four of his Why We Need to Break Up list. It had made sense, logistically. It made sense when you went abroad for university, and he stayed here. It made sense when you returned and got an internship and then a full-time job in a different city, hours in the opposite direction. It made sense when you managed to go five entire years without being in the same place.

But now he was here. Reasons one through four, moot.

Reasons five to whatever largely revolved around being young and needing to experience the world and figure out what you want in life, that kind of shit. Now it’s five years later and you’ve both experienced plenty of bullshit.

Reasons five through whatever, moot.

You wonder, wordlessly, heart pounding again, if Yoongi knows or cares that every reason he gave you to validate walking away no longer applies.

“You live here,” you repeat. You’re stuck on it, you can’t move on. “I didn’t know.”

“Yeah,” he says guiltily. “I know you didn’t. I… was honestly fighting with myself about if I should reach out or not. I guess I ultimately decided not… since you’re in the city, and you have your whole life and everything…”

What life? You wonder.

The car pulls into a small, understated neighborhood. You’ve been here before; your chemistry partner from tenth grade lived in this development, you’d come to do homework more than once.

It’s always so weird to come back to this town, where everywhere you go has memories, secondary definitions. It’s not just a library, it’s the library where Yoongi had kissed you for the first time. It’s not just a park, it’s the park where you’d had your first fight, where you’d screamed at him in front of God and the ducks and all the moms pushing strollers. It’s not just a diner, it’s the diner where Yoongi had told you that it made no sense to try and stay together from different time zones.

Everything came back to him. It always had. It always does. In a lot of ways, you felt like you were fated to be tied to him this way - and you usually didn’t believe in shit like that.

You always break your own rules for him.

The place is small, and not very Yoongi-ish, but you keep your thoughts to yourself as Yoongi slides out of the car and waits for you.

“Get home safe,” you tell the driver before closing the door. Yoongi’s got his house keys in his hand, and he leads you up the walkway. It’s slick, and you try to step only in the footprints he leaves in the inch of snow coating the ground.

Inside, the light over the sink illuminates a small, mostly empty kitchen. That’s not very Yoongi-ish either, you think. You remember him cooking all the time - appliances everywhere, cutting boards hanging, pots and pans stored on hooks.

He passes the kitchen and enters what looks like the living room, reaching to click on a few dim lamps. They cast a yellow glow to the room.

You set down your purse and fold your coat up on top of it. Yoongi waits for you in the living room, his hands in his pockets, his eyes on the window, watching the snow. His jawline from the side nearly takes your breath away. He’s so damn beautiful it makes you sick.

And he’s back, Yoongi is back.

“Do you want something to drink?” he asks, finally looking at you.

“Whatever you’re having would be great,” you tell him. You settle gingerly on one end of the couch as he busies himself in the kitchen. You shoot your parents a quick text that the roads were too bad and you weren’t going to make it back to their place so they wouldn’t worry.

Yoongi returns with two glasses of red wine. He hands you one wordlessly and sits opposite you on the couch.

“So,” you say. The awkward, hyper-polite vibe from the car is back. Like you’re strangers. Like you didn’t know each other inside and out, once. “You’ve been here a month?”

“Just shy of it,” Yoongi corrects politely. “I signed a two month lease, so… I’ve got a few weeks to figure out my next move.”

“You don’t think you’ll stay?” you ask, then sip at the wine. It’s good - of course it’s good, he’s got great taste. You love and hate that about him.

He shrugs, drinks from his own glass. “Doubt it.”

He doesn’t give you any more information than that - why he’s back, what’s next for him, why he’s here for such a short time.

You don’t press it. He’ll tell you if he wants to.

Instead, you both drink in silence. Outside, the snow seems to redouble its efforts, the wind picking up until it seems to be snowing sideways for minutes at a time before calming into a normal downward fall again.

“I think we made the right choice,” Yoongi murmurs, and it takes you a second to realize he’s talking about the weather and Taehyung’s party, not about your past.

“Mhm,” you nod, as you come back into the present. That’s a problem you have - you’re always looking back. “Imagine if we were just leaving now? What a mess. Thanks for taking me in, I guess.”

“You guess,” he repeats, rolling his eyes, but there’s no ire in it.

You drink in silence a little longer, and then Yoongi rises with a sigh. “I’ll go put clean sheets on the bed,” he says, sort of absently, like he’s both talking to you and also just thinking out loud. “And then I’ll show you how to work the tv in there if you –”

“I’m not sleeping in your bed, Yoongi,” you tell him flatly.

He balks. “I didn’t mean with me, I meant by yourself!”

“No, I know that,” you reassure him. “But I’m not letting you sleep on your own couch because of me. I’ll sleep out here. It’s fine.”

“Absolutely not,” he says, shaking his head vehemently. That long hair swishes. “You’re a guest. I’m not putting you on the couch.”

“Yoongi,” you say sternly. “If I know you’re out here on the couch and I’m in there with your whole friggin bed, I will simply not sleep because I will feel too guilty about it! And I would like to sleep. So, please, put your chivalry and hospitality aside, and let me sleep. Out here.”

He considers this, because he knows you, and he knows you’re telling the truth. “Fine,” he concedes, and disappears into what must be his bedroom.

When he returns, he’s carrying a stack of what looks like linens. He sets down the pile and you spy blankets and pillows. He pushes the pillows aside gently and picks up something else, turning to hold it out to you, an offering.

It’s gym shorts and a large tshirt, and you reach to take them without thinking. Once they’re in your hand, they feel suddenly heavy with meaning. You used to wear his clothes all the time - you might have one or two of his hoodies in the back of your closet at home because you love them and don’t want to get rid of them, even though you feel too weird to actually wear them. You’re not sure how you feel about wearing his clothes again, now that it means nothing. The alternatives are pretty undesirable, though, so you’ll have to grin and bear it.

“There’s a half-bath on the other side, through the kitchen,” he says, nodding towards the bathroom in question. “So you don’t have to feel weird walking through my room to the full bath if you don’t want to. Though... do you need to shower? I can get you towels and stuff –”

“Maybe in the morning?” you say, eyeing the clock on the wall. “Just… could I borrow face-soap? And toothpaste?”

You’ll have to make do without your make-up remover and an actual toothbrush. Finger-brushing it is.

When you emerge from the bathroom, teeth freshly finger-brushed, wearing Yoongi’s clothes, he’s standing at the kitchen sink, rinsing out the wine glasses you’d used.

You brush past him silently, and start setting up the couch how you want it. You hear the sink turn off, the click of the lightswitch as he shuts off the lights behind him. He comes back through the room and pauses in his doorway.

“Do you need anything?” he asks.

“No,” you say, feeling small in his baggy shirt, feeling small in the face of all the feelings you’re swimming in right now. “I’m all good.”

He looks at you for a long minute, searching. “Okay,” he says, finally. “Sleep well.”

He turns into his room, and you watch his skinny wrist turn as he reaches to shut the door.

“Yoongi,” you say, the word out of your mouth before you really know what will follow it. He pauses, peeks his head back into view, raises an eyebrow at you. “Thanks,” you say, meekly.

He nods, silent, then reaches to close his door, gently and effectively shutting you out.

You get comfortable on the couch, bunching the blanket up around your head how you like it. It takes almost no time at all to fall asleep, and when you do, you don’t dream.

You’re awakened sometime later by a noise, and you sit up, your brain scrambling to catch up to the present and figure out where you are.

A couch, it processes. It comes back to you a little at a time. Yoongi’s couch. Yoongi’s house. Yoongi’s house in town.

The noise that woke you must have been his bedroom door opening, because as you slowly get your bearings, you become aware of him staring at you from his doorway.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he says apologetically, then moves across the room towards the kitchen. “I just needed water.” Then, from the kitchen, as an afterthought, he asks, “Do you want one?”

“Please,” you say immediately, mentally cataloging all the effects of dehydration you can feel. Cottony mouth, ringing ears, the tingling beginnings of a headache…

He returns to the living room and stops near the couch. You stretch to turn on one of the dim lamps, casting a quiet yellow on the room. He stands there in too-big pajamas and holds out a water bottle silently.

It’s definitely still the middle of the night. You can’t have slept more than a few hours. Everything feels different, somehow. It was so awkward before; you’d felt the need to be cautious and hyper-polite. Now everything feels blurred, fuzzy with sleep, softer. You’re sitting up, the blanket you’d been sleeping under still over your lap. You reach over and lift the other side, holding it up like a question.

Yoongi pads over and sits on the far side of the couch, but he curls his legs up and slips his bare feet under the blanket. You let it fall, covering him from the shin down.

He taps on his phone and grimaces at the time. “Hey,” he says, a little wry, “Merry Christmas.”

You smile. “Merry Christmas, Yoongi.”

He taps at his screen again and a speaker near his tv comes to life, playing what has to be a Coffee Shop Christmas playlist, pre-curated. You lean your head against the back of the couch, listening to the strum of acoustic guitar and the gentle snare of a drum meander through a mellow, lethargic version of It Came Upon a Midnight Clear.

“Christmas music, huh?” you tease, eyes closed. “That’s very holly, jolly of you.”

“I don’t hate Christmas,” he protests. “I’m not, like, a Grinch. It’s just… another day. So is tomorrow. Why all the fuss?”

You bump his foot with your knee beneath the blanket. “Scrooge.”

Ignoring your teasing, he looks sideways at you, something baleful on his face. “Y/N? I wanted to tell you I’m sorry.”

You’re surprised into silence, looking back at him across the couch. “What? What for?”

He grimaces, like the answer is too big, like he’s got an annotated list of every fault he’s mentally cataloged. “For all of it, I guess.”

You’re not letting him off the hook; this is too important to skirt around. “What are you sorry for, Yoongi?” you ask seriously.

He laughs once, quietly, incredulously, like he can’t believe you. “You really want to go there?”

“You know I do.”

He thinks before he speaks - one of your favorite things about him. “Because for the last five years, I hated myself for leaving you behind. And I wondered every day if you hated me for it, too.”

You sit in silence, feeling frozen. Yoongi lets you - Yoongi waits. Is he admitting regret? Does that mean he’d do it differently, given the chance?

Because here you are - being given the chance, in a way.

“I was never mad at you for going,” you tell him, because you know he needs to know. Yoongi doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean, which means he really did wonder if you hated him. You don’t owe him much, but you figure you owe him this truth. Then you admit, “But I was mad at myself for… letting you. Did you… I mean, should I have argued? When you left?”

You’d always wondered. What would have happened if you’d fought just a little harder for him to stay?

He scoots a little closer, tugging the blanket closer to his knees, thinking about your question. “I think part of me had hoped you would… but it wouldn’t have changed my mind,” he tells you honestly. “Just would’ve made it hurt more. The way things happened, I could lie and tell myself you were fine with letting me go.”

You exhale on a note of indignation. “Fine? That was you. You were so… okay with walking away.”

He shakes his head. He must have taken the bun out when he went to bed, and his hair swishes around his shoulders, loose and beautiful. “I wasn’t okay. I didn’t go a single day and not wonder… how you were. I didn’t go a single day sure that I made the right choice.”

You feel, weirdly, kind of pissed. “What am I supposed to do with that, Yoongi? Seriously?”

He opens his mouth to answer this rhetorical question, but you don’t let him. The words pour out of you, unleashed after five years of being held back.

“This is just… unfair. Because normally, in the movies, when you get this moment - the post-mortem - with someone from your past… they always ask why, right? Why’d you leave? But I don’t need to ask why - I know the why, I understood why. I want to know… I want to know if you regret it. If you’d take it back.”

“That’s two different questions,” he says solemnly, “with two different answers.”

You cut your eyes at him. It’s the middle of the night and your brain is mostly mush. You need him to just be forthcoming, just say things plainly.

He knows.

“Of course I regret it,” he whispers finally, as if the words hold too much weight to utter any louder. “I regretted it while I was still saying it. I hated being away from you, I hated not talking to you, I hated not knowing how you were or what you were doing or if you… still cared about me at all.” He pauses, inhales slowly, rubs a hand down his tired face, then exhales with a whoosh. “But would I take it back? I don’t know.”

You exhale, eyeing the ceiling. Who’s the one just saying shit now? God. “You can’t just say things like that, Yoongi,” you tell him, eyes trained on the shitty, popcorn ceiling above you.

He says your name, still so soft, so quiet.

“What?”

“Don’t cry.”

It’s so stupid. You hadn’t cried then, not in front of him. You wipe hastily under your eyes. “Sorry,” you say hastily, trying to save face. “It’s the lack of sleep.”

“I’m not sure I would take it back,” he repeats carefully, and you realize he hadn’t been done before - you’d interrupted his thought, “because when I left… I knew the whole time that it didn’t make anything better. But if I hadn’t… I think I’d still be wondering if I should, if we’d be better apart. I wouldn’t know, so the question would still be hanging over me.”

You think he’s saying something without saying it, but it’s like four in the morning and you just aren’t sure.

“But now?” you prod.

He shrugs, like it’s so simple. “Now I know the answer.”

You want to shake him. You’ve never had a conversation go in circles like this in your life, and you need to get to the center of it. “Yoongi,” you say, your voice tight like a warning.

He knows.

He always knows. He cuts to the chase. “I have a job lined up in the city.”

You almost drop your water bottle. “My city?”

“Your city.”

“Yoongi,” you say again, pleading. “Just say what you mean.” Please.

He smiles your favorite of his smiles - only one half of his mouth lifts at first, cocky, until it spreads the rest of the way and shows his gums in all their glory. “Just thinking about that whole list of reasons we shouldn’t be together… null and void now, don’t you think?”

You feel like you can’t breathe. You’ve both been circling it like predators, and now you’re closing in.

“So what does that mean? For you?” Do you dare to ask it? You do. “For us?”

Someone else, you think, would probably have asked you, what do you want it to mean?

But it’s Yoongi - and Yoongi knows the answer already.

He’s pushing the blanket off of his legs - and yours - and coming to hover over you. Your body responds, laying back against the pillow you’d been sleeping on, making room for him like it remembers exactly how you fit. Your fingers find his jaw like they’re magnetically drawn, your thumb sliding against his cheek.

His hair falls around your faces like a curtain, blocking out the dim lamplight, as his mouth finds yours.

Kissing him again is everything. It’s absolutely everything. He’s home, he’s wilderness, he’s calm, he’s the whole damn storm, he’s undoing every seam you have, he’s stitching you back together, he’s beautiful beautiful beautiful.

His lips are soft but sure against yours, his jaw moving under the press of your fingers. You feel like you’re flying, falling, maybe both, as your eyelids flutter. He’s bracing himself with his hands on either side of you, holding himself over you. You were resting your free hand against his side, his ribs like piano keys beneath your palm, and you find yourself bunching his shirt into your fist, trying to pull yourself up, closer, closer.

You have to will yourself not to babble against his mouth, I missed you, I missed you, I missed you. You could say it six hundred times and it still wouldn’t get it all out of you. You pour it into the kiss instead, straining up to meet him, beating words away from your mouth as you toy with his bottom lip.

He drops his lower body carefully, pinning your hips beneath his own, shifting to hold himself up on elbows instead of hands. The weight of him is welcome; something needs to keep you tethered to this planet.

He licks into your mouth, tongue sliding against yours, and you inhale sharply against his mouth.

“Yoongi,” you murmur against his lips, and he turns his head to kiss your palm where it’s been resting against his face. There’s something so tender about it that tears spring to your eyes, and you blink them away quickly.

Then he’s leaning down to capture your mouth again, humming a low, happy note against you. You go for the hem of his shirt, pulling until it gets tangled against his armpits. He sits back on his haunches, helping you pull it over his head and tossing it somewhere behind you. Your eyes trace him, over and over, trying to remember every shade and every line, trying to find every difference from five years ago. He’s beautiful, flushing dark across the chest, eyes positively predatory in their focus on you.

“You, too,” he says, sounding a little breathless, and you scoot back and sit up. He goes for your hem before you can, tugging it up and over your head. The cold air assaults you and you shiver. Yoongi makes a noise somewhere between a groan and a growl in appreciation, lowering himself over you again. His kiss is insistent this time, one hand coming up to cup a breast, fingers deftly rolling your nipple, sending electricity skittering down your spine. You whine, deep in your throat, and you feel his lips quirk into a smile.

“Would you kick my ass if I said ‘I’ve missed your tits’ right now?” he asks, chest quaking as he tries to rein in laughter.

“Yes,” you grumble, reaching to weave your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. You tug him back so you can kiss him again, and he lets out a quiet, breathy moan as you do.

“Okay,” he says, in between kisses, “but I did.” Then he puts his money where his mouth is - or maybe vice-versa - to prove it, lowering his head and taking the other nipple in his mouth, flicking it lightly with his tongue. Your whole body reacts, feet stretching, back arching to push against his body, fingers tightening in his hair as you moan out loud. Each little motion of his mouth ignites sparks that reach every part of you - the pit of your stomach, the base of your spine, clear down to your toes.

It’s honestly embarrassing how turned on you get as he continues, working one side until you’re writhing beneath him, thighs rubbing together desperately, then switching to continue his onslaught on the other side.

“Yoongi,” you gasp, and some absent part of your brain is aware that his name is the only coherent word you’ve said in a while. “Please, you’re torturing me.”

He releases you with a wet pop, grinning up at you deviously. “So pretty when you beg like that,” he remarks, like he’s observing the weather - which is still a fucking blizzard, by the way. Then he’s coming up to kiss you again, deep and slow this time. His hand slides along your bare stomach, around and under your back, and you arch your back partly to make room for his arm underneath you, and partly because you can’t not, as his fingers leave a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

“Please, what?” he murmurs, lips close to your neck, his fingers tracing the edge of the shorts you’re wearing - his shorts. “What do you want?”

“Anything - whatever you’ll give me,” you manage. All you can focus on is his fingers, their circular path along your lower stomach, toying with your waistband.

It must be the right answer, because he slips his hand into your shorts, fingers pressing along your slit, your underwear clinging to you already. He slides his fingers along the slickened fabric, eyes on your face, listening to the tiny moans that escape when you exhale.

He shifts to his side, between you and the back of the couch, and you loop an arm around his neck - half to hold yourself up on the couch, and half because you need to be holding him. You can feel how hard he is now, as his body presses against your legs. He distracts you with a kiss, and slips your panties aside, wasting no time in sheathing his middle finger up to the last knuckle.

You hiss his name, your head lolling back against the couch in pleasure, your neck bared to him. He gives it a quick nip and then a kiss as he adds a second finger, pumping in and out of you slowly. You groan, the sound rumbling from your chest. You could let him do this all night if you had the patience - just this simple act feels so good you think you might come undone.

And if you remember anything about sex with Yoongi, he’s just getting started.

He slips his fingers out of you and brings them up to your clit, circling once, then twice, before going back to where he started, the pad of his middle finger circling your entrance, careful to stay just outside.

Your whole body turns to jelly, everything quivering from head to toe at the sensation. You grip the couch with both hands, digging your fingers in. “Ohhh my god,” you manage, something accusatory in your tone, like you’re asking him how the fuck are you doing that?

He smiles against you, middle finger still running in lazy circles through the wetness collecting there. “That’s right, I know what you like,” he murmurs, smug, his lips tickling your neck, before plunging both fingers back into your heat without warning. He repeats the cycle - in, out, up, down, around, around, in again - until you’re dizzy from it, your fingers clutching the fabric of the couch so hard that you’re sure you’ll rip it.

You have one single moment of clarity that sends you reaching down to where you can feel him hot and hard against your leg, but he shifts away, tutting.

“You first,” he says. “I want to see you make that face you make. It’s been literal years.”

“Oh my god,” you say, feeling yourself flush. “Yoongi! Seriously?”

He laughs, shoulders shaking. “What? I love to watch you lose your shit. What a fucking ego boost.” He punctuates these words with a quick change of wrist direction, suddenly pistoning against your front wall in a way that has your comeback melting right out of your brain.

He’d had you close before, and the sudden switch-up does the trick - you feel everything tighten from your shoulders to your toes, your eyes screwing shut. Yoongi shifts his weight to hold your leg in place so you can’t try to close them on him and redoubles his efforts, humming in pleasure as you squeeze around his fingers like a vice.

You let out a series of wordless cries as the pleasure builds to the point you want to shy away from it, and then Yoongi presses his thumb to your clit just so and you’re spiraling over the edge, your ears filled with a buzzing white noise, your toes curling, your desperate hands leaving the couch and clutching Yoongi instead, trusting him to guide you to the other side.

When you come down, heart hammering in your chest, you bat his hand away, breaths heaving.

“Take those off,” you pant, tugging on the bit of his pants you can reach, and shimmying your own bottoms the rest of the way off and dumping them onto the floor.

“Bossy,” Yoongi remarks, smirking sideways at you as he obeys.

You resituate yourself against the arm of the couch as he comes to kneel near your feet, stroking himself languidly. You both freeze with the same thought at the same time.

“Do I…” he says hesitantly, “do you want me to wear -?”

You stare at him, wide-eyed, mind racing for an answer. You’re tempted to just tell him it’s fine, because surely having a how many people have you been with in the five years since we broke up conversation will absolutely kill the mood right now. But that’s not really safe.

“Maybe you’d better?” you venture. “Have you -? I mean, we don’t need to talk about this right now. But I haven’t been with anyone without… you know.”

“Same here, and I got tested after… the last one. Just in case,” he admits, eyes on yours, and the moment feels heavy. Do you trust Yoongi to tell you the truth?

Of course you do.

“I’m okay if you’re okay,” you tell him. “No pressure.”

“You’re still on -?” he checks, and you nod.

“In that case,” he says, and leans over you to kiss you again. You can feel him, rubbing along the messy slickness, and it occurs to you that you haven’t even touched him yet.

You whine, twisting your shoulders to try and reach him with a hand, but he’s too impatient, lining himself up and starting to sink into you. You groan at the stretch - it’s been a while since your last fling - but the sound that tears through Yoongi’s throat is more like a growl, guttural and animalistic.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he growls through gritted teeth, as he slowly rocks into you until he bottoms out, his hips tight against yours.

He’s everywhere - caging you in, hovering above you, holding you down, filling you up. He’s everywhere, and he feels both so familiar it makes you want to cry again, and also - somehow - brand-fucking-new, like you’ve never felt him before.

You can feel every ridge of him, every twitch, as he sets a slow but even pace, letting you adjust.

“God,” you gasp when he hits a spot just right. His head had been hanging above you, his eyes watching the place where he disappeared inside you, all that long hair loose, but he smirks up at you at this.

“Good,” he coos, and picks up the pace, hips smacking yours, filling the room with the lewd sounds of skin on skin, his grunts and your whines.

You’re gasping a little at each stroke, that tight feeling bubbling at the pit of your stomach growing stronger with each thrust. “God,” you growl, fingertips pressing into his shoulder blade as you hang on for dear life. “Yoongi, fuck!”

He slows on purpose, straightening up, forcing you to release your hold on his back. He grins at you, that shit-eating, one-sided grin, and then grabs your ankles, maneuvering them both to rest against his right shoulder. He leans forward against your legs and hammers into you, breathing hard, and you swear to god you see stars for a second.

“Ohmygod, yes, there,” you gasp, hands going to the backs of your own thighs to help alleviate the stretch. You need to start doing yoga or something.

The build-up is slower this time, the feeling pulsing through you in waves that strengthen and ebb again. Yoongi can tell when it’s real by the change in your voice - wordless whines rising in pitch, by the arch of your back, by the way you clamp around him so hard that he almost loses it right there.

“Yeah?” he asks, the word more like a gasp for air. “Close?”

“Please,” you beg, the sensation of pure light racing up your legs to your toes, the pulsing starting slow and determined in your core.

“I’ve got you,” he promises, brows furrowed with concentration as he works to keep a steady pace. He grips one of your ankles and switches it to his other shoulder, creating space to reach down and rub gentle figure-eights around your clit.

The wave takes you over, and there’s a long moment where you’re completely devoid of your senses - no sight, no sound, nothing but how tight tight tight everything has gone, too tight to even breathe - and then it breaks and you can hear yourself wailing, eyes shut against the onslaught of sensations. You clench around Yoongi hard, the aftershocks rolling through you, so hard that he hisses and drops his forehead to yours, his pace slowing significantly as he fucks you through it.

You go boneless as it leaves you, and Yoongi pushes all the way inside you and stills, pressing his lips to your temple.

“You good?” he murmurs, so sweet for someone who just had you experiencing the multiverse.

“Mhm,” you manage to respond, so spent and tired that you can barely form the word.

“C’mere,” he grunts, slipping out of you, and he grips the back of your neck, hauling you upright and falling backwards in the same motion, pulling you over top of him. You loop your arms around his neck, feeling floaty, and he wraps his around your middle. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, his breath loud next to your ear.

“Can you keep going?” he checks. “I know you’re tired. I’m almost there, I promise.”

“M’good,” you assure him against his collarbone, and he gives you one quick squeeze before reaching down to adjust himself. He pushes in and you cry out, the sound muffled as you press your face into him. You’re so sensitive now, the sensation is entirely different.

“You can take it,” he whispers, sliding a hand down your spine. Then, with a grunt of “shit,” he grabs you and jackhammers up into you, his fingers furrowing into the meat of your ass, so tight you think you’ll have five little bruises on each side when this is over.

You feel so close to him - your cheek presses up against his, your arms wrapped tight around him, his hands securing you in place, his heart beating wildly against yours where your chests press together.

You gasp for breath into the crook of his neck, holding on for dear life, just trying to take what he gives you. You can hear his breathing change as he gets close, his pace quickening but his thrusts starting to come less evenly, his grip on your ass tightening just a bit further as he pulls your hips down to meet his every few thrusts.

“Is inside okay?” he asks, the words sounding like they’re torn from him.

“Yes,” you tell him, but it comes out more like a moan.

“God,” he grunts in response to this, and the word tears, ending on a strangled moan as he empties himself deep inside you.

You lay there, gasping for breath, for a long minute. Then Yoongi gives you an affectionate pat on the ass, indicating that it’s safe to move.

“Go get in the shower,” he suggests. “I’ll grab you a towel and meet you in there.”

“I don’t know if I can get there,” you say, joking, but your legs feel like jelly. You grab your phone and make your way, wobbly, through the living room and into his bedroom.

You hadn’t come in here before. It’s clean, but sparse. It’s devoid of anything that makes it feel homey. It’s devoid of anything that makes it feel like Yoongi.

You keep going, padding through his room and towards the attached bathroom, fumbling for the lightswitch. You place your phone next to the sink and fiddle with the shower’s knobs until you get a steady stream of hot water going.

It feels heavenly to step under the hot water, your aching muscles relaxing in the steam. But it feels even better when Yoongi wraps his arms around you from behind, pressing his lips to the side of your neck.

“Hi,” he murmurs.

“Hi,” you giggle. You might still be riding a little bit of a post-orgasm high.

You both rinse off in silence, and then Yoongi places his hand on the knob, looking at you to make sure you’re ready to get out. You nod, but he hesitates.

“Will you sleep with me?” he asks, a little unsure, leagues different from the cocky man you’d been tangled up with mere minutes before. “Don’t go back to the couch.”

You give him a soft smile, and he turns off the water, reaching for the towels hanging just outside.

“Of course I will,” you tell him before wrapping yourself up in the soft, gray terry-cloth.

You crawl into his bed once you’re dry, and he joins you after making a quick pass through the living room to turn the lights back off and gather up the clothes you’d both tossed around. When he clicks off his bedside lamp and rolls to face you, you feel a fluttering of nerves in your stomach.

You’re not sure where you go from here.

You lay facing each other in the darkness; it’s just too dark to really see much, but you can tell he’s looking at you.

You’re laying there, letting your thoughts spool around you, the what-if’s and what-now’s laying themselves out in your mind, when you realize you’ve reached out without meaning to, your fingers tangling in his long hair, rolling strands between them. You keep playing with it, cautiously, practically holding your breath, waiting to see if he objects.

Instead, you feel him relax under your hand, letting out a long breath. “That feels nice,” he admits, voice breathy with almost-sleep and barely audible.

You fall asleep without any answers, with your fingers curled up in Yoongi’s hair.

You wake up to a warm body behind you, not quite touching. You shift your cold toes a little closer to the warmth you find, smiling when you hear him whine about it. The light outside is white, that abnormal shade of light that comes from sunlight bouncing off of snow and ice. You’re about to close your eyes again when you realize that the warm body behind you isn’t sleeping, because you can hear the incriminating clicking and clacking of a keyboard.

“Are you seriously working right now?” you ask him, rolling a little to look at him over your shoulder. He peers back at you guiltily, his glasses low on his nose, fingers frozen in the air above the keys.

“I just wanted to answer a few -”

“It’s Christmas morning!” you scold.

“I’m aware of that,” he answers dryly.

You narrow your eyes at him. “Turn it off, Yoongi. It’s Christmas and you are in bed with someone. My God.”

He shoots you a defensive look, but finishes whatever he was doing and clicks the laptop closed, leaning over to place it on his nightstand.

“You haven’t changed at all,” you say, a little fondly, sitting up a little next to him.

“Neither have you,” he says pointedly. It’s less fond when he says it.

You consider this. “You want to know something stupid?” you ask. Yoongi doesn’t answer out loud, just meets your eyes and waits. “You’re right. I haven’t changed. I think… I think I’ve been afraid to.”

He turns to face you, sensing how serious you are about this. “What do you mean?” he presses.

You stop to think, the way you learned to after spending years watching him, knowing he did this better than you. “I guess… some little part of me always wondered what would happen if we crossed paths again. If I changed too much… what if I stopped being someone you’d want? What if I became someone so different that your heart didn’t know mine anymore?”

It sounds so corny coming out of your mouth, but the truth behind it is so heavy you can’t hold it up anymore. It was a fear you’d secretly harbored for half a decade - what if fate put Yoongi in your life again, and he still didn’t want you?

And Yoongi does what he’s always done - hears you, understands you, answers you in your own language.

“Impossible,” he says softly, leaning closer to you, eyes combing your face. His voice is like a layer of snow, smooth and clear, full of something unnamable. Or maybe you don’t want to name it. You turn your head, as if that will get you further away. “That’s impossible. My heart will always know yours.”

You look at your hands, feeling a little choked up. Your heart stutters and jumps in your chest. The question you’re holding back churns in a little ball behind your ribs.

“Hey,” he says, softly but intently. You manage to look up at him. “Let’s make breakfast?” He says it like a question.

“Yeah,” you say, able to speak again. “That sounds good.”

Yoongi lends you sweatpants, since it’s too chilly to roam around the house in basketball shorts, and busies himself in the kitchen while you get changed. When you finally join him, he’s plated something for each of you, and he pushes a glass of iced coffee towards you.

You can’t help but smile. “You remember,” you accuse, and he avoids your eyes, cheeks flushing.

“You get a girl ninety-thousand iced coffees, it stays with you,” he defends.

“Ninety-thousand,” you scoff, but you’re pleased. As you eat, you look out the kitchen window. It’s bright outside, but it’s still snowing - tiny, wispy flakes floating leisurely down to join you. The road clearly hasn’t been plowed yet; the snow outside is untouched, unbothered, a perfect sheet of white. You can’t even tell where the road is, except for the mailbox poking up out of the feet of snow on the ground already.

Yoongi follows your gaze. “Looks like you’re trapped here for a while,” he observes.

“A shame,” you deadpan, and he kicks at you playfully beneath the table.

“Well,” he says, thinking out loud, “since you won’t let me get any work done… do you want to put on a movie?”

“A Christmas movie?” you ask, perking up.

He rolls his eyes, but he’s fighting a little smile. “I guess that’d make sense,” he agrees.

He leads you back to the couch, which you eye sideways, remembering clearly what this couch witnessed about three hours ago. Yoongi seems unphased, slouching sideways against some pillows and looking at you expectantly. You join him gingerly, leaning against him, and he drapes a blanket over your legs.

“Pick something,” he asks, passing you the remote - another old Yoongi trick that you remember well.

You take the offered remote, clicking through the holiday options for something that you don’t think will make Yoongi gag. As you scroll, brows furrowed in concentration, he clears his throat beside you.

“So, uh,” he says, and you stop scrolling, because he sounds nervous. “Next weekend I’m supposed to go look at some apartments. Do you… would you want to keep me company?”

You look at him, eyes wide, the remote forgotten in your hand, still aloft and pointed at the tv.

“Why?” you whisper once you find your voice.

He shrugs, wets his lips. “You know the city well,” he says. “You can offer your brilliant opinions - tell me if the neighborhood’s okay… if there’s good take-away… where the transit stops are, that kind of shit.”

“Hm,” you say, a little tightly.

He shoots you a sheepish grin. “I’ll take you to dinner after?”

You give him a look. “Say what you mean, Yoongi.”

He purses his lips a little, disgruntled at being called out. Then, busted, he sighs and tries again. “Can I take you to dinner next weekend? Preferably in the city, and preferably after you help me make some choices about my living situation?”

You grin, unable to hold it back. “Yeah,” you say, trying hard to fight back the smile, to play it even a little bit cool. “Yeah, I’d really like that.” Trying to save your dignity, you turn back to the tv and go back to scrolling until you find a movie that seems like it’s not too over-the-top.

Yoongi reaches an arm around your shoulders, and this time you settle against him comfortably. You can feel him breathing beneath you, can smell that Yoongi smell - clean and alluring, can hear the shouts of some neighborhood kids running around outside. From the tv, tinkling bells and happy strings play a medley of Christmas songs as the opening credits run.

Part of you is already thinking about when the roads are plowed and you have to go home, shower off the scent of him, update your best friend about all of this, miss Yoongi in a much more real way than you’ve had to in about three years. But at least you have the promise that you’ll see him again next weekend. You close your eyes, content, happy to just be right now.

Yoongi feels it too, obviously. He gives your shoulders a squeeze, looks down at you fondly, and murmurs, “You know what? All this holly, jolly shit isn’t so bad.”

“God bless us, every one,” you deadpan. “It’s a Christmas miracle.”

He grins at you, gums showing, and you smile back before leaning your head against his chest as on the TV a little girl watches out her window for signs of Santa.

Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed!!! My full masterlist can be found here :)

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svnoofy · 4 months

Text

SYNOPSIS - your entire life has been measured by christmases, specifically– those spent with the lee household. every christmas, it was the same, and your feelings for the boy you grew up with during those christmases stayed the same too. however, as time passed, a few things changed and matters of the heart become a little more complex. could it be possible that there was more to look forward to this christmas than just your favorite hot cocoa?

PAIRING - lee heeseung x fem reader

GENRE - romance, slow burn, fluff, an attempt at crack, light angst, brother’s best friend trope-ish, “she fell first, he fell harder” trope

WARNINGS - profanity, minor references to sex and inappropriate topics, heeseung being very much conrad-coded

THIS STORY IS LOOSELY BASED OFF THE SERIES: THE SUMMER I TURNED PRETTY

christmas at the lee household was something you looked forward to each and every year. so much so that your entire life was measured by christmases.

you spent christmases with your mom, older brother, yeonjun and the lees, conveniently because your moms were best friends. mrs lee had a son– heeseung, who you basically spent your entire childhood with besides your brother.

while heeseung and yeonjun had a close relationship from the start, you and heeseung, didn’t always hit it off. at one point, he was hiding your christmas edition barbie dolls because he was embarassed to be seen with them! (you didn’t blame him though– he was two years older than you so he didn’t get the hype)

but eventually, both of you grew out of the silly trivial things that pulled you apart as young kids and you found yourself enjoying his company just as much as he did yours.

he’s seen you through all your phases and vice versa. he was there when you were wearing pink everyday, your emo era and even through your braces and dungarees phase (which was literally last year) and to be completely frank, somewhere along the lines: you fell for him.

oh, and as if news didn’t travel fast enough: the whole house knew! and it has become a tradition for everyone to tease the hell out of you when he’s around. no worries though, he made it painfully clear that he saw you just as his little sister (yikes)

every year it was the same: it always started off with a family dinner, followed by cocoa by the fire place with some fun games to accompany— which repeated until christmas day itself, which, you thought, when the fun really began.

“are you seriously not going to bring any sexy outfits? seriously?”, giselle raised an eyebrow from your bed– supposedly helping you pack.

you shot a confused look at her, “babes i’m going to celebrate christmas with my family not a honeymoon at bora-bora”

giselle rolled her eyes, “if you WANT heeseung to finally look at you, then—”, she dangles a red, slinky, dress towards you, notioning you to add it to your luggage.

“tis’ the season you get laid babes”, giselle winks.

your cheeks flush pink, “giselle!”, you smack her leg.

“HEY, I’M JUST TRYING TO HELP”, giselle yelped in defense.

giselle gets up from bed and drags you to your standing mirror— “you’ve changed a lot since last year, and you HAVE to embrace it babes! i promise, he’s going to regret ever sister-zoning you!”, she hugs your shoulders.

part of you knows she has a point, but realistically, how much could you have changed? giselle was probably just being nice.

“y/n are you ready? we have to go soon!”, your mom called from the bottom of the stairs.

you gave giselle one final hug and you intertwined your hands with her in a secret handshake.

“promise you’ll tell me whatever happens between you and heeseung?”, she prompts.

“duh, you have my word”, you wink before lugging your bags down the stairs.

the drive to the lee family house was long and with your brother driving, of course you two were arguing over the bluetooth connection. yeonjun had presented the lame excuse of “needing it for gps”, when really: you knew he wanted to blast anime music that you had no understanding of.

“come on jun, just let your sister play her music–”, your mother notioned to yeonjun, who pouted at the mirror and sighed.

“fine”, he pouted yet again, earning a scoff from your mother.

you rejoiced, finally!, you thought.

you put your christmas playlist on shuffle and stared out of the window, the familiar neighborhood coming into vision amidst the blanketing snow.

your heart swelled at the sight of the people putting up lights, garlands and decorations alike: christmas is here again, you fondly thought.

as you drove through the icy roads, with last christmas by wham! playing in the background, you felt as though you were in a scene from a christmas movie.

when you arrived at the drive way of the lee family house, you were hit with the nostalgic scent of rosemary. mrs lee must be baking her famous potato casserole again, you thought– eliciting a grumble from your stomach.

“y/n, come help me unload our bags”, she taps your shoulder from the backseat, to which you quickly unfastened your seat belt to assist your mom.

at this point, yeonjun had long disappeared into the warm embrace of the cabin while you helped your mother unload the bags.

“soojin?”, you heard a familiar voice call out.

it was mrs lee– she stood on her door step, arms wide open to give your mother a welcome hug.

your mother smiles back before coming into her embrace– the sight was warming your heart more than any fire could.

mrs lee’s eyes stray to you for a moment and she almost screeches.

“y/n! my dear you have grown so much! she’s gorgeous soojin!”, mrs lee praised.

she went towards you and placed her warm hand on your cheek, “you’re in bloom, my snowflake”

mrs lee had a way of saying things that almost made you believe her.

she then notices the bags on the driveway, left unattended, to which she gasped, “let me get the boys for this”

she goes up to the door to beckon the boys out, and as you stood, frozen on the driveway in anticipation, you saw him, struggling to get his gloves on.

he had his usual polo sweater on, but this time he was taller, his hair was longer and it fell a little over his eyes– which had always been your favorite feature of his.

as you stood frozen on the driveway, your eyes met with his as he walked towards you. you felt your heart beat a million times a minute.

there he was, the boy you’ve longed for your entire life.

you stood there, across from him, as he took the sight of you in.

“what happened to your glasses?”, he asked.

“i don’t wear them anymore”, you explained.

he went around you to get your bags, lifting them easily compared to you and your mom’s efforts combined.

“i liked your glasses”, he leaned over slightly causing you to stiffen up, “but welcome back, y/n”, he pinches your nose– another familiar tradition.

he lugs your bag into the house and right as he reached the doorstep, he looked back at you, hands motioning you to come in.

“come in, you’ll freeze out there”, he says. you run towards the door at his invitation, closing the door right behind you when the both of you enter.

“so, how was everyone’s year?”, mrs lee asks, wine glass in hand.

“it was great mrs lee— i got into our university’s dance team!”, yeonjun bragged earning exaggerated and sarcastic applauses from heeseung, to which yeonjun responded by tossing a potato in his direction.

your mother shot yeonjun an icy glare as a reminder to behave, and he cleared his throat in realization.

“oh yeah and mrs lee, your son is a HIT at campus, he’s being hit on by girls left and right, it’s sickening!”, yeonjun remarked.

you were somewhat in a state of disappointment yet you weren’t surprised.

you had to admit, you always found lee heeseung handsome— but somehow, this christmas, your heart catapulted more than it usually did.

heeseung fiddled with the potatoes on his plate using his fork, clearly uncomfortable of the topic that arose.

“i guess— it’s because he looks so much like me”, mrs lee commented with a wink, earning a chuckle from heeseung– who was clearly unsure how to react.

you pursed your lips, avoiding eye contact with the boy across you.

“how about you, my snowflake?”, mrs lee asks– all eyes darting towards you.

“uhm..”, you thought about what had happened this year that was remotely interesting to share.

off the top of your head, you shared: “i got my braces off”, you smiled flashing your pearly whites, eliciting laughs from mrs lee and heeseung.

“no shit, dumbass”, yeonjun remarked, earning a kick under the table from your mom.

“yeonjun, be nice”, to which he pouted to, “come on moomm, you always defend y/n”, he flashes his morbid puppy eyes at her, only to earn a distasteful roll of the eyes from your mom.

“my snowflake has grown so beautifully”, mrs lee remarked, causing you to blush.

“thanks mrs lee”, you smiled at the nickname she has always given you.

you didn’t even notice the eyes that lingered on you a little longer than they should– from the boy across from you.

as usual, cocoa by the fireplace followed suit after dinner— and you were so excited to finally taste the best hot cocoa you have ever had in your life again.

as you topped your cocoa with a pile of marshmallows in the kitchen, you couldn’t help but overhear the boys chatting with each other.

“is that girl from school still texting you?”, yeonjun asked.

“uh i guess, there are a few of them”, heeseung replies, doubtfully.

“bro– don’t tell me you’re still hung up over wonyoung– come on man, that was monthsss agooo”, yeonjun drawled, earning a half-hearted sigh from heeseung.

oh, he’s had a girl friend before this, you thought– the familiar dreadful feeling arising in your tummy.

“i guess, but i don’t know– i feel like i still like her”, heeseung says, very much in the same doubtful tone he started with.

you don’t know why you were all sad about what you heard, it’s not like he was your boyfriend after all– but you couldn’t deny that it stung a little to witness the boy you like missing someone that wasn’t you.

you stayed up all night thinking about the conversation between heeseung and your brother – the name in the conversation repeating itself in your head like a mantra.

wonyoung, she sounds beautiful – you thought as you brushed your teeth.

after washing up, you sleepily make your way down to the kitchen, where everybody was. heeseung was with your mom, solving a crossword puzzle while yeonjun helped mrs lee with the pancakes for breakfast.

when mrs lee noticed your presence, she set her spatula down and rushed in to give you a hug.

“good morning sweetie, did you sleep good?”, she asks only for you to lie: “slept great, mrs lee”

you took a seat at the bar table, eyes wandering for the oat milk carton. before you could even stand up to look for it, heeseung comes up from right behind you and places a tall glass of oat milk right beside you.

“i know you hate cold milk”, he says with a smile– before walking over to yeonjun, who was trying his best to salvage his pancakes.

your heart fluttered at heeseung’s gesture, this was one of the many reasons you had fallen for him.

FLASHBACK

“which flavor should we get heeseung?”, a young yeonjun asks with a mischievous grin on his face.

the whole family was spending the day at the market– and although the boys were warned far earlier to stay away from the candy cart, yeonjun and heeseung had been saving up to splurge on candy the whole year! and with a little bit of will power, they managed to slip away from their moms– who at the time, were distracted by the attractive holiday candles for sale.

“i want peppermint and licorice!”, yeonjun exclaims, grabbing a fistful of each candy he wanted.

unlike yeonjun, heeseung was carefully contemplating his choices— but, before all, he reached in for the pink berry blast candy, which shocked yeonjun to say the least.

“ewwwwwww, you’re choosing pink candy?”, yeonjun gags earning an annoyed eye roll from heeseung.

“it’s for y/n, not me”, heeseung explains before continuing to carefully select his own choice of candy.

when they returned to their mothers, who were, to no shock, still at the candle stand– you stood idly by, noticing how the boys managed to slip away and come back unnoticed.

you weren’t one to snitch though, fortunately.

as you sucked on your thumb, waiting for your mom to finish indulging in the various holiday scented candles, heeseung taps your shoulder.

“i know you like this candy”, he hands the bright-pink candy over to you, a smile plastered in his face.

you were too young to understand what was happening right then and there but even little you, didn’t fail to blush at the kind gesture that was presented to you.

END OF FLASHBACK

the day moved rather slowly— the weather in the neighborhood switched between being gloomy and snowy, which made it hard to plan activities around.

you were laying in your room, folding your laundry, when you heard a knock on your door.

“hey loser”, it was yeonjun.

you rolled your eyes– “no, i am NOT going to fold your stupid underwear again”, you say almost predictably.

“what– no, i just wanted to say– heeseung and i are heading to a party tonight, and you have to keep it shut to mrs lee and mom, got it?”, yeonjun commands.

“what the hell, you guys are sneaking out?”, you ask.

“duhhh, do you think we stay in EVERYTIME for cocoa and game night? obviously heeseung and i are cooler than that”, he explains earning a gasp from your end.

“you’ve BEEN sneaking out this WHOLE time?”, you were exasperated to say the least.

“jealous, loser?”, he teases with a wink, causing your face to contort to a distasteful look.

“whatever it is, we’ll be back midnight, see ya loser!”, he storms out confidently.

what he doesn’t know is, you found out which party he was going to (the only party in town, which giselle took the very kind initiative of finding out) and there is no way in hell, you would miss the opportunity to rebel for once.

when yeonjun and heeseung arrived, the sight they saw was nothing extraordinary.

there were drinks, people making out, and music blaring from every corner.

“heyyy boys!”, the host, jake sim, greeted– giving each of them a dap in the process.

“great to have you back here this year”, jake roughly places his hand on yeonjun’s shoulder– simultaneously handing him a shot of tequila.

“i feeel aliveeee”, yeonjun exclaims after downing the tequila that was handed to him.

jake notions heeseung to take a sip, but he refuses.

“i don’t drink tequila”, he confesses– to which jake nods in understanding with an “ah ok”.

before heeseung could even decide what to do, yeonjun was off on the dance floor, girls surrounding him as if he were a magnet.

heeseung laughs at the sight before moving himself to one of the lounges, grabbibg a can of beer to pop open and enjoy.

unexpectedly, he sees a familiar face wrapped around someone.

wonyoung?

“girl, why are you dressing like a saint– how is heeseung gonna notice you when you’re wearing a literal nun-fit”, giselle remarked when she saw your quote-unquote “overly covering” outfit.

you were rummaging your bag at this point, before you found a rather intriguing piece of clothing– which you definitely never owned.

“is this yours?”, you dangle the red, slinky, dress towards the camera.

“YES! THANK GOD YOU FOUND IT”, giselle cheers in victory.

“yes bitch wear that– hello, there’s a reason i packed it in”, giselle commands, to which you hesitantly oblige.

after you slipped into the dress, giselle’s eyes almost pop out of her skull.

“OH MY GOD Y/N? YOU LOOK STUNNING?? I AM DEAD”, she jokingly motions– earning a shy giggle from your end.

the dress was indeed beautiful, you were just unsure if it looked good on you– it seemed way different than what you would usually reach for.

“if you’re even SECOND-THINKING right now i will smack you from my phone”, giselle suddenly says, as if reading your mind.

“please y/n you look stunning, like santa’s mistress but innocent and hot at the same time– damn, i suck at explaining but you look HOT”, she comments, giggling at parts, almost fangirling.

“now put on that red lipstick you bought and bam, femme fatale who?”, she winks at you with her suggestion.

you apply the red lipstick as instructed and when giselle saw your final look, she almost fainted.

she gave you her final best wishes and told you to put on your best heels– which in true y/n fashion – you forgot.

so, you just slip on your converses and carefully sneak out of the house, careful not to wake your moms.

now you just have to hope, yeonjun is too drunk to notice you were ever there.

when you arrived at the driveway, everyone had their eyes on you.

you felt a little insecure, walking in your dress and parka, into this completely new environment. before you could even make a step further, a guy stops you in your tracks.

“hi beautiful, welcome to my party”, he had a smug look on his face and you just smiled back and thanked him in response.

“have i seen you before? you look new”, he asked– technically you’ve gone to this neighborhood your whole life, it was just your first party.

“yeah, it’s my first party—”, before you could even say anything else— the guy yells: “WE HAVE A NEW PARTY COMER EVERYONE!”

heeseung had his eyes on wonyoung, who was enjoying herself with her new boy accessory.

he wanted to approach her, liquid confidence in hand.

but before he could even take a step towards her, he hears jake’s voice echo to the living room he was in.

“WE HAVE A NEW PARTY COMER EVERYONE!”

from there on, a good majority of the crowd’s eyes diverted to the door– where jake was escorting the new guest, arms linked.

heeseung couldn’t believe his eyes. you were absolutely gorgeous.

crowds cheered and whistled at your entrance, and heeseung stepped closer to where you were walking.

it can’t be her, can it? , he doubted himself.

he confirmed it was you when he saw your stained converses, what is she doing here?

you stood at the kitchen, unsure of what to do. there were so many people, yet you couldn’t find the courage to get along with any of them.

“i love your dress”, you heard a voice from beside you.

you turned to the direction of the voice, to see an angel-like girl next to you.

“oh my god, that means a lot coming from you”, you say with a smile.

“what’s your name, pretty?”, she asks with a smile, before taking a sip from her cup.

“y/n— choi y/n, nice to meet you..”, you prompt for her name in return.

“wonyoung, jang wonyoung”, she smiles.

wonyoung?, you thought– could it be that wonyoung?

before you could ponder a moment longer, the guy who greeted you returned.

“i’m so honored to have the most beautiful girls in town at my party—”, he slurs, earning a scoff from wonyoung.

“grow up jake, i have a boyfriend”, wonyoung rolls her eyes– did they get back together?, you thought

“i didn’t want you anyway.. it’s her i want”, he slurs, smirking at you.

you gulp, unsure what to say or do.

“don’t let him get to your head y/n, he’s just pussy deprived”, wonyoung said.

jake slips his arm around your waist, finishing the last drop of his drink. at this point, you were more than uncomfortable.

“what the hell?”, you hear an agitated voice say.

you look back to see heeseung, infuriated.

heeseung marches up to the both of you and right as you expect him to drag wonyoung away, he drags you away instead.

“heeseung, let go!”, you command. heeseung was fuming.

“what the hell are you even doing with jake? are you trying to fuck yourself over?”, he was angry.

this was the angriest you’ve ever seem him, which brewed similar feelings in you.

“why do you care, heeseung? i want to have fun too!”, you retaliate– attempting to walk away from heeseung to enjoy the party.

he pulls you by your wrist, “no you aren’t, i’m calling a cab– we’re going home”

he drags you with him into the sea on the dance floor, fishing yeonjun out of it, his grip still firm on your wrist.

when he successfully got yeonjun off the dance floor, he was wasted.

after successfully calling a cab, he drags yeonjun in and asks you to sit in the back while he sat at the passenger seat. the whole car-ride was silent. heeseung must’ve been really mad.

you admit you felt bad for ruining their night but: why was he so mad?

seeing you and his ex at the party wasn’t exactly what he expected.

however, what blew him up was seeing jake wrap his arms around you, sickeningly intertwined like lovers. when he saw what ensued, he lost all his cool.

he could barely register that his ex, whom he tried to approach the whole night, was right there.

the next morning comes quickly, and as he laid in his bed, he kept asking himself: why he was as mad as he was seeing you with jake?

it was confusing, he still liked wonyoung– he was certain of it– but even after seeing wonyoung and her new boyfriend smooch around for minutes on end, he barely lifted a finger.

however, when he saw you standing there, a little too close to jake, he lost every ounce of cool in his body and gained a new confidence that he never thought he could have.

you’re not crazy heeseung, it’s different because she’s like your little sister— it’s natural you reacted the way you did: his subconscious self tried to justify his thoughts, with the very same excuse its been using for years.

just like that one time you came to support him during his first talent show at university, and how you proudly cheered for him. his heart fluttered at that but his psyche silenced his heart with that very excuse: “it’s normal for her to support you– she’s like your little sister”

or that one time he felt butterflies in his stomach when you helped patch up an injury on his leg with your barbie first aid kit, before proceeding to make him a cup of hot cocoa– when his heart fluttered yet again, but his subconscious self convinced him: “siblings care for each other, this is nothing”

or even that time he saw you for the first time in a year, and when he saw you standing there, so beautifully in your dress at the party. again, “she’s just like your little sister”

he didn’t understand what was happening to him– could it be denial? maybe, but whatever it was, he wasn’t ready to face it.

at that point, it was a few days until christmas. the house was busy, with cleaners and workers running left and right–hanging decorations and dusting off ornaments.

you decided to help as well, helping the workers hang stockings and garlands around the house.

heeseung stood by the door frame, watching you help the workers decorate the house– a smile unintentionally creeping up on his face.

he observed how your hair was neatly tied back with a ribbon, and how your reindeer knit sweater, which he knew you got from his mom, ran a little too big for you.

you were laughing along with the workers, at a slanted ornament you hung.

a tap on his shoulder snaps him out of his haze, “yo, mom and mrs lee needs us to go to the grocery store to pick up a turkey for the christmas eve dinner so let’s go”, yeonjun announces– dragging heeseung away from the scene.

you barely even noticed his presence, too busy trying to fix the decorations you accidentally ruined.

on the car ride to grocery store, heeseung clears his throat to speak.

“wonyoung’s got a new boyfriend”, he speaks up, eyes on the road.

yeonjun’s eyes widen, “what? SERIOUSLY? i thought she only brought that guy at the party to make you jealous–”, yeonjun says.

“what? no–”, heeseung tries to explain only to be cut off by yeonjun again.

“i think so though! heard you had a new girl during the party– red dress and all! i heard everyone thought she was a hot take– too bad i was too drunk to notice her because we all know, she would’ve come home with me”, yeonjun smirks causing heeseung to cringe.

this guy would regret saying that if he knew it was his sister, he thought.

but hey, since yeonjun already ingrained that scenario in his head– heeseung might as well play along with it. plus, he could use some advice.

“yeah, i had a new girl but i don’t think i can like her”, he confesses.

“awww man, why not? you’re hot, kind of–”, yeonjun giggles, heeseung snorting in response.

“well, being with her is complicated– she’s beautiful, but i’m afraid i would hurt her”, heeseung admits, earning a scoff from yeonjun.

“you say that as if you didn’t date the dean of our university’s daughter but okay– come on heeseung, stop over thinking for once, if you like her, then make your move! don’t let your mind cock block”, yeonjun advises, hitting heeseung with a playful punch.

“alright then”, heeseung says, really hoping yeonjun won’t regret what he said.

“now let’s get this dang turkey”

the night of the christmas eve dinner came quicker than you expected.

the house was filling up with friends and family members, and it was finally beginning to look a lot like christmas.

you went down the stairs, dressed and ready to greet all the faces you hadn’t seen in a year.

you were surprised to see some of the faces from the party too– one of them being, wonyoung, which you assumed was invited by heeseung.

you waved at her, and the other people that were around.

“nice to see you again bub”, she greets, with a hug.

you’re not surprised why heeseung would date someone like her– she was so warm and kind.

when the dinner began, the adults were sat at the dining room, while the kids were sprawled out in the living room.

“i’m sooo bored”, jake complains after the dinner, earning an eye roll from yeonjun.

“you’re always bored when you’re not drunk, jake”, he retaliates.

wonyoung sat across from heeseung, which seemed strange for a couple.

“do you guys want to play spin the bottle?”, jake smirks.

everyone cheered in unison, approving his idea.

yeonjun grabs a bottle from the kitchen, and everyone forms a circle on the floor.

the first few spins were uneventful, the kisses being short pecks rather than long, deep, kisses– which earned boos from everyone.

however, when the bottle landed on heeseung and wonyoung, the air tensed up.

heeseung sat still, wonyoung the same.

“are we getting a kiss or no– OUCH”, jake groaned, when yeonjun kicked his foot– intentionally.

the air was so thick with tension– you began shifting in your seat uncomfortably.

“fine, let’s change the course— heeseung do you like anyone?”, wonyoung suddenly asks and his eyes widen.

his eyes land on yours before he could say anything.

however, right as he was about to answer, your mom called out to you.

“y/n can you please get something from aunt mijoo’s car”

when everyone left, it was late in the night.

you had trouble falling asleep, so you headed to the kitchen to make some hot cocoa.

you were shocked to see heeseung, still in his sweater, staring out the window.

“heeseung– oh my god you scared me”, you gasped.

he looked at you, his body slightly slumped.

“are you hungry?”, he asks, observing your actions.

“nope– i just need some cocoa to help me sleep”, you reply, earning a chuckle from the boy.

“you’re the first person i know who uses sugar to fall asleep”, he walks up to you and pats your head.

at that point, it was nearing midnight.

you opened the cupboard, searching for the cocoa powder.

great, you thought, it’s waayy on the top shelf

you sighed in defeat, your head hung low.

heeseung notices this, and he easily reaches for the cocoa.

“need some help?”, he offers the cocoa powder in his hand, a smirk plastered on his face.

you roll your eyes, “thanks, i guess”

he giggles, leaning back on the kitchen island– watching your every move.

you whip up your concoction, preparing an extra mug for heeseung– as he stood by, watching you.

“wonyoung is so pretty”, you suddenly say– causing him to choke on some air.

“suddenly?”, he remarked.

“she is though, i understand why you froze around her”, you giggled, eyes focused on the hot cocoa you were making.

heeseung was speechless, he wasn’t sure where exactly you were going with this.

“i mean i wouldn’t expect less from the lee heeseung’s girlfriend”, you bitterly applauded, which causes the boy to choke on his spit.

“girlfriend? where’d you hear that?”, he asks confusedly.

“she’s your girlfriend.. right?”, you tilt your head, twice as confused as he was.

“uh– first off, sure i guess she’s pretty but when i froze– that wasn’t the reason, second– she’s not my girlfriend, well, not anymore at least”, he explains.

when you heard this, you somehow felt a sense of relief – relief at the fact that wonyoung and heeseung weren’t together.

“what!”, you let out, sounding a little too happy. you cleared your throat and ask him again: “heeseung, why did you get mad at me during.. the party?”, you hesitated a little towards the end, flashbacks of heeseung’s anger replaying in your head like a broken tape.

“well..”

oh shit, he thought. he hasn’t quite figured out the reason himself– so, he’ll stick to his brain’s text book answer.

“because, you’re like my little sister, y/n”, he lies– he knows that, of all reasons, was not the one.

there it was, the very thing you dreaded to hear.

“oh..”, was the only thing you could respond with.

good thing your hot cocoa was ready! you poured two servings, one for him and one for yourself.

you took out all the toppings, and proceeded to add marshmallows to your hearts content.

“did you want some?”, you asked heeseung– but he shook his head no.

“but i’d like some whipped cream please”, he asks, extending his mug of cocoa to you.

you nod, prepping the can of whipped cream for him, skillfully giving him a swirl before you got a mischievous idea.

you took some whip cream on your finger, stood on your tippy toes, and smeared it on his face, “your wish is my command”, you smirk.

he gasps, taking some cream to do the same with you.

“hey! i just removed my make up!”, you shielded yourself from his attack.

“you started it!”, he exclaimed– chasing you around the kitchen, determined to get some cream in your hair too.

before you knew it, the clock bells rang as it hit 12 am, it was finally christmas.

the both of you stood face-to-face, looking at each other’s cream smeared faces for a moment.

“merry christmas, heeseung”, you greet, earning a giggle from him.

“merry christmas, y/n”

when you left the kitchen, hot cocoa in hand, heeseung’s heart beat raced more than he ever thought it could.

he had been trying so hard to deny it, but now he thinks he can finally accept it: you were more than just a little sister to him.

the wholesome scene in the kitchen replayed itself in your head until the next morning.

you even texted giselle at the crack of dawn to tell her what happened– to which she could only fangirl in response.

everyone was gathered at the living room, sat around in their pajamas.

“merry christmas everyone”, you say– kind of sleepy.

you joined your mom and mrs lee on the couch, giving them a big hug.

“don’t forget, later we have secret santa with everyone coming so, perk up kids!”, mrs lee reminded before she left to go to the kitchen with your mom, to which all of you responded with an enthusiastic smile.

“did you guys manage to get anything for secret santa?”, yeonjun asks you and heeseung.

you and heeseung nod in approval, “yeah, why? did you get anything?”, heeseung asks yeonjun.

“uh yeah– totally, i – yeah fuck it, i forgot”, he finally admits.

“it’s okay i can get a bag of cheetos, i don’t know– what do girls even like”, he sighed in frustration.

you laughed at his defeat, causing him to shoot a glare your direction.

“shut up, loser”

heeseung giggles beside you, causing you to shoot a glare at him. “ok, i’m sorry”

guests poured into the house, one by one, soon enough— all the kids and adults were sprawled out in the living room, getting ready to play secret santa.

unlike the night before, the circle of people who attended that afternoon was a more intimate group of people.

“ok, heeseung, it’s your turn– who are you secret santa for this year?”, mrs lee prompted.

heeseung smiles a little, shyly picking up the small red bag beside him, standing up to head to his designated person.

without you realizing, he made his way towards you.

“merry christmas, y/n”, he greets again, in his gentle voice, to which you shyly accept the red bag whispering a shy “thank you”– all eyes were on you at the time, observing the chemistry.

to be frank, everyone in that room knew how you felt about heeseung, and how much you wanted him to be your secret santa, time and time again.

this time you got what you wanted, and as you caressed the small red bag in your hands, your cheeks warmed up– heeseung’s gentle voice repeating itself in your head.

the day passed quickly and you didn’t get a chance to open the gift yet.

it was only when you had gone back up to your room that you had the chance. you undid the ribbon delicately, as if the bag itself was more precious than what it contained.

you took out the tissue paper that protected the small velvet box which sat in the centre of the bag. you caressed the velvet box with your fingers, your stomach brimming with butterflies and anticipation.

when you open the box, you gasp in surprise and adoration.

it was a necklace, but not just a random charm necklace.

it was a snowflake, each crevice covered in crystals, which sparkled brightly under the moon light which shone through your bedroom window.

you took a moment to read the card it came with, which left you smiling wider than you thought you could:

i saw this necklace at the store a few days ago and it made think of you– because you’re our little snowflake:) i hope you like it.

merry christmas, y/n

you admired the necklace in your hands, a smile creeping up on your face once again. it was beautiful, just like him.

you picked up your phone, typing up a quick text message.

you: thanks for the gift, heeseung. i love it c:

heeseung: no problem, i’m just glad you like it :)

heeseung: hey, it’s snowing out, wanna go build a snowman? ;)

you giggle at his sudden invitation. you put on the necklace, wrap yourself in your warm scarves and puffer jacket before heading downstairs.

you quietly snuck out through the back door of the kitchen, eyes looking left and right for heeseung.

your search didn’t last long when you felt a snowball hit your back.when you turn to the back, you see heeseung hiding behind a bush, gloves messy from the snow ball.

you scoff, rolling up a snow ball and hitting him in return– just like you used to do when you were younger.

“hey! ouch! stop!”, he squirmed, the cold impacting him more than he thought. you laughed at his defenselessness.

again, you stood across him, face to face– admiring his face, just like you did when you first arrived.

the snow was falling from the sky, gently trickling your jackets and hair.

his eyes locked with yours, and you swore time stopped.

“i think there’s something you should know..”, he took a step closer to you, anticipation brewing in your stomach as you looked up at him.

“hmm?”

“i’m sorry i got mad at you during jake’s party and brushed it off as me being protective because “you’re like my sister”–”, he apologized.

“truth is.. that wasn’t even close to the real reason–”, he begun, your eyes glued intently on him.

“thing is.. i never understood why or how i felt about you— and, my subconscious mind would consistently tell me it was because you were just my little sister”, he looked down briefly before meeting your eyes again.

“but, when i found myself missing you, thinking about you and your silly laugh when i crack my terrible jokes– and when i found myself infuriated at the idea that another guy could make you laugh like that, i knew that you were more than what i tried so hard to convince myself you were..”, he took your hands in his, eyes still locked on yours.

“how could i have been so blind to the one person who’s always been there for me.. from the time you patched up my little injury with your precious barbie band aids or even the time you stood front row during my first talent show— it has always been you”, he grips your hand tighter.

“so i was hoping i could be the one for you too..”, he nervously says.

“what do you mean heeseung?”, you ask suddenly, pulling your hands away from his.

at this point he was expecting his heart to be shattered– until you cut off his train of thought.

“you have always been the one for me”, you say suddenly– flashing him with the smile he loved so much.

before he could say anything further, you leapt up onto him, the warmth of your lips embracing his.

he smiled into the kiss, “i love you, my little snowflake”

you giggled, “i love you too”, you say briefly before he engulfs your lips in his again, twirling you in his embrace.

you have always loved christmas, but now, he’s given you a million reasons to love it more.

[ hera’s note ] – hello loves! merry (ADVANCED) christmas! 🎄 here’s an advanced heeseung christmas piece that i wrote while listening to taylor swift and sabrina carpenter’s new christmas EP HAHAHA i hope you all enjoyed this piece 🤍 please let me know what you thought about this one-shot and reblog it if you enjoyed it! i wanted to upload this early because i may be offline for a few days to celebrate this festive season :) anyways, i hope everyone will have a wonderful christmas, hera loves you! <3

[ taglist ] – @ja4hyvn | send an ask/dm to be added!

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meshlasolus · 6 months

Text

Your Beauty Never Ever Scared Me

Dbf!Joel Miller x College!Reader

A/n: Listen… I don’t have any excuse for ditching my other three active series except for tiktok made me do it… That, and the CLM series by @macfrog has ascended me to a new level of crazy and I just needed an outlet for it somewhere. Another shoutout to @theatrelove3000 who keeps putting up with my dbf joel shenanigans, they are indeed insane.

Warnings: girl this whole concept should be a warning but anyways… age gap, some fluff, light smut, uncomfortable situations with readers father… probably some editing mistakes bc ya girl is tired ok its 2am

Please be kind to this chapter, I actually like it, despite the horrors.

Decided on the song ‘Mary On A Cross‘ by Ghost for this one bc it fits ig.

MASTERLIST

Age gap is approximately 15 years or so, reader is over 21 and joel is about 37

"I think I'd probably only slow'ya down," you chuckled, looking to Sarah who seemed to read the displeasure off your face from your dad's offer. "I'm studyin' to be an archeologist, dad. I don't know nothin' about framin' and all that house buildin'..."

Maybe it had been your dad's idea, but he wasn't the one who planted it into his own head. Joel subtly turned to you and cooly uttered a response.

"You could work on interior stuff with me."

It had been almost three days.

You looked out the window to the front of your house repeatedly to try and remember it clearly. The drive home, the kiss, and how abruptly it ended with a promise to see each other around. You thought about it so often you almost wondered if it happened the way you perceived it, if any details had been skewed in your mind simply because you wanted to keep it there, fresh, untouched. Maybe he thought of it differently... but maybe he didn't.

"Did you bring home the stuff I asked ya?" Your dad came into the kitchen with a smile, embracing you with a side hug and turning to help you unpack the groceries.

"Course' I did, Pa," you handed him the bag with the six-pack of bud and the other one full of snacks.

It was the first Rangers game night, and as per tradition, that meant the company of the next-door neighbors. It had been a while since you'd been around to enjoy it, but now that you were back, there were quite a few more reasons why you were on edge to now participate. It would look weird if you came up with an excuse not to be there, and you knew that. You also knrw that you'd gotten into a rather complicated entanglement with your father's closest friend, and weren't sure what the outcome really was.

Had that driveway light not spooked you both apart, and had that little black stray cat not made an appearance, how far would it have gone? Things were pretty heated, but even still. Would he have said something? Maybe along the lines of 'I've known you since you were sixteen, and this isn't appropriate at all.'

You didn't have time to think about it, you were set to work on helping your dad cook dinner for the soon-arriving neighbors. Dinner and a baseball game, once a relaxing and enjoyable time to bond with your dad, now turned into an anxiety fest where you were convinced you'd have to walk on pins and needles around every topic.

"So," your dad piped up from his silence at the stove, stirring the pot of chili he'd been prepping. "Joel told me he gave you a ride 'few nights back."

You knew it was harmless, and that he wasn't asking for any reason, other than that he was probably curious. You hadn't seen Joel in a while, not since two Christmases ago. Your dad had driven up to Dallas to spend both Thanksgiving and Christmas with you last year, and you didn't come home for summer break given an internship opportunity. You must have seemed different to the man in some way. All grown up.

"Yeah, gave me a ride n' saved me at the bar," you chuckled, trying to seem playful and unsuspicious about the encounter.

He seemed to be confused, his brows furrowed and a funny look on his face.

"Whad'ya mean he saved ya?" he of course was continuing to speak all the while dumping his favorite spices into the pot of chili, looking across here and now to keep engaged.

"Just scared off some weirdo who couldn't take no for an answer," you let a sweet and genuine smile fall across your features, but didn't let it get out of hand. Your relationship with your father was airtight, and he could read you pretty damn well. You weren't going to give anything away, not with what was potentially on the line.

"Glad he was there," he replied with a chuckle, sending you a soft glance. "Never thought you'd have grown up so fast, now I gotta carry a shotgun whenever we go places. Fend off the wild beasts."

His jokes were only so funny now, because in this situation, you knew he wouldn't hesitate to shoot Joel if he found out what had happened. All in the nature of protecting you, but it made you sad to think of the situation that way. Joel wasn't just another weirdo following you around at a bar.

"It's only because I'm so pretty," you did your best to respond lightheartedly, making a quip that would soothe the silence. "And I believe that's yours and Mama's fault, givin' me the genes and what not."

You'd finished chopping a nice garden salad by the time the doorbell rang. You ran upstairs to change your shirt to the Jersey your dad bought you for your birthday, claiming it was good luck for the team. Truth be told, you didn't wanna be downstairs when Joel and Sarah got here.

Sarah was here, too. Her, you could easily handle. You were almost hoping that she would be in a rather talkative mood, that way the attention could be swayed to her inconspicuously. You doubted Joel would even try to talk to you, anyway.

"Lovebug, come on down, Millers are here!" Your dad shouted up, even though he saw you run upstairs right when the doorbell rang to change your shirt.

"I'm comin', hold on," you replied sassily while heading for the staircase.

You got to the bottom and had to take a breath before turning the corner into the entryway. Joel stood there with a sweet smile to you, and you tried your best to hold back the one you wore. It was too bright, too happy to see him. All despite your nerves.

You were quickly embraced by Sarah, whom you paid immediate attention to.

"My lordy, girl," you held up your hand by your shoulder to show the height difference, "last time I saw you, you must've been this tall."

"Dad tells me I'm growing like a weed," she tossed a finger over her shoulder to where he was standing, and you gave him a small glance and a smile.

"Us daughters do have a tendency to grow up," you laughed, slinging an arm around Sarah and pulling her along to the kitchen as your dad and Joel did the same behind you.

Why had you been so anxious? Joel is happy to see you. He makes causal conversation with your dad, but he catches your eye every chance he gets. His expression doesn't change, except for the tug of his lips in a smile that's barely there. Joel doesn't smile too often, except apparently when you and Sarah are around.

It doesn't take long for everyone to get situated with their food at the table, playful banter between Joel and your father filling the air as you made less rambunctious chatter with Sarah.

She's doing pretty well since last you saw her. She was always a bright girl, but as she grew it became more apparent that she would probably excel further than anyone in her graduating class. You were sitting across from a future valedictorian, you were sure.

You'd tried to ask her about her out of school interests before your dad interrupted with a question.

"How about you, lovebug?" He watched your eyes flick over to him with a turn of your head. He added context, given you hadn't been listening to them earlier. "Are you gonna look for a summer job?"

You really should, if you're being honest. There's not much work in your aspiring profession located here, but you weren't as lucrative as you used to be, given your educational expenses.

"I've thought about it," you tilted your head back and forth, and your dad seemed to need more from your answer. "I need to earn some cash before I get back to Dallas, but I'm not really sure where to apply."

Sarah seemed to know where this was going before you did. She'd been around the last time your dad was begging Joel to find some help for the contracting team they worked with. But surely your dad doesn't expect you to build houses, does he? Your dream job is to dig holes in the ground, not fill them in and put homes on top.

"We got some spaces to fill, you should come work with us 'few months. The pay's good and you don't have to stay on long, probably just till the end of July."

You gave him a look, and he instantly knew you weren't interested, but you figured you'd try and justify your reasoning. It was an argument either way.

Maybe it had been your dad's idea, but he wasn't the one who planted it into his own head. Joel subtly turned to you and cooly uttered a response.

"You could work on interior stuff with me."

Did he just-?

"S'not much more fun than what your dad's been doin,' but at least it's out of the sun, and easier to learn."

You were almost dumbfounded. Your dad offering you a job that potentially could give you heat stroke with your lack of experience seemed like the worst idea in the world... but working on interior projects? With Joel of all people? Well, that didn't sound so bad.

You didn't want your dad to catch on, of course. Being so protestant of his suggestion, but then falling right into it as soon as Joel was the one to offer would be a dead giveaway to some sort of favoritism to his best buddy. It simply wouldn't look right.

"What kinda interior stuff?"

He smirked. The motherfucker was smirking. He knew you'd changed your mind, but couldn't exactly just come out with it. He understood, but it was still slightly amusing to him.

"Flooring, cabinets, countertops... 's things like that," he explained, knowing you really didn't care what all it entailed. He was still happy to play along. "S'not as fun as archeology, but it pays alright."

You nodded, acting as though you were turning the thoughts over in your head.

"Well, if you're sure I won't mess it up, I'd be happy to try it out," was your final response. You figured it left some leeway in case your father became suspicious, but gave a good enough answer to end the conversation on.

"That's my girl," your dad clapped a hand on your shoulder in excitement. Truth be told he would very much enjoy your presence on a work site. "I'll go ahead and call Eddie in the morning, let 'im know I found someone to replace Charlie for interiors."

It was said more to Joel, you figured, because you didn't really know who either of those people were. He'd nodded to your dad, taking a sip of his beer and then looking back to you. You smiled sweetly, nobody catching it but the one it was meant for.

"Game's gonna start soon," Joel spoke aloud, drawing everyone's eye to the clock over the stove.

Sarah cleared her throat before jumping in on the conversation.

"About that," she looked to her dad with the same puppy dog eyes she used to use against you. He was just as poor at saying no to her when she pulled those bad boys out. "Sammy texted me to ask if it's okay to stay over at her place tonight?"

Joel sighed. He knew that no matter the attempts he made for her to like baseball, it wasn't her thing. It was summer vacation, and he had no reason to say no, so he didn't.

"Is she coming to pick you up?" He began, fishing his keys out of his pocket to drive her if need be. The girl lived five minutes away, he'd be back only a few minutes after the game started, but he didn't really want to leave.

"I can ask her," she pulled her phone back out of her jeans, opened her screen, and checked her messages.

"No need, I can take you," your voice rang out, standing from the table and taking your bowl to the sink. It was a genuine offer, but it was also to get out of the house and process what just happened with the job situation.

Joel was the first one to stand up with you.

"You don't have to-"

"It's fine," you cut him off, leaving no room for discussion. It was lucky he liked you, otherwise, Joel Miller might have put up quite the argument for such a small dilemma. As was his way, of course. He huffed, but accepted he had been overruled.

"Thanks, then." It was mumbled, but there was gratitude in it.

"We gotta hop over to ours real quick and grab my stuff," Sarah told you, waiting for you to return from the kitchen before beginning to head out through the front door. You'd grabbed your keys off where they hung on the wall before going behind her.

"I'll be back soon," you called over your shoulder into the house, and got a chirped 'alright' reply from your dad.

You walked out passed your driveway, seeing the light flicker on as you both went passed the censor on the ground.

"Y'know, I didn't think you'd have caved so fast on that job thing." She had piped up once you were almost to her porch. You found it only slightly funny that she chose the exact topic which had been swirling in your mind since it happened.

"Not sure I really wanna do it, but your dad made it sound better than every time my dad's talked about it, guess he just convinced me," you chuckled, playing it off in a way that she absolutely was about to use against you.

"That's another thing," she turned to you as she backed into the house through the door, only turning once she was inside. "Since when are you friends with my dad?"

She said it in a joking tone, but having known a few things she didn't about interactions that occurred between you and her father, you felt constricted to answer seriously. Probably with a lie if need be.

"I've always gotten along with your dad," you gave her a confused look, accompanied after by a playful smile.

She grabbed her backpack and opened it, checking to make sure she'd taken all the school stuff out before starting to shove things in, her charger, headphones, etc.

"Yeah but... you're just all young and cool and stuff," she shrugged, turning around to walk towards the staircase. "My dad is all old and boring and only talks about baseball."

"Thirty-seven isn't old, babe. My dad is two years from fifty, and I don't even think he's old, yet. Boring? Maybe..." you reasoned, hearing her laugh before she sprinted up the stairs, giving you time to think of some answers before she asked any more questions. Had she really caught onto you that fast? You didn't think you'd acted noticeably. If Sarah was able to see it, then maybe your dad did, too. You needed to be more careful, in that case.

Sarah returned a few minutes later, her backpack now stuffed and her pillow under her arm. You nodded out the door and headed back to your driveway to open the door for her, seeing as though her hands were full.

The drive after Sarah had been dropped off felt so much longer. Maybe it was just your thoughts, or maybe you consciously drove slower to avoid getting home too quickly. Your dad was waiting, but above that, Joel was there, too. Probably sitting back on the leather couch, relaxing with his feet kicked out on the floor. He usually leaned onto the armrest with his elbow, and held his face against the hand it supported. You'd noticed it years ago. He only ever spoke up when your dad did, usually in reply to him.

He was content simply watching the game in the presence of a friend. It was endearing.

When you pulled into the driveway, you had come up with an excuse to not remain downstairs for the duration of the game. It was too risky, and you weren't apparently as good with self-control as you'd thought you were.

You went inside and hung up your keys on the hook, immediately passing the living room on the way to the stairs.

"Hey, lovebug, you missed the top of the first," your dad called. He knew you liked baseball, so if you were to lie and say you didn't want to watch, he'd know something was up.

"Y'know, pa, I think I'm just gonna watch it upstairs, I forgot I still got some stuff to unpack," you peaked your head into the room to respond, and saw that Joel, just as you had pictured, was sitting in his most usual position on the couch, feet out on the floor, arm up with a hand holding the side of his face.

"Can't you do it later?" Your dad pleaded, but you knew, seeing as how your father occupied the recliner, you would have no where else to sit but on the floor or next to Joel. You didn't trust yourself with that.

"I could, but I might fall asleep if I wait too long."

He sighed, throwing an arm in your direction and shooing you away. He wasn't annoyed, but he'd admit he missed watching these games with you. It had been like a tradition, but if Sarah wasn't here either, he wasn't gonna make you stick around.

"Sure you don't wanna stick around? We could use your lucky jersey down here," Joel piped up, lifting his face from his hand and giving you a pair of soft eyes. That was exactly the reason you would not be staying. He didn't even realize how much he affected you, but you'd make sure he did at some point. Maybe you could just tease him a little.

"You're right, it would be a shame to take the lucky jersey with me."

You walked behind your dad's chair, out of his sight, and tauntingly stripped the jersey over your head, revealing the tight black tank top beneath it, just like that night at the bar. Joel's jaw clenched and his eyes turned darker, even under the bright light of the flatscreen in the living room. You never took your eyes away from his as you slung him the jersey.

"Hey pa, can I get you anything from the kitchen before I go upstairs?" You leaned over the back of his recliner, looking at him upside down. He chuckled and shook his head, trying to move your hair from obstructing his vision.

"We're all good, lovebug," he spoke in addition to his physical response, his laughter dying down as you stood back up. "Come on down if you change your mind."

"I'll probably be down later," you spewed a half-lie. You weren't sure if you would be or not, especially if Joel was still lurking in the living room.

You gave those brown eyes one last look before heading straight upstairs.

You grabbed your remote and flicked on the TV. It was already on the right channel, so you tossed the remote aside onto your bed and flopped back into it. You didn’t actually have anything left to unpack, but they would never have known.

Your phone buzzed beside you, and you lifted the screen to your face to see a text from an unsaved number:

Missin you down here…

You’d never put Joel in your contacts, because in highschool, your friends thought it was weird to even text or call him regularly, but you had his number for years, always just as a backup. You’d known it by heart, now, and nearly had it memorized back then, too, for the times you needed his help.

I’d come back if there was an open seat.

A bit sassy of a response, maybe, but you were hoping he’d understand the hidden meaning behind it… Although, Joel didn’t usually pick up on those things very easily.

Open seat right next to me

Yeah, that’s why I’m up here…

You huffed, realizing it wouldn’t be that easy. The three little dots indicating his next response was on the way slightly nerved you. Maybe he took the last text you sent the wrong way. You didn’t mean it to sound badly.

What’s that supposed to mean?

Means that I can’t keep my hands to myself.

You quickly rectified the situation, although you might have gone too far. He was taking far too long to answer, now. The little dots that before nerved you would now be your saving grace if it meant he would just fucking respond, already. You dropped the phone on your chest, raising up and down in a scattered rhythm while you wiped your hands over your face. Your phone vibrated over your shirt and you immediately opened it.

I can’t either. Stay up there.

You breathed out a sigh of relief. He was thinking the same things you were, and likely was under more stress for it, given he sat right across from your dad, responding to his comments about the game here and there. Your dad had no idea what was happening right under his nose.

Wasn’t thinking about leavin.

This little back and forth went on, the majority of the game, in fact. It was more-so about the plays then on, because you didn’t have anyone to talk to up here.

Joel thought it a bit funny, your dad would say something oddly specific about one of the players, and then you’d text him right after saying the exact same thing. You’d been a product of watching baseball with your old man for just about ever.

“I’m thinking about gettin’ some tickets over the summer for a game or two. They’re always cheaper in them group packages, you n’ Sarah should come along,” your dad was barely paying any attention to the words he spoke, but they came flowing out anyway, clear and cool. “Could be fun.”

Joel knew that there was only so much group interaction he could handle with you, and you with him. It stands to why you’re upstairs, an he’s down here, fist wrapped tightly around your lucky jersey. All out of your father’s sight, of course.

“It could be. Don’t think Sarah’s much for baseball anymore, though.”

He’d hoped that your dad would drop it. Halfway through his third beer, he hoped the man was a little more than tipsy, and maybe didn’t even mean the words he was saying.

“Doesn’t mean you can’t still tag along,” your dad was definitely still sober enough to keep it up, although the way he spoke became slower. Maybe he was getting sleepy.

“I’ll think about it.”

His response was followed by a hum, then a lull of silence that endured the rest of the game. He sat all the while and thought about his predicament a bit more.

He couldn’t stop thinking about you. It was insane… like you’d leeched yourself to the inner workings of his mind and he wouldn’t be able to pull you off without hurting himself, too. You were just upstairs, and had been texting him. You were within his vicinity, and yet… so unreachable.

He’d wished for you to be down here, or for him to be up there with you. Obviously, that wouldn’t go too well with the man sitting next to him, but he’d be asleep soon. If he could just touch you again, just kiss you one more time, maybe his cravings would be satisfied and he could go about his days… but what would happen if he kept feeling the addictive urge to do more? What if he was never satiated enough to quit you?

The game was called, and you’d texted him a small ‘victory’ at seeing the Rangers had won.

It was wrong, and the presence of his friend beside him was a constant reminder that you were his kid, and he would have a final say. Even though you were an adult, he understood this was completely taboo, and you should be off with guys your own age... but he’s made up his mind about the thoughts spinning in his head.

He didn’t respond, though. Your dad stood up out of his chair, his arms stretching outwards with a loud yawn as he took a few steps forwards, clapping his hand down on Joel’s shoulder.

“I hate to kick you out…” your father joked, a low and tired chuckle under his words.

“It’s alright, I got some stuff to sort out anyway.”

They started making their way towards the door when light but fast footsteps could be heard coming down the stairs.

Joel turned quickly, a smile on his lips and in his eyes when he saw you trying to catch your breath after sprinting down here.

“Leavin’ already?”

They both laughed heartily. As if Joel hadn’t been here almost three hours, most of which you spent upstairs. Your heart was beating far too fast for your liking, but there didn’t seem to be a way to stop it. Now that you were present again, in the room with him, you didn’t know what else to do.

“Your dad’s half asleep as it is, if I stay any longer I’ll send ‘im into hibernation,” Joel’s response made you giggle softly, although you withheld most of the laughter, because in all honestly, it wasn’t that funny, and you needed to learn to control yourself.

“He’ll be over next week, we’ll talk about gettin’ you into that job.”

You nodded, turning back to Joel as your dad opened the front door. What were you supposed to do? You couldn’t hug him, could you? That’s too much… maybe just wave, or maybe-

He held his hand out… for you to shake it. A hand-shake. Yeah, sure, fine.

You shook it, but he pulled you in half way, tapping your back once and then letting go.

He just bro hugged you. This man just-

He turned and did the same to your dad, giving you one last glimpse as he stepped out the door. Your dad closed it behind him and you were almost clean out of words to say. That had to have been the strangest interaction you’ve had.

“I’m beat, love-bug. I’m gonna head to bed,” he slung an arm around your neck and kissed the top of your head before turning and going down the hall to the stairs. “Don’t be up too late.”

“I won’t, just got a few things to do.”

You waited approximately ten more seconds before running to the garage door, going as quickly and as quietly as you could through to your front yard. Joel was still on his porch when you got out there, but was about to go inside.

You ran out to the sidewalk in font of his house and called out to him, all the while still barefoot.

“Hey Miller,” you crossed your arms, watching him turn around and lean in one direction. “Did you just bro-hug me? Or did I imagine that?”

He stepped closer to the edge of the porch, leaning against one of the wooden beams closest to him.

You slowly walked up to him, tilting your head to side as you observed his stance. he looked rather good. Hair tousled, body adorning a black t-shirt and some dark jeans. He was a sight, even in the dark light of the neighborhood.

“I reckon I oughta’ try again?”

"Seems like the fair thing to do."

“You’re takin’ your sweet time, baby,” he irked, grabbing gently under your elbow and pulling you up onto to porch once you were close enough.

You smiled to him, and wrapped your arms round his neck, over his broad shoulders. He pulled you close, tucking a head into your shoulder. The anxiousness you felt before fell apart, the rapid beating of your heart slowed, because you were comfortable. You felt immense peace in his arms like you’ve never felt before.

He backed away too soon, but still kept you relatively close to him.

“Was that better?”

“Yeah, I’d say so.”

There was a moment of silence, of contemplation, but it wasn’t stiff, and it wasn’t awkward. It was just there, a nice and pleasant quiet, and you standing still with Joel Miller on his porch.

“You wanna come inside a while?”

Sarah wasn’t home, and wouldn’t be till morning. Your dad was probably passed out in bed by now, leaving the opportunity completely open. You had nothing to lose, no risk to be had.

“Yeah, I think I will.”

He didn’t let you go, he just walked you both backwards until he was able to reach the door, reaching with one hand to open it before stepping slightly to the side to allow you entrance first.

“Ever the gentlemen,” you smiled, walking inside before he followed you in.

“Gotta make up for all that nonsense earlier,” he closed the door, taking your hand and walking to the kitchen. He pulled out a stool at his counter and let your hand fall to your side as he made his way to the fridge.

He pulled out two beers and uncapped them with the tool hanging on the side of his fridge. You think you remember your dad buying it for his birthday one year. You can remember sitting in this exact seat many times before, actually. Never alone, though. Never just you and Joel, and nobody else near.

He slid you one beer an you smiled at him in thanks, taking a sip.

“Last time you had one of these, I didn’t know if you liked it or not,” he gestured to his own bottle, drinking some and setting it down on the counter.

“I don’t know, I think it’s growing on me.”

He looked straight to you, leaning both hands on the edge of the counter. You leaned forward, mimicking his more stern face of features before he said anything else.

“I didn’t wanna say so with your dad around, but you look awful pretty tonight,” he spoke the compliment smoothly, but he had to drop his head after he said it. Seemed that giving you compliments alone in the night was something of a struggle for him, since he was blushing still even when he looked back to you.

“I seem to be feelin’ a lot prettier as of late whenever I’m around you. Think you’re just good for my self esteem,” you paused, leaning back onto the stool to take a drink of your beer. “That, or it's just nice to be complimented by a handsome guy like yourself.”

He didn’t seem to believe you. His scoff was loud and heard immediately after your compliment returned to him.

“You think I’m handsome?”

He’d always thought he was average. Maybe even slightly below. As he got older, that notion grew until he felt that maybe he was beyond trying for a woman on behalf of his looks. Perhaps there were women from time to time that would agree to a date, but there were none since Sarah’s mom who actually stuck around, not until you… but you were different as far as relationships go, because technically, you shouldn’t even be considering one with him.

“Absolutely, I do. Why wouldn’t I?” You were curious, because he was clearly attractive. Maybe you’d spent too much time around the more traditionally preferred young men in dallas, but something about Joel intrigued you that never did with anyone else. Maybe it was the forbidden aspect of what you two were doing, but before that, it was something else. He was rough and rugged, and good looking in a mature way that the boys your age couldn’t mimic if they tried. Those dark brown eyes with little crows feet at the edges every time he smiled were a dead give away to his age, but it was so appealing somehow.

“Don’t know. Guess I’m just old,” he spoke, trying to hide the insecurities that phrasing brought about. He was too old for you, he shouldn’t be sitting here with you you alone and calling you pretty, and yet…

“Maybe that’s a good thing. Too many boys my age are still very immature these days.” And it was very much true. Too young, too immature, and too stupid to see what’s in front of them and really appreciate it. Older men have a tendency to take care of the things they have, because they know that with time they can lose them.

“That so?”

“Mhm.”

“They don’t even realize what their missin’ out on, do they?”

You shook your head in reply. Nope. Not a single one of the younger guys you’ve dated has treated you with the care you know he could. He’s always treated you with care, before… why would that change now?

“They probably figure there’s a million girls linin’ up after me that they can take a shot at,” you raised your eyebrows and drank some more. Maybe it was just a thought of some past experiences, but this beer was tasting better and better to you.

“I pity them,” he said nonchalantly, without really thinking about it.

“Who, the girls? I mean, I kinda feel bad, but other times, I think we all know what we’re getting ourselves into n’ we just try to ignore the red flags.”

It was meant as a joke, but he was being genuinely serious.

“No, the guys. I pity ‘em.”

“Oh, do you?”

“I do,” he nodded, thinking of the right words to say. “They lost you, didn’t they? Biggest mistake of their lives and they didn’t even know. Pity ‘em just for that.”

You didn’t know what to say. You figured the wide smile you wore was doing a fine enough job, but he wasn’t looking like he had anything else to voice yet.

“You think I’m somethin’ special, Joel Miller?”

He set his bottle down on the counter and walked around it to stand right in front of your barstool. He took both your hands and pulled them to his chest, just holding them there and looking to you with the sweetest expression you’ve ever seen from him. He’s so different than what you remember in your earlier years. He used to be so stoic and serious. Sometimes even a little grumpy. Guess time changes things.

“I wouldn’t be gettin’ myself into sum’ this crazy if I thought anything else,” he mumbled it almost, but he definitely meant it. His words rang true in every aspect of the implications they made. This was crazy, it was very unlikely in the first place, but even still, it was happening. Neither of you backed down, neither of you said no.

“If it helps, I happen to think you’re pretty damn special, too.”

He didn’t respond, just leaned closer towards you, nudging his nose against yours, before letting your lips meet in a kiss. it washed rushed and hazy like the last time. It wasn’t forceful or fast or anything of that sort. It was gentle, and it was meaningful. All the years he’d known you, but never like this. You knew this attraction was new, but it was still real. You wondered how many women pined after him over the years, only for you to now gage his attention when clearly no one else did. The man’s been single since Sarah’s mom left, and otherwise, you didn’t know him to be much of a ‘dating around’ kinda guy. Standing here with him, now, you felt such excitement in knowing he’d pursue you, the off limits woman, over anyone else. It was a true victory, or at least you thought so, sitting on a stool in his kitchen while he kissed you softly, his thumbs going over the backs of your hands that still lingered in his.

When the kiss broke, you inhaled deeply, the scent of him so close to you, surrounding you. He was like a warm blanket you just pulled out of the dryer. He was comforting, and soft, and his skin was currently hot to the touch. You could only hope that you had something to do with that.

“Baby,” he breathed, hands letting go of yours and finding a new home at your waist. You left your hands on his chest, feeling his heart rate fluctuating. “Gotta know something before this goes any further…”

You hummed in response, still trying to even your breath intake. He backed away a few inches to be able to look you in the eyes correctly. He’d spent enough time with you in the past to know if you were telling the truth, and he was going to use it just this once to his advantage.

“What we’re doin’, you sure you’re okay with it?” He knew better than to jump into this without clarification. “Don’t want you feelin’ pressured if you’re not.”

“I want this,” you spoke softly, just loud enough that he could hear. “Promise.”

You had thought you’d been the instigator to this, if memory serves you correctly. Even still, you know now that whatever happens, he won’t take it somewhere you don’t want it to go. This show of good faith was something you could put trust in him over. He’s a good one, you always knew that.

And again his lips were on yours, differently this time. It was a bit more hasty and fervent like the first time, but there was still something different from then that you couldn’t quite decipher.

You absent-mindedly opened your legs and he instantly came between them, letting your bodies become flush with one another. His hands ran up and down your sides, every once and a while dipping to your hips and somewhere below on your thighs.

There was a heat between them that you didn’t realize was there until he came so close to touching it. He never actually did, though, and you were both endeared by and upset about it. He was the one making that heat spread, he can’t just leave it there… but he’s testing his limits, and you think it’s respectful that he is.

He doesn’t want to cross any lines… as if this entire entanglement has not already done that. This situation in every sense of the definition, has crossed the line. Him hugging you that tightly on his porch, him inviting you in after dark when it’s only you and him alone, having a beer with some very personal conversation, and now making out with you in his kitchen. They all crossed the line of what should happen between a man and his best friend’s daughter.

“Tell me to stop,” he mumbled against your mouth, almost as if reading your mind. His hand on your thigh drifted between your legs, just barely caressing the heated pool sitting there, waiting for him. It was still very reserved, and you had to buck against his hand for more friction, but at least it was something.

The taste of him somehow made it worse, the feeling growing inside you without an end in sight. The arousal was evident, but you weren’t sure he would be able to do anything about it, yet. You could tell it was weighing on his mind, what was okay for him to do, and what wasn’t. You would beg him if you had to, you just needed more.

He had an idea, one that could allow both of you to explore this dynamic easier, and one that could potentially keep him from overstepping like he was afraid to.

He removed his hands only for a minute, bringing yours up and over his shoulders before he settled his back down below your ass.

“Hold on,” he told you, lifting you from the seat and walking until he got to the living room. From there, he let the space guide him until the back of his knees hit the edge of the couch. He sat almost abruptly, and when you relaxed your weight onto him, you felt the stirring between his legs as well. You moaned into his mouth at the mere size and feeling of it, beginning to slowly grind down onto him. He encouraged your movements, and used his hands to guide your hips as you went, back and forth, getting into a rhythm.

“That’s it, baby,” he praised, tearing himself away for a moment to expel his breath from his lungs at the new feeling. Your head fell against his, and suddenly it was the movement of your lower half taking you over.

He let his hands move over your body a bit more freely, now, but still careful not to make any harsh movements, or grab in places he felt he shouldn’t linger too long. He knew you wanted this, but something inside him questioned how comfortable you really felt… that was until you started doing the same, roaming his body with your delicate touch, making him feel like the most important man in the world. You could have sworn you marked the exact moment he snapped, rolling his hips upwards into yours shamelessly. It was so deliciously addicting, the feeling of his body pleasing yours, and vice versa. His rough and sturdy hands, though still gentle, ravished any part of you available to him.

The air between you was hot and thick, and you could swear that by breathing it in, you were drawing even more arousal into your body.

The motions kept going until there was a quickening of pace brought on by you both simultaneously. You couldn’t mark a distinction of when it increased, you just knew that the speed you were going wasn’t where you started. All you could think of was that your spend was fast approaching, and you wondered if his was, too.

“Gettin’ close,” you murmured, barely able to get the words out for the moans that slipped passed your lips. “M’gonna…”

He heard you, and understood. Truth be told, he’d started getting hard since that moment on the porch, so this was just nothing but sweet relief to him. He kept on, trying to meet you at your finish.

“Let go , baby.”

You had no qualms about being told twice when it came to him. You gave it up easily, the muscles in your body contracting when you felt the wash of utter ease through every inch of you. He tensed beneath you, but relaxed with a groan of relief right after, and you could feel his length twitch in his jeans.

You just dry-humped Joel Miller on his couch. Like a horny teenager. What the fuck.

The dawn of realization was cut short by his hand softly coercing the back of your neck, bring your lips back for him to claim as he did earlier. Soft, and gentle, no rush, no heat. Just that feeling between you both that started this mess.… and it was indeed a mess.

“You wanna stay over?”

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